Thursday, July 24, 2014

My Week as a Weather Forecast

With Monday having been so wet with tears due to a strong westerly wind blowing in the direction of Home, Tuesday is shaping up with a downright shitstorm as predicted. Heat waves have been observed in the Office area, with periods of strong gusts of shit, soaking plans and ruining career prospects.

Expect little to no free time the rest of the week. You'll see a 99% chance of the baby pee in the bathtub, repeating Monday's deluge. Highs will be in the moments you share before your daughter poops her pants, with that poop being significantly more solid than the average seen in her diaper. Lows will be in the realization that you forgot to plan for your husband's birthday. See that birthday start to blow in on Thursday, without a chance of bringing gifts that arrive on time and make it look like you planned ahead.

Expect no chance of making it look like you have your shit together.

However, conditions may start to change as a sweet gesture from a mother-in-law brings dinner and clean floors to your area.
Shitstorms will taper off as we head toward the weekend and get to spend more time with family, though we may see an occasional turd in the bathtub.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

Hot Mommy Tip #1

This is what I hope to be the first of many hot tips. Tell yer friends.

My husband reminded me this morning to send emails to our daughter.

That's weird. Send emails to our 6-month-old daughter.

We created an account for her within days of bringing her home. It was my sister's idea. But really, it's a good one. This way, we can make her gmail account one that doesn't have a long string of numbers because we already "snatched" the name. 

This is all assuming that Gmail is still a thing when our daughter is a job-seeking adult. Who knows if email will even be a thing. Who knows, who knows.

But on top of just sort of reserving the email address for her, it's a great way to write her letters as she grows. They'll all be dated and saved in the "cloud" or whatever the hell. I hope she'll be happy about this someday.

So go ahead, make a gmail account for your baby. Send him or her letters of love or just things about your day. Maybe email is the new baby book.

(Just make sure you can remember the password. Oops.)

Monday, July 21, 2014

Nothing is clean and everything is wonderful

I bought organic pureed pears for my daughter. (Yes, she's eating foods now!) We figure since she doesn't eat very much, we can fork out a little extra to give her the good stuff. Plus, a review of many, many studies says that organic produce really does have more nutrients than non-organic.

Like any good hippie parents, we took her to the farmers market this morning. We bought cheese curds, a plant and locally grown blue popcorn. Like bad parents, we forgot our daughter's sun hat. So our trip was short to avoid sunburn.

I came home to a house smelling like bacon from this morning's breakfast, and a kitchen full of dishes. I made lemonade. More dishes. Didn't empty the dishwasher. The dogs got into some food while we were gone. Mess. Everywhere mess and more mess.

I reached into my purse and grabbed the old light bulb I had in there for reference (I cannot find this stinking size of light bulb for anything.)
It was covered in pear mush.

At least it was organic.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Facebook Free

So, it's been about a week since I deleted my Facebook app.

I didn't delete my account, I don't want to go full-on hermit, but I got rid of the app on my phone. I realized I needed some space when I told my husband (in baby talk, get ready, this is embarrassing) "Wike my status."

I really wish I could say that was the first time. But hopefully, it was the last.

I realized I was caring too much about how many likes my status got. How many people could be bothered to say, yeah, I dig that, when I post a picture of my daughter or when I bemoan the traffic jam. By the way, baby pictures get SO many more likes than anything else. Am I hawking photos of my daughter in exchange for the illusion of internet popularity?

Why am I thinking so much about Facebook?

So, I held my thumb over the little blue square until the wobbling X appeared, and I clicked it. And then I said, yes, Delete. With a capital D. 

And then I started using Facebook via the Safari app. Baby steps, you guys.

It is better. This way, I don't get notifications that so-and-so's mom sent me another Candy Crush request. It doesn't tell me Facebook things in real time, which I think is an improvement. Yes, I still go on in my spare time, and yes, I spend more time on it than I'd like to, but I think my addiction is on its way out. Thankfully, when you consider this article about the sneaky, nasty, terrible things Facebook did with your news feed.

That article in particular made me realize, experiments or not, I was overly dependent on Facebook for my moods, my gauge of how people perceive me, or even, like me.

Maybe I'm not Facebook Free, completely, but it's better this way. Did you hear about that study? Does it change how you think about Facebook?

(By the way, go on Facebook and wike me. I still want everyone to like me. That will never change.)

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

The Bright Side of Working Full-Time

Today, I'm choosing to look on the bright side. It helps that it's sunny outside. And the bright side isn't that I come home a better mother because I did grown-up things that challenge my brain all day. Although that helps, too. Sometimes.

My mother-in-law (who is a teacher and watching our daughter for the summer) texted a photo of my daughter to me while I'm at the office. I told my husband that it made me both happy and sad. My gut reaction was, "I should be there. I should be the one taking care of her." Bummer, right? But just seeing her face made me happy.

This morning, my husband asked me to keep our daughter up late tonight so that he could see her after work. He's been missing time with her because of his odd and long hours.

We both feel like we don't get nearly enough time with her. But maybe the bright side to it is that we have this (not-fun) feeling to bond over. We both feel the same way. We don't compete over who misses her more. We connect.

That's good, right?

Friday, July 11, 2014

I like you. AKA How Target Challenged My Ethics

I really do.

So today, I created a Facebook page for the blog. If you like whatch'ure readin, give me a like, too. I'd sure appreciate it, really.

I haven't shared the blog yet with my personal Facebook friends, and I'm not entirely sure I'm ready to yet. I'll get there, I know, but this kind of honesty can be frightening.

Also, at Target this evening, the clerk forgot to scan a $75 item I had under the cart. And I had even told her to scan it. Didn't realize til I got home with my hungry baby in her poopy diaper just before bedtime that I had an unpaid-for item in my trunk. So I called and paid over the phone. Sucker or  saint? I guess when it came down to it, I really liked that my husband thought I should point out their error. I guess that I like he's a good person and a great example for our daughter.

We can't always be great examples, can we. So we might as well take the chances we have.

Thursday, July 10, 2014

The "C" Word

My daughter wakes me up at 5:30 every morning by blowing raspberries.

This morning, she really got her technique down. Tongue out between the lips and all. (Her previous raspberries had been just with her lips.) Clearly a very important milestone.

The reason this quiet sound wakes me up? Because she sleeps beside me. In the bed. Attack me now.

Here's what works for me and my husband: We put her to sleep in her own room at 8 pm every night. She goes down without a problem. It's glorious. When and if she sleeps all night, she stays in her crib the whole time. But when she wakes up at 1 AM or 2 AM or 3 AM, she comes to bed with me to nurse. And there we stay, side by side. She stirs and I start nursing her again. This repeats until 5:30, when her stirring isn't quelled by the breast, her little hands start flailing around, she coos and blows raspberries. I wake up smiling, and so does she.

I sleep lightly. I'm still nursing. My husband and I share a king-size (very firm) mattress. He's usually on the other side of the bed. One exception: The night his arm came within inches of my daughter. I somehow woke up out of nowhere and stopped his arm before it could touch her. Biology is working well in my home.

I wouldn't call myself an all-out co-sleeper, but really, why not? To avoid the stigma? I'm a half-co-sleeper. And we can just round up. I can present the familiar arguments that appear everywhere on message boards and blogs in support of co-sleeping—if you're not a drunk or exhausted out of your mind, it's perfectly safe to have baby in a big, firm, safe bed. SIDS used to be called Crib Death because it happens in cribs.

Just a couple of weeks ago, a woman in my community lost her daughter to SIDS. She was about the same age as my daughter, healthy. She put her down for a nap in her crib. When she checked on her, she wasn't breathing. Babies die in family beds when they're suffocated by blankets, pillows, other children or pets. Babies die in beds because of SIDS and babies die in cribs because of SIDS.

But really, all the arguing is useless. All you need to know is that it works for my family and is safe for my daughter. And you should feel free to follow your instincts and practice sleep habits that (safely) work for you and your family.

I think the more natural and instinctual a responsible and loving mother is allowed and encouraged to be, the happier the mama and the happier the baby.

But I'm no expert. I'm just a mama with a baby who wakes her up by blowing raspberries and smiling. I'll be damned if I'm going to give that up.