Grandma's Kitchen

When I was in middle school I wrote a short descriptive piece about my favorite place in the world. Not surprisingly my little slice of heaven was at my grandparents' house. It was the creek running through their pasture. The creek is still there, and I can almost remember what I had written.Something like "The water is cold on my bare feet. Its babbling is like a quiet song sung only for me. A crane rests on a large rock, watching for his lunch in the clear stream."

It was easily my best work, and I wish I had a copy of the assignment, but if my memory serves me, and it usually does, the teacher kept it as an example for future students.

Thinking about this piece makes me think of my grandparents. Specifically my grandmother, and her kitchen.

There were, and still are many magical spots at my grandparents' house. But Grandma's kitchen was probably the happiest, most magical of all. There wasn't anything special about it, except maybe the vintage cabinet door handles, and the pepto bismol pink paint on the cabinets. But there was always something wonderful lingering in the room.

You could almost always find my Grandma hovering over the stove, cooking up the best meal you'd ever have. Up until the week of her passing, she was in there baking a chocolate cake, or making a pot of chicken and noodles, just for me.

Many times I would walk in the back door to find her stirring the noodles one more time for perfection. "I thought you'd be over soon. I made chicken and noodles." That was her greeting every time. Her back was always to me. I don't know how she knew it was me, she probably saw me through the window above the kitchen sink, but I appreciated and I cherish that she always knew.

The magic is gone now. The kitchen is often dark. But sometimes, when the air is still and the light from that window above the sink is just right, I can almost see her, and I can feel her there, waiting for me to come through the back door, so we can have lunch together one last time.

Successful Is Relative.

This past Saturday, my mother and I went to the mall to do a little Christmas shopping. It's always good to spend time with my mom, but I honestly could not enjoy this trip. I just couldn't shake this horrible funky feeling I had. And I still haven't gotten past it. It's Wednesday. This is ridiculous.

Anyway, I realized today why I am being plagued by the Downtown Funk. Which by the way is as catchy as the Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson (I think that's his name?), but it's not nearly as enjoyable.

When we were in the mall, we were surrounded by people who were roughly my age, and dressed like they were going to work at PR firm. They were all carrying the latest in technology in their hands while "drinking Starbucks". If you didn't know, no one actually drinks Starbucks, they just pay $8.00 for a small ass shot of espresso in some soy milk, and walk around with it to look cool.

I'm so over seeing all these "cool" people. Why? Well mostly I'm jealous. I've never been cool, I will never be cool. And partly because they all give off this vibe that they are successful, with good jobs, nice cars, big houses, and a freaking yacht at the marina. Again something I probably will not live up to.

But saying I won't live up to the term "successful" is inaccurate. Successful is relative. 

Basically, I'm jealous over something that is a total front. These people may very well really be living the dream. College educated, making a good living, and are happy. But I'm doubting it. Why? Well we are children of an age where everyone is in debt for school or cars or credit cards. 

Our parents felt it was their birth right to go to college, and so they did. They graduated, got a good job, met someone, got married, had a few kids, and then put the pressure on their children to be as "successful" as they were. 

So we go to college right out of high school, extremely naive, and immature because of the changing times, with no idea of how to actually make it in the real world. (Yes you may feel like you are very mature, and some are, but most of us early 20 somethings really aren't. We were not handed as much responsibility as our parents, and their parents. It happens, don't get offended.) So we create mountains of school debt we can't pay, party too much, try to keep up with the ever changing world, and then wake up one day to realize that we've maxed out credit cards to live like the people we see on TV. To pretend that "Hey we're doing very well. Life is great."

Not that life isn't great. To wake up everyday breathing is a blessing. But my point is we've put so much pressure on ourselves to be great leaders and stars. What happened to those small town dreams? Or not having to pretend to be something we aren't to fit in with the crowd? 

Do you feel that pressure? I know I do. I know my friends do. Cameron and I have had long conversations about it. It is there. The need, the drive, to live like kings, and wear YSL lipstick. Our parents did not intend for our generation to feel like this. They meant for us to have and do more than they did, as long as it meant we could still have simple, easy existences, and work hard.

We created the weight we feel. We did it by over sharing silly images of thigh gapped, photoshopped, high fashion models on social media, by glorifying being famous without really having to do anything to get there, songs about tigers on gold leashes, and "hanging with Molly", by refusing to accept that to float, you first have to sink a little. (That is why there are anchors on all those tattoos and pictures. Anchors sink.)

Rome was not built in a day my friends. Do not feel as though you have to have everything right this instant. Our parents and grandparents didn't just rope the moon and pull it down. They had to build ladders and send monkeys into space first. 

Successful is a relative term. You don't have to be whatever image is breaking the internet today. It is completely acceptable to be happy in the same town you grew up in with a used car, a house that you aren't dropping your whole paycheck on to make the mortgage, and going to Zumba classes twice a week because you don't want to gain more weight during the holiday season. Please, I'm begging you, find your own successful, what your soul is truly happy with.

I may be speaking for myself here, that's probable. But I think we can all agree there is a heaviness in the air. Ignore it. Go after what your heart wants, not what everyone else pretends to have. Successful is relative, remember that.

Alex Jones, The Poet Laureate. Wait, Can Women Be Poet Laureates?

If you give my dog a treat,

He will expect one, every time you meet.

If you give my dog a cookie,

The sugar will turn him into a Wookie.

But if you give my dog a doughnut,

He'll sho' 'nough, go nuts.

Earlier I fibbed a little on my Facebook page and said I knew what I was going to write about. But I forgot what I was going to write. So here are some poems, just for you fine folks on this cold, gloomy, Hump Day.

Roses are red.

My Grandpa's shirt is blue.

The dog just farted.

Or was that you?

Do trees have knees?

No, knees belong to the bees.

But bees fly?

And then I smash them and they die.

To smash them is cruel!

But if one lands on you, you'll dance like a fool.

Roses are red.

My Grandpa's shirt is blue.

Rhyming is hard.

I like bread and butter pickles on my sammiches. Ewe.

I haven't written serious poetry since middle school. So forgive me if these aren't that great. I'm pretty proud of the first one though. And my use of the word "Ewe" in the last one. I'm not sure what female sheep have to do with anything, but it rhymed. Have a good day!

Dookie.

I've often wondered if everyone has the same issues with their kids that I have with mine. The main problem  we run into is pooping through whatever she is wearing. I know all kids do it from time to time. But is it normal for it to happen every time you go to a certain place?

For instance, anytime we go to my grandfather's house, my precious little Robbie Jo craps everywhere. It never fails. She'll be laying in the same spot, in the same position, within an hour of us arriving at the house, and she drops the brown note.

At first I thought her diapers were too tight, or maybe it was because she was laying on her belly. But now, I'm starting to think that this is some kind of ritual of hers. We visit my grandpa a couple of times a week. And every time she'll poo throw 2 outfits. You can imagine how much laundry we do.

What's worse is, it took me forever to think "Hey I can just pop these clothes in the washer while I'm here.". So my kid had to ride home in just a diaper a couple of times.

Maybe this is her way of saying "Hey Pa, your house is crappy!"? 

I hope not. That is awful rude.

Holly Jolly, Oh Forget It.

Hello there! It's been quite awhile since I've posted anything. Mostly because life got busy, but also, I haven't been able to come up with anything to write about, and I got lazy. This blog is a lot of work.

Tell me, what's going on? I haven't done much lately, but at the same time I've been super busy. It's funny how life works. And everyone can attest to that.

Anywhozier, today I think I'll share with you my thoughts on the holiday season and my panic as I try to come up with ideas for homemade gifts.

I dislike this time of the year. Not necessarily because of the holidays, and partly because of the cold, and possible winter weather. I hate cold, snow, sleet, freezing rain, wintry mix. You get the idea. So the season is a bitter pill for me to swallow. This year is no exception. We've already had snow. BEFORE THANKSGIVING. What kind of crap is that?!

I am looking forward to the actual holidays. Sort of. My family is getting together at my grandfather's house for Thanksgiving. I enjoy seeing everyone. And of course food. But Pa's house is a rather small venue to host such a large family. We end up elbow to elbow standing room only, and it gets crazy hot in the house. I guess that is the price you pay for family and a free meal right? I do get to show off my kid though. While she is not the youngest of the grandkids, she will be the youngest in attendance. And the cutest, in my opinion. This means all eyes will be on her. And I enjoy when people talk about how my baby is soooo good and sooooo pretty and sooo happy. Win for team me.

The part I am not looking forward to as much is Christmas. It's a joyous holiday. I like all the activities leading up to the actual celebration. But it's basically a repeat of Thanksgiving, but with presents. While everyone likes giving and receiving gifts, I'm certain we can all agree on how expensive it is becoming to get something for everyone. This makes it difficult to buy for anyone. Cameron and I always try to spend the same amount on each gift we give, that is assuming we don't make the gifts, that way we don't spend much. However, there's not a great lot you can buy for under $20.00 that is of decent quality.

This year I intend to make something for everyone. But I'm having a hard time coming up with ideas. Pinterest has given me some inspiration for all the women and older girls gifts, but men, boys, and very young girls are a different story. Especially when there's a HUGE group of children under the age of 2 in your family. So I'm thinking cookies for the ones who have teeth, and lumps of coal for all the other babies. Robbie Jo included.

Not really.

True story though. I did give Cameron's grandfather "lumps of coal" for Christmas a couple of years ago. They were peppermint cookies that I put black food coloring in. I got the idea from Pinterest. There was a note attached that read something like "You've been naughty, not nice. Santa checked his list twice. So all the way from the North Pole, you're getting lumps of coal.". Those cookies were thoroughly appreciated.

I'm also not looking forward to the fact that come December, my baby will be 6 months old. HALF A YEAR OLD. Why do they grow so fast?

Anyway. Holidays. So stressful. I need a bottle of wine just thinking about it. If anyone has any good ideas for homemade gifts, shoot them my way please. This is me signing off so I can go scour Pinterest.

Hello Again World.

Hello again. I've been neglecting my writing duties lately. There's been a huge list of reasons why, but mostly I just didn't know what to write about. I still don't know what to write about. So bare with me whilst I ramble on.

Let me catch you up a little. The baby is now 3 months old. She can hold her head up steadily, roll over from her back to her belly, and from her belly to her back, and she can sit up pretty well with assistance. She sleeps a whopping 8-9 hours a night. (Insert loud bragging to unlucky parents.) However she's started a nasty thumb sucking habit =|. I however, have done a lot of absolutely nothing. 

Aaaand I developed a nasty addiction to The Golden Girls and The Nanny reruns. I already had the problem with The Nanny, I love Fran Drescher so much. But my love for Bea, Estell, Rue, and Betty is a little disturbing. It's greater than my Redbull problem, which is REALLY bad. I need rehab for it, literally.

Anyway, I'm finding out that around the 3 month mark kids turn into little humans. Not that they weren't humans before, but it's like they hit 3 months and start doing stuff. They coo, play, roll around, smile, laugh, and if they're my kid the squeal SOOO FREAKING LOUD. She only does it all the time. It's great though. 

Along with all this stuff, everything has to go directly into her mouth. So gross. Oh you're wiping my nose with that baby wipe, IT GOES IT MY MOUTH TO CHEW ON! NO, I DONT CARE THAT IT HAS BOOGERS ON IT!

Last week she and I both had a nasty stomach virus. I was so worried she was going to use her super human baby speed to get a handful of poo and pop that in her mouth while I changed her. Luckily she never did that. And I changed about a thousand dirty diapers while we were sick. Now I'm just waiting for her to start eating the dogs food. Oh joy.

I'm hoping that she'll slow down a little on putting things in her mouth, but from what I understand, it doesn't get any better. Let's just hope I don't go to change a diaper and find a penny.

Mom: Why We Love Her.

My mother is pretty cool. She raised three kids completely on her own, is obsessed with health and fitness, teaches Zumba, runs half marathons and 5ks, and places in the top three at the 5ks, has a huge knowledge for crap no one cares about (this must be where I got that talent from), is a gifted writer, is always open to offer up advice about anything, and is the grandmother who sends cards/candy/loud toys to her grandchildren at every holiday because she's out to spoil the kids and drive the parents nuts.

That's a big list of cool stuff to love her for, but that's not even the tip of the iceberg.

This past Thursday was my mom's 58th birthday. It was a good day, but at the same time it was particularly rough. My newest niece was born (that's a good part, obviously), but my grandfather was in the hospital, preparing for a surgery that could have very well ended his life, and then we ate at a Mexican joint that didn't serve margaritas. Terrible, how can you eat fajitas and not wash them down with tequila?! Anyway.

My mom, being herself, had to be everywhere at once. So off to see my brother and his family, we went. She never once let on how stressed she really was, or how she, along with everyone else, was a ball of nerves about Pa's surgery. No, instead she smiled, laughed, took a gazillion pictures, and carried on. She did the same thing, minus the pictures, when we visited Pa. 

On her feet, my Ma is admittedly, not always graceful, just watch her two step after three margaritas and a beer, but that day, she handled EVERYTHING with a grace and strength that can't be taught. Way to go Mom.

The next day was the old man's surgery. And again, everyone else had fear written all over them, but Mom on the other hand, just did her usual; handled all this business, asked questions, went with Pa to pre-op, and did it all without even a ripple in her sea of poise. I don't know how she does it. I sat there next to her just waiting, fidgeting, talking way too much and too fast, and she was calm. 

We love Ma for this. She's the glue that holds our family together. My Grandma passed that position down to my Mom many years ago, and it's a position that fits her well.

Of course there are many other things Madre is special for. For instance, her Adam Sandler version of Good King Winseslas that stops my kid from crying every time, or the rocking chair she let me borrow, that she rocked my brothers and myself in, her homemade chicken and dumplings when I catch a cold (yes 23 years old and Mommy still makes me something to eat when I'm sick), or how she remembers EVERY.LITTLE.THING. the grand kids tell her, and she buys them gifts based on what they told her. She still goes to every ball game and event she can make it to that the grand kids have. She takes amazing care of my Grandpa, her dad, which is hard because he doesn't complain unless he's starving. And the list STILL goes on.

My point for this post is, all moms are special to their families, they/we all bend over backwards at times to take care of everything, but no one has a mom like mine. Mine does it all for everyone. Always has. I know one day she'll tire of being the old bottle of Elmer's and it will be my turn, I just hope I can do half as well as she has. 

It's Only Bed Time!! These Tears Aren't Needed!! Part 2. The Mom Cryer.

Tonight's bed time was exceptionally cry-y (I couldn't think of any real adjectives to fit the situation, so made one.) Typically after I take the baby out of the bath, she cries for a little bit, (This kid LOVES bath time.), and as usual she cried some. But shortly after she calmed down, the dam broke, and dear old mom here just lost it.

It's been an emotionally charged month. Especially the last two weeks. Lots have happened, and then today we had a great event, it was my mama's birthday, and my newest niece was born late this afternoon. (By the way Baby J, the new little, is cuuuttteeee! I'm so excited!)

Seeing this new little teeny tiny made me realize how big my little teeny tiny is, and how small she was. Since she was born I have reminded myself daily to take it all in, to cherish these little times because it will go fast. Thankfully I can enjoy it to the fullest because I'm one of the few lucky moms who get to be home with their babies. But it just seems like I closed my eyes, two months passed, and now there's this big little girl with a head full of hair and the brightest smile, and I just don't know where the time went.

It all just hit me at once. I had rocked her, laid her in her crib, because I thought she was sleepy, then her pretty eyes sprang open, and the smiles and cooing started. I'm not sure what she was telling me about, but she was pretty excited. This is when I started crying.

I think she knew I wasn't really sad, just a little nostalgic, grateful, and a little stressed. So, as if to say something along the lines of "It's okay Mommy, I love you. I'll always be your baby." she gave me a big smile, a few more coos and then snuggled in to sleep.

I really didn't want to leave her side. I wanted her to keep telling me all about it. And I did stand there for a few more minutes and listened to her, but I knew it was bed time and she was clearly fighting sleep. So I turned the light off and stood in her doorway, and she talked for a few more minutes, then sighed really big and was asleep. This made me cry even more. I just love her to pieces.

This kid, she melts my heart. I never really wanted to be a mom, but then baby happened, and man, my life is 1000% fuller and happier with her here. 

I know children aren't for everyone, so I won't say that life really starts when you have kids. But, if you do have babies or will eventually, just remember to hold them tight, give them lots of love and kisses, but don't spoil them, and above all else remember that time goes so fast. So fast, that sometimes you just need to be the mom who stands in their bedroom doorway and cries about how much they love their sweet little miracle.

Becoming A Mom.

Most moms will say that their kids are the best things to happen to them. While some truly mean it, some really don't. For me, it's true my daughter coming into this world was the best thing that could happen.

Having a baby meant becoming a mom. That's not a title everyone deserves. There are women out there who are just worthless, and should not be having kids. I thought I was one of those people. 

Not because I don't care, or am lazy, or some nut job, but because I was selfish, obsessed with structure and control, and while I enjoy a good thrill, the anxiety that went with something new kept me from doing many things I wanted to do. Above all I didn't believe I had the capacity to love myself, much less a child.

Then along came Robbie Jo.

This little girl has changed me. While I'm still very selfish, I willing put her and her needs before me, like a mother should. There are many times I find myself googling all the ways to help her grow and life hacks for motherhood. I still have a need for structure, but control is now a distant, dark memory. It is no longer planning every second of every day and trying but failing to handle my life and emotions. Instead it has become order; aligning myself, my finances, my career goals. I am finding order goes with structure, much better than control ever did. I don't fear the world around me anymore. I am not scared of stepping out of my comfort zone, or the initial stress that comes with all the dreams I've always wanted to chase. But the biggest, most important change is love. 

I had never viewed myself in a positive light. She did away with that. The image I had in my head of my life, and my physical self was negative. But stretch marks, and tiny hands and feet made me realize that it's okay that I didn't go to college right out of high school, any mistakes I made in my past were just that, my past, and being a size 2 isn't going to make me happy.

Opening up my heart to myself made room for my baby and gave me the ability to grow as a person, and a mom. I know I am not done changing, that I will continue to shift and move as she and I both get older, I am ready for it, when the time comes. And one day, when she's old enough to understand, I'll tell her how she changed me and my life for the better. 

Safety In Numbers, At Walmart.

I, like everyone else, hate Walmart. Yes it saves me lots of money, but it's crowded, hot, loud, and full of tweakers. It's not very baby friendly either. Anyway I had to go buy groceries today, and I had to take the baby, by myself.

Yesterday the little lady had to get shots, so she's slept all day today, so I was thinking she would sleep the whole time we were in there, and I wouldn't need a diaper bag. I didn't take I'm the diaper bag. 

BIG MISTAKE.

She was awake the whole time, and thankfully didn't cry. But about halfway through, she pooped. Me being an idiot, I thought from the sound, and smell, that it was just a little gas, and maybe a tiny bit of poo, and it could wait until we got done. I should mention that because of the fussiness and shots she hadn't pooped yet today.

So I finish shopping, go through check out, and rush home, which is less than 5 minutes from Walmart. 

I get home, pull her out of the car seat, and am holding her, gathering up wipes and stuff, and I notice her onesie is a little wet. Okay probably pee, maybe sweat, no big deal. Mind you, I'm wearing A WHITE SHIRT. 

Again, idiot me, I have a kid. You don't wear white with kids.

I lay her down to change her, and realize why exactly that onesie was wet. That little bit of gas was a massive super poo that was long over due for the day. It filled the diaper, leaked out the sides, and was ALL OVER the car seat. How I missed that when I pulled her out, I don't know. Thankfully it didn't get on my white shirt, but now I'll never wear white again.

Boy she was proud of herself. And now I'm completely one thousand percent sure that you NEVER go into Walmart without the diaper bag, and you NEVER EVER go into Walmart without an extra person to go change that super poo or finish your shopping.

And don't wear white shirts.

Music To My Ears...sort of.

So today I had to take a long trek across the great wide state highway with the baby. She did well in the car, but I had a thought as I jammed out to Sia's "Chandelier" and Gemini Syndrome's "Stardust" back to back for the gabillionth time, because that's apparently all Sirius felt like playing on Hits and Octane today.

Is this really the crap I want my kid to grow up on? Songs by a creepy looking possibly albino guy who's live show, was not that impressive, (he really is creepy looking, YouTube, Gemini Syndrome, look it up.) and some about swinging from chandeliers and the lyrics sound as though some one doesn't know what number comes after three?

But it gets better. All of this was followed by, dun dun dun, freaking Jason Derulo. *insert eye roll/face palm here* If you know me, you know I'm no fan of Jason and his songs about trumpets and ham sammiches. I don't like ham sammiches. Maybe if his songs were about tuna salad sammiches, or a philly steak sammy, I'd be a fan.

Anyway, I started wondering, what happened to the days of good music? By good I mean mostly clean, and not saying things like "Disregard females, acquire currency.", except with the f-bomb, and the B word, *Thank you Paige, for that one*, and no auto tune or reverb. Ya know, when you actually had to sing.

Then my thought got deeper.

What if she doesn't like all the classic rock/country/pop/heavy metal/show tunes/Elvis that I listen to? What if one day she tells me "Mom, Led Zeppelin sucks, and Conway Twitty is lame. I will only listen to the Billboard hits, and HipHop Nation on Sirius. By the way Five Finger Death Punch is a stupid band name." What do I do then?! Just let her listen junk about twerking on table tops and driving cars with names that I can't even spell? Or worse. What if she likes Steel Panther? =|. (YouTube Steel Panther, your ears will bleed, and you'll be offended, but you'll get my point.)

This is a real concern. I love music, and I want her to love music too, just not the crap that is, well, crap. I'm trying to educate her young, but she already hates show tunes, so I think this ship was doomed to sink from the beginning. Who doesn't live show tunes? Is this kid even human?

Now I know how my mom felt when I made her listen to all my "noise". And my kid isn't old enough to listen to "noise" yet...Lord help me, my ears hurt already.

If I Could Write A Letter To Me.

I've seen a few of these "A letter to me before my children were born" posts floating around the interwebs. Some of them are good reads, some I just don't care for. But it made me think of what I would go back and tell myself if I had the chance. And honestly, I don't think I want to go back and give myself a heads up of what motherhood or pregnancy is like.

I have no regrets or wishes to have done things differently. I like the surprise, the experience. Don't get me wrong, there were, are, and will be some miserable moments, but that is a-okay with me.

There's something about being a mom, who can roll with the punches that is satisfying, no it's rewarding.

Now, I have been known to be a bit of a thrill seeker, and I like the challenge of doing lots of things the hard way, so maybe the complicated unknown is what is appealing to me. 

But really, what would I say to myself anyway, "Hey, formula and diapers are expensive. Quit your job before maternity leave because you won't be able to afford or find daycare."? These were all things I already knew. So, blazing a trail and reporting back would do no good.

Maybe my mind will change later on down the road, and I'll wish I could go back and know back then what I would know in the future. Or maybe I'll listen to the sage advice my mother is very willing to give if I just ask. But then again, what's a life without experiences and stories, and advice of your own to give?

It's Only Bed Time! These Tears Aren't Needed!!!

Bedtime routines are extremely important for babies. It gives them idea of what to expect is going to happen at the end of everyday. This helps them settle down in the evening, develop a sleep pattern, and eventually they will sleep through the night. Unless they are my kid.

As always I am very lucky my kid is actually VERY content, but the things that make her unhappy, she gets super unhappy about.

Our bed time routine is pretty simple but is spread out over three hours. At the start she wakes up and eats, we jack around and watch tv for an hour, she then lays on the floor and we play then she does a little tummy time, by then another hour has passed so I get her ready for a bath, then jammies, we read a book, I rock her for maybe 5 minutes, then she's out shortly after I put her in her crib.

Simple. Same time every night. Same thing every night. After almost two months of the same thing she should be cool with this. Nope. The first half is fine. But after the bath it's all down hill until she's asleep.

She likes bath time. No problem. She knows exactly what I'm going to do next. She even lifts her head so I can has under all her chins, but once the water is turned off and you're taking her out of the tub, the crying starts. 

It's more like a scream than a cry. Almost like you broke her leg, but all you're doing is wrapping this wiggly, screaming child in a towel. It's HORRIBLE. I'm sure the neighbors hear her and think I'm the worst mom ever. "Hey guys! Don't mind me. Just took the baby out of the bath, I swear. She's totally fine!" Insert a face similar to this one =|.

The screaming continues until she realizes that "hey, Mom put lotion, a diaper, and jammies on me while I wiggled so much you thought I was dancing to a Jason Derulo song." and then cue the "I'M NOT GOING TO BED YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" Cry/whimper flailing mosh pit.

This girl can throw some bows man.

I'll get her all propped up in my lap with her boppy pillow, start reading whatever book it is I picked out and she goes ham sammich. (I'm not entirely sure what going ham sammich is. I just thought it sounded cool, and I like the word sammich.)

Flailing, kicking, the whimper/cry, if she could talk she'd probably tell how she's never sleeping again, and I'm so mean. This goes on for a solid 15 minutes. I just keep rocking and reading to her, and try to address any needs she might have, and then BAM! She gets all limp and I think "GOOD LORD SHE'S DEAD! BED TIME REALLY DID KILL HER!!!" And she sighs and then it sets in that oh she's just sleepy.

All of that to just go to bed. You would think I was pulling teeth because it can be so difficult. And I'm surprised I don't have any black eyes or a missing jugular vein from all the baby violence. I'm sure one day she won't be so against bed time, but that will probably be when she's a teenager, and all she does is sleep....I think I have my work cut out for me. =|.

The Nose, Knows.

I am a pretty routine person. Because of years of pretty much having the same daily routine, my internal clock goes off exactly when it should everyday. I knew having a baby would change my schedule, and I would struggle to get around, and wake up. 

Yea, no, that has not been the case.

My daughter tends to take after me. She sleeps almost exactly 4 hours at a time. She goes to bed around 10pm, wakes up about 2am, sleeps till 6am, then is up for the day and stays awake for a couple hours at a time, and is back to bed at 10pm. This is great and awesome, and I  certainly happy that she is down with structured schedules like me, but I'm now so used to her schedule that I'm starting to get good, deep sleep again.

I'm no sleepy brain doctor, but I'm going to assume that 4 hours is not long enough for a complete sleep cycle. So you can assume that 4 hour intervals poses a problem for waking up sometimes. Now, I've never just not woken up when the baby cries. For the most part my body just knows to get up when it is supposed to, but sometimes it just takes a little longer. Unless she poops.

Her room is across the hall from mine, so I can hear her pretty well, but I shouldn't be able to smell her. Well, I can. Come 6 am every morning, she wakes me up, via smell.

I snap up right, grab my glasses, and tear off into her room, for fear that in the 5 seconds it took me to wake up and get in her there, her diaper has leaked all over her crib, and is now smeared on the white wall beside her bed.  While this hasn't happened yet, one day, when she's more than a month old, I'm sure I will walk in there to find poo flung everywhere. 

Lord help me. 

There are three things I can't stomach well: snot, IV's, and uncontained poop. I rue the day.

They always say, once you become a parent you can stomach just about anything, but they don't tell you about the super human sense of smell you'll develop to protect your walls from being painted brown.

In long (I would say in short, but this post is rather long I feel.), I'm glad she's a good sleeper, and that can now call myself a super human of sorts. I just wish my power wasn't that of smell.

5 Not So Golden Thinks.

I'm sure there's a huge list of good, heartfelt things new mothers and fathers think when they're sweet baby is born. But here are the five not so golden xthings that I'm betting everyone thinks, but isn't willing to admit.

1.) I don't know if I'll love this baby/I didn't fall in love with this baby at first sight.

The first half of this applies before the baby is born, and I'm pretty sure is a common fear. You change as soon as the baby is born, and knowing that can psych you out a little. The second half happens all the time. I know for me it was not love at first sight. They laid her on my belly and all I could think was "That's a cute baby. I just gave birth to that. I'm starving. GET ME SOME FREAKING FOOD." But as soon as I held her, I was smitten. And now I'm total mush.

2.) My life is over.

Wrongo. I'm sure for some, the drastic change is terrifying, and for some they aren't going to change much. Then there are the ones who start fresh. Life really just begins when you have a child. It's a whole new life, not just a new chapter. For me it was like hitting the long needed reset button. I am proud to say a got a second chance to be the best version of me possible, because my kid deserves it.

3.) I'm a horrible parent. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm a failure.

For some parenthood is just second nature, and for some not so much. But there are always days that you feel this way. No, you aren't a horrible parent, and no, you don't know what you're doing. You've never been a parent before, but the baby hasn't had parents before either so they don't know the difference. You're not a failure, just put on a brave face, forge ahead, and fake it until you make it. And you will make it.

4.) I can't stand all this crying.

Believe me, the crying gets to you. My daughter, luckily, is usually pretty content and happy. She doesn't cry much, but when she does, a lot of the time it's in excess, and I feel like I'm losing my mind. And I probably am. But the crying does stop, and what little sanity I had to begin with comes back.

5.) What about me? What about my wants and needs? What about my unaccomplished dreams?

What about you? Your last selfish thought. I thought this about this a lot while I was pregnant, and in the first few days afterwards, but I came to realize, I can still do all of the things I wanted to do. It may take a little long for me to finish school, or be harder to work out when I want, but I can and should still go after what I want, and take care of me, as long as it doesn't harm my family in any shape or form.

I can admit that I've thought all of these, but at the end of the day, or crying, which ever comes first, I remember no matter what life throws at me, I have to do what's best for my family, I have a huge, and I mean huge, support network, I have insane inner strength, and that this is my child, I now know what true love is.

Do You Believe In Life After Pregnancy?

Life before pregnancy was pretty awesome. And now that I am no longer pregnant it's even more awesome. But while I was pregnant, life was terrible. And being miserable the entire time you're pregnant is THE BEST birth control. No more kids for this girl!

Anyway. Before pregnancy I was a very active, routine person. Always on the move, and home life was pretty structured. My life was planned to the freaking minute. An exact science. Not intentionally, I just did the same thing so often, that that's just what happened. 

I did go out quite often though. I like the bar, and I like to dance. I can two step and swing pretty well if I do say so myself. And there's no competition on the floor for my wobble. That is a dance, not my gait as I felt the bar. I also enjoyed fishing, riding fourwheelers, and drinking many redbulls every day. In the big cans. Ya know, the 20 oz cans. Yep. I'm surprised I didn't die of a heart attack too.

Then I got pregnant. I could no longer drink energy drinks, or tequila. I had no energy to dance. And it was too cold to go fishing or ride fourwheelers (I hate cold weather and it was fall/winter.). So I just slept. All the time. And read lots of books. And caught like 15 freaking colds. Which sucked because I couldn't take anything for them.

Then spring came. My blood pressure decided it needed to go through the roof which kept me from doing much, and I smashed my right big toe with a board. That was fun. I for real fell over crying and screaming. It hurt so bad that I also threw up. Normally I handle pain well, but this probably broke my toe. No, it probably shattered it. I developed what I now call "thunder toe". The smashing made my toe stay swollen and misshapen, hence "thunder toe".

Shortly after that I swelled to an unrecognizable form of Alex. I mean I gained like 20-30 pounds in water weight in maybe 3 weeks. I didn't even look human. My chin had chins had chins. But those chins made for fabulous snapchat pictures to my coworkers while I should have been working, but sat in the back on my phone. According to the receptionist at my doctor's office, I looked completely different. She didn't recognize me at my 6 week postpartum appointment. 

Also, my weren't feet at this point. They were like stumps where my feet had been. Sweet grandmother's spatula they were swollen. Did you know your feet could get stretch marks? Yea, me neither.

I'm pretty sure the month of May had about 5,000 days in it. And then the first 18 days of June were like doubled in length. Finally, June 19th came, I went in to be induce and scared myself into labor before the could start my pitocin drip (I'm not a fan of IV's so I had a freak out. Ironic for someone who has tattoos and piercings to not handle a large needle going into a tiny vein in your hand.) My labor was awful, however delivery went perfectly, but that's a story for another blog.

Now my sweet little is here, the swelling went down after a couple of weeks, and my blood pressure started coming down last week. I've also lost a few pounds of the actual weight I gained, because I Zumba my saggy stretch marked butt off everyday. 

I haven't returned to redbull consumption, but I have endulged in a few mixed drinks and a full day on a super fast bike on dirt road with no helmet, because I'm super smart like that. All that miserable was worth it though. And some of it is pretty funny to look back on. I guess there really is life after pregnancy.

Mommy, The Big Cry Baby.

Recently, we have gotten out of our bed time routine. So I decided to start getting back on track, and to move the baby from our bedroom, into her own room. Up until this point she slept in the sleeper part of a pack and play in the corner of the bedroom because I was more comfortable with her being close by for the first few weeks of her life.

I was feeling a little ballsy, so once the baby was asleep, I put her in her crib, and walked across the hall to my room to lay down. I kept thinking "Oh, I'll hear her cry when she wakes up later.", but leaving her in there was making me super nervous. She was fine, sound asleep, but I wasn't okay. 

Once I got in my room, I saw her sweet little empty bed, and immediately burst out in tears. (I think I can attribute part of that to purging all of her little bitty newborn clothes from the closet today. Which also made me a basket case, because mom hormones that's why.

) So I texted my fiancé (he works overnight and was about to go on break.) and told him what my game plan was, but that I was sad and I missed her already.

Then I started trying to justify my emotions via text message to a man who, I'm sure, was laughing at me behind his phone.  

"Oh, I already miss her, and I can't hear her breathe, or do her little sleep laughs or coos, and I am just not ready to let go. Letting go means she's growing up, and I'm Mama, and Mama wants to hold on to her teeny tiny as long as possible! But she's got to learn to sleep in there or we'll have a monster on our hands. I'm just not ready for this!!" For goodness sake, she'd only been asleep in there for ten freaking minutes. And she's a month old. Get a grip, Alex.

And then I ran into her room and got her. I'm surprised I didn't wake her up with all the kisses and hugs and "I love you Sugie!" s. 

Now she's back to sleeping in our room, snoring, a couple of feet away from me. I feel a thousand times better, but I'm also pretty embarassed. I mean come on, moms are supposed to be hardcore, tough. And here I am, bawling because I was trying to make my life a little easier. Such a schmuck!

Are We There Yet?

Traveling with a baby is no easy feat. When they're little, like first born little, it's pretty simple. Pack the diaper bag, make sure they are fed/changed/clothed, loaded into car seat, put the car seat in the car, and you're off. But then they get to being more alert. Which basically means, if the kid was already awake when you started on your trip, they just might stay awake the whole time, or if they weren't, the minute you start to put them into the car seat, their sweet little eyes fill with fire, their legs and arms find a way to connect with your face, and the crying starts. Then it's a gamble on if the baby will stay calm and sleep, or will turn into Reagan from the Exorcist when you get to where ever you're going.

My little one enjoys car rides, just not the seat. Sometimes I get lucky and she sleeps through the whole ordeal. But usually that's not the case. Today I waited until she was fed and changed, but still awake, to put her in the car seat. My reasoning was, "It's almost nap time. She's tired. Maybe she won't fight me, and once she's in there and in the car she will fall asleep.". Boy, was I wrong.

There were only a few cries, mostly from me. She's recently learned she can make noise other than cry, so it was mostly "AHHHK!" "AHHHK!" from her, and a few good sobs and some "Why won't you just let me put your arm through this strap?!" 's. There were minimal slaps to my face as well. But then, in typical vindictive baby fashion, she pooped. So I had to extract her from the buckles and straps, change her, and then wrestle nine pounds of furry back into the car seat. Once we were in the car, she quieted down, and but was awake for the whole ride.

Then we got to our destination.

This is a whole new can of worms.

As I type I'm listening to her cry because: *from her point of view* 1.) I'm tired and Mom spoiled me by holding me until I fell asleep and now I think I always have to be held and she's not holding me. 2.) The ceiling fan isn't on. 3.) My Grandpa's TV isn't HD, so I can't watch Reba reruns and see Van in the way God intended. 4.) Because. That's why.

Every trip to, well anywhere, goes about the same. We get there, she either wakes up, or was already awake, looks around, decides she doesn't like it, and commences on the pea soup puking, head spinning all the way around, "God isn't here today, Priest." crap. It can be pretty alarming, you know when your month old baby sits up from the pallet on the floor, looks at you, and then her head goes ALL.THE.WAY.AROUND and starts speaking in multiple languages all at once. It also tends to scare who ever it is you're visiting, but it's a good party trick if you're entertaining.

Eventually she'll fall asleep, and go back to looking like the perfect little angel that she normally is. Then I'll be able to get some work done. Or if we're visiting someone, they'll start going on about how she's such a good baby (which she is usually), and how beautiful she is, and wow, she has so much hair. I like that part. My kid is freaking adorable. It's funny how long eyelashes, and pretty, long dark hair on a baby can erase all memories of the unholy terror that said baby was just being.

 And don't worry, she doesn't really spew pea soup. We don't eat pea soup in my house. When it's time to go home, I'll have to fight her all over again. Then when we get home, I'll make up for it by letting her watch Big Bang Theory with me, and all will be right again...until we have go somewhere.

Splish, Splash, Aren't You The One Getting The Bath?

Bathing a baby is hard work. Especially if they can't hold their head up, or sit up on their own, but can wiggle every which way. I always worry that I will be attempting to wash my daughter's back and lose my grip on her. Which would cause her little floppy dome to go a crashing into the baby tub, and the screaming would follow shortly after. The girl can scream too, let me tell ya.


Any who, while trying to give the kid a bath, I always find that I am the one getting the bath. Some how I end up with wet hair, soaked clothes, and soap everywhere. Why is this? She's a month old. It's not like she splashes or anything. Heck, she JUST started liking bath time. I'm starting to think I should just get in the tub with her. But that's weird. And I'm a shower kind of person.


Maybe I should invest in a nice pair of waders, or full on rain gear. I should also start training for water sports. I could certainly medal in "mother getting soaked while child laughs". I'd take home the gold even.


In reality, I'm sure my getting a bath while she gets one, is due to a nervous mom, and a floppy, wiggly baby. Here's to assuming that bathing a baby will soon become an Olympic sport. Now I'm off to find some rain gear.

Being A Parent: The Stuff of Nightmares.

Being a parent can be pretty scary. You see, I'm a new mom and my month old daughter is terrifying. Some days are less worrisome than others. I'll think "Man, this is easy!", and then those days will be replaced with no sleep, and the pulling out of my own hair.

Why am I pulling out my hair? Well because my sweet teeny tiny, is a super human strong, nine pound ball of movement. Wormy. Wiggly. DOES.NOT.STOP.MOVING. She's always been this way, even in the ultrasounds we could see how wiggly she was. And I could feel how strong she was by her kicking the crap out of my insides.

This is all good and fine, the signs of a healthy baby. But it makes trying to feed her difficult. Cue the pulling of hair and fretting over the next time you have to hold this child while standing on a hard surface.

You'll be holding her, ready to give her the bottle, and she starts flailing. Head flopping, arms and legs flying, breaking your grasp on her, and sometimes reality. You thought you were holding her securely, and now you're certain you'll drop her. But then, she catches sight of the bottle, and semi-rights herself and starts snorting and grunting for her lunch.

HORRIFYING ISN'T IT?!

Then there's the silly "Hey Mom, I'm suffocating!" noises. Have mercy.

My child, she's ornery, and comes by it naturally. She likes to give me coronaries, the massive kind. She'll wait until we're both supposed to be napping, open one eye, make sure I'm sound asleep, and then proceed to make this horrible noise that is similar to the sound of the sucker straw thing at the dentist, only more alarming. Scares me right out of my week old pajamas. But not to worry, she's not suffocating, and the funny noises are perfectly normal for her age. Something about science and brain function? "IDK, didn't pay attention in health class" applies well here.

I'm very fortunate, my daughter is happy, healthy, strong, eats well, and sleeps well. She just scares the dickens out of me. I know this is just the beginning of the horrifying, traumatic events she'll put me through. But I wouldn't change it for a second. I just hope all this hair grows back.