May 30, 2014

The Front Stuff

It's funny how guys like to tell you about the contents of a baby's diaper, as if you have never changed it yourself...15 times that day alone.  If I had a dollar for every time Grant said, "Hey, come check out how full this diaper is!", I'd have enough for a pack of, well, diapers.
And his own father likes to throw around the word "blow out" a lot, even when it's just an above average enthusiastic toot from our little man.
But the best things I've heard about diapers have come from my dad. 
When we were once deciding whether or not Jack had a dirty diaper, I asked him if his butt smelled.  He replied,
"We have an understanding - Friends don't smell each other's butts."
Fair enough.
The next time he was to babysit Jack I asked him if he'd mind changing his diapers in my absence.  His response,
"Of course not.  But I only do 'front stuff'." 
Luckily both agreements worked out and he only had to deal with the front stuff.  Jack's a considerate fellow.
That actually happened with me and a baby I babysat throughout college.  She was kind enough to never poop in her diaper the entire time I babysat her.  Until, literally, the very last day I was to stay with her before graduating college, she left me a big old graduation present in her diaper.  I, being the mature coed that I was, decided not to ruin such a winning streak and saved it for when her mom got home a little later.
But they say Karma's a bitch.  I hope my first sitter doesn't leave one marinating for me!

May 28, 2014

Si, es la verdad

I now understand why Latinas like to live with their extended families.  It could be because of financial reasons or lack of space, but I bet it started mostly because moms with babies wanted to be able to get the hell out of their houses for once.
I've had the pleasure of staying with my husband's parents and my own parents a lot recently and having those extra sets of willing hands to help is freaking buenisimo.
I'm sure that sounds really politically incorrect.  But I'm just giving credit where credit is due.  Hell, I'd move in with either set of parents if they'd have me!
I used to cherish every moment I had of being alone.  Now that my options are being alone with a baby and an equally as needy dog or being with other people, I'm going to chose those other people 100% of the time.  That way I get the chance to do fancy things like take showers and even go pee pee sometimes!
Te Amo Mi Familia

May 26, 2014

Slam, let the boys take naps

You never  really realize how loud people are until you have a baby that you are trying to get to take a nap. 
I'm officially renaming by husband Slammy and my mom Slamette. 
Watch out doors, they are coming for you!

May 21, 2014

Go the F*ck to Sleep

Pretty much all my life it has taken me a minimum of one hour to fall asleep (sometimes 4), I could never take naps, and never, ever sleep on planes. 
Meanwhile my sister, while never officially diagnosed with narcolepsy, can fall asleep while watching a thriller, nap at the drop of a hat, and might never have actually seen a plane takeoff.
I was hoping my son's sleeping habits would take after his Dear Aunt Nancy.
No such luck. 
Not only has it taken him up to 3 hours to fall asleep on some occasions, he will actually sit there and stare into the monitor at you while you're hoping for him to slumber, like,
"I see you.  I know you're watching.  But sorry, this little guy is still wide awake!"
Have you heard of the miracle blanket?  It looks like a human torture device but the first time I used it he slept 6 hours straight...and then, no more miracles ensued.  He was sleeping 3 hours at a time until a couple of nights ago when he decided to go back to 2.5 increments, just to keep me on my toes and my under eyes black as night.
It looks like it's physically impossible to break out of this thing.  And I truly thought it was.  Until last night, when I woke up to feed him and he was basically wearing a miracle blanket fanny pack, arms free, legs  a' moving, blue cloth just dangling at his waist.  He is like the incredible hulk.  Or the Great Houdini.  But what he is definitely not is a sleeper like his Aunt Nancy.
I also tried a "dream feed" a couple of times and went to bed naively thinking that I wasn't going to hear from the little guy until 5am in the morning.  WRONG!
He chugged the bottle as if it was nothing and then woke up 2-3 hours later for more milk.  He's a hungry little fella!
The only good news about this sleep stubbornness and his fondness for spitting his pacifier out 16,000 times per night while drifting off is that, since I don't have the time or help to exercise for the foreseeable future, at least I get exercise in the form of short sprints every time I race to his room to put the pacifier back in before he loses it.
This will serve me well if I decide to join or flag football team.  Or get chased by an assailant who hates going in straight lines.

May 19, 2014

My Name is Peaches, and I'm the Best

Whenever Jack breaks out of his swaddle, which is like 99% of the time, it reminds me of King Jaffe Joffer from Coming to America.
See the resemblance?
I wouldn't go as far as to say that James Earl Jones's baritone and Jack's high pitched squeal are similar, but there is just something about that shoulder situation that reminds me of the other.
There's also the good possibility that I'm losing my mind.

May 15, 2014

What's slower than a tortoise? A dead tortoise.

My mailman either has a crush on me or hates my guts.  I base this theory on the fact that he rings the doorbell 80% of the time he brings the mail (crush).  But knows that I have an infant that might be napping and a bark that definitely goes ape shit every time the doorbell rings (hates guts).
Usually it's to give me a parcel that is slightly bigger than the mailbox but could easily be left on the front stoop (crush).  But yesterday it was to give me some disturbing news.
"Hey, I don't want to gross you out, but there is a dead turtle in your yard and buzzards are starting to swarm.  That thing is going to smell pretty terrible in a few days." 
I told him I wondered what happened to it because I could see the shell in tact clear as day in my front yard, leading to believe a car was not the culprit.
"I'm not sure but his head is pretty much ripped off."
I was going to take a picture of the turtle for the blog, but no...It's not really the platform for dead turtle pics.
I had the pleasure of telling Grant when he got home that the recycling, trash, and dead turtle needed to be taken to the street for pick up. 
The only person who might have been more shocked upon seeing a casually dead turtle in our front yard was the trash collector who caught a quick glimpse or a turtle cadaver dropping from the large green can. 
Mail time is nearing for today's drop off.  Let's see if he decides to ring the door bell and start a new chain of chaos in the household!  My girl Rosie can baaaaaaark.

May 12, 2014

Beach Week 2K14

This week Jack, Grant, his whole fam, and I are at the beach for a week.  And I have several cute little fisherman's outfits for Jack to wear.
For myself, however, not so cute.  I'm still at that really awkward phase where my clothes "fit" on my body but do not "look good" whatsoever. 
That being said, I am so glad that I'm a mom now so I can wear a one piece with no shame.  It's not that I intend to let myself go and never lose my baby weight or flabby stomach.  It's just that I have always, always, always hated wearing bikinis. 
In what universe is it fun to flaunt your entire body essentially to strangers and friends alike while frolicking in the sand and water - activities which involve lots of moving about and unfortunate jiggling in most cases? 
Maybe the universe in which I weigh 100 pounds and am very toned.  But that is not this universe.
That being said, can I get an AMEN! that they don't hold adults to the same standards that they do babies by giving them a percentage for their height, weight, and head every time they go to the doctor?!  I shudder to think what percentage I'd fall under right now.  Off the charts I might be...
So you might find me in shorts, a cover up, or a handsome summer burka on the beach this week, but you will not, I repeat WILL NOT, see me in a bikini at Wrightsville Beach.  And if by some freak act your do, be sure to avert your eyes.

May 07, 2014

Baby Monitors and their power to control you

It's funny how a single device can be both the most entertaining and most terrifying creation known to mankind...or at least moms.
Depending on the visual you see on the screen, a baby monitor can fill you with a sense of calm and relief, or total terror!
This is what you want to see:
Sleeping like an angel
This, not so much:
Basically jogging in place.
I put the monitor next to my bed at night, but from where my head lays, at that angle I can pretty much just see a general infrared scene on the screen on my bedside table. 
It makes me feel like I'm in the movie Zero Dark Thirty.  But instead of being part of a bad ass group of soldiers that are trying to catch Bin Laden, I'm just an overly sleepy mom trying to catch some more Zzzz's. 

May 05, 2014

Earning My Stripes

It's official.  I'm totes a real mom now.  Jack peed in my eye last night while I was giving him a bath.  Like, directly in the peepers.
We are trying to put him on a "schedule" so it won't take him 2 hours to go to sleep at night.  The bath is part of that ritual.  That desperate, mostly failing, nightly ritual.
Is there anything cuter than a clean baby in a hooded towel?  Especially with a jealous, snuggly little dog next to him?  I think not.
One part of our routine that Jack has nailed down pat is waking up at 7am on  the dot.  You know, waking back up at the crack of dawn every morning isn't exactly the first step in a routine that I was hoping for, but at least he's consistent in something.  And consistently adorable.
That part helps a lot.
As an added bonus to getting peed in the eye, Rosie also threw up grassy liquid all over our bedspread last night. 
It's funny.  I used to dry heave at baby's dirty diapers.  Now Jack's don't phase me. 
I used to hate touching dogs except my family's, now my most favorite time of day is snuggling up next to Rosie at night while she scratches her ass next to my pillow. 
Times they are a changin'.  And my standards are a plumenting.

May 02, 2014

Tips from a new mom to the general public (on asking about sleep)

Never, ever ask a mom with a newborn baby how she slept last night. 
That's like asking a morbidly obese person how swimsuit season went last summer.

The answer will never be satisfactory and in both cases you are libel to get smacked up side the head.

May 01, 2014

Stuck in the 80s

Yesterday must have been a really, really slow news day in Wilmington, NC.  Because this was a feature story: