The Breakdown Vomit

It has been awhile since my last post.

Mostly because I haven't had the time. 

Let me explain.

My daily commute is almost 4 hours total.

But I love my job, so I do it. Moving closer isn't an option.

And lately, I've been on the verge of a mental breakdown. I can't get things done. I think about all the things I could be doing while commuting, and it makes me crazy. 

I don't get enough sleep. Mostly because of the pumping schedule. So first move, get the pump out of the equation.

If you know what it's like to quit pumping breastmilk, you know that probably added stress instead of removing it. And pain.

Being in th cerve of a mental breakdown is like vomiting. You know you need to do it, but you don't want to, so you keep trying to hold it off. But it's inevitable.

So speaking from some advice I received, you can either vomit and miss the bucket (and end up cleaning it yourself of gettin it on someone), or you can tell someone you feel lousy and let them hold your hair back and nurse you back to health. 

Let someone take care of you. I know as mommies (or women in general) we feel the need to be strong and shoulder things alone, but don't. Not with that. That's what other mommies are for. Because they totally get it. They've been there and they are willingtonhelp however they can. Let them.

The Food Repurposing

My husband and I got into a plastic food fight the other night.

Yeah, we're THOSE people.

The Milk Analysis

I've been pumping breast milk for ten months now.

The end is in sight. The finish line is SO CLOSE. At least once a day (ok, every time I pump) I consider quitting right then and there.

But I don't. It's only another month and a half. 

Do I feel an obligation to keep going? 

Yes.

But it is my decision to feel this way. My decision to save money on formula and give our daughter all the best things breast milk can do for her. My decision to lose weight(what a happy side effect)! My decision to keep going for all the mommies I know that couldn't do it. Because if they could have done what I have done, they would have. Because they respect the mommies that can do it, and still choose to stop. 

THOSE are the mommies I keep going for.

But I am so very tired. I want to sleep through through the night without waking up to pump. I want to stop awkwardly borrowing offices at work and carrying that backpack back and forth. I want to stop planning trips and schedules around pumping. 

And someday, I'm sure I would love to SLEEP BRALESS. 

SO CLOSE! I CAN TASTE THE MARGARITAS NOW!

The Eavesdropping Juxtaposition

We take turns getting Anna up from her naps. Occasionally I like to eavesdrop on my husband over the baby monitor...and have not been disappointed by the cuteness factor. (Which is already very high anyways. My husband is FRELLING adorable in all manner of speaking. Anna is too.) 

Today he went up to get her while I was cooking dinner. This is what I heard:

H: "Does Mommy have stinky feet? Does Mommy have stinky feet?"

A:"Yah!"

Let the mutiny begin.

The Parent Distraction

I've been crying a lot lately. 

Not because things are going awful. Things are great, thanks for asking,

Probably because it's Anna's first Christmas, and all the sappy movies are on and Christmas music is playing EVERYWHERE. And you get grateful for all you have. 

But that doesn't mean awful things don't happen. Children go missing, parents pass away, grandparents get sick, or any combination of those. Or you read scary books about zombie apocalypses where people give up their children to strangers in order to save them. 

All in all, once you've become a parent, you see the world VERY differently. Things are a lot scarier. Potential disasters are more often than not brought to the forefront of your mind, regardless of how impossible they might seem (you know, like zombie apocalypses. C'mon, you've all considered what you would do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. For the record, head for a prison. Apparently it is your best bet.)

All those stories about parents losing their children really seem to hit home, especially around the holidays. And you wonder, but don't wonder, what it would be like to lose a child. Who would you be? Are you still a parent if you lose a child? How would you react? What sort of person would you become?

I hate to think it, but I would probably become a sadistic version of the Hulk. 

Seriously. 

So I'm going to hug my little one a little closer tonight and thank heavens I have her!

The Princess Potential

We've had so many little boys visiting lately and playing with Anna's toys. 

But the favorite has to be the princess castle. 

Among the notable princess interactions:

The Princess Party:

Apparently just Aladdin and all the ladies.

Dinner at the Wagon:

Batman and Superman dine with the twin Cinderellas and Jasmine. 

The Police Lineup:

Please have your IDs ready.

And my favorite:

The Princesses and the Justice League meeting. Villains welcome.

The Diet Supplementation

I think I'm getting more carbs than usual.

Anna's recently started eating those dissolvable puffs that come in a gazillion unnecessary flavors (peach? Really?). When I take her out of her high chair, there's usually a few that she dropped or missed. So what do I do?

What any parent does. 

Eat em!

I'm not about to walk them back to their container across the room. No way. Even those peach puffs. Yum (mostly). 

Time to hit the gym to burn those extra six calories.

The Working Complexity

Pumping.

One of the most awkward things ever, both to do and in conversation. One of the worst parts is finding a place to pump. Especially at work. Where you don't have an office. And have to publicly ask others (granted, offices of other moms that have done what you are doing) to use their office and could they please take a coffee break you'll even pay for it just lock the door on your way out K thanks.

Most awkward place? Bosses office. Weirdest? Waste management plant. Not the grossest, though. I found out my sister in law pumped in a bar room bathroom once during my bachelorette party.

She must REALLY like me.

And I just had to chat with a coworker and friend about it. One of the moms in her preschool class really wants to meet me (I did her a teeny favor once). Like really wants to meet me. And asks each class to meet me. The coworker has politely declined, bunlet it slip once that I can't meet during that time because I'm pumping. How do I know? Said mom called me to register her son and again expressed the desire to meet me...but mentioned she knew I was pumping during the class and thus unavailable.

Talk about freaking awkward.

Ugh. Now when I do meet her she'll just be looking at my boobs. Great.

I suppose it could have been worse. Could've been a dad. Yikes.

The Princess Postulate

My aunt got Anna a Disney princess castle before she was born.

When we moved in, we finally unpacked that sucker (mostly because I wanted to play with it) and all the additional princesses and princes and superheroes we had bought along the way.

The sucky part of it is only the princesses work-none of the princes say a thing! And only the favorites are represented: Cinderella, Snow White, Belle, Jasmine, Rapunzel, Tiana, Ariel and Aurora. Only the Beast and Aladdin are represented on the prince side. And why the Beast? Ariel doesn't still have her fins at the end (or as her plastic self) so why is the Beast still a Beast and not Prince Adam? Not fair.

When do the other ladies of Disney get their chateau? Some little log cabin or condo for Mulan, Megara, Merida, Giselle, Jane, Kida, and Pocahontas? Some of which are more brave and noble and noteworthy than the princesses who didn't follow directions and slept through half their adventures.

Anyhoo.

So I put the princesses and any corresponding princes in their respective rooms in the castle. Naturally Anna pulls them out, one at a time.

For some reason though, Snow White is always kicked off Princess Castle Island first.

Maybe she doesn't approve of her lifestyle of living with seven men?

The Epic Return

We are back! 

We are moved into our new house. We have Internet. The government is running (sort of.) 

I love this house! Things aren't quite in order, but one of my favorite parts is. 

Yes! Let the reading begin!

Oh, and blogging.

The Hiatus Situation

This blog has been temporarily put on hold due to the government shutdown.

And us preparing to move into our house. And Internet troubles.

The Smart Choice

I wrote this blog to be funny, but also to be serious. I want it to be real.

Lots of women talk about how stupid their husbands are. I may allude to it, but mine is not stupid at all.

In fact, he may be a lot smarter than I give him credit for.

We used to play volleyball as a family--the four of us and D. See earlier posts for a family tree.

We don't anymore because D won't play with my brother or my sister because they take the game a little too seriously. 

I overlooked it for awhile. It didn't bother me as much. I stopped playing when I had Anna. And started back up four months after she was born.

My brother's attitude had changed. He was nicer, more supportive. It was enjoyable. We won a trophy. Until he started classes for work and had to skip games. 

And then my sister took aver.

And we got into a fight during the playoff game. Granted, we were short players and had only one guy, but still. I resisted. I won't go into details, but I finally broke and told her to shut up and stop talking to me.

I didn't say it very nicely.

But I realized why my sister and husband were reluctant to play with her.

Because she brought out the worst in me. I came to play, to have fun. And I was having neither. I was mad, and swearing. I hated it. What if Anna saw me like this? It's not even a real trophy and we don't get to keep it! 

So I decided it's not good for our relationship to play with them anymore. As much as I love to play. I love her more. It's better this way.

The Lazy Mommy Moment

When you are so lazy you don't want to go to the 7-Eleven for milk, and seriously consider using your own breast milk in your cereal.

The Jargon Alternative

They say we become our parents.

Well, maybe.

I find myself saying phrases that my mother used to say to me. How when she gets mad at us, she calls us by our first and middle names. Or her French response when we ask her when we are going to do something. (In the week of three Thursdays. Which means never. I don't know how to type it in French, only say it.)

I was also an 80's child.

I grew up in the 80's and 90's, and spent most Saturday morning with Saturday morning cartoons. And afternoons during the week with cartoons and TV shows. Gummi Bears, Captain Planet, Nickelodeon, My Little Pony, Care Bears, Ghostwriter, Tale Spin, Rescue Rangers, Looney Tunes, you name it. I actually watched Spaceballs before I ever saw Star Wars (and was quite disappointed when my dad put on A New Hope when I asked to watch "the movie with the guy with the big helmet"). To this day I can't watch that alien coming out of the stomach in the diner scene.

Anyhoo.

I find myself using phrases and songs from my childhood in my life now. I quoted in an email just the other day to a colleague that "the choice is yours!"

I sang the theme song to Gummi Bears just the other day. My husband's Pandora is set on Toddler Radio.

Sometimes I go a little off base.

For example, today I was in a "glass case of emotion." Anyone? Anchorman?

Also out of my mouth this week "Oh captain my captain."

And my pride and joy? "Shiny."

Apparently I'm getting a little too old, or a little too nerdy. Or both. A trait I can only hope Anna picks up on.

Oh well.

Time to dive into Firefly episodes and Captain Planet. : )

The Small Stuff

How does it go?

"Don't sweat the small stuff,"

Well, you try not to as a parent.

Unless, somewhere along the way, you took a corse in microbiology.

And then, you sweat the small stuff. The micro sized stuff. Not just the stuff kids can choke on.

The germs.

Now I'm ok with the basics. Snot, sneezes, they happen.

But food germs.

Gross.

I am the one to throw away the smelly sponges. After someone washes baby bottles with them. And I have to wash them again. Or when you realize the drying rack for said bottles is under the paper towel holder. Or when someone puts the bottle brush brush down in the sink that has just had raw chicken in it. Or puts the semi cleaned cutting board that said chicken was cut leaning over the clean bottle nipples.

I want to vomit just thinking about it.

I need a shower. Of Lysol. STAT. 

The Flirtation Phenomenon

Anna has been eating cereal and a fruit or veggie for dinner each night.

And each night, without fail, she ends up grinning and cooing at the freezer.

Not at her reflection, but at a dog magnet.

When she crawls, she immediately smiles and goes straight for the dog.

At least someone in the house likes that dog.

OK, i love her too.

As long as I don't live here.

The Mixup Mistake

It's finally happened.

Granted, at six months old, Anna doesn't do much that is yell-worthy.

My mom's dog, however, does.

And yesterday, as I was feeding Anna, I mixed the two up.

I yelled Anna's name at the dog, and then tried to get Anna's attention using the dog's name.

Twice. In a row.

Neither seemed to mind. Except me, who facepalmed some baby peaches into my hair.

Time to start taking evening showers.

The Pet Peeve

In retrospect, the title for this post should have gone to The Dog Dilemma.

At the moment, it refers to the little things that for some reason make you absolutely crazy in the head in ten seconds or less.

Like my husband.

God love him, but when the man washes dishes, or in this case, breast pump supplies, he has no sense of style. Or smell.

I asked him a few days ago if he could please wash the equipment. I wash it every day, at least twice a day, for almost seven months straight.

I'm a little sick of it.

I ask my husband to do it.

And he does.

And i go to the bedroom to do my thing, get all set up and realize that all the parts smell like dirty sponge.

#1 Gross

#2 WTH

#3 i know he has a poor sense of smell, and though this has occasionally worked in my favor for the odd toot or forgotten deoderant, this just makes me crazy!

The Song Revelation

Some songs are very meaningful. Sometimes a song takes you back to an old memory, buried in your brain and dragged to the surface where it hopefully reminds you of a good time I your life.

Happened to me twice today. Once was Gloria Estefan's "I just want to be happy", which brought up memories of evacuating four hurricanes in a row, car trips to Tampa, sleeping on a carpet, and dancing to this song over and over with. Bunch if college friends and one of their (mostly) sober moms.

Another song reminded me of one of those college friends. B was just my height, crazy smart, crazy opinionated (but funny about it) and was par of a group of the same nerdy friends. We dated only briefly, and remained friends. About a year later he confessed to us his deepest secret: he was gay. 

Now I've told this story (the extended cut) many times, and have occasionally gotten laughter or mockery at the fact that I was his last girlfriend before his confession. 

I mean really. Even if he knew he was gay then (and he did) what does it matter? It's not embarrassing to me at all. Maybe I helped him realize what he really wanted. Maybe as a group we finally made him feel comfortable enough to pursue true happiness. Whatever it was--we're both happy now and that is what counts!

The Dog Dilemma

We are still at my mother's house.

They cannot build our house fast enough.

My mom went away to Florida for a week. I was alone with Anna and the dog while the husband was in Texas. All went ok, and I felt like a superhero balancing baby, work, and dog needs including feeding, going outside, eye drops, incontinence, and insulin shots.

Whew.

And then the hubby came home and things were a bit easier. 

Until Thursday night.

When we had raging thunderstorms. Anna slept through them fine...until the whining dog woke her up. And continued to whine ALL NIGHT. So as a family, we accumulated about eight hours of sleep. 

Needless to say, I did not go to work on Friday. 

Now while I can deal with incontinence, shots, and gross eye drops, what I can't deal with is an inconsolable dog and no sleep.

The raging beast of sleepless nights had returned. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. A LOT. I yelled in whispers. I threw pillows. I threw an absolute tantrum after trying EVERYTHING. She wouldn't eat or lay with me or cuddle or lay down. 

My stance in getting a dog has changed. Because I can't deal with a dog that gets up and whines more than my infant child does.

I'd rather have a maid.