There Better Be Blood

I’m super tired, and in a super crappy mood. I haven’t blogged for the last few days because I feel like it would be one giant complaint. Want to know what’s bothering me? Here’s a short list:

1. Freaking leaf blowers. Dumbest invention ever. Seriously. A contraption that BLOWS LEAVES FROM ONE PLACE TO ANOTHER. Stupid. Besides blowing leaves from my yard into the street, they are the loudest freaking thing ever. And the gardeners always come right in the middle of Rose’s naps. And wake her up. I’ve officially renamed them the baby-wakers. They are so sucky. Oh, and my dog hates them too.

2. Sirens. Okay, I really do feel bad about this one. But seriously? They wake Rose up more than those damn leaf blowers. I am so over it. So, people, here’s what I have to say; there better be blood. If I find out it is some punk kid making phone calls, I will track that child down. I don’t know what I will do when I find him (cuz it would be a boy), but yeah… And, I officially don’t really care if someone is going a few miles about the speed limit in front of my house. Wait until they’ve passed. Then turn on your sirens.

That should help eliminate any drama.

Yep. My ‘drama’ is all over Facebook. It’s not even real drama.

You know what you guys? I’m going to stop complaining (for now). I feel like a bad person now. Sorry.


10 Months 3 Weeks

She’s independent. She’s Mama don’t cuddle me, I’m playing. I have my books and stuffed animals, and I commandeered these measuring cups, and I am really busy. And then she’s looking at me with those pleading eyes, the duplicate of her father, in a tiny body, with delicate features; Mama; I need you now. Don’t you see? My book won’t open, and my cup is empty. And can’t you see my arms? I’m holding them toward you. But when you pick me up don’t you hold me like a baby. And she’s kicking, and screaming in glee; What mama? I’m a little teapot? Oh, do it again and again and again. And I think that deserves a kiss. A snotty, slobbery, toothy kiss. And then she’s off. Into the cupboards. Over the coffee table. Through the gap between the wall and the couch. She’s Mama don’t give me TOYS. I want a remote. A phone. A spatula. A phone charger or salt shaker. And mama? I’m going to scream when you take them away. She’s all kisses, and few snuggles. She’s a diaper baby. She’s don’t you dare put clothes on me, woman. It is a hindrance to my playtime, can’t you see? She’s daring and creative. She’s climbing over the furniture, dancing on her rocking chair; look ma, no hands. I got this. Just you wait. I’m going to give you a heart attack. She’s I don’t need a nap. Please don’t bring me into that room. Please, please, please. Oh, wait, *yawn,* and cuddle, I guess I could close my eyes. She’s I want to feed myself now. No more spoons. Please, let me use these fingers. Look- I’ll even share (at least what I don’t want). She know what she likes. She’s serve me broccoli again? Okay, THAT’S going to the dog. And so is the quesadilla. I want a flour tortilla. Oh, but keep the cheese cubes coming. She’s sure, I’ll say dog-dog and dada all day long. But don’t even try mama… I’m not ready. Don’t push me, please. She’s my little (surprisingly) independent and daring daughter. She was worth thirty-nine weeks of pregnancy  Thirty or so hours of labor. Two hours of pushing. She’s perfect. Watching her grow and change is amazing. She was worth it. Worth everything. 

Because you can’t walk away with only corny memories of this short post.

Let’s Have Coffee

Hi there, whoever you are. This post is inspired by this girl, and her “virtual coffee date” posts. I love them. They are fun to read, and make you feel cozy; kind of like a favorite book (is that weird?). So, without further ado, go pour yourself a cup of coffee (or tea, if that’s your deal) and sit with me. Got your coffee (or tea, wine, energy drink, water, whatever)? Good. I have a few things I need to tell you, like;

I actually took a picture for this post. Of my coffee in front of the computer. Creative, yes? But then I tried to upload it onto my husband’s computer (that we all use), and I couldn’t. I searched for the cord. After trying two, and of course the right one was the one I used last, I realized that something wasn’t working. Probably my lack of a technology brain. So, sorry, no picture of my coffee. Also, I couldn’t get the Playstation remote to charge on Monday, which meant I couldn’t watch Downton Abbey. So, yeah. Win one for technology.

I want you to know that some days I feel like I have this Motherhood Shit firgured the fuck out. And some days? Holy geez, some days I get all up in my head, and by the end of the day I’m all; “OH MY GEEZ, WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING? WHY DID THEY LET ME OUT OF THE HOSPITAL WITH THIS BABY? SOMEONE WAS SERIOUSLY NOT PAYING ATTENTION TEN MONTHS AGO! I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I’M DOING.” Today is one of those days. Yesterday I had my shit together. Today; nope, not at all. What am I so worried about? Naptime; when do we switch to one nap a day? And can we avoid that? I rather enjoy nap time these days. Another worry? Weaning. We’ve moved down to three nursing sessions a day, but is that okay? And is she getting enough food? It was so easy when all she needed was the boob. And when I knew that half her food wasn’t ending up in the dog’s mouth. Any advice?

You should know that, the reason for the naptime questioning is that yesterday she napped for almost three hours during her morning nap. When I put her down for an afternoon nap SHE WAS NOT FREAKING AMUSED. She did not sleep. Eventually, I took her out of her crib, got in our bed, and after some fighting it, she took a thirty minute snooze on me. It was so sweet because she never sleeps with me anymore. So. Freaking. Sweet. Plus; I got a nap too- EVEN SWEETER.

Oh, right, that’s why we never nap together. And why we don’t co-sleep.

The third thing we need to talk about? The fact that I am so confused about Rose’s first birthday. I am actually having a mild anxiety attack about it at the moment. Living in this Pinterest world as we do, I see so much crazy stuff that mothers do for their children’s first (and second, third, fourth, etc.) birthdays. I totally make fun of it. Like, all the time. My sister-in-law and I laugh about it on a daily basis (practically). And yet… I really, really, really want her to have a picture perfect first birthday. Because doesn’t she deserve it? And don’t I? And, I mean my mom always had adorable birthday parties for us… don’t I owe it to her to make a perfect party for her only grandchild? The only problem (besides the fact that every free moment from now until March 2 will be spent on this party) is that I am notoriously non-crafty. In my family, we all have our thing that is a source of ridicule. Mine is all the craft projects that I started, only to give up in complete frustration partway through (yes, family, I know, I remember the cross-stitch candle incident). Or I would get bored with said project, and abandon it for a much more enticing endeavor, usually reading a book. So, my lack of craftiness will be a problem. I mean, should I even bother?


Sorry. I couldn’t stop at just one. I have issues.

One more thing. And this is really, really a  serious issue. I can’t wash our sheets because the dog is always on/ in our bed. And she looks so comfortable, and I just can’t move her. I’m not that mean dog owner. No, I’m the dog owner that lets the dog have the run of the house. Dog Whisperer, Shmog Whisperer. Whatever. That wasn’t even funny.

Yep. We let this happen. Every. Single. Night. This is the real reason we can’t co-sleep.