Tell Mama

I give up.

I surrender.

My white flag, a pair of granny panties haphazardly attached to a lonely old mic stand, waiving high in the air.

A symbol of defeat, a symbol of sadness.

A symbol of  old identity and new identity coming together as one sad, pathetic, almost middle aged lady wondering where the hell her tube tops and the boobs that used to look so fabulous in them went.

I tried. i thought I was better than this. I thought I could run faster than the flames of time that were lapping at my reflection as I pondered my new wrinkles, the new gray hair, my droopy bosom, and the weird ugly blood vessel spots on my face.

I wanted to break the mold. I THOUGHT I COULD REMAIN HOT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! CHILDREN BE DAMMED!

But now, I just weep.

Laser treatments, hair color, facial masks, Spanx and Victoria's Secret can no longer mask what I know to be the truth.

I am a 36 year old mother.

And I wear yoga pants.

I'm too tired to go out.

The thought of going  to a loud club or bar after 10PM makes me want to hide inside my own uterus.

I want to stay in with my daughter every Friday and Saturday night.

I don't care that my husband wears t-shirts that say " Maris street block party 2002"

And I need wine. Lots and lots of wine.

Pale Shadow

Saturday morning I'm laying in bed, I think it was around 6AM or 6:30AM. Georgia is awake and cheerful as usual.

"DADDYYYY!! IS THE SUN UP?"  SHe jumps out of the covers and climbs up on Chris. ( yes she sleeps with us). I'm still shocked! 

"Yeah Georgia, the sun is up!" Chris says back to her.

"That means it's AWAKE TIME! HORRAY!"

I'm just laying there like, OMG I could sleep for 5 more hours. This day can't be this exciting yet. Blaaahhhhh. Chris then asks Georgia if she wants to go downstairs, and surprisingly I hear her say, "No, I want to lay with Mommy. 

Awwwww, how totally adorable.

Zzzzzzzz...

 My eyes are still closed but I roll over for a little snuggle time. We were just laying there and I'm thinking she fell asleep. I feel like I am going to fall back to sleep, when all of a sudden I feel her little hand on my face. My eyes pop open and Georgia is GAZING at me. I mean like the most loving gaze that has ever looked upon these jaded eyeballs, and then she whispers, " Mom, you are my best friend. I am so proud of you." 

I was just...I can't even explain it. 

Okay, I am going to try to explain it.

Now, one would think that after an encounter like this with my two year old that I would have died and gone to heaven with Georgia... floating away on a cloud of love, with ice cream, unicorns, and glitter shooting out of our butts, but I actually experienced the opposite. 

It was like a cold bucket of TERROR had just been dumped over me and I wanted to grab her and put her in a little bubble that only I had access to. I wanted to save her  from everything. From growing old and dying. I felt sad and guilt ridden that I brought her into this shitty world,and terrified of the hurt and heartache she will undoubtedly encounter. 

I love Georgia so much that I want to die. It aches, it hurts, it terrifies me, it makes me feel out of control, and sometimes I can't breath.  I have no idea if other parents go through this feeling if crazy, but im guessing yes. It actually really sucks. 

To help me cope, I have to look on facebook and see pictures of my friends "being normal" with their children, or walk to the playground and be around other parents who are not standing guard ready to battle any raindrop or wind gust that dares come near their child. 

My importance in her life weighs heavily on me. It's huge to me.  It's the biggest deal ever. 

Everything about being a mom, from my positive pregnancy test, to this feeling of terror, has totally stunned me. At one point in my life I thought I did not want children. 

Um...Yeah ...so that was right up until I got that positive pregnancy test. 

Anyway, maybe being unprepared leads to these out of control feelings? 

 Blah. 

It's so scary...raising a child. I'm just one  ripped open, vulnerable, mess of a woman. Like, in an instant I became everything I spent years protecting myself from becoming for anyone. 

I can't think about it often. But I do sometimes. 

Do you? 

Sleeping Angel

According to parenting books, advice online, and  live feedback from others, I've done a disastrous job at forming good bedtime habits for my daughter. 

I admit, I took the lazy approach to bedtime, and did not stand my ground when Georgia began to protest right around the time she turned 2, mostly due to us taking away her binky.  Before that, putting her to bed was a dream most of the time. A story and a smooch, she was good to go! We never really had that sleep deprivation that people speak about when discussine new babies or newborns. Yes, the actual newborn age was hard, but it was not because we were not getting enough sleep.

So anyway. back to my lazy mom story. In March/April right after Georgia’s second birthday, we decided to quit the binky cold turkey...it was hell for three days. Like seriously.  My fist mistake was telling Georgia that I lost it.She frantically started searching under couches, in her toybox, in cabinets. "Mommy, please! Help me find binky!" she desperately cried while looking under the couch. I couldn't take the pathetic, sad look on her face. I LIED to her and she was asking for my help. Me. Her mother. The savior of all things gone wrong. 

My heart broke with guilt, and I desperately looked around for someone else to blame.

Um....sorry Buckley. 

"Georgia, it is not lost. Buckley ate it. I did not want to tell you, because I did not want you to be mad at Buck"

She stared at me, and I swear a moment of almost relief came upon her face..as if maybe there was a chance for her to find it!

She marches over to poor clueless Buckley.

"Buck, why you eat my binky?  Hey Buck, get my binky out of dere!"

Buck just licked her face, and she sort of gave me the side eye. I could tell she was mad at him. Oh brother!

"Mom why Buckee do dat?"

"It was an accident," I say.

"Member when I had accident I pooped in the bathtub?"

Great! An out to this binky conversation!

We being talking about how accidents are okay, and how they happen sometimes...blah blah blah...binky was forgotten for the day. 

But not at night.

Oh. My. God. The SCREAMING.

Georgia has never been a screamer. I can think of about 3 times where she had a real honest to god toddler temper tantrum. Usually when she is grumpy, she just TELLS me she is grumpy and asks “to relax on the couch”  

Relaxing on the couch consists of pillow, milk, and blankie, and mickey mouse clubhouse. We’re good to go from there.

So anyway, Chris and I were not used to this kind of behavior. We brought her in bed with us on the first night without binky, and just held her while she screamed and screamed, and screamed for hours…and hours… and hours…

"I’M GOING FOR THE BINKY RESERVE!" Chris yells at me over the wailing. I'm like crying  at this point because I don't know how to calm Georgia down and I could tell Chris was really upset which was making me more upset.

"NO!" I yell back.

‘ DON”T DO IT! JUST HOLD MY HAND!! WE’LL GET THROUGH THIS!!!”

Chris nods and we both just close our eyes and try to drown out Georgia's horriffic screams. "“MOOOOMMMMYYYYYY MY BINKKKYYYYY PLLLLEEEEASEEEEE MOMMY MOMMY HELP MEEEEEE HEEEEEELP MEEEEEEEEE!"  

hiccup hiccup, violent cough from crying so bad.

Jesus fucking christ? Where is the goddamn binky?

I jump up. Chris grabs my arm.

"Stay down! We'll regret it in the morning! JUST STAY DOWN!"

"DAAAAAAAADDDYYYYYY MOMMMMYYYYYY AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" ' AHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH    HEEEEEELP..........!!!!!!!"

Then. Darkness.

Now it is dawn. Birds are chirping.

I peek open one eye. Georgia is sleeping. 

I look at Chris.

He looks at me.

We survived the first night without binky! Yippie.

So anyway, this exact same scenario happens for the next two nights. Ungodly screaming. It was never like this when she was an infant. It totally sucked ass.

On the fourth night, when I am rocking G and reading her story she puts her hands on my cheeks and says " Mama, can I sleep in your green room again?" 

I tell her yes, but remind her that there are no more binkys in my room. 

"No more binky. Buckley ate dem". 

Humm...this seems promising. I take her in my room and we fall asleep together.

And now, almost four months later, to the horror of good parents everywhere-my child sleeps in bed with my husband and me.

Now I can see where people are like WTF, she never slept with you and now you’ve gotten her into this bad habit at 2 years old.  I've even had a NON MOM shake her head at me and tell me this was "not good"

Here is the thing. What was really ( because let's call it what it was) a lazy attempt at parenting-I was too tired to deal with  the binky sadness, and screaming, has turned into the sweetest part of my life.

I love having Georgia in my bed at night. We pretend we are getting on a spaceship, we put on our pink space suits, we hide from daddy under the covers, we sing songs, we butterfly kiss. She seriously looks at me and goes, "mom, lets talk" and demands that we share a pillow. We pretend we are birds, we pretend we are butterflies. One night I told her to close her eyes and use her imagination to see Aunt Nancy's farm, and now she loves to "use her magination" to go to the beach, the farm, Grandma's house.

She is only two. I am NEVER EVER EVER going to get these years back. I have no idea what our future holds, and I cherish every freaking happy or sad minute I have with this girl and I want to desperately to remember it all, I wish that she could remember it all, but I know she won't and  I know I won't.

What I CAN hope for is that she remembers a feeling. A feeling  that I am lucky enough to remember. A feeling my mother gave me when I was REALLY little, probably around two or three. I don't remember specifics, but I remember lying in bed with my mom and feeling safe, and loved, and snuggled, and warm. Jill and I would fight over who was snuggling better, who she was looking at, who's arm she was rubbing. I remember loving my mom SO MUCH, and she was right there next to me, and it was the BEST FEELING EVER. 

I can’t force Georgia to remember any of this, or to think it is special, or  to cherish it.

 But *I*do. And  the "experts” and internet are really missing out.

When Georgia is 15 she is going to beg me to go to sleepovers, she is not going to want to hang out at our home or with me, and I am thankful that my decision to co-sleep with my daughter came out of  my laziness and need for sleep.

 

Whistle While You Work

I've spent two years in battle, and I cannot subject myself any longer to the exhaustion.

Not motherhood, not being a wife, not work, no diets to speak of....no. I have given up on KEEPING MY HOUSE IMMACULATE.

Now,I know that sounds stupid. I have a child. There is going to be shit (literally and figuratively) everywhere. It's just taken me two years to come to terms with the fact that my house is going to look like babies r us threw up everywhere.

I admit, before I had children, I winced when I would see a messy house with toys and shit thrown everywhere, crayon on the walls, a potty in the middle of the floor. i would think "holy fuck, those are some lazy ass people! Pick up some damn toys!"

Okay, well actually I never thought that, but it sounds very dramatc for this post-so I am going to keep it! In reality I only sort of thought that. If you remember, when I was looking for a jumperoo I searched high and low for a wooden or neutral colored one so it would match my furniture, and I have fought the good fight when it comes to toys in big, loud primary colors, disney character outfits, and princess shit. I've refused to give in to it, every night I was cleaning the crap out of my house putting everything just so, pottery barning my mantle, making sure my dining room table was catalague ready, vacuuming and mopping the hardwood floors every other day, and putting toys away so it looked like a child did not live in my house. I couldn't stand the clutter, I HATED how my house looked,  and I wanted to rip my hair out everytime I saw a dumb plastic toy on the floor.  

Fact is, I indeed have a child..who likes to play with toys. And a dog who sheds everywhere. And a dining room table that sometimes doubles as a laundry table. ...I just couldn't keep up. I tried. Seriously I did.

Also- has anyone noticed that all little girl toys have been totally trampified since we played with toys? Georgia has a Cinderella doll and she has on a mini skirt and has those big cartoon hoe eyes that used to be reserved only for Sailor Moon. And her My Little Hoe-nies..ahem..I mean PONIES. They are skinny, sexy unicorns with slut eyes. What happend to sweet Bluebell and her big ass? Even Minnie is more glamorous (Is that possible??).  I'm all for glamour and everything, but really am having a problem with all this little girl shit being sexified. I really didn't care about it when Georgia was born, and I do not have a problem with her doing girl things like playing dress up, or being a princess or wanting to have a tea party...but I don't get why my little pony is now ponirexic haand looks like she sticks her hoof down her her throat on a daily basis. Or why I saw a bathing suit for a 2 year old with a deep v-neck and cutouts at the sides?

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my house looking a mess, but seriously Toy Company CEO-get a grip! Stop tramping up the girl section will ya? There will be plenty of time for that in 20 years. But not now.

On a somewhat related note, Georgia pretends to shave her legs when she is taking a bath and asked me to wear make up. I told her she could wear make up when she turned 13, so when Chris came upstairs she said, "Daddy I am almost 13!" I'm sort of excited for that.

So anyway, that is my update. My hose is a mess, I still like to drink wine, I still wear my bootie shorts, and I still love 1977 Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. 

 I'm still me except I'm a mom.

In Your Easter Bonnet

So I have been totally been getting SCHOOLED in the "daughter clothing department" throughout my first two years as a mother.

When I first envisioned bringing Georgia home from the hospital, I envisioned it to be something along the lines of a movie premier. Me, in a fabulous outfit, baby weight gone, holding my beautiful daughter in her first, very expensive dress from some store that I really can't afford. Flash bulbs going off, people crying... hysteria of new papal announcement proportions!!! I had seen my friends pictures on Facebook... eyes gleaming, holding their newborns, family by their side...out of the hospital and on to experience all of the GLORY that is motherhood!

Um..okay. What the fuck. That is not what happens. or that is not what happened to me anyway.

First of all, when I envisioned going home from the hospital, I did not envision wearing a HUGE maxie pad the size of P-Diddy's yacht, nor did I expect my stomach to look so totally disgusting. I also thought I would be able to at least put some make up on and do my hair.  And that someone would be ready with a camera to document the epic event.
Fail, fail, fail in all areas. My glamorous "going home" outfit was not to be. My hair was in a wet bun, and I was in my fucking pajamas. At least they were new.

On to Georgia's "going home outfit" It was from an adorable children's store called Dimples and Dandelions. It was like $80. The hat had an adorable flower on top, it was white, it looked so snuggly and NEW!!  My daughter would be seen as the most fashionable girl leaving the hospital. Mothers would look at me with wonder. "how is she so fabulous for being a new mother?!"
Not. She shit all over the white outfit within 4 seconds of wearing it because I did not put her diaper on correctly or something. She went home in a normal onsie and some pajamas. At least THEY were new.

Okay, now on to my hospital exit ( I know this part is not about clothes but just..I have to describe it) . It basically went like this.

Girl who did not want to be at work: Do you want a wheelchair?

Me: Um...I don't know.

Girl who did not want to be at work: SIGH (LOUD)

Me: Do people usually have wheelchairs?

Girl who did not want to be at work: Sometimes

Me: Um...that is okay. I can walk.

Girl who did not want to be at work: I recommend you get in the wheelchair.

Okay I get in the wheel chair. Now, about those "leaving the hospital" pictures. There needs to be someone to take them.

No one was there.

I was just like, wheeled out to the parking lot, holding my new baby in the car seat, terrified to put her in the car, Chris was terrified too and no help at all. We were like deer in headlights, the "girl" was just like "See Ya!" when we got to our car.

No outfit. No pictures. No postpartum glow. There was also a snowstorm. i was wearing Chris's puffy jacket.

$80 down the drain for a poop stained white outfit that no one ever wore.

Okay..you would THINK that I would have learned my lesson. But no! For her first Easter, I go to Janie and Jack and purchase her first Easter dress. Again, around $80.

Now you have to remember, at this point our budget had not really been affected by having a child. Mostly everything we needed was given to us at our shower, so to me running in Janie and Jack and purchasing a dress was NBD. I'm all like, "I don't understand why EVERYONE doesn't shop here! "

I seriously said that out loud and thought it, and I am embarrassed to admit it. But I'm being totally truthful. I like, thought that was going to be our way of life. Shopping there for every little sock.

Anyway. Georgia wears the Easter dress. She is in it. It's a little big, and it looked cuter on the hanger, but again, I am such a good mom because my child is STYLISH.  I pat myself on the back.

Ten minutes into Easter, she pukes. She craps. She screams. Exploding diarrhea everywhere. I am in the bathroom with her. I don't know what to do. Where do I put her? Can I put her on a floor? Do I need to find a changing table? how do I change a baby that is projectile vomiting?I put her in her pajamas.

Not a shit in sight after that.

Okay. Now let's move on to our trip to Cancun. She is 9 months old during this time.

I buy her an "airplane outfit". Ralph Lauren. I am sure you know what happens next.

 The pilot is getting the cabin ready for landing. Flight attendants are collecting drinks. I hear a bubbly fart sound that sounds like it came out of the bog of eternal stench. I take Georgia and run to the bathroom. There is a line. The people let me go ahead.

OMG I was sweating my girl balls off. I'm in the airplane bathroom. If I was worried about putting her on a regular bathroom floor, what the fuck am I supposed to do in the airplane?? OMGG ALL THOSE PEOPLE IN LINE!! Georgia is screaming her face off. I rip off her shitty Ralph Lauren "airplane outfit" and ...toss it in the trash can that leads to I have no idea where. There is shit all over her. Again. I have paper towel, baby wipes, she is shitting in mid air. I am trying to clean up the bathroom. I'm yelling "I'm so sorry" to whoever is left standing in line. I wanted to D.I.E.

i come out. No one is in line.

"It sounded very stressful in there, so everyone just sat down." A lady pats my hand and says to me. I must have looked like totally horrified, because another woman said, "Don't worry, we have all been there."

Airplane Outfit Fail.

Bathing Suit Fail.

I forgot to bring her Christmas dress to mexico. So I don't even know what would have happened, but okay another $50 down the tubes.

So then we are finally past the exploding shit phase. And she is crawling. YAY!!  She can wear her nice clothes!! No wait...boo. She is drooling all over everything. And her clothes are filthy because she is on the floor all the time. And learning to eat solids. Baby food all over the place.

OMG it just goes on and on.

I DID have success at her first birthday. I bought her a lovely outfit. She wore it. No mishaps. There are pictures...however I decided not to press my luck, and started shopping at thrift stores for clothes. You can get the good brands and over half price, she wore them once, and I didn't feel guilty. I was learning to budget...yes I envisioned everything to be  Pottery Barn , Janie and Jack, when now my reality was becoming Target and Thrift Stores. My own shopping habit was dwindling due to finances. I was shopping for things on SALE. ...this is a big deal for me.

But still! I could not give up my need to make my child pinterest ready! Now she can walk! I can dress her up the way I want! MUHAHAHAH.

No.

"I WANT THOMAS SHIRT!" I WANT YELLOW JAMMIES!! NOOO FANCY SHOES!! BAD DRESS! NO TIGHTS!!"

She wants to wear the same damn shirt every day. She hates all of the dresses I buy her.

She wants a Minnie Mouse Dress.

I buy her all these nice clothes, and she wants to dress like a fucking mouse.

FML.

Is it you, or is it me?

Um...Okay. So remember how I was talking about Christmas, and how I wanted it to be special for Georgia, but I wasn't sure what to do about the religious part, I want her to partake in all cultural traditions, not have it all be about presents, blah blah blah. REMEMBER? REMEMBER WHEN I SAID THAT?

Okay... well.... Fuck that.

I have just spent all weekend gleefully buying Christmas presents for my daughter myself and have not given one thought about the true meaning of Christmas, or what Christmas means in other countries, or that it is important to know that the world is made up of different nationalities that celebrate all types of holidays.

Nope! I got a load of the American Girls doll collection and BAM! I am hooked! Matching outfits? Limitless accessories? A doll salon in NYC? Here you go honey!

Pink retro kitchen? YES PLEASE! And if you have a pink kitchen you need pots and pans to cook with, and fake eggs, milk, fruit, and other such important condiments that go in the kitchen. And a shopping cart to put all that shit in!

And while we are at it, you are at an age where Mommy would like to make you her walking fashion billboard, so here are some pink uggs* and faux lepoard fur vests for you to roll around the dirty playground in!

Oh also-I would like for you to start your singer-songwriter career THIS YEAR, so here is a guitar. I know you are only 1 year old, but seriously, it is never to early to begin your path to stardom.

I don't know what all of this means about me. Probably that I am going to be one of those mothers who lives vicariously through the posessions of my child.

Awesome.

*Fake Uggs

Think About It

So I'm in the shower at 5:15AM this morning trying to figure out what is so great about being a parent.

I'm in the shower at 5:15AM because darling daughter decided at 3:30AM that, "Hey servants! It's time to get up!"

I tried everything I could to get her to go back to sleep.

"Me rock-a-bye" (that means rocking chair) We go to the rocking chair. Rock for 1.2 seconds.

"Me head in mommy pilloooowwww" We go to the bed, I try to lay her on my pillow. Lasts less than 1 second.

"Me go Gee-Ga's hooooouse." 

Translation: Gee-ga= Georgia. Gee-Ga's House=downstairs in our house. I have no idea why she calls downstairs "Gee-Ga's house" but whatever. That's what it is. And anyway, um NO we are NOT going downstairs at 3:30AM. People are still coming home for god's sake! I am not waking up before  professional partiers go to sleep!

Temper tantrum ensues. I lay with her on the floor. Chris is somewhat helpful. I give up. Chris takes her in her room. I am not helpful at all.

The much hyped phrase, "Go the F**k To Sleep" enters my mind.

I get it.

I wonder why people become parents. I wonder what the point of parenting is. I wonder why so many people can't wait to have these small crazy people run their lives. I wonder why I didn't notice I was out of shampoo.I wonder why I say to people that becoming a mother is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. Because falling asleep in the shower blows.

 While not rinsing and repeating, I think of the pumpkin patch. And how I always thought that going to the pumpkin patch with your kid ( or anywhere that you would never go without a kid)  would suck. And how much it didnt' suck.  I thought of how excited she was to see pumpkins. And how she picked out her own two pumpkins to take home. And how proud she was that she picked them out. And how she freaked out over the chickens and goats and said, "Hi Chicken. Hi Goat. Me Gee-Ga."

I thought about how she loves to tell me her numbers and letters because she knows I will be proud of her. How she caresses my face and says, "Nice Mommy". How we eskimo kiss, and how she pretends to fall down so I can act all wacky and yell "MY BABY FELL" in a southern accent.

 And how she grabbed me by the knees and said, "I yuv you mommy. Awwww mommy"   

I don't understand how anything that sucks so bad can be so wonderful at the same time. I'm exhausted. I'm a bag of nerves.I know I am going to worry the rest of my life. I go to sleep at 7:30PM almost every night. I haven't read a book in 19 months. My husband and I literally have been out alone  about 4 times together... A wedding, 2 dates, and a Bruce concert. 

Yet I would crawl through fire for my child. I love her with my whole entire heart and soul. I think about not having her, and I die inside.

 If someone else told me about my own life, I would tell them NO THANK YOU.

But I feel like I am the happiest I have ever been. Except when it sucks. Which is a lot of the time. I don't get it.

Do you?

Don't you bring me down today...

So I am going to write about something, and it is a sort of sensitive subject to people, and it is a subject that I am not really comfortable writing about, but I've been reading a lot of blogs "from mother to daughter" and a thought popped up. I can't let go of it, even though I keep telling myself that I am being ridiculous for even thinking this far down the road, I can't GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD.

Okay anyway. I am a lover of blogs. I read a lot of them. A common theme among mommy bloggers is the message to their daughter: Love Yourself. Love your Body. Don't play with Barbie-yeah tha last one is stupid, but whatever. It's out there.

I have never had body issues. Like for a hot second in 7th grade I wanted to be really tall with big boobs and hips like some of the "cool girls" in school, but by 10th grade I loved my little frame and have never had any issues since. I have stayed the same weight-maybe got a little thinner after high school. No food issues, no bikini issues, no sir not here. I get the occasional "go eat a hamburger" comment from people, but at 35 years old that is such old news in my life it doesn't bother me at all. Okay no body issues. I've always been skinny.

Now- on to my face. From 1st to 7th grade I HATED my face. I thought I was the biggest dog around. I was actually cute when I was little, but there WAS serious woofin going on from about 12-15 years old. But again, , I was over it by 10th grade. I was content with being 'pretty enough". Definitely better looking than a good portion of the population, but also there are lots  of women who were/are prettier than me. Fine. I will  never be a soft, whimsical raven haired beauty with eyes that sparkle like the sea- but I could get a date. And with serious professional make up and airbrushing-I am STUNNING (see airbrushed wedding photos) Now, when I look bad, I look BAD. I am not the type of woman who would look cute in rock climbing gear (um, like I would ever wear that), or when I wake up-but you catch my drift. With a little help of Clinique-I am good to go! Bring on the Men!

Okay-back to my face. I have always (even when I thought I looked my best) HATED my nose. It's big, "roman" "prominent" whatever the F you want to call it. My mom did a good job of telling my I was beautiful, and that it was a "striking" feature on my face, but of course I have been called elephant nose, been told I would be super hot if I had a small nose, ( and my favorite from countless little children) WHY IS YOUR NOSE SO BIG? One time a crack head hooker got mad at me because I did not give her money when she asked me for a dollar, and she was like, "Bitch you need a NOSE JOB" Um...yes, that happened to me. I mostly took it in stride. It did not have an effect on my social life. But still. It was troublesome and something I thought about often.

So what I never experienced on the body end, I have experienced on the face end. You can't make your nose look skinny by wearing black, you can't diet or exercise your nose to make it look better. People had no problems telling me about my nose, which I always found strange. I would never tell some of these people that they had fat thighs, or cow butts. Why was it okay to be mean about my nose?

I had rhinoplasty in 2007. To fix my nose. That I hated. I was tired of "loving what god gave me." One day I was just like, "I fucking hate my nose." And I went to see a plastic surgeon.

Okay-you are probably wondering where I am going with this.

So all of this leads me to this question regarding my daughter, what lessons I am going to need to teach her and what kind of role model I am going to be.

I have no weight issues. If Georgia does, I will not even begin to know what to do.  I mean, my mom was skinny and never talked about weight but I was too, and so were my sisters, so it was a non issue in my house.  Like a NON, nothing, I didn't even know it WAS an issue, non issue. I didn't even know people ever thought about their weight, until one day in high school I went out with some friends and they both threw up on purpose before we went out. I was SHOCKED.

Okay and also, I've had plastic surgery. Now I was 27 when I had it, and paid for it myself, but what kind of role model is that? I mean, I didn't go into having rhinoplasty intending to be a role model, but what if Georgia hates her nose too? I can't tell her to live with it, because I chose not to. I guess I could say, "get one when you are 27" But how is that helpful?

The thought of her being unhappy with herself breaks my heart. Like literally rips to shreds. She is so funny and confident and happy.  I want to violently murder any pain that will ever enter her soul. However, having been a teenager, and knowing other teenagers, the pain is bound to happen. I want to be prepared. But realistically prepared. And it seems like moms these days are starting early. Banning Barbie from my house is not going to really teach any lesson except to hate people who look like Barbie and yes-you do run into those people in life so better to be okay with them at an early age.

So anyway, part of me is like screw this. I have nothing to worry about. There are worse situations to be in. Like, how is Madonna going to explain her SEX book to her children? Or maybe she doesn't. Maybe she says "Do you like your fancy clothes, fashion lines, private schools, and brand new cars? Then shut up!"

So this is what I am thinking about. It never would have popped into my brain, had I not been reading what all the other moms are thinking about. But I did. So now I wonder...

Do I just tell Georgia to mind her own business when it comes to me? What if she has an eating disorder? Will it be my fault? What if she hates her nose? What if kids are mean to her? What if SHE is mean to other kids?

 WHEN DO I TALK TO HER ABOUT BIRTH CONTROL???

AGGHHHHH.

ABC...easy as...123!

HI. God, I've been busy. Well-kind of busy...you know vacationing and all of that nonsense. I have missed you. And missed writing in my blog. So here is the 411.

I said the words VACATION, but what I did last week had nothing to do with vacation. It was more like, staying at home with lots of children at someone else's house. Which is fine-this past week was for the kids and the grandparents for sure. Georgia had a blast, and uh, can I talk to you about HOW MUCH she is talking? Like we have real conversations. Sort of. I mean, they are conversations, but kind of like the conversations you have in Spanish I class in 8th grade. 

Hola, Me llamo Teresa, y tu?

Hola me llamo Juan. Donde esta tu lapiz?

Um...No me gusta bilar.

(Uh...what? dancing? We were just talking about pens!)

See, what I mean? There is conversation going, but not much vocab flying around

 Now, with that  amazing example of Spanish out of the way, here is a typical conversation between me and Georgia.

Georgia: Hi Mommy

Me: Hi big girl

Georgia: HAHAHAHA. Hi big girl

Me: Um...yes, hi big girl

Georgia: Me big girl

Okay.... (weird silence)

Georgia: Me highchair. Me have bluebberys in chair. 

Me: okay I'll get you some blueberries

(She points to my wine glass)

Georgia: Mommy wawa!(that means water)

My internal voice: Fuck! She thinks the wine glass is my water!

Georgia: Mommy wawa. Mommy wawa. Awwww mama. (hugs)

Me: i love you

Georgia: Doggy good boy. Good boy Buckley. Blueberries? Blueberries?

Or let's take it back to dinner last night when no one was talking because we were all stuffing our faces with pizza.

Georgia: Mommy poop.

Alrighty then.

Footprints

I don't want to write too much, because it is not my story to share, but a close relative has been in and out of the hospital with her baby since he was born in february. He just had his second open heart surgery this morning.

When our babies cry for 24 hours straight, or refuse to sleep, or throw up in our mouths when we are kissing them, or poop all over those nice white pants, or throw cereal on the floor and then purposely hit us in the face with her toy phone ( ahem...that would be my baby) just feel lucky.  Babies are supposed to do those things. Mommies are supposed to be exhausted from night time feedings, and colicky babies, not from being in the hospital because their baby is in surgery.

We need to say a million prayers for the mothers who have gone to hell and back for their babies, big and small. I've been sitting here with a knot in my stomach all day. I can't imagine how she feels and I am not going to pretend to. Did I cry when Georgia was a newborn? Yes. But I was crying for myself because it was hard. It seems so stupid now. I guess that is what I want to say. Like, what was the big deal? My baby was being a baby and doing normal baby things. I almost feel guilty.

The mother and the baby I am thinking about were meant to be together. She is his mother because she is strong, and someone knew he was going to need her from the minute he was born. They are very lucky to have each other,  and their story is just beginning. There isn't much for me to do except offer my prayers,  and admire her strength. This is what parenting is about.  Being selfless. She hasn't complained once. She is a great role model for us all.

So grease my knees and fleece my bees...

Today my baby turns 1.

I just can't get over it. I can't get over how fast, yet how slow this year went. I can't get over how awesome it was! Sure, there were nights, (especially in the beginning when I was figuring out how to breastfeed) where I remember praying "Dear God, Get me through this...let this stage be over," but for the most part, Georgia has been a fabulous baby! She has slept through the night  since she was two months old, so we never really had the sleep deprivation that I was so nervous about, we did not ever once eat microwave popcorn for dinner, and even though of course we get in stupid arguments, my relationship with my husband has gone to a whole other level thanks to how we've learned to work together.

 Working full time and having a new baby has been hard emotionally, and the physical part of it IS exhausting, but to me the pros outweigh the cons. Smiling, walking, kissing Buckley, kissing me, bath time, story time, learning new words, it's just been a joy, people. For realz.

I've stopped obsessing over myself and what it means to be me. I no longer contemplate my purpose on the planet, or worry that I am not living up to my potential, or worry that I am not doing what I am meant to be doing. That is not to say that I think I was born to be a mother or that motherhood trumps all, it's just that I'm so busy, that I don't give a fuck anymore. Do you know what a RELIEF that is to have that off of your plate? WoooHooo! I have something to think about besides what cool, awesome thing I am going to do this weekend, worry about what cool, awesome thing everyone else is doing.

That said, I've refused to let myself go all the way to the other end. I've tried to find a good balance. To some, it is a badge of honor to let your stretch marks hang all out  and to be covered in vomit in order to show you are a good mother(and I am basing this statement on articles and blogs I have read.I have no idea if anyone I know IRL thinks this), but...I couldn't get down.That terrified me. I think in order to keep your sanity you have to keep some pieces of your former self Now, I did wear "yoga pants" when Georgia was a teeny tiny baby ( and let's be real, if you aren't doing yoga, they are sweatpants, so actually let's just stop calling them "yoga pants") but that was because I also had to wear those ginormous ice packed maxi pads after giving birth, and there is just no way to look cute while wearing those big boats.

So, yes, it was a pajama-fest for a month or two, but I always made sure they were cute pj's and that I showered every day, brushed my hair, and had a little make up on. I would bring Georgia in the bathroom with me in her bouncy chair. Did I scar her for life because I wasn't in her face 24/7 reading "Goodnight Moon" and taking a shower instead? I don't know. She slept most of the time, so I actually don't think she gives a shit. I did this for no one but myself. I'm happy I did it.

I know it sounds like I am contradicting myself, when I said I stopped caring, and then I talk about how I made sure to shower and put on make up every day, so I guess I mean this: Throwing on some lip gloss to make the day brighter is not in the same category as feeling like a failure because you did not end up in a field where your originality and creativity take the world by storm. I'm just happy I'm over myself. 

Chris and I also became a real team. I mean team with a capital T! For a while, I felt like we barely spoke to each other because we were so busy learning how to be parents, but neither one of us felt resentful. We just knew that we were in the same boat, and chugged along until we figured it out.  Even though I leave the house by 7:30AM,our morning routine is so awesome now that we have 15 minutes to have coffee together before I leave. This may not seem like a big deal to you-but I feel as though this is progress! This is getting it done and then some! We cook dinner together every night, he cleans, I do bath and story....yes I pass the fuck out at sometimes at 7:30PM, but whatever. I would never trade Georgia for a bedtime of 10AM. What would I be doing anyway? Reading?

Who am I kidding? I would be at "happy hour until 1AM". A baby is better than happy hour.

The one thing I will say that has sucked, is my anxiety level has hit a new high. When I actually let myself get lost in how much I love her, I freak the fuck out- I have to look at my friends' pictures on facebook and know that they love their kids just as much, and they are getting through the jungle of parenting without putting their kids in bubbles. That is sometimes the only way I can calm myself down.  I am thankful for social media, and for all of the pictures, and status updates because it puts motherhood into perspective. I don't feel alone, and I feel confident that I can get through the terrifying moments-because of you, reader!

My life changed a lot, but I don't feel like I lost myself in a sea of diapers and vomit. I am a mother, but I am also still Teresa. Just a new and improved Teresa, and I have my beautiful Georgia to thank for this!

Waav. True Waav.

I am woken up by little sounds. Little sounds that fill my "new mom" soul with relief that everything is okay. At 6AM on the dot, Georgia Grace is telling us that she's hungry. I sit up and peek in her room. 

She doesn't cry really. It's kind of a whiny noise.  Chris gets up to make her bottle. We take turns- I did it yesterday morning, so it's  his turn today. We've gotten good at this parenting thing. He goes into her sweet pink room, and I hear the cheerful "Hiya!' come from my little baby's mouth in between hungry whines. She now knows that "Hiya" is a proper greeting, that we clap when she says it, and she loves nothing better than to get us to clap and praise her when she does...just about anything.

It's our usual morning routine. She has her baba in bed with me, while Chris walks Buckley. I feel guilty for half a second that Chris has to walk the dog in the freezing cold while I get to snuggle with our sweetie, but as soon as she turns towards me, my guilt is replaced with glee, and I kiss her cute little face, and feel proud that she can now hold her baba herself.

Her adorable eyes are open. I wonder what she is thinking about. We smile at each other. She gulps, gulps, gulps like a big girl. I decide she is probably thinking about food, while I am thinking about love. I compare her to Buckley. Then I uncompare her to Buckley. Then I remember I have to go to work, and I silently curse. Having 10 days off from work has totally spoiled me. I missed her so much yesterday and I dread leaving her today.

Georgia finishes her baba, and tosses it aside. It cracks me up when she "tosses things aside". She is making decisions. "I don't want this anymore!' It is so funny to watch children start to process thoughts and opinions. Or maybe, it is so funny to watch my own child process thoughts and opinions. I remember when you were a little seedling in my belly, and now you toss your bottle aside like you own the joint. In a way, she does own the joint.

She sits up, looks around, and then falls forward and belly crawls towards my night stand.I usually have some of her toys sitting there or books...shimmying over to Club Nightstand is usual business, and I get ready to hand her some toy that was laying there waiting to be drooled on. She usually crawls over me to get to the night stand, so when she puts her hands on my chest and tried to scoot upwards, I think nothing of it.

I give her a helpful push up, she is on my chest, and I expect her to crawl off of me towards treasure.

LAND HO! There is the nightstand! Give me my toys servant!

Instead, Georgia stays on top of me. She puts her cheek on my chest, her hands grab my hair, and with a low, almost throaty, sob-like whisper, she says,

"Mama."

She pats my cheek.

Lump in my throat. Ache in the pit of my stomach. Tears in my eyes. A choking gasp.

She is thinking about me.

ME!

Bad Mom

Hello and Happy New Year! I could never be a professional blogger because I'm down to writing once a month. I do have a good excuse though. I started my new job and I've been EXHAUSTED!  A new job is very stressful and combined with taking care of little G, I can barely keep my eyes open. Everything is working out fabulously, I really like it, and I'm happy I decided to make the switch. That's all I'm writing about work, because blogging and work don't mix.

Now on to the love of my life. Georgia Grace. She is 9 months old now, says "Mama" and "Dada". She points at objects she wants, and has great control when picking up things and switching them in her hands. The doc says this kind of baby work is ADVAAANCED. Yes, I was annoyingly proud that the doctor said this. She claps her hands, says "HIIIYA" when you enter a room, gives me a hug when I say, 'Where is my baaaaby?" And she french kisses me when I pucker my lips. I want to melt into a puddle each time she kisses me. It actually makes my heart hurt, and sometimes I wonder how parents  survive this kind of love. It is the biggest kind of love-so heart achingly beautiful and scary. I don't know how else to describe it.

Christmas in Cancun was really fun. Not very relaxing, as far as how you relax when you don't have children. But relaxing in the I have kids an can't really relax kind of relaxing. I would never want to go on vacation without Georgia. I would miss her too much. It doesn't matter that my life is not my own. I've grown up so much this year, become less self-absorbed and more self-satisfied. I love being Georgia's mama. Everyday I thank the stars for sending me my perfect little babe, and wonder what I ever did to get so lucky to get to be HER mom.

I hope she one day feels lucky to have me as her mom. When I think about what a big deal I am going to be to her over the next 18 years, it gives me chills. Parents can make or break their kids in some cases, and I never want her to feel lonely or unloved, or bad about herself.  Obviously, I know most parents go into parenting with these goals,  but I don't understand how their view changes as their children get older. Do they forget how HUGE there role is in shaping their children? Once the sweet baby face is relpaced by an annoying acne faced 12 year old, is it easy to forget everything you pledged on the day of their birth? 

 I guess only time will tell. I will not be concerned with that now. Right now we are into going to playgrounds, reading stories, watching Barney.  Ugh kill me now, the kid loves Barney. My granny let her watch it one day while she was babysitting.  At first I was horrified-not about watching television, but actually horrified about Barney.  And then I'm like, "I've never even watched Barney. I just think I'm SUPPOSED to hate this Barney who I have never seen"  So then it was all confusing, and I decided to watch an episode with her to see what was up. She laughs her ass off. Seriously, it is so funny. She screams and laughs, and points( in a very advanced fashion) at the television. Who am I to deny her such fun?  Plus, Barney shares and helps people, and sings. Georgia LOVES music and dances andwatching other children so whatever.

Yep, Georgia and I watch television together every once in a while. Bite me, haters.

                                                                                             ( Role Model)

Ommmmmm....never mind!

Um okay, does this look obnoxious?



It's on the little table right when you first walk in to our living room. Chris says he is embarrassed to have a picture of "just him" and thinks it looks, um, obnoxious-which is why I ask. I don't think he minds THAT much because he only made one funny (half joking) comment, and I haven't heard anything else regarding the photos, but I'm curious as to what everyone else thinks.

First you should know that I have four other wedding portraits in the living room.  One 8x10, one on ginormo canvas (I forget the size), and a 5x7 and 4x5 on our mantel plus these two individual 5x7's. I have two more 5x7's I want to hang up, and I've also framed our invitation. Is this overkill? Not to mention, my wedding album is on display in my dining room for anyone who is forced asks to look at it. 

I loved our wedding so much. I loved every detail, every moment.  I had the BEST, most fun day ever. So looking at my photos makes me happy. It's my house-so I can put up whatever pictures I want, but at the same time, I feel like I'm a few steps away from weirdoville.

I know my wedding was only a year ago, so it's still fresh, but I am wondering, do you guys have wedding photos all up in your house?

Anywho, moving on.

I was just reading about some Victoria  Secret Model who just had a baby, and she is still nursing and pumping for her 9 month baby, blah blah blah she is so awesome.

Okay. She does like one photo shoot for 3 hours a day or something and get paid twenty zillion dollars, and I'm supposed to commend her for still nursing? (FYI, before we go any further, no one is actually asking me to commend her. I am just defensive because I had to go back to work and couldn't swing nursing/pumping...so somehow I am going to make this the fault of a Victoria Secrete Model). I work 40 hours a week! Bite Me!

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes. Miranda Kerr. Fuck you and your breastfeeding pictures. You have a nanny, and a butler, you are married to Orlando Bloom-who is way hotter than UGGS spokesman Tom Brady ( take that Giselle!) and you still get to nurse your baby. I hate you. I hope your boobs sag to your knees when you stop breastfeeding.

Haha. Rant over. Actually I don't care, but I really was annoyed for half a second until I remembered my policy of not being jealous of people who have lives that are 100% unattainable. I will never be a Victoria's Secret Model. I never could have been one, so there is no point in being jealous. 

I'm like, jealous of my neighbor with really nice hair who goes to yoga every night after work. She always has on the cutest workout outfits, and walks all around the neighborhood with her pink yoga mat. She probably eats organic every night, she probably doesn't drink, I'm sure she does not have pubic hair, and I bet she has never drooled over D&G sunglasses because labels and material items don't matter to you when you do yoga because you are so self satisfied.  Bitch.

See, I could do yoga every night maybe if I got my shizz together, but instead I'm obsessed with hanging airbrushed pictures of myself around the house.

I think if you do yoga, you also look airbrushed.

Screw You Guys, I'm Going Home

So before Georgia was born, I was 100% sure that I was going to get her ears pierced before she was a year old. I was TOTALLY sure. If not only for the fact that I think babies with pierced ears look cute, but also because I couldn't stand people who said things like, "When she is old enough to CHOOOOOOSE earrings, I will get her ears pierced." As if our babies have any choice in anything we are doing to them at this age.

"Excuse me baby, would you rather wear this pink Barbie getup that screams 'PAGENT!' or this non-descript green outfit that screams,  'I AM TRYING VERY HARD TO MAKE MY BABY GIRL LOOK LIKE I AM NOT TRYING HARD.' "

Your baby can't pick the outfit at this point. You are picking it for her. You are choosing to either make her wear pink, or green. See? One is not better than the other.

This was my beef with the whole "she will choose to pierce her ears" argument.  Babies can't choose anything. A mother is still choosing for her NOT to pierce her ears. Duh. Now if I heard something like, "I don't think it's appropriate for babies to have their ears pierced" well, I could get down with that. It makes sense. It is the mother's opinion, as are all facets of baby fashion. So waiting until "she can choose to pierce her hears" has always sounded dumb to me.  That particular argument made me want to pierce Georgia's ears ...like, as some kind of hair flip, flip the bird, flippity doo da or whatever to people who don't agree with me on this subject. Baby with her ears pierced ! HA! TAKE THAT!

And now? Now that Georgia is a real, live, person.Now that Georgia is 7 months old? Do I still want to pierce her ears? DO I???!!!! WHAT DO I WANT TO DO REGARDING THIS VERY IMPORTANT DECISION THAT WILL CHANGE MY DAUGHTER'S FUTURE FOREVER?????

 I want to wait until she can decide for herself.  Well I'll be damned! Put that in your pipe and smoke it TT!

I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World

So. I did not get the Bright Start Activity Jumper Pretty in Pink , or the Fisher Price Rainforest Jumperoo for Georgia. Nooosireeebob. As soon as I got to the "jumperoo section" of Target, I was all of a sudden in some kind of  weird mommy-mode. Think of Frankenstein. Or Mr. Hyde.  I twitched three times, and all of a sudden I was like 'MUST...FIND...BIGGEST... JUMPEROO, WHAT-IF-HER-NON-EXISTANT-BABY-FRIENDS-COME-OVER-AND-LAUGH-AT-THE-LITTLE-PINK-JUMPEROO? MUST...GET....BIGGEST....ONE. 

Yeah, super gay. But anyway we picked the baby Einstein Musical Motion Activity Jumper. Not the most expensive one or anything. It was around $90, but it seriously looked like the most fun out of all the jumperoos! OMG-am I really having this conversation with you?  Ugh. Yeah, anyway it was straight out of babies-on-acid or something (does that make me sound cooler?). It was so craaaazy looking. I quickly got over the decor issues, and decided that this was the perfect one for Miss Thang.  Here is a picture of all of my baby shit in my living room. That is my sweet nephew Jules testing out the jumperoo for Georgia.



Please excuse this photo of me. I look horriffic.

AAAAALL that stuff is Georgia's. OMG how did babies SURVIVE in the 70's ( I say 70's because that is when I was born) without this crap?

No wonder I am so mentally messed up. I didn't have a Baby Einstein Musical Motion Activity Jumper! GOD MOM!  You must not love me or something. You probably let me play with knives! Just kidding.I know she didn't let me play with knives. I was barely allowed to touch anything. I know for a fact I wasn't allowed to use those little plastic scissors when I was in kindergarten. We ( Jill and I) were going for our kindergarten orientation or whatever, and the principal was like, "Okay twinnies, you can go play arts and crafts while I talk to your parents."  Jill and I look at the arts and crafts center, look back at the principal and say in stereo, "We're not allowed to play with scissors."

OKAAAAAAY. Losers. We also hated baby dolls because we were jealous of them. We did like regular dolls though. Just not babies. I loved my Annie doll...and my Annie wig. I would seriously wear the big, red Annie afro outside, and sing and shit and try to get the neighborhood kids to be in my musicals. They were all like, "um, no way freak." Humm..and we always liked Barbie.

I really don't have a problem with Barbie. She is fit, and so what if she has a boob job? And really, as a child I never even though twice about her figure when I played with her. I thought she was pretty, her best friend was Teresa, and she had a kid sis named Skipper (whose boobs were NOT big) and a cool pink car. And a horse. And a hott boyfriend.  Seems fun to me!

I know that as a mother to a little girl, it is my responsibility to teach her not to be obsessed with looks, and pink, and shit like that. There are all kinds of articles out these days about how if your daughter likes princesses as a little girl, she is TOTALLY going to be working the poles as a young woman so STAY AWAY FROM PINK!

Here is my thought on this. When somebody starts telling our little boys that they can't like blue, to stop playing football and toy trucks, and to make them go to ballet class instead of soccer-then I'll listen to these stupid people and their hatred for Barbie. But until the  little boy/girl gender  argument is equal...blah...sorry. I have ZERO interest.

There is nothing wrong with being interested in fashion, hair and make up. Do I want that to be Georgia's only source of happiness? No, absolutely not. But I don't find it necessary to cut it out of her life either.  Fashion is fun!  And seriously, Barbie is smart AND fashionable. She is a pediatrician for God's sake! SHE IS HELPING CHILDREN! LOOK!



If  Georgia comes to me one day and says, "Mom, I want to paint my room black, pierce my nose. And oh by the way, this is my new girlfriend, Jane,"  I will buy black paint for her room, and invite Jane over for dinner.  I might tell her  that the nose ring looks stupid, depending on the size and everything, but she can still pierce it if she wants.  I do not expect her to be the most popular-pagent star-with-the-quarterback -boyfriend type of gal.  But also, if she likes Barbie, I am not going to make a big stink about it. I liked Barbie.  And just because you like pink and barbie  and cheerleading doesn't mean you are automatically a vapid bitch.And just because you like fashion doesn't mean you are stupid. I've known some really ugly people who were NOT into fashion at all who were really stupid.  And I've known some really mean girls who played other sports besides cheerleading. And of course, I have known girls who like pink and who are vapid and bitchy.

Spoiled, bratty, bitch, stripper comes in all shapes, dolls, colors, and sports. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no alibi!

So Little G can now roll from her stomach to her back, and then back to her stomach. She is so smart. I am arranging a meeting with the Princeton Admissions Committee as we speak.

Ugh. Okay. I know this makes me sound like a total asshole, and I admit that this is really selfish and snobby... but I can't STAND how tacky and ugly all of the baby gear is. Like, it makes me want to hyperventilate .  Seriiiiiously! I've been avoiding buying a jumperoo or exersaucer because, well, they are SO UGLY! I can't stand looking at them. I hate how they look in people's houses, and specifically, I hate how they are going to look in my house. I have not even looked at one for Georgia because when I see them they make me feel like bugs are crawling all over me or something.  But now our baby doc says she is ready to jump and exercise to her heart's content, so I am going to have to take the plunge.

My living room is already becoming baby central. When I was pregnant I was like, "None of this shit is  going in my beautiful Anthropologie decorated living room!"  Baby toys will not match my beautifully painted walls (colors consisting of "Haunted Melodies" and " Medium Terracotta" )  A pack and play does not belong near my magazine worthy mantel, decorated with faux Pottery Barn flowers, various Lenox ...um...crap, and airbrushed wedding photos of moi-captured forever in  Monique Lhuiller picture frames!

 Joking. Sort of.  But seriously, I like for everything to have a cohesive look. I have really worked hard at styling my house, and the exersaucers that are out there, are just, um, no. They look like rainbow bright took a shot of jager and them vommed all over everything. I was searching and searching yesterday for a nice "neutral" colored exersaucer, but was then schooled by my mommy friends on facebook that " THE BABY LIKES PRIMARY COLORS, DUMBASS!"

Of course this makes sense. I'm sure I am not the only mom who thinks they are ugly, and doesn't want them in their house. Of course there HAD to be a reason that EVERYONE had these ugly pieces of plastic in their living rooms. I guess I am just going to have to get used to the fact that for the next few years, primary colors are it, yo.

I don't mind the stuff that is lying around right now. I've gotten used to it. There is a pack and play (a very nice neutral brown color), her swing which is "sea green" (remember that crayola color?), and her play mat which is light pink, sea green, and a yellow color that reminds me of spring and bunnies and shit.  Her little bouncy chair is a nice light pink, and  her little toys are all mostly white and pink. Okay, I can handle light green and light pink. I can handle the fung shui of my furniture getting  "out of order"  for her swing and chair.  They are nice, calm, colors, and Georgia always looks very peaceful in all of these apparati.

Peaceful or not, I will have to deal with the exersaucer/jumperoo/whateveritis. The two that I find the least offensive  are the Bright Start Activity Jumper Pretty in Pink or the Fisher Price Rainforest Jumperoo .

Which one is uglier?

Shut up already

Okay, so, am I missing the big deal about baby wearing? I didn't realize it was a "thing"  that people who are into "natural" parenting do? Why is baby wearing considered part of natural parenting? And why is there such thing as natural parenting anyway?

I baby wear, I love it and think Georgia loves it to, but can someone explain why other mothers use baby wearing to define their parenting style? It's just a mode of transporting your kid. Just like cloth diapers and disposable diapers are there for your kid to poop in. Why do people make it into a big fucking deal? Blaaaaah. Baby wearing ( wait, I didn't even know it was called this until three months ago) seemed like a great idea to me because I watched my sister Caitlin do it with her three kids. She quietly takes care her babies without all the bells and whistles that some women seem to need around them at all times. LOOOOK I BREASTFEEEEED! NOOO DON"T LOOOOK !YOU ARE LOOKING AT ME FUNNY! YOU HATE BREASTFEEDERS!  LOOOK AT ME I CO SLEEEEEP!! LOOOK I'M A BETTER MOM BECAUSE I MAKE MY BABY FOOOOOD! LOOOK HOW ALTERNAMOM I AM BECAUSE MY BABY IS IN A SLIIIING. EVEN THOOOOOUGH EVERYBODY WEARS THEIR BABY IN A SLING.

 It's like certain people NEED everyone to know what the fuck  kind of diaper their kid poops in. They are the most vocal about how they parent AND the most judgmental even though they blab and blab about how they are being judged. But god forbid you whip out a can of formula. They remind me of hipsters. And whatever, I am going to try to make Georgia's baby food, so I'm not against making baby food or anything. And I'm not against any of these things. But like, SHUT UP about it. Nobody cares where your baby sleeps!

Have a great day everyone!

So they all rolled over and one fell out..

(This was published 6/21/2011 but written on 6/17/11)

Georgia ROLLED OVER! I can't believe it. Not in the "I'm -crying -I -cant -believe -my- baby -did- it" can't believe it. But the "holy- shit- why- is -this- going- so- fast" can't believe it. Rolling over wasn't even on my radar, and Wednesday morning I walked in her room and she's on her tummy, pushed up on her elbows, little head wobbling and looking right at me. My Aunt Pat (her nanny) said she was rolling all over the place that afternoon, and now she just won't quit.

I took the bumpers off of her crib, bought breathable ones, removed all blankets and crib friends from her crib, and for the past two nights I've gotten up about 7 times to fix her, because when she rolls over she gets stuck and can't figure out how to fix herself, and she does this pathetic little whimper. "MOMMY IS COMING MY LITTLE DARLING!!!" God, I love her.

Chris, of course, sleeps right through it. In fact, this morning he was like "Wow, she slept great last night!" Uh....no...I was up like 7TIMES MAKING SURE SHE WASN"T SUFFICATING! blah. I'm terrified of suffocation. Terrified of SIDS. Terrified of choking when we start solids. I don't know how people get through this.

So anyway, I'm at work today and I start to feel a dampness on my boob and I realize  that I forget to put on my boob pads! When you nurse, your boobs leak, hence the boob pads. I've been wearing them since Georgia came home. And I've also been wearing these fugly nursing bras because the cup is so thick, and you can't see the pad through it. It's soo annoying. Also annoying is when I came home from the hospital my boobs were about a C cup, and now they are down to a big A, small B depending on the bra, so the nursing bras are too big. I'm so tired of my body changing. I just want it to NOT DO ANYTHING!  Yes, I know I have to stop nursing if I want this to happen. I guess it isn't that bad.  Really, nothing is as bad as the huge ice pack pads you have to wear on your crotch after you give birth. I mean, that was the WORST. I wore the ice pads for about a week, and then had to wear these giant diaper pads for like a month. So in addition to the breast pads, it was a lot of padding, bleeding, and milk leakage. Sorry if this is TMI, but I really didn't know all of this before I had a baby. I feel like someone should have told me! I guess i should have maybe KNOWN, it makes sense, but I wasn't prepared for how much it would suck. So if you haven't had a baby, be prepared for the month after the baby is born to suck. (In regards to the aftermath of birth on your body). Every time I would get in the shower, my boobs would spray milk everywhere, every time I heard a baby cry, they would leak. Actually if I even thought about nursing, they would leak. They have totally calmed down over the past few months-but every once in a while there is milk leakage. That is why I still wear the pads. I can't believe I forgot them this morning. Luckily, my mom is going to go to CVS and get me some so I don't have to walk around like a 13 year old with tissues in my bra.

Sooo...oh-my first wedding anniversary is this weekend! CRAAAAZY-what a year! I feel like I haven't seen Chris in MONTHS-even though we  are married. It's just everything we do, we do for Georgia. We do nothing  for ourselves, we have not been out alone since she came home, and sometimes I just basically feel like we are roommates taking care of a baby. Sometimes I feel guilty because I don't pay enough attention to  him-not that he has said anything at all about it. Maybe he feels guilty for not paying attention to me. I don't know-we haven't really talked about it. I'm not mad or anything. It's just that Georgia is the main focus right now. She is an infant, and we have to be at her beck and call for now. Honestly, having a little child is so much work ,that I really haven't had time to reflect on my first year of marriage. I was pregnant as soon as we came home from our honeymoon. It's been baby, baby, baby, ever since. I think we are a good team, and right now our main focus is our little lady. When I DO have some down time, I just want to go to sleep. I know this totally sounds shitty, and if you don't have kids and you love your significant other, I'm probably not convincing you that kids are the way to go. Well, I'm not really trying to do that anyway. If you don't want kids, don't have them because it is HARD. But I can say, that I don't mind all the work, because when she smiles at me it doesn't even matter. That sounds SOOOO gay and corny, but it's true.

When I think of true love, I no longer think of romance and soul mates. I think of Georgia. When I hear a love song, I think it's ABOUT Georgia and me....even thought the love part at this point only goes one way. I know she trusts me, and knows who I am, but I don't think she is madly in love with me. Or will ever be madly in love with me. How many of us were ever madly in love with our parents? Uh... I would venture....none of us.  Yes, we love our parents, and we want their approval and to make them proud, but that is different from what I am experiencing with Georgia. I'm sure the love changes as your child changes. I'm pretty sure my parents hated me when I was 16-but right now, I love being in love with her! I don't know. I don't even know what I am talking about. There is just so much fucking LOVE sprouting out my being that I need to write about it. I don't care that I was wide awake at 3AM this morning because I'm checking all of the rolling over action. I don't care that Georgia cried eighty million times for her binky last night. I don't care that I am missing out on fun events because we can't get a babysitter. The only thing I care about is my sweet little Miss Georgia.

Please don't think I've become a total lame-o. Even though  I know I would if I was reading this about someone else. I don't know if the fact that I am totally aware of how annoying I sound makes it any better. Probably not. Anway, before you send me a link to lame.com, I want you to know that I am looking forward to our good friends' wedding tomorrow night. Majojo is babysitting. I'm getting a new dress.  I'm so excited for our friends to get married! It will be our first big night out since...humm...our wedding last year? WOW.

Keeping you abreast of the situation...

So, let's talk nursing. 

First of all, before I got pregnant, I never realized it was such a HOT topic, that is, nursing vs formula feeding. I just thought that people did whatever they wanted in regards to feeding their kid, and went on their merry way without giving a thought as to what OTHER people are doing.  I was wrong.

Natural birth vs epidural, circumcision vs intact penis, cloth diaper vs disposable, binky vs non binky, breast milk vs formula-get in a discussion about anyof these topics with another mother, or mother-to-be and be prepared for WWIII! For some reason, other women REALLY GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE DOING WITH YOUR CHILD! It's so stupid. Ugh, I could go on for days about it.

But anyway, back to nursing. I have heard so many nursing horror stories. Babies not latching, low milk supply, starving babies, sore, bleeding cracked nipples, breast infections, not to mention you are just kind of trapped for the first few months because you are the only source of food that the baby has. It sounded hard, it sounded scary, it sounded like nothing I was interested in. I do have friends who told me that they loved nursing, but the bad (in my mind) outweighed the good and I was ready to formula feed. Be warned: There is a serious campaign out there that says BREAST IS BEST (which is true) and there groups that try make you feel like shit if you decide you want to use formula instead of breast milk...for whatever reason. They are not open minded at all.

Now, there are women out there who are dead set on breastfeeding. They will do whatever it takes, pump 24/7 to get their milk supply going, nipple shields, lactation consultants coming to the house-they will go through hell to get their boobs to work correctly, and while I commend them for their dedication, to me, it wasn't that important. But just know that it is very, very important to some people.When I was in the hospital with Georgia the nurse asked me about my birth plan, and how I was going to feed the baby.

'We are going to formula feed" I said while in labor, wondering why the fuck she was asking me this right now-I knew where the conversation was going.

"Well, you know, breast milk IS the best for mommy and baby. We recommend that you breastfeed at least while you are in the hospital. You should be informed before you make a decision.

"I am informed. I want to formula feed."

"Blahblahblah, bleebleebleeblooblooblooo" was all I heard. I SO did not want to have this conversation.

"Okay fine, I'll give it a whirl." I yawn. I'd been up for HOURS.

"Well, if you want to do it, you have to be 100% committed, it can't be something that you just "try" she says back to me.

UM. WTF? I don't WANT to do it-you are sitting here making me feel like shit, and I'm saying I'll do it so you shut the fuck up.

"Okay, I'll try" I say again. For some reason this seemed like a good answer to her, even though it was the same one I gave her 15 seconds ago. She happily writes in my chart that I now plan to breastfeed.

I was so annoyed. Chris was also really pushing for me to breastfeed, and really, the more people told me I HAD to do it, the more pressure I felt, and the less I wanted to.  I was mad that the nurse was making me feel bad while I was in the middle of labor (which consisted of me playing on facebook and watching TV-how dare she!) Soo anyway, labor and delivery roll around and Georgia is on my stomach looking for a boob. She was rooting like a champ-like she had known how to root her whole entire life! (haha get it-it's a joke)

The nurse gave me the hairy eyeball, so I put her on my boob. Georgia latched right away. She looked at me. I looked at her.

"Huh." I thought to myself. Okaaaaay, absolutely not what I expected.

So when you first have your baby, your milk doesn't come in for a few days. The baby is getting stuff called colostrum. It is VERY good for babies, helps their immune system get strong, helps them with their first poop, contains antibodies, clears bilirubin (or however you spell it), helps their digestive system develop. So anyway-that's the scoop on what baby is getting before the milk comes in if you decide to breastfeed. it is great for them. I knew all of this prior to my decision to FF by the way, I didn't learn this in the hospital. Since she latched so well, I thought to myself 'Well, I'll nurse her so she gets this colostrum business, and then start her on formula when we get home."

I nursed her the entire time I was in the hospital. And let me tell you- in the beginning breastfeeding is HARD even when it's easy. It's really hard, it's emotionally draining, your nipples bleed and crack and hurt. It (to me) wasn't this beautiful natural thing, but I continued to do it because Georgia was having such an easy time with it, and I felt very guilty not doing it, even though I didn't want to.  It's also weird to switch your feelings about your boobs. For the past fifteen years, I've used my boobs to get free drinks. They were there to look hott in shirts, and to be all perky and to make forty fifty year old women jealous. Now they were someone's LIFE SUPPORT. It was just so strange. I felt like a cow. In a way I was almost mad that Georgia latched, because now I felt like I HAD to breastfeed. I wasn't mad at her-I don't know, it was probably a weird hormonal thing I went through because I realize how stupid it sounds, and I knew it sounded stupid while I was thinking it.

My second night in the hospital was crazy. First of all, my body was in PAIN from the birth. That second night I felt like-I don't know, just ragged and beaten. I was in SO much pain,  and so,so sore. Chris had gone home that night to stay with Buckley, and also he had been sleeping on a chair for the past two days, so I wanted him to get some rest before we brought Georgia home. I had been taking ibuprofen, but I asked the nurse for a percocet because the ibuprofen just wasn't cutting it. So I'm all whacked out on the perc, and Georgia was STARVING, STARVING, STARVING. It is hard work being born! I nursed her all night long. I cried all night long. I felt so alone, my body ached and I didn't know if it was normal to hurt that much, or if something was wrong with me.It's so overwhelming. Nobody helps you with anything. Your body goes through this crazy, yet amazing trauma, and they just give you your baby and you are supposed to know what to do. I mean, I guess i instinctively knew what to do, but, I don't know. It was very scary to me. A new baby. My baby.  Anyway, my boobs felt like they were going to fall off. I didn't want to put her in the nursery so I could sleep-I felt like a horrible mother if I did that. So she just nursed, and nursed, and nursed, and I cried, and cried, and cried. At 5AM when the nurse came in to check on me, I asked her to bring me a bottle to feed her. "I'm so exhausted, I just can't do it anymore" I cried to her.

"Let me go get one of the lactation consultants," she says. (They are there at 5AM?) If I had had any strength I would have punched her in the face. Instead I just start sobbing. "Just please just bring me a bottle. I need a rest. You can send the lactation consultant in later in the morning. Please, I just need to rest from this. I don't want to hate breastfeeding, but if I can't get a break, I'm going to hate it."

I guess this made sense to her, so she brings me a bottle of premade formula. Georgia scarfs it down. I am thankful for the break. Next round, I am back to breastfeeding.

I used this method my first month of breastfeeding. Chris would do one formula in the morning at 9AM.It was great because it gave me a physical and mental rest. Basically I was feeding her ALLLL DAAAAAY.  I felt so weird and awkward. I went to a breastfeeding class in my neighborhood,  and all the mom's were like lounging around in overalls with their boobs out, talking about cluster feeding and a bunch of shit that I had no idea what they were saying. The leader of the meeting was a crazy hippie lady and I think if she could have breastfed herself she would have, and they were all just way too into it for me. I didn't want to make breastfeeding my identity. If you do-you should go to this meeting. It just wasn't for me.

Every day I told myself, "I am going to stop tomorrow". Then tomorrow would come, and I would say "Well, I can do it another day"  I did it through the bleeding, sore, nipples, I did it even though my boobs were leaking like niagra falls (it took me a while to find breast pads I liked. For breastfeeding, I recommend every product from "lansinoh" including their breast pads.) I bought nursing bras and tops to make my life easier. I forced myself to try different nursing positions around the house, and not just the most comfortable one. I swear the one bottle of formula a day got me through it. And Georgia liked the formula just as much as she liked my boob. Yes, breast milk is better, but formula isn't bad. And she looked at me EXACTLY the same whether I was breastfeeding or formula feeding. Her cute little eyeballs just stared into mine...now, it IS adorable when she pats and rubs my boob while I'm breastfeeding, but she also pats and rubs the bottle so I'm pretty sure it isn't out of love for her mommy. haha!

So during this time I'm thinking to myself  "What am I going to do about going back to work?" If I don't pump, I am going to have to start weaning my boobs. You can't just stop cold turkey. If your boobs aren't used to going eight hours without breastfeeding, you will pay for it in engorged boobies. Ow. I decided to eliminate one breastfeeding a week, and replace it with the formula, and I bought a little hand pump to pump out just a little extra milk if I was getting engorged during this process. Breastmilk is all about supply and demand. I secretly planned to be  not breastfeeding by the time I went back to work-but didn't tell anyone.

During this time of getting my boobs on a schedule, something weird happened. I started to LIKE nursing. Like honest to goodness "I cant wait to nurse my baby" kind of like. And THEN, I started to LOVE it.  I felt like it was very special. I was still totally fine with giving formula, but all of a sudden breastfeeding wasn't a chore anymore. I wasn't resentful and mad. I didn't care that I was wearing ugly nursing bra's and breast pads. I was just like "whatever!" I could walk around my house while nursing Georgia, I wasn't "chained" to the couch. I was comfortable nursing her outside of the home if I had to (but I usually scheduled events around her feedings so I didn't have to nurse in public. It's just not for me-It has nothing to do with anyone seeing my boob. I can't explain it. If you want to nurse in public you have my support 100%) It was nothing! Nooo problem! 

By the time my maternity leave was up, we were on this schedule:  5Am-nurse, 8AM-bottle, 11Am-bottle, 2PM-bottle, 5PM-nurse, 8PM-nurse,11PM-nurse-sleeps until 5AM nurse, rinse and repeat. Since I've gone back to work that schedule is pretty much almost the same. Sometimes I nurse her in between feedings just for the cuddles. I think my plan is to be (by the end of next month) down to one nursing session a day, and to just keep a trickle of breastmilk going incase she ever gets sick or dehydrated. I don't want her to get too attached to my boob when she starts to realize what it is, and I don't want weaning to be too hard on her, so I think this is the best way to go.

So that is my story about breastfeeding. My opinion on feeding babies is that a happy mommy=happy baby, so do whatever it is that makes you feel happy.  Doing both made me happy. Nursing is really hard. Your baby is loved if you breastfeed or formula feed, and isn't really going to give a shit how you fed her when she was little.  Seriously. I doubt the conversation will even come up between her and her friends. "We can't hang out with her..she was FORMULA fed."

See how dumb that sounds?