Curious George

Yesterday I was digging around in one of our yet-unpacked boxes. I was looking for the special yellow goo that makes my hair stay smooth, instead of floating around at all angles and forming an unruly halo of pomegranate-red hair tentacles. Believe me, I need it here. So. Much. Static.

The top three things that Jack says about Arizona so far:

1. It is so sunny.
2. It is so cold.
3. It is very shocky.

All of our boys' blankets are fleecy and when I adjust them during the night for bedtime, it is a firework show in their beds.

Anyhow, I was pawing through the most likely box to find my smoothing solution and instead of drawing my hand out in victory, I pulled it out in horror. Attached to my thumb was one of Andy's razors, without its protective cover. All four (or five or six - whatever is the current maximum of razors for men's shaving devices) were dug deep into my thumb. With stomach-turning effort, I detached the razor and tried to identify the damage.

I had no luck even examining it as my whole hand was covered in blood in just a few short seconds. I made my way to the bathroom to find some band-aids. I could find little tiny ones and some bigger Curious George ones. So, I strapped up my thumb with bright blue adhesive strips with pictures of a happy monkey and bright yellow bananas.

I went through all of our band-aids yesterday and this morning resorted to cotton pads and electrical tape. I have yet to have a good look at it, but I suppose I'll get around to it.

Until then, I will struggle with texting and I will answer Jack's every-five-minute-inquiry about what I have on my thumb.

My very own Curious George!

And The Gold Medal Goes To...

Jack is sleeping.

Yay!

Usually when Jack rests, so do I. At least lately, I've taken naps, read novels or done the dishes so that I don't have to do them later. But today I am so distracted that I don't feel much like sitting still.

The first reason that I feel so fidgety is that I fear for Jack's safety.

Does anyone know if giant moths bite?

After an eventful transition from play to nap (eventful because my first attempt at putting Jack down was thwarted by the fact that I forgot that his door was off its hinges... more on that later) I was walking Jack to his room when I spied a black fluttery shape out of the corner of my eye.

I halted.

I moved further into the room just to make sure I wasn't imagining things.

I wasn't. In the corner, idiotically bouncing into the blinds was the biggest moth I have ever seen. Like, as big as a small bird.

How's that for simile?

I have a great distaste for large moths. They are almost up there with spiders and crane flies. Gross! I feel itchy all over just thinking about them all! I don't like that their bodies are furry. And I don't like that they fly so stupidly. And I hate the thought of trying to squish one, because, can you imagine the mess their fat bodies would make?!

Bleck!! If anyone knows a good written exclamation for shaking your body all over and sticking your tongue out and shivering while making a grossed-out noise, I could have used it just now and would be very grateful if you know of one for future use.

Anyhow, after all the work of getting Jack nap-ready, I didn't want to miss the window of opportunity. And we all know that boys, no matter how small, are not afraid of bugs.

So, I put him down for a nap, but now I am stuck worrying about his fate, which I left in the hands (wings?) of a very large, potentially blood-sucking moth.

What kind of mother am I?!

I have to keep resisting the illogical urge to go peek in his room and make sure he isn't swarmed by black, winged, furry creatures.

Argh!!!

...

I interrupt this post to tell you that my brother-in-law just came upstairs to borrow something. I seized the opportunity and asked him to go get the foul creature. He walked into Jack's room, armed with nothing but a paper towel... a PAPER TOWEL PEOPLE... and got the bug! Oh Jason! Thank you!

Not only did he squish it... but as I predicted it left a large, smeary mess on the wall. He even cleaned that up for me. His words, "Do you want me to get that so you don't have to touch it?"

You married a good man Lizzie, a good man.

I am sorry to tell you, but after all of that excitement I am too spent to regale you with tales of the other items on my "I can't rest" list. Another day my pets, another day.

Priorities

At this exact moment I have two boys sleeping.  Andy is crashed on the couch and Jack is out cold in his crib. 

I've been pondering all day why I don't do the things that I know I SHOULD do. Really, most of the time I even WANT to do the things that I know I SHOULD. 

The fact remains though, that I don't.

For example.

While both boys are sleeping, it would be the perfect time for me to get a long workout in. But it would also be an ideal time to take a little snooze. 

Rather than doing either of those productive (yes, I count naps as productive) activities, I am sitting here catching up on my blog reading and basically doing nothing. 

Most likely avoiding the choice of nap or workout until there is not enough time for either.

And my fingers still smell a little like the sandwich I had for lunch (it was garlicy) and like the stinky perfume Ellery asked to try on while I was giving her a piggy back ride.

That is very gross.

I guess I know the first thing I'll be doing.

Washing my hands.

Who knows what useful or wasteful thing I will do after that. 

Did That Really Just Happen?

Title option two: "Another Poop Story"

Okay, let me preface this story by saying, if you are not a mom yet, get ready now.  It is a really, really gross job some times.  Babies are messy, and when they get bigger they are loud.  And they find every single little thing that you think is safely hidden away.

Case in point:

Jack's new favorite drawer to open happens to be the one where I, up to this point, have stashed all my feminine products.  As well as any miscellaneous lotions or what have you.  Now, every day Jack opens the drawer, pulls out every panty liner and tampon until he finds the pregnancy test that is left over from the last multipack I bought.  

Let me reiterate, I am not intending to be pregnant, but you married ladies know that "scares" happen and if you are going to buy one, you might as well get three since you'll most likely "want to be sure" again a few months down the road anyway.  

Now would also be a good time to tell you about the time ... no, never mind... that is too embarrassing.

Anyway, today I have this sweet boy in my house too:

For those of you who haven't met this handsome man, he's my nephew Dane.  He comes over about once a week to hang with me and Jack while his mom and dad are at work. 

I don't know if it just how babies work or what, but Dane immediately found the very same drawer that Jack has been pillaging the last week and he not only dug around in it, he removed EVERY SINGLE ITEM and stacked it neatly on the table.  Resting each new find, carefully on top of the previously removed item.  

His only hesitation was when he came to good ol' EPT, he also seemed to find it especially interesting and carried it around a while before giving it a home in his pile.

But that is not what "happened."

I'm sure you all remember my joyous celebration of New Years.

This is installment two of my experiences with poo.

Today, Jack was stinking it up, so I pulled him over to me and went through the usual routine of changing him.  Diaper?  Check!  Wipes?  Check!  Good to go.  Let the games begin!

What started as a routine operation soon became slightly more difficult when Sweet Dane crawled into my lap to see what was happening.  

In an awkward moment, Dane's foot ended up in the open (and very messy) diaper.  I snatched it out, but not before he swung it wildly all over the carpet.  

People!  

Seriously?

Gross.

Why?

How do these things happen? 

 

Once again, I am cleaning excrement from my carpets.  

I'm pretty sure I DID NOT sign up for this part of parenthood.

Premommies, you have been warned. 

Going Out With A Bang

I bet you are wondering how I spent the last few hours of 2008.

Reflecting on the highs and lows of the year?

Writing out my resolutions?

Stuffing my face with party snacks?

No. No. And no.

I spent my precious time taking care of this mess:

In case you can't quite tell, that is poop smudged all over Jack's face.  And yes, there is a vast quantity quite near his mouth.

The picture doesn't reveal that there was also copious amounts of excrement smeared up and down his legs and arms.

Oh yes, and my bedroom carpet, the dining room floor, my duvet cover and me.

How did this happen?

It is tempting to assume that I am an unfit mother and incapable of diapering my child, but don't think that.  I am pretty sure that gross and traumatic things like this happen to a lot, if not most, moms.

Somebody please tell me I'm right about that.

Moving on...

The Story:

Jack had been cranky all day.  Nothing calmed him down.  He didn't want to eat (which he usually loves to do) or play.  He took lots of naps.

By five o'clock he was just pitiful.  One thing that always works to cheer my boy up is a bath.  Usually it is part of our bedtime routine.  Bath, baby massage, bottle, bed.

In the recent months we've also added "naked time" to the mix.

  

I love naked time.  I love his squishy little bum and his rolly arms and legs.  So yummy!

I also think it is good for his little bottom to air out occasionally. You know?

So he crawls around for a few minutes, exposed, then I diaper him and we continue with bedtime rituals.  

Back to tonight, I decided to give him his bath early to see if I could calm him down for the evening.  We had a nice long bath.  I brought in extra toys.  He laughed and splashed. It worked like a charm.

When he was done I brought him out in his towel and let him crawl around.  As I've already explained to you, that is normal in our house.

While he was playing, I got sidetracked with FB, blogs, e-mail... you know how the web just sucks you in.  I could hear Jack playing, then saw him crawl into my bedroom.  That also is a totally normal occurrence in my house. My bedroom is super child-proof and I often let him explore there.

I was listening to him talk to himself and kind of guessing what he was doing.  Then it became very quiet.  I told myself, "just check this one last thing, then go get him."

Before I even navigated to my next cyber destination I heard it. I little grunt.  Then another. 

I bound from my chair and dashed to the bedroom.  Two steps away I smelled it!

OH NO!

Before I was even to the doorway I could see the smears on the carpet.  I found Jack standing, as pleased as could be, by my bed.  Brown, sticky lump in hand.  

I immediately scooped him up and brought him out to the smooth floor in the dining room, then called my sister (who lives in a condo below us).  I ran a second bath and once she arrived she put Jack in the tub while I took care of one of the most disgusting messes I have cleaned up in a long time.

Don't worry, for your benefit we made sure to get the photo-op before we washed his face.  We also made a sisterly-pact to repeat the story to his first girlfriend.  A mission which Andy heartily agreed to.

My Final Lessons of 2008:

1. Be on friendly terms with at least one neighbor.  You never know when you will need a second set of hands.
   
2. Naked time may be cute, but it is not without danger.
   
3. Don't check e-mail during naked time.
   
4. Baby poop may be littler, but it is no less stinky than an adult's.
   
5. NOTHING is truly baby proof.
   
6. If Jack is cranky all day, maybe he just needs a good BM.
   
7. I am a good mom.  If I can handle a poop disaster and live to laugh at the tale, I can handle anything!

Okay, now that we have that mess cleaned up, on to the party snacks!

Yeeessss!

What They Don't Tell You...

Motherhood is an INCREDIBLE, life-changing experience.  One that moves you irrevocably from your old life.  The change is good, but as with any change, there is an adjustment period.  

The thing about a baby though is that you are always adjusting.  The baby grows, so you do to. The adjustment period never ends.

Let me give you a glimpse into the nitty-gritty, real-life world of Emily and Jack.

Let's start with the fact that as I type, Jack has crawled under his high chair and discovered a spoon dropped from a previous meal (and probably parts of that previous meal).  He is chewing eagerly on the spoon while taking momentary breaks to "push."  

Which means that in a very few short minutes a special smell will waft toward my nose and I will be called away from this note to change a diaper.

What they don't tell you before you become a mom is that you will actually think his pushing face is cute.  You'll laugh, you'll tell people about it, you'll change another diaper like it is no big deal, and tomorrow you will do the same exact thing.

Also, no matter what anyone says,

Pampers really are the best diapers.

There is a reason they are twice as expensive.

I hate it when you really do have to pay more for

better quality.

Pampers, I love you.

But I can't afford you.

What is a mother to do?

Moving on.

After about 8 months of perpetual regurgitation I think that Jack has finally outgrown that stage.  He was a champion of spit-up and although I swore it wouldn't happen, I fell into a routine of sweatpants and tee shirts at home.  The disappointment of getting dressed, only to be doused with white slime was too much.  

But we are past that now.

Or so I thought.

Last night we went on the a family outing (yay for family outings!).  I had just that very day purchased a lovely, v-neck sweater.  Soft and gray. Unsullied by the early baby stage.  

I cannot express in words how delightful it felt to put on something new and fresh.  I felt revived, I felt pretty, I felt like a woman.

An hour into our activity it was covered with baby-gross.  Not just a little dribble of formula.  But real, genuine vomit.  Complete with lingering sick-smell.  I wanted to cry.  But I didn't.

What they don't tell you about motherhood is that clothes are just clothes.  Things will get wrecked.  You will wear sweatpants to avoid the heartache. But you learn to smile and remember that you have a happy baby who loves you with our without bile adornment and you have a husband who will still tell you, "you look stunning" and hug you even if you don't smell nice.  

And finally, in this addition of "What They Don't Tell You..."

I was sick this week.  Really yucky sick.  Being sick with a baby to look out for is about the most miserable thing that I have ever experienced.  EVER.

-WARNING: disturbing, but real-life details to follow-

At one point I was sitting on the toilet, with the garbage can on my lap.  Losing it from both ends... and there was my chipper baby, holding onto my knee.  I could do nothing to usher him out.  I could do nothing period.  

Well, I did do something.  I had Andy call his mom.  She swooped into the rescue and relieved me for the day.  

What they don't tell you about being a mom is that you'll admit many times that you can't do it alone.  Your pride will be put in its place.  You will be given endless opportunities to say, "I need help."  You will learn to not only accept, but seek out help, or you will crumble.  

The list of people who have helped me is long.  I am grateful for each simple act of kindness.  

What they might have told you about being a mom, but you poo-pooed or simply forgot, is that it is a hard job.  It feels impossible some days.  But in each impossible situation you can choose which attitude you will adopt.  You can cry (and I do).  You can get angry (and I do).  Or, hopefully, you can thrive.  You can let your character be developed right along with each of your baby's new skills.  

To all of you moms.  KUDOS!  You are doing a lovely job.

To all of you pre-moms.  Well, just wait.  Enjoy what you have now, because you can never, NEVER go back.  Most likely though, you won't want to.