The Difference Between Mom and Dad: Christmas Edition

Growing up, we all knew that when a present said it was from Mom and Dad, it was really from Mom and she was nice enough to write Dad's name on it. Even now, if Dad actually makes an effort to get something, then the present just says from Dad, and it's usually something practical, like jumper cables or tire chains. This never really bothered me, except now I'm Mom. Even before that, when I was just Auntie, it was the same. For all of the kids' birthdays and Christmases, I am the one figuring out what they like, what size they wear, and then I go shopping, buy and wrap the presents. But you know what the card says? "Love Auntie Katie and Uncle Travis." Hey kids: Uncle Travis didn't do shit! Why does he get to take credit? For some reason, it bothers me more now that we have our own little one to shop for. Last night I was wrapping presents and writing on them, "Love Mommy and Daddy." Damnit! Daddy didn't do shit! I'm sure my mother was tempted to write that on several presents, but never did. I do it because I don't want her to grow up thinking Daddy doesn't care, because he does, just not in the thoughtful, buy you presents kinda way. Usually he waits until the last possible minute and then buys something pretty random, or if he can't find anything, jewelry. I have come to accept and even love this, and luckily we had a girl so he can get by with just buying more jewelry, but it still drives me nuts! One time I was too busy at work to buy our nephew a birthday gift, so I asked him to pick something up at the store before the party. I think he went to that random dollar section in Target, you know the cluster of stuff that's always right up front? He came back with an inflatable toy where the bottom is filled with sand so when you punch it, it pops back up, and a small rubber shark. WTF?! Then for wrapping I think he stapled a paper bag around them. It was horrible. I guess it's partly my fault, because I could torture us both by insisting we go out shopping together, but I'm pretty sure shopping with me steals small bits of his soul. I get distracted easily and have to touch everything. And every time I go shopping with him, I feel like it's time for Final Jeopardy. The theme song plays so loud in my head that I end up just grabbing something so we can both be put out of our misery. Don't even get me started on the Christmas cards. Or the wedding invitations. I'm still pissed!

In the picture online it did not have
little Christmasy pictures embedded in it.
I'm trying to breathe through it.

What do you make of Baby's First Christmas anyway? I flip-flop between going all out and doing nothing. She has no idea what's going on, so it seems rude to buy her toys and then make her wait a month to play with them. She's going to be more interested in the wrapping paper anyway. But I did the obligatory first ornament and got her a pretty pink stocking with her name on it. A family friend pointed out that we only have one baby, so there would be no confusion as to whose stocking the pink one was. She has a damn good point, but alas, reason lost and Trinity's stocking will FOR SURE never be confused with anyone elses.

To give Travis some credit, he doesn't get off scott free during all these Christmas shananigans. I look forward to picking out a tree every year, but I understand it must kind of suck for him. We can't just do something easy like pick up a tree from his work, oh no. We are riding that damn tractor in the freezing cold out to the north 40 so we can trod around in the mud and take turns picking out trees that the other one is inevitably going to hate until we are so frozen and mad that in a fit of rage he just starts sawing one down. It's tradition! But this year we have an 8-month-old with us, and we have to make it snappy because we don't want our indecision to leave her with frostbite. It is also more dangerous because she is strapped to the front of me in the Baby Bjorn and I can't see where I'm walking so I trip over countless stumps and we almost eat shit several times. Luckily it doesn't take long before we find an acceptable tree. While he gets down in the mud to saw it down, I panic and run off looking for a better one. I have a committment problem. Then after he's sweating and breathing hard from all the sawing, he has to hoist it up over his shoulder and walk it back to where the tractor will pick us up. I'm having a blast! But I realize that without him this trip would be impossible. Not only would it be a physical impossibility, I would flat-out refuse because the actual manual labor involved seems like the most unfun thing ever. Plus I hate getting dirty.

Do work son! I take this same picture every year to fuel the rage.



Due to a lack of pictures of the 3 of us, this may or may not be on our Christmas card. Act surprised.

So we bring it back home where he informs me that this year, he refuses to decorate the tree. Apparently it's something he's NEVER enjoyed. I don't know if that means he's never enjoyed it in his whole life, or just the years he's spent with me. I'm thankful for this, because his ornament hanging gives me anxiety. It has no rhyme or reason, and I usually end up redoing it when he isn't looking anyway. So I let him off the hook with the decorating, but I ask him to bring me home some peppermint candy ornaments from work, because that is the planned theme for the tree this year. Knowing his shopping skills, I ask that he send me a picture of the ornaments before he buys them, just to make sure they are up to par. I receive no picture. He comes home with these:

Not only are they NOT peppermint candies, they're not even ornaments!! It's a small string of candy cane lights that plays obnoxious carols. His defense is that candy canes are made of peppermint candy, so he thought it would be ok. WHAT?!? What can you even say to that? Nothing. So I rallied. I found a bunch of glittery snowflakes that I've never used in the ornament box and created a snowflake tree. I figure I only have a few years left of respectable trees before little T creates beautiful, tacky treasures to adorn the branches with, so I'm gonna enjoy it while it lasts.

I see the irony in talking about respectable trees when my topper is absolutely ridiculous. But it makes me so happy!

So, while Mommy and Daddy are two very different people, we are actually two infuriating halves to a whole. Or maybe we're just the only two people who could put up with each other's quirks. Either way, working off of our strengths and weaknesses, we somehow manage to get shit done. In the end that's what's important. Oh, and our baby girl is a beautiful, happy little weirdo.

SAHM

Stay-at-home mom. I've never considered being one. Until now. Although I might complain about it, I actually like working. I like my job. Or, I guess I should say, liked my job. Since late in 2008, I've been working one year on, one year off, one year on, at the same place, which coincides with Oregon's legislative cycles and the compilation that follows. This is a pretty sweet gig. The problem is that my year on is up, and while I hoped that I would stay on for a few months longer, the fact that Oregon manages her money like a meth addict in a dark alley has made that impossible. It's also unclear whether returning next year will be a possibility. So, here I am, about to start my new, full-time job as a mommy. I am both very excited and somewhat terrified. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing I love more than spending time with my little one, but I have some fears:



She's so doomed

1. If I screw up at work, odds are someone down the road will correct my mistake and never tell me about it, or I'll get a "friendly reminder" e-mail about the correct way to do something. But now, when I screw up at work, I'll be screwing up MY KID! I'd rather my mom (her current daily caretaker) have this kind of responsibility, because then there's someone to blame.

2. I'm afraid the attachment will turn into something unhealthy when we become each other's whole world. What if it becomes stifling for both of us, to the point where we have to get away from each other in order to breathe?

3. While it's true even now, I don't want her to know without a doubt that I live for her. That's a lot of pressure (and power) to bestow on someone so small.

4. When she becomes my job, I'm afraid I'll think of her as work. When I spend time with her now, it's a joy and a privilege and a treat because we don't get to spend all day together, so I treasure the time we have. What if I take all this time for granted, now that we have so much of it?

5. I'm a horrible housewife. I really dislike cleaning all day, and I'm not that efficient at it. In the middle of putting clothes away, I'll decide to clean out my drawers for donations, and then I'll get tired or interrupted and the result will be an eruption of clothes strewn all over the floor, a way bigger mess than when I started.

6. The dynamic between Travis and me changes when the house becomes my job. He also becomes my job. And no one wants to work for their husband. When I work outside the home, we're on a more level playing field. When it comes to chores, laundry, baby duty, money, cooking, we are pretty equal contributors, but when I don't....ugh I shudder at the memories of my last year off. A sort of de-evolution takes place, and caveman status is resumed. He suddenly forgets how to make his lunch, that his socks go in the laundry basket and not the living room floor, and that his plate goes in the dishwasher after eating. This was somewhat tolerable when I had nothing else to do all day, but now there's a baby, and the excuse, "...But I work," will no longer carry any weight. Shit could get real here pretty soon. Stay tuned...

There are a lot of things I'm looking forward to, like being the one she depends on for help, seeing her first steps, hearing her first words, working out on a normal schedule again (the gym nursery for an hour or two won't kill her, right?), and of course, shaping her into the baby genius I know she can be! I will have more opportunities to perfect my diapering techniques, which I feel are already advanced. Not to toot my own horn, but I'm pretty sure I could not only wrestle a gator into submission, I could also clothe and diaper it at an award-winning speed. She's a wily one, my girl, and never stops moving, not even during a poop-filled emergency change.

Speaking of the word "poop," she finds it hilarious. This bewilders me, because I'm not one to talk of fecal matters. It makes me uncomfortable. But of course, since it makes her laugh, I find myself constantly saying "poop," singing it really, in all different tones. This is shameful and undignified, but when I'm awash in her giggles, I no longer care. The things we do for love.

Poop laugh

Laughing at the word "poop"

What a Difference a Year Makes

My how times have changed. Let's use Halloween as an example.

Last Halloween: We grabbed some pumpkins last minute at Trav's work, and carved them that night.

Morning sickness pumpkin. Halloween 2010.



My cute little pumpkin. Halloween 2011.

 This Halloween: We made an afternoon of going to a pumpkin patch. One of us carried the overdressed baby while the other wheeled a wheelbarrow through a large field of pumpkin mush, searching for three perfect pumpkins to take home. We paused for photo ops at the pumpkin sign, the middle of the pumpkin field, a bale of hay, those weird cutout things you put your head through, and the pregnant goats. Then we overpayed for four pumpkins (I couldn't leave behind the one with the awesome stem) and went on our way. We didn't find time to carve them until the night before Halloween. And then only had the time and energy to carve two of them.

Our totally unoriginal template pumpkins. Halloween 2011.

Last Halloween: We attended a friend's Halloween party dressed up as Juno and Pauly Bleeker, which was a funny inside joke because I was pregnant but not everyone knew about it yet. I took pictures of everyone taking shots and remember thinking that next Halloween Trav would have to be the designated driver because I would finally be able to drink again and he would owe me. We stayed out too late and Travis was tardy for work the next morning.

Juno and Pauly. Halloween 2010.

This Halloween: We didn't go to the party. It didn't start until after Trinity's bedtime, so we weren't sure what we would do with her. We toyed with the idea of taking her and putting her to bed there, but chances are it was going to be loud, and we would have to wake her up to take her there and then again to take her home. I was going to put on my new footie PJs and go as a baby, but Trav had no idea what to be and we had no time to buy or put together a costume, plus he had to work super early the next day and didn't want to chance being late again. Pretty sure we were in bed by 10.

Last Halloween: On Halloween night we got our candy ready in the bowl, lit our pumpkins, turned on some football and waited for the hordes of children to arrive. As we handed out candy we contemplated life's deep questions, like whether we were going to have a fairy princess or a football player, or if we would allow our fat kid to trick-or-treat.

This Halloween: I scheduled her shots for earlier in the day, which was probably mean of me, but for some reason the pediatrician was wide open that day and it was my only option. I took her to the doctor's dressed as a ladybug, (super impractical since I had to then undress and redress her once she got her shots) and made sure the grandparents got to see her. When we got home, she was tired and didn't feel good so she went straight to bed. We didn't want trick-or-treaters to wake her up with their ringing, knocking or other obnoxiousness, and neither one of us bought candy, so we turned out our porch lights and kept our pumpkins dark. Bah Humbug!

I guess this is what it's like when life is no longer all about you. This Halloween was totally lame, I admit it. Maybe my days of being a slutty [insert costume name here] are over (I'll spare you the pictures of that). But I'm really not that sad. I wouldn't trade this Halloween for any past Halloween I've ever had. Next year, we take to the streets with not only a toddler, but a dog in costume! So excited!                                           

Spoiled but not rotten...yet

I am jealous of my baby. She has everything a baby could ever want or need, and so many things that a baby could never imagine wanting or needing, like a down puffy vest with a fur hood, or 100 headbands. Friends and family members come out of the woodworks for her, thinking about her when they're at DisneyWorld, WalMart, Costco, or just when they have a few hours and some extra yarn.  All they expect from her is maybe a smile in return. She's spoon fed food made especially for her, she has her own bank account that multiple people contribute to (!!), people spend all day trying to make her smile and laugh, and her fat rolls are still considered cute. Oh what a life.


You can't see it here, but she's being fanned by oversized leaves

The Force is strong in this one. I knew it before she was born when a State Trooper pulled me over and then quickly let me go with just a warning. She charms people everywhere she goes. She batted her eyes at a fat man at the mall and melted his heart. Old people go bananas for her. Taking her out in public is always an adventure. I just received a package from my aunt with a ton of clothes in her next size up. How great is that?! It included many fleece footie pajamas for Trinity, and one pair for me! We can be twins now! Travis said I should be glad I'm already married. Apparently footed pajamas aren't sexy. Whatevs, I think I rock 'em well. Thanks Auntie!!

Total creeper

Nothing else too new is happening. This is a delightful age though. She's smiling and happy and babbling all the time. She'll grab your face and give you big open-mouthed, slobbery kisses on the cheek, which only a mother could love. And she has a tooth! The bottom right one came in, and it is sharp as hell. If I were still breastfeeding, I would be stopping now. I can already tell it's a little crooked. Time to start saving for braces. She still doesn't crawl, which is a source of worry for Travis, who needs to blame someone for her lack of coordination (everyone but himself). She has no motivation to move. When she learned to roll, she would roll all over the house, but now that novelty has worn off and she's content to just lay or sit on her blanket and talk to her toys. I've come to terms with it. I hope she holds off on the crawling until after Christmas, so I don't have to worry about the tree tipping over, or her being burned by the fireplace.

If you look closely, you can see her little white tooth on the bottom

Oh wait, I lied. Something is new. She got her ears pierced!! And they look adorable if I may say so myself. Before you get all judgy, saying "what if she doesn't want to wear earrings?" please know that I don't care. When she gets old enough to decide, she can take them out if she doesn't want them. All I did was give her the choice without any memory of the pain. She cried for two seconds, and then drank her bottle and went on with her day. I've always worn earrings, so I suspect she'll just do the same. And now no one asks (or assumes) her gender. I'm saving another innocent, well-meaning lady at Costco from getting an earful from Travis when she, for reasons unknown, assumed that our baby in her black and pink car seat, covered by a pink blanket, wearing a sunflower headband, was a boy. She'll never make that mistake again.


Shot of her pretty earrings

In other news, I am still the Absentminded Professor. The whole "pregnancy brain" thing does not go away after having the baby. I forget everything. I probably suck at my job now, which involves very detail-oriented tasks. I lost a bag of frozen green beans. It's been a week and there's no sight of it. For now I'm blaming it on the dog, because who loses green beans? I need to get it together. I'm also giving up on being out after 7 p.m. It just doesn't work. Baby needs her bath and bottle and bedtime or else no one is happy. If we try to veer off her schedule, she notices and promptly becomes Whiney McWhinepants to show her dissaproval. This is saving us money, because we very rarely go out to dinner anymore. I have a feeling this will make Halloween very interesting...

So thank you to everyone who has contributed positively to her life so far. And thanks for loving her almost as much as  I  we do. We couldn't do it without you.

Sweatpants Purgatory

I love me some sweatpants. Never before have I had such strong feelings for an article of clothing. It started when I was pregnant and nothing fit or looked decent anymore, so I figured, 'whatevs I'm just gonna wear sweats. My big pregnant ass is going to embrace the frumpiness that society allows a woman who's expecting.' And I did. My mom bought me a new pair for Christmas, and I never looked back.

To think of the days BB (Before Baby) when I would come home and wear my work clothes until it was time to go to bed and put on pajamas, seems like ages ago! BB, I had one, maybe two pairs of sweats, and I rarely had a reason to wear them. NEVER would I be seen in public with them. Now, it's the first thing I do after walking through my front door. I'm like that dog on the Beggin' Strips commercial, where he's frantically sniffing around the house looking for bacon. That's me looking for a clean pair of sweats. I get just as excited when I find them too. IT'S SWEATPANTS!! I make up little songs about them...

Sweatpants, sweatpants,

when I put you on

I do a happy dance...

Sing it to the tune of the Spiderman theme song. I no longer go out in public wearing them, but I did for a while right after Baby because my normal clothes still weren't an option and I was so sick of yoga pants. I may never wear yoga pants again. Or eat apples. I ate at least five apples a day when I was pregnant. Now looking at one almost makes me gag. I told Travis that after I lost all my baby weight I was going to buy a new wardrobe. He asked what would happen if I never lost the weight, which made me feel awesome. But of course I informed him that I would still have to buy a new wardrobe because none of my clothes would fit. Alas, the baby weight has been gone for a few months, but when I go to buy new clothes, all I want to buy is sweatpants. I see the skinny jeans and tight sweaters, but oh, my sweet sweet sweatpants, how I long to be in your leg holes. I try to avoid the magnetic pull, but the force is strong. I must say, if you are in the market for a good pair of sweats, go to Aeropostale. There's a chance you'll have to push some middle schoolers out of the way, but you won't be sorry once you pull on that soft cloud of heaven.

You may be feeling sorry for Travis right about now, but I'm telling you, don't. He has taken my affection for sweatpants as a green light to live in basketball shorts and whatever ragedy undershirt his work clothes hid during the day. We are hot. After work it's a quick rush of dinnerbathpajamasbottlebedtime, and then we get some alone adult time, which for us means sitting on the couch like two turds in the grass, watching whatever the DVR has in store for us tonight. Someday we may escape Sweatpants Purgatory, but for now, we're embracing it.

If only they made this in my size...

Catching up

Six Months!!! Holy Crap!!! It's a very bittersweet feeling. I love that she's more like a real human now. She's on a nice schedule, she sleeps through the night, I understand her and can easily figure out what she needs. She laughs, she rolls, she sits for a limited time, she babbles up a storm. But I miss my tiny, new baby! She's growing out of all her clothes! And boy does she have a lot of clothes! I have filled up four huge Costco-size diaper boxes with the cutest newborn to 3-6 month clothes you'll ever see. I don't know what to do with them. I don't plan on having any more children, but what if I change my mind? I guess we are saving them for a good friend who we assume will someday have a baby. I want to make sure I give them away to a baby who I will often see, so I can see her clothes again and relive the days when my baby was that small. Is that weird? Maybe I shouldn't admit that.

This is what she looked like 1 day old.

It's funny that we thought she was sooo cute as a newborn, but now that she's older and we look back at her pictures, I realize that I gave birth to a smooshy little wrinkly alien baby, just like everyone else. So for everyone on Facebook who commented on how beautiful she was: Thank you for lying. I really appreciate it, and I will return the favor. (Of course, in my eyes, she's still the prettiest wrinkly alien baby I've ever seen).

One thing we've learned about her thus far: She's lazy. Or just really smart. Either way she's on track to marry rich. You go girl! Yes, she would like to chew on that teether, but only if you want to hold it in her mouth, because her hands have better things to do. She'd really like to grab that toy just beyond her reach, but crawling to it seems like a lot of work, so she's just going to fake reach and sort of whine until you plop it down in front of her. She loves to eat! But picking up the food or the spoon and bringing it to her mouth is ridiculous! Feed me Seymour! Tummy time? Out of the question. That would require effort. Ok, so maybe we don't have a budding athlete on our hands. 

This is Trinity at 6 months and 1 day

 Trav keeps reminding me that she was born four weeks early, so I need to give her time to catch up. How long can we use the "she was born early" excuse? At some point that has to become meaningless. It's not like she's really missing expected milestones, she just seems to be on the late end of them. It bothers me that other babies her age do more things. Like crawl, or at least rock back and forth. And sit up unassisted. She will sit for a very short period of time, but only if I balance her just right to begin with.

I want to put her in baby boot camp. DROP DOWN ON ALL FOURS MAGGOT!! Get those froggy legs underneath you!! Left, left, left right left! It's time to lose those Michelins!! CRAWL!!

It's not like I think I'll have a 5-year-old who can't sit or crawl, I just want her to do it NOW! I'd also like her to recite the ABCs and say Mama. Or at least moo when she sees a cow. I'm starting to realize that being my daughter is going to be exhausting. I'm sure being my husband isn't any easier. My expectations for the people I love are unrealistically high. Maybe we both have some work to do.

Baby Girl:
If you ever read this, please know that I love you more than anything and I think you are perfect just the way you are.

Love,
Mama (Come on, just say it! Mama!)

Walkers

What's the deal with baby walkers? We got a handout from our pediatrician's office telling us not to use a walker because they are dangerous. It went on to say that stores do not sell them anymore because they are such a hazard, and that if we got a hand-me-down one, we should immediately dispose of it. One, that's not true. We were gifted a walker at the baby shower. Brand new. From a store. And two, you're gonna have to give me more reasons than "it's dangerous" to make me leave it, forlorn and rejected, in the box out in the garage. After speculating with Travis about all the ways a walker might be dangerous, we came up with:

1. She could ram into a tall bookcase and stuff could fall on her. (We don't have a tall bookcase)
2. Maybe the walker could spontaneously collapse and crush her legs. (It can't)
3. If the door is open she could make a run for it, and somehow make it out in the middle of the street. (That is beyond far-fetched)

So, off to Google I went! What I found concerned and confused me. On basically every health and pediatric website, there are unanimous reasons why walkers should never be used in households. Here they are:

Children in baby walkers can:

1. Roll down the stairs.
2. Get burned. (Presumably by pulling on a tablecloth where hot coffee or tea is sitting near the edge, or by pulling pans off the stove.)
3. Drown. (In a pool or bathtub)
4. Be poisoned. (By putting objects in their mouth that they can now reach)

WHAT?!?! These are seriously the reasons why my pediatrician is telling me not to use a walker?? To that I have to say:

1. Who puts a child that can move, in a walker or otherwise, at the top of a flight of ungated stairs, or near it? It's not the walker's fault that the kid rolls down the stairs.
2. Who uses tablecloths? AND... who uses tablecloths that hang so low that a kid in a walker can reach? Do they realize that a walker does not make your baby 4-feet tall? Babies are the same height in a walker as they are standing up without one. That makes them not nearly tall enough to grab a pan off the stove.
3. Drown? In a bathtub? In order for this to happen, the baby would have to charge the bathtub at such a speed that when she hits the side, she ejects out of the walker seat and into a bathtub randomly filled with water. I almost want to try it. I understand the danger if you have an in-ground pool. But if you leave your mobile child unattended in a place where they can walk, crawl or roll into a pool, you are a moron.
4. I guess that means I will need to store my arsenic elsewhere. That's too bad, the coffee table has been the perfect place!

What I'm trying to say is that none of these unfortunate happenings can specfically be blamed on the walker. They can all just as easily happen when a child is walking or crawling by him/herself and the parent happens to not be paying attention. Don't make the walker the scapegoat for negligence. Most of the websites suggested other activities that render children immobile, like a playpen or a highchair. You know what else would work? If we cut their legs off! Then parents would never have to actually watch their kids!

Don't get me wrong, I am not in love with the walker. I know it won't make her walk sooner. But it does afford her some independence and a different vantage point other than my ugly shirt, the ceiling, or the floor. If an accident happens while she is in it (knock on wood), I will claim full responsibility, because I am her parent and it is my job to make sure her environment is safe. I refuse to handicap her in the process.

What I Didn't Expect

I do a lot of research. It's one of the few valuable skills I learned from journalism school. I can Google like no other. When I found out I was pregnant I read everything available on the subject. I was both fascinated and horrified at the things I learned (ohmygod wtf is a mucous plug?!?!) No one tells you about stuff like that. Probably because people who have kids want other people to have kids, so they remain silent about some of the trauma you go through. All my life I've been absolutely terrified of giving birth. And doctors. I can't stand doctors. So I found a midwife and I read up on every birthing technique available, and then of course we signed up for birth classes.

There's so many different classes out there it's ridiculous. You have your normal Lamaze hehehoohoo panting class, then there's the Bradley Method, which seemed cool until I learned it involved your husband whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Ew. Please do not breathe on me while I'm in labor, or any other time really. Then I found hypnobirthing, which sounds totally bizarre, but actually made the most sense. It's all about fear. Fear creates tension, and a baby barrelling through tense muscles creates pain. Lots of pain. So, if you let go of the fear and relax, it won't hurt. As bad. Basically, you have to learn to embrace the pain; make it your bitch and feel empowered. Good thing I read the book because my water broke the day before our class. Didn't see that one coming.

In labor. Waiting for the magic to happen.

This wouldn't have been so bad but the birth center birth I had been planning for almost 9 months was snatched away from me when I was diagnosed with cholestasis the week prior. Cliff's notes version: I itched like a strung out crackhead with scabies, and it was creating a potentially dangerous environment for the baby. The midwife dropped me like I was hot. It all happened so fast. My case was transferred to an obstetrician at the hospital. I met her once for 5 minutes. She introduced herself by sticking her whole hand and I'm pretty sure part of her arm in a place where no one's arm should ever be. Then she told me she would have to check her schedule so she could induce me when it was convenient for her. Oh F to the no. And F you lady. I never saw her again. When I went to the hospital after my water broke and found out a male doctor was on call that night, I pleaded with the staff to call my midwife and let her deliver. I know he's probably seen hundreds of vaginas, but he hadn't seen mine and I was determined to keep it that way. After reviewing my case and understanding my plight, they arranged for the midwife to come to the hospital and watch a baby come out of me. (That's really all they do). None of this went how I expected it to go.

Nothing can ever prepare you for giving birth, but I guess it basically went according to plan. The baby came out. But she didn't cry. I had expected her to come out screaming. I pulled her out Kourtney Kardashian style and she just laid on me and chilled for a while. I asked why she wasn't crying and the midwife explained that while she remains attached to the cord she doesn't need to breathe because she's still getting all the good stuff from me. I read about this but I had always expected her to cry as soon she entered the world. I guess I also expected the cord to be cut right away, but they waited like five minutes, maybe more.

I had devoted so much time and energy into ensuring her safe arrival that I didn't really know what to expect once she was here. Every day since then has been a new adventure. Here are some things I've found surprising, either because no one told me about it, or they did and I didn't listen.

I didn't expect....

1. To have a baby payment. Of course I knew it would cost something, but holy crap! We were planning on paying for a birth at the birth center. One in the hospital was about 5x more expensive. Her birth is worth more than both of our cars combined. I wonder if they'll repossess her if I stop paying? Maybe that's what happened to the lady who tried to sell her baby at Taco Bell. They were about to foreclose so she opted for a short sale.

2. To pee my pants. After giving birth, your bladder stops giving you the warning that you should soon find a restroom. Instead, you just pee. I peed my pants at Costco. One minute I was standing there looking at hiking backpacks, and the next there was warm liquid running down my leg. There's really nothing you can do about it, except get the hell out of Costco, or wherever you happen to be when you pee your pants. It has slowly gotten better, but I wasn't prepared to publicly piss myself.

3. The guilt. Good lord I feel guilty about EVERYTHING! It started before she was born when my womb became potentially hazardous, then continued when I wasn't able to exclusively breastfeed, then when she started sleeping in her own room, when I went back to work....The list goes on and on. I finally started working 4 days a week instead of 5. I felt like 40 hours a week was way too long to be away from her. There's small daily things like if we're out past her bath time, or if I forget to start the car on a hot day before putting her in. I hope it goes away at some point. This is a lot of work.

4.  My relationship with Baby Daddy to change. We've been Katie and Travis for so long that I just assumed we'd be Katie and Travis plus 1. But instead we're more like Mommy and Daddy. And it's not necessarily a bad thing. It's just different. We took a trip to the coast last weekend, just the two of us. And once I got over the guilt (see #3) it was a lot of fun. It was good to be Katie and Travis again.

Beautiful day at the coast.

5. To become obsessed. I'm a pretty level-headed person. I don't really go bananas about anything. But I am obsessed with my baby. There. I said it. I think about her every single second. I want to make sure that she has everything she could ever want or need. My living room looks like a daycare center. Her closet and dresser are exploding with clothes. I do the stupidest, most embarrassing shit to make her laugh. I need to be stopped.

Just a corner of the living room.

So, skip all the googling, 100-page books and online forums. There's only one thing to expect when becoming a parent. The unexpected.

Sophie The Giraffe



The original Trinity Fountain in Cambridge, UK

Trinity is teething hardcore. Drool flows from her mouth like a fountain.....haha get it? Trinity Fountain? Sorry I couldn't resist. We'll go there someday. It'll make a nice Christmas card.

Also, I'm the only one who gets to make fun of her name.

Sorry, I totally got off track. Anyway, she chews on everything looking for some relief. Your traditional cold teething ring doesn't really do it for her because, well, it's cold. It makes her hands cold when she stuffs her face with it and she's not a fan. Other than her hands, which must be sore from being chomped on, she prefers to chew on wash cloths, blankets, and clothes. It's weird. I have the weird kid who chews on blankets. But I don't have to. You know what she could use? Sophie the status teether. Every baby who's any baby has a Sophie. Don't know who Sophie is? Check her out:

Sophie is made in the French Alps of 100% natural rubber derived from the sap of a havea tree. (wtf?!) She's hand-painted with edible food-quality paint. Your baby needs one! That's what the website says. And for the small fortune of $25, my baby, like every celebrity baby, could have one. Sophie is super cute, and to top it all off, she squeaks. Wait, what? She squeaks? Like a dog toy? Yes. And that's exactly what I thought she was a few years ago when I happened upon this little giraffe posed with a statue on the steps of the Oregon State Capitol. After thinking, 'Why the hell is a rubber giraffe posed with a marble statue in front of the capitol? How random.' I thought, 'Sweet, Guido will love this!' I took Sophie (Raffie) home to my beloved Italian greyhound, and they have been inseparable ever since.

Sophie is the only toy that is still in one piece after enduring Guido's particularly destructive brand of abuse. He can't get enough of the squeak. Therein lies my problem. How can I have the same toy for both my dog and my baby? There's bound to be some confusion. I refuse to spend that much money on something that's going to eventually end up as a new chew toy for my dog. Somehow, two years before my daughter was even thought of, I unknowingly deprived her of perhaps the only thing that can now bring her comfort. Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic. There's always whiskey.

While all the cool babies get giraffes, I'm stuck with a stupid plush flower! First world problems.

Keeping Me Honest

Before they have kids, people always make comments that start with, "When I have kids..." and usually end with how their kids will act or how they will or won't discipline a certain way. And then people do have kids and life happens, and everything they had in mind basically goes out the window. I am no exception, as noted before when I held the baby and pushed the stroller. However, there are still a few parenting practices that I can (as of now) still say I will or won't do. In an attempt to keep me honest, I thought it would be fun to list them. It is quite possible that in a few years I will look back and snort at my naivete, but having them in writing might make me more likely to follow my own rules.

*Disclaimer* This is in no way a judgment of how you choose to parent your children. Whatever keeps you sane is awesome. Rock on.

1. I do not/will not co-sleep. It's just not for me. I can't sleep with anyone touching me, not even Travis. I haven't divided the bed in half with Duct tape yet, but there is an understanding: You stay on your side, Buddy, I'll stay on mine. Love ya, but no touchy touchy. Trinity seems to be the same way. She says "no thanks" to being rocked to sleep. Instead, she likes to be laid in her crib and left the hell alone. More power to ya sister! Growing up, I never even considered my parents' bed an option. Probably because it wasn't. But why would I want to be crammed in one bed listening to them snore when I have my big, quiet, cozy bed to myself? Trinity, if you have a nightmare, I will come to your room and sit with you until you go back to sleep. To bed I said! That's Dr. Seuss, right?


She likes her space

2. I will not count to three. You've heard parents do this if you haven't done it yourself. You're in the grocery store and Parent yells at Kid to come here. Kid doesn't budge. Parent yells again. Nada. Parent says "1." Kid holds his ground. Parent says "2." Kid decides to listen and slowly make his way back to Parent. This only works if Parent has at some point made it to "3" and unleashed all hell on Kid, successfully making Kid terrified of the number 3. I'm nervous about making this rule, because I've seen it work well. You know 3 must be bad if Kid runs back at 1. But what I hate most of all is "2 and a half." No! After 2 comes 3, and after 3 comes unleashed, pent up rage. I probably don't like this method because I am what some might call a control freak. I'm also impatient. Shocking, I know. But giving kids 3 or more chances to listen to you gives them the control. They know exactly what you want them to do, but are choosing to ignore you until the last possible second. Listen to me the first time I ask you to do something or face my hand upside the back of your head, or if you're CPS, I mean time out. My dad says that helped my ears hear better. Time out, of course...

3. I will not make separate dinners. God, I sound so mean. I'm not mean. I'm just too lazy to make two dinners. But if I went through the trouble of cooking dinner, you damn well better take a bite of it. Just because you want mac and cheese this particular night does not mean you get it. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight we are having chicken and green beans, what would you like to go with it? Oh you want some applesauce? Ok we can have that too. See? I'm nice. This is also a health issue. My kid will probably not specifically ask for green beans, but if it happens to be on her plate, she may end up consuming a few. For quite some time, my parents made me a separate meal, and then eventually my intestine collapsed because, surprise! hot dogs and mac and cheese do not equal a balanced diet.

Peas are good, mmkay.

4. I will not use TV as a babysitter. Ahh but it would be so easy to do! I will probably break this one at some point. After all there are some educational shows on TV these days. Have you seen Word World? Awesome show. I let her watch Your Baby Can Read now, because I want her to be a baby genius. Sometimes when I watch TV, I notice that she's watching too. I was a little concerned the other day when I turned on Shark Week and she laughed when a lady got attacked. I just don't want to get into a habit of plopping her down in front of whatever's on just so I can fold my laundry in peace, and then make a phone call, take a shower, cook dinner, oh no the day is gone and all you've done is watch TV. Go outside and practice cartwheels or something.

Shark attacks dissolve her into fits of giggles

5. I will follow through on the threats I make. This is both to make her realize that her actions have consequences, and for me to be sure I'm ready to follow through when I make a threat. So if I tell her that if she doesn't quit screaming, we are leaving the grocery store, I better be prepared to leave the grocery store without my cart full of groceries. And if I tell her that she needs to finish her green beans before she gets dessert, then I need to make sure the dessert doesn't come out until the green beans are gone. Ugh, that sounds tiring.  As Grandma would say, Life is short. Eat dessert first. There. Problem solved.

Being a parent has already made me crazy, and it's only been 4 months. It's full of guilt and stress about what's right and wrong. Will this make my kid a psycho? Am I holding her enough? Too much? To spank or not to spank? To leash or not to leash? Pierce her ears as a baby or wait til she's old enough to take care of them herself? We all want smart, healthy, self-sufficient, respectful, socially acceptable little athletes, but everyone has a different way of getting there.

I'd like to hear what everyone else said they would or wouldn't do before becoming a parent, and how it's changed since you have. Or, if you don't have kids, what are your parent pet peeves that you say you'll never do?

My Sweet Potato ate a Sweet Potato!

Trinity is now 4.5 months old, and ever since I bought the Magic Bullet I have been eager to start making her some baby food. She just went in for her shots, and the pediatrician gave us the go-ahead to start feeding her solids, probably to help her body support her giant head (80th percentile!!). Of course she advised us to start with rice cereal. Boring! After much research, I learned that there is no medical reason why rice cereal should be baby's first food. It's basically just carbs, with no real nutritional value. But I bought some just to have it. I also bought a sweet potato. I remember my niece loving them, so I figured I would give it a shot. The weird thing is I could only find white sweet potatoes. I didn't even know those existed, but figured, what the hell, now if it gets on her clothes it won't stain as bad. So I brought it home, peeled it, steamed it, put it in the Magic Bullet with some breast milk for a familiar taste and thinner consistency and Wah Lah! Homemade baby food! Then I filled up an ice cube tray with my mixture, froze it, and emptied it into a plastic bag. For the cost of 68 cents I now have several servings of food.

It's actually quite tasty!

Making it was the easy part. Now I have to get her to eat it. So far she's licked a Cheeto, gummed an olive, sucked on a pineapple, and had a drop of root beer and whipped cream (damn those grandparents!) But she's never actually consumed anything other than milk, so here goes. Instead of telling you about it, I thought I would let Trinity illustrate her experience for you:

Food goes here Mom. Duh!

In my highchair. Got my bib on. I rock at this eating thing!

WTF is in my mouth?!?!? No seriously. WHAT. IS. THAT?

Did I say you could do that again? NO! If only I had hand control!

Why would you do this Mom? You're dead to me.

JK. I still love ya. But let's not do that again. K?

I think it went well. I can't be sure that any of it was actually swallowed, but Rome wasn't built in a day. Apparently, once babies start solids you can tell what they've been eating by looking at (and smelling) the contents of their diaper. I've never been so excited for poop in my life! How sad is that?

The Difference Between Mom and Dad

 Before Baby, Wednesday was known as Trav's Day Off.  Now, it's Daddy Daughter Day. I am thankful for this day, not only because it facilitates important bonding time between the two of them, but because it shows Travis that during the first 6 weeks of her life when I stayed home with her, I wasn't just sitting on my chunky dunk watching soap operas and eating Bon Bons the whole time. It's a lot of freakin' work tending to her needs all day. I was secretly thrilled the first Wednesday he had her alone when I came home from work to no dinner, and the house looked shitacular. He also appeared pretty haggard, like he went on a three-day bender, walking around half-asleep with his black T-shirt covered in baby vomit.

Luckily, he's an awesome dad and loves spending time with her. He does not refer to it as "babysitting." I want to cut dads who think they are babysitting when they are taking care of their own spawn. It blows my mind. You would never hear a mom say they can't go out because they have to babysit. If dads put as much effort into the baby raisin' as they did the baby makin', this world would be a better place.

I know when Trav is alone with her that all of her needs are being met. She's fed, changed and entertained. If she's under my watch or his, there's really no difference in the love she receives. But the way she is dressed is a different story. With me, she wears three to four different outfits a day. Usually some form of tutu is involved. And there's always a headpiece.

 A typical day with Mom:

Yes, she looks absolutely ridiculous. But we're having so much fun! I have to take advantage of her helplessness while I can. Pretty soon she'll start dressing herself, and I'll probably be traumatized by the outfits she puts together. Especially if she takes after her dad.

On Travis' day, they will lounge in their PJs for quite some time. When he gets around to dressing her, it is usually in a one-piece romper because he can never figure out which pants match with a certain onesie. And never is there a headband or hat. Apparently when he asks her if she'd like one, she says, "No Thanks Dad." At least she has manners. One day when I asked why her socks were mismatched, he informed me that when one sock falls off, he just picks up the next sock he sees and puts it on. 

A typical day with Dad:



Who wouldn't want to wear these soft pajamas all day?

I give Travis a hard time, but really I'm sure she's way more comfortable on the days he has her.  I know he's gonna kill me for this, but I just had to share. Last Wednesday when I came home, they were playing Frisbee with our dog Guido in the backyard. When I went out to join them, I instantly knew something was wrong with this picture:

 

No, it's not the fact that there's a kitty in a sailboat fishing for hearts, even though that is also extremely puzzling. The problem is that this bizarre scenery is happening on her back instead of her front. Apparently it was backwards day at our house, and Trinity was the only participant. It makes me giggle to think of the two of them just hanging out all day, both oblivious to the awful wardrobe malfunction going on right in front of them. I quickly pointed out the problem and reminded him: Awkward applique goes in front, buttons go in back. We all had a good laugh.

If this is the only thing I have to worry about on their days together, I'll consider myself lucky. :)

Ridin' Solo

Travis had to work last weekend, so it was just me and the babe. I decide it will be a good idea to take her to Washington where I grew up. A good friend is having a bridal shower, and I know my aunt and uncle would love to see Trinity. The problem is that we have never taken her away from home, and I'm not sure how to do it all alone. Single mothers, you are my heroes.

I have a million questions.
What all should I bring? I decide to play it safe and bring everything. A month's worth of clothes should do it. If an unexpected blizzard hits, I have the Eskimo suit, (I hope it still fits) and if a heat wave rolls in, I've got the swimsuit, sunglasses and sunscreen.

How am I supposed to know how many diapers and wipes I will need? I shove as many diapers in every nook and cranny I can find, and I fill up my little travel wipe case. I will only be gone for 2.5 days, but you never know. I don't bother trying to figure out how much formula she might need, I just bring the whole tub, along with all the pumped milk I have stored up.

I can't hold her the whole time, so what to bring to sit her in? I grab the bumbo, the pack n play, the bouncy chair, the stroller, and the play gym. Dammit the swing won't fit! I make a mental note to buy a bigger car.

It's about a 4-hour drive, but she eats every 3 hours. Crap. I figure I will leave during her first morning nap (usually about 3 hours) and just hope the noise of the car will keep her asleep for an extra hour. I dread driving down the freeway alone with an inconsolable infant screaming in the back.

Oh my god what if I have to pee? Do I take her car seat in the bathroom with me? Ew and set it on the floor? Gross! Do I take her out of the car seat and try to hold her while I pee? I don't want to wake her up. Do I get the stroller out, put her in that, and then wheel her into the handicap bathroom? I would pee my pants by the time all that could happen. The only logical thing to do is not pee. Operation Hold It is in full effect.

I make it 2.5 hours before Hold It becomes a huge failure. I had a terrible excuse for a bladder before giving birth, now I'm not 100% sure that what I have could even pass for a bladder. What to do? I pull off the freeway and stop at a McDonald's. I see her sleeping so peacefully in the back, and as I'm about to unhook her seat, the thought of sitting her on the McDonald's bathroom floor makes me gag. So I shut the door, press the lock button 20 times, run into McDonald's, take the fastest pee I've ever took, and run back out. I think I clocked in at around 1 minute. No, I did not wash my hands. She's still sleeping peacefully as I get back on the freeway and apologize several times while bathing in hand sanitizer. Judge me all you want, but these things do not come with a manual. I'd also like to add that our back windows are tinted so no one could see her in there. Still, consumed with guilt.

She sleeps the whole way there (best baby ever!) And I'm so excited for my aunt to see her in her "I Love My Auntie" outfit. My aunt is at work when we get there, so we let ourselves in and get set up. I notice she is grunting and turning red, so I applaud her for waiting to poop until we got there, and then I wait a couple minutes for her to finish. That's when I see this:

Notice the poop stains right above her pants. I am terrified about what awaits me in that diaper. This is when having another person around really comes in handy. Upon further inspection, I find this:

You can only imagine what it looked like inside the diaper. I used almost every wipe that I brought, and she still wasn't clean. That smell would not go away. Good thing I brought her bath tub! After an emergency bath and a costume change, she looks and smells so much better. Sadly, that outfit will never be worn again. The poop was just too strong.

Back-up auntie outfit

Once my aunt gets home, we go shopping. T has always been an angel out in public, but today was different. She's whining and crying and generally seeming unpleased with life. I explain to my aunt that "she's never like this, I swear." And pick her up out of her stroller. At that moment I become That Parent. The parent who carries their child and pushes the empty stroller. Usually I point and laugh at That Parent, but today I just hang my head in shame. We both find stuff to try on and make our way back to the changing rooms, where T is still fussing. I decide to change her diaper. That usually cheers her up. But instead of the usual wet diaper, I find what looks like a mashed avocado. No wonder she was unhappy. I reach for the wipes but come up empty-handed. Ohmygod I left them in the pack n play. Panic sets in. I have a poop-covered baby and nothing to wipe her off with. I relay my troubles to my aunt in the room beside mine, who miraculously has a couple Kleenex. I wet them with my water bottle to create a wipe and I am in business. Crisis averted. I stop sweating. Until we get up to the register and I don't see my wallet in the diaper bag. I freak out. I grab the diaper bag and turn it upside down on the floor, where I get on my hands and knees and sift through all the crap. No wallet. Sweating resumes. My aunt wonders what the hell I'm doing on the floor in front of the register, and when I tell her I've lost my wallet, she points to it sticking out the side pouch of the diaper bag. Oh thank god. I gather what's left of my dignity and get up off the floor to pay for my items.

Before this baby, I was always organized and put-together. At least in public. Now, every trip out of the house is a goat frolic. I'm basically insane. Nothing ever really goes according to plan, but I'm learning that it's OK. The best part of the weekend was when my best friend surprised us all by flying in from Phoenix! She got to meet the baby for the first time, and I stayed out way later than intended. We got off schedule and she slept part of the night in her bouncy seat. She did great. I think my craziness will make her a well-adjusted human being.

We are making the trek again this weekend for a wedding. This time, I'm bringing Travis.

Is She Yours?!

People say stupid things. I found that much out when I was pregnant. "Are you pregnant? At first I thought you were just fat!" "When's your due date? Yesterday?" Wow. Thanks, Kirby vacuum a-hole, and no you may not clean my carpets. I could laugh about these incidents because I knew my condition was temporary, and soon I would just be a normal person with a baby.

But the madness didn't stop once she was born. It hasn't just been once, but SEVERAL occasions since I've had her, that people stop me and ask if she's mine. I hear it everywhere, all the time. They'll ask personal facts about her, like her age, name, and temperament. And then it happens. "Is she yours?" Ummm no, she came with the shopping cart. The last shopper must have left her. Yes! Of course she's mine! I went through a lot of bodily trauma for her to not be recognized as my own. This is not a normal question. And no one ever tells me why they asked. Maybe I look too young. But I wear a wedding ring and I'm usually at Costco when this happens. (I'm always at Costco.) And even if I were too young, this question would only make me feel more like crap.  Maybe it's because I need to use two hands to carry the car seat, and I have to put it down in the cart instead of on top of the child seat thing because I'm not tall enough to see over it. I don't know. But there's really no excuse for this question. Does she not look enough like me?

Can you see the resemblance? Yeah, me neither.

It's not my fault she has her father's features. But either way, it doesn't matter. Don't ask if she's mine with a shocked look on your face.

Here are some more of my personal favorites:

1. Is she a good baby? ~ No, I wish I could return her for a sleepier, quieter model. Is there such a thing as a bad baby? Jesus.

2. Is she a girl? ~ What??!!

3. Did it hurt to give birth? ~ Seriously?

4. When are you going to have another one? ~ Maybe when the memory of having my vagina sewn up is a little less fresh. So probably never.

I've never had so many strangers talk to me in my life. They must think that since I have a baby I'm a nice person. Ha. But I have found that people are much nicer and more willing to help you out when there's a baby with you. Probably because I often look like I have no idea what I'm doing, which could be the real reason people ask me if she's mine.