Was ridic! We went to three Christmases, she wore two poofy, glittery, uncomfortable dresses, sat on a strange, fat man's lap for a photo opp, and now we have countless toys and nowhere to put them. I'm in the market for some sort of storage ottoman that can double as a toy box and still look respectable in my living room.
Uncomfortable Dress #1
Uncomfortable Dress #2
So terrifying. Probably the last time this happens. Plus he was not legit. Santa does not dress like Punky Brewster!
One of her faves.
I also had a pretty incredible Christmas. This blog is being brought to you by my brand new laptop! Our other one was such a piece that you couldn't use it for anything unless you had more than two hours and a never-ending supply of patience. Most of the time it incited such rage that my vocabulary was reduced to nothing but expletives for the next hour. Trinity gave Travis and me a Kinect for Christmas so we can be a little less fat and lazy. This is a perfect gift for us because we are SUPER coordinated. The dancing game doesn't even know what to do when we hit the screen; it's so taken aback by our outstanding sense of rhythm.
The day after Christmas, the beeb and I headed up to Washington again to visit some family and friends. It's rough making that trip all by yourself, although I think I managed a little bit better than the last time. I of course still had to pee about halfway through the drive, and again my precious was sleeping so peacefully in the backseat. Since everyone gave me so much shit about leaving her in the car for less than a minute last time (high horse, anyone?) I woke her ass up and drug her into the bathroom with me, where I had to hold her while I peed. Have you ever tried to hover while holding 20 extra pounds in your arms? It's not an easy task. And then I had to complete the rest with one hand. It took forever, and then she was wide awake the rest of the way. It really made so much more sense to leave her be, but whatever, I'm all for doing the right thing. We had an amazing trip, and aside from no sleep because my little manipulator learned quickly that I didn't want her to cry at night and keep the others awake, I would deem it highly successful.
A nightmare of mine occured the day before New Year's Eve. The plan was to drop Travis off at work and then spend the rest of the day at my parents'. We would leave Trinity there that night and then go off to the coast to celebrate New Year's. I packed everything she would need for a few days and made a big batch of baby food. We left around 5:30 in the morning, and at about 6 I realized that I forgot the formula. She was going to need it as soon as I got to my parents', and I had nothing. There was only one thing I could do. I had to stop at Walmart. It wouldn't have been so bad except I was in my pajamas, complete with a robe. Trinity was also in her pjs, and it was pouring down rain. I couldn't go in with my robe, so I put on my nice wool pea coat, which complimented the outfit beautifully. I woke up my poor baby and whisked her through the rain inside Walmart, where thankfully there were other people casually shopping in their pjs. Sweet. The cashier didn't even bat an eye at the trainwreck that was happening right before her. Lesson learned. I'll never forget the formula again. Luckily she can start drinking normal milk soon. I should have bought stock in Enfamil.
Did I mention she crawls now? She looks like a soldier slithering away from an explosion, but it's mobility nonetheless.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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.
