That bubble is either a small town in Ohio or motherhood. I've been staring out the window trying to figure it out exactly. Not really sure which one, although I'm leaning toward the latter. Really, I'm sitting here pondering that because I'm totally blocked up writing my grad school application essay. It's half done, and the Wiggles are running on repeat, turning my brain into soup — even Scarlett just exclaimed, "Not again?!" My goal is to have my application in by Monday. Lord, help me. Read more…
All posts in mommyhood
I know they're my spawns, but the cuteness factor is way high in this photo, right? Scarlett dragged Leo (literally) into her play house for a tea party. She was the perfect host, obviously. She tea parties hard.
… too hard.
Scarlett: Mom, look! Barbie is ready to pump.
Me: Oh. I see that. (Pause.) Did you help her get ready?
Scarlett: Yeah, I helped her with her boobs. Mom, Barbie is ready to pump her breastmilk now. Go get her pump.
Me: Well, Babe, I don't think Barbie has a pump. Or a baby.
Scarlett: Why not?
Me: Because — and all I could think of was — Ken comes in a different box.
Who am I?
Guess what I'm doing this weekend? That's right! I'm taking a stand-up comedy class with my dad. I know — it's inherently funny. We're such comedy gunners. Obviously. I'll tell all y'all about it next week. In the meantime … Read more…
I know that's a weird thing to ask, and maybe I'm just being overly sensitive these days because I haven't been sleeping much. (Leo's night sleeping is still pretty wackadoo.) And although I try really hard not to take things personally, sometimes I just can't help it.
Scarlett hates my singing.
Every time I try to sing to her, or even if I'm just singing to myself, she cries and tells me she doesn't like it when I sing. Sometimes she get really sad. Sometimes she's really angry about it. It's heartbreaking. I'm not really sure what to do. And it's not that she wants to sing or sing with me — I've asked. She just doesn't want me to. I love to sing to her. And she hates it.
What can I do?
There are two kinds of people in this world: those with nicknames and those without. I'm one of the many nicknameless. I've had a string of wannabe nicknames: Mel, Mabs, 98, Meliss'. But nothing that anyone or everyone calls me with any consistency. If I were a lesbian, I'd go by Missy because that'd be badass; but I'm not, so that's out too. Anyway … Read more…
Girl scouts are always prepared. I was a girl scout once, and not a very good one, if I do say so myself. I hated selling cookies. My cakes for the bake-off looked more liked science experiments than food. And camp … well, I dropped a flashlight in the latrine and got dermatitis from the "mattress." I don't remember much of anything from my patch-earning days, but "be prepared" was pretty good advice. What do I prepare for these days? Looking like a normal human being instead of a mom. How do I do it? With a survival kit, of course.
Items you'll need:
- Ear plugs and a sleep mask. After being up all night, you will need these if you ever want to nap again. Complete sensory deprivation is the only way to shut off your brain and the noise that never ends in your house.
- Slippers. You will never leave the house during flu season, so you might as well have comfortable, cozy feet when you answer the door for the mailman. I have these wicked good ones. Thanks, Mom.
- Cover-up. Dark circles from a total lack of sleep? You know it. I'm currently loving lemon aid by Benefit.
- Dry shampoo. You'll never have time to wash your hair, so grow it out and then put it in a ponytail. This will give it some nice volume. Congrats, you're officially a mom. (Dirty Secret is the best.)
- Slouchy knit hat. For when the dry shampoo doesn't cut it. Or when you have a giant zit in the middle of your forehead and your cover-up doesn't cut it either. I've been wearing this one for a year. Yes, even in the summer.
- Big fashion scarf. Not only will this hide your boobs while nursing in public, you can use it to cover any spit-up stains on your shirt. Then you can use it to entertain your child in a 4-hour game of peekaboo on the way back from Missouri.
- Purse / diaper bag. I tried to carry a purse and a separate diaper bag for a day. I've had this one in vintage brown for three years, it's still in great shape, and I get more compliments on it than any other bag I've ever had. Totally worth it.
- Netflix subscription. This will save you when you can't take another minute of Dinosaur Train and you don't want your child watching commercials on the Disney channel because she'll be asking for Stompeez months after seeing the advert for it once. Once.
- Infinite patience. I'm still working on this one, but I am convinced it is the key to happiness.
What did I miss? Do you have a secret weapon? I'd love to hear what it is.photo credit: liquidnight via photopin cc
Oh, I've been away for so long that I don't even know where to start. That's usually the hard part, isn't it? Getting restarted. But I've missed you. We were doing so well, too, and then I totally fell off the blogging wagon. And I fell hard. I was busy, if it's any consolation. I did a play, which was lovely. Then Thanksgiving happened, and now it's almost Christmas, which means it's almost New Year, which means that I'd like to get myself back on track for 2013. Or at least feel that way because I love new beginnings. I mean, who doesn't? Well, I guess people who hate change, but I can't help myself. I think this is partly why I love theatre because after every show closes, you get to start anew with the next production.
I need to revisit some of my goals. I have a stack of books to read on my nightstand that's as tall as Scarlett, and although I am most definitely not nesting, I have an overwhelming need to organize. I'm not sure what it means. Perhaps my crazy is redirecting into productive OCD. Cleanliness is next to happiness in my book. Oh, and you'll probably be happy to know that I am feeling happier these days. I guess I had some serious post-partum depression. It is no joke, friend. It is a nasty and ugly beast that I'd like to punch in the balls. Or ovaries. (I don't want to gender discriminate.) It was a rough couple of months, and I'm only too happy to get off that dark wagon ride. So, thanks for waiting. Love you.