Because Today Deserves Two Entries…
We recently went on a church retreat to a huge conference center made out of nuclear bomb shelter concrete. The whitewashed walls, windowless halls, and maze-like layout welcomed us like a straightjacket welcomes a nut.
We weren’t the only ones there. There was another church group – a women’s group – meeting, too. We met them in the halls like ants: Which way is up? *Blink blink* I haven’t seen sunlight in days.
We found out later the style of architecture that the building represented is called “brutalist.” Now if that doesn’t make you feel at home, I don’t know what does.
The retreat sessions all took place during my toddler’s naptimes or bedtimes. Convenient. You know what else was convenient? The proximity of the as yet unused coat check room to our meeting space – spitting distance if you’re from Alabama.
I know what you’re thinking… You put your kid in the coat check room?? You brute!
My, what a punster you are! Get it – Brute? Brutalist? Ok, I guess I’m the only one laughing here…
Of course I didn’t coat check my child! I have my boundaries. My limits. My morals…
Luckily my husband has none of those pesky ethics. So he got the security guards to unlock the room, set her up in a nice comfy hanger, tagged her with a number (how else will we claim her??), and left.
Ok, I kid. Obviously. We left her in a crib, not a hanger.
And, we’re not totally negligent. We left a gangly 8-year-old girl to stand guard outside the room.
There. Happy now?
Pee
Is your kid a light sleeper? Mine usually isn’t, but she is when she’s transitioning between nap schedules. Right now, she’s transitioning between two naps a day to one, and she goes back and forth throughout the week, not settling on a schedule quite yet. So I do not go upstairs while she is napping, even though that’s where the haven of peeing lies. The stairs groan, the safety gate squeaks loudly, and I wince when I step on a creaky floorboard (why, yes, I DO live in a haunted house).
Which is why I can’t pee right now. Even though I just drank two cups of coffee. Even though I just contemplated peeing into a diaper. I will not go upstairs. I will not wake her up.
Kisses
My daughter just learned how to kiss. She sucks in her cheeks like a fish and makes a puckering/smacking sound. THEN she leans in, open mouth, and slobbers on me.
I love it.
Tiny Assassin
I’m pretty sure my daughter is a tiny assassin, hired to kill me.
Today she attacked my eye with her pointer finger – jab – no time to blink. Later, she came at me with a pen. On a regular basis, she flings sippy cups and other heavy objects at my feet and head. Perhaps it’s maiming that’s her goal?
If she can’t maim or kill me using force, she intends to use psychological warfare to break my spirit by screaming as loud as her little lungs can scream, in full tantrum mode, as many times a day as possible. It’s working.
Trained Monkey
I have been nannying another girl this month, and having another child around has allowed me to see my daughter’s personality in a new light. I’m sorry to report that she is on her way to becoming a corrupt little criminal. And the the other girl, the nanny-ee? An angel. Dang.
My daughter knows she’s not allowed to play with the dog’s food and water dishes (choking hazard and, well, just gross). She got in there yesterday, and I told her no and pulled her way. She did it again, and I said no and moved her. She did it again, and I told her no and removed her from temptation. She did it again, and I slapped her hand and said no. She laughed. It was almost maniacal.
Later, I turned my back for .07 seconds, and I heard the other child (who is 6 months older than my little one) going “ehh… ehh” rather urgently. I turned and she was looking at me and pointing at my little delinquent who was basically bathing in the dog’s water.
This other girl has a favorite baby doll, which she grips tightly and does not share. Understandable. My girl doesn’t share her favorite bear – these “lovies” are exempt from sharing. But my little troublemaker crawls menacingly toward the other girl and tries to steal her baby doll. The other girl has learned, when my little mugger approaches, to just throw her doll at her. Take it! Spare my life!
So, at this point, my plan is to train her up in these natural skills and bring her into bustling cities, on trains, subways, boats, etc and get her to mug strangers to pay for her room, board, education, and arranged marriage. Basically, a trained monkey, but WAY cuter.
How to Destroy Your Child in Two Easy Steps
1. Play a game with your crawler where you place her on the bed, crouch on the floor, and encourage her to crawl to you, off the side of the bed, and into your waiting arms. (Giggles ensue).
2. Place your child on the bed any other time. Do not crouch. Wait.
Why I Don’t Use the High Chair Restraint
You know that belt/buckle restraint that comes with the high chair? The one that the manufacturer and every baby book on earth tells you to use…IF you want to be a good parent? They claim it keeps your child safe, protects him, and makes him a super genius by the age of 2.
Well, when my daughter starting choking on her cheesy toast, guess who was able to whip her right up, turn her head downward, and pound her back in less time than it takes to say “Safety first”?
(The answer is: me. In case you were confused by the complexity of the question.)
So, I don’t buckle my child in to the highchair, because I think it makes it harder and slower to give them first aid if they need it.
…and I’m lazy.
Survival Corner
My baby started crawling about 2 weeks ago. She went from totally immobile to being able to crawl from one end of our townhouse to the other. And this townhouse is massive. I mean, we have two bathrooms. Two. We are obviously rich.
Of course, the first thing you have to do when your baby becomes mobile is childproof the house. We ran right out and bought outlet covers and cabinet locks, and I broke my pattern of vacuuming and mopping on an annual basis to get some of the dog hair, toxins, and choking hazards out of her reach. Am I a great mother? I think so.
Once that was done, I set her loose. And here is what I’ve learned.
- Even if your laptop charge cord is plugged in, and your baby puts the other end in her mouth, she will not die. In fact, I think it may have given her a little oomph.
- Ditto on the phone charger.
- Dog food is way more enticing than anything I feed her, including the boob.
- You don’t need baby toys. Just a closet full of shoes.
- The most important thing is to ask your husband to create a Survival Corner. In our home, this is the area where he throws stuff that he uses in the backyard. There’s a tin bucket by our back door, and it contains: pellet gun, pellets, fishing line, and an exacto knife. Or, in the language of baby: eye extractor, choking candy, strangle wire, and stabbing wand.
Thank Goodness for the Washington Post Newspaper
They keep delivering us newspapers on a daily basis, even though we only pay for (and want) the Sunday paper for the coupons. And me being the impeccable housewife I am, I let the unwanted newspapers accumulate in the front yard until it looks like a trailer park, and then I pick up all 22 of them and throw them in the recycling bin.
They’re a nuisance, a mess. They’re unwanted and annoying, and I’ve called the paper to ask them to stop delivering. Yet here they are, like manna from heaven.
And manna they were, because they became quite useful last night. I had put my daughter to bed much, much earlier, eaten dinner, washed the dishes, tidied the house, and climbed into bed around 11. I probably drifted off to sleep around 11:30. Then, at 11:58 pm, my zealous chocolate lab started barking ferociously and jumping up onto our picture window. It was LOUD. I woke up and sprang from my bed and flew down the stairs, hissing all the while for the dog to shut up before he wakes the baby. He kept barking, and I looked outside to see the object of his wrath: two cats sitting in our front lawn, meowing and licking themselves and having a grand old time.
My dog kept barking, so I cracked open the front door and, in a whisper-y yell, said “SHOO! SHOOOO!” because apparently I think that actually works in real life. (It doesn’t.) Next step: run outside, in my pajamas, barefoot. Run back inside to grab a coat off the coat rack. Look around frantically for shoes. The dog, still barking. No shoes nearby, so I run back out and suffer the 30 degree pavement on my feet.
I ran at the cats, waving my hands like a revival goer and yelling “Shoo! Get outta here! I hate you!” Harsh words, I know. They just blinked at me. I got closer, and one cat had the good sense to run away, while the other one eyed me warily and said “rweeeaawwwwrrw.”
Um. Something told me there was something not quite right about this cat. Could it be his stub of a tail? His gooey eyes? His half-meow? His hoarse voice? I don’t know, but he was creeeepy. And I was cold. And the dog was still barking.
So thank goodness for the Washington Post newspaper. I picked them up one by one and started throwing them at the cat. He sat there through several attempts, probably knowing all the while that there was about a 1% chance that my aim would actually reach him. After three throws, however, one landed within a foot of him, so he took the hint and sauntered off to terrorize another neighbor.
My feet frozen, I walked back inside, drew the curtains, ordered the dog to “bed,” and stumbled upstairs to thaw my toes and get some sleep. Remind me to write a letter to the editor.
Life with Thrush
If you thought yeast infections were just for hoo-hahs, you’re in for a treat!
Have you ever had your breasts squeezed between a vice, while simultaneously receiving electric shocks deep within the breast tissue, while also having sandpaper rubbed on your nipples? Welcome to a thrush (read: yeast) infection, my friend. It’s nothing if not sexy: itchy, burning, stabbing, shooting, excruciating pain – and that’s just while resting. Imagine a little creature then latching onto the nipples and gnawing them raw.
Motherhood is so rewarding…
