Jingle Bells, Batman Smells...

OMG I loves loves loves this picture. Dude who runs the I Can Has Cheezburger blog is Brrrrrilliant!

Year One: Back on Blog

So this last couple of years have been one heckuva trip - from stick peeing, to fattitude, to birth and baby to early toddlerhood.

Yeesssss, I said toddlerhood. She's walking. She's walkingupabloodystorm! Of course, I WOULD like to attach a braggy video showing my babes acing the Tour de House but as I have said before, this stupid blogger site doesn't seem to want to load my damn videos. (insert pissed off maternal mumbling here) Just picture the cutest kid (ever!) walking all over the place with her mommy chasing after her whisking cat food bowls out of her way while preventing an archeological dig in the cat pan and you've pretty much got the picture.

Motherhood is all about this kind of Glah-mah! Oh yeaaaaaah.

Sadly, I kind of lost my blog for awhile. I didn't forget about it. I didn't stop caring about it. I just sort of lost it. I was busy with a baby who seems to be on developmental overdrive and when I wasn't chopping, chasing, folding, playing, cleaning, feeding, sorting, changing, planning or shopping I was unconscious. What can I say? It happens and I'm a mommy so I've gots myself a good excuse. Now I'm back at work and the siren song of time wasting is a callin'. "Blog, anyone?" Whay yehs! I'll have me one of thohse, thahnk yeh verrah much.

So here I am. Back again. Working until my lottery boat comes in (come on, Lotto Max!) with the desire to write about my crazy new life.

Welcome back on blog.

Sooo...How's it Going?

Strangely, Google images doesn't have a picture of a shamed looking blogger shuffling around trying to explain why she's been MIA for weeks and weeks. I'm afraid you'll just have to buck the technological revolution and "use your imagination".

I know, I know. - Insert collective Aaaaaugh here -

I was on vacation. And then I just took an intellectual vacation. No thinking. No writing. No nothing that didn't involve dealing with Brynn teething (boo teething!) and other, more happy baby related activities. It was fun (except for the teething part 'cause that mostly involved a lack of sleep) but I actually did miss blogging it up for y'all so I don't think I'll be doing that again anytime soon.

I know, I know. - Insert collective Aaaaaugh here -

Well I'm working on a number of posts that are about slightly more than nothing so I'm going to sign off for now...but expect another post soon.

sigh. I know, I know. - Insert collective....blah blah blah.

My Life: Seussisized

Here is a day, a day in the life
a day in the life
of this mother and wife.

Daddy leaves early in the day,
off to earn some workish pay.
Leaving mom and babe to play, play, play.

Mom hears her baby cry and cry,
calm her, calm her, she does try.
With toys and games, she does ply.

Mommy says: Come on Baby, stop, stop, stop.
Stop and eat some delicious schlopp.
Delicious schlopp with squished fruit on top.

Baby's food she loves to drop.
Schloppy mess cleaned with a mop.
Drop food, drop food, plop, plop, plop.

Sleepy baby, whiny baby, snorey snore snore.
Nap time, nap time, close the door.
Caffeine, caffeine, mom needs some more.

Diaper blow out, it's everywhere,
khaki goop in baby's hair.
Mommy gags it's just not fair.

Daddy comes home, he's ready for fun.
But he wonders what his wife has done.
Supper? Clean house? he finds not one.

Baby, baby, she wants to play,
a bath, a meal, some songs mom say
sleepy time, sleepy time, so down she lay.

After this day Mommy's about to pop.
On the couch she needs to flop.
hop, drop, plop, mop, flop, pop, stop!

Wah Wah Wahwahwahwah

I realized today that in my house I've become that teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoons. You know, the one that talks all the time and says nothing except "wah wah wahwahwahwah."

I tell my baby not to rip the cover off my computer/scream blue murder/lick mommy's flip flops. wah wah wahwahwahwah.

I tell my cat to move his skinny ass out of the way of hurricane Brynn. wah wah wahwahwahwah.

I tell my husband what happened that day while he was at work. wah wah wahwahwahwah.

I can only hope that this is just a phase because I really don't wah wah wahwahwahwah.

Wah

Livin' the Dream

Back in the days before I got pregnant, I had this mental image of how things were going to be once we had a baby.

Firstly, I was going to come out of the hospital looking like a frigging supermodel, or at the very least like my normal, pre-pregnancy self. (snort!) And secondly, I was going to have plenty of time and energy: clean house, gourmet meals, immaculately groomed mother and child, etc. (confession: this never happened even before I got pregnant so I realize it was ridiculously unlikely but whatever...a girl can dream.)

Since I don't have a lot of time and/or energy, the whole June Cleaver gig went by the wayside rather quickly. I don't have floors you can eat off of. You don't want to drop your toothbrush in my toilet, shrug your shoulders and brush your teeth anyway and you most certainly aren't going to be blown away by my culinary prowess. I'm happy when I manage a lasagna because my little angel is high maintenance. As for the supermodel/pre-pregnancy fallacy...don't even get me started. Topic for another post. One that I'll write after saving up calories for weeks so I can drown my sorrows in a drink or two as I mourn my increased size.

So no, we don't all sit around the dinner table like the Cleaver family chatting about our day while baby Brynn gurgles and burbles charmingly. Evenings are chaotic affairs at best until Brynn goes to bed around 8 and I count myself lucky if I don't end up eating my chicken skewered on my fork like a bloody corn dog while cleaning the house or feeding Her Babiness. Yumm! Meat on a stick.

Stop laughing. I've actually eaten supper like that. I'm livin' the dream, baby, I'm livin' the dream. Who's, I don't know, but it is bound to be somebody's...

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Brynn typed all that, including the font change to Bold. Obviously, it is a brilliant proof demonstrating the fallacy of the currently accepted principles of particle physics' String Theory but beyond that it is over my head.

And you thought this blog wasn't particularly edumacational.

Doctor No

I've read that during the first year it is important to expose your child to as much language as possible to help form neural connections. There's apparently a direct correlation between the number of words a child hears in their first year and their intelligence later in life. Sadly, this research doesn't seem to take into account the fact that every second word you say from the time your child begins to crawl is NO.

No - don't do that.
No - don't touch that.
No - don't go there.
No - that's not even remotely edible.
No - cats don't enjoy having their tails pulled.
No - that will electrocute you if you chew on it.
No - throwing yourself head first off the couch probably won't end well.

I think I'm going to have to start just sticking random five dollar words into all the No's I'm having to say so my child doesn't end up with a one word vocabulary and an IQ of 4. For example, I could try saying things like: No, my adorable progeny, that's not yours. Don't be so megalomaniacal. (This isn't yours. Not everything is yours.) OR Beloved! No more obstreperous screeching. Please strive to be more unobtrusive. (Quiet, kiddo. Mommy can't hear out of her left ear anymore thanks to you) No, what you're trying to do is quixotically temerarious. (What you're trying to do is suicidal. Please reconsider.)

Too much??

Momma Say WTF

Here's a little confession for you. I'm a type A personality with a perfection complex. I suck at sucking. I have a pathological need to excel and when I find something I just can't master, I invoke the famous Worth, "Let us never speak of this again," clause. It comes in handy when you need to continue labouring under the delusion that you are good at everything. Of course, there's now a whole laundry list of things that are taboo to talk about in my house but that's beside the point.

What was my point again?

Every single time I lose touch with reality and begin thinking I've finally got this mothering shtick figured out, something happens that brings the message back home to roost that no, I REALLY don't have a clue. There are days where things are so bad I figure my kid is lucky I've figured out how to dress myself, let alone her. Of course, those are the days we both hang around the house looking like scary-ass hobos but we never talk about those days here. And you'll never speak of them again either, right?

Anyway. We recently started our little Buggedy Boo on solids. Twice a day I've been mixing up some rice cereal and spooning it into her mouth while making what I hope are convincing "yum yum" noises. As of yesterday this lovely little domestic routine went off the rails. She used to smile and obligingly swallow her goop - I mean delicious, tasty rice cereal - but now I get the look of death and a fine, ricey spray all over my face for my troubles. Why? I don't know and this simply doesn't compute in my universe. In my universe, I know the why's. I always know the why's.

Since the only person why knows what the hell is going on is unable to tell me, for now I just have to suck it up 'cause this is one thing I can't see Scott agreeing to never mention again.

Hand to Mouth

Just in case the title of this post has you wondering: no, this is not another rant about the impossibility of surviving on the financial crumbage the government seems to think is enough to tide people over. Like to see those Conservative fat cats survive on pogey, especially with a kid that grows so fast they could practically hear it.

Nope. Not about that at all.

This is about my daughter's tendency to put everything in her mouth. Normal? Yes. Hygienic? Umm...not so much.

She just doesn't have any fear. I'm a borderline germophobe so this freaks me out to the max. For example, she cries like it is "theeee eeeend of the woooooorld" when I take a moment to wash the soother she's just dropped in some cat litter. Sadly, she doesn't seem to appreciate how lucky she is that I'm not following my instincts and sending it off to some secret government lab to be irradiated after exposing it to the vacuum of space for a month or so. Apparently, germs just don't exist in her little universe yet. Of course, I'll have plenty of time to instill a healthy (and by healthy I mean extreme) fear of germs as she gets older, but in the meantime...shudder.

So here's just a sampling of the items that have found their way into her mouth over the last couple of days despite my best efforts. Some of this stuff is pretty mundane but towards the end, it gets a bit hairy...both literally and figuratively.

Dr. Seuss book
Cover of one of mommy's novels freshly ripped from the book (sob!)
Lint Roller
Daddy's cell phone
Newspaper
Diet Coke bottle (yes, I'm still an addict. Subject for another post.)
Soother
Soother with cat hair on it
Soother that cat had just licked
daddy's clean laundry
daddy's dirty sock
clean diaper
and a near miss of a dirty diaper (phew!)

Sadly, this isn't an exhaustive list and it doesn't even come close to showing everything she's mouthed that has made me cringe or run for the Javex. Javex for the item, not the kid...just in case you were wondering. And yes, I know there's some sicko out there who was wondering just that.

Oops! Gotta go. She's about to chew on the cat.

Postscript: The day after I posted this she decided my left ankle is the most delicious looking thing in creation. Since I'm relatively clean, I'm content to let her gnaw on my leg if it'll keep her from hoovering up dust bunnies and cat litter. Wow...does anyone else think that last sentence makes me sound a) lazy and b) like a slob? Yeah. I think it does too.

No Comment

After my last post, Scott wanted to talk about my blog...again. Stubborn bugger, isn't he? This time however, he apparently decided to be more careful about how he broached the subject so he "just happened to mention" having made a comment and asked if I had seen it.

Of course, I hadn't and when I said as much he suggested I go back online to read it.

Intrigued? You bet your ass 'cause although he reads my blog, he doesn't often post.

Confused? Hmmm...that too because I checked the blog. Again. And then again. There isn't anything there from him. It seems my dear hubby hasn't quite figured out how to post anything on my blog. Is this a good thing?

My response is the same as his apparently was: no comment.

The Soup Kitchen

Scott sat me down last night and wanted to talk about my last post. Apparently, he is concerned that "Will Blog for Diapers" is going to give everyone the idea that we're one step away from wrapping our kid's delicate, snow white derriere in saran wrap filled with wads of kleenex I've scrounged from the bottom of my purse. Personally, I think he's not worried so much about "everyone" as he is worried about his mom and his aunties getting the wrong idea.

Since I like his mom and aunties and I don't want them to worry, I thought a blog entry to clear up any potential misunderstanding might be a good idea. So for the edification and edumication of all interested parties, here goes: Brynn has diapers. Lots of diapers - scads, as a matter of fact. We're diaper heaven here so there is no need to worry. Of course, I'm living on a combination of Campbell's vegetable soup, stale Triscuits, and Kraft dinner but who needs luxuries like meat or fresh fruit and veggies? They're soooo overrated.

See Scott? I paid attention and your concerns matter to me.

Mission accomplished.

Will Blog for Diapers

The big joke in my family is that I've got champagne taste on a beer budget...in other words, I like expensive crap I simply can't afford (outrageous stuff like Jimmy Choo shoes, Marchesa dresses, or a house in Metro Vancouver with a lawn and no downstairs tenant). When I was younger, my father always told me there was a way I could remedy this situation: Marry Rich. Instead, I married someone just like me. (Ah, l'amour)

Maternity leave hasn't exactly helped things in that department either. Now that my expenses are higher than they've been in my entire life (having opted to skip the more expensive hobbies like cocaine and betting on the ponies in my otherwise ill spent youth), I've probably got less money than that chick who asked me if I wanted fries with that last time I ate at McDonald's.

I'm on maternity benefits. Yes, I'm drawing a pogey cheque, such as it is. So now we've degenerated from a beer budget to a lemonade one and when I say I'm on a lemonade budget, I'm talking a No Name lemonade drink crystals 2 years past their best before date budget here, people. Yes, we've got paid maternity for up to 1 year but who the hell can live on that here in Vancouver?

Doesn't the government know I've got a 19 pound kid who eats like her father, grows like a weed, and blows through diapers like they are free? (which I assure you, they bloody well aren't!) Doesn't the government care that my child is not even 6 months old and she's wearing stuff that is supposed to fit a 9 to 12 month old? If I put her in her 6 month clothes, someone's gonna call the authorities 'cause it'll look like I'm trying to cram her into Barbie clothes...which I couldn't afford anyway.

(Oh and in case you were wondering: the government really doesn't care. I checked.)

So when you're driving home from work tonight and you see that crazy woman at the side of the road with the sign that says "Will Blog for Diapers" dig deep and toss a few her way because that crazy chick is probably me. Ah, let's be honest here..."probably" is inaccurate. She totally IS me.

Babies in Spaaaaaaaaace

At about 3am last night I came up with a brilliant new theory about children. I know my usual 3am fare is usually somewhat suspect, but this one is frickin' brilliant...really.

Every baby is different (I know, I know: Duh!) so the key to good parenting is understanding your baby's personality and I've developed a fantastic new way of doing this. For those of you operating on too little sleep (like me) or those of you who just prefer crib notes, here's the highlights.

The truth according to me (insert trumpet fanfare here): parents and caregivers can understand every single baby out there if they know how that baby's personality and behaviours translates to stuff you find in space.

Here's just a few examples:

Some babies are biiiiiig eaters. They would be the black holes of the baby world, requiring parents to ensure anything they don't want to disappear stays beyond the baby's event horizon (arm's reach).

Some puke at every turn, leaving a trail of milk curds wherever they go. Gross, but it definitely makes them the Milky Way. Caregivers have to just go with the flow and realize their entire house is going to be filled with little trails of white bits until further notice.

Others are simply unable to stay still. They scoot, crawl and then run through life, often leaving a trail of destruction behind them like comets and asteroids. Since an "Armageddon" style solution isn't practical - nobody wants to nuke their kids - this just requires a parent to be proactive and move anything potentially destructible from the child's path.

Some kids go from zero to one hundred in two seconds flat when it comes to temper tantrums. I think of them as solar flares...or in the worst case scenarios, the Big Bang. I recommend building the emotional equivalent to a solar shield to deflect the impact of the anger radiating in your general direction while trying each and every one of the fifty thousand methods that claim to cure a child of temper tantrums.

And some tykes can't handle being more than a couple of feet away from their mothers so they orbit them like satellites. Again, not a whole lot to do except ensure their orbit doesn't decay to the point that they are constantly underfoot or glommed on to mommy's leg. Eventually, they will break orbit on their own and you'll miss that little satellite more than you ever thought possible.

My kid is like Jupiter...one of the universe's larger gassy giants.

Sigh

Bloggerly Blathering

The other day I suffered a blow to my fragile artistic ego. I called my mom to chat about a reader's response to my blog only to discover she had no idea which posting I was talking about.

Why? Oh, because she hasn't been reading it lately. At all.

Ummm...

Writing is my thing. My shtick, you know? It always has been. I enjoy it and I like to think I'm reasonably good at it. I know my blog isn't exactly the greatest modern work of the English language (YET!) but it is mine. Whether it is bullshit or brilliance, my mother should be my biggest supporter, right?

Apparently, not so much.

OUCH!

(aaaaaaand cue indignant comment, phone call, or email from mom who is now - or so she says - back to reading my blog on a regular basis)

Gisele Bitchen

This is Gisele Bundchen.

She had a baby four or five months ago AND she appeared on the cover of Vogue only 3 months after giving birth looking just this fabulous.

So, she either starved herself and worked out all day every day OR the BS she's spouting to the media is true and she's done nothing different and she's just the miraculous beneficiary of what she calls "muscle memory."

Liah liah pants on fiah OR alien mutant? As you can probably guess, I have my suspicions but feel free to decide for yourself.

And either way...what a bitch.

Teething Bites the Big One!

Brynn is teething.

Yup. Teething.

Yes, I know how early it is for her to be doing this. I've already had a stern chat with her gums about this, to no avail.

Sigh

So. Now my normally lovely, happy, 0h-so-easy-going baby periodically (and rather unpredictably) morphs into a drooling, screaming banshee who won't eat and who seems intent on shrilling her displeasure directly into her mother's tender ears. It is like she's got some ultrasonic mutant powers going on there and she sure knows how to use them...she turns her head to ensure maximum mouth to ear exposure every single time.

In the baby book, this will euphemistically be referred to as a "developmental milestone" (mommy code for "unspeakably hellish experience") and in my musings on on the subject, I will diplomatically fail to mention that my daughter is the direct cause of the significant drop in my auditory acuity. However, just between you and me, I'm going to admit I love my baby girl but I hate teething.

Boo Teething!

These are a Few of my Favourite Things...

Here's a serious post (for once). I've compiled a basic list of stuff I've tried for those of you who aren't yet parents (or who are buying for those who are not yet parents) 'cause it's a crazy, confusing jungle of products out there that all claim to be the best possible choice for everyone's baby. I don't claim to be an expert, just someone who learned what works for me while slogging through as best I could.

Bottles
Dr. Brown's The Clear Winner - easy to use, baby likes them and they seem to reduce gas as advertised
Born Free Not bad. Easy to use and I have no problem recommending them
Avent Hate them. They tend to create a lot of bubbles if you are mixing formula in them (= gassy baby), they leak, and the nipples don't seem to appeal to many babies I know.

Diapers
Cloth Not in this lifetime. They invented disposables for very good reason, in my opinion. Ewwwww.
Huggies Ditto. They suck. Hard to use for first time parents and everyone who changed Brynn while we tried these suckers out felt that they lack clear signals to help newbies tell if the baby needs changing.
Pampers I love these and so does Scott. The Swaddlers are our faves and happily, we just found a size that will fit our little Bug until she hits 22 pounds. I especially liked that the newborn sized Swaddlers have a yellow line that turns blue when wet. It made life easier for everyone while we learned Brynn's cues (ie. which cry is "I'm wet, you idiot, change me" as opposed to "I'm hungry, you idiot, feed me" or "I'm tired, you idiot, shut up and let me sleep.")

Strollers
Uppababy and Bob are my two faves for their maneuverability and convenience factors. I can one hand steer either of these two (I only have an Uppababy but I've tried a Bob) and they are easy to steer over just about any kind of terrain. Bob has an advantage on rough ground but since you can't fully recline a Bob to accommodate a newborn, I decided the Uppababy was the way for us to go.
One drawback? The sunshade on the Bob and Uppababy are not part of the stroller per se and they aren't as convenient to use as one I recently used while borrowing a friend's Graco. My advice is to talk to as many friends as possible and be prepared to spend at least a couple of days shopping to make sure you get the most bang for your buck (who wants to spend the $$ to buy a stroller only to realize it isn't right for you later on?)
Another drawback? The ones I like are NOT cheap. Remember though, you get what you pay for and I can say with 100% certainty that I would not regret spending that extra money on either the Uppababy or the Bob since it is something I'll be using for years.

Clothing
I recommend checking out places like Superstore (their Joe line for kids is awesome and very affordable) as well as Winners. Gap now has something called "Sprize" which negates the need to wait for sales. You go in, buy whatever you want, and once those items go on sale, they refund the difference to you on a card you can use to go to back to the Gap to buy whatever else you might need for your growing baby (or your shrinkin' self, for that matter).

Don't be afraid to pre-buy. I just recently bought winter stuff on a massive discount for Brynn that will fit her when she's 1 and 2. I have soft under bed storage bags that I'm using to store this stuff and it'll save me loads of cash in the future.

Don't overbuy. ie: don't go crazy on baby clothes. You'll probably be given tonnes of the stuff and at the rate babies grow, you'll be lucky if your child wears each "oh so cute" outfit more than once or twice before growing out of it, especially in the early months when weight gain and growth are on overdrive. You can always go out and buy more if you need it but more than likely it won't be a major issue.

So that's the skinny on a few of my favourite things. Of course, since I'm known to have a strong opinion about just about everything, you can expect more of these lists in future.

My Daughter the Literary Prodigy

My daughter the literary genius already flips the pages of her fave book, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb at age 3 1/2 months. Unfortunately, the video I have to prove this amazing fact won't load onto this cheap-ass blogger site despite my having left it to process for an entire week. (insert pissed off maternal mumbling here)

Leaving aside the disappointment I'm sure you all feel at not being able to view my daughter's amazing antics, I'm sure you'll agree that she's obviously a chip off the old maternal block so the greatest literary work of the English language can't be far behind.

The Clash of the Titans 2010

Before you get too excited, this post isn't about the new movie (scheduled to hit theatres in April for anyone who is interested in watching another movie starring that dude from Avatar). No, this is about the battle of wills currently underway here in Vancouver's east end.

My daughter may have her father's chin but she definitely inherited her mother's stubbornness because when she decides that it is NOT nap time she has absolutely no problem letting you know. At the top of her lungs. For a very long time. A very, very long time.

Of course, during those rare times when she takes a break from screaming out her frustration, she rubs her eyes and yawns almost continuously but apparently that's beside the point: Princess Brynn has decreed that this isn't nap time and no silly need to actually sleep is going to change her mind.

I listen to her rant and rail and I try my best not to feel like a complete shmuck for "forcing" my child to go down for the nap she quite obviously needs. There is nothing worse than listening to her cry, except for listening to that little snuffling, hiccuping noise she makes after she is finished crying. Each little sniffley snuffle says, "I can't believe you did this to me mommy." Ouch.

Somehow, each time I manage to hold on and she eventually goes to sleep, leaving me feeling like I've been to hell and back while she blissfully snores away.

Who's winning this war? Beats me but at least one of us is sleeping well in spite of herself.

The 7th ring of Hell

Picture this:

You're in a car.
You've just picked up your mother from the airport.
You're facing an hour and a half minimum more in the car.

And...your child decides NOW is the time to freeeeeeeeak out like they've never freaked out before.

OMG is it a dirty diaper? An empty belly?
God only knows and he's playing his cards close to the chest so you're left with a child who is screaming so loud the car next to you is shaking and you have no idea of what needs to be done to help. Judging by the noise, it sounds more like some invisible somebody is ripping your kid's toenails out in the backseat but since that's kind of unlikely you fall back on the old favourites:

Diaper change? Check. Still screaming? Check.

Bottle? Check. Still screaming? Check.

Augh!

Yup. Feel that sweat trickle down your back while you flail around for a crying cure 'cause let me tell you...your kid's favourite toy or mommy's "silly face" just isn't going to do it THIS time.

Oh yeah. And while you're sitting there sweating and feeling like a failure as a mother, be forced to whip out a boob in a ridiculously busy parking lot in a last ditched attempt to soothe your baby.

Motherhood. It's all about the glamour.

Truth and Dare

Truth: I'm in love.

No, not just love, I'm talking lovelove. Love that starts with a capital "L". Love that mows you over, chews you up and then spits you out kind of Love. I always knew I would love my BabyBug but this? There's just no preparing yourself for this.

Dare: I dare you - any of you...all of you - not to feel that same insanity when looking at your your own child.

It is impossible for me to look at her and not feel capital "L" Love. I feel it when she smiles at me. I feel it when she cries. I feel it when I see how her little back curves when Scott picks her up at night to carry her to bed.

Don't get me wrong. I haven't gone to the "M" zone. I'm not running out to buy mommy jeans and I'm not going to spend the rest of my life boring people with stories of how amazing little Brynn is (although, let me assure you that she is pretty fucking amazing haha). I'm still planning mani/pedi dates with the girls and I've still got plenty to talk about besides the awesomeness that is my little girl. However...the truth of it is...this mommy thing is pretty sweet because absolutely nothing beats the curve of my little baby's cheek or the sweetness of her giggles when I kiss her in the morning and I have no problems bragging about that.

Sleepless in (a city just north of) Seattle

It is ridiculous o'clock in the morning.

Scott is asleep.

My two cats are asleep.

Even my baby is asleep.

The whole frigging world is asleep, people!

Correction: The whole frigging world is asleep except me.

Am I asleep? Noooooooooo.

Do I know why the hell I'm awake? Nooooooooooo.

My insomnia began just as Scott and I began working on having Brynn sleep in her own room. Yes, she's been sleeping with us. (pause for your collective gasp) After we brought her home from the hospital, I just couldn't bring myself to put her in her crib to sleep and I was even stressed when we put her into the bassinet next to me in bed. I spent the entire night checking her to make sure that the holes in her lungs hadn't come back. Yes, I know pneumothoraxes don't typically just reform after they've healed but when you're a new mother operating on too little sleep and way too much stress things like logic just don't fly. So, she quickly transitioned to sleeping next to me until just the other night.

I can't say that I miss the incessant stomach kicks and the discomfort of sleeping on one side all night but I do really miss having Brynn sleep with me. Now that she's sleeping in her little crib, I'm sitting down here realizing how much I'm going to miss her tonight. She's sweetly angelic when she's sleeping: loving, cuddly and she smells so wonderfully babylike. (note to self: develop men's cologne that smells like babies and become a billionaire as men everywhere are suddenly mobbed by women unable to help themselves)

I can't help but wonder: is this change in our routine causing my insomnia? Do I toss and turn because I miss my little bambina? Am I still on some level worried about her little lungs? Who knows. This wondering aside, I just want the sleep drought to end because I don't just have bags under my eyes, people, I've got steam trunks. Huge, tired, steam trunks that I can't even blame on my baby. Aaaaugh!

The Baby Book

When I was little, I always got a massive charge out of reading my baby book. To be honest, I think the allure was mostly that it just seemed really cool to me that this book was both for and about my favourite subject: me. I'm sure my mom groaned every time I dug it out because it would inevitably result in my chasing her around the house pelting her with any number of supplementary questions. Somehow it just wasn't enough to know what my first word was. To hell with that! What was my first, my second, and my third? (for your information, my first word was "cookie" and despite having used my best interrogation techniques, I still have no idea what my second and third were...)

So, it probably comes as no surprise that I'm planning a baby book for Brynn and that I have been for some time. The only surprising thing is that I've left it this long to actually start one. No, Brynn will not suffer with a baby book filled with empty pages so I realized the other day that I had to get off my ass and get it started. On Friday, I packed up Brynn and headed off to the mall where I finally picked up Brynn's baby book. I'm pretty damn jazzed to start this thing and yes, I've just now realized how lame that word sounds..."jazzed" Pfft.

Anyway...what isn't so "jazzy" is the baby's first Brynn is currently experiencing: baby's first rhinovirus. In other words: my kid has her first cold. Snotty noses aren't so bad for the average adult but for babies? Just imagine only being able to breathe through your nose and then shove a cork up each nostril. Fun Fun Fun.

Not surprisingly, there isn't an entry in Brynn's baby book to chronicle this experience for posterity. I suspect the editors quickly realized that asking a new mother to talk about anything like a baby's first illness would quickly degenerate from a factual account to tears and then to an R rated rant. Or, if the new mother is a Worth, directly to the R rated rant (we're nothing if not quick on the draw). To be honest, it is just as well. I don't much relish the prospect of explaining to a young Brynn the proper use of the various four letter words that come to mind when describing how her being sick makes me feel.

Baby Math

1 baby/2 months old + 3 needles = crying females x 2

Today Scott and I took Brynn in for her first set of immunizations. umm...I was warned that it would be tough but that just doesn't do this whole crappy experience justice. I've spent most of the day trying not to mentally relive the moment when she freeeeeeeeeaked out because of the first needle. Her sweet little face went from cutely happy to confused to completely pissed in no time flat. Scott swears she looked at him as though asking, "why? why did you do this to me?"

While I've spent the balance of the day wallowing in guilt, Brynn has been laying on or beside me making sleepy "happy kitty" noises (her version of snoring sounds like a cat purring) and I'm left to wonder if I didn't get the raw end of this deal. She suffered for a couple of minutes but I can guarantee this is going to haunt me for days.

Maybe next time they can give me the shots and she can watch me cry?

WTF - Microwave Popcorn?

File this under "random weird shit found in Bloggerville" with a sub file labeled "potentially too much info" for those of you who a) don't already have kids and/or b) have weak stomachs. To those I am about to gross out, I apologize but you were fairly forewarned.

I've found that I can tell when Brynn has left a little "sompen' sompen' " in her diaper by the smell. No. It doesn't smell like crap. Or at least conventional crap. Somehow I've given birth to the first child in history who smells like microwave popcorn when she takes a dump.

And yes, I know just how crazy that sounds.

Quite frankly, I have no idea how this happened. Does Brynn truly smell like Orville Redenbacher's Smart Pop or are my mommy hormones playing a trick on me so I won't resent changing her dirty diapers quite as much as I would if they were as smelly as they look like they should be. Your guess is as good as mine but date night at the movies will never be the same, let me tell you...

Crow Pie, Crow Stew, Crow Flambe...

Ok, ok. So I was wr...I was wrrrrrr...I was wrrrrrrrrrooooong.

Yes, back before Brynn made her appearance I foolishly thought I would somehow fly through motherhood without once uttering a single word in babyspeak. You know, the cutesy wootsy, "Hewo my baby waby. How's my woogy shmoogy doing dis mornin'?" kind of thing. Yeah, well although things haven't degenerated to THOSE mind numbing levels (and by the Gods, I will do my best to ensure they don't) I have discovered that it is almost a biological impossibility to completely resist the lure of babyspeak when you're looking in the big blue eyes of your ridiculously cute progeny. In fact, I have a clear memory of laughing my ass off one night very soon after Scott and I brought Brynn home when I realized we were talking about her bio breaks in terms of "poops and peeps". Egad! Is this what we have been reduced to? Chatting merrily amongst ourselves about our daughter's diaper useage and using babyspeak to do it?

Apparently so.

And you know what? This kid has me so wrapped around her little finger that I couldn't even care less. Quite frankly my dears, I don't give a poop or a peep what anyone thinks.

Ooh Baby Baby!

Hello everyone. No, just in case you were wondering, I haven't died, moved to Bora Bora, or joined the Peace Corps. Nope...my excuse for an overly long absence from Bloggerville is that I've immersed myself in motherhood - stress, craziness, and awesomeness galore. These days, my life revolves around a burping, farting little princess who seems intent on keeping the CEO of Pampers in good stead with their shareholders and I couldn't be happier.

I'm off to bed but I'm already planning my next post.