Tag Archives: inappropriate but true

Five for Friday

I don’t know that I’ll be able to enlighten you with five exciting things from this week. There has been little excitement; mostly blinking in disbelief at Addison’s potty accidents and “resting Mommy’s eyes” during Disney movies.

1. Reading this article should cement my place as Mother of the Year.

lying down mom

At least that article exists and had 40 contributors. I’m not alone in my lethargy!

2. When I did manage to reposition myself upright, Addison practiced her newest skills: gentle baby/blanket rearing mixed with intense archery. I don’t know where my kid learns half the things she knows.

A babyA bow arrow

3. And I practiced my latest skills: play dough (really just “dough” because it’s generic) crafting.

dough2 Check out that cupcake, which ended up being too realistic because Addison licked it. A lot.

4. “Beauty and the Beast” is now officially in the 12 times a week rotation, so I tried to mix it up by playing the special features disc. Addison was over it within seconds, but I was giddy with excitement for the Celine Dion/Peabo Bryson duet of the original 1991 “Beauty and the Beast” track. Took me right back to rocking out to my parents’ favorite easy listening radio station in the back seat of the ol’ Buick LeSabre.


All I wanted in life was a perm that tight.

5. Technically, this was my last week of work before “maternity leave,” a silly term for a freelancer, really. In actuality, it’s “two months without income and praying you don’t find someone else while I’m gone leave.” In usual freelance fashion, people suddenly remembered they did have projects that needed my TLC. Many projects, in fact. So I’ll probably be working into the beginning of next week, but as long as the tiny VIP in utero agrees, that $ound$ good to me.

comp and donut

As long as I’m covered on the snack front, we’re golden.

Have a wonderful weekend enjoying the active living and parenting that I most definitely will not be participating in!

Aaaaah freak out

Like I mentioned, Clayton was out of town last week, so I tried to spice up our regular routine.

Tuesday I picked up Addison from pre-school early to catch my brother’s baseball game. He coaches a high school team, and the game was relatively close. My parents came with me, so during the game I had plenty of recruits to help locate, corral and entertain Addison.

IMG_7722The weather was great, the kiddo was behaving and our team was winning.

baseball pano2

Then we tried to leave. Addison bolted in the opposite direction. I wasn’t concerned at all because I assumed she’d come back, plus I thought the back fences of the baseball fields blocked the park from the main road leading into it. I even told my mom not to worry. Look at me being so chill and relaxed, totally owning this parenting thing right now. But Addison didn’t stop. My mom and I stiffened a bit and started moving toward Addison’s direction. She was pretty far away by this point. The closer we got to the back fences, the wider the gap appeared between the baseball fences and the fence to the park. This meant she absolutely had access to the gates, which opened to the road. At rush hour. With cars going 50 mph.

Once I fully realized she could literally be on the street within a minute or two, and there was nothing I could do to stop her – I was way too far away, even if I ran, which I can’t in my current spherical shape – I freaked. We were yelling her name, and she started to slow down as she reached the fences but still didn’t stop. I was jogging at this point and in addition to desperately wanting to get to Addison, I was worrying about hurting the baby, too.

It was one of the scariest motherhood moments I’ve experienced.

She eventually did stop behind a transformer by the fence. Thank God that was there and she felt like she could hide behind it because she was probably so afraid of being in trouble she would have kept right on going. My mom reached her first, but I was just a few steps behind and my terror/rage combo shoved her right out of the way so I could deal with the runaway. It wasn’t pretty. We were in public, so there was a limit to the mad rush of emotion I could display. Probably a good thing.

I must have nailed the discipline and stern so-help-me-God tone because Addison was upset for about six seconds. Then we walked past the playground and she begged to go play. Not feeling particularly playground-y, I muttered some sort of response, potentially laden with expletives, and that’s when she lost it. By “it,” I mean motor control of her lower extremities, as toddlers are wont to do in public, forcing me to basically drag her the quarter mile back to the car on the concrete. Felt like skipping through a meadow holding a feather.

My dad drove home, even though we were in my car, so that I could cool off. I was actually sore the next day from all that activity, either because that scene was so intense or because I haven’t worked out in seven months.

Let’s see, that was Tuesday, so Addison should be free to get out of time out in about four and a half more years.

Any takers?

Because I am a glutton for failing miserably at negotiations and playing fast and loose with not being locked in a creeper’s pretty lady dungeon, I often peruse the List of Craig. I have been reading through a lot of posts advertising “like new” used baby items. Like entire treasure troves of gadgets and apparatuses the supposed baby had only used once or twice. 46 Items for just $250!

I began thinking 1. These people have no children. Danger. Danger. DANGER. and 2. What would my listings look like if I tried to pawn off some of Addison’s cherished gear?

Lucky for us (you!) we opted for the gender-neutral, stain-friendly (hasn’t met a stain it didn’t like!) cream colored changing pad cover made of 100% absorbent, heat-trapping material with no moisture wicking properties whatsoever. The result is a stunning pattern of original polka dot subtly emphasized by the understated golden streaks that create a Stage 1 newborn poop masterpiece you will not find in stores. One of a kind print on each cover, but equally creative splatter pattern on each. Your baby will feel the difference as his or her tiny tush sweats uncontrollably during those half hour blowout cleanups. The claustrophobic inferno will elicit squeals of delight! Pretty sure that’s delight. You have to bathe them after that massive poop anyway, so don’t worry about the profuse perspiration. A steal of a deal for the pair. Would keep them but we’ve taken to changing our little one’s diaper out in the pool to save time.
craigslist blog - changing pad cover  

We loved letting our little one roll around on this paper thin decorative mat. Keep your precious peanut from taking a plunge into the crater-sized holes our oversized doll created and they’re sure to have the time of their life! Banging that unfinished musculoskeletal system on your tile or hardwood floor underneath the worn fabric is like a luxurious spa massage…for no extra cost! Our original mat was only a boring 12 colors, but thanks to the inspired fading throughout, it’s a quilted maze of artistic enjoyment. “Quilted” referring more to the stylistic design than actually sewn like or resembling any of the functionality of a quilt.

Where four humdrum toys once hung (jungle…done to death, right?!), discover the surprise of loose seams and blue-like hooks. Your curious bambino is free to create any character they can imagine dangling from those hooks. What a learning tool and gateway to imaginary friends! And thanks to several hefty dropkicks to one of the support bars, your little lamb will learn exciting new words during playtime like “instability” and “failures in structural integrity.” In the blink of an eye, that seemingly ordinary mat springs up and becomes a tent wrapping your baby in the warmest, jungle-themed hug void of oxygen and an escape route. It truly is an all-in-one item you need in your collection, after signing a totally routine release of any and all liability. Make an offer!
craigslist blog - mat

BOPPY IN GREAT A SHAPE – STILL IN COVER – $Please just take it. It’s starting to have a smell.
Boppy pillow, cover conveniently sealed in place with dried spit up means no hassle with removing or washing it! Crusty fragments of infant vomit secure the pillow tightly to the upholstery of your favorite couch or chair, making sure baby doesn’t roll onto the floor when you accidentally fall asleep after feeding. Don’t worry about squeezing that postpartum belly into the awkward “C” shape, this one has been lovingly stretched to conform to the needs of the new mom’s torso. Basically, it’s an “r.” Don’t like modern prints? No problem! You can barely tell there ever was one.

The Boppy is great for feeding and for letting baby practice sitting up. Worried about accidents from the other end? Don’t be! This Boppy’s been broken in for you. Extra soft from use, plus mustard tinge derives from completely organic deposits. A must-have, as in my kid must have felt so comfortable on her Boppy that everything from her esophagus to her bowels just relaxed all up while on it. Make your nugget cozy enough to relax and release, too! Will deliver in Level 3 haz-mat case to you!
craigslist blog - boppy

I don’t want to wait for our lives to be over at the hands of a 14 year old.

Wait a minute. So you’re telling me that just because I up and had an adorable, sweet baby that in 15 years I have to take care of a teenager?

Well then I quit.

Yesterday my friend and I decided to grab subs at a nearby Publix for a late lunch. We strolled (literally, we had two strollers) around the corner to sit at the tables outside a frozen yogurt shop, across the street from a high school. Ten minutes after we got comfy in our almost-but-not-technically pajama’s, the floodgates of adolescent awkwardness burst forth with innumerable teenage miscreants.

It was like Showtime’s version of Dawson’s Creek. And it was terrifying. I felt like they were closing in from all angles and were going to attack us and our sleeping babies at any moment. Not for flesh, like zombies, which would be entirely more comforting, but to devour any hope that we had of raising decent, fully adjusted children. You know, children that are NOT planning late night secret brawls with the distinct goal of “busting that bitch up.”

Profanity. Cleavage. Sombreros. It was a really weird half hour.

We tried to pick out—if we could find them in the lot—kids that might resemble our future high schoolers. To our right sat the 98 pound hoodlum adorned with a beanie and skinny jeans that was ring-leading the aforementioned chick fight and defending that one time she cracked a girl’s head on a vending machine. She was out of the running (but would later appear in my nightmares knocking down my door and beating me to death with Baked Lays). To our left sat a greasy haired clan of sophomore boys eager to dig into a pack of cigs they stole from some neglectful parent, older sibling or the unsuspecting Circle K owner. They were out.

Then a beam of heavenly light shown through the yogurt shop windows and there she was. Straight blonde hair, a headband no less, sitting perfectly contentedly with her mother AND GRANDMOTHER daintily snacking on a low calorie after-school treat. “Dibs,” I thought. “That’s the one I want!” Girlfriend was even wearing a cardigan. The symbol of all who are studious, chaste and shop at The Gap rather than Abercrombie and Fitch.

I know this is sounding creepy, but we were really desperate for some sort of redemption at this point. Otherwise we were handing our kids over to the smokers who were too young to hold a driver’s license and getting the heck out of there. Game over on the whole parenting thing.

I am trying hard to rationalize this experience and remind myself this was a skewed sample. These were the handfuls of kids who had no pre-planned, free time-stealing activities awaiting them after school…or a ride home, for that matter. We eventually saw the sprightly track team running through the school’s parking lot, which represented the athletes who would be stuck at practice just long enough to miss an invitation to bust any bitches up. And then there were the adorable geeks who were all worked up in a discussion about school supplies. With a glow appearing on her face and no doubt the vision of her future pubescent little boy in her mind, my friend said hopefully, “And it’s not even August!” We loved the nerds.

If I thought my job as a parent was difficult before, this afternoon added to that by pounds and pounds of mascara, low cut tank tops and iPods. I have my work cut out for me, especially with a stunning little lady on my hands.

And if all else fails, Pinterest better have some tips on the kitchen-as-classroom situation because Mama’s little hoodlum is getting homeschooled.

Addie dress1

I’ve dropped my baby.

It looks like we are seriously, 100%, actually going to have a baby ‘round here. You may have realized that back when I announced I was pregnant or when I whined about the first trimester, but I don’t think it sunk into Mama’s brain until yesterday. We had our 36 week appointment. After our first appointment around 9 weeks, the exams were simple: walk in, lie back, listen for heartbeat over stomach, see you in four weeks. But yesterday, the gown and stirrups reappeared for a more thorough check-up of the peanut.

I’m so glad I can look back at my pregnancy and fondly recount to Addison that one time the doctor was checking on her and all of a sudden said, “Oops. Gross!” Mama has never felt more confident or attractive. The doctor dropped one of her “tools” straight out of my hooha and into her lap. I’m so sorry that my pregnant anatomy disgusts you, Dr. Dropsies. I’m not a huge fan of your scaly man hands, but you don’t see me throwing out tactless epithets in the exam room, do you?  

When the nurse tried to prep for a re-do, they were out of whatever sharp, pointy torture device they needed. So she opened the door and went to retrieve another one. With my knees still pointed up to the ceiling and my dress pulled up over my chin. I understand that the medical team may adopt the “you’ve seen one woman’s ladybits, you’ve seen them all” mentality, but I’d really prefer that my ladybits not be that one. And I don’t believe patients innocently walking through the hallway necessarily want to stumble onto that makeshift Cinemax set.

When things got back to normal—as normal as metal objects and latex gloves poking around your uterus can be—the doctor checked on the position of the baby. “Her head has dropped a little,” she noted. At the time, her comment breezed right past me and I got down to business asking the 14 questions saved on my phone about labor and delivery and breaking water and all that otherworldly mess.

About four minutes into the drive home, it hit me. There is a head. That the doctor just felt. That is most likely attached to an entire little baby. In my body. THERE IS A BABY IN MY BODY.

I explained this to Clayton when he called about dinner plans, but he seemed to have known that these past nine months have confirmed the whole “baby in body” thing already. At least for him. He was more worried about the grocery list. Men.

So there you have it. There really is a little baby on the way, and she is getting herself locked, loaded and into position for her debut. I don’t think this means anything concrete about how soon (or not soon) we may get to meet her, but it’s stop-you-in-your-tracks thrilling to realize that we definitely ARE going to meet her one of these days.

32 weeks32 weeks edited

35 weeks
35 weeks edited36 weeks
36 weeks edited

A (Pre) Baby Story, Part 1


On Monday of this week, which was September 12, I had an appointment at the lady doctor. I don’t know if the fact that I still can’t say “gynecologist” without blushing means that perhaps I’m not quite ready for this next undertaking, but I’m not going to dwell on that. We all know I’m a 12-year old boy at heart, so no shock there.

In addition to the usual humiliating, awkward necessities of that annual appointment, I felt like I had carried a physical object into that exam room that I needed to pass off to the doctor. After the business end of the exam was finished and she was scribbling something about my awesome ladyjunk into my file, I told her,

“And we are going to try and have a baby soon.”

This was the first time I’d told anyone except my husband, out loud, this plan. I don’t know what I expected; I suppose the fact that I didn’t have to lend her my inhaler to steady her breathing means that it was a more favorable reaction than Clayton’s. Maybe I was hoping it was like being in a bridal shop when you bring all your girlfriends and decide on the dress. There’s champagne and toasting and hugging…and high-fiving, if you’re me. But the doctor barely looked up from her notes. I guess my hoo-ha really is pretty awesome. Or she was still gnawing on the fact that I was a Florida State grad and she graduated from the University of Florida.

Or maybe the world itself actually doesn’t stop rotating when you embrace the next phase of life, no matter how momentous it seems to your tiny family of two. Even without a congratulatory party or balloons popping out from under the stirrups in that exam room, this is a very, very big step. One that still seems daunting, and maybe even impossible, and a little banananuts. Later that day, I quite literally stopped in my tracks on a run simply imagining the possibility of Clayton and I being parents in less than a year. 

I’m still wavering, and I know my husband is, too. When we roll out of bed at 10:30 on Saturday morning, when we stay up until midnight watching football and when we decide on Thursday to take a trip that weekend, we know in our heads this is a lifestyle that will slip away, replaced with an infinite amount of stress, crashing before the evening news and middle-of-the-night screaming. And we are big fans of our current carefree life. So, we certainly aren’t rushing. We just aren’t preventing. And that haughty ubermom Mother Nature will conspire with a bigger-than-our-plans God to decide when it’s the right time for Baby Noa to join our family.

But can I level with you? I just discovered the magic that is Sam Adams’ Octoberfest mixed with college football. I really hope this nugget waits until after bowl season. 


Spoiler Alert: It didn’t.