I Just Used My Toddler’s Toothpaste

It was late at night and way past my bedtime and if that isn’t testament enough to how tired I am, you should know that I noticed what I was doing halfway through squeezing the tube and I just kept going. I didn’t care. I have no idea what kind of fruity-bubblegumy flavor it’s supposed to be but it wasn’t half bad. I see why my toddler tries to suck it of the bristles as soon as I put the brush in her mouth.

Why am I so tired?

THANK YOU FOR ASKING.

My 6 month old just doesn’t sleep. I don’t know how this baby functions on his 30 min naps, he isn’t tired or grumpy in the least. He THRIVES. You should see him in his jumparoo. He’ll look you dead in the eye and bounce with the ferocity of 10,000 Tiggers, drool dripping from his lips before flinging through the air in slow motion. He’s taunting me. I’ve tried everything to get him to sleep longer. EVERYTHING. I’m about >this< close to trying to put whiskey on my nipples before he breastfeeds. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep this up, luckily he has taken a few longer naps of late so I am holding on hope that he too can no longer be substantiated on so little sleep.

Anyway, I went to the dentist today for a cleaning and it was my first one in almost ten years. (I know, I’m disgusting, but there is barely enough Valium in the world to get me into a dentist’s chair.) Before leaving the dentist said “It’s not bad in there, keep up the good work.” Which is the nicest thing someone in the dental field has ever said to me so I guess I’m going to continue using the bright pink toothpaste.

My Toddler Just Gave Me a Bloody Nose

She didn’t mean to, I don’t think. (It’s hard to tell with toddlers) She was just flinging her head around like a woodpecker and my nose just happened to be in the way. Only problem is that the sight of me clinging to my nose and saying “ow” was just too much for my toddler and she started laughing hysterically. The rest of the evening was filled with her trying to headbutt me and slap me, anything to get me to say “ow.” Me being the stupid first-time-toddler-parent that I am thought that I could convey the pain I was feeling through my reactions and that she would take pity on me and stop. HA! Toddlers do not feel pity.

Next I tried a stern voice and a sharp “no” every time she attempted to strike me. Penelope threw back her head and laughed with all the guile of Hades. “No!” she mocked and once again flung her forehead towards my face. I then decided to take a page out of my sisters “Hand in Hand Parenting” book. The next time her head flew towards mine I gently caught her chubby face between my hands and said softly “I can’t let you hurt me. That doesn’t feel good.” I saw a flash of understanding cross her big brown eyes and she said “Oh.”  I sighed in relief and released her head AND BACK IT CAME RIGHT AT MY MOUTH. That is when I learned that toddlers do not always mean or even understand what they say.

Exasperated I stood up and moved to the other side of the room. This would work I thought. Tenacious creature that she is, Penelope just followed me. This quickly turned to a never-ending game of musical chairs that was heavily lacking in music and was overabundant in pain. “Penelope!” I exclaimed. “Mommy doesn’t like hitting, Mommy likes kisses!” Penelope flung her little body towards mine and I threw up my hands over my face preparing for tiny impact.

MWAUH!

I heard her lips smack together as I peeked through my hands. “Yes!” I rejoiced, “Yes, Penelope, mommy loves kisses!” and I planted a big fat one on her forehead. She kissed me back with her slobbery little mouth and we soon dissolved into disgustingly sweet game of hugs and kisses.

Then, thankfully it was bedtime and I was able to put the miniature harpy to sleep.

(I really despise disclaimers but I really don’t want to be barraged with parenting advice so please take this story with a grain of salt (it’s supposed to be funny) and know that I figured out everything just fine on my own, thank you. I also do not wish for anyone to think that this is some kind of parenting advice blog, I’m just trying to figure it out like the rest of us. 😉 What’s the worst way your child has injured you?)

I Just Let my 1 ½ year old Watch The Octonauts.

I’ve figured out that I need to sit down and write whenever I feel the urge. However, being a mother makes this a little difficult. (Ugh, I just used the word “mother”. You know how certain people don’t like certain words? I have negative feelings around the word “mother” and I have no idea why. Mom is fine, Mommy is great but Mother just digs into my ears. There is something pretentious and gross sounding about it. But now that I have children I find myself referring to myself as a mother. It’s rather surreal. In the past, the only way I would have used mother in a title for myself would be to call myself a BAMF. Anyway that was a long side tangent and not even what I sat down to write tonight.)

So, I’ve discovered that self care sometimes means that my kid loses a couple brain cells. And what is so wrong with that? She’s smart, she can stand to be knocked down a few pegs.

SO

I didn’t do a proper first post where I introduce myself and tell you my business being on the internet. Here it is:

I’m the 26 year old mother (that word! Gag) of two averagely adorable children ages one and a half and 6 months and yes I DO HAVE MY HANDS FULL THANK YOU SO MUCH.  I’m married (surprise, surprise) to a averagely awesome man. We live in paradise, also known as Northern California, in a little cottage with a purple door (I didn’t paint the door purple so me using it as a way to make my life sound sweet and artsy is a total douche move.)

I really have no business being on the internet and blogging. I have an average lifestyle, less than average grammar and writing skills and a sometimes obnoxious sense of humor. (I LOVE PARENTHESES AND CAPITAL LETTERS) I’m terrible at segues so you’ll notice I change topics scatterdly (See? Scatterdly isn’t even a word). Nevertheless, here I am typing away.

Thanks for reading! 

 

I Just Spilled Mimosa on my Six Month Old

I consider it pay back for getting covered in his placenta juices, etc. during birth. Speaking of birth, here is my youngest’s birth story:

Oliver’s birth started with sweet potato pancakes.

Despite having gestational diabetes, I insisted that Kintu and I go to the Maple Cafe for breakfast the morning of my scheduled induction (which I was having due to said diabetes). When I arrived at the hospital my blood sugars were through the roof and I sheepishly admitted to cheating on my diet that morning. The nurse smirked and moved on as I changed into my birthing gown (which had a unicorn on it, of course) while we waited for the midwife to come brief me on my induction.

When she arrived I was told my induction would start with a suppository pill being inserted into my vagina. This pill would hopefully cause my cervix to soften and open. That sounded easy enough. A few min after its insertion, some mild cramping told me the suppository was doing its job, my heart fluttered, or rather, threw itself against my rib cage.

This was it.

A couple hours later another pill was inserted and I settled in to watch a couple episodes of South Park (I’m so sorry, sweet baby.) A couple hours and some contractions after that they started me on an IV drip of Pitocin. I was nervous, almost every mommy blog I had come across about inductions regarded Pitocin as a helluva drug. Turns out it wasn’t even that bad! I heard the contractions were going to be equivalent to the earthquakes in Mordor and they were totally regular. Why can’t I post an emoji here? I need a rolling eye emoji!

Kintu and I ate lunch and after finding out that he had never seen it,  watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. The contractions started to become distracting about the time Rudolph was getting kicked out of the reindeer games. Poor Rudolph, poor me. I held off for a while but finally texted my sister/doula to come. She arrived and set up an essential oil diffuser, filling the air with the smell of vanilla and oranges. Soon the contractions become much stronger and I was desperate to find a comfortable position to labor in. This proved difficult due to some pain that I had in my pelvis called Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Which basically feels like your pelvic bone is going to rip apart every time you move funny.

After the hours of being in a hard hospital bed the pelvic pain became more unbearable than the contractions themselves. I was brought birthing balls and heat packs and nothing seemed to be working. I suddenly realized that there is no way I’d be able to push a baby out with my pelvis feeling like it was being Hulk smashed. Dreams (really weird dream to be honest) of a non-medicated birth flew out the window. We discussed my options and I decided narcotics (yeeeaaaah boy) were the best plan for my pain management.

As soon as the drug hit my veins I was overwhelmed with the relief it offered and even cried. I relaxed into the hospital bed which suddenly felt like it was made of velvet. Putting on makeup became the next most important thing on my list and I flicked on some mascara amidst the discussion of the difference between seals and sea lions. (Sea lions are brown, and walk on land using large flippers and have little ear flaps. Seals have small flippers, flop around on land, and lack ear flaps.) After that I half-slept for a couple hours, feeling the contractions roll through my body and squeeze my belly in a dream state.

I awoke to my contractions coming in “couplets” which meant that before the first contraction completely subsided another would begin to crest. These types of contractions are not optimal as, 1, they are not as useful and 2, they are not fun. The midwife came to check on my progress and suggested that we break my waters to get things going even more. I agreed but asked to go to the bathroom first because my number 1 labor fear was still that I might pee on my midwife (you start to worry less about that as time wears on). As I tried to get out of bed to go the bathroom I awkwardly slipped into doing some kind of half-assed splits on the corner of the bed and SPLOOSH— there went my waters. “Well!” I said “Pretty sure that’s not urine.”

Soon the contractions became all consuming and I labored on the birth ball while hunched over the bed, moaning and lowing like a cow. I was informed that was nearing shift change time and and that I was about to get a whole new batch of nurses and midwives. I was eager to birth before they switched midwives on me. I was very much so used to having this midwives hands in me, new hands were not my idea of fun.

With that thought I suddenly had the urge to vomit. It’s the most excited I’ve been to throw up as I knew that it was a sign of being in transition, meaning birth was, in theory, imminent.  

I switched to laboring on my knees on the bed and was soon frustrated with my clothing and wriggled out of them. Ok then, I was really ready now, all in my glory I soon began to feel the urge to push during contractions. Unfortunately, every time I did this little Oliver’s heart rate would drop. They checked my cervix and I was at a 9 with a hard lip— i.e. not ready for pushing.

I was flabbergasted, how could it not be time for me to get this baby out. I was told to stop pushing and keep relaxing through the contractions. I tried not to let frustration well up inside of me as I told my body to relax, sucking on the oxygen mask like an addict. What seemed like a thousand contractions later I started begging for laughing gas. Once again I found myself flipping over to my back, the hospital bed adjusted to look like a huge white throne for my naked throbbing body.

Suddenly I knew my baby was about to arrive.

“Hes coming!” I choked out, “I’m sorry but I’m pushing!”

The nurses and midwives started to scramble, throwing on smocks and laying down towels. I felt a gas mask go to my face but I shoved it away, it was too late. In one push Oliver’s head came popping out like a jack in the box. “Ok, keep pushing!” Internally I rolled my eyes, (where is that emoji??) did they think I was just gonna stop there? I grunted, making a sound not unlike Link pushing a block in Ocarina of Time.

Nothing.

Then came the next contraction and I bore down with intensity, there was nothing but me and Oliver, out came his shoulders and I felt his little body slide forth into the world.

I blinked, was it really over? Tears started to flow as they laid him down warm and wriggling against my skin. “Oliver! Oliver! Oliver, Oliver Oliver.” I rejoiced. Hearing his name seemed to breathe life into him as he opened his mouth and started to wail.

I closed my eyes and behind the red of my lids I heard and felt the nurses and midwives busying themselves around me. My hands clasped Oliver’s miniature figure and I brought him to my lips.

All at once I had a craving for sweet potato pancakes.

I Just Sneezed and Peed Myself a Little

No, really. In the modern mommy world this is called “snissing” (you get it) and it’s very common before and after pregnancy. Here I am wracking my brain trying to come up with a title for my “mommy blog” and lo and behold it comes to me in the form of a cold wet spot on the center of my brand new, freshly washed sheets. Great. Lets do this.