Monday, January 23, 2012

My Baby the Cry Baby

Last night was a rough night. Jedi (as he is affectionately known as on dee internets) has found his voice. As amazingly cute as this is, what with all the babbles and coo's and aiyuuuugeeee's, he cant shut up when its time for sleep. For those without fruit of loins, lemme splain something babies like to do. When they reach a new milestone like sitting up, being able to pull up, being able to dance, they wont stop doing it. At all. Even when the room is dark and everything is quiet, they are fed, dry and happy, they will perform whatever new trick they have acquired over and over and over, even if they are totally tired and making themselves miserable. I compare this to drunk people who have learned a new line dance. They will dance that dance wherever the fuck they are, talking to friends, at a gas station, they will even get out of the car at a drive thru del taco at 3 a.m. to perform this new found trick even if they are not very good at it, until someone drops them off at their house. Even then, they will be doing the 10 step right up until they reach their bed, thinking "I am so fucking cool I should be an instructor on this shit"(true story, don't ask how I know this) So Jedi's new trick is his voice. And he cant shut up about it. This is how last night went:

         Put baby in bed despite fact that he is babbling away, hoping he will get the hint that the room is dark and no one is talking to him. Jedi squawks his aiiyeegoooooo aiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIyy ooooooohhhh skills times 10. Ok this isn't working he is not even calm. I put him in bed with me. Stupid idea, now he thinks its time to play. After he kicks my crotch 5 times and drools all over my neck, attempts to "motor boat" my chest, and squeals like a piggie, I lay him to my side. Let the back pats begin. Pat. Pat. Pat. He soon realizes his voice makes a different sound when I'm patting him. Now he really wont shut up. I sit up and rock him until I feel sea sick. Pat. Pat. Pat. He stands on my legs. "AAAAIIIIOOOO" fuck. Ok back in the bed, I'm tired, he is too crazy for my life. I lay him down and he Aaaaaeeeegggggs until he cries. I pick him back up. Repeat chorus 4 times.

By the end of it, I am exhausted, he's crying and I'm crying. What is wrong with me and why is this kid pissing me off? I'm 27 so I should have a shit ton of energy still, Ive done this 4 times before, Ive been through alot of shitty things, Ive seen alot of shitty things, and this isn't something I ever thought I would cry over. A baby that's half crying half talking? Mostly making some cute ass baby sounds? Why is this reducing me to tears!?
  And that's when I realized why. Because right then, at that moment, I was being ungrateful. Let me splain. When I was pregnant with my Eldest, I went to a teen lamaze class. One of the exercises we did was to choose from a list all the things we wanted to happen on our babies birthday. As the exercise went we eventually had to narrow down the #1 goal. At the end all that was left was "Have a healthy baby" It was intended to put our precarious desires to the side and make us realize what was really important. Since I was having a fairly easy pregnancy and didn't even know anyone who didn't, or had a child that had problems from the get go, I thought it was a wee bit silly. I mean, why wouldn't my baby be healthy? Shes fine now, she will be fine then. Thankfully my naive ass wasn't trumped on the day of Eldest's birth, because she came out a healthy 9 lbs of thunder and to this day is very healthy.
      That's pretty much how every pregnancy was in fact. Zero problems, no hints that the baby was going to be wall eyed or derelict. I was fully confident that this whole having a baby thing just came easy to me, of course I learned along the way that it was not like this for most people, but it was like other people were just talking about a country they visited that I had never even heard of. It was just a story, that I couldn't imagine in my mind, because I had never even seen a brochure. It was just something that had never happened to me (having a not healthy baby or a trouble some pregnancy) and something I could never imagine happening to me.
     And then I got pregnant with Jedi. From the get go my imaginary list of outcomes I wanted from my pregnancy went like this:

  • I want a boy. I already have 3 girls and 1 boy. I would like another boy because it would suck for my only son to have another sister, plus I'm sick of princess shit
  • I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times.
  • I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework.
  • I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibly play 3 different instruments for our entertainment.
  • I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed.
  • I hope I don't get really really fat.
  • I hope he/she isn't a cry baby
And that was that. I didn't think my imaginary list would change whatsoever. Until I was 11 weeks pregnant. I started hemorrhaging for no apparent reason and I replaced one thing on my list.
  • I hope I don't get really really fat. I hope I don't miscarry.
When I was 15 weeks I learned that I was having a boy. Although this was very exciting, I really didn't care any more. I wasn't even sure if I was going to be able to see this boy. Ever. I prayed to the cosmic juju Oprah preaches about that my wish wasn't granted in replacement of my "I hope I don't miscarry" wish.
By the time I was 21 weeks, things didn't look any better. And the list had changed some.

  • I want this baby to be really cute. To match his/her siblings. And with a good name that I haven't heard a thousand times. He can be ugly. As long as I get to see him.

  • I want this baby to be smart. Because I am not so good at puzzles and math homework. He can be special needs for all I care. I will take him to the special bus by the hand and tell him he is the most wonderful boy in the fucking world and love the shit out of him every single day of his life. If it means I get to know him.

By 24 weeks, I was told I was staying in the hospital until my baby came out. My due date was months away. Fancy doctors that have spent half their lives in doctor school came and told me all the things that could happen and measures that would be taken to save my sons life. They told me the real risks, shooted me some statistics and basically scared the shit and piss out of me. My list changed dramatically.
  •  I want this baby to love music as much as me and his/her dad. And possibley play 3 different instruments for our entertainment. I really hope he is not deaf. But if he is so be it. I will be sign languaging like a mother fucker and so will everyone who enters my house. And I will sell a kidney to make sure he gets the best hearing aids known to man. I will picket Bill Gates house if I have to.
  • I really hope I can find a cheap dresser to store all these awesome clothes. No baby of mine is going to look stupidly dressed I really hope I have use for a new dresser.
  • I really hope he is not a cry baby I hope when he comes out, he is crying. Because that means he can breathe.
I had Jedi just a few days after I changed my list. Every single day, I wake up, and I marvel that he is even here. I mean, he has only been around for 6 months, and he has only been home for 3 of those months, so this is all very surreal remembering him on a tiny bed weighing no more than a baby kitty just a few months ago. And now seeing him develop rolls upon his rolls like a sherpa puppy is like whiplash really. And sometimes I get overly emotional about it, in fact I have sworn off any sappy movies in the past few months because I feel like my daily life is akin to a Hallmark commercial and any more sappyness would make me turn into a brunette Tammy Faye Bakker sobbing through a tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" with snot running down my boobs.

So last night was fucking rough. I over analyzed (true to my female nature) how on Earth this beautiful, miraculous, gift from the cosmos could possibely be making me a little fucking unhappy. After replaying my whole pregnancy and his triumphant and successful attempt at life, I came to the realization that regardless of how awesomely grateful I am that he is here. He is still a baby. Babies suck sometimes. Lack of sleep sucks more than babies do and that can bring anyone down to a delirious sob episode.

What finally got him to sleep was my soft sob, and of course the death grip placed on his legs to keep him from kicking me in the crotch. All in all, it was a shit night for me. Except for the part where I got to hold my baby and thank him from the bottom of my heart, that he was here, even if he is a big fat cry baby. He is my cry baby. He can breathe. He hears me. He is alive. The list of awesome shit this kid can do goes on and on. But I have a theory my no cry baby wish got replaced with something else....

Enough cute to make your fillings tingle.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Dear Society, An Open Letter From Humble.

Dear  Leaders of Society,

    Hello. I have been a prospective member since 84' and an actual member for less than 10 years. I am writing in response to quite a few actions and activities I've seen other members perform in public. And also one suggestion to an activity that other members have been complaining about. I have included examples and suggestions that I think should really be talked about intensively to rectify the situation because if you don't.... well then...I'm going to just start complaining to other members individually. And you don't want no part of the shit storm that it could bring. And neither do my children. They are embarrassed enough that we don't have cable. They don't need me raining shit storms on people in public as well. So on behalf of my children could you please cut and paste the following sections into some type of poster and put it up near busy street corners, freeway off ramps, any Jesus standing on a corner, amusement parks and all Insane Clown Posse gatherings? That would be swell!!! Love, Humble


Hawking Loogies/Spitting Mucous/Snot Rocketing from Your Nasal Cavity and/or Throat:
     This is now found as completely disgusting and may make a pregnant person throw up on your shoes. We have one known case of this actually happening in response to said action. It will also make other members of the opposite sex be completely revolted and immediately put you on the "This person is fucking gross" list. Yes, you will be put on this list. Even at the gas station. Other members do not need to be reminded that you have disgusting things going on with your immune system. That being said, we all suffer from this affliction of disgustingness from time to time, but we should like to keep it under wraps and pretend it doesn't exist. Quite like watching Jersey Shore, or going to Big Lots for silver ware. If it is an emergency and you are in a public space FIND A TRASH CAN. Think of the older members or prospective members that might pass through and slip in your nasal mucous cesspool and fall on their innocent little behinds. 

Peeing in public spaces during day light hours when your not even drunk:
    No one wants to see (or imagine) your pork sword in your hands waving in the breeze of a Wal Mart parking lot. Or a gas station. Or anywhere that other people can see you. Make use of bottles, cups, and jars. We know they are in your car because that's how you got in this position in the first place. You get a free pass after hours and you are drunk. Because there is nothing worse than a drunk person with pee pants. Just find a bush, a DARK CORNER, or have a friend who feels sorry for you to stand and block you from view.

Horrible statements to the opposite sex:
    The offenders will think this is a "pick up line", do not be confused by a pick up line and a horrible statement.  The differences are outlined below:

Pick Up line: Is an introduction to your wit and humor. ex: "You have the sweetest eyes I have ever seen"

Horrible Statement: Doesn't even make fucking sense. ex: Sup Ma? (Unless she is your mother, in which case she should smack you with a religious publication. Women do not want to be referred to as your mother if you ever intend for them to be a mother or prospective mothers to your children, or even practice making children with them, ever. )

Pick Up Line: Introduces yourself. ex: Hi, I am XYZ can I buy you a yacht or a drink?

Horrible Statement: Succumbs the offended into crawling into a hole and showering 17 times. Ex: Whats that taste like? (AND THERE IS NO FOOD AROUND)          

Saying someone is a pussy/retard

    In case you missed the memo written by "Everyone Knows" Pussy a.k.a Vagina's; give birth to babies. It is not to be replaced with"You weakling!" If anything people who have smarts, skills, and can lift at least 100 pounds should be called Vagina's or a Pussy. Unless you are referring to the offended as a Pussy Cat, in which case, carry on, with your silly ass self.

   Stop using the word "retard" It is annoying and offensive to not only those with special needs but it lets others know that YOU are annoying and offensive and you want all baby animals to die in a fiery inferno and you never wipe your butt.

One suggestion to members who have been complaining about in regards to breastfeeding prospective members in public. GET THE FUCK OVER IT.
    A section of members have put up with this shit for way too long. Getting harassed for nursing their hunger ridden children, being told to "cover up" because it might make people "uncomfortable." Or at worst being made to leave the vicinity even though it is illegal to do so. Call it like it is assholes, you hate babies and want them to starve. If you didn't hate babies and you didn't want them to starve you wouldn't care if a mom shoved her baby on her breast on aisle 7 of Target so long as the little angel face was fed and not interfering with the debate with your spouse to Big Lots for the dinner ware.


Take it up with these prospective members if you have a problem.




Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Dear Legs of Thunder, your time has come. Love, Humble

In keeping with my New Year tradition of sabotaging all that is right and wonderful with my life, such as ding dongs and bear claw doughnuts, I am taking a stab at getting skinny.


Why not just be fat and happy? Or chubby and cherubic? I do not necessarily have issue with fat people like some folks do. Its just another size in my opinion. And plus I have this theory that people who don't meet societies strict standard of beauty have awesome personalities, are witty and/or very smart. Its a dog eat dog world out there and in order to survive high school, job interviews, online dating etc., everyone has to have SOME kind of talent. Ive had my fair share of childhood awkward...more on that later...and Ive been chubby enough times to know that it does make for some awkward when I was gifted an extra small a.k.a 5T shirt at Christmas and had to hold it up to my extra large body and say "this is perfect! I love it!" and inside I'm thinking "I can wear it on my ride back home with Doc Brown!" But here's the real deal why I wont stay chubby. It just doesn't suit me. I have a smallish frame and my fat distributes un evenly. My arms are always big and broad. No matter how big or thin I am. The only thing that gets bigger is my ass, and my neck. And do you know how hard it is to find pants that fit a shorty like me on the regs? Despite whatever size I may be, its freakin hard.  Getting smaller just makes shopping easier. And easy shopping boosts my naturally low self esteem. Don't judge me over this people, I'm just laying my cards where they lie. Or something. You get it.

But Humble you say, your sooo skinny (that's called from the neck up photos my friend and I have invested monopoly money dollars on Spanx and mascara...) and you look soooo good for having 5 kids. Stop right fucking there amiga/o. First of all did anyone see me pregnant? No not the pictures I posted because I can work the angles better then a drag queen on the beach, but like, in person? Of course you didn't and that was on purpose ya dip. So no, I don't look great for having 5 kids. I look like a freakin angel of life. How my 9 lb babies did not crack my 5'2 smallish frame in half is like a wonder to behold. They didn't do it without leaving a mark, or a handful, or two or three of skin around my middle. (Full disclosure, I can hand you my belly button if your standing next to me.) And my uteri is kick ass for taking the beatings of gestation and labor, 5 times, 2 of them being c sections, 1 being a VBAC. So Ive got plenty to be proud about in that department. If uteri was ever perceived as eye candy to the opposite as sexy, you can bet your left nut that mine would be featured in the December issue of Maxim magazine, greased up and looking like a rock star on the beach. But since we are never going to see a time where that ever happens and since I'm getting rather tired of rocking industrial strength Spanx and spending 20 minutes on lengthening my lashes to distract from my neck, I'm going to bite the bullet, and beat the 20 or so pounds that has found life on planet my ass.

I wasn't always like this. I was never a chubby and cherubic kid. In fact, I was always way shorter than everyone else, and dare I say...I think I dare...svelte. This is a nice way of saying I was athletic and boyish in frame. In fact I was so freakishly small compared to my peers I remember my P.E. teacher in 9th grade tsk tsking my weigh in at the start of my second semester because she presumed I had an eating disorder. I was pretty horrified at my double digit number despite the fact that I had prayed to God on the daily that He would deliver me from training bra hell and put at least of pound of fat on my bones so I wasn't so lerpy derpy. So it wasn't really until after I had my second child that I got chubby. After the third I got fat. I lost the weight by saying good bye to cookies and soda (cute, right?) and after the fourth holy hell broke loose. I look back at pictures of me cradling my 4 month old and I barely recognize myself. Huge arms. Double chin. Full on gut. And you know what? It didn't bother me. For a whole year it didn't bother me. Well it did a little but I had no time to wallow in my humpty dumptyness. I was depressed and that took up my whole calendar. It wasn't until I tried to hoist myself on a counter and nearly broke my wrist and then fell backwards, ungracefully landed on my left foot, popping whatever precious cartilage that was holding my cankles together that I realized, Damn, I'm getting to be a big girl. As I caught my breath, I realized I really had a problem because I had put the Twinkies on top of the fridge and that's what I was reaching for. And despite my popped ankle I still really wanted one.

So what did I do? I dieted. See, before when I had gotten myself in chubbier times I just started eating more salads, less soda, cut out all candy and started taking walks. After a few months I eventually got better looking or at least better feeling, got knocked up again from my new found "I'm back mothafuckas" accomplishment and then proceeded to start the process all over again. But this time was different. Cutting back on a few things no matter how soul crushing it was, was not going to cut it. That means not even on my period could I have a Kit Kat. Or eat an entire plate of alfredo-y goodness on a quaint Saturday watching Love, Actually. "Oh but Humble! What about moderation!" you say. No, that doesn't work in my world. Have you ever seen a recovering alcoholic say, "Well I'm on period, and my cat ran away, give me a beer!"  No! They don't! They call their sponsor and cry "oh my god I'm bleeding and my baby ran away! I want a cupcake beer and I don't know what to do!!" And their sponsor says "there, there, remember what we practiced...kumbayahh my loooord kumbayahhh" and if that doesn't work they go out and get a beer and we all know beer and delicious treats come in packages. So if I were to have one little piece of Kit Kat, I'm eating the whole fucking thing. And that alcoholic will prob drink all those cans.  I feel for recovering addicts. I really do. I had to unfriend my besties (Krispy Kreme, Burger King, Kit Kat, etc) and when you are faced with an unexpected crisis, like illness, people saying"Fuck you, you b-hole! Your a crazy bitch and I hate your face!"..periods and their bloody never ending endingness, or just a rough day of toddler hell, where the hell do you turn if you cut out all your besties?

Billy Blanks. That's fucking who. Hes scary. In fact I had to mute him the first few times I ran the DVD through, because I mean, how did he know I was tired, weak, or not sticking with it? It creeped me out. But Billy Blanks was like a scary devil life coach/sponsor that taunted me and said things like "Get cracking you pansy!" if I didn't check in. So I just kept checking in with that guy. Stupid tae bo bands and all. I got sweaty. I cried a little when he yelled at me to keep going, and I cursed the DVD case when I was so sore I couldn't even fold laundry. (yeah like I ever fold laundry, but those few weeks I had an excuse not to) Then me and Billy broke up. I was sick of him shouting at me and the girl 3rd row from the back made me gag with her frothy slimey thighs and mean face. And its also my theory that people's Im having sex face, and their work out face is the same. Go ahead. Ponder it. You know Im right. Which is why I get creeped out if my kids are watching me exercise..or my biff, or anyone. So anywho, this girl really gave me the willies. I moved onto Jillian horse face Michaels. Now shes a scary broad. I definitely muted her mundane shouts of "You're not going to see results if you don't give me a thousand percent!" If you have never done Jillian, let me give you the low down. Most horrible, embarrassing moves EVER. Than times it by 45 minutes and her devil face barking orders and making up things like "If you want to look like my friend Tanesha, your going to have to work hard like Tanesha" Um, Tanesha has obviously never had children and shes 6 ft tall. Jillian your moves are hard but your not a plastic surgeon. Fucking bitch. I digress. It took me a long while to lose weight. In my mind a long while is 100 percent of the day, every day, until the weight is lost. And when I did I met my boyfriend. I was like "oh yea guess whose back mothafuckas, oh hey nice to meet you IN MY SHORT SHORTS" and you guessed it. Our son is 6 months old.

So, here I am. On a get skinny mission that is going to suck balls. I have a meager plan, eat less, soul suck, exercise till I pass out, do that lots more times. My make-inner (not over, over is my new found smokey eye technique, thanks 15 year old on Youtube!) starts Jan 9th at exactly breakfast time. And in about a few months I will feel much more comfortable in my skin. Well not as comfortable as I would to give a handful or two or three back to my behemoth full grown babies since I have no use for it. Unless it suddenly becomes eye candy in which case I got shot gun on the May issue of Maxim as well.