Doctorate of Parenting

I am of the opinion that children should be seen and not heard, especially in public.  I probably would have done very well living during the Victorian era.  Because of my, let's call it what it is, ability to be a good member of society I cringe when my children make even the slightest of noises when we're out and about.  There is nothing harder than convincing a two year old she should whisper and as far as the baby goes, well there literally is nothing I can do.  But I try, damnit, I try.

Because of this philosophy on child rearing I found myself one fateful morning receiving my Doctorate of Parenting.  Up until this point I had rightfully earned my Bachelor's of Parenting by learning how to clean a stinky butt in 5 seconds flat or burp a baby and avoid being spit-up on.  As it turns out, all of that was putting me on the fast-track for my Doctorate.

Our road trip to Minnesota became, in effect, my Doctoral project.  Our first night on the road we found ourselves checking into a hotel after midnight.  The girls were a little wary about this new adventure but settled down within an hour only to awaken, ready for the day, 4 hours later.  Marcus, realizing he was about to have a murder-suicide situation on his hands, took both girls out of the room and down to the lobby to watch cartoons and be the first in line for breakfast (which was not a goal he had set for this trip).  A few hours later, Marcus and the girls came back up and I took over Josephine duties and attempted to pack us up while Marcus and Alex left to swim in the pool.

As luck would have it Jo was cutting a tooth at this very time and as such was miserable.  When Jo is miserable the only comfort she can find is in me, as in she had to be plastered to me at all times.  If I even made as if to put her down she would scream making it impossible to get anything done.  Had we been at home I would have let it go but we were in a hotel and it was only 7:00 in the morning.  My child was being horrid and I just knew someone was plotting our demise and this time it wasn't me.

At some point during this ordeal I had to use the bathroom, bad.  Since Jo wouldn't let me put her down I thought I would bring her into the bathroom with me.  The school of thought there being at least she could see me.  Needless to say, she sat on the bathroom floor screaming her head off which was only amplified by the excellent bathroom acoustics.  Eventually, I had to just pick her up and hold her in my lap as I went to the bathroom.  I'll leave it up to you to decide if it was #1 or #2 but the point is, Jo was finally a quiet and happy baby as she sat on my lap and I went to the bathroom.  Unfortunately, I had to put her back down and the screaming started back up again but there are some things that are just simply impossible to do while holding a baby.  Maybe if I figure out a way to finish taking care of business while holding a baby I will be elevated to the Nobel Peace Prize of Parenting.

Not Such A Bad Day

So, I guess some people (*ahem* Marcus) weren't a fan of my last post.  All I have to say is I am entitled to bad days just like everybody else.  It isn't fair to set the standard that a mom can't have a bad day and seriously not like her children.  I don't like a lot of people on a daily basis.  Why should my children be any different?

Anyway, in case anyone is worried or concerned today, I like them.  Jo is currently "singing" into the microphone of a keyboard (thanks, Auntie Maura...we owe you...BIG) and Alex keeps disappearing only to reappear wearing a pair of my shoes.  Oh, goody.  Now she and Jo are both singing into the microphone.

Guess who it is I don't like today?  It's the same person who's step-daughter will probably be receiving an electric guitar for Christmas.

Sh*tty

I was going to sit here and write a post about how much I hated my children today.  Seriously.  Up until about 5 seconds ago I was stewing in my hatred for two children whom I chose to bring into this world.  As I took a shower, Bill Cosby's words rang in my ears "I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it."

All day long I have wanted to throttle Alexandra.  My voice is hoarse from yelling at her mostly to stop hitting, pushing, or choke-holding her sister.  My blood boiled all day long as the hours crept by at a seemingly snails pace.  She went to time-out at least twice though, what sort of impact it is having on her other than she tells her toys to go to time-out I don't know.

Josephine, on the other hand, I have a little more patience for but I still want to put her in her crib, shut the door, and leave.  Like, totally leave.  Like, get in the car and leave.  Alas, the responsible adult in me realizes that to do so would certainly mean jail time and that's enough to stop me in my tracks.

This is all to say, though, that just prior to writing this I read a story about a couple who are getting married because their 2 year old has only weeks to live.  Talk about perspective.  Despite the fact that I can honestly say today I hated my children at least I know that tomorrow morning they both will wake-up.  Both of them will have forgotten the day before and both of them will laugh and play and yes, fight, but the fact is they will be alive.

And now I feel like the shittiest mother in the world.

Our 9 Month Old

This post has nothing to do with our vacation either.  It is, however, about our little chunket Jo who just turned 9 months.  She is a force to be reckoned with.  When she sets her sight on something (mind you, her sight is about knee level) she stops at nothing to get to it.  When I tell her "no" she knows exactly what I'm saying but could care less.  When she feels her lot in life is unjust she throws herself onto the ground, crying piteously.  She has a sense of humor that makes me think she'll be the Jerry Lewis to Alex's Dean Martin (I swear I'm not 80 years old).  None of this though mentions the fact that she wakes up smiling, she adores her big sister, and she "sings" along when I sing her lullabies at night.

Today was her 9 month check-up so, without further ado, I'd like to give some of her stats before I forget:

Jo is 21 pounds 4 ounces (80th percentile) and 27.5 inches long (55th percentile).  I forget her head circumference but it's in the 75th percentile.
She babbles constantly, smiles, laughs and regales us with her mischievous smile at all times.
She can pull herself up and cruise all around the furniture, legs, whatever is within reach.
She recently climbed up the stairs and when she's crawling and Alex is running around she pushes her butt in the air as if to stand.  You can see she can't wait to be up and causing more mischief with Alex.
She has two teeth on the bottom but no sign of any others to date.
She is attempting to eat finger foods but so far is failing.  We don't understand why everything else goes into her mouth but when it comes to putting food into her mouth she can't figure it out.
We've also started giving her a sippy cup once a day which is just a daily reminder for me that she won't be a baby much longer.
I've realized I don't know Jo.  Not yet.  I think I see a glimmer of her personality but it won't be for another year before she really starts to shine and I can't wait.
She scrunches up her nose, sometimes makes noises like a Wookie and at other times like a Gremlin and yet other times she just simply grunts.
She sleeps through the night though wakes up occasionally.  Sometimes I think she has nightmares because she wakes up screaming and is inconsolable.  I hate those nights.
She is easily frustrated when she can't reach the object of her desire and, if she does reach it, gets even more frustrated when said object is promptly taken away.  Generally speaking the objects of her desire are very much things she shouldn't have such as old band aids, remote controls, cat toys, wine bottles...you know, the usual things left lying around the house.
If Jo wakes up from her nap before Alex does you get the sense that she is lost.  She kind of meanders around the living room, not really playing with anything.  The minute Alex walks in the room though she lights up.
She has a personal vendetta against freshly folded piles of laundry.  If she spots me working diligently to fold laundry she'll come over and with a grunt rip the pile apart.  This makes folding laundry a challenge unless I wait for Jo to be asleep.
She can clap her hands and "dances" to music.

So, that's our Jo in a nutshell.  Sometimes when I'm being myself (i.e. weird) Alex will just stare at me as if to say "WTF."  Jo on the other hand.  She gets me.

Just A Moment

I know some of you may be anxiously awaiting a new post about our road trip to Minnesota but I'm currently up to my arms in fleas, diaper explosions, and school work, not necessarily in that order.  So far today I've had pizza rolls and a small can of coke.  That's how conscientious of my diet I am plus a good indicator of how busy I am.

So, give me a minute or two.  I promise, it's coming.

Chaos

Wanna know how my night went?  In one word: chaos.  While Marcus has been yucking it up in Virginia I've been at home wrangling the wild beasts that are my children and cat.

A little background for you.  We've recently discovered Lasagna (the cat) has been pooping and peeing in areas that are not her litter box.  I almost gave her away as a kitten and again shortly after Alex was born and now I'm regretting never having done so.  I don't even really like the cat to begin with so getting rid of her is really not a problem for me.  I digress.

I thought I knew the areas Lasagna was doing her business, specifically all in Alex's room (passive-aggressive much, Lasagna?) but I was wrong.  After dinner I found another spot in the laundry room that demanded prompt attention.  Some may call me anal but I like to consider myself fastidious.  I have a nose for stink and I can't stand it which is partly how I've single-handedly kept Yankee Candle in business.  Again, getting off topic.

Anyway, the order of events in our household usually occur as such:  1. Dinner, 2. Bath, 3. Night cap for all, 4. Stories, 5. Bedtime.  We've made that routine our bitch and as such Alexandra is quite the stickler for it.  So, when I started getting all crazy about sniffing out cat pee I forgot that there were other priorities.

Now, the following is a tad bit my own fault.  At one point, Alex told me she had a dirty diaper which usually is a good indication that she indeed has a dirty diaper.  I told her to hold on a second, we'd be taking a bath really soon.  I shoved that bit of information to the recess of my mind and continued on my decontamination of the house.  Also worth mentioning, during this time I lost track of Josephine.  I knew she was alive I just didn't know exactly where.  Anyway, as I was wrapping up my cleaning Alex came running up to me butt-ass naked and, as if I needed further proof, proudly proclaimed "I naked!"  "Yes, yes you are," I replied not in the least bit distracted by that bitch of a cat.

It wasn't until a few minutes later that I noticed she had poop on her bottom as she ran all over the house, relishing in her nakedness.  Oh. My. Fucking...you get it.  I don't like cat poop in the house and I certainly don't need human waste all over the place either.  "Alex!  Get in the bathroom right now!  It's time for a bath!"  Surprisingly, she listened though it then became a game of running into and out of the bathroom because I couldn't go right in with her as Josephine was MIA.  "Where is Josephine?!  Alex, back in the bathroom NOW!  Josephine! (as if she would respond with a "yes, mother") Where are you?!  Alex, if you don't get back in the bathroom right now you're going to REGRET IT.  JOSEPHINE!"  I ran into the master bathroom because that's one of her favorites and sure enough, there she was, crawling away from her pièce de résistance, an entire roll of toilet paper torn and crumpled and probably partially consumed on the floor.

As I was trying to wrangle Jo into the girls bathroom Alex continued her frolic until I could settle her down enough to wipe her butt and put them both in the bath.  They're both now asleep, and have been for the last hour, and I'm wondering why all I have is a glass of water sitting in front of me.  When Marcus called tonight he asked how my day was.  I responded with a sigh.  That's all I have left in me.  

This Is Probably TMI

I figured maybe it was time to post a little something about myself.  I tend to be a vain creature (Hi, Jeffrey!) and I like to make sure everybody doesn't forget me.  Me, me, me.  It was me, after all, who carried and gave birth to the two babies we constantly talk about.  I mean, isn't it time we give that a break?  They're all of 2 and 8 months respectively and don't have nearly the same level of awesomeness that I do.

But, in all seriousness, I would like to write a little something about myself.  Specifically, my body post two babies.  This is where most of you can stop reading if you'd like.

First I'd like to mention the fact that after giving birth I felt pretty darn good about my body (both times).  I mean, I'm no Victoria's Secret model bouncing back after a few weeks but I didn't have any stretch marks and my belly went down pretty well (though, as we'll find out later, not as well as I thought).  I held on to some extra weight from Alex that I couldn't shake before getting pregnant with Jo but I've since lost all of that weight and was feeling pretty good about myself.

That was, until a few weeks ago when the pastor of our church asked me if I was pregnant.  I was shocked.  I thought he was telling me a joke.  When the punchline never came, I loudly exclaimed "No!," punched him in the gut, then ran away.  Most of that last sentence is true.

It was at that exact moment that I decided to pick-up my running routine that I had been putting off for long enough.  I did and two weeks into it I'm already injured.  I guess working my way up to 4 miles in less than 2 weeks was kind of stupid.  There goes my beach bod but I don't really care.  I've seen the state of some of the women out there wearing bikini's and I'm going to go for it anyway.  Eh, on second thought maybe not.  I just looked for a bathing suit at Victoria's Secret and I think I'm going to fast for the next two months before going out in a bathing suit.

In the end though, my only real complaint is with my breasts.  They are out of control after breast feeding two babies.  I put on a sports bra and one nipple points one way, the other points another.  This is even after trying to line them up.  It's like they're made of those stress balls filled with sand but way less firm and more of a Jello filling so, actually, not much like a stress ball at all.  I can't even hang out around the house without a bra.  Scratch that.  I can and I do.  But I'm pretty sure I make people uncomfortable with how low my breasts hang, one nipple pointing to the left and the other pointing down.  Why they point that way I have no idea, but it's true.


So, there you have it.  My post two babies, body issues.  It could be worse.  For example, it could be worse if I still weighed 180 pounds (no joke, that's how much I weighed with Jo...it was more than Marcus) but without the added benefit of having a baby inside me, so there's that.  But it could be better.  For example, it could be better if I still had the cute runner's butt I used to have as opposed to the mom butt that's been quietly forming back there.