Monday, December 14, 2009
Now I just have to actually send them. I'm horrible at this whole adult thing. Life was so much easier when Mum still wiped my ass.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
I put Babe to bed at 7pm. When she woke up at 7:30 and walked down the hallway, I carried her back to bed, tucked her in with her bear and kissed her cheek. Then I just left. Of course she followed me, screaming. I scooped her up and put her back in bed. We did this for two whole hours, she walked out, I tucked her back in. Finally, at a little after ten, she stayed in bed and went to sleep. I was victorious, but I felt awful. I'll be kicked out of the attachment parenting club for sure after all that screaming.
Tonight, I put her down at 7pm. She woke up at eight and walked down the hallway. I carried her back, tucked her in and kissed her cheek. Then I left again. We went through the process twice tonight (out, back in, out, back in) and then she just went to sleep. What took two hours last night only lasted 15 minutes tonight, and with minimal screeching.
I don't know if this means I've won, or if it means she just doesn't like me enough to come looking for me... but I think I'm going to survive parenting now. Maybe.
I busted out the plastic eggs and hid them all over the living room; one in her kitchen sink, one under the rocker, one on the seat of her chair, etc. I even hid one in the branches of the Christmas tree. You would have thought that Madelynn had just been introduced to the real live Jr. Asparagus, she was seriously 'tinkle just a little' thrilled every time she found an egg.
After a full hour of egg scavenging (yes, a full hour of hiding, finding and re-hiding all over the apartment), Babe and I collapsed on the living room floor, surrounded by multi-colored eggs. Just being silly, I shoved an egg down her shirt and a new hunting game was born:
If I had known that a handful of plastic eggs could happily kill an entire afternoon, I never would have drawn all over the bathroom. Shitfuck.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Before the wedding, I had my third OB appointment. Clutching my small cup of chilled pee and trying desperately to ignore the itch of my meticulously groomed nether regions, I laid on a table while an eighty-year-old man with coffee breath undid my jeans.
Ahh yes, this is exactly how I've always pictured my wedding day.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
With this one (who I have affectionately named "The New Kid"), it was like the exact moment pee met stick (at two weeks pregnant) I gained forty-seven pounds and had to use a hair-tye to keep my jeans closed. I may be exaggerating a tad with the weight gain, but I assure you the hair-tye part is true. For the past 84 days I have vomited every morning while brushing my tongue, usually in the sink (which is super-dooper gross because some of it always gets in that little hole, which makes me vomit again, which leaves me hanging over the toilet with Madelynn standing beside me trying to spit in the toilet while I puke in it, which forces me to use one hand to hold my hair while using the other to keep a screaming toddler at least an arm's length from the toilet, because we always bump heads when we try to spit in the toilet at the same time, which just isn't a very fun way to vomit in case you were wondering. I need at least one free hand to brace myself... ya know?). Two Mondays ago, I spent half of the day face-down on the living room floor, trying to half-snooze while Mads climbed on my head and ate dirt out of the planters.
Between the constant nausea, the total energy zap and the express trip into the realm of "Do you think Aimee is pregnant or just getting really super fat?" I've come to the conclusion that The New Kid hates my guts. Here's a newsflash for ya, New Kid... I don't fucking like you either!
12 weeks. I'm smiling because I avoided the sink-hole this morning. I can't think of a better way to start the day.
Friday, December 4, 2009
Don't mind her mismatched pajammies and cow slippers, we don't do formal breakfasts around here.
And now I can't keep her off the window sill. Super.
The toilet bowl had less than an inch of water in the bottom. There was a small puddle on bathroom floor. My child was drinking toilet water off my coffee table. That's gross.