My dear friend Lauren who is like a sister to me, just had her first baby! And guess which moral-free cad they selected to be her godmother? Me, of course. I’m thrilled! Here is the thing about me and babies. I recognize their cuteness, but they kind of scare me. I mean they just need you so much. You can’t forget them somewhere or casually leave them on some shelf somewhere. You have to attach them to your boob and never let go. Scary!
I recognize that I’m pushing 30 and this whole mentality should probably change. Being around Stacey and seeing what an amazing (and fun!) mother she is to Ollie has really helped. She has made me realize that you can still have a life and have kids and be hot. And now that my friend Lauren has knighted me fairy godmother to her first born, I feel like my fear of leaving a baby on a shelf will diminish even more.
I actually love the idea of being a godmother or an aunt more than being a mother. This is probably due to the fact that you can swish in with a present and a kiss and get a lot of love. And also due to the fact that one of my favorite movies is Auntie Mame and well, Rosalind Russell just made being an aunt the most fabulous thing since the high heel. I can’t wait to take little Mairin to the baby spa for a teeny tiny mani pedi, or to the children’s museum to make a mold of her butt in hot wax or something like that. You know, the good stuff!
Thank you Lauren for trusting me to be Mairin’s godmother. I promise to do my very best!
I know I risk sounding like I belong in a Sunrise Senior Living community, but my heartburn is killin’ me! For the last week, I’ve been eating my way through Erie (upon buying seven loaves of pepperoni bread at the local bakery a clerk asked me, “So ma’am, you havin’ a party?” Um, yes, if a “party” can mean watching TV alone while ripping apart entire loaves with my bare hands…)
But honestly, heartburn is the ONE issue of pregnancy that really drives me crazy. I guess if having a ‘lil HB is my biggest gripe, I shouldn’t really be complaining, but I can’t help it, I am a whiner. I mean, for a gal like me that likes hot food such, this heartburn thing has really got me in a bind. I literally take two bites of anything spicy and I feel like someone has packed my chest with fireworks. Sriracha? In my dreams. Hot wings? Only if I’m feeling masochistic. Cholula-doused tacos? I may as well start flogging myself with a hickory stick and develop a taste for S&M. It’s baaad.
My only relief (and not much at that) is popping some Tums Smoothies. It’s funny, I haven’t taken a single one of these since I was pregnant with Ollie, but as soon as I hit 23 weeks, it was like clockwork that I needed to restock my supply and keep an economy size bottle in my purse with me at all times. And even though they don’t cure the burn 100%, at least the small chalky miracle tabs help me to be able to eat what I want to eat. (Which is pretty much EVERYTHING.)
Sometimes I can even trick myself into thinking Tums are candy and then I like them even more.
Sometimes I can be pretty clueless. Like yesterday when I went to have an emergency sonogram and I brought my toddler along. (Don’t worry, don’t worry, everything is A-OK with my bun in the oven — it was simply a case of hypochondria on my part. I mistook a little round ligament pain for something being wrong with ‘Lil Turkey Pfarr.)
Anywho, I didn’t even give it a second thought when I brought Ollie into the X-ray check-in and announced to the front desk that I had a sonogram scheduled. She looked at me like I had a penis taped my forehead and was said, “Uh, ma’am, you can’t bring a baby in there. Do you have someone to watch your son?” and I was like, “What?! Well, no, I don’t have anyone to watch him. Can’t he just come too?” Of course, she explained in very deliberate language (because I think she thought I was slow), that due to the fact that they have vials of chemicals and belly jelly on the walls that it wasn’t a place for babies. However, because my sonogram was “stat” (to which I dumbly said, “What’s that mean?” Doh) I couldn’t leave the hospital without having it done.
Consequently, they set me up with a babysitter named Kay, who technically isn’t a babysitter at all, but rather a nice lady from Guest Services, who agreed to watch Ollie while I had my belly examined. So I got to see my Turkey (whose new nickname may just be Mini Skeletor Alien) bopping around in my uterus in peace. I didn’t have to worry about Ollie eating the internal sonogram wand or ripping out the cord to expensive lab equipment. The whole experience was extremely relaxing, all thanks to Kay, my impromptu sitter that I didn’t even have to pay!
This is definitely Baby P's good side, from straight on he (or she) kind of resembles Darth Vader. Of course, when you're the length of a plum, you don't have much meat on your bones yet. I was just happy to see #2 looking healthy!
Last night, Grey and I were all set to head out the door for Washington Life’s Young and the Guest List Party when Ollie got sick. Of course, I had self-tanned, gotten a pedi, and blown out my hair, but of course, an ill little one comes before a night on the town, even if if means a full face of makeup going to waste.
It was disappointing, yes, because I can’t tell you the last time I donned a cocktail dress; but I could never leave Ollie feeling under the weather. Plus, I didn’t want to scare off the babysitter so she’d never sit for me or any of my friends again!
But I felt bad because I called Lauren literally five minutes before she was scheduled to show up at my house. Hopefully she hadn’t turned down other jobs or any hot dates just to babysit Ollie and have us bail on her. But it was ugly, and no one wants to deal with some random kid’s barf and smelly poo butt — dealing with your own kid’s is bad enough!
Little Sicky Poo Butt was happy because at least he got to watch Monster Truck videos on YouTube all night.
I’ve always loved Greek mythology. Oh the drama! It’s like an ancient version of Jersey Shore or Real Housewives of Orange County. One of my favorite stories is about Persephone, the gal that Hades stole away to the Underworld. She hangs out with him down in the dark for four months every year (so we have winter) and then pops back up to the land of the living for the rest of the time to keep her mom, Demeter, company (so we get spring, summer, and fall). I remember reading Ovid in high school and loving it so much I’d go home and research more about the gods in our set of Encyclopedias (remember those?). And yes, to answer your question: I was a dork.
But thanks to Persephone or Gaia or Jesus or Buddha or whoever up there is puppeteering the seasons, it’s finally Spring and my pale pasty flesh is finally looking less like a hairless mole rat. I actually have color for the first time in six months!
Granted, when I’m pregnant I get really REALLY tan. The summer I had Ollie I looked like I was another ethnicity all together. It was great. Granted, I had swollen ankles like tree trunks, but my skin tone matched Halle Berry’s. So I’m really looking forward to the next 9 months of sun and rosy skin. Here’s to the end of winter!
This was me four days before I had Ollie. For some reason I don't look as tan as I remember, but I think it was just the glare of the pool. I was literally so dark I started wearing a hat (which I never do) and SPF 80 and I still turned brown.
Today is Ollie’s half birthday; he’s 18 months old as of 1:01 AM this morning. This is a big deal for me — I can’t believe that he’s already a year and a half! Tonight Grey and I are going to have a mini-celebration with party hats and a little cake for him.
To explain my note today: this thank you to Ollie is very primitive because I wanted try to make something that he could read now that would convey how thankful I am to have him as my wild-child-baby. I used pictures since he can’t understand written text yet (we think he’s smart but not that smart). I tried to communicate that “Mommy is thankful for Ollie.” Â However, thankful is a hard word to symbolize (I wonder how those Caves of Lascaux people did it 10,000 years ago?), so I thought I’d use the four things that he loves and appreciates more than anything to try to get the point across.
Hopefully Ollie got my intended message and doesn’t think I’m trying to say I’m going to eat his toy trucks or steal his Goldfish. I’m hoping he also recognizes me in the picture because I’m not wearing my glasses and my hair is actually brushed…
Happy Half Birthday, Ollie!
Last year on Ollie's 1/2 birthday (what a different 365 days make!)
Thank God the snow is starting to melt. For the past week, I feel like I’ve been living a scene out of the movie Misery (maybe that explains why I just broke Grey’s legs with a sludge hammer?).
ANYWAY, I suspect it’s the cabin fever, but during this cold snap, I’ve really enjoyed my daily doses of the sauce. Nothing excessive — that would make trying to contain wild Ollie even more impossible — but just one or two drinks to make me forget I’m a prisoner in my own home, that’s all.
Since nap-time isn’t usually until 12:30, I’ve found that on these stir crazy days, Grey and I catch one another’s eyes over the turmoil left in Ollie’s wake and say, “Is it 5 o’clock yet?” But with Wolaver’s — it doesn’t need to be happy hour! That’s the beauty of coffee flavored beer: it tastes good in the morning.
Now how about one that’s bacon flavored?!
This morning I tied Grey to the bed and shaved him with a straight razor. Funny what snow will make you do!!!
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