Does it make me a bad parent if...

...I enjoy watching my daughter try to walk away holding the string that is tied to the desk leg (don't ask why it's tied there, I don't really know)? It's just too funny seeing her fall on her butt as soon as the slack runs out. Plus, she's holding onto this little eeyore toy for dear life, and every third fall or so it goes flying out of her hand. The sound she makes when this happens is almost enough to make me pee my pants.

Everybody dance now

all I can say is, I'm glad the mini-cam wasn't around when I was younger or my mom could have done this to me.

A letter to baby bean

Dear Tenant,

I know we went into agreement that you would be living here for 9 months (give or take), but I'm am seriously having doubts. I am currently looking into the matter, but I somehow don't think you are within your renters rights with some of the shenanigans you have pulled.

Now, I have heard a rumor that the previous tenant left the place a little bigger than before. That doesn't mean your parties can be bigger and better. The walls of the place are only so thick and it's embarrassing trying to explain the shaking and rumbling seen be friends and family.

I have received several complaints from your neighbors about these wild parties going on at all times, day and night. Mr. Bladder said he would especially appreciate it if you let up on the body slamming, since you seem to share a common wall. Ms. Stomach (who resides on the opposite side) is in agreement. As for the lovely Kidney couple, their only complaint is the amount of processing they have had to do, due to your excessive use of liquids. I mean, you only weigh about a pound right now, how much water can you possibly need?

As for the amount of food you require, that is no problem, but what you are asking to be delivered is outrageous. I don't like pizza that much, yet you demand it almost nightly. And why can you only have a sandwich from Subway, when we have bread, lunchmeat, and cheese here at the house. And does the strawberry ice cream have to be the most expensive brand? My pocketbook would sure like it better if you could choke down the generic. I know, I know, the food was part of our original agreement, but seriously! I think it's time you looked for a job.

My husband (daddy) just looked the lease over, and wants me to remind you that there are only 16 weeks left. But, if you feel the need to move out sooner by a few weeks, it would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you,
Management (aka mommy)

mmmmkay

So, I've been thinking about that damn article for like three days now. That's a record set for amount of time a subject has spent in my head.

When I first read about over-achieving moms, I felt this twinge of guilt. Like, maybe I am a giant loser because I don't do and don't plan on doing any of that crap for my kids. I'll say it first, I am the laziest of moms I know. So far, I have lucked out because my daughter is very self-suffient. So much so that if you try to play with her, she gets pissed. I've been very happy with that.

Then, I got to thinking (this happened about three days ago...See the connection?) what if she's self-suffient because I made her that way? I mean I've pretty much let her do her thing since coming home from the hospital. She was (still is) a big sleeper. Fine with me. That meant I had more me time. I can never get enough me time. But, what if she had to adapt because of my laziness. Is this possible. I really don't think so, I think it's her personality. But still. Should I be planning play dates and gymboree class and swim lessons and future ballet classes and karate and...and...and?

When I stumbled upon the slacker mom article I felt liberated. Yes. Finally. I don't need excuses any longer as to why my house is a mess. As to why my baby is still in her jammies even though it's three in the afternoon. As to why I'm still in my jammies at three in the afternoon. And this is totally how I want it. I want my kids to be self-suffient. But, if this next one pops out demanding my attention and time 24/7 that's okay too. I'll give it to her.

Because that's the kind of mom I want to be. One who gives her kids what they want, and doesn't shove a million and one activities in their faces. If I'm unkept and wild looking, it will be because that's what I want, not because I don't have the time for me.

Age of the slacker mom

In light of the recently published, Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the age of Anxiety, which is featured in Newsweek, I offer this.

That is the type of parenting I'm all about, ladies and gentlemen. Call me selfish, call me a slacker. I don't give a damn. I just don't see how running yourself ragged for your kids benefits the family.

I think getupgrrl said it best.

Oh those low-down, no-good baby blues

Reading Linda's post today got me thinking about my baby blues, and how I thought they would never end. My blues seemed to drag on and on. I think they only hung around for about 6 weeks, but it seemed forever at the time.

I tell all of my expecting friends that there is a difference in having and baby and having a baby. When you are pregnant, everything seems surreal. You have these wonderful fantasies about how life with baby will be. You just know that your husband will do half of the work, you will look beautiful and your baby will be perfect. Happily ever after, right?

Then the baby is born.

The first couple of days are great (if you happen to have a "normal" birth). There are nurses helping you 24/7 and meals are delivered to your bedside. Your husband is a rock, running about getting anything you desire. Everyone who stops in tells you how cute your child is (and you know they aren't just saying it, and they don't just say that to all the patients...wink, wink). Then your doctor breezes in, tells you that you all look great and you can go home!

Then you get home.

As soon as your mother goes home (if you are so lucky to have her help the first few days), all hell breaks loose. The house is a mess. You are a mess. The baby won't stop crying. Hubby went back to work. Your MIL stops by to tell you how everything you are doing is wrong. And trying to keep up on that damn feeding/urinating/defecating chart is like doing advanced trigonometry when you really, really suck at math. On the days you are brave enough to venture past your front yard, there is petrified spit-up on your blouse and your hair doesn't need holding gel with the amount of grease in it. Yet, when other women ask you how it is to be a mom, you grit your teeth and answer, "great! I'm loving every minute of it." Heaven forbid you actually tell the truth. They might take your parental rights away.

But, honestly, it is worth it. Looking back, I wouldn't change a single second. How does that saying go? That which doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger. Amen, sister, amen.

Sick again (or 'An Ode to Nyquil')

I have strep throat. How I got it, I don't know. I mean, I never leave my house. The only other person I have had face to face contact with besides S and my baby is the mailman. And that's always a quick "hello, hi, how are you?" But, maybe he is delivering more than just bills and junk mail. Maybe he takes secret pleasure in getting a lonely SAHM sick. Waah!

I look like Frankenstein, my glands are so swollen. My nose decided to stop working today, so I sound wonderful. Whine, whine, whine. I really hate being a grown up while sick. I just want my mommy. I want her to come take care of me.

When I was younger, she always made me a bowl of poached eggs and toast. All cut up. See, it doesn't taste the same unless you cut the toast and eggs up and mix them all together. It was the best. S has tried making it for me, but somehow it isn't the same. I think he lacks the "secret touch" a mother possesses. Possesses, hmm that was a fun word to type.

It really sucks now because all I'm allowed to take is the horse pill the doctor calls an antibiotic. I open my medicine cabinet and can hear the Nyquil calling out to me. Oh blessed Nyquil, how I miss you so. How I long for your warmth and licorice taste. How I long for the cozy night's sleep you always bring to me. It seems almost unfair that I have only gotten sick these last 18 months while I was/am pregnant. God knows I love Nyquil and this is my punishment for loving it so. I think that it's in the 10 commandments, something about not loving the alcohol-soaked medicine more than anything else. Sigh.

The Grudge

I have to tell you that movie scared the pee out of me. I watched it last night with a girlfriend and honestly thought I would die from fright. We had to pause it after the scary parts just so we could collect ourselves and tell eachother that we were okay.

Movies shouldn't make you have to do that.

Nesting much?

I've been wracking my brain for something to post about for almost a week. It's like all coherent thoughts have left my head. Lately, all I have been doing is cleaning. I think the nesting bug has bitten me. Hard.
It started out as a simple job, "let's clean under my bed." Well, that turned into, "let's rearrange the bedroom furniture." That, in turn, turned into, "let's clean the back porch, the garage, and pretty much everything else in the whole house."
It took me about three days. Now I am done. There is nothing left to clean. So, that means I've moved onto: Project Organize. Now there are piles of photographs all over my newly-cleaned bedroom carpet. Before that I tackled the linen closet and organized the towels by size, color, and texture. Somebody stop me.
S finds this stage of pregnancy amusing. Last pregnancy, it wasn't unusual for him to awaken at three in the morning and find my vacuuming or scrubbing toilets. You know, so that the john was clean for the baby we were bringing home.
I know this is only the beginning. I have four more months of Pregnancy to get through. So, I ask you: Is there a room in your house I can come clean. You know, because I really need my fix.

Well...

to let you all know. IT'S A GIRL. They are "almost 100%" sure. S is already fearing all of the estrogen that will be flowing here at Casa de Austin. I reminded him that he will always have our male beta fish and guinea pig. Somehow, I don't think that made up for it. The due date is still the same: June 15th. As soon as I get near a scanner I will scan in the pictures. Though how those technicians know they are looking at a baby, I don't know.