Monday, May 31, 2010

Housing hindsight

It's been hot around here lately. Close to 90 every day for a week. Although our house isn't too uncomfortable for most of the day, it's been unbearable in the evenings. And we don't have central air. Nor have we put the window units in yet. Add in the fact that I have a nine-pound furnace latched to my boobs for half an hour six to eight times a day, and a 30-pound furnace who wants to spend 95% of his waking time on my lap or in my arms, and I've been one hot and cranky momma.

When we were house hunting, I remember thinking to myself that having radiant heat, which means no duct work and no AC, ever, wouldn't be that big a deal. I'm now kicking myself for thinking such things. I'm just glad that I'm not pregnant any more. This weather would be beyond miserable.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Mommy's night out

B and I went to a friend's wedding last night. And we left the boys with my mom. It was great. We truly needed a night out and off.

The wedding was tons of fun, and I got to see my besties from law school - it was one of them who got married - which always makes for a good time. I also got to drink without having to worry about intoxicating the baby. Pouring a full bottle of breast milk down the drain of the reception hall bathroom was a bit painful, but the wine was worth it.

After we got home, I went to bed and slept for SIX STRAIGHT HOURS! It's been ages since I've had the ability to sleep for so long at a stretch. And if my boobs hadn't been achingly full, I'm pretty sure I would have slept for another three or four. Is it sad that a full night's sleep is now my idea of heaven? I think so.

On the subject of pumping, I'm pleased to report that I've officially become a cow. I never thought that referring to myself as a cow would make me happy, but it does because it means that I'm currently capable of pumping enough milk to actually feed my kid when I'm not around. In the 24 hours I was away from the baby, I got 22 ounces of milk, and that doesn't include the bottle I dumped at the reception. It's also more than I had in my freezer stash before I left, so I've got a little bit of a jump on the stock to send to daycare. I was never able to do anything close to that with W. I'm hoping this sweet supply keeps up when I go back to work in a week. I'd love to keep R on breast milk, but I absolutely refuse to repeat my pumping experience from the first go-round (pumping every two hours at work and only getting 6-8 ounces - enough for just one feeding).

I live for these nights off, and they're always better when you get to spend them with good friends. Now that my mommy batteries are recharged, I feel ready and able to face parenthood until the next chance I have to get away for awhile. I'm shooting for a trip to upstate New York over Labor Day weekend...if B actually goes to the bachelor party he's invited to next weekend, I'm pretty sure I can make that happen. It times like these when I love the quid pro quo thing we have going in our relationship; if one of us gets some time away, so does the other one. I'll be counting down the days.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

How to entertain a cranky toddler

This is one of those tricks that works about 98% of the time to cheer up a cranky toddler who's making me feel stabby. Feel free to try it out at your house!
  • Step 1: Sit toddler on desk chair.
  • Step 2: Spin desk chair (slowly), occasionally alternating directions.
  • Step 3: Repeat ad nauseum.
You're welcome.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Making my handyman work for me

I got lucky when I married B. He's handy. Most anything that needs to be fixed around the house, he can take care of. Which means that he does all the "man" things around here, and I don't. The only slight problem with this arrangement is that B's got a bit of a procrastination problem. The screen that keeps wildlife (and toddler toys) out from under our back porch has been waiting to be reattached pretty much since we moved in. The paint in the boys' rooms - that I really wanted done before I had the baby - is still waiting to be touched up (and don't get me started on the window frames in there that were supposed to be scraped three months ago...). And the chunk of glass fell out of the cracked window in our bedroom has been sitting, well, so far it's been two weeks, waiting to be repaired.

We've lived together for just over five years now, and I'm ashamed to admit that it's taken me this long to figure out just what it takes to get my handyman to actually be handy. Surprisingly, it's not sex. Nope. All it takes is me threatening to do something myself, and, miraculously, B ends up taking care of it. I had suspected for awhile that this tactic worked, but last night convinced me.

I bought a new towel hanger thingy for the bathroom, but couldn't put it on the door until the current hook was taken off. Removing the old hook required a screwdriver, which we apparently don't have anywhere inside the house (and I wasn't about to start digging through the man cave garage for one). When I asked for a screwdriver, and answered B's question about why I wanted it, rather than pointing me in the direction of said screwdriver, B got off the couch, went upstairs, and installed my towel hanger. It was awesome.

Now that I know the trick, I fully intend to use my new-found power for evil.* BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

* And by "evil," I mean "to get my freaking house projects done." I'm not that terrible and manipulative a wife. Usually.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The crankies

Post-partum Emily is cranky. Not just today, but in general. Like, really, really, unjustifiably cranky about everything. I'd forgotten about that.

Whether B knows it or not, he's the subject of most of my crankiness. Sometimes, I'm understandably cranky with him. Last night, for example. I went upstairs while B was changing R to ask B a question. Rather than finishing the diaper change, B stopped - mid-diaper-change and with a naked newborn laying on my dresser - to think about the answer. For those not familiar with the logistics of diapering a newborn, speed is key. The less time that baby is naked, the better because the rear end of such a creature is dangerous and prone to go off at any second. Which is exactly what happened with R. While B was standing there "thinking," R pooped on the changing pad. B acted all shocked and annoyed. But, rather than moving the baby out of the pile of poo and finishing the diaper change, B put the naked baby ON MY BED where he proceeded to pee all over MY side. "Cranky" doesn't begin to describe my mood at that point. And I'm pretty sure he totally deserved it.

There are myriad other little things that bring my (mostly just mental) post-partum wrath down on B: him tracking mud into the kitchen, him leaving W's bath toys sitting in the tub, him rolling toward me in the middle of the night and breathing on my face, him copping a feel when I walk past him...I could go on.

Luckily for him (and the state of our marriage), I don't usually bring these incidents to light. Getting to bitch at him for doing such unpardonable things as failing to notice that the pizza cutter he took out of the dishwasher and put in the drawer still had food stuck to it isn't worth the hurt and the fights it would cause.

Look at me being all considerate. I love my husband so much that I'm resisting my urges to drag him into the midst of my craziness.

For now, I'm going to hope my hormones even themselves out soon and the crankies go away. I really feel for B if they don't.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Does it have to eat so much???

As I type this, the baby is eating. Again.

It's also the toddler's nap time. Nap time is my only opportunity during the day to do something other than my big 3 activities (feeding the baby, playing with the toddler, and preventing the toddler from loving the baby to death, in case you were wondering). I'm quickly discovering, however, that the boys' nap schedules don't generally align, which tends to leave me feeding or playing with one while the other sleeps.

It also leaves me, personally, napless. And I do not like that.

A cardinal rule for new parents is "sleep when the baby sleeps," but it's just not that easy when the baby isn't the only baby in the house. If I tried to sleep when the baby is sleeping, regardless of the toddler, not only would I be arrested, but the toddler would probably figure out some way to burn my house down or smother my cat before I woke up.

Add to this that I'm the only one handling the nighttime stuff, and I'm thoroughly exhausted. The only solution I can find at this point is to stop feeding the baby, as that seems to take up most of my day. That's viable, right?

To end, here's a gratuitous picture of the boys in their matching big/little brother shirts. I'd also like to note that my little one - the one who was having trouble pooping - managed to thoroughly soil that onesie in the 10 minutes he had it on.


Monday, May 10, 2010

My baby the tight ass

Poor little R has had some pooping issues for the past week or so, and when I called the ped this morning, the nurse told me to bring him in. Luckily, there's nothing seriously wrong. Apparently, when babies are this little, their nervous systems sometimes aren't quite coordinated enough to remind their little sphincters to relax themselves at the appropriate times.

R has this problem.

Although the ped didn't quite put it this way, in layman's terms, it means the kid is a tight ass. It also means that Mommy is lucky enough to get the job of helping notify his sphincter that it's time to relax by means of, uh, stimulation.

Ain't motherhood grand?

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Mother's Day fail

It's no secret around here that B isn't very good at "occasions." They were never a big deal in his house growing up. Case in point: on the morning of B's 18th birthday, he was awoken by his dad with a "Get up and help me dig up the septic tank," rather than a "Happy birthday!" This kind of stuff was a big deal in my house, though, so my expectations coming into the marriage were a bit higher than his.

Over the years, I've tempered my expectations a bit to fit with B's style, but still haven't fully accepted it - I freaking love getting presents! I usually get a gift for my birthday and/or Christmas, but I've learned not to expect gifts or even cards for things like our anniversary or Mother's Day. Flowers for anything? Forget about it. For the most part, I'm sincerely happy if I get a "Happy [insert occasion here], baby," from him.

We all know that today is Mother's Day. To mark the occasion, W's daycare sent home a cupcake-shaped rice crispie treat the staff he frosted and decorated with sprinkles and Fruit Roll-Ups (note: Fruit Roll-Ups are not nearly as delicious as I used to think they were). It came complete with a card (that W clearly had no part in making - there weren't even any scribbles) with what I certainly hope was an intentional misspelling of "Happy Mother Day's." My mom came up to see the baby today, and she brought with her a McDonald's sweet tea, a MD gift, and a super-sweet card for me.

From B, I got nothing. No gift, no card, no flowers, not even a "Happy Mother's Day, baby." He told my mom Happy Mother's Day, but not me. Nice.

To make this tale even more pathetic, I went to change someone's diaper, and found a card sitting in the diaper basket, allegedly from W and R. When I thanked B for getting it he didn't say much. Before she came over, my mom had called, so she knew before arriving that B hadn't done anything. So I asked the question I already knew the answer to: "Did my mom buy that?" B replied, "Yeah, but I put the names in it." Nice.

B gets a big, fat FAIL for this Mother's Day. I suppose there's always next year...