Tag Archives: motherhood

Powers of Invisibility


I might be invisible. I walk in a door and everyone beelines for the kid, which is fine, because I totally don’t need them to validate their love for me as an individual. I know how awesome I am. I think… but anyway, last night we had a big family dinner because the Jews escaped from slavery in Egypt a bajillion years ago. Also, according to my father, something about string theory (I call shenanigans on that one).

Slavery and string theory aside, no one wants to see me anymore, they just want to play with my baby. My own grandmother told me he’s my only claim to fame. Two seconds later she asked if I minded that she said that. I said no, of course not, look how cute the baby is. But secretly I died inside and longed for the days when I could drown my sorrows in a bottle of Bailey’s (because alcohol that tastes like alcohol is yucky). Ok, just kidding. I never really drank. I used to look forward to holidays because I loved spending time with my family, trying to get drunk. I inevitably failed and all my brothers made fun of me, but that was cool. It was just what we did. Now we play pass the baby. The baby doesn’t even have to pretend to get drunk to get their attention. What is that about?

Family and friends: Don't tell grandma there is a picture of her on the Internet. She may not understand the Internet, but that doesn't mean she'd approve of me using her image... but look how cute they are!

Family and friends: Don’t tell grandma there is a picture of her on the Internet. She may not understand the Internet, but that doesn’t mean she’d approve of me using her image… but look how cute they are!

I also noticed that I spent the whole evening obsessing over the baby’s sleep training and fretting that being up past his bedtime would screw it all up. It didn’t help that I tried to put him down to sleep, but then 20 minutes later I found my dad at his bedside trying to explain string theory and the greater meaning of life to him. Ok, just kidding. It was because my dad turned on the music and even though it wasn’t loud it woke up the baby anyway.

When we packed up to leave at the very late hour of 9pm my cousin hugged me and said, “I feel like I didn’t get to talk to you at all.” Um, that would be because she came straight in the door and grabbed the baby and then spent the next half hour holding him on her lap. He bit her finger and drooled all over her leg. If she had been holding me in her lap I wouldn’t have drooled all over her nice pants (can’t say I wouldn’t have bit her finger, though), but pfffftttt, whatever. I considered spilling my red wine all over her sweater and then blaming it on the baby somehow (i.e. putting my powers of invisibility to use for evil), but decided against it. I’m not that desperate. The baby’s cute and I’m not. I get it.

Proof of the alleged finger biting

Proof of the alleged finger biting

I think next Passover I will bundle up the baby in a basket and leave him in a pile of reeds on the doorstep. The story kinda started with a baby in a basket, right? (Right?) My alter ego is very religious, but I’m not, so I’m iffy on the whole story. I may have to pile bricks on top of him though, because by that point he’ll be mobile and probably won’t have the patience to sit in a basket on a doorstep.

Next weekend is Easter and I get to be ignored by a whole other family and religion. Wahoo!

I think it’s absolutely beautiful the way a new baby brings a family together. I guess my powers of invisibility are being used for good after all!

And I’m okay with this cuteness being my claim to fame.


Greetings from the floor

I think I’m having an identity crisis. And I’ve lost my bed. And my hands. I haven’t washed my hair in five days. Ew, right? Don’t worry, I spot wash the places that matter daily.

Always wash your undercarriage

Always wash your undercarriage


TMI? No such thing in Mommy Land, population me (and millions of other women, but they all put forth an image so put together that I’d rather pretend they don’t exist because it makes me feel better). We (and by we I mean me and my mom because she is allowed to visit Mommy Land) talk about all kinds of fun stuff like boobs and poop. But mostly poop. The other day I texted my mom a pic of a dirty diaper because I needed her to verify that I hadn’t slipped into an exhaustion induced coma and J, in desperation due to his lack of boobage and milk, had put the baby out to pasture in my absence… H’s poop definitely looked like he’d been eating some grass and smelled like a frequently used and never emptied outhouse. TMI? I told you already… NO SUCH THING.

This is how we do in the country

This is how we do in the country

I thought I was doing ok but a visit to the doctor has proven me wrong. Le bébé is not gaining enough weight! He’s gone from the 95th percentile to somewhere between the 25th and 50th. aoughreiughslaeiuwgruihstaew. That was me hitting the keyboard with my forehead. Ok, not really because I’m lying awkwardly, belly down on my bed and the keyboard is too far away to reach with my head. My hands had to help my head out. I have hands after all! But only when the baby is asleep.

My hands are magestic. Like a mighty bald eagle. Or America.

My hands are magestic. Like a mighty bald eagle. Or America.

Did I say bed? I meant floor. Because that is where I sleep. H is going through a phase where I can’t put him down if he falls asleep in my arms because he’ll immediately awaken.  But if he falls asleep on the bed I can get anywhere from 5-8 consecutive hours of sleep out of him! Ah-mazing. So he, this tiny two ft tall baby, sleeps in the very centre of my queen sized bed, and I sleep on the floor. If I dare to sleep in the bed with him I’m too paranoid about him rolling off the edge (which is why I put him smack dab in the middle to sleep) and he wakes up every time I roll over. My neck hurts.

I have more in common with drunk SIMS characters than I thought... except if this were me my undercarriage would be exposed

I have more in common with drunk SIMS characters than I thought… except if this were me my undercarriage would be exposed

I’m enjoying having my hands right now, even though I should be sleeping and they’re no use to me while I’m sleeping. How has this baby not gained enough weight? It seems like all he does is eat! Doc explained to me that because he just eats a little bit and then uses my boobs to soothe himself he’s not stimulating my milk production enough. Turns out he’s a grazer. More like a goat than a pig.

Baby goats are cute, so that's ok

Baby goats are cute, so that’s ok

Who would have thought with that massive belly of mine? Maybe that explains the grass poop… Le sigh. So now my task is to stretch the feeding out for at least 2 hours between feeds and use the pacifier when he wants to soothe in between.

Hilarious pacifier face

Hilarious pacifier face

OMG. I might have just got my hands back for real. That’s kind of exciting.

POOP. Mommyhood is steeped in it.

But then he makes adorable faces like this:



And it’s not so poopy anymore… even if it is, literally, kinda.


About the Belly at Negative 6 Days

Well my fellow bloggers, loyal readers and poor unfortunate souls that stumble upon my blog by googling things like “crunchy dinos eating kibble” and “four leaf clover to kill leprechaun” (true story… btw, I’d really like to know… WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE!?), I have been absent for a while. I’d love to say that it was because I went into labour and had this beautiful experience where I lay in a birthing tub surrounded by candles, Enya’s soothing music playing in the background, my doting husband at my side as I entered a deep trance and Lamaze breathed my way through a perfect labour and delivery. You may think I’m being facetious, but I’m really not. I’d actually love a birth story like that. I could easily be the author of that birth plan.

Image courtesy of privatemidwife.co

That is, of course, not at all the way it went. I’m not going to sit around here steeped in breast milk (hello double Ds! -also, I officially wish to announce that I have more in common with a stripper than ever before. My boobs are huge and everyone and their uncle (perverted or not) has seen them-), wishing that I could have pushed this giant baby out of my special place, had him placed directly on my breast naked and squalling, me crying from relief and J telling me that I’m his hero and that he loves me and by the way, will I marry him because I’m clearly the strongest and most beautiful woman he has ever met… no. I accept that things went the way they did. In the end, the outcome is the same. My little angel is sleeping safe and sound in his bassinet, happy as a clam and healthy as a horse.

The rare but real Happy Healthy ClamHorse
Image courtesy of shannonreallyneedstolearnhowtousephotoshop.com


Nevermind that just an hour ago I was pretty sure he was possessed because he wouldn’t stop crying… I am going to be writing my birth story. I’m not sure if this is the place to post it, but if you don’t find it here there will be a link to it. I’ll be sure to write a post including that at least. Or I may change my mind and let you all read the g(l)oryy(ious) details right on this very website. Advanced warning though, there will be no shenanigans in that story.

And so, without further ado, may I introduce Baby H, born Nov 1st at 7:19am EST, weighing in at 9lbs 5.5oz and measuring 21 inches long (please explain how that fit inside of me… I’d really like to know).

I shall call him Squishy and he shall be mine and he shall be my Squishy

P.S. About the belly? I still look at least 7 months pregnant. And no, I won’t post a picture because it horrifies me. I knew that’s how it would be, but nothing can really prepare you for the jello belly.

I won’t be held responsible

I think now would be the perfect time to use my pregnancy powers for evil. I have a lot of rage these days.

Drawing kidnapped from the talented Allie Brosh at Hyperbole and a Half… she’s just so good.

Here are the reasons for the rage:

1. My feet are so swollen that it feels like my skin is going to split open with each step and spray my foot guts all over my house… which needs to be cleaned anyway because I’m so huge now I can’t keep up. How do you explain to the cleaning lady that the reddish brown stains on the floor and wall are the guts of your now hideously deflated foot?

2. I can’t walk my dog and I feel like a horrible fur baby mommy :( She keeps staring me, then at her leash hanging by the door and making the most pathetic whining sounds. It breaks my heart.

3. I cry ALL THE TIME! Mostly over sentimental things these days because most people in my daily life have learned not to tread anywhere near topics that could possibly hurt my feelings. So, knowing this, why do I keep watching those stupid birth shows on TLC?

4. I’m unemployed, pretty much confined to bed, and bored out of my mind. That’s why.

5. You’d think I’d be using this time to be creative or something. After all, I could scrapbook, blog or play the guitar from bed fairly easily. Nope. I have zero creativity these days. It sickens me.

6. I haven’t slept through the night since May.

7. If I don’t eat I starve, if I do I get wretched heartburn and/or throw up. Can’t win.

8. After a week in bed I no longer fit into any of my maternity pants. I was late to an ultrasound yesterday because it took me 15 minutes to squish my fat butt into a pair of pants. I then got to the ultrasound and the receptionist and ultrasound tech thought it would be appropriate to comment on how uncomfortable I looked, and on how tight my pants were. Yeah. Thanks ladies. I hadn’t noticed that I have a 6.5lb fetus trying to simultaneously stomp on my bladder and burst out of my navel, and I really hadn’t noticed that my painted on pants were brining tears to my eyes. I will try to pay closer attention.

9. Trying to educate people on the dangers of second and third hand smoke to an infant is just killing me, not to mention boggling my mind. The nerve and ignorance of people on that topic is killing me slowly. Or quickly… not sure. Haven’t had my blood pressure taken in the last week. If I have to hear one more person tell me that their [insert relative here] smoked with them in the house as they were growing up during the 70s and 80s and hey, they’re just fine, I will probably commit homicide. Firstly, you don’t know that you’re fine. You could be one of those non-smokers that will ultimately develop lung cancer. Will you still feel that you’re fine then? Yes, many people smoke well into their 90s and die of something unrelated, but many more die much younger of smoking related diseases. So, shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. It’s my kid, and if I tell you not to smoke around him or to hold him after you’ve smoked, then you politely acknowledge my wishes or keep the f*ck away from us. I don’t care who you are. You deserve to be relegated to a life full of neon and forced to listen to Journey on repeat.

10. My brain keeps screaming GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME NOW! Then I feel guilty because at 33.5 weeks there is no way his lungs are ready. Then I scold myself on wishing for something that is so bad for my baby and feel like I’m a bad mother already. And then I cry.

I don’t know who drew this, but it suits my purposes, so I’m stealing it.

Why now is a good time for crime:

HORMONES! There are way more of them coursing through my body than I know what to do with. From making me laugh to making me cry to making my pelvis feel like it’s being pulled every which way to making my knees feel like they are going to give out, these babies are just out of control. Oh, and I’m having a son, so all aggression can be blamed on all that lovely testosterone he’s sharing with me. Besides, no one would blame the pregnant lady. She can hide behind that bump for as long as it lasts. Unless she makes stupid internet confessions, like so:

And even then, I’d have this excuse:

“I’m so sorry officer. It wasn’t me. It was the testosterone exposure from carrying a male fetus to term. It’s like those bath salts, except I didn’t choose to take them. I couldn’t control myself. I’m sure you can understand.”

All is forgiven

I won’t be held responsible.

Differences of Opinion

It is often said that a mother is made the moment she learns she is pregnant, but a father doesn’t become a father until he first lays eyes on his child after birth. Not that fathers love any less, but that the moment of connection with the child is different. This is understandable. For the woman everything changes with this realization. Lifestyle changes commence immediately. Physical responses to the pregnancy come fast and early. The child’s presence is felt within the woman right from the get go.

Although a woman can go for weeks without knowing she is pregnant, some women just have that “feeling” of pregnancy days before her period is even missed. My experience was the latter. During the last week of February J and I were relaxing in bed on vacation. I was relishing the closeness, because J isn’t much of a cuddler. He’d much rather wrestle and put ice down my shirt than express any kind of mushy gushy affection. While I was nestled into his side, this thought entered my mind: “This is so nice and peaceful. Just the three of us.” WHOA. Three of us? I corrected myself to “two of us” right away, but from that moment on I knew I’d be taking that pregnancy test when I got home. I’m a bit of a hippie. Maybe this was my child making itself known to me (“Hey, I know you’re on an all-inclusive vacation, but maybe lay off the Piña Coladas, Mama!”). Maybe not. Regardless, from the moment I saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test, I became a mother and since then it’s all about keeping the little one safe.

In terms of lifestyle changes, I have already made many. From the beginning of our relationship J and I have discussed changes that would need to happen should we ever have children together. I think the fact that this has happened so soon has been difficult for J. I’m not going to air our dirty laundry on the internet (to be honest, there really isn’t much to air), but I’ve just been really fascinated by our different reactions to lifestyle changes. For me, it hasn’t even been a question. Changes have to happen, and they have to happen now, whereas for J, in his mind he has until November to make the necessary changes. Since I’ve met him, J has said that fatherhood will definitely change certain lifestyle choices he has made to date. Now, in my mind, fatherhood begins now. This little embryo needs an environment that will allow it to flourish as it works very hard to transform from embryo to fetus to baby. This has been a source of tension and I’m not too sure what to do about it. I can’t make him feel like a father today or tomorrow. All I can do is stress that I’m already a mother and that I will do what I need to do in order to protect my child.

Now, please don’t think that J is a terrible person or horribly insensitive at the very least. It’s not that. He’s been so wonderful, expressing concern for me when I’m having a hard day, and pure excitement at the prospect of fatherhood. He’s going to be a great dad. I’ve just been really interested in our different reactions to the pregnancy and different views on parenthood and when it begins. And although I haven’t quite worked out any answers and things are still a bit messy, I’m going to aim to keep the laundry clean.