Am I missing something?

So, apparently, babies need a bedtime? I just figured they sleep when they need to just like they know when they need to eat. And in the case of my son, any sleep is good sleep. Does he need to be on a schedule already? Isn't there going to be time for that when bedtime is wedged between soccer, latin, cooking classes and ballroom dancing? Afterall we want him to be a well rounded American citizen and in this country only losers and foreigners sleep, the rest of us consider it to be a sign of weakness like binge drinking or biting your nails only more harmful and much more disgusting. Is the outcry for scheduling a baby so that they will get used to this go go go lifestyle early? Or is it a way that parents can have the evenings to themselves for "Grown-up Naughty Hour"?

I feel this overwhelming pressure to chart feedings, poops and naps just so that in case anyone asks, I can feel like a competent parent. In reality I am a big ole hippie who keeps the baby in bed with me, feeds on demand and refuses to count diapers unless I am doing so while admiring my stash. The idea of weaning and introducing solids terrifies me as I am sure I will be getting even more feed back from the Baby Nazis about those subjects. "Your baby is how old and you are still breastfeeding?" "Jarred baby food is easier!" "Homemade babyfood is best!" "How come YOUR baby can't SIGN for what he wants to eat?"

Thats another thing, whatever happened to letting the baby scream until you guess correctly as to what the child needs? Now we actually have to communicate with them and know immediately!? Where is the fun in that!? As cute as it is to watch a one year old sign for milk, it is a bit disconcerting that the sign for milk is that of milking a cow. I think I want to invent my own signs. Oh, what him? No, sorry, he wasn't being rude, that is his sign for 'Please Change Me'. No no, he doesn't need a Kleenex, he is signing 'Mother, do we have some cheerios for snack time?' Oh the fun we will have with strangers and certain fingers.

Is it weird that I want to post a video of Ollie sleeping?

STOP!!!

Old mothers are famous for telling new mothers "This too shall pass". I don't want it to pass! I don't want him to grow up, find a wife (of whom I will NEVER approve), and leave me. I cling to every day of his babyhood because it is the last time he will be a baby. As excited as I am to see him discover new things - like toes, who knew they were so fascinating - I know that it is just one more thing that I will never experience him finding again.

Here is a good example: I have sort of a hobby with trying to make Oliver laugh. He is soooo almost there. He grins, smiles, does this sorta flirty half smile, and even open mouth grins but just when I think he is about to start guffawing, he stops just short to stare into space. At first I took this personally, thinking it was just because my stand-up was not reaching my audience. So I dumbed it down. Instead of talking about the cluster f*%& that is our "democratic process" that gets tons of laughs normally, I start talking about poop. Well, now CT is laughing, but the baby is nonplussed. So I bring it even further down. My best tricks become saying "Yes! Yeeees!!!" in a really high annoying voice that the baby seems to totally enjoy all the while wiping his baby behind with a warm wipe. This last part is crucial to the all out grin. I mean who WOULDN'T want a warm wipe fresh from the wipe warmer!? I am thinking about getting one installed in my bathroom when we do the remodel. Another trick includes a "goomy" and me "getting it". Not sure what a goomy is or what one would do with a goomy if it was gotten, but I believe it must be located somewhere on a baby's neck as that is where I grab when goomy hunting.

As much energy as I put into making my son laugh and as rewarding as that first giggle will be, it will also be so sad. That first laugh will be the last first laugh. What if the video camera isn't on!? OR horrors of horrors, what if I am not around when this happens!? (Who am I kidding, I am the funniest person I know, of course he will laugh at me and no one else. ) So with every onesie that I put away for his younger sibling, every time I have to put his diaper on a little looser, and for every time I have to readjust his carseat for his growing self, more than anything I want to just squeeze him tight, put a brick on his head and beg him not to grow up.

This is an old video of Oliver waking up. He doesn't do the grunty thing anymore...this video also features my left boob.

My First Easter

Okay, I have to make this quick before The Boob gets back on and starts looking at diapers again. I swear, this woman has some kind of obsession with these things. I don't say anything, but for my money it doesn't get much better than naked...

So, this weekend I experienced something called "Easter". The way I know is because I have a shirt that says "My First Easter" on it. I actually have two. The problem with baby clothes is that there is a limited amount of style. I haven't told these people yet that I absolutely LOATHE the color blue. I prefer pink, but do these people listen!? Anyway, back to the Easter...

Let me get this straight, some dude died in a horrific, terrifying and violent manner thousands of years ago only to become some kind of Zombie a few days later at which time he terrorized all of his friends by making them put their hands in his zombie wounds. There is an entire religion based on this!? So, ultimately, for Easter we are celebrating a dead guy's return with eggs, bunnies and baskets full of plastic grass. I think I am missing something here...but what do I know, I am only two months old.

Some old guy held me and sang me a song called "Tell me a Tory". It was sweet at first and I laughed to show that I appreciated his effort but it continued. It went on for so long that finally I just feigned sleep so that it would stop. What is a Tory? Why would I want you to tell one to me? Who is this old guy? I did like the little fellow (I think he was a boy like me, but he did have really long hair and long nails so it could have been a girl I guess) that came to see me the same day. He was having so much fun, I wanted to get down and join him, but apparently it was bad playing cause some lady kept yelling at him to stop. Poor guy/girl he just wanted to play with the army men! So did I but I won't make THAT mistake...

So, then the big people had dinner at a new house. I don't really get all that stuff big people stuff in their faces. I guess that is why they have all of those white things in their mouth, another thing I just don't get. Don't they know all they need is boob juice?! It seems dangerous to use those sharp things that spear the stuff, boobies are soft and are only dangerous because you might get squirted in the eye, so I keep mine closed.

One thing is for sure, I have a very large village that I will be raised in. Lucky me!

Have Passport, will travel

Oliver went to the post office with us today to get his passport picture taken and he should be a travelin' man in 4-6 weeks! Amazingly, it didn't take the prerequisite 4 days wait in line either! We were in and out in about an hour...just like Lenscrafters! I can't believe I have a son who has a passport...it is almost like he is a real person. I met a woman in line who was far too open with me about her birth and child rearing experiences. Much to her 16 year old daughter's chagrin, she felt she had to share with me 1)the wonders of having three c-sections 2)why formula feeding is best and 3)extremely embarrassing stories about her three daughters. I kept thinking, maybe this woman thinks she knows me...or maybe I DO know her and I just forgot who she is. My proper little mind couldn't conceive of why a perfect stranger would act as if I have known her all her life. She even used people's names in the story for instance, instead of "my older daughter" she would say "Patricia". How should I know who Patricia is!?

I just nodded along until FINALLY my friend called with "Sackal Baby Watch 2008" updates. You see, my friend, Megan, (see how nice it is to explain who someone is before you introduce them in a story!?) is expecting her second baby - any second now - and I have promised to help her with the breastfeeding part. Kinda like a friendly lactation consultant who knows you personally. So she has been calling me to update me on her progress. So after I hung up with her - by the way, she will be holding that baby by the morning - I "had" to call my mom to let her know. The woman, if you can believe it, kept trying to interrupt my phone call to talk! Some people...

Oliver, in true Ollie form, took an extremely ridiculous picture that in no way resembled a smile. It was all they could do to get him to look straight ahead. The picture they took I wasn't privy to take home so I found the closest one I could find in our own stash of baby memorabilia. Looks like he just got caught during a panty raid doesn't it? Thank goodness we don't live in Canada! They would have made us wait to get a picture with his mouth closed. At this rate it might happen right before he enters school. Mouth breather!

The Addiction

So most of you know that we are cloth diapering Oliver. This makes his butt rival that of J. Lo (pre-twins) but it also keeps diaper rash away and is saving us tons of money. Well, sorta. You see, when I started I thought that there wasn't a whole lot to this whole cloth thing. You buy some covers, you buy some pre-folds and maybe one or two night time pocket diapers, Bumgenius for me, and you are pretty much done right? Yea, the POOR people do! (imagine nose in air)

Well, then I found out about fitteds. These are like prefolds but they have snaps or velcro to do the folding and pinning for you. You normally would use a cover with these as well, but around the house sometimes it is okay to go cover free so that air can get to the hiney. Okay, so put me down for a couple of those. But which ones are the best?! After hanging around some websites, I found that there are "Hot" diapers, which at the moment are Mutts and Goodmamas to name a few. Especially Goodmamas-see picture. Here is where it gets complicated.

Goodmamas can be purchased new for $33. Oh but wait, you have to get on a mailing list to be notified when they are stocked. And they are rarely stocked. So onto plan B, stalking diaper trading sites. Very rarely you can find GMs (as they are called by those in the know) for a decent price, if you stalk the site constantly. More people, however, do auctions. Oh, great! Auctions are fun cause you can get something for cheaper than normal. Wow, do YOU have a lot to learn. Some of these auctions drive the price of one, count em, one diaper to $200 and up. I shit you not sir! And remember, these diapers get covered up once you put them on so does the print really matter?! Oh yes, and a baby poops on them.

Don't even get me started on wool covers! These are apparently spectacular but so expensive it makes my head spin. I have asked my friend and neighbor the knitting fiend to make me some, but it is kinda slave labor as I don't plan on paying her...maybe with burned coffee cakes...

Sure, I don't NEED another diaper anymore than I NEED another handbag or pair of shoes. But did that stop me from purchasing three fluffymail fitteds yesterday? (I feel that Fluffys are going to be the newest hot diaper) Really I should be spending my money on some red edged Prefolds for when Ollie grows out of the ones he has now and some more covers, you know, practical stuff. I will do this too, but right now I have auctions to bid, websites to stalk!

Breastfeeding on Sesame Street

I am a huge fan of "The Street" but was saddened by episodes featuring baby Elmo drinking from a bottle. Lets get back to our roots Sesame! WWJHD? - What Would Jim Henson Do? I remember the clip below from my years addicted to PBS, it may have been one of the reasons I walked around with my Burt doll stuck up my shirt "nursing" him. (That, and seeing my baby sister eating the same way!)

If more girls grew up with these positive influences, would more women feed their babies properly?? I also woner why they decided to take this clip off the air...as one of my buddies online said, "Can you imagine the protesting? The "oh my goodness it will turn little girls into lesbians and boys will think boobs are for something other than groping in the dark and drooling over in Playboy" comments? " I would laugh, but it is too sad and too true.

Anyway, while I climb down off my soapbox, watch the video and pass on the booby love!

My Farm Weekend

Sorry folks for taking so long to write about my first Farm trip. As most of you already know, The Boob found it necessary to take me to some bright room that smelled like that stuff they put on my lifeline to make it fall off. Sigh, I still miss that thing. Anyway, I guess I was bad that day cause just when The Boob was really making me smile with some great funny faces, a woman, nay a She Devil came and stabbed me twice in both legs with poison darts. WHY!!! I say they were poison because even after the pain left, I felt yucky. I didn't feel like writing that is for sure.

Anyway, we went to the farm. Great ride there, bumpy, just the way I like it, had a great nap. I woke up once to find that I was no longer moving. I quickly explained to them why that was not okay with me and we started moving again. To think that that they were trying to eat during MY naptime. The nerve. Once there, I noticed, there isn't a whole lot of inside out there. Thank goodness The Boob and that Tall Guy brought my throne so I could quietly vibrate and look out over all my subjects.

It got a little annoying a few times. Yes Boob, I get it, Cows go Moo, why do you think they call them Moo Cows!? I was never left alone though and my trusty pup was at my feet at a second when I called. I have noticed that people really enjoy my company and that all I have to do is squirm a little to get about 6 feet taller. Nice.

It was also a bit confusing. There were several Boobs there, and they were all holding me. I figured, one is just as good as the other and the bigger the better right!? Apparently, not so. Color me embarrassed. I must figure out a way to label all of these Boobs and Tall Guys as to not get them confused with my Boob and Tall Guy. I tell you what though, that country air does a body good...I have never slept so good in my life.

I have learned the following things about the country.
1. It makes Tall Guy With Beard go crazy and roll on the ground. Apparently it was part of a "game". (See Picture)
2. Not sure what The Boob ate on Saturday night but it made my dinner taste like chicken...turkey? Anyway it was good.
3. Something about the country makes Tall Guys build fires.
4. Cows go Moo...jeez enough all ready with that.
5. The tiny jets that zoom through the air are bad...avoid them.
6. Lots of spinny sky things I love so much, who thought of those things, they are brilliant!!

Baby Torture

Yesterday was his two month checkup. It was also the day of the dreaded inoculations, or for the layman, his shots. First, the good part. He is at 11lbs, 22 in. exactly. He is in the fiftieth percentile for weight and twenty-fifth percentile for height. I guess that makes him short and fat? I read an article recently that says that the measurement of your baby is just done to make you feel like you are getting your money's worth. I believe there is something far more sinister involved. When you look at the chart, notice how many formula companies there are on the side of it. Every. Single. One. Hmm, could it be that they are measuring a breast fed baby against formula fed babies? Well, I am glad you asked! Yes, they are!

Then came the questions about his development. Does he smile? Well, depends, are you funny? Does he make noises? Yes, he googles. (This was my actual answer. I mean, they ARE user friendly, but not THAT user friendly!) Can he hold his head up? Only when he does something he is proud of. She said that him launching backwards is a sign that he is ahead of the curve (duh!) and that he should be getting tummy time - or as Oliver calls it, smother time.

Next we had the rigorous examination. Okay okay, NOW he has thrush. Just a tiny bit, nothing to worry about! She said if he and I weren't feeling the thrush to just let it go away on its own. In other news the doctor confirmed my earlier findings, he has a cute hiney. She said he had clean ears which is good news since puppies are so prone to get ear mites. The doctor suggested Vitamin D supplements but told me that 15 min a day in indirect sun is probably enough. CT thinks we should go balls to the wall here and give him anything and everything that we hear about. I say, when was the last time you saw a kid with Rickets? In a Charles Dickens novel right?

Then the worst part...the shots. He had one oral vaccine to guard against some stomach flu. I call this vaccine "The Squirt Giver" as he was up all night with diarhea and vomiting (only on me, CT stayed dry somehow). Then, he received two shots IN. EACH. LEG. I don't remember what they were for, polio was one - oh good he won't get a disease that no longer exists. Some kind of upper respiratory thing and two others that I am pretty sure were just filled with salt water that they gave him just for spite. I am on to you Nurse Ratchet!

Now, I never understood that whole "this is gonna hurt me more than it will you" thing until yesterday. He only cried until he had a boob in his mouth. I STILL want to cry. Especially because he was so sick afterwards. All he did was whine and sleep all day long. I felt like a horrible mother and I still feel that four shots are FAR too much for a tiny baby like he is.

A mother's work

It has been said that it is never done. A mother's work that is...or is that woman's work? Is a woman a woman at all unless she is a mother? Can a man be a mother? What is a mother anyway? What is a woman? Who am I? Where am I? Who said that?

See what happens when you are simultaneously making chocolate chip cookies, folding clothes, doing a load of diapers, making salsa, trying to get the baby to go to sleep, packing for the weekend and trying to watch Nate Burkus once again save millions of us from almost certain design despair!? You go crazy, thats what happens. I thank my lucky stars that we got a two story house because by doing so we are saving millions in gym fees and home gym equipment. I am gonna get a pedometer one of these days just to see how much I walk around this house I call home.

It is all worth it though. When the baby is asleep after the fortieth round of "Hush Little Baby" that included mama buying a pint of ale, the liberty bell and a cute call girl (when that call girl won't put out...etc.), and the sheets don't smell of vomit, and the bags are packed and the house smells of chocolate and cilantro, I can sit back, relax with my breast pump and a glass of wine and think to myself, what a wonderful world.

And to think, I make this look goooood.

25 Ways to be a Helping Lover

A friend of mine sent me an email today called "25 Ways to be a Loving Helper". I know she meant well, but as a new mom who can hardly find the time to poop, it made me feel inadequate, selfish and a little irritated. So I have decided to make a new list that better fits my life and our goals to have a realistic partnership.

Also, to be funny...



1. Try to ask your husband about his day, you won't be able to hear over the baby screaming, but he likes you to ask.

2. Pretend to be asleep but secretly, check out you husband's ass when he is getting ready. Catcall if you are feeling frisky.

3. Try and change your clothes and the baby before your husband gets home, this gives the illusion of competence.

4. Make a list of meals you can make for dinner. Give him a choice of three when you ask him what he wants to eat. Men like options they just don't want to come up with them on their own.

5. Read Car and Driver on the can. When you can talk intelligently about cars, he won't notice you haven't showered in two days.

6. When you go to nurse the baby, hum a stripping tune. Bum shicka bum shicka boom boom boom.

7. When your husband calls to ask if he can bring anything home, always say "diamonds".

8. Let your husband have hobbies, but when the baby is crying non-stop and it is after 5pm, hobby time is over!

9. 10 minutes is all you need to clean the house just enough to cover up the fact that you have been sitting around all day in your PJs.

10. Try not to laugh out loud when your husband makes sexual advances at you. If you are less than three months post-partum, try not to scream.

11. If he complains about your cooking...never mind, with a new baby he won't have time to taste it and you won't have time to eat it.

12. Thank him for the baby's mouth/toes/whatever part of his is evident in your child.

13. When the baby is screaming or projectile vomiting remind him of the baby's mouth/toes/whatever part of his is evident in your child.

14. Go to dinner, just the two of you. Let him make all the plans because that way if something goes wrong, he can't blame you. Also, you won't have time to make plans.

15. Be the keeper of the money. Part of being a new mom is the urge to protect your baby's future. Part of being a new dad is wanting a new TV...apparently...

16. Learn how to kiss your partner again, it is important to give you children something to go "ewwwww!" at as they grow.

17. When you get up at 2, 4, 6 and 8am to feed the baby, don't insist on him changing the baby, let your husband sleep. Of course, mutter "Asshole" under your breath as you walk down the hall. He won't hear you over his snoring.

18. Support your husband through all the seasons of his life: pre-children, children, post-children...

19. Make sure your relationship comes first. When someone continually asks you what you do with all your "free time" kick your husband until he tells them.

20. Remember: Don't attribute conspiracy something that could be just as easily explained by incompetency. Men aren't mean, they're stupid.

21. Know that no matter what atmosphere you create in your home, it is the tingle you get when he calls in the middle of the day for no reason that makes your home a refuge.

22. Hold hands often, you will need the added support when the 3 hour night sleeps catch up with you both.

23. Remember funny, interesting and odd things that happen to you through out the day so when HE asks YOU about YOUR day, you have something to say.

24. A stream of breast milk to the eye is sometimes the easiest way of saying, "Not tonight dear!"

25. When your husband comes home, give him the baby and go take a shower. Alternatively, you can put the baby in the bouncy seat and ask him to join you.

Bonus Suggestion: Don't lose your identity as woman in your roles as wife and mother. Your husband didn't fall in love with a wife or a mother, he fell in love with you.

Things That Make Oliver Angry

1. People who don't like him to eat when he is hungry. Apparently some people take issue with babies eating in public. I guess it is because in their sicko minds, they can't separate sex from baby food containers. The same people who stare at babies attached to boobies are usually the same meanies who glare at you when the baby is starving to death and wailing.

2. People who want him to have a blanket over his head while he eats. This is an offshoot of the previous statement. Babies are about two degrees hotter than we are at all times. Add to this the combined body heat of the mothers body. Then throw an afghan over them both. Really comfortable I assure you. His table manners aren't even that bad! He chews with his mouth closed and never spills on the tablecloth. The next time I am at a restaurant and I see bad manners I am going to suggest that the person puts a blanket of their head. That is truly disgusting.

3. "Its a Fact" statements when they are really just opinions or falsehoods. An example of this comes from the email updates I get from BabyCenter. "It's a Fact: Because breast milk doesn't contain enough vitamin D, breastfed-only babies need vitamin D drops (200 IU per day) starting at 2 months of age." Oh really? The vitamin D we get from the sun? I live in Texas people, the sun is out 363 days a year! Actually the supplements are only needed if you are: A. From the North B. Dark skinned C. Never take your baby outside D. (and I quote) NOT FROM A WESTERN COUNTRY!!!

4. Circumcision on the basis of looks, hygiene or because babies don't feel pain. This one really peeves Oliver off. He is very attached to his foreskin. Know why? Because it is attached to him, that is why! Some doctors don't even use pain numbing medication, did you know that!? Did you also know that they strap the babies down on boards to do it? That parents can not watch the procedure and that they hold the babies until they stop crying so the parents are none the wiser?! Penises aren't pretty anyway, don't cut your son so that they have a more pleasing package. If you are concerned about hygiene, teach your son to wash. Having an extra fold should not be a reason for infant surgery, if it was, all women would be circumcised as well and I don't know about you but my women parts aren't going nowhere. Its called a washcloth people, use it!

5. Waking up from a nap. This isn't a political statement, he just really hates it. Don't we all?

6. Those nose suckers. While I tend to really enjoy the feeling of accomplishment when sucking a particularly stubborn booger out of my baby's nose, he is under the impression that we are actually trying to vaccum his brains out. He would rather suffocate than have that plastic tube stuck up his nose. Fortunately for him, I would rather he not. It took me too long to create the guy to let a snot ball get the better of him.

7. A parked car. Don't ask me how he knows that the car is stopped, but he does. He could be sound asleep but once that light turns red, the wailing begins. I have taken to begging traffic lights to stay green just for me. They never listen.

8. Low altitude. Give him a shoulder or give him death.

9. Tummy Time. He must have been reading all of the literature there is out there about SIDS because he believes that everytime we place him on his tummy on his cute little playmat, we are trying to kill him slowly. It probably confuses him to why we enjoy watching him suffer in such a way.

10. The flash of a camera. Can't help you here kid, better get used to it cutie!

You Gotta Have Friends

Sometimes, when I am feeling blue, I like to sit in my "Shaky Chair" and chat with my friends, Ellie, Schnappy, and Ziggy. Sometimes we listen to music. I have a few favorite songs at the moment, among them is "The lalala song", "The hmm hmm song", and "Sounds of the Rainforest".

On this particular day, it was a bit hot so The Boob did right by me and stripped me down to my drawers before setting me in my recliner. As usual, the fellas were already there. They always seem to get there before me. Its not my fault The Boob takes forEVER to change me. And then she wants to cuddle, jeez, can't a guy get a moment alone to hang with his buddies!? Leave me in peace woman!

As usual Ellie was talking about food. I am pretty sure she has some kind of eating disorder. You don't get that big just because of a glandular problem. I mentioned my theory once to Schnappy when I thought she wasn't listening but apparently she overheard and our relationship hasn't been the same since. She is sort of a know it all and even though I continually apologize for what is most likely the truth, she keeps reminding me that an elephant never forgets. Yea, whatever, a baby doesn't forg...huh, what was I saying? Sorry, there was a bit of lint in the corner of the room.

Anyway, as I was saying, Schnappy is a bit of a downer. He is always talking about the war, and global warming, and winning the Nobel Peace Prize. Wait, no, thats Al Gore. Same sad eyes, I get them confused. I think the reason Schnappy is so sad all the time, is that his parents never had enough money to get his teeth fixed. They are a bit scraggly and pointy. Please, that whole goth vampire look is SO 1995.

Ziggy is my favorite. I am entranced by her use of stripes of contrasting colors to minimize her flaws and accentuate her assets. She is the motor mouth of the group. It really is hard to get a word in edgewise when she starts in on a topic. You know how people say it takes two to have an argument, well, those people didn't know Ziggy. Once she starts going, all you can do is just watch the show.

These are the friends that makes the endless minutes between eating, pooping and sleeping bearable. They may have personal space issues, I have yet to touch any of them, but they are my friends, and with friends like these, who needs teddy bears. Or as they are known in the infant world "SIDS bears".

Ta ta for now, I am expecting company and I must splash on the Powdre du Bebe that my Aunt Britty likes so much. What I do for the ladies...

My Little Gentleman

Though he might only be 7 weeks old, he is already a man about town. It seems that the only way I can get him to nap is to take him out of the house and parade him around strangers. I suspect that this is because he wants people to think I am insane. When I complain about him never napping while he sleeps peacefully in a friend's arms (preferably a cute blond, apparently), it causes more than a few raised eyebrows. This proves that making a woman feel crazy is something that men come out knowing how to do. Another nature vs. nurture question answered. You're welcome science.

He is a world traveler at heart, there isn't a better place to nap in his opinion than his carseat. He actually has the baby balls to yell at me if I don't start the car fast enough for him. Therefore, I am convinced that he is ecstatic about applying for his passport. Yes, at 7 weeks old you need a passport to travel outside of the country. Question: will it be small enough for him to carry it in his tiny back pocket? Sub-Question: How will he sign it? Follow-up Question: If it is not signed does it not make it invalid and therefore not usable? Anyway, they tell me even a tiny baby needs a passport. I asked just to be sure and the postman said that it was because of "all that" that happened "back then". I assume he is talking about 9-11 unless there was some invasion of tiny infant terrorists I didn't hear about.

Seriously, what is the rational behind the decision to make babies have passports? Are they afraid that someone might strap a Pampers on a bomb and try and sneak it on a plane? Tiny illegal immigrant midgets disguised in bonnets? Anyway, I digress. In October we plan on the baby accompanying us to a return to the land of our people. What people you ask, the white people? The drunk people? Both! Scotland! I wonder if they sell those kilts in size teeny. I am already planning the pictures I am going to take. "Oliver's First Hagis." "Oliver's First Pint." "Oliver Held by a Druid." "Oliver Herding Sheep." "Oliver's Return to Stonehenge." (That last one is funny, get it? Stonehenge, reincarnation, haha?)

Looking forward to the memories we will make with my Aunt, Uncle and cousin in October!

Goodbye Dairy, My Old Friend

A baby changes everything. I thought I knew what this meant. No more late nights closing down pubs with your friends (I actual ly shut a bar down once on $1 margarita night--they ran out). No more spur of the moment movie nights with the hubby. No more feeling sexy or even halfway human. These things I understood, these things I wasn't afraid of because to tell you the truth, we were a bit boring as it was, preferring to stay home as opposed to being out all night painting the town red.

What I wasn't prepared for is the loss of my first love. Something so important to me that is no longer a part of my life. I am, of course, talking about queso. Well, not just queso, that would be silly! Ice cream, milk, yogurt, and all types of cheeses. Don't roll your eyes at me young lady! This also means that I can't have (but not limited to) the following items: lasagna, pizza, most mexican foods, also most pastas, and anything else that tastes delicious.

How can something so good be so bad you ask? My perfect baby boy seems to have a very big digestion problem when it comes to dairy products. Six hours after I eat or drink anything that comes from a cow tit Oliver goes Linda Blair on my ass and ruins outfits by the dozen. Poor little guy, he can not yet fathom the glory of a jalepeno popper, the simple pleasure of cookies and milk, or yes, even a dollop of Daisy.

The things we do for love...

The Fear of a Mother

When I was a little girl, my parents owned a book called, "Parenthood isn't for Cowards". I asked my mom one day what it meant. She said that it meant that being a parent meant not being afraid easily. I thought, well, that makes sense because you don't want to be scared when your kids tell you about their scary dreams. This obviously is not what she meant or what the book is about but as a seven year old, dreams were the scariest thing there was in my life. Aside from the idea of New Kids on The Block breaking up that is.

Now that I am a parent, I better understand the courage it takes to raise a little one. Heck, just keeping the kid alive seems like a huge accomplishment. I find myself constantly dreaming up new terrors just around the corner, sending me spiraling into panic. For instance, just a simple trip to the gas station to fill my car up with liquid gold, I mean gas, can start me shuddering with fear. As I stick the wallet shrinker, I mean gas pump, into my college fund destroyer, I mean car, I read a sign that we have all seen at least 400 times before. "Static electricity can cause explosions". Before Oliver was born I would have rolled my eyes at the idea that the only thing standing between me and certain fireball death is a Bounce sheet, but now, all that has changed.

Upon reading the warning, my mind shifts into Mama Bear mode. I start thinking, what if the baby shifts unexpectedly in such a way that he causes a spark to ignite the fumes that are almost certainly destroying the ever depleting ozone causing him to burst spontaneously into flames. Looking quickly to the window washer bucket I note that those 50,000 flies that have taken up residence in said bucket must have drank most of the water, leaving me with a burning baby with nothing to douse him with. Aha! I see there is a field to my left. I can surely grab the engulfed baby and run to the field, stopping, dropping and rolling with him, saving his crispy yet precious life. Then, just as my heart returns to normal I realize, yes, I may have saved him but I have also cursed him to a lifetime of scorn and ridicule as a wrinkled faced burn victim. What kind of life is that!?

As the rape is completed, I mean the pump turns off, I glance into the back seat. There he is, perfectly asleep and silently jamming out to the Aerosmith that plays far to loud for an infant on my radio. Crisis averted. I breathe a sigh of relief as I start the car and drive off, leaving the death trap in my dust. But wait, what is that?! A homeless person seems to be lurking in the shadows of the interstate. Is it me or does he look shifty? Wouldn't SHE like to have a prop baby to play on the sympathies of passersby! And so with a heavy heart and an active imagination, it starts again...