So Elly turns 5 months tomorrow. And as I'm about to fall asleep, I realize I've learned a lot about what it means to be a mom.
1. Letting her crinkle the plastic baggie will quickly turn into her eating the plastic baggie.
2. Saying 'don't go anywhere' to a baby who has figured out how to roll over is pointless.
3. Coffee is WAY more important than booze. And maybe more important than sex still.
4. An awesome weekend "outing" is rolling out of bed, noticing the AMAZING 2-day diaper sale email at Babies R A-rip-off and racing to the store to beat the other moms to them before even taking a shower.
5. She beats me every time in the game of chicken... Aka the cry it out method.
6. I'm a sucker for a diaper coupon.
7. It doesn't matter how much shit is on your shirt if your kid is wearing a cute hat.
8. I should take better advantage of the opportunities I have to sleep rather than blog about not getting any Zzz's.
9. Gums can hurt just as much as teeth when it comes to your nipples.
10. Hearing that you have a cute baby never gets old.
11. Being asked to hold your cute baby does.
12. Especially if the person asking is in shackles, in the holding cell of your grandfather's court room chambers.
13. True story!
14. I'll never stop judging other parents when I see their kids running crazy.
15. I'm scared shitless I'll be one of those parents with screaming children being judged.
16. I love to hoard baby clothes.
17. I'll never stop being amused by my daughter.
18. Hearing her cry, even when I know she's faking it for attention, makes my heart break.
19. Yes, I know the difference between a real cry and a fake one.
20. I would give my life for her without question, doubt, or fear.
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
About Me
- Betty Bakedgood
- I'm a working single mom who loves to write in my spare time... so bare with me when there's a lull in the blogging. It means I'm out enjoying my daughter, Elly's, crazy antics!
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Got Milk?
I sent this email to a friend of mine one afternoon after a particularly fruitful day as a dairy cow.
So you don't have to respond to this right away. And I'm not even sure what the proper way is to respond to this. But today I've discovered just how much milk I can produce. And I've decided my nickname should be heifer. Because with my left boob alone I can produce 4oz of milk every 2-3 hours. Think about that. 4oz. That is a half a cup. As a baker, you know exactly how much a half a cup is. It is a lot when we're talking about milk coming from your chesticles!!! And that's just one boob. And that's only one time during the dozen times a day I pump. If you do the rough math of 1/2 cup per boob per feeding= 1C/ feeding X 12 feedings (give or take in a day) that's 12C of milk. 4 cups of milk is a quart. So I produce 3 quarts a day. And 4 quarts gets a gallon. So I make 3/4 of a gallon of milk a day. Geezus H Christ! Are you serious?!?!? That's a lot of milk. And that's not including the stuff that leaks out or literally spills out of me. (don't worry, I'm not crying over the spilled milk, just pissed about going through so many damn boob pads and bras).
>
> The morale of this story is to tell you that having a baby and breast feeding makes your boobs huge. So I guess the glass is half full!
I always look for ways to define things through baking standards. And I always look to keep the glass half full.
Until later
~Betty
So you don't have to respond to this right away. And I'm not even sure what the proper way is to respond to this. But today I've discovered just how much milk I can produce. And I've decided my nickname should be heifer. Because with my left boob alone I can produce 4oz of milk every 2-3 hours. Think about that. 4oz. That is a half a cup. As a baker, you know exactly how much a half a cup is. It is a lot when we're talking about milk coming from your chesticles!!! And that's just one boob. And that's only one time during the dozen times a day I pump. If you do the rough math of 1/2 cup per boob per feeding= 1C/ feeding X 12 feedings (give or take in a day) that's 12C of milk. 4 cups of milk is a quart. So I produce 3 quarts a day. And 4 quarts gets a gallon. So I make 3/4 of a gallon of milk a day. Geezus H Christ! Are you serious?!?!? That's a lot of milk. And that's not including the stuff that leaks out or literally spills out of me. (don't worry, I'm not crying over the spilled milk, just pissed about going through so many damn boob pads and bras).
>
> The morale of this story is to tell you that having a baby and breast feeding makes your boobs huge. So I guess the glass is half full!
I always look for ways to define things through baking standards. And I always look to keep the glass half full.
Until later
~Betty
What did I just step in?
I took a road trip with Elly last week. What a trip! The most exciting part about the whole thing wasn't seeing family, or being back home, or introducing everyone to Elly. It was waiting for Elly to poop! She had her shots the week before and her system got a bit messed up. And then just when I thought things would get back to normal, BAM! I take her on a road trip!
She didn't poop the whole trip. Now it's not like an adult when you don't poop because you're in uncomfortable surroundings. (I don't have this issue, thank you military.) For a baby, this is a BIG deal! So I fussed over her the whole 4 days... worried, concerned, on the edge of taking her to an out of network hospital for an ER visit.
But alas, I toned down the panic for the last day, hit the road and said "Well if there's no poop today, we'll go to medical tomorrow."
And wouldn't you know it... 140 miles from getting home, she starts her tell-tale grunting. And then the smell hits me. OH MY GOD! I didn't think breastfed babys could make that kind of smell. But I guess when you've held it in for four days, that's what happens.
So, I rush to park at the rest stop, scoop her out of her chair, grab the diaper bag and run into the bathrooom. And as soon as I get her out of the car, she lets loose! Atomic bombing of poop happing at my feet. My god, just DON'T STEP IN IT!
As I'm litterally running her into the bathroom, everyone stops me to tell me how cute of a baby I have and "awww, look at that adorable hat!" Uh, seriously folks? She's dripping shit everywhere and you are concerned about how adorable her hat is? Really?
After stripping her down and washing her in the sink at the rest station, wiping her down with a half a pack of wipes, and strapping her into a new diaper, we emerge from the bathroom. Me covered from boobs to knees in poop, her in her cute hat and a diaper. What a site we were! And yet, everyone continued to look past the shit dripping off of me still and couldn't help but say "awww, what a cute baby and an adorable hat."
Needless to say, if you'd like to hide the fact that you've just shit yourself, get a cute baby wearing a cute hat. You can hide just about anything with those on your side!
Until later
~Betty
She didn't poop the whole trip. Now it's not like an adult when you don't poop because you're in uncomfortable surroundings. (I don't have this issue, thank you military.) For a baby, this is a BIG deal! So I fussed over her the whole 4 days... worried, concerned, on the edge of taking her to an out of network hospital for an ER visit.
But alas, I toned down the panic for the last day, hit the road and said "Well if there's no poop today, we'll go to medical tomorrow."
And wouldn't you know it... 140 miles from getting home, she starts her tell-tale grunting. And then the smell hits me. OH MY GOD! I didn't think breastfed babys could make that kind of smell. But I guess when you've held it in for four days, that's what happens.
So, I rush to park at the rest stop, scoop her out of her chair, grab the diaper bag and run into the bathrooom. And as soon as I get her out of the car, she lets loose! Atomic bombing of poop happing at my feet. My god, just DON'T STEP IN IT!
As I'm litterally running her into the bathroom, everyone stops me to tell me how cute of a baby I have and "awww, look at that adorable hat!" Uh, seriously folks? She's dripping shit everywhere and you are concerned about how adorable her hat is? Really?
After stripping her down and washing her in the sink at the rest station, wiping her down with a half a pack of wipes, and strapping her into a new diaper, we emerge from the bathroom. Me covered from boobs to knees in poop, her in her cute hat and a diaper. What a site we were! And yet, everyone continued to look past the shit dripping off of me still and couldn't help but say "awww, what a cute baby and an adorable hat."
Needless to say, if you'd like to hide the fact that you've just shit yourself, get a cute baby wearing a cute hat. You can hide just about anything with those on your side!
Until later
~Betty
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Family visits
Well, we survived a giant family visit. It's the first time my family has gotten to meet Elly. And of course, everyone loved her.
She met her great grandpas and grandmas. A couple great aunts and uncles, cousins and even a great-great aunt and uncle! Plus a ton of family friends. Whew! What a trip.
The best part is she's not old enough to start making strange. So there were plenty of other people to hold Elly while I ate my meals But she and I did have a deal: any time she was tired of all the new people all she had to do was cry and I would rescue her. And in return, if I was tired of all the family, all I had to do was pinch her and make her cry and then we'd make our great escape. (I'm a good mom like that!)
It was a good plan and actually worked pretty darn well. (I didn't actually have to pinch her, promise!) And as great as it is to see all my family, it's flat out exhausting!
There are so many people to see and rather than they all get their act together and have one large gathering, we had to go to a ton of different places to see everyone.
It was too short of a trip to see everyone. So we'll be back in September before we head west.
Next time I'll plan one large party and let everyone come to me. I'm not running around town with an infant. Elly won't stand for it!
Lesson learned! Now it's time to hit the road.
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
She met her great grandpas and grandmas. A couple great aunts and uncles, cousins and even a great-great aunt and uncle! Plus a ton of family friends. Whew! What a trip.
The best part is she's not old enough to start making strange. So there were plenty of other people to hold Elly while I ate my meals But she and I did have a deal: any time she was tired of all the new people all she had to do was cry and I would rescue her. And in return, if I was tired of all the family, all I had to do was pinch her and make her cry and then we'd make our great escape. (I'm a good mom like that!)
It was a good plan and actually worked pretty darn well. (I didn't actually have to pinch her, promise!) And as great as it is to see all my family, it's flat out exhausting!
There are so many people to see and rather than they all get their act together and have one large gathering, we had to go to a ton of different places to see everyone.
It was too short of a trip to see everyone. So we'll be back in September before we head west.
Next time I'll plan one large party and let everyone come to me. I'm not running around town with an infant. Elly won't stand for it!
Lesson learned! Now it's time to hit the road.
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Friday, July 15, 2011
What a Flirt!
Oh boy! I've got trouble on my hands!!!! Elly and I are back home visiting my family. This is the first time any of them are getting to meet her.
Before we drove up here, I gave Elly a pep talk. I told her that she would be meeting a TON of new people and if she got too overwhelmed, all she had to do was cry and I would come and save her.
It's a good system and it seems to work. Except she rarely needs my help because she's too busy flirting and enjoying all the attention!
Everywhere we go, everyone coos over her and loves on her and tells her how beautiful she is. And she just eats it up. She knows she's cute and she's thrilled that everyone is just is happy about it as she is.
Everywhere we go, she finds someone to smile at. She laughs and entertains. She plays to her crowd.
I read in my weekly baby emails that Parents can get a good gauge on their children's temperament by the time they're 4 months.
Elly just hit the 4.5 mark. Great!
I have an entertainer on my hands!!!! Stoofy's hard at work building a dungeon while I'm trying to convince her she'll never be in pageants or on the Disney Channel because I don't need a BritneyChristinaMiley on my hands any time soon.
I'll just wait for the dungeon to be finished in time for the teen years!!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Before we drove up here, I gave Elly a pep talk. I told her that she would be meeting a TON of new people and if she got too overwhelmed, all she had to do was cry and I would come and save her.
It's a good system and it seems to work. Except she rarely needs my help because she's too busy flirting and enjoying all the attention!
Everywhere we go, everyone coos over her and loves on her and tells her how beautiful she is. And she just eats it up. She knows she's cute and she's thrilled that everyone is just is happy about it as she is.
Everywhere we go, she finds someone to smile at. She laughs and entertains. She plays to her crowd.
I read in my weekly baby emails that Parents can get a good gauge on their children's temperament by the time they're 4 months.
Elly just hit the 4.5 mark. Great!
I have an entertainer on my hands!!!! Stoofy's hard at work building a dungeon while I'm trying to convince her she'll never be in pageants or on the Disney Channel because I don't need a BritneyChristinaMiley on my hands any time soon.
I'll just wait for the dungeon to be finished in time for the teen years!!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Road trip!
Operation ride in a car for 11 hours is complete. And having never done a road trip with an infant, I'd say it was a success!
Yes, there were tears and a few toys got slobbered on, but all in all, we arrived unscathed.
I just hope our cross-country, 2,000+ mile road trip goes as smoothly as the 500+ mile trip we completed today!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Yes, there were tears and a few toys got slobbered on, but all in all, we arrived unscathed.
I just hope our cross-country, 2,000+ mile road trip goes as smoothly as the 500+ mile trip we completed today!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Holy Bag Lady Batman!
So I'm going on my first road trip with Elly. This is a pre-epic road trip trip, prepping for the excursion across the country. That trip is starting to scare the pants off me!
Don't worry, I'll have a bag to carry them in, because as a new mom on my first road trip I look like a fucking Sherpa with all the bags of STUFF I've packed.
What did I pack for my 4-day trip?
Me:
6 days of outfits (in case of puke)
1 wedding outfit
1 "holy shit, it's michigan cold here!" sweatshirt
My toiletry bag, hair dryer, straightener
3 pairs of shoes
Unmentionables
A book (wishful thinking)
My crocheting (living on cloud nine with this one)
For Elly:
5 pj's
9 onsies
3 dresses for the wedding
3 rompers
1 pair of jeans
2 pairs of pants
4 coordinating outfits
1 "My mom doesn't want your advice shirt"
12 pairs of socks
1 jacket
2 sweaters
12 bibs
3 blankets
8 burp rags
1 crib sheet
Baby monitor
1 case of diapers
1 package of wipes
Toiletry bag for a baby! Complete with "hair pretties"
1 bag of toys with half dozen books
Playmat
Baby carrier
Bouncy chair
Stroller, car seat
Breast pump, bottles, etc.
Diaper bag
Holy shit!!! You've got to be fucking kidding me right?!?!? She only weighs a smidge over 13lbs. How the hell does she need so much stuff?
I'm just lucky that my family we're staying with still has their pack 'n play. Or else that'd be on the list too.
So if you see a crazed woman with a dozen bags and a baby on the hip, that's probably me. Do me a favor and hold door for me please!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Don't worry, I'll have a bag to carry them in, because as a new mom on my first road trip I look like a fucking Sherpa with all the bags of STUFF I've packed.
What did I pack for my 4-day trip?
Me:
6 days of outfits (in case of puke)
1 wedding outfit
1 "holy shit, it's michigan cold here!" sweatshirt
My toiletry bag, hair dryer, straightener
3 pairs of shoes
Unmentionables
A book (wishful thinking)
My crocheting (living on cloud nine with this one)
For Elly:
5 pj's
9 onsies
3 dresses for the wedding
3 rompers
1 pair of jeans
2 pairs of pants
4 coordinating outfits
1 "My mom doesn't want your advice shirt"
12 pairs of socks
1 jacket
2 sweaters
12 bibs
3 blankets
8 burp rags
1 crib sheet
Baby monitor
1 case of diapers
1 package of wipes
Toiletry bag for a baby! Complete with "hair pretties"
1 bag of toys with half dozen books
Playmat
Baby carrier
Bouncy chair
Stroller, car seat
Breast pump, bottles, etc.
Diaper bag
Holy shit!!! You've got to be fucking kidding me right?!?!? She only weighs a smidge over 13lbs. How the hell does she need so much stuff?
I'm just lucky that my family we're staying with still has their pack 'n play. Or else that'd be on the list too.
So if you see a crazed woman with a dozen bags and a baby on the hip, that's probably me. Do me a favor and hold door for me please!!!
Until later
~Betty
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Monday, July 11, 2011
Does Size REALLY Matter?
I hate shopping for new clothes. It sucks. I'm a t-shirt and elastic waistband-pants kind of girl, especially after living in maternity clothes for 9 months and military uniforms for the better part of 7 years now. Since having my daughter, I've lost all my baby weight plus about 18 pounds. I'm looking to lose another 20 pounds, will happy with 15, but it's more likely to be 10 because I eat cookies for breakfast.
But now, I have no idea what size I am. So that means endlessly trying on clothes. And wouldn't you know it, there's no standard size 12 or size 14. In every store it's different. Some stores make me feel good, some stores make me feel like a whale. And I hate being in front of that dreaded mirror with that "tell me no lies" mirror.
I can remember being younger and fitting into everything from a 4 to an 8 depending on the store. Talk about a major size difference!!!! No wonder why women have issues with body image. Clothing stores and designers are sabotaging our self-esteem!
What's worse is that after having my daughter and spending so much time (and money) on clothes for her, I've realized this siege of the size starts when you're literally an infant. Some 0-3 month clothes didn't fit until a full month in. And some of the 3 month clothes stopped fitting after 2.5 months. Some of the 3-6 month clothes already stopped fitting and she's 4 months old. It's just insane.
What's crazier is I can hold something up and say, yup, it'll work. Or no, not yet or it'll fit in a month. Too bad I can't do that with my own clothes. See, for Elly, I don't have to worry about fat pooches hanging out, or the dreaded back fat droop, or dun dun DUN! the thunder thigh bulge! She's just excited when she lands her hand in her mouth, and doesn't care if she has a muffin top over her diaper.
I on the other hand, care about my muffin top. (It's not over a diaper... yet, thank god). I care about my back fat and my pooch, courtesy of Elly. And I care to not look like I'm a sausage in whatever I pick up off the rack. So I guess size really does matter.
I'm pretty content with my current size now. Anything less will just be a bonus. I'll keep telling myself that so I can keep eating cookies for the most important meal of the day.
Until later
~Betty
But now, I have no idea what size I am. So that means endlessly trying on clothes. And wouldn't you know it, there's no standard size 12 or size 14. In every store it's different. Some stores make me feel good, some stores make me feel like a whale. And I hate being in front of that dreaded mirror with that "tell me no lies" mirror.
I can remember being younger and fitting into everything from a 4 to an 8 depending on the store. Talk about a major size difference!!!! No wonder why women have issues with body image. Clothing stores and designers are sabotaging our self-esteem!
What's worse is that after having my daughter and spending so much time (and money) on clothes for her, I've realized this siege of the size starts when you're literally an infant. Some 0-3 month clothes didn't fit until a full month in. And some of the 3 month clothes stopped fitting after 2.5 months. Some of the 3-6 month clothes already stopped fitting and she's 4 months old. It's just insane.
What's crazier is I can hold something up and say, yup, it'll work. Or no, not yet or it'll fit in a month. Too bad I can't do that with my own clothes. See, for Elly, I don't have to worry about fat pooches hanging out, or the dreaded back fat droop, or dun dun DUN! the thunder thigh bulge! She's just excited when she lands her hand in her mouth, and doesn't care if she has a muffin top over her diaper.
I on the other hand, care about my muffin top. (It's not over a diaper... yet, thank god). I care about my back fat and my pooch, courtesy of Elly. And I care to not look like I'm a sausage in whatever I pick up off the rack. So I guess size really does matter.
I'm pretty content with my current size now. Anything less will just be a bonus. I'll keep telling myself that so I can keep eating cookies for the most important meal of the day.
Until later
~Betty
Friday, July 8, 2011
Where's the freakin' instruction manual?
So I just got my weekly baby update about my growing 4 month, 2 week daughter. And the hot topic in my house and in the email thread this week is FOOD.
Some parents say stick with exclusive breastfeeding until 6 months. Others say add in foods earlier. Other moms say forget all of that and do whatever the hell you want. While others say make your own food. It's enough to make you freakin' nuts. Oh wait, TOO LATE!
I decided while pregnant that I would breastfeed for as long as I could and my goal would be to get to the one year mark if I could. I'd be happy if I could make it 6 months but I wanted to hit the year mark. And then my mother-in-law started in on me when I told her my plan and that Stoofy and I were on our way to a breastfeeding class. (Insert Stoofy's groan here.)
Me: We're going to a class tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it!
MIL: I don't think you should even bother. It hurts a lot and you won't like it, so I wouldn't even bother. I didn't.
Me: Well, I'm going to give it a try. I knowingly made the decision to be a parent and I understand that for the rest of my life there will be some painful moments, literally and figuratively, but ultimately, it's in my child's best interest. I think I'll be sticking it out with the breastfeeding if I can.
MIL: Well, good luck, but you won't like it and it's going to hurt. Plus, then I can't feed the baby.
SERIOUSLY!?!?! Who says that to someone, let alone a pregnant, hormonal Betty?!
Needless to say, we're 4 months, 2 weeks into it and haven't had a single problem! Plus she's growing right off the height chart, so I'm obviously doing something right.
Well, that's up for discussion. Back to the crazy parent forum. I caved a couple weeks ago to add some rice cereal to her milk at night. She was still waking up 3 times at night for feedings and she's not a long napper during the day (try 20 minute cat naps). So I listened to my mom (and my entire office, my husband's coworkers and the moms on the online forum) and got some cereal and added it to her bottle. I'm a terrible mother.
Guess what? It didn't do a damn thing but make her gassy and cranky at first. Great. Not the response I was looking for. I was hoping I'd get what everyone kept saying... put cereal in her milk and she'll sleep like a baby. HA! Not my kid. Thanks a lot everyone! She just wanted more! And I really am a terrible mother now!
I caved and after she got used to it, I started adding it into half of her bottles during the day. Her last bottle of the evening has cereal and then I nurse her as she falls asleep. It seems to be working for her. But I'm a complete basket case!
I can't help but wonder if I'm the worst mother on the planet! I have a million crazy worries that run through my head every day about being a good mom. Did I start her on cereal too early? Does it make her too gassy? Should I cut back on it or just make sure she's had some gas drops? Should I switch to barley or oat instead? Is it messing up her poop schedule? Should I stop nursing her at night and only giving her bottles? Am I coddling her because I'm nursing her to sleep? Should I even rock her completely to sleep or should I just get her almost there and then place her in her bed so she can learn to soothe herself? Is it selfish that I want to hold her as long as I can while she sleeps because I know these moments are precious, but if I do that, am I creating a monster by not making her get over it and learn to be on her own?
HOLY SHIT GET A GRIP WOMAN!!!!!!
I mean seriously! I just can't help but wonder whether I'm doing things right. I'm a follow the instructions kind of girl. When building Legos, I never skip ahead to see what's coming. I just follow step by step and agonize over each step to make sure I haven't missed anything.
Where's the freakin' instruction manual for motherhood? Seriously? How am I supposed to know if I'm fucking up my kid beyond repair or not? Yeah, I can listen to my mom, but the evidence that says she succeeded in raising a normal kid is over here typing through a panic attack because I'm so beside myself with worry. So maybe that's not the best confirmation. Yes, I'm still alive and in pretty damn good health. I have few scars from childhood, so obviously she made sure I survived just fine. Too bad she didn't write a book so I could read it and follow instructions.
Since there's no instruction manual, I guess it's back to searching the internet and winging it with a prayer for me. Now I just have to decide when I suck even more and start adding solid foods. Wish me luck and pray for Elly!
Until later
~Betty
Some parents say stick with exclusive breastfeeding until 6 months. Others say add in foods earlier. Other moms say forget all of that and do whatever the hell you want. While others say make your own food. It's enough to make you freakin' nuts. Oh wait, TOO LATE!
I decided while pregnant that I would breastfeed for as long as I could and my goal would be to get to the one year mark if I could. I'd be happy if I could make it 6 months but I wanted to hit the year mark. And then my mother-in-law started in on me when I told her my plan and that Stoofy and I were on our way to a breastfeeding class. (Insert Stoofy's groan here.)
Me: We're going to a class tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to it!
MIL: I don't think you should even bother. It hurts a lot and you won't like it, so I wouldn't even bother. I didn't.
Me: Well, I'm going to give it a try. I knowingly made the decision to be a parent and I understand that for the rest of my life there will be some painful moments, literally and figuratively, but ultimately, it's in my child's best interest. I think I'll be sticking it out with the breastfeeding if I can.
MIL: Well, good luck, but you won't like it and it's going to hurt. Plus, then I can't feed the baby.
SERIOUSLY!?!?! Who says that to someone, let alone a pregnant, hormonal Betty?!
Needless to say, we're 4 months, 2 weeks into it and haven't had a single problem! Plus she's growing right off the height chart, so I'm obviously doing something right.
Well, that's up for discussion. Back to the crazy parent forum. I caved a couple weeks ago to add some rice cereal to her milk at night. She was still waking up 3 times at night for feedings and she's not a long napper during the day (try 20 minute cat naps). So I listened to my mom (and my entire office, my husband's coworkers and the moms on the online forum) and got some cereal and added it to her bottle. I'm a terrible mother.
Guess what? It didn't do a damn thing but make her gassy and cranky at first. Great. Not the response I was looking for. I was hoping I'd get what everyone kept saying... put cereal in her milk and she'll sleep like a baby. HA! Not my kid. Thanks a lot everyone! She just wanted more! And I really am a terrible mother now!
I caved and after she got used to it, I started adding it into half of her bottles during the day. Her last bottle of the evening has cereal and then I nurse her as she falls asleep. It seems to be working for her. But I'm a complete basket case!
I can't help but wonder if I'm the worst mother on the planet! I have a million crazy worries that run through my head every day about being a good mom. Did I start her on cereal too early? Does it make her too gassy? Should I cut back on it or just make sure she's had some gas drops? Should I switch to barley or oat instead? Is it messing up her poop schedule? Should I stop nursing her at night and only giving her bottles? Am I coddling her because I'm nursing her to sleep? Should I even rock her completely to sleep or should I just get her almost there and then place her in her bed so she can learn to soothe herself? Is it selfish that I want to hold her as long as I can while she sleeps because I know these moments are precious, but if I do that, am I creating a monster by not making her get over it and learn to be on her own?
HOLY SHIT GET A GRIP WOMAN!!!!!!
I mean seriously! I just can't help but wonder whether I'm doing things right. I'm a follow the instructions kind of girl. When building Legos, I never skip ahead to see what's coming. I just follow step by step and agonize over each step to make sure I haven't missed anything.
Where's the freakin' instruction manual for motherhood? Seriously? How am I supposed to know if I'm fucking up my kid beyond repair or not? Yeah, I can listen to my mom, but the evidence that says she succeeded in raising a normal kid is over here typing through a panic attack because I'm so beside myself with worry. So maybe that's not the best confirmation. Yes, I'm still alive and in pretty damn good health. I have few scars from childhood, so obviously she made sure I survived just fine. Too bad she didn't write a book so I could read it and follow instructions.
Since there's no instruction manual, I guess it's back to searching the internet and winging it with a prayer for me. Now I just have to decide when I suck even more and start adding solid foods. Wish me luck and pray for Elly!
Until later
~Betty
Breast Fed Thighs
Ghosts of blogging past: I couldn't help but digging this one back out of the archives for my blogging friends Mommy 2 cent and Chosen Chaos. Thanks for the fun laughs ladies!
The other day I took my daughter, Elly, in for her 4 month check-up. The doctor asked me all the usual questions. Chatted about all the usual stuff...Am I still breastfeeding? How much is she eating? How much do I pump a day? Is she active? Does she sleep through the night? And so on.
I assured him that she eats plenty. She's an eater... just like her mom and dad. She eats me out of house and home. And because of that I've become her dairy queen.
I pump it, she eats it. Pump, eat, pump, eat...there's no end in sight.
Now, I'm not exactly complaining. Breastfeeding has been the best diet I've ever been on! I hate running, so pumping 5 times a day plus her other feedings is better than training for a marathon. I totally get it now why women breast feed their kids until they're 5. At least that's what the "Blossom" chick is doing. WHOA! I've decided I'll breast feed until she's 1, convert to cow's milk and then just pump and dump until I hit menopause. Then maybe I'll just get a tummy tuck after that. And I'll need my thighs done too.
I have my mother's thighs. She got them from her mother, who undoubtedly got them from her mom. They're thick to say the least. There's a lot of mass in our thighs. That saying "a moment on the lips, forever on the hips?" Yeah, they mean thighs in my family. We're talking wondrous, thunderous thighs!
And my daughter is no different. As I've said before, she's pretty much a mini-me. So of course, she got my thighs.
And her thighs were the first thing the doctor noticed during her physical exam. He actually said "Yup, those are breast fed thighs." And at first I felt a little put off by this comment. I've had a lot of things said about my figure growing up. And then I realized that might be the nicest thing a man has ever said about my thighs. And even though he was talking about Elly's, they're in essences, my thighs too.
How nice of you to notice my breast fed thighs Doc!
The other day I took my daughter, Elly, in for her 4 month check-up. The doctor asked me all the usual questions. Chatted about all the usual stuff...Am I still breastfeeding? How much is she eating? How much do I pump a day? Is she active? Does she sleep through the night? And so on.
I assured him that she eats plenty. She's an eater... just like her mom and dad. She eats me out of house and home. And because of that I've become her dairy queen.
I pump it, she eats it. Pump, eat, pump, eat...there's no end in sight.
Now, I'm not exactly complaining. Breastfeeding has been the best diet I've ever been on! I hate running, so pumping 5 times a day plus her other feedings is better than training for a marathon. I totally get it now why women breast feed their kids until they're 5. At least that's what the "Blossom" chick is doing. WHOA! I've decided I'll breast feed until she's 1, convert to cow's milk and then just pump and dump until I hit menopause. Then maybe I'll just get a tummy tuck after that. And I'll need my thighs done too.
I have my mother's thighs. She got them from her mother, who undoubtedly got them from her mom. They're thick to say the least. There's a lot of mass in our thighs. That saying "a moment on the lips, forever on the hips?" Yeah, they mean thighs in my family. We're talking wondrous, thunderous thighs!
And my daughter is no different. As I've said before, she's pretty much a mini-me. So of course, she got my thighs.
And her thighs were the first thing the doctor noticed during her physical exam. He actually said "Yup, those are breast fed thighs." And at first I felt a little put off by this comment. I've had a lot of things said about my figure growing up. And then I realized that might be the nicest thing a man has ever said about my thighs. And even though he was talking about Elly's, they're in essences, my thighs too.
How nice of you to notice my breast fed thighs Doc!
Divorce is a bitch!
I'm the product of divorced parents. I have been since I was about 4. I'm also the daughter of a deadbeat dad. Not a real big issue now, because I've accepted this and I use it as a powerful life lesson and it truly has made me a stronger woman. I also owe that to my mom. She's an only girl with four brothers. She's only known how to be a woman in a man's world. Not to mention, how to do all the guy things around the house because there wasn't a man around.
With that as my life example, I'm a pretty well rounded woman. I love sports and usually follow the world of athletics much more closely than my husband, Stoofy. I'm also fully capable at assembling my own furniture from Ikea, cleaning gutters and mowing the yard. And when I'm feeling extra tough, I even open my own jars because I'm that kind of Betty. I'm a tough lady and I also live and work in a man's world and I do pretty well at it, if I say so myself!
I can live in the world without a man, but it's not what I choose. I love my husband very much. He's truly amazing and at this very moment he's across the country, working his ass off and getting things settled for our daughter and I to move out there at the end of my military service.
The end of my military service.
I feel like when I say that, I'm talking about a death in the family. Or worse, the death of my marriage to the military.
That's right. I'm getting a divorce. Not from my husband, but from my first husband, the military. And divorce SUCKS!
The initial shock of finding out my military essentially cheated on me has worn off... slightly. And I finally got word from the admin folks, aka divorce lawyers, that my divorce settlement that I've been on pins and needles for about 6 months has come through and it's looking pretty good for me. Now it's just a matter of some formalities (aka flaming hoops to jump through) and soon the divorce paperwork will be finalized and I can sign it and be done with it already. The problem is, I'm still left reeling as a middle-aged divorcee.
The military will keep trucking along and has already found a younger, hotter woman. I on the other hand am left to pimp myself out, trying to find any ol' job that'll take me. And I'm hurt to the core because of it.
I know that in the end, the military will realize it's made a mistake and will come crawling back. But until then, I'm just left hurt, bruised and battered in the wake of Change. I hate this kind of change. It makes my whole body hurt.
I've decided this is the last time I get divorced. I made sure my husband knows, and he's agreed. Because in the end, divorce is a real bitch!
Until later
~Betty
With that as my life example, I'm a pretty well rounded woman. I love sports and usually follow the world of athletics much more closely than my husband, Stoofy. I'm also fully capable at assembling my own furniture from Ikea, cleaning gutters and mowing the yard. And when I'm feeling extra tough, I even open my own jars because I'm that kind of Betty. I'm a tough lady and I also live and work in a man's world and I do pretty well at it, if I say so myself!
I can live in the world without a man, but it's not what I choose. I love my husband very much. He's truly amazing and at this very moment he's across the country, working his ass off and getting things settled for our daughter and I to move out there at the end of my military service.
The end of my military service.
I feel like when I say that, I'm talking about a death in the family. Or worse, the death of my marriage to the military.
That's right. I'm getting a divorce. Not from my husband, but from my first husband, the military. And divorce SUCKS!
The initial shock of finding out my military essentially cheated on me has worn off... slightly. And I finally got word from the admin folks, aka divorce lawyers, that my divorce settlement that I've been on pins and needles for about 6 months has come through and it's looking pretty good for me. Now it's just a matter of some formalities (aka flaming hoops to jump through) and soon the divorce paperwork will be finalized and I can sign it and be done with it already. The problem is, I'm still left reeling as a middle-aged divorcee.
The military will keep trucking along and has already found a younger, hotter woman. I on the other hand am left to pimp myself out, trying to find any ol' job that'll take me. And I'm hurt to the core because of it.
I know that in the end, the military will realize it's made a mistake and will come crawling back. But until then, I'm just left hurt, bruised and battered in the wake of Change. I hate this kind of change. It makes my whole body hurt.
I've decided this is the last time I get divorced. I made sure my husband knows, and he's agreed. Because in the end, divorce is a real bitch!
Until later
~Betty
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Get This SHIT!
I have a lot of "get this shit" moments in my life. And now that I have a child, I feel like I have a lot more of them! It seems to be the only thing I care about any more. When was the last time she pooped, what color was it, how much was there, what does it look like, etc... All questions I NEED TO KNOW! And what's really crazy is that it's actually really important. It's not like my 4 month old can tell me her tummy hurts. I just have to inspect what's going in and what's coming out to know.
If only all the other "GTS" moments in my life were this simple. If only I could just inspect what's going into the situation, then I could easily decipher what's coming out of the situation.
In Mommy world, Elly poops on me, but at least she gives me a warning. (She gives a little grunt and leg lift to let me know it's coming.) It's like her little present to me. For Mother's Day, she pooped on me. Happy first Mother's Day, Ma! (She also puked on me on Father's Day, but who's counting.) Those are things to be expected.
But in the real world, there is no warning. Yes, I understand that everyone gets a little shit on from time to time and people just have to deal with it. But is "just dealing with it" the best system?
My "GTS" system (Not to be confused with Pauly D's GTL system) goes a little something like this: I see a train wreck coming. I try to ward it off with precision planning and execution. I try to account for all variables and it looks like I've successfully corrected course to prevent said train wreck. And then BAM!!!! I'm totally hit by the train coming from another direction. SHIT IS EVERYWHERE!!!
The sad part is, after I get hit by the shit-train I'm not even all that surprised. And that's when I say "Get this shit!"
I usually swap GTS moments with my BFF/Almost-Sister, Abby. She and I share in these moments because it’s comforting to know someone’s in the thick of it with you. But unlike Pauly D who can mix up his GTL regiment with Ronnie and the Sitch and T before they G or L, there's no mixing up our GTS moments. We just have to sit here and take it. So says the military.
And then it dawns on me, I'm so programmed by the military to take shitty moments and just accept them as normal. Shit is what's normal to me. Big, heaping piles of stinky, oozy crap is normal to me. Great. I'm used to the smell. Does that mean I can't smell it if I've stepped in it? And if so, does that mean I'm the smelly kid in the back of the class? Yup, probably. GGGREEEAAATTT!!!!!
Just the shit I was hoping for!
I'm hoping that this kind of training proves to be helpful in the civilian world. And I really hope I have a lot less GTS moments when I no longer put on a uniform in the morning. And even if I have a lot more GTS moments after my military service, I hope I no longer just suck it up and deal with it. I hope I learn that shit stinks and I don't have to put up with it if I don't want to.
Until then, I've got another fully-loaded stink bomb diaper to change. Elly just lifted her leg to let me know the shit-train is about to pull into the station.
Until later
~Betty
If only all the other "GTS" moments in my life were this simple. If only I could just inspect what's going into the situation, then I could easily decipher what's coming out of the situation.
In Mommy world, Elly poops on me, but at least she gives me a warning. (She gives a little grunt and leg lift to let me know it's coming.) It's like her little present to me. For Mother's Day, she pooped on me. Happy first Mother's Day, Ma! (She also puked on me on Father's Day, but who's counting.) Those are things to be expected.
But in the real world, there is no warning. Yes, I understand that everyone gets a little shit on from time to time and people just have to deal with it. But is "just dealing with it" the best system?
My "GTS" system (Not to be confused with Pauly D's GTL system) goes a little something like this: I see a train wreck coming. I try to ward it off with precision planning and execution. I try to account for all variables and it looks like I've successfully corrected course to prevent said train wreck. And then BAM!!!! I'm totally hit by the train coming from another direction. SHIT IS EVERYWHERE!!!
The sad part is, after I get hit by the shit-train I'm not even all that surprised. And that's when I say "Get this shit!"
I usually swap GTS moments with my BFF/Almost-Sister, Abby. She and I share in these moments because it’s comforting to know someone’s in the thick of it with you. But unlike Pauly D who can mix up his GTL regiment with Ronnie and the Sitch and T before they G or L, there's no mixing up our GTS moments. We just have to sit here and take it. So says the military.
And then it dawns on me, I'm so programmed by the military to take shitty moments and just accept them as normal. Shit is what's normal to me. Big, heaping piles of stinky, oozy crap is normal to me. Great. I'm used to the smell. Does that mean I can't smell it if I've stepped in it? And if so, does that mean I'm the smelly kid in the back of the class? Yup, probably. GGGREEEAAATTT!!!!!
Just the shit I was hoping for!
I'm hoping that this kind of training proves to be helpful in the civilian world. And I really hope I have a lot less GTS moments when I no longer put on a uniform in the morning. And even if I have a lot more GTS moments after my military service, I hope I no longer just suck it up and deal with it. I hope I learn that shit stinks and I don't have to put up with it if I don't want to.
Until then, I've got another fully-loaded stink bomb diaper to change. Elly just lifted her leg to let me know the shit-train is about to pull into the station.
Until later
~Betty
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I'm an attention whore, hear me roar!
For better or for worse, my daughter and I are a LOT alike! We look like each other. So much so that if you put her two month picture next to my two month picture and print her picture on 1980's paper, you wouldn't be able to tell which kid is which. SERIOUSLY. (But that sounds like a lot of work, I recommend just taking my word.) We have the same hair, eyes, and giant thighs. There's no denying she's my child.
My husband is surprisingly upset that she is so much like me. I've explained that he loves me and found my personality traits endearing. How in the world could he NOT love two of me? This only elicited an eye roll and a grunt. I'm pretty sure that was his way of telling me we need to have another one and hope that the next kid is mellow like him. And honestly, I hope my second child is mellow and as cool as a cucumber, because my daughter is anything but.
I'm a loud, talkative, mile-a-minute kind of Betty. I always got in trouble in school for talking too much. So much so that I never got to be on the safety patrol and wear those awesome bright orange belts. I coveted those belts, but knew it would never happen because I could never keep my mouth shut.
In my adult life, I'm a public affairs specialist, TV and radio show producer, and talker extraordinaire! I literally talk for a living. Take that Mrs. Kish! I've been known to talk louder and louder if I feel someone isn't listening to me. (How else am I supposed to get their attention?) And guess who else does that? Yup, my daughter.
Yes, she's only four months old, so how does she talk? She's already got her baby babble going on. She talks to herself when she's playing and when she wakes up in the morning. No sleeping in for this girl! She needs to be up and at it!!!
But the thing about her talking is, if she's not getting enough attention because mom is off doing something frivolous like going to the bathroom or heating up her bottle, she just starts talking louder, and louder, and louder until it's at the decibel of a dozen shrieking harpies. Once you come to say hello and ask what's wrong, she smiles and continues on with her play. And if you walk away again, the shrieking starts!
If I had to guess, it's more of an attention need rather than a security need. She likes to know she's the center of my attention. And because I give in to her attention needs, she's learning that patience isn't exactly necessary. Again, this sounds a lot like someone else I know. If she's not happy, she'll let you know and she'll make you pay until she is happy. (This might be why my husband rolled his eyes when I said my personality is endearing.)
She's also a mini drama queen. She can start to whimper and again, get your attention. And once she's got it, it's back to all smiles and giggles because it's time to entertain! She's captured you into her audience and she's ready to perform. She is an attention whore, hear her roar!
I'm pretty sure this is God's gift of payback to me for all the craziness I put my own mother through. All I know is, she'll never be on safety patrol and she'll make an amazing living at doing what she was born to do: get your attention and talk!
Until later
~Betty
My husband is surprisingly upset that she is so much like me. I've explained that he loves me and found my personality traits endearing. How in the world could he NOT love two of me? This only elicited an eye roll and a grunt. I'm pretty sure that was his way of telling me we need to have another one and hope that the next kid is mellow like him. And honestly, I hope my second child is mellow and as cool as a cucumber, because my daughter is anything but.
I'm a loud, talkative, mile-a-minute kind of Betty. I always got in trouble in school for talking too much. So much so that I never got to be on the safety patrol and wear those awesome bright orange belts. I coveted those belts, but knew it would never happen because I could never keep my mouth shut.
In my adult life, I'm a public affairs specialist, TV and radio show producer, and talker extraordinaire! I literally talk for a living. Take that Mrs. Kish! I've been known to talk louder and louder if I feel someone isn't listening to me. (How else am I supposed to get their attention?) And guess who else does that? Yup, my daughter.
Yes, she's only four months old, so how does she talk? She's already got her baby babble going on. She talks to herself when she's playing and when she wakes up in the morning. No sleeping in for this girl! She needs to be up and at it!!!
But the thing about her talking is, if she's not getting enough attention because mom is off doing something frivolous like going to the bathroom or heating up her bottle, she just starts talking louder, and louder, and louder until it's at the decibel of a dozen shrieking harpies. Once you come to say hello and ask what's wrong, she smiles and continues on with her play. And if you walk away again, the shrieking starts!
If I had to guess, it's more of an attention need rather than a security need. She likes to know she's the center of my attention. And because I give in to her attention needs, she's learning that patience isn't exactly necessary. Again, this sounds a lot like someone else I know. If she's not happy, she'll let you know and she'll make you pay until she is happy. (This might be why my husband rolled his eyes when I said my personality is endearing.)
She's also a mini drama queen. She can start to whimper and again, get your attention. And once she's got it, it's back to all smiles and giggles because it's time to entertain! She's captured you into her audience and she's ready to perform. She is an attention whore, hear her roar!
I'm pretty sure this is God's gift of payback to me for all the craziness I put my own mother through. All I know is, she'll never be on safety patrol and she'll make an amazing living at doing what she was born to do: get your attention and talk!
Until later
~Betty
Friday, July 1, 2011
Hormones
I've had crazy hormones since I hit puberty back in 6th grade. And really, who hasn't? But I never thought I'd be this wacky, crazy with hormones during and after my pregnancy. Now, I'm a pretty intense Betty. I like things done a certain way and done promptly. This has caused some strife over the years with Stoofy, but he's finally realized that I'm just crazy and he's got to deal.
But being Pregnant Betty took the crazy to a whole new level! I was even more intense during my pregnancy. I nearly accosted a woman for a pumpkin pie at a grocery store, I completely unleashed the furry of a rabid momma bear on my stupid apartment complex manager, and I made my husband's life a living hell. It was like I became a schizophrenic person because one minute I'm pleased, the next second I'm mildly unhappy, and the next second I'm in complete rage. And usually after that happened I started crying. I just couldn't deal with everything racing through my brain and body! All I could think was I must be impregnated with a demon baby.
But I thought, as misguided as it was that after I had the baby, everything would be back to normal. I thought I could watch whatever T.V. shows I wanted. Heck, I thought that I could DO whatever I wanted and I'd be just my normal Betty self. Oh how wrong I was!!!
Two days after being home with my daughter, I looked at her, started crying and exclaimed to Stoofy, "She's getting so big! We have to have another one! Because she'll never be this small again!" Sobfest 2011 had begun. He reminded me that maybe we should wait more than TWO DAYS before deciding when to have another baby. Thank God he's wise and normal.
The hormones have taken over my body like discount bargain shoppers at Walmart on a Sunday. There's no stopping them and they just keep flooding in!
Example two of Sobfest 2011- Crying on the ride home because I saw a plane. Yup, a plane. It was a low-flying plane and since I'm in the D.C. area I couldn't help but think... wow, I wonder if that's what it looked like as the plane came flying in and crashed into the Pentagon. And what it would have looked like if the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania made it to the White House. And just how heroic those people were to try and stop the terrorists and died trying. And the people making calls from their cell phones to loved ones saying good bye. And if I was in that same position what would I do... of course I would call Stoofy! And then it dawned on me... I would have to say goodbye to Baby. And BAM! I'm sobbing, driving down the parkway and I can't see because I'm crying so hard.
And then I just start laughing. Because it's just that ridiculous that I'm crying so hard over something so unlikely to happen to me. But that's not to say something less unlikely COULD happen to me. And then I would be here to watch my beautiful baby girl grow up. More crying. More laughing at how ridiculous I am.
Example three of Sobfest 2011- I'm three blocks from work this morning and realized that Defense Secretary Gates is no longer my boss. I absolutely love him. I feel like he's been with me my whole life, well nearly my whole military life. Now he's gone, back to retirement. The waterworks turn back on and I nearly miss stopping at the stop sign outside my office. Good lord, get a grip Betty!!! I'm going to be out of the military in just a couple more months and it's not like he's going to be my boss when I'm a civilian! Geez!
And this is when I realize that this could all just be the beginning of the new Betty. A softer, more sensitive Betty. Someone grab me a tissue!
Until later
~Betty
But being Pregnant Betty took the crazy to a whole new level! I was even more intense during my pregnancy. I nearly accosted a woman for a pumpkin pie at a grocery store, I completely unleashed the furry of a rabid momma bear on my stupid apartment complex manager, and I made my husband's life a living hell. It was like I became a schizophrenic person because one minute I'm pleased, the next second I'm mildly unhappy, and the next second I'm in complete rage. And usually after that happened I started crying. I just couldn't deal with everything racing through my brain and body! All I could think was I must be impregnated with a demon baby.
But I thought, as misguided as it was that after I had the baby, everything would be back to normal. I thought I could watch whatever T.V. shows I wanted. Heck, I thought that I could DO whatever I wanted and I'd be just my normal Betty self. Oh how wrong I was!!!
Two days after being home with my daughter, I looked at her, started crying and exclaimed to Stoofy, "She's getting so big! We have to have another one! Because she'll never be this small again!" Sobfest 2011 had begun. He reminded me that maybe we should wait more than TWO DAYS before deciding when to have another baby. Thank God he's wise and normal.
The hormones have taken over my body like discount bargain shoppers at Walmart on a Sunday. There's no stopping them and they just keep flooding in!
Example two of Sobfest 2011- Crying on the ride home because I saw a plane. Yup, a plane. It was a low-flying plane and since I'm in the D.C. area I couldn't help but think... wow, I wonder if that's what it looked like as the plane came flying in and crashed into the Pentagon. And what it would have looked like if the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania made it to the White House. And just how heroic those people were to try and stop the terrorists and died trying. And the people making calls from their cell phones to loved ones saying good bye. And if I was in that same position what would I do... of course I would call Stoofy! And then it dawned on me... I would have to say goodbye to Baby. And BAM! I'm sobbing, driving down the parkway and I can't see because I'm crying so hard.
And then I just start laughing. Because it's just that ridiculous that I'm crying so hard over something so unlikely to happen to me. But that's not to say something less unlikely COULD happen to me. And then I would be here to watch my beautiful baby girl grow up. More crying. More laughing at how ridiculous I am.
Example three of Sobfest 2011- I'm three blocks from work this morning and realized that Defense Secretary Gates is no longer my boss. I absolutely love him. I feel like he's been with me my whole life, well nearly my whole military life. Now he's gone, back to retirement. The waterworks turn back on and I nearly miss stopping at the stop sign outside my office. Good lord, get a grip Betty!!! I'm going to be out of the military in just a couple more months and it's not like he's going to be my boss when I'm a civilian! Geez!
And this is when I realize that this could all just be the beginning of the new Betty. A softer, more sensitive Betty. Someone grab me a tissue!
Until later
~Betty
Monster, er I mean, mother-in-law
I've been married to my wonderful husband, Stoofy, for more than 4 years. We've been together for nearly 6. And in that time, I really haven't spent a ton of time with his family. I know them well enough, and enjoy them when we all visit. But they're not my family. My family is entirely nuts. We've got such a huge level of dysfunction; we can't even return basic phone calls. But I like it and it's normal to me. His family is different.
His family's dysfunction is different. I don't know how to describe it. I get along really well with his dad and his brother. But with his mom and sister, it's a slightly different story. We don't fight or argue or anything. We just aren't all BFF's.
He and his mom have a very special bond from the first moments of his life. He's her first born. He's her only biological son. He's a big f'in' deal in her world. And he's moving back to his home town after our many years of military service. (Don't worry; baby and I are moving there too!) Let the party begin!!!
But now that he's going to be nearby again, she feels the need to be in his life every second of every day. In fact, she was upset when he didn't move back to their home (in his old, childhood room) and instead got his own place for us. The horror! Being persistent, she then decided that she would move in with him on weekends and keep him company. His response- Uh, HELL NO! (Thank God!)
I was horrified and freaked out! Here's this woman who doesn't have a clue that her 27 year old son, who has lived on his own for 8 years and deployed around the world, is a GROWN MAN! Not to mention, he has his own wife and child to take care of. How dare she want to weasel her way into my life and try to disturb my marriage? If she thinks she's going to get to be a decision maker in my family, she's got another thing coming! And here starts my immediate panic-attack about protecting my family and marriage and keeping intruders out. I started plotting my plan of attack like it was a scene from the Italian Job.
Now, I realize I don't have the worst MIL in the history of MILs. (My mom's was, and still is, pretty damn wacky. Yes, I'm talking about my crazy grandma.) And I just read a story about a Monster-in-law from hell who had the audacity to send a hate email to her future daughter-in-law that just happened to back fire when the daughter made sure it went viral. So no, I don't have the worst one in the world. But, it's still a little annoying.
And then I realized if I ever have a son, I'll be a psycho MIL. I know I'm going to be the only woman in my future son's life that can do everything. I just know this to my core. And now starts the second panic attack of the day... my future son will eventually get married and leave me in the dust and I'll just have to find a way to weasel my way back in to his life and if that means I have to move in with him on weekends and take care of him, then that's what I'll do! BREATH BETTY!
I should point out that my daughter is only 4 months old and Stoofy and I are nowhere near being pregnant again with another child, let alone the odds of it being a boy. So who knows if I'll actually ever have a son? But I'm already worked up in a full blown tizzy. And now I'm a lot more empathetic about my crazy MIL. That is until the next time she tries to weasel her way into my home again!!!
Until later
~Betty
His family's dysfunction is different. I don't know how to describe it. I get along really well with his dad and his brother. But with his mom and sister, it's a slightly different story. We don't fight or argue or anything. We just aren't all BFF's.
He and his mom have a very special bond from the first moments of his life. He's her first born. He's her only biological son. He's a big f'in' deal in her world. And he's moving back to his home town after our many years of military service. (Don't worry; baby and I are moving there too!) Let the party begin!!!
But now that he's going to be nearby again, she feels the need to be in his life every second of every day. In fact, she was upset when he didn't move back to their home (in his old, childhood room) and instead got his own place for us. The horror! Being persistent, she then decided that she would move in with him on weekends and keep him company. His response- Uh, HELL NO! (Thank God!)
I was horrified and freaked out! Here's this woman who doesn't have a clue that her 27 year old son, who has lived on his own for 8 years and deployed around the world, is a GROWN MAN! Not to mention, he has his own wife and child to take care of. How dare she want to weasel her way into my life and try to disturb my marriage? If she thinks she's going to get to be a decision maker in my family, she's got another thing coming! And here starts my immediate panic-attack about protecting my family and marriage and keeping intruders out. I started plotting my plan of attack like it was a scene from the Italian Job.
Now, I realize I don't have the worst MIL in the history of MILs. (My mom's was, and still is, pretty damn wacky. Yes, I'm talking about my crazy grandma.) And I just read a story about a Monster-in-law from hell who had the audacity to send a hate email to her future daughter-in-law that just happened to back fire when the daughter made sure it went viral. So no, I don't have the worst one in the world. But, it's still a little annoying.
And then I realized if I ever have a son, I'll be a psycho MIL. I know I'm going to be the only woman in my future son's life that can do everything. I just know this to my core. And now starts the second panic attack of the day... my future son will eventually get married and leave me in the dust and I'll just have to find a way to weasel my way back in to his life and if that means I have to move in with him on weekends and take care of him, then that's what I'll do! BREATH BETTY!
I should point out that my daughter is only 4 months old and Stoofy and I are nowhere near being pregnant again with another child, let alone the odds of it being a boy. So who knows if I'll actually ever have a son? But I'm already worked up in a full blown tizzy. And now I'm a lot more empathetic about my crazy MIL. That is until the next time she tries to weasel her way into my home again!!!
Until later
~Betty
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