Elly do it

Last night wasn't a great night for me and Elly.  I picked her up from daycare, give her a hug and a kiss and she proceeds to pick up her jacket.  I go to help her put it on and she says yells "ELLY DO IT!!!!" 

Zipping her own coat

Ok fine.  So I let her put on her coat. But I was in a hurry and she was taking forever since, you know, she's two and hasn't quite master figuring out which hole to put her arm through.  So I try to help a tiny, little bit and get her going in the right direction. 

"ELLY DO IT!!!!!!!!!"

Ok. FINE!

Finally we're dressed and ready to leave. But before we can walk out the door, she has to press the button to open the door.  She has to walk out to the car on her own.  She has to climb into the car on her own and she has to get into her car seat on her own.  Because after all...

"ELLY DO IT!!!!"

We get home and she's trying to help open the door.  It's really more of a pain in my ass for her to do this, but she's screaming again.

"ELLY DO IT!!"

Time to make dinner, "ELLY DO IT!!!" (It took 15 minutes to convince her that she needed to play in her sensory bucket and not try and help me cook the taco meat.)

Time to clean up the house, "ELLY DO IT!!!" (This took an additional 25 minutes to clean up after her, but not let her know I was doing it, since “Elly do it.”)

Walk up the stairs to bath time, get the bubbles in the bath, take off clothes and try on the potty, climb into the tub...

"ELLY DO IT!!!!!"

Except she can't do it all yet.  The kid takes for FOR.FUCKING.EVER. to get things done.  Probably because she really has no actual life experience doing half these things yet.  I mean, she's only two, but she thinks she can do it all and won't accept any help. 

So here we are, in a conundrum. I'm the experienced 30-year-old know-it-all mother.  She's the stubborn and independently-minded child who won't accept help. I want things done quickly and efficiently.  I have limited time to get everything done and don't have 15 minutes while she figures out pulling her arm out of her sleeve and sticking it through the head-hole of her shirt will not equal a successful attempt at undressing herself.

Yet, here she is, all needing to do everything on her own. And I know she has to learn all of these important life skills.  I have to encourage her to learn or else I'm going to be stuck still wiping her ass when she's 30 because she still won't have figured that out. (She'll probably blame me because I never cut her hair.)

I have to take a moment and realize that her stubbornness and desire to do things on her own, learn new skills and take charge are all qualities I love about her and that I've given her. (The apple doesn’t exactly fall far from the tree.) It's this desire to learn and take on new challenges that will make her successful in life. 

I should be grateful that she is excited to help me put the soap in the dishwasher and start it.  I should be thrilled she wants to help me put the clothes in and out of the dryer. I should be happy she wants to venture on her own and learn how things work. After all, this means in a few more years I'll be able to put her to work around the house, right?

After a deep breath, a mental regroup and a few bedtime stories, I asked her to help turn out the lights for the night. I picked her up so she could reach the light switch and said, "Elly do it."

She looked at me with big eyes and said, "Momma do it." 

You're killing me kid.

Panda love and social media

I'm a lover of social media.  It might have something to do with the fact that I've found a way to make a partial living off of my social media skills.  I look forward to making more of my living from my ability to like, share, comment, and retweet.  And whether you like it or not, social media isn't going away.  It may change and morph into something different, but the general concept isn't going away.

You're always going to know what is going on in someone else's life, for better or for worse.

You know what? That's just fine with me! 

You know why?  Because it means job growth! Yay!!!

But even I draw a line when it comes to TMI in the social media realm.  And last night I finally figured out what that line was.

Recently I've discovered I'm old.  I listen to news/talk radio on my way to work.  Sometimes I listen to it on my way home, too.  I get sucked into a story I hear is coming up so I just leave the station be so I can hear about the weather, traffic and details on the story that intrigues me.

Yesterday, while driving home, I heard a teaser that really threw me through a loop.  I almost changed the station because I was so miffed by the topic.  But it's like a bad car accident; you just can't divert your eyes.  Rubbernecking is human.  So I listened for the story.

The topic?  The panda at the national zoo in DC was getting artificially inseminated.  Ok, not too much of a gross-out, big deal there.  But wait!

YOU CAN WATCH/FOLLOW THE WHOLE AI PROCESS LIVE ON TWITTER!!!!! 

My god!  Are you serious?  Have we really gotten to the point in our society where we now need to watch Panda Porn on our various social media apps on our smart phones?  Really people?!?!?!!?!

Is this really the best use of social media?  I mean, I get it that we could use a few more pandas in the world.  And I know that the two at the zoo are having their own love spat right now and science and technology needs to lend a helping hand.  But do we need to watch the turkey baster do its thing?  Really? 

There is a fine line between sharing your life with the public and sharing what your bathroom toilet looks like while you try to take a rockin' picture of your "duck face" pose.  Honestly, there's no need to do that.  I don't care if you're texting people while you're on the pot.  I don't get bothered by the idea that you respond to facebook posts when you should be focusing on not missing the bowl.  But keep that information to yourself.  That's what makes it great.  I don't care that you're doing that, because I don't know that you're doing that!!!

But the fact of the matter still remains that we as Americans made it possible to watch an animal get artificially inseminated.  They don't even do that on National Geographic.  Come on folks!  GEEEEEEZUS!

Let's have a little social media decorum.  I'm pretty sure Mei Xiang would appreciate it!

Temporary Vegetarian

Every so often I end up in a discussion about pregnancy and how much it sucks.  I work in an office with almost all women.  A couple are a little younger than me and the rest are a bit older than me.  Those of us with kids (I'm the youngest with a kid, and Elly is SIGNIFICANTLY younger than the other people's kids) talk about what our experiences were when we were pregnant or in labor.

And these conversations remind me about the things I've pushed out of my mind a bit about being pregnant with Elly.  I haven't forgot these memories yet, hence one of the reasons I blog.  I don't want to forget all of the hell she put me through.

You see, I am a meat eater.  (Take that however you want you sick perv!) I enjoy a giant, medium-rare steak, I love sausage and bacon both for breakfast, and I love to eat turkey sandwiches.  A meal isn't complete without meat.  Without it, it's just a snack. 

That all changed when I became pregnant.  Aside from the fact that EVERYTHING made me blow chunks, meat especially did.  I couldn't walk past the meat counter in a grocery store unless I had my trusty "air sickness bag" with me.  (The grocery store as a whole was pretty dangerous grounds for me, but especially in the meat department.) 

I practically became a vegetarian.  I couldn't stand eating any kinds of beef, chicken, or pork.  And I couldn't eat too much fish (which I didn't want much of in the first place) because of whatever crazy science article I was reading that week and the effects of the fish on my baby.  (My policy was, why bother fucking the kid up in utero?  I needed to wait until the kid was fully baked and then I could start screwing it up... because, you know, it's always the mother's fault.)

It was so disappointing to not even be slightly interested in any of the things I loved to eat.  I actually lost weight before gaining weight while pregnant!  Who knew dividing cells into a new human being would be the best diet around?!?!?!

The only thing I could stand to eat was bacon bits on my pizza (which I ate nearly every other day).  No other meat could be found in my house. 

Fast forward 10 months and I'll wolf down a steak in 5 minutes flat.  I eat hamburger like it's going out of style.  And I pile on extra turkey on my sandwiches.  My herbivore days were just temporary.  THANK GOD!

But Elly, she's still a vegetarian.  No matter what we try to feed her by way of meat, she's not interested.  But that kid will horck down apples, lima beans, broccoli, and strawberries by the fistful.  If you don't speed it up while cutting up the kiwi she'll let you know she's not pleased.  But offer her a bit of pot roast and there's no touching it.  She instead works around the roast and eats the potatoes and carrots.  So for now she's a vegetarian.  (Don't worry, the dog's still a carnivore.  Elly share's the pot roast with the dog!)

I just hope she grows out of it.  I don't know if I could handle a meal without meat!

A Few of My Favorite Things

In the spirit of end of year review mania that seems to hit our country about this time every year, I figured I'd jump on board.  And as a side note: until I started working in news I never knew why every single tv, radio, paper, magazine, etc. puts out a best of at the end of the year... until I wanted some down time around the holidays too.  So what's the easiest way to create that for yourself around the holidays?  Just rehash all the shit you've already done and call it "new"s. 

Anyway, even though I've only been a part of the blogosphere since July (and I took that trip to Jupiter, aka fell off the blogging planet) I still feel like I've got some gems in my archives.

So here are a few of my favorite things (in no particular order):

1) Breastfed Thighs
I'll do my best to keep the positive about my thighs come the end of January.  That's inevitably when swimsuit shopping season begins and I'd much rather slice my left hand off with a circular saw than expose my thighs to the world (or expose the world to my thighs depending on how you look at it). 

2) What Did I Step In?
I feel like I step in a pile of shit every week.  Some weeks are shittier than others.  But this one just tops them all.  I mean, seriously.  What the hell is wrong with people?  Clearly advertising geniuses know how to plug their products with cute babies.  Because people will literally look past whatever shit you've got when there's a cute baby to look at instead. 

3) Got Milk?

This is actually a blog from my early days.  I hadn't really introduced everyone to Abby yet.  But I realized since I talked about her so much as a friend, that she just needed to be named and be a full-blown character in my daily crazy.  The main part of the blog really was word for word an email I sent her after being fascinated and disgusted by my cow-like ability.  And although I've stopped breastfeeding, I'm grateful for having endured that crazy shit for as long as I did for Elly.  She'd better be a grateful little kid when she grows up or else! 

 

4) Losing My Hair.. and Marbles

I still chuckle a little every time I read this.  And then the chuckles are drowned out by my tears of sadness over my awful hair.  I have had it cut into a nice, hot-mom cut.  So at least my hair is a lot more manageable than when it was longer.  And by the way, I STILL haven't found that freakin' calendar yet! 

 

5) Tinkling

I actually have to go use the little girl's room right now.  So I'd better stop what I'm doing and take a break or else I may have a code yellow alert!

 

6) In Search Of...

It still truly amazes me how your body completely changes when you're pregnant.  And then morphs into something completely different after the baby.  I'll never understand people (specifically insensitive asshole men) who say, oh you're just lazy that's why you don't have the exact same body after having the baby.  Uh newsflash dumbass, it doesn't work like that.  Not only am I searching for my ass, I also grew bigger feet.  No amount of zumba is going to fix that shit! 

7) Being an Adult Rocks!

I crack up every time I eat a deli sandwich now because I only think of windshield meat.  If you ever end up tossing turkey on someone's car and they eat it, please let me know!!!! And if you do witness that, I hope you scream at them "BEING AN ADULT ROCKS!!!"

8)BOOBS!

This is still one of my all-time favorites.  Because I am so impressed at how many different ways I could work the word boobs into the blog.  And because of that, I actually had a few people stumble upon my blog because of their key word searches.  Here's what can land you in Betty's world if you google it: "Big Milk Boobs," "Boobs," and my personal favorite "Boobs Rock the World."  Yes, yes they do! (PS, I'd love to know who googled "I'm not doing that" and found me!!!  LOL! What the hell aren't they willing to do I wonder!)

9) Vanilla Tuna

There are some people in this world you meet and never remember again.  And then there are some people that leave a lasting impression on you for the rest of your life.  The stinky girl in my Navy school is one of those people I'll never forget.... and I'm so grossed out by it!

10) Caught Red Handed

Elly just kills me some days.  Every day she's learning, exploring, and absorbing new information.  She amazes me... right up until she's caught red handed doing something shouldn't have done but has no idea that it was a no-no.  I clearly have a long road ahead of me teaching her important life-lessons.  And I feel like a lot of them are going to be really messy!

11) Pumpkin Pie and Jail Time

What's terrible about this pregnancy memory is that even though pumpkin pie is my absolute FAVORITE dessert and it's what I love more than anything for my birthday cake, I still haven't had a slice in 2011!  Sad :-( I better get on that before the year is over and I better make sure I don't go to jail getting pumpkin pie!

12)   That's Not Fair

The phrase "That's Not Fair" could quite possibly be one of the most famous sayings heard in my house growing up.  Either (or in my opinion, mostly) my sister or me would utter that phrase whenever we had felt slighted.  Our mother was very careful to make sure that things were as fair as you can make them for two completely different-minded children constantly at each other's throats.  So I feel like because of that, I have an obsession to try and make things as far as possible in the world when I can.  However, there are things that just can't be helped.  Like the fact that Snookie makes millions more than I do.

Well there you have it!  Betty's favorites of 2011.  I can't even imagine how exciting 2012 will be!  In just a few short months Elly will be a year old, Stoofy and I will celebrate our 6th wedding anniversary, I'll go on at least 12 tirades threatening to kick someone in their shins, and on top of that, I've got the regular comings and goings of life to chronicle. 

Please be sure to follow me on Facebook, become a fan of this blog, and most importantly TELL YOUR FRIENDS!  I am a narcissist and I need constant positive approval.  So the more people who like me, the better I feel.  JOKING, but not really.  Force your friends to like me if you have to.  It's fine, I completely approve of it!

And I'll have plenty more to add before the year is over... but until then, thanks for enjoying 2011 with me!

Caught Red Handed

This week (actually the last 2 days) I've made some major rookie mom mistakes!  The first being way worst than the second.  I'll start with the lesser of two evils first.

Tonight I had to run a few errands.  I knew it was close to Elly's bedtime, but I had no choice.  I have to do what I have to do!  So I packed her up and headed on my way.  I barely made it a half mile before she started screaming.  She's screaming because it's nearly bed time and she wants to be rocked to sleep with all her usual night time fanfare.  None of this bundled and tied into a carseat crap.  And what was my rookie mistake?  Not having a freakin' binkie!

Man did I swear up a storm at myself.  I mean, it's not like I don't have the mom purse (you know what I'm talking about!  That jumbo-sized monstrosity you lug around to haul all the shit you can't fit into the diaper bag because your husband packed retarded shit in the diaper bag and you're too exhausted to fight him on it so you just stick it all in your purse instead? Yeah, that thing.) on the front seat.  Yet, there's not one single binkie to be found. 

You want to know where they were?  Four of them were lined up next to each other on the bedside table ready for night time combat ops (or you know, a little thing normal parents like to call bed time). 

So what did I do?  I just endured it.  That's right.  There's nothing I could do but suck it up.  No speeding, no dilly-dallying or chit-chatting.  Just there, pick up stuff, and go.  Because she's in the back seat wailing! 

Can you say MOM OF THE YEAR?

But the big kahuna of the week is way worse.  Yesterday, in all my wonderful glory, I put Elly in her make-shift play area.  It's a good play area for her with lots of space and toys to play with.  We've blocked off the Christmas tree and she can't get out to freedom (aka, the stairs).  And so I put her in her area and turned my back for a minute. 

EP-IC MIS-TA-KE!!!!!

I all of a sudden here a splat and her playing with what sounds to be a solo cup.  Now this is something that's my own fault.  Stoofy and I have gotten in the habit of giving her one to play with.  So to her it's a toy.  For us it's cheap entertainment for 10 minutes. 

Turns out I didn't do a great job inspecting the living room before I turned it into her play area.  There was a wayward half-cup of red Koolaide.  And Elly got her grubby little hands all over it!

When I first saw her I started to freak out because she was splattered head to toe in red.  My first thought was Red= Dead.  So I scoop her up and checked for bleeding.  Nope, nothing. 

And then the realization that I'll be replacing carpet hits me and I look around to see what happened.  I grab Elly's hands and see them clearly stained red.  The white/beige carpet is a nice hue of pink.  And one of the throw pillows is a very festive shade of red to complement the green and white stripes the manufacture meant for it to have. 

Awesome.  Not only do I suck as a mom, I now suck as a friend and roommate too.  Triple wammie!  I think that means I've Pressed my Luck and lost.  FML.

And of course all of this happens minutes before I have to run out the door to be somewhere to meet people.  Clearly this is one of those moments where you realize being a mom is great... just not every single second of every single day.  And why the hell does this shit have to happen when dad's not around? 

Needless to say I'm now a proud promoter of the powers of Oxyclean.  If you catch your kid red handed and need to get the Koolaide up, just think of Billy Mays.  Since he's obviously looking down from heaven for all us rookie moms out there.

I Have a Confession

Today I made a pretty major confession to Abby.  She and I (now that we're all roommates) gab often when we catch each other in the evenings.  We like to catch up and talk about girl things.  You know... the latest reality show junk, politics and how things are going down the shitter, sports (What? girls like sports!  Especially hockey!), and of course, Elly! 

We also talk often of our beauty regiments because honestly, we’re not getting any younger.  So of course, gray hair came up in the conversation.  I told her how every time someone cuts my hair, I request they check for grays.  Abby informed me that one of Bif's jobs is to be on gray hair lookout.  (Not really sure if he likes that job, but it comes with the boyfriend territory.  Prepares a man for much worse during marriage.  I'm just sayin'...)

His other job is to help knead the knots out of her ass. 

Yeah, you heard me right.  And no, it's not a sexual thing.  I have the same damn problem.  I make Stoofy help massage my flabby ass often.  You see, there's a pinched nerve deep in the fatty tissue that is my buttocks. 

I think I read a long while ago (maybe like 10 years ago in health class) that women commonly have problems like this because of the way their nerves run through their pelvis.  The shape of a woman's pelvis is different from a man's to make room for pushing a watermelon through her cu-ca during child birth.  Basically to sum it all up, shit gets pinched. (Note: I am not a medical expert.  If you try to use this as your own personal web-MD, I’ll laugh at you and call you a moron.  If you have a problem, go to the doctor dumbass.)

WARNING: the next part is going to get real, folks!

My ass has been acting up pretty bad this last week.  I got so desperate that I began to get creative with objects to help alleviate the pressure.  (Stoofy's been working long hours and has no desire to punch his knuckles into my butt.)  I found the most perfect thing in the whole house!  It's seriously an object no woman should ever be without!  (Especially if your man's not around to help!)

NO YOU PERV! Get your mind out of the gutter!

It's a spatula! 

Yup, I was so desperate the other day in the kitchen that I whipped open the kitchen drawers and looked for something hard but gentle, long but thick, and pointy enough to get the job done.  It just so happens that Abby has the most perfect spatula in her drawer and I snagged that bitch and immediately plunged it into the right side of my ass. 

And wouldn't you know, it did the trick!  That was the most relief I've had in days.  I finally got full feeling back to my leg, no pinched pain radiating from the deepest of my pelvis. 

After I was done, I did the right thing and threw it into the dishwasher to be sanitized.  Because even though I didn't do anything inappropriate and I had clothes on the whole time, it seemed incredibly necessary.

I also had no intentions of telling Abby.  Because even those she's seen just about every inch of my body while watching me give birth to Elly, and I've witnessed her changing her pants in the front seat of my car, there's still some things that should probably be left unsaid even amongst your very best friends.

Well.... until today.  When she mentioned that Bif was on butt patrol as well as hair lookout.  I couldn't help but fess up to her that if he's not around, the best tool to help with the pain was her spatula.  To which she busted up laughing uncontrollably because honestly, how ridiculous is it that your roommate just fessed up to using the kitchen utensil you use to flip flapjacks on their ass to also reduce pain and pressure?  It's pretty absurd. 

But I felt a lot better after confession.  And that's what's good about confessing things.  It gets it off your chest and now she'll understand why she just got a brand new spatula without my having to lie.  And I’ll know where it went to if I don’t see Bif around for a few days and there haven’t been any pancakes around.

Christmas Shopping

Now that it's November, it's time to get down to serious business... Christmas shopping.  Don't get me wrong, I will be celebrating November in all its glory all month long and I do NOT do anything Christmasy until at LEAST the day after Thanksgiving.

I'm very particular about this for a few reasons.  The most important is that my birthday is at the end of November and I have no intention of getting into the Christmas spirit until AFTER the best day of the year.  This year it rocks even more because while you're all eating your Thanksgiving dinner, I'll be eating my BIRTHDAY FEAST!  (In case you can't figure out the most obvious hints here, my birthday falls on Thanksgiving day this year. I can message you my address for birthday cards if you'd like! :-D ) 

But the one Christmas thing I do take advantage of during the last month of fall (my favorite season, which is another reason I try to prolong my love of November) is the Christmas shopping deals.  I have no choice because the damn retailers force you to think about Christmas starting in August.  (I wish that was a lie, but I saw Christmas lights at home depot in August.  I'm just sayin'... fucking corporate America!) 

This year is even more exciting because we have Elly to shop for.  This means more toys!  I say more toys because last year Stoofy and I got each other legos.  What can I say, we're big kids. 

We already got her the first of a couple gifts.  I have no intention of going overboard since she'll barely be 10 months old at Christmas.  What does she even know about getting gifts yet?  Plus, I need to take advantage of the few years I have before she can talk and then demand what she wants from Santa.  Plus I buy something for her nearly every time I leave the house.  To her, every day is Christmas. 

But to be honest, I was SO EXCITIED when the Toys R Us Christmas catalog arrived at our front doorstep!!!  I flipped through all of those pages making a mental list of all the things I wanted.  I mean I wanted to get Elly, you know, so I could play with her. 

There were oodles of baby toys, but I didn't stop there.  I couldn't help but love the Kitchen Aide all-in-one kitchen and matching refrigerator and washer/dryer set, the craftsman work bench complete with toy chain saw and tool belt, and the ultimate Barbie dream house and really everything Barbie.  (It blows my mind that the family camper is $75 by the way.) Plus thousands and thousands of Lego pieces all waiting for me to assemble into the most elaborate of creations.

I just kept making a mental note of all the things I wanted... for Elly of course.  And that's when I realized how happy I was to have a little girl.  Because she can have the tea set and the tool belt and we can play together!  (That and I can pass off all the toys I want to play with as toys for her.)

Like I said, I was super excited about the mega toy catalog.  Elly was excited too.... she had a blast ripping the paper to shreds and eating it.  Let's hope one day she enjoys picking out toys as much as I do, but not too soon.  My budget might not be able to handle that!

Shoot Me Now

Yup, just go ahead and shoot me now.  I won't mind.  I'll even write you a permission slip to the cops saying it was totally ok and I actually asked for it.  Because honestly, I'm so sleep deprived right now, I'd sign off on just about anything! (Except Stoofy buying a boat.  I'd probably kill him if that happened.)

The problem is that Elly no longer sleeps.  And when I say no sleep, I mean screams for an hour at a time throughout the night a couple times a night, every night.

And she doesn't really nap.  And when I say she doesn't nap, I mean she takes three 20 minute naps a day, tops.  If I'm super lucky, every now and then, she'll sleep (in my arms because the moment I put her down she wakes up wailing) about 40 minutes.  But those days are rare.

I don't get it.  This has been going on for about a month and half.  She was like this before moving, so I don't feel like it's because of the move.  She has the same routine every day, I am a pretty routine girl myself.  She's been trying a few new foods here and there, but she's enjoying them and her system seems to be processing them just fine. (Output is working just as well as her input!)

She has the exact same bed time routine at the exact same time every night.  At 7:00 PM she gets a bath, rocks together with either mom or dad and gets a bottle.  She sometimes drifts off with no problems, sometimes it's torture. 

And then the hell begins.  She'll sleep for a couple hours, then wakes up with night-terrors.  (Or whatever the baby equivalent is to night terrors.)  She startles herself awake and just starts SCREAMING!!!!

It's flat out awful.  Because there's absolutely nothing that will stop the crying.  She's not hungry, she isn't sick.  She just doesn't want to sleep.  I give her teething tablets for any pain, if she's got a fever from teething, I give her baby Tylenol.  Nothing seems to work.

It kills me to no end that she doesn't sleep.  Not only do Stoofy and I not sleep, it kills me that she doesn't either.  But what kills me even more is that she wakes up early and is always chipper.  Like a cartoon chipmunk chipper. 

She's laughing and smiling and it's like nothing happened.  I kind of think a gremlin takes over her body after 6:00 PM every night, and then evades her body by 6:00 AM.  I really can't think of any other explanation because baby night-terrors sounds even more farfetched. 

I mean, what the hell could cause a nightmare for a baby?  Flashbacks to birth? What else could there be?  And at what point do you even start dreaming in life?  And if she's dreaming, what is she dreaming of?  It's not like she knows what the lottery is, so she can't dream about winning it the way that I do.  So I just don't get it. 

Just like I don't get any sleep.  It's time to start stocking up on coffee for mumma and baby Unisom for Elly.  (That's a joke, I'm not actually drugging my child... unless someone finds a legal loophole of course.  Like I said, I'd sign off on just about anything right now.)

Nightmares of the Working Mom

I feel like I'm living a nightmare right now.  It's weird, because so many things are positively falling into place as I get out of the Navy and transition into the real world.  Everything except one: daycare for Elly.  Now that we're all moved out of base housing and temporarily settled with Abby, the next hurdle in my life is finding full time daycare.

First of all, watching a marathon of Law and Order: SVU is really not helping my daily panic attacks when it comes to for Elly’s childcare.  (Kids getting murdered and neglected all the time.  Who the hell let me have the remote?)

And it obviously can't be just any daycare.  I have a laundry list of requirements, but when tasked with typing them all out in an ad on Sittercity. I drew a complete blank.  I think I'm actually paralyzed with fear just thinking about leaving her with a stranger.

I'm a psycho new mom.  Like I take crazy to a new level when it comes to Elly.  So I constantly picture wherever I drop her off, the lady will smile and wave, and then as soon as I'm down the street, Elly's left to crawl through glass and cigarette butts, eat the dog food, play with everything dangerous, left in her own filth and the lady that said she spoke English can't actually read any of the instructions I left.  I show up and my daughter is completely traumatized and I collapse in a heap of working-mom guilt.

Just typing this is making me cry. 

Because there isn't going to be anyone in this world that can do what I do.  Not even my own mom, but she's the next best thing! She at least keeps my daughter on a schedule.  I on the other hand have let it all go to shit.  Ok, so maybe there is at least one person in this world that can do what I do... probably because she's already raised my daughter once when she raised me.

But still....

I keep envisioning child neglect and abuse and just plain old craziness in every daycare.  And yet, I'm stuck.  We're a two income family.  It's what works for us.  (Especially in the most expensive place to live in America according to the latest census information.  I also live in the #1 wealthiest county in America.  The median income is around $89,000.  I won't be making that.)  So I have no choice but to find daycare.

I'm also a coupon clipper and deal shopper.  But this isn't exactly one of those things you become a full-on penny pincher.  Because who skimps on their child care?  If there's anything in this world that the saying "you get what you paid for" more closely describes, I'd be shocked.  Honestly.  If you're going to be paying pennies to some secret evil witch, you can't be surprised when you show up at the end of the day to pick up your kid and she's in the oven.  But on the other hand, we can't exactly afford an au pair!  Geez! We're not one of the Real Housewives of DC couples!   

Now, I know I'm making this so much worse in my head than it actually is.  I get that. 

I know I will eventually find the perfect place for Elly and it will become a second home for her.  And maybe that's what scares me just as much (if not more).  What if I find a place that's just so perfect, that she likes the babysitter more than me?  What happens if she loves her more than me because she spends all day with her and not with me?  And now I've come full circle in the working-mom guilt. 

This is why I'm living a nightmare right now.

The Art of Compromise SUCKS

The last few weeks since Stoofy returned home from Washington has had its ups and downs.  Just like every time we reunite after a separation, there's some getting used to and getting back into the swing of things. 

Mostly, it's a fight over compromise.  When we have to go our own ways for deployments (or this last time, he was our "advanced party" for our move west, which didn't transpire) we have no choice but to become independent of one another.  He has to learn to fend for himself when it comes to eating and doing laundry.  I have to suck it up and take out the trash and get the oil changed. 

When we reunited, it's a matter of relinquishing a bit of that independence and depending on one another to work as a team.  It's all about compromise.  And let's just go ahead and say it: I DON'T LIKE TO COMPROMISE. 

Honestly, what's the point when I'm right? (I should probably stop writing this if I ever have a dream of running for Congress some day... oh wait, no one there compromises either.  I'll fit right in!) I mean, who wants to give up the TV remote to watch another mind numbing episode of Family Guy when I still need to catch up on my RHWofNJ, RHWofBH, and Jersey Shore? Uh, not this Betty.

And if you ask Stoofy who's right during our 'disagreements' he'll tell you he's right.  So, there you have it... two stubborn, unwilling to compromise people... married.... FOR-EV-ER.  (How the hell did this even happen? Oh yeah... LOVE)

Our latest issue to find a compromise on: Elly's sleep patterns.  She's had a dedicated bedtime for about 2.5 months... until daddy came home and decided to put her to sleep when he feels like it.  And semi-dedicated nap times through the day? Yeah, those are long gone and nap time is when he feels like it. 

Now, I've tried to be flexible, I've tried to explain it's good to have a set routine.  Kids thrive on routine.  According to him, this is his routine. (It's like you can see the speeding train about to de-rail and yet, no one does anything to stop it.  You can see how this is about to work out, right?)

Ok, fine.  I'll give in.  Except, now the consequence is she wakes up screaming for an hour and a half at 2 in the morning.  And who gets the privilege of waking up, calming her down, and waiting for her to cry it out?  Me. Stoofy snores right through it all, since that's his contribution to the compromise according to him.  And each morning he wakes up wondering why I didn't come to bed.  Seriously? 

And this is why compromise sucks.  I hate it and I don't like to do it.  I want it my way damn it!  And I want some fucking sleep!!!! 

So here's my compromise to him: When she wakes up screaming tonight (because I know she will), I'll be elbowing him until he's awake, and he can come stand next to me and wait for her to fall back asleep (two hours later).  The compromise?  All three of us can be sleep deprived and miserable.  Because fair is fair!

I think it'll only take one night of that for him to compromise and see it my way again! :-)  Because if mama ain't happy, nobody happy!

The Meaning of Mom

Mom, mommy, mama, mother, mum... It all means the same thing. They all refer to the woman responsible for raising you.

Moms come in all shapes, sizes and forms. Most moms have given birth to their kids, but not all moms have to. Some women raise kids that aren't theirs, but still care for them as if they are. I'd call those women heroes. (Anyone willing to take on someone else's kid needs a medal!) Either way, it doesn't really matter how you became a mom, it still means the same thing. 

If there's one thing I've learned in the last 6.5 months, it's that being a mom is seriously hard work! And what's really crazy is this is ONLY THE BEGINNING! It only gets harder from here folks. FML. (Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't take back a second of it and Elly is easily the best thing I've ever done in my life!)

If you look up what MOM means in the dictionary, you just simply get a woman who raises a child.  I find that to be completely lame.  So here's what I've got so far as to what being a MOM means:

Incubator
Milk maid/ dairy cow
Storyteller
Human paper towel
Sherpa
Pacifier
Photographer
Disciplinarian
Magician
Short-order cook
Hostage Negotiator
Baker
Guidance counselor
Taxi driver
Caregiver
Alarm clock
Telephone operator
Maid
Zookeeper
Mediator
Endless ATM/ Money tree
White noise
Fashion consultant
Listener
Mathematician
Seamstress
Fortune teller
Diaper gene
Teacher
Firefighter
Coach
Party planner
Nag
Confidant
Doctor
Back scratcher
Hair stylist
Personal assistant/ Scheduler
Instruction manual
Travel guide
Toy/ jungle gym
Scout leader


It reads more like a job listing than a definition.  I think it's because ultimately, mom's really have to do it ALL.  Not that dad isn't there to help here and there, but when your kid is crying in the middle of the night, dad isn't likely to hear a thing (or at least Stoofy doesn't!).  But mom, she doesn't sleep a wink, so she can be there in a flash if needed.

Mommy Moisturizer

As a new mom about to get out of the military and join the world of it-matters-what-you-look-like, I've begun to care more about my beauty regiment. I'm also very fortunate to have a daughter who cares just as much about my looks as I do now.

She cares so much that she's willing to help moisturize my face daily.... With her mouth.

It's my own fault, honestly. I taught her 'KISSES!' so she now loves to give them.

She gives me, Stoofy, the dog, the carpet, blanket, mirror, Bumbo tray, table, toys and any other objects she can yank toward her mouth KISSES!

But she's a sloppy kisser. Not only does she kiss with her entire mouth open (including when she kisses the dog) she drools like a hound.

She's also an incredibly aggressive kisser. When she wants to land one on me, she grasps my hair in both of her little jaws-of-life claws and yanks my face into her mouth.

She actually tries to consume my chin. It's not like I've got a Leno chin or anything,

but that doesn't stop her from kissing/eating/drooling on it.

She also tries to kiss/eat my cheeks and in doing so gets her slobber all over my face. She's kind enough to wipe it off, but ends up just smearing it further around my face.

And this becomes my mommy moisturizer. She's locking in moisture with her drool. Talk about disgusting!!!

You remember the scene in 'Turner & Hootch' where Tom Hanks finds drool trails all over his house and car and you cringe at the thought of it? Yeah, I live that every day.

Unlike the commercials you see about some magical serum that will turn back the hands of time to beautiful, youthful skin, this slobber actually turns back the clock TOO FAR! It makes me break out like a 13 year old hitting puberty. (I actually have a pizza face.) I can't remember when I had zits this bad on my cheeks!

But alas, they're there. And it doesn't look like there's an end to it soon. Because even though I'd rather not have a pizza face, I still wouldn't traded it for the mommy moisturizing kisses I get on a daily basis.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Taking a PJ Day

If you live on the East Coast then you're getting dumped on right now.  And by dumped on I mean rain not being defecated on.  (Unless you pissed off Lady Luck/ Karma/ or some sick, twisted fucker, then that's not only gross, but your own fault. Or you could just be a mother of a child with IBS.)

It's super soggy out, standing water everywhere, reports of flooding coming from all over the region.  Basically we're ankle deep in a monsoon.  So in the last couple weeks I've survived an earthquake, hurricane and now a monsoon.  So that would make me a what? A quakecanesooner? QUICK! Someone get me a glass of wine... or better yet, a cookie!

And the more the clouds roll in, the rain falls, and the temperatures drop, I can't help but feel like a waterlogged slug.  I don't feel like doing anything.  I just want to wrap up in my quilt and lay on the couch in my pajamas.  The problem with that plan is that I'm now a mother.  PJ days as I once knew them are over. 

Don't get me wrong, I still wear my 'jammies' all day long, but it's because I never got a free moment to shower or change that day.  Now that Elly is growing at the speed of light, she's also on the move and needs more exciting play time. So I'm busy coming up with fun things to entertain her.  Often this involves singing and dancing through the house to Katy Perry. 

As much as I love spending time relaxing all day in my shorts and t-shirt pj's, I feel like a bum if I don't get dressed too many days in a row.  In fact, getting dressed and doing something with my hair (and GASP! putting on makeup) is more of a treat nowadays for me. 

It's like PJ days have become the norm and pretty days are the new treat.  I need to get back to a life where putting on pretty clothes feels ho-hum and laying around in my PJs feels like a treat.  I'm thinking the first step to weening myself off the PJ routine will be to get myself a pair of pajamajeans. I mean, they're pajamas, they're jeans, they're the best for crazy moms looking to wear clothes but still hang out around the house in their jammies!

Maybe my first step to wearing pretty clothes should be to stop watching infomercials in my PJs and start going to a shopping mall in real clothes! 


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Oreo Diet

I've decided I'm on the oreo diet.  It includes oreos, double stuffed oreos, and the SHUT THE FRONT DOOR oreos.  Yum!!!  And since being on this diet as of today, I've already noticed one cool thing: double stuffed oreo cookies actually have stamped on them that they are double stuffed!  See, being on an all sugar diet isn't a bad thing!  I still have my attention to detail :-)

I should add here that I'm not on a soley oreo diet, because that would be crazy.

I dip the cookies in milk, so I'm getting my dairy too. 

And I've passed on my cookie addiction to my daughter.  I have plenty of examples.

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Needless to say, she cares more about chips ahoy than oreos, but either way, she still loves cookies.  Just like her mother! 

I don't feel like I'm a bad influence if that's what you're thinking.  At least I'm not feeding her crack or anything.  Or actual cookies for that matter. 

But I, on the other hand, am sticking to my chocolate cookie with cream filling!

A Spoonful of Slop

Tonight Elly hit another exciting milestone: eating soupy food from a spoon!

I was trying to hold off just a little while longer, but she wasn't having it. Whenever she reaches the end of a bottle she gets upset and wants more.

She's her mother's child.

I mean, who doesn't get disappointed when they polish off an IHOP pancake combo meal with pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, and sausage? And when you're faced with that situation and feeling exceptionally gluttonous? Well of course you drive through Checkers next door and get a milkshake and fries!

(Let me add that I didn't eat anything else that day. And I made sure to eat salad the next day. Please don't report me to Child Protective Services as a terrible nursing mom! And let me also add that I wasn't alone in my fat-fest, Abby and our friend Fabz joined us and we had just attended a friend's funeral so we needed comfort food. Yes, I'm trying to rationalize eating my weight in pancakes. I'd prefer if you don't judge me, but I'll understand if you do.)

So of course I can't hold it against my own daughter when she wants more food. Turns out, she LOVES food! SHOCKING!!!

It wasn't anything special, oatmeal, expressed milk and a little pureed prunes to add a nice, non-binding flavor. And she just couldn't get the spoon in her mouth fast enough!

She kept reaching out, grabbing the spoon and shoveling her slop into her mouth. She was excited and impatient because I wasn't shoveling fast enough! Obviously I've been hold her back from the good stuff all her life.

And even though she was ecstatic, I was through the roof, but a little sad. Because she's now onto the good stuff. I get to watch her experience new tastes and textures. But I've also got my work cut out for me.

Because just when I thought the oatmeal in the bottle couldn't cause a more disgusting outcome, I've realized this is only going to make things worse. Talk about a five-alarm diaper change!

All because I started adding a spoonful of slop to my daughter's diet. Awesome!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

One of THOSE Parents

So I've realized I'm one of THOSE parents.  You know the kind where the kid is eternally embarrassed because the kid's mom is running around the ball park with six giant buttons of the kid's face on her wannabe letterman's jacket with the kid's name and number on it, face paint stickers to match the cheerleaders, screaming at the top of her lungs with pride, joy and pure fanatical, unsportsmanlike slurs at the umpires?  Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's going to be me. 

My daughter is just a wee 5 months old and I already know that's what kind of mom I am. 

This week has been the start of the Little League World Series.  And I'm totally sucked in like it's my own American Idol.  I find myself walking into the house and seeing another game is on and getting really into.  Like REALLY into it.  Every time there's a good play, I'm cheering on the team.  Any time there's a big play, a big hit, or a crazy call at the plate, I'm cheering.  When it's the bottom of the 6th (last inning in LL), and the team up to bat has 2 outs and they need a run or two to keep going, I get teary eyed thinking of the pressure that poor little kid is under to do his best.  And then I start crying thinking, my god, I'm going to have a kid in just a few years that will be playing in important games like this.  And I'm going to be a crazy wreck!

I'm crying over a kid that's not mine, I've never met, and I don't even know what his name is.  I just know I want him to get a hit so he can keep playing the game he loves!  And again, THIS ISN'T MY KID!

So what kind of basket case am I going to be when Elly is up to bat and the game is up to her?  I'm going to need to be escorted from the field, that's what I'm going to be.  Because if I see a ball coming across the plate that I don't think is a strike and the ump calls it as such, I'm going to probably hop the dugout and rip his eyes out.  Doesn't he know that he's doing that to MY baby?!?! 

And if the ump even thinks of calling her out when she's clearly just slid into home and was safe, I might get arrested for kicking the crap out of him.  Because I'm already that involved in the game. 

These kids playing in the LLWS are amazing!  They have so much heart and passion.  They are still just playing for the love of the game.  It's like watching the Sandlot over and over and I love it!

I'm a passionate sports fan.  When we win my spirits are sky high.  When we lose I'm in the dumps.  I'm invested and even if I'm not playing, my heart is still in it because I'm in the stands or on my couch (usually jumping on it) cheering.  Because that's what fans do! 

So in a few years, if you're at the ball park, football field, or ice rink and you see a crazy ass Betty running around with face paint, foam finger and cow bell, just know that's me and if you get in the way of my kid, I'll kick your ass. 

Nights of Torture

I was afraid to write this blog a few days ago.  I didn't want to jinx myself.  In fact, I'm actually still a little nervous to type what I'm about to type: my daughter finally sleeps through the night!

Now that I've put it out there, I'm sure that she'll get wind of it, figure out that she's still in control if she throws a fit, and we'll probably be back at square one tonight.  But until then, I'll just say this, Elly sleeping through the night + me sleeping through the night = SLEEP IS FUCKING GLORIOUS!!!!

I forgot how much I loved it!  I seriously forgot all about the amazing nights of sleep I used to get more than a year ago when I could just zonk out as soon as my head hit the pillow.  What's really terrible is that I took sleep for granted. (I'll never make that mistake again!)

Once I got pregnant that all changed.  I was as fat as a cow (news flash, fat cows don't sleep, they're too fat) and little did I realize then, that I would become an actual dairy cow (dairy cows don't sleep either because they're up all night making milk)! 

Last week I had a 3 day weekend.  So what better time to celebrate than to tell my daughter it's bed time so suck it up, be a big girl and CRY IT OUT!   Mom needs some sleep!

The first night was pretty much pure torture for her, me and my mom.  She woke up and screamed bloody murder.  Scream and scream and scream.  Here's your binky now shut the hell up kid! (I didn't actually say that to her, I think it was more like ssshhhh! and aldfkjosaduflkjdf adlkfjosdif because I was about 3/4ths asleep.)  She had a rough Friday and had a few naps, which is unusual for my kid. I, however, did not get a nap because mommies don't get naps. (In case you were wondering, that's also not in the baby books.)

But a funny thing happened on night two.  She only woke up twice and they weren't very long meltdowns.  Just a couple shhh's and popping the binky back in and TA DA! We've got sleep! 

And even better yet, by night three she slept all the way until 5:30 AM! Holy crap! That's like a miracle!  She's finally gotten the hang of it and I get my sleep back. 

Who knew that a few nights of torture could feel this good?! Now let's just hope she doesn't decide to punish me and stay up all night again.

Losing my hair... and my marbles

Before I got pregnant I had read that pregnant women have beautiful hair.  And for me, that was true.  My hair became so shiny and lustrous! It was beautiful and felt amazing!!!  I was already "blessed" with thick hair, but once I got pregnant, it was like I had a fortress of hair it was so thick!  And I couldn't stop petting my own head.  I must have looked like a freak, or P.Diddy stroking the furry wall.  Either way, my hair was gorgeous!

What the books forget to mention is that after you have the baby, all your hair falls out.  And when I say all your hair, I mean ALL YOUR HAIR!  Every day I find myself checking to make sure I don't have a bald spot where I just brushed.  My shower looks like Big Foot just got attacked by Edward Scissor Hands.  It's bad.  I've gotten to the point where I just collect all the hair in a little giant ball, rather than let it go down the drain because otherwise we're going to have a huge pluming problem! 

And then when I get out and actually brush my hair... forget it.  It's everywhere.  I feel like the sad, pathetic duckling that's molting and thinks it's the ugliest thing on the planet.  The problem is, I'm pretty sure I'm not about to emerge as a swan.  My swan hair was during pregnancy.  This whole ugly duckling thing is going in reverse for me and it sucks. 

On top of the "Great Shed of 2011" I'm also starting to grow some of the hair back.  So now I have all these crazy, wispy hairs that are half curly, half straight sticking out of my head everywhere.  They almost look like wayward pubes.  Sick! I have pubes on my head!!!!

To top it all off, I'm also losing my mind.  I also read during my pregnancy that women usually get "pregnancy brain" and can't remember things.  And I was told that this usually lasts for awhile after the baby is born, or can possibly be permanent.  Terrific!  So not only am I losing my beautiful hair and growing pubes instead, I also can't remember why I'm so upset about pubes.  Or remember where I just put the check book that's sitting in front of me, or remember that I have an appointment at some point sometime this week somewhere for some ailment that's been bothering me but that I can't remember what it is for the life of me today.  And the calendar I was doing so well at tracking everything in? Yeah, I have no idea where it's at so I'm now completely lost. 

If this is what it's like to get old, just shoot me now.  If it gets worse, I don't know what I'll do.  Actually, I probably won't do anything because I won't even remember that I'm upset that I can't remember.  What really worries me is what happens if I have another baby?  I honestly don't think my brain can take another blow like that.  I know my pube-hair cant!  Could you imagine molting pube-hair? Good God! What grows back to replace that crap???  I can't even begin to imagine! 

If I would have known I was going to be losing this much hair and my marbles, I probably would have invested in wigs and post-it notes.  Ahhh, the things my mother, and pretty much every other woman on the planet that has a kid, forgot to tell me about.  Elly just better behave during her teen years, or I might just forget to tell her these important facts!  Enjoy your swan hair while you've got it because it'll turn into pube-hair, and you'd better get a good calendar/ post-it system in place and attach it to your body if you ever plan on remembering anything after you have a baby kido!!!!

Until later
~Betty

Betty the Ferberizer

So my daughter hates to sleep.  It's literally torture for her (and for me) to put her to sleep.  She hates to take naps too.  We're talking 20 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  If not sleeping was a competition on Survivor she'd out wit, out last, and out play everyone, even Richard Hatch!

I read an article awhile back about people who are considered "short sleepers." They basically just don't sleep and they're genetically wired to not sleep.  And the gene mutation can be realized at a young age... say in the toddler years.  (We've got about 12 months before we hit that range, but still...)

I also read an article today from one of my baby sites I follow that said babies in the range of 3-6 months should get at least 12-15 hours of sleep a day.  Uh yeah, about that... we're not even close!  In fact, we resist sleep so much (and I say we because when she's not sleeping, guess who else isn't sleeping? Yup, that's right, me.) that I have plenty of time for reading.  News articles, not books.  I don't have that much time.  Plus she tries to rip the pages out and eat them because they're crinkly.

So basically what we have here is a classic case of I've already voided the warranty of my kid.  Awesome, no returning her now.  She's spoiled goods.  Great!  Now I just have to figure out how to make the best of a sleepless situation. 

And that's called sleep training.  (Again, the news articles) Apparently there are plenty of different ways to sleep train your baby and they come with varying levels of difficulty.  Kind of like video games and trying to train a dragon.  The most common way, and the one my husband is a fan of, is the cry it out method. It's actually not called that, but that's how it's referred as by Ferber, the baby sleep expert apparently. (I should note that Stoofy is still across the country right now, so I'm all on my own with this sleep thing while he sleeps in on weekends.)  

So I'm supposed to just get her on a bed time routine. Check
Lay her in her bed as she's sleepy but not completely asleep.  Check
Let her try to fall asleep on her own. Check
Don't worry if she cries. Kinda check
Let her keep crying for 5 minutes.  Check
Come back in the room and soothe her but don't pick her up.  Check
Go back out of the room to let her cry some more. Sad check
Back in for another round of soothing.  Check
Back out for crying.  Teary check
How long is this supposed to last? Check
When can I finally pick her up? Check
I picked her up but she's still screaming! Check
Is she supposed to cry for an hour straight? Check
This is bullshit and I'm soothing her now! Check
Ferber, you're a fucktard and I'm now sobbing, she's been crying for more than an hour and it's taking her another 20 minutes to just calm down and relax enough to try and soothe her to finally doze off.

And if you think all that crying made her sleep through the night, you'd be dead wrong.  She woke up again like clockwork at 11, 1, and 5.  She doesn't get fed for all of those wake ups, and she doesn't get held every time either because honestly I need to give my arms a break.  But, she wakes up and starts screaming and crying every time. 

So not only do I have a gene mutated baby who's a short sleeper, but I also have a baby who is only 5 months and has night terrors.  Awesome, this is going to be awesome!  I hope I can mutate into a short sleeper too!

Until later
~Betty

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