Good Mom/Bad Mom

You guys, we had a rough night. Little Mister didn't sleep at all, thus Big Mister and I didn't sleep at all. It’s been another 6 days since Little Mister pooped. AGAIN. He did have a little bit of a shart yesterday, but certainly not a 6 day poop shart. I also think he’s teething again since he’s sticking everything in his mouth- including my giant plastic crochet hooks. I so wish I had my camera while he was holding it while under his Fibonacci blanket yesterday. Of all the times to forget my phone at home…argh.

He's not napping today, either. I finally put him on the floor in my bedroom so I could have a minute to myself to…take care of business…and the next thing I know, the cat is running into the bathroom, her arthritic hips flailing, while meowing maniacally and pointing accusingly at Little Mister who was stealthily army crawling our way with a laugh on his lips, a twinkle in his eye, and a look of determination on his face. At least I hope it was “determination.” I’m afraid it was, “homicidal mania” and his “happy laughter” was, “Ima gonna get you, cat,” with “This ain’t no “twinkle” I be crazy, yo!”

I'm tired and a little bit on edge today and the only things that keep popping into my head were the following Good Mom/Bad Mom examples. And they gave me ideas made me giggle. I could really use a laugh today, so if you can add any to these, please do.

Ten Differences Between A Good Mom and A Bad Mom

Good Mom: Teaching your child the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you’d have them do to you.
Bad Mom: Teaching your child the Golden Rule: You poop on me, I poop on you.

Good Mom: Offering your baby your breast for some nutritious breast milk.
Bad Mom: Offering your baby your toe for some moldy toe jam.

Good Mom: Teaching your baby to say, “I love you, grandma!”
Bad Mom: Teaching your baby to say, “I’ll cut you, dirty whore!”

Good Mom: Securely fastening your baby to their car seat.
Bad Mom: Not fastening the car seat to the car.

Good Mom: Giving your baby a teething ring to help with the pain of teething.
Bad Mom: Taping your baby’s mouth shut so they’ll quit crying about their stupid teeth.

Good Mom: Offering your baby a variety of fruits and vegetables.
Bad Mom: Offering your baby a variety of road kill.

Good Mom: Teaching your child to pick up their toys and put them away.
Bad Mom: Teaching your child to pick up some hos and put them in ICU.

Good Mom: Letting your child play with a rubber ducky in the bathtub.
Bad Mom: Letting your child play with a plugged in toaster oven in the bathtub.

Good Mom: Clapping and laughing when your baby rolls over.
Bad Mom: Clapping and laughing when your baby rolls down an embankment.   

Good Mom: Gently rocking your baby and cooing, “Go to sleep, sweetie.”
Bad Mom: Not so gently hitting your baby with a rock while yelling, “GO TO SLEEP, BUTTMUNCH!”




Here's hoping tonight will be better than last night!


PS: I'm going to be participating in the 3rd Annual Knitting and Crochet Blog week this week. Should be fun! (Thanks to Libby for blogging about it, otherwise I'd never have known!)

Hot, Acrylic Lovin'

So, as I mentioned a few days ago, I have to rip apart Little Mister’s Blanket o’Love that I’ve been working on since last year since I am basically a neurotic perfectionist when it comes to my crochet. If there is a mistake or a hint of a mistake, or a whisper of a hint of a mistake, or if it sucks really, really badly, I need to rip it all apart and then do it over and over and over again until the planets are aligned and the unicorns are once again farting rainbows.

My Mister wishes I was this neurotically obsessed about keeping our house in a perpetual state of perfection, or at least NOT in a state of OMG THERE MUST HAVE BEEN A TORNADO SO CALL FEMA NOW! But we all know that is plain silliness because I need to work on perfecting my crochet which leaves the sum total of zero minutes to work on the house. Dishes are dirty? Maybe a double crochet through back loop only will help me to forget about clean them. Floors need to be vacuumed? Maybe this fine lace weight alpaca/silk mix gorgeousness will magically distract me make the crap disappear. POOF! (If not, I’m pretty sure Little Mister won’t mind working on his pincher grip/self feeding skills he’s been utilizing as of late.)

As much as I obsess about my crochet, I must admit this particular project has me dragging my feet. I am having cold sweats thinking that I might give my sweet Little Mister something less than perfect, but the scope of what I have to do makes me think, “Well, he has to learn about disappointment sometime.”

What’s causing me this heartburn is the fact that I have to rip apart 60 rows or so of Tunisian color work. That's about 70 kajillion rows of regular crochet because Tunisian crochet eats regular crochet for breakfast, poops it out to make room for second breakfast and then still has more yarn to eat for elevensies and luncheon. Thus, I’ve been dragging my feet and not getting on with it since it is an incredibly, incredibly painful yarn-eating endeavor. Honestly, if I lived in the States and had easy access to the yarn, I might just start the whole thing again and give this one to my brother since he’d love it and I’d be totally ok giving him something that sucks is less than perfect. (Your turd sandwich is in the mail, li’l bro! *giggling and running away*)

Because it’s Tunisian, I have about 15 hundred million different colors in each row that start making passionate, sensual, worthy-of-Sting-tantric-sexy-time tangles with each other as soon as I release them from their crocheted chastity belts.

Actual yarn conversation, I swear:

Oooooh baby. She’s starting on our row. That’s right, baby. She’s going to loosen these bonds keeping us apart and we’ll be able to get all kinds of nasty, kinky, tangleness going on. Oh, come on, baby. You know you want to. Give daddy some hot acrylic lovin’!

And then I look away and blush and then make sure Little Mister can’t hear what’s going on because he’s much, much too sane young for this kind of thing.

So, this has been a sloooow process. And, since I need to do it but don’t really want to do it, I’m finding things to distract myself from the task at hand. Like *shudder* cleaning. *SHUDDER* (Truth be told, I’ve been pretty obsessed with my new vacuum and have been taking it out at any little provocation because it actually works and I’m all, “WHEEEE! LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” Although I think I’m so excited by the fact that, since it works so well, I don’t have to try to create a vacuum by holding in my farts anymore.)

However, I’m slowly but surely getting there. I know I’ll feel better once it’s all out and I can start working on it again. But, Little Mister? Turns out he’s a vindictive little guy.

RIP OUT MY BLANKET, I'LL RIP OUT YOURS!!!

Either that or he overheard the Tunisian crochet yarn conversation which means I've got a lot of therapy to pay for when he's older.

What's hot acrylic lovin' mama?

Free, Free, I'm Free At Last!

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m very pleased to inform you that The Eagle Has Landed. It took six days of nail biting apprehension, two days of trying to get apple juice down the gullet, and one thermometer up the backside, but it has finally happened. Little Mister finally pooped.

I know, I know. Y’all are probably saying, “This is way more than we needed to know about your child’s digestive behavior.” To which I have to say, “DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD BECAUSE MY BABY POOPED!”

You have no idea how very relieved I am about this. I have been lining his car seat with an inch stack of paper towels just in case. I’ve been massaging his tummy throughout the day being careful to aim him at his dad. I’ve been playing “Bouncy Bouncy” with him in hopes that vigorous shaking would somehow loosen his sphincter’s death grip on the payload. I’ve been sniffing his butt at night before I pick him up to feed him to avoid a midnight surprise. DUDES! I’ve become a BUTT SNIFFER!! (Now there’s a sentence I’ve never thought I’d type. Oh, and hello to all you weird perverts who arrived here from googling butt sniffage. Sorry to disappoint you.)

(Actually, no, I’m not. Perverts.)

And then today, Day Numero 6 of Poop Watch 2012, I went to the Chemist (Pharmacist for you Yanks) and bought an infant suppository.*cue suspenseful music here* DUNN DA DUNNNNNN.

Oh yes. I was bringing out the big guns. To paraphrase Marvin Gaye, ain’t no butt cheek high enough, ain’t no diaper thick enough, ain’t no colon deep enough to keep me from getting the poop.

Fortunately, just the threat of having a little glycerol bullet shoved up his pooper was enough to get Little Mister to get with the program and release the hounds, as it were. *Dance of Joy*

So, we can all rest well tonight. He doesn’t have a full, uncomfortable belly to prevent him from sleeping peacefully and I don’t have to worry about what I’m going to find when I go sniff his butt in the middle of the night. Wait...I mean...I don't have to sniff his butt at night anymore. Yes. That's what I meant...

A Ticking Time Bomb

I don't know whether it's because he's still adapting to the new time zone here and recuperating from all the travels, or if it's due to the change in diet- he's been eating some solid foods this week- or if it's just to get back at me for eating cheese while in New Mexico and causing him intestinal distress, but whatever the reason, I am scared. Like SCARED scared. I am scared because my Little Mister has not pooped in four days. FOUR.DAYS.

This means, of course, that we are in for one heck of a doozy once it happens. And, since he's been eating some solid foods, it means that it's not going to be the "sweet" smelling breast milk poopies. It is not just going to stink, but staaank. After his first solid food poopy diaper a while ago, I seriously considered breastfeeding him until he was potty trained because, good golly Miss Molly! The smell was something like a mixture of old people farts and death. Fruit Roll Up boobs be darned- if he's not potty trained till he's 5, it's worth it.

The longest he's ever gone without a poop was three days and I'm still trying to recover from that one. I'm really not sure how we'll survive this one, but I really hope it happens tomorrow so I won't be alone with the carnage Little Mister won't be so uncomfortable. It's like playing Hot Potato whenever we're holding him.

Me: Here you go, daddy! It's your turn!
Mister: But, ummm...I uhhh....I have important work to do on the taxes. Yep. Taxes.
Me: GOOD GOD, MAN! If he poops on me again, the IRS is going to be the least of your concerns!"

*Mister takes him*

*Two minutes later*

Mister: *halo burning bright over his head*

Little Mister: Ma mama ma ma mama mama ma ma

Me: *angry squinty eyes* You did that on purpose.


We are hoping to go on a slight road trip and then a hike tomorrow. If he hasn't pinched a loaf by breakfast, I'm thinking we are hunkering down for the day. If you don't hear back from me soon, send reinforcements.

Wait...There's a Lesson in Here Somewhere...

So today I was on laundry load numero 105 when the power went out. Just out of the blue- kerblewy. And then it was back on again a couple minutes later. It was one of those times where you think the power company is just messing with your head- a kind of prank to see how many people use UPSs and how many now had blown out TVs and appliances. They couldn't care a fig if both my washer and dryer had all of my baby's clothes in them since they were too busy giggling and pointing at me while I kept pressing the refresh button on my laptop before it dawned on me that no power = no internets. Uggggghhhhh.

While this was going down, I was waiting for Little Mister to wake up so we could go to our friend, Miss A's house for a play date with her daughter, Miss E. Miss E is 2 weeks younger than Little Mister and she and Miss A moved here 2 weeks after we did, thus making us kindred spirits in our postpartum frenzied states. She and I have been going on (at least) 4-mile walks nearly every morning, making her a very important component of my regular exercising (ok, ok- the *only* component of my regular exercising) as of late.

Little Mister had a wonderful 2-hour nap which I was going to very gently wake him out of to ensure he didn't sleep all day long and thus never get back into the topsy-turvy daytime schedule we both are adjusting to. Instead, a workman that I was expecting later in the day decided that, since he was in the neighborhood, he would stop on by, ring the doorbell, and thus scare Little Mister awake. Now, I'm not one of those moms you read about on STFU, Parents who thinks that the world should stop while her baby sleeps and gets angry if someone audaciously decides to *gasp*shock*horrors* ring the doorbell instead of sending smoke signals from the driveway to get my attention. However, since I was literally minutes away from gently waking him up to see his eyes slowly open, witnessing the recognition dawning in his face while his adorable, toothy smile slowly spreads as he looks at me, I was just a leeeeetle perturbed that this guy came 2 hours early, even after I had *just* spoken with him on the phone and requested he come later. UGGGGGGGGHHHHH.

So, after soothing my poor, startled Little Mister, I hurriedly got him ready to go, changed his diaper and threw a spare one in his bag while trying to find my house key that my very sweet friend and neighbor returned to me after looking after our old, arthritic cat while we were gone.

ANYwho, in my haste, I forgot that I have to wash his "big boy" (convertible) car seat since he had a poopy-problem in it during our trip. So, I had to use his infant car seat once again. We no longer have the base ready to go in our car since we don't use this car seat anymore. That's ok since we can use it with or without the base and, since Miss A lives about a mile from us, there was no need to set up the whole contraption. (Even though Little Mister is a big boy for his age, he's nowhere near the 35 pound weight limit for this car seat, thus he's still able to safely use it.)

So. I securely buckle him into his car seat, throw some toys on him to keep him occupied for the 2 minute drive, and let the service man know we were leaving so, if he needed to get into the house, he should have come at 2:30 like I told him he should. (No, I didn't tell him that...but I was thinking it very loudly with a very haughty voice in my head. Take that, service man!)

I get into the car and try to remember that I once again have to drive on the left side of the road and by the time I finish telling myself, "OTHER SIDE OF THE ROAD, GEGE!" we were pulling into Miss A's driveway. As I hurriedly made the turn into her driveway, out of the corner of my eye I notice a blob of color swoosh in the back seat, at the same time hearing a soft *thud* behind me. As I'm running through the events leading up to this moment, it dawns on me that, without the base of the car seat in the car, I have to manually attach the car seat into the car with the seat belt. As the wheels are slowly turning in my head, I look behind me and see Little Mister's cute little toes waving at me at eye level. Since I didn't hear any crying, I let out a sigh of relief thinking, "No tears = I'm still a good mom."

I throw open my door and rip the back one off it's hinges to see Little Mister looking at me, upside down, with a look that said, "I'm not sure what happened, but I can see my toes from here, mama!" I debated for a few seconds whether or not to take a picture, but then I thought that there would be tangible evidence that could be given to the authorities, so I thought, "Nah. I'll just blog about it instead."

Once I ensure my Little Mister is ok, I take him out and then have to promptly sit down as my body convulses with a maniacal laughter that is tinged with relief, disbelief, and hope that there were no witnesses nearby. As I furtively look behind my shoulders, I finally pull myself together and ring Miss A's doorbell.

We had a great play date, but as it drew to a close, Little Mister decided that he was going to get sweet, sweet revenge for my earlier transgression. Miss E was ready for her nap, so I pick up Little Mister and am walking towards the door, idly chatting with Miss A when Little Mister does a huge, full body convulsion in my arms, grunting a slight, "Ugh!"while  nearly wrenching himself free. I clamp down on him thinking, "Not on my watch, bub! I'm a good mom!" And then, just as I'm starting to feel redeemed from the car seat incident, I also feel some wet warmth oozing down my arms and legs. As the wheels are slowly turning in my head, Miss A announces, "It's poop. Ohhh, it's poop," the horror evident in the slight quiver of her voice. With that one powerful push, he managed to splurt all over himself, me, and Miss A's carpet. UUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

She quickly ushered me into the baby's room where I did my best to clean things up. Of course, since the power went out in the middle of the dry cycle earlier today, I had no extra clothes to put Little Mister in. (When will I ever learn?!?) So, I loaded him back up into his car seat, swaddled in a towel from Miss A, deeply humiliated about messing up her carpet (ok, ok....99.5% humiliated...the other .5% was thankful it wasn't my carpet. Sorry Miss A....just keeping it real!) but I would be danged if I didn't secure that car seat in the car with the seat belt this time.

Ohhh yeah. Who has two thumbs and wins Best Mom of the Year Award?

*smug smile on my face*

Me.

Silly Rabbit- Teeth Are For Food!

Whew! I'm pleased to report that, after around 34 hours of travel time, my Misters and I have arrived back safely home Down Under. There were lots of little snafus along the way (including one where they upgraded Big Mister to first class while banishing me to the very back of the plane with Little Mister on my lap...uh yeah. Thankfully for our marriage we got that one worked out.) but all-in-all, we got home safely and all I could think of was, "Oh dear Lord do I need to brush my teeth." Seriously. I think my teeth melted en route from Sydney. Heck, I think Little Mister's teeth melted when I kissed him. Blech.

Oh yeah...did ya catch that? Little Mister's TEETH. As in, multiple. When I last updated about his teething (right before Christmas), he had cut his first tooth. About 2 weeks later, his second bottom tooth showed up. About 2 weeks prior to our trip (about a month ago), both his 2 upper front teeth broke through at the same time. And then, right smack dab in the middle of our trip, 2 more top teeth broke through...again...at the same time.

My poor, poor Little Mister. Not only was he dealing with an international flight, jet lag, long car rides, meeting strange new people for the first time, and a toilet breath mommy, he was also dealing with a mouthful of teeth that decided to show up all at once. He was such a trooper on this trip. He really doesn't complain much at all and the only time he cried (instead of just fussed) was when mama couldn't control herself and ate cheese on her red chile enchiladas. I told myself it was ok to eat the cheese since he should have outgrown his dairy protein allergy by now and, since I was in New Mexico (which in Spanish means "Cheese is Life"), I was almost 100% certain that he wouldn't have a reaction since it's the Land of Enchantment, and we all know that "enchantment" means "magic" which means I CAN EAT THE MAGICAL CHEESE, DARNIT!

*hanging head in shame*
*magical shame*

So, no. He's not outgrown his allergy yet and I am back on track with my dairy free meal planning. I do hope he outgrows it soon- not for my benefit, but for his. If he doesn't outgrow it, he may have to be very strict with his food intake to prevent ingestion of any sort of dairy protein, which quite frankly is everywhere. For now, I don't worry about his food intake since the boy WILL NOT eat.

Yes. You read that correctly. He is 8 months old and refuses to eat food. As my dad asked, "Then how did he get so big? Just from you?" The answer: that's correcto-mundo.

I started offering him solids at 5 1/2 months, though he never really took to it. I kept offering him some foods every so often to see if he would magically discover that food is delicious, but to no avail. Right before we left on this trip, he was finally accepting some foods sometimes. However, during these last 2 weeks, whether due to the changes associated with travel, his teething, a growth spurt, or all of the above, he's refused to eat almost completely.

I'm not too worried about it. He's obviously thriving on breast milk, so I'm not concerned about his growth. Also, I know he knows how to eat, so I'm not worried that he'll be one of those kids who has to eat pureed foods until they're 10. I'll just keep offering foods to him while reminding him that I'm a professional in this area so he can trust me when I say, "Eat this" and hope he'll believe me sometime soon. Because Lord knows he's also not going to be one of those kids who is breastfed until he's 10, either. *shudder*

(I was just picturing the state of my boobs after breastfeeding for 10 years. Let's just say "fruit roll up" isn't a term you want associated with your breasts.)

Ahem. My eyes are up here, people.

Ok, I'm really fighting this jet lag hard and am very much losing the battle. My Mister just got home from work and I need to make him some dinner. Why he didn't take today off is beyond me. I would have called in "Jet Lag" and make them prove it's not a real sickness. And then I would have gone, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAA" and breathed on them. Because I'm mature like that.

AND WHOOSH! A Month Disappears

So, wow. I can't believe how quickly January disappeared, taking me with it. I've had so many different blog posting ideas bouncing around in my brain but then, just like *that*, I'm thinking about cheese again. (I think I may die if I don't get a slice of pizza in the very near future.)

We have all been sick this past week which is never fun, but when it's your 6 month old's first cold of his life and he wakes you up at 2:30 in the morning with a croupy cough, it pretty much sucks monkey balls. Although, I was able to have an enlightening talk with my BFF Lyteyz and learned an important lesson in breastfeeding a sick child. Y'all can credit Lyteyz with coining the term "Booger Boobs." I've thankfully not had to experience that glorious benefit of breastfeeding since Little Mister only had a cough. I ended up with all the rest of the cold symptoms so I pretty much feel like death right now. And since it's summertime in the Land of Oz, I don't know if I have a fever or if my head is hot simply because, based on the temperatures, this is the land Down Under Hell. It's been over 100 degrees for most of the past 2 months and I have discovered something very important about myself- I DO NOT like the hot. DO NOT.  It is a "dry heat" and so instead of being drenched in my sweat, it dries very quickly leaving me salty and smelling like the wrong end of a dingo.  DO NOT LIKE THE HOT.

Luckily things will start to cool down in about a month or so, so I'll hopefully finally be able to step outdoors and go on walks with Little Mister again. (Actually, just checked the weather and it looks like the next two days are going to be only in the low 90's which means we may be able to go for a walk in the morning! YAY!)

I've been on a crochet binge as I'm working on my "Secret Project" and I hope to have it finished by the end of next week since we're going to go on a mini holiday (Ha! I'm so Aussie now!) at the end of the month. We're going to visit Brisbane and the Gold Coast and I'm sooooo excited about it! I've already staked out some yarn stores I want to check out and hope to find some yummy Australian wool which would be great!

For now, I am working with the Lion Fisherman's Wool and I must say I'm loving it. It's my first wool project that isn't supposed to be felted, so of course I'm worried sick I'm going to accidentally felt it before sending it off and then I'll not be published and then my life will be ruined. (Whaaat? Melodramatic?? Moi?!?)

Anywho...I had more to say but now I can't remeber because there was a commercial for cheddar. So. You know.

Ok, y'all. I hope your 2012 is going well so far!

Sleep is a Battlefield

With all due respects to Pat Benatar, I'd like to propose that love is merely a Plain of Contention and that sleeping with an infant is the true battlefield. 

Last night was the first night in I can’t remember how long that Little Mister actually slept 5 hours in a row. From around 7pm to 12am, with fidgeting only once at 10 where we had to turn on his mobile in his crib thus knocking him back out again, he was asleep. Blissful sleep. This was great for us since we have started going to bed earlier, especially since Big Mister had to go to work the next morning, so we were able to take advantage of those extended hours of sleep, right?

You are so wrong! Ha! Had you going there for a moment! Suckers!

Yeah- I ended up having insomnia for the first half of the night. I *never* have insomnia. If anything, I’m more of a Super Narcoleptic- able to fall asleep in a single bound. But, last night, for whatever reason, me no sleepy. Argh.

So, I was basically a zombie all day today. So glad I could keep the status quo. I guess the upshot of the day is that I learned two very valuable lessons. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about them, though.

Lesson One: Time to Wake Up!

I was finally able to fall asleep during Little Mister’s morning nap after earnestly praying that he would not only fall asleep, but stay asleep for a few hours- preferably all day if possible. Unfortunately, after just one measly hour of slumber, the time came. The time when Little Mister decided, “YAY! Its morning time! Wakey, wakey birthday cakey!” and then immediately put “Operation Wake Mommy Up” into effect.

He started with ever so gently petting my face which quickly escalated to punching me in my eye. Hey- I can’t blame him. He’s still developing his gross motor skills and I’m sure he meant to gently pet me once again, but his arm was behind his back and all he could do was roll over so that the momentum would carry his chubby arm over his body where it would hopefully make contact with my cheek but instead resulted in giving me a mild concussion. When that didn’t work, he simply went old school and pulled my hair. I debated filing for elder abuse but decided to keep sleeping instead. I mean, it was just a mild concussion. No big whoop. It's amazing how much I can ignore to win the sleep battle. And then, he did it. He pulled out the big guns- the one thing he knows- KNOWS- will wake mommy up. Oh yes- it was all systems go! *aOOOOga! aOOOOga!* Commence the Bubbly Farts!!

Dagnabbit. Sly little sucker. He wins.

Lesson Two: Time to Go to Sleep!

Later in the morning, my sister and I (and her roommate, our good friend) were able to Skype, for which I’m ever so thankful since I now have tangible proof that I have a case for elder abuse. You see, Little Mister was behaving pretty well for his auntie….until it was nap time.

Oh the humanity!

I could see the little wheels in his brain turning as he thought, “Hmmm….” *strokes chin* “If beating up mom works to wake her up, it might work to get her off the phone and feed me so that I can get my beauty rest.” And then he put his fingers together and said, “Exxxxcelllent.”

And then he pummeled me.

So, I got off the phone with my sister and fed him.

DANGIT! He wins again!

Don’t believe me? I HAVE PROOF!!!

Behold: A screenshot from my sister’s phone!

Feed me, Monkey! And charge your phone, Auntie!

I think those rings gave him super power or something. I'll know for sure once my jaw is no longer wired shut.

So, I learned that when it's time to wake up, he beats me and when it's time to go to sleep, he beats me. Hmmm....not too sure I'm liking this development.

Ok. It's time for me to put on my armor. It's bedtime. You and me, Little Mister. It's on like Donkey Kong.

'Twas the Day Before Christmas...

...and all through the house, Gege was crocheting, with a baby under her blouse...

Oh yes, my friends. Even though I've been crocheting quite a bit in the last few months (though not quite getting the whole "finishing" thing), I brought out my hooks on Christmas Eve because I was on a mission. An important Christmas mission to save our poor little Charlie Brown tree from looking entirely sad and dejected, not to mention naked. We had the lights. We had the bulbs, though not the hooks for the bulbs, so, you know. We had the lights.

We even had gifts. Or, at least I had some gifts. My Mister didn't because he was married to a Grinch this year who hadn't wrapped any gifts yet. She's just lucky there is something called "expedited shipping," otherwise she would have had a large I.O.U. to give her wonderful, thoughtful, Christmas-loving husband and then have to look at his large, blue eyes, brimming with disappointment, and feebly say, her voice cracking ever so slightly, "Surprise...? Heh...heh.... Ummmm...thank you for all the thoughtful gifts that you bought for me ages ago....yours are on their way....heh! Ummm.....Look what I can do!" and then try tap dancing, but since she has dance moves akin to Elaine on Seinfeld, she just ends up looking like a deranged woman in the midst of a grand mal seizure.

Ahem.

As I was saying. Something we didn't have was a tree skirt for our tree. However! I do have yarn- lots and lots of yarn and so, being the easily distracted innovative girl that I am, and to do some stash busting as well as show Big Mister that having a ginormous yarn stash is actually a good thing, I decided to crank out a Christmas tree skirt. In just over 24 hours.

A largish crochet project? With little time to complete it? And a grumpy, hungry baby to feed all day long, as well? Oh yeah, baby. BRING IT.

I actually started it the night before Christmas Eve, thinking I'd have loads of time to get a huge chunk of it done while Little Mister was sleeping. Especially since we still had some last minute shopping to do on Christmas Eve, including grocery shopping for the amazing Christmas meal that I had not yet planned. Hey- I thrive on stress and am so much more productive when I've procrastinated until the very last moment. Or so I like to tell myself. And I usually believe me, even though I know that I will usually lie to myself in order to make myself feel good. "Oh no, Gege. Of course breastfeeding means you can eat dessert every night without gaining weight since you're burning so many calories. Besides. Nutella and crumpets are healthy. Says so on the container."

I figured I'd use up some of my cotton yarn since I had quite a bit and, if it got too hot under the tree, it wouldn't melt like acrylic. Brilliant! Or so I thought.

You see, I've been crocheting an awful lot of lace weight stuff recently. I have just discovered lace weight and I'm in love, but I'll go more into that later. The point I'm trying to make here is that my fingers have gotten used to luxuriously soft lace weight alpaca and, as such, have become quite the prissy little digits. They scoff at anything so thick and blundering as sock weight, much less the hefty boorishness of worsted weight, so the choice of a worsted weight yarn was bad enough, much less that the yarn was also cotton. *shiver*

You see, crocheting with worsted weight cotton yarn is....oh geez. I can't come up with a metaphor strong enough to convey the torture my poor hands went through while trying to create a little Christmas cheer for my naked little tree. Crocheting with cotton is dumb. And extremely painful. And the fact that cotton becomes like a Chinese finger trap when it is wet making it near impossible to crochet with it at all, much less crochet quickly under pressure when your hands are so wet and clammy because you are afraid you set yourself up an impossible goal and yet you so desperately want some Christmas cheer in your house and so you are going to make this tree skirt RIGHT NOW because the Baby Jesus didn't complain about being wrapped in swaddling clothes, so stop complaining and work those fingers, monkey!

And so I crocheted with the stupid cotton. I could have stopped and used acrylic since I had all the colors I needed, but, what can I say? I'm stubborn and just a wee bit mental, so I continued on and on with the stupid cotton. Did I mention it was stupid?

I restarted 3 times the night before Christmas Eve because I couldn't figure out the right color combination I wanted to use. I had a lot of colors so I thought I'd use them all so that our little tree would look like it threw up a rainbow which was why it had no color on it's branches. But, it just didn't feel right. And My Mister said, "Well, it's nice, but it's not Christmas." So, I decided to do something much more simple- a dark berry red, black, and white to resemble a Santa outfit. Brilliant! (Truth be told, I was stuck on the rainbow throw up...it was My Mister who suggested the red/black/white combo because he wanted a tree that didn't suck.)

First try with a rose color- beginning of rainbow puke

Christmas Eve morning, I was out the gate with 10 rows (out of 30) down. (I'm making a 9-point star, or round ripple, but without closing it.)

Christmas cheer- can you feel it??

Then I had to take a break and go last-minute Christmas shopping (picked up some paperclips to use as ornament hooks, too- take that, Scrooge!), scare Santa, 

He has his mother's Christmas cheer. *wiping tear* That's m'boy!

eat lunch, and feed Little Mister a few times. I crocheted a little bit in the car, but still only completed 5 more rows.

15 rows down and a blister starting to form on my thumb. Hard core crochet, y'all.

Little Mister was having a Dickens of a time with his teething and was a complete Scrooge the rest of the afternoon. (HA! See what I did there??) Thankfully Big Mister was home so we could take turns pacifying the beast the poor little guy. However, since I alone have the ability to feed him, I ended up not having much crocheting time, no matter how hard I tried learning how to crochet with my feet.

20 down! THE REST OF MY LIFE TO GO.

By the end of the night, I had run out of the berry so I had to start the white a little earlier than I had anticipated. But, I ended up having 5 rows left when I started the white, so my OCD with numbers was appeased. 

I had to stop crocheting and wrap presents so that My Mister wouldn't have that sad, puppy dog look in his eyes as he looked at my ever growing pile of presents. Oh yes- that hard lump of coal where my heart should be had started to soften.

We woke up Christmas morning and I had only one thing on my mind- NEED TO FINISH THAT TREE SKIRT! Who could think of presents when there was crocheting that needed to be done? PUT DOWN THAT STOCKING, MONKEY! No unwrappy until I finish! HI-YA!

I had just over 4 rows to go and crocheted while we watched the online Christmas Eve service of our old church in VA and while Big Mister played with Little Mister and while I ate breakfast and after I fed Little Mister for the second time. Crochet, crochet, crochet!

And finally....I finished!

CHRISTMAS! And Santa! And CHRISTMAS!

So then we could put the presents under the tree.

My Gummy Bear!

Although Little Mister was ashamed that I had not weaved in the ends before putting it in use.

Ughhhhh. What am I going to do with her?

But Santa Koala approved.

I'm a koala and I approve of this skirt.

Merry Christmas, y'all!

All I Want For Christmas Is My Gummy Bear

So I woke up this morning and was snoozily feeding Little Mister in hopes that he'd fall back asleep but instead I startled him awake with my own ear splitting screech because the little turd my dear sweet darling had gummed me really, really hard. He of course then looked up with me and smiled his heart melting, little gummy smile that he reserves for me alone during feedings. The smile that says, "Oh there you are mama! I missed you!" as well as, "TEEHEE! I'm a carnivore! NOM NOM NOM!"

It's been weeks since he started teething- or at least what I assumed was teething. He has had the droolies, the gnawing on everything in sight, the grumpiness and the clinginess going on. He's been inconsolable at times- usually in the evenings when his daddy gets home which means poor Big Mister rarely gets to see the happy, smiling, laughing little baby I get during the day. Well, for parts of the day, anyway. There are so many times when I know he's tired. I know he's hungry and that nursing him will help make him feel better as well as knock him out cold, thus making me feel better. But he does not want to eat. Nor does he want to sleep. He wants to fuss and be an all around grump for an extra 30 minutes before he finally relents and believes me when I lovingly coo to him, "You're sleepy tired and mama needs you to go to sleep now before her head splits in two and then you'll have to live the rest of your life with the guilt that you killed your mama and you don't want that hanging over your head, do you sweetie pie?"

I've been hoping that his tooth/teeth would hurry up and poke through so that he wouldn't have to greedily shove my hands in his mouth whenever he got them in his iron clad grasp. I've given him all sorts of teething rings and suckers and even tried an icy sock, but all to no avail. The only teething relief he enjoys is human flesh, and as my friends, in-laws, and his doctor have all found out, he latches really well. In the midst of a particularly furious hand-gnawing session, my father-in-law even asked me, "Has he ever...uh....hurt you....uh........," and I let him know that I've been very lucky in that respect. 

It's mine! All mine!!

As the days turned into weeks and no teeth showed up, I started second guessing my assessment- perhaps he wasn't really teething, after all. Perhaps I just do have a slobbering grump as a baby who is only truly happy when he's eating or otherwise gnawing on human flesh. Perhaps he's a vampire. I knew I shouldn't have read the Twilight series while pregnant. Wait a second. Does he sparkle in the sunlight? 

And then this morning, when I was Skyping with my sister, she took a screenshot of my little Dracula taking a bite out of my hand, which she thought was very funny.

She's so gorgeous that it looks like she's posing even though she's merely laughing at me being turned into the undead.

It was right after this picture was taken that I realized there was a sharp thing in his mouth that was poking me and it kinda hurt. I hope he didn't swallow one of my toenails or something. And then it dawned on me. My Little Gummy Bear finally got his first tooth. 

*Quick inhale while fanning my face* 

He's growing up too fast!! 

*sobbing*

*dawning on me that he wasn't gumming me this morning as he was nursing*

My poor, poor booblies. 

I miss my Little Gummy Bear already.

A Team Effort

Oh dear internetz full of people who are well rested and ready to face the day. How I envy you. As Little Mister keeps getting bigger and bigger and the months roll by, (seriously?!? Christmas is THIS weekend?? Oh crap.) I can’t help but wonder WHEN THE HECK IS HE GOING TO SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT?!?

The night before last, I put him down at 6:30 like normal and then he was fussing and wanting to eat at 9:30 and then every hour and half after that. You could set your watch by it. EVERY.NINTEY.MINUTES. Even with his earplugs in, Big Mister was having a difficult time sleeping through the constant noise and earthquake shaking I made getting in and out of bed. No matter how much shaking I make, I know it cannot possibly be as bad as when My Mister moves in bed. I am always afraid that he is going to do his mega flop from his back to his stomach and catapult Little Mister to the ceiling fan.

So, last night we were both so exhausted that we thought we’d be smart and actually go to bed early, though this never seems to work out whenever we try. I don’t know why it is, but we seem to never be able to go to sleep before 11:00. Last night, though, we took our showers at 9 and were in bed by 9:30 and drifting into dreamland by 10. Not as early as we were hoping (we had said we’d be in bed by 8- HA!) but still, an hour earlier than usual is a start.

Now, when we took Little Mister a bath, we had noticed something different….down there….but we didn’t think we should panic just yet- it could just be normal. Just to be sure, My Mister suggested that we (read: Your’s truly) should change Little Mister’s diaper in the middle of the night just to be sure. Since I knew I’d be up anyway, and since I wanted to make sure my little Snuggle Bug was ok, I steeled myself to take one for the team.

After being jolted awake at 11 for his second feeding (first was at 9, before we went to bed), I felt his diaper and thought he could go another few hours before needing a change. Then, at 1:30, I brought him back into bed to feed him again. I was so dang out of it that I decided that, of course he was normal down there, I didn’t need to check. Who needs grandkids, anyway? So I started to crawl out of bed to take him back to his, but I couldn’t get past the foot of our bed. I laid there, curled up in the fetal position at the foot of the bed while Little Mister slept with his arms straight out taking up my whole side of the bed. And I didn’t care. I was falling asleep with all of my body parts to myself and it was OH CRAP. I was jolted out of my sweet slumber by the worst sound possible at that moment. The bubbling farts had sounded the alarm.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I waited a second and thought, it was just one round of bubbling farts. It’s ok for him to sleep in his poop for a few hours because I am so tired and really don’t care if he has poop plastered to his butt in the morning. Sleep now. Chisel poop later.

And then the second round of bubbling farts erupted with the force of Mount St. Helen. And kept going. And going. And then the third wave.

I bounded out of bed and ran to the bathroom to put eye drops in since I fell asleep with my contacts and my eyes were pretty much little raisins in my skull. Then I ran back to the room and shoveled Little Mister off the bed and was about to put him onto his changing table. Big Mister was now awake and dangling from the ceiling fan.

I was too late. The Yellow Spot of Doom had made its presence known and was traveling up Little Mister’s back and down my arms. Worst of all, it had invaded our sheets and was trying to make it to the mattress, but I had anticipated such an attack and had fortified my side with a waterproof mat. Ha! Take that poop!

It was a two-man diaper change emergency. My Mister had to come and put a layer of paper towels down as the first barrier on the changing table. I then was able to put Little Mister, who had still been bubbling in my arms, down and strip off his PJ bottoms. I was about to go for the diaper, but yet ANOTHER round of bubbling farts erupted from Mount Doom. It went on and on and ON. While I was waiting for Shock and Awe to die down, I thought I was having a sleep deprived hallucination when I saw Big Mister spraying the pooped stained sheets with Windex. I’m still not sure why he chose that particular cleaning product. He was either sleep cleaning or he’s possibly part Greek.

The bubbling farts finally ceased and I was able to try to take off his diaper. As soon as I had the front panel down, Fount PeePee decided to help me wash the area. I then knew that everything was a-ok in that area and we could someday have grandkids who will one day avenge us for this fecal attack. Oh how I look forward to that day!
 
With my poop and urine soaked arms, I decided that it was now or never and called My Mister to help me with the careful extraction of the fullest diaper ever in the whole world. I knew you had to be careful with the fresh, very wet poopy diaper and not just whip it off which would allow the poop to pour out of the diaper and all over Little Mister’s legs and stomach. I am a good student and learned that lesson the first time around last week.

As I finished up with El Pooper, My Mister changed the sheets and we both were finally able to crawl back into bed. I brought Little Mister with me since he was now wide awake and chatting up a storm and could use a nursing nightcap to help him wind down. But, no. He wasn’t hungry and just wanted to babble and giggle and then punch his daddy in the nose. And we laughed.

My Mister: You are just lucky you make us laugh.

Little Mister: *giggle* *cooo*

Me: curled up in fetal position at the foot of the bed.

Welcome Home

Thank you to all you fellow mothers who have been giving me encouragement during these sleep-less days and reinforcing the fact that these days only seem interminable but will in actuality eventually end... one of these days. One of these long, long, never ending days I will indeed get more than 1-2 hours of sleep at a time. The crazy thing is that, cumulatively, I actually get around 8 hours of sleep. However, the constant waking up and never getting into a deep sleep really takes its toll, ya know?

These last couple weeks have been some of THE.WORST. in the sleep department. Whenever I hear, "He's 4 months old and still eating every 2 hours? Really? My little angel was sleeping 12 hours straight at 3 months. *smirky smirk*" I just want to ever so maturely, in my best grown up voice, tell them, "Yeah. Well you're ugly and so is your kid." And then moon them.

Even though I've been the embodiment of The Walking Dead, these last couple weeks weren't as bad as they could have been. My in-laws came for a 10 day visit for Thanksgiving which ended up being a huge blessing. Little Mister started waking up at 6am and wanted to tell us all about the awesome raves he attended in his dreams- complete with all the dance moves he learned- and I would weep as I realized my baby had better dance moves than me. My Mister would take him to the living room and let me sleep for an hour at which time Little Mister was ready for his early morning nap. He would eat and then sleep until 9am. This is his longest nap of the day and the only time I can "sleep when he sleeps." (And, yes, I may be a new mom, but I do know that I should attempt to "sleep when he sleeps." However, he takes 30-60 minute naps during the day. As soon as I close my eyes or get into a deep sleep (which is usually the same thing), he wakes up and I get a pounding headache. I feel more groggy and less rested than if I had just stayed up. Argh.)

Once he and I woke up, I'd bring him into the living room and let Grandma and Grandpa play with and entertain him until the next feeding time. I was able to get a little "me" time and for that I was very thankful. It was also nice to have help in the kitchen to prepare the Thanksgiving meal. I knew it was going to be a challenge not only because of Little Mister being a new addition to the equation, but also because all of my kitchen stuff was still en route and I had to do the best I could with very limited tools. It was quite funny, actually. We had to use the same pot- including washing it in between each dish- to boil the sweet potatoes, the regular potatoes (for mashed taters), the spinach (for creamed spinach...which I ate a little bit and then paid for it with a humungous diaper explosion from Little Mister the next day), and the brussels sprouts. It was also funny planning out how to cook/bake everything in the little teeny tiny hot-box they call an oven over here. (For reals- I had to use my neighbor's oven to cook the sweet potatoes since only the turkey fit in mine.)

The day after they left, another huge blessing occurred- our household items FINALLY made it here!!!!  WHOOOO HOOOOO! For the first time in 3 months, we were able to sleep in our own bed and eat on our own plates and even use our own toilet paper. Yes. We shipped over some Charmin since we learned the Aussies are not privy to the opulent, spongy, cloud-like pleasure wiping one's butt can be. 

So, we've been unpacking all weekend long and are just about finished. I must admit that it's kinda fun deciding where our stuff should go and it was like an early Christmas as we opened up boxes and said, "Why did we bring this crap?"

The best thing of all is that my yarn is back home!!! YAY!!! Ahhh....How I missed my precioussss. However, I was very distraught to learn that not ALL of my yarn made it here. I have A LOT of yarn. A lot, a lot. But, I also know what yarn I have and I could definitely tell that some of it was missing. I had quite a bit of brown wools (used to make several of my purses) as well as a great stash of the pink yarn for my Felted Watermelon Tote. They didn't make it. (Well, some of the pink did, but not all of it.) Honestly, had it not been some of the yarn that I use most often, I wouldn't have been so upset, but those happen to be the two colors that I use the most. A.R.G.H.

Another HUGE bummer- one that I don't know if I'll ever get over- is that a selection of my favorite books did not make it. I had set aside a collection of my favorite books to be mailed here when we packed out of our house so that I could read them during our 3 month wait time. Well, due to time and weight constraints, those books ended up having to be shipped here. HOWEVER, much to my dismay, that box must have gotten mixed up with the boxes sent to storage and now I don't know when I'll see them again. Many of them were my comfort and escape books- ones I've read numerous times like Jane Eyre, Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings. I AM SO BEYOND UPSET ABOUT THIS.

As I contemplate how I'm going to survive without some of my best literary friends, I can take comfort in knowing that our new home is starting to truly feel like "home" now. It's weird seeing our stuff in new places- and I'll readily admit I became a little weepy as I was unpacking and picturing each item in its place in our old home- but it sure does feel good having some familiarity around me now.

So, as I'm off to face another night cycle of sleep-wake-weep, at least I can do it on my own bed, snuggling next to My Mister while holding our new baby. Welcome home, Gege. Welcome home.

One of Those Days

A warning from My Mister: This is the longest post IN THE WORLD!

So, this lack of sleep thing is really starting to take its toll on me. I really wish I could get more than 1-2 hours of sleep at a stretch and….no. That’s it. MORE SLEEP PLEASE. I’ve been putting Little Mister in his crib after his first night feeding around 8pm and he’s been sleeping around 4 hours before needing to eat again. Now, this would be awesome if I actually went to sleep at 8pm to take advantage of those wonderful, glorious 4 hours. But, you see, those are 4 hours where I can be baby free and actually do things like BE WITHOUT A BABY for a few hours. So, I’ve been going to sleep around 11pm. That means 1 hour, 2 if I’m lucky, of sleep before he starts waking up again to eat. Dear Lord can that boy eat. And poop. Did I mention the poop? (Which, for the last 2 days has been a dark green and has been freaking me out once again. Yes, I’m doing research and it seems like it could be foremilk/hindmilk imbalance, which makes sense since he went from eating every 30 minutes to every 2 hours which means OH.MY.LANTA MY BOOBLIES ARE FULL.)

Once he wakes up to eat, he then eats every two hours until 4am at which time he eats (snacks, really) EVERY FREAKIN’ HOUR. Thus he’s back in bed with us which means the whole putting-him-in-his-crib-so-we-can-have-the-bed-to-ourselves thing isn’t working the way we were hoping it would. THUS, my brain is NOT working to its optimal capacity which, as I found out yesterday, REALLY REALLY SUCKS.

Let me back up a bit…. This weekend was the first weekend since arriving in Oz where our family is complete. We’ve been missing our little girl since she’s been in quarantine for the past month. I was so concerned for her since she is old, arthritic, and quite possibly possessed by Lucifer himself when in the presence of a vet.

Our darling little girl finally arrived home safely on Saturday and I was hoping to bring her straight home so we could conduct an exorcism she could de-stress from all she’s been through in the past month. Unfortunately, due to a urinary tract disorder she has to eat a special food that you can only get at a vet, and, as I found out on Friday, the local vet won’t just sell me a bag- they need to see her first since it’s a special food. Argh. I warned them about her special…uhh…personality quirk…but they still insisted they needed to see her prior to selling me some food. Ok, bub. It’s your funeral. So we headed to the vet straight from the airport.

Well, due to a lack of communication on their part (the turd heads didn’t tell me they charge an extra $30 for a Saturday visit), I opted to take her Monday. The thing about this decision is, Big Mister was with me on Saturday and Little Mister was well fed and sleeping so seeing the vet with our demonic spawn wasn’t going to be such a horrifying ordeal, especially since she was already safely in her cage from the plane trip and I didn’t have to wear my garlic and crucifix so I could wrangle her in there as her arthritic hips rotate like pinwheels made of sharp talons as she releases the deep throated YROOOWOOWWWWWWL call to her underlord master.

I set her appointment for early afternoon, giving myself 2 hours from my much needed chiropractic appointment to get in, get adjusted, get back home, pick her up, and then get to the vet. Factoring in a hungry baby? Nope. Didn’t do that. (That’s called foreshadowing, FYI.)

SO. Due to a rather unfortunate lapse in my New Mother Superpowers (WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME NOW???), I slept in with Little Mister trying to squeeze as much brain power as I could in those 1 hour chunks. Not only did it NOT boost my cranial capacity, but it also left me with only 30 minutes to get us both ready to make it to my chrio appointment. I’m still not exactly sure what the heck happened in those 30 minutes- I have vague memories of boobs and poopy diapers but curiously none of toothbrushes- but we somehow made it in the car and were barreling down the road in record time.

Now, it’s tough enough driving on the wrong side of the road when I’m well rested and not running late for an appointment; when I’m bleary eyed and not exactly sure when was the last time I shaved my legs and wishing I wasn’t wearing shorts and hoping beyond hope that I put on deodorant so that this new chiropractor wouldn’t have to put on toxic waste gloves to adequately adjust my poor crooked back, let’s just say driving on the right side of the road would have been a challenge. So, it really shouldn’t have come as such a huge shock when, after I blew past yet another non-descript white SUV (heck, even my car is a non-descript white SUV), it just so happened to be a non-descript white SUV with flashing lights and a siren. (Note to Little Mister: This was a lesson in things you should not do. You should not drive over the speed limit EVER but especially when you are in a foreign country and unsure of which side of the road you should pull over when chased by a cop. You should also never be chased by a cop. You should also never use those words you heard your mommy shout. And you should never leave the house without an extra pair of undies because you never know when you may soil them as you are breaking the law and cursing like a sailor.)

After quickly assessing whether or not my boobage would counteract my lack of grooming enough to get out of a ticket (why oh why didn’t I put on mascara at least? Or brush my teeth??), I resigned to my fate knowing I’d have some ‘splainin’ to do to My Mister when we got the arrest notice in the mail. After informing me that I was going 100 in an 80 zone (it sounds so much more impressive in miles than kilometers), the cop, whether because my boobage worked or because he could smell the stench of rabid desperation of an unbathed new mother running late, let me off with just a warning which made me think that this day was not going to be as bad as I first thought it was. Yeah. Optimism is stupid.

When we finally made it to the chiro and were only 15 minutes late, which is practically on-time in New Mommy Time Zone- I quickly shoved a piece of gum in my mouth and breathlessly let the receptionist know how sorry I was for being late but then the room became a little dim when she told me, “That’s ok- your appointment is actually in an hour.”

ARE YOU FLIPPING KIDDING ME?!?!

I had to reschedule since I had an appointment for my darling demonic cat at the stupid turd head new vet, so my poor crooked back remains poor and crooked still.

As we headed back home, I noticed a semi in front of me (in the left lane) with his left blinker on but thought it was just a silly Australian driving with his blinker on since he was pulling into the right lane. So we continued on, my lead foot helping us to pass on the left side when OH MY GOD WE’RE GOING TO DIE!!! You know how in the US the semis have a sign that says, “WARNING: WIDE RIGHT TURNS”? Well, in Australia, THEY DRIVE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD which means a semi with a left blinker pulling into the right lane IS GOING TO SMASH US DEAD!

After slamming on my brakes and once again educating my son on what words he should not say (EVER, Little Mister!!), I jump started my heart, thanked the Lord there were no cars behind us, and shakily made it home safely.

The one bright spot in this scenario (there I go with that optimism again), was that I got to feed Little Mister prior to going to the vet. Yeah. Well. If he only could stay full for any amount of time, I’m sure this bright spot would have been really really swell.

So as to not have a repeat of my morning, I got my garlic and crucifix ready with 30 minutes to spare and started hunting for my cat. Surprisingly, she actually got into her cage very easily. After wondering if there was a newly possessed herd of swine nearby, I took advantage of my good fortune and quickly locked her up and sprinkled her with holy water. Now it was time to put Little Mister in his car seat so we could get a move on. Well. He was peacefully sleeping and had no intention of peacefully waking up. HE WAS THE HERD OF SWINE.

He started wailing as I put him in the car which unfortunately clued in my cat that EVERYONE MUST DIE so she also starts up with her YYRROOOOOOOWWWWLLLLs. I jump in the car and start singing “JESUS LOVES ME” at the top of my lungs and praying that the moving vehicle would lull Little Mister back to sleep. Thank the Lord- my prayer was answered!

We finally made it to the vet and thankfully did not have long to wait before the vet called us back. (A really sweet vet who had just moved here 3 weeks ago, so she was not one of the Turd Heads.) I warned her about my cat and offered her my crucifix, but she wisely let me handle Little Beezelbub while she gently felt her tummy and listened to her heart.

Vet: “Oh, how sweet- she’s purring.” *pause* “And growling.”

The appointment didn’t take too long, but it was long enough for Little Mister to realize he was no longer in a moving vehicle AND WHY IS THERE NO BOOBY IN MY MOUTH??

I quickly wrangle the both of them back in the car and started heading home, but in a moment of sleep deprived lunacy, decide that since the vet is so close to the Post Office, I should probably stop by and quickly get the mail, especially since we are expecting a box. I get my mail and see there is no notice that we have any boxes, which is just as well since I don’t know how much longer I have before all hell breaks loose. As I’m leaving, a man I have never met before calls me from behind the counter and says, “Wait! We have some boxes for you. A LOT of boxes. Let me get a dolly and wheel them out to you.”

REALLY????

We had 3 HUGE boxes and 5 smaller boxes to load Jenga style in my car as Little Mister starts crying again. The strange man tries making small talk about babies and I was biting my tongue so hard so I wouldn’t yell, “SHUT IT, STRANGE MAN OR I WILL SIC MY DEMONIC CAT ON YOU!”

We are finally on the road home and I’m hoping beyond hope that there are no flashing lights and sirens behind me because, thanks to our loot, I cannot see anything out of my rear view window. And then Little Mister chimes in. WAAAAAAAAAAAH! And then Little Girl starts harmonizing, “YYYRRROOOOWWWWWWL!!!” So I just say, to heck with it and join them in the chorus. WHHHYYYY MEEE?????

I got them in the house which instantly calmed my cat but had no effect on Little Mister, so I plopped him on the bed and nursed him to sleep. Blissful sleep. How I miss thee.

Once he was asleep, I got the boxes out of the car and started opening them. It was like Christmas! Q-Tip brand q-tips! Bounty brand paper towels! A new book! A new food scale! WAIT. What was that one? OH CRAP. That must be the Christmas gift Big Mister was telling me he bought for me when he said, “DO NOT open a box from Best Buy that is addressed to me!” and now I JUST RUINED CHRISTMAS.

Actual reaction when Big Mister saw the open box:

Mr: Why did you open it?? It was addressed to me! YOU ARE A CHRISTMAS RUINER! 

Me: YYYYRRRROOOOOOWWWWLLLLL!

There's A First Time For Everything

Today is Friday, so that means I got to join my new friends (the ones who cannot spell) at the Friday Fibre Friends’ meeting. It’s supposed to last from 9am to 11am and so I, like any good girl who is part of the American Collective, dutifully showed up at 9am the first time I attended. (Those of you who know me in real life are probably surprised that I actually made it on-time. Hey- this wasn’t something silly like work- it was an Important Yarn Event. So shut it.) At that hour- the hour the Important Yarn Event was advertised to begin- the only people in attendance were Little Mister and I, and another American. Oh great. I yanked my still sleepy baby out of his peaceful slumber, changed him out of his cute koala pajamas and changed his diaper so quickly- too quickly- that his next wet diaper had baby skid marks on it, all so that I could meet another American. What’s the point of moving to a cool country like Australia, where they have cool accents and animals the size of my pinky nail that can kill you, just to meet one person who enjoys “fibre” and that person is American?? And why would she spell it “fibre”???

Just so happens, she was a very cool American who had also showed up on-time her first time but loved going so much she just decided to be the one to open the doors and get the coffee ready for all the others who attended. Yes- OTHERS. As in more people than just accent-less Americans. (Though it’s quite entertaining to be told, “I love your American accent!” However, blurting out, “I don’t have an accent- you do,” might just reinforce the whole “self-absorbed American” picture the world has of us. I’m really sorry, America.) And then, throughout the morning, more and more people started filtering through- both Aussie and American, as well as a Brit or two. I couldn’t tell for sure because their accents all sound the same. They might have been French for all I could tell. Haha! I kid! French people can’t speak English!

ANYway…. I had fun. A lot of fun! And I learned that a schedule out here is really more like a suggestion so I showed up at 10am this morning and stayed til 1pm. No skid marks!

Turns out there are a lot of cool, artistic people in this joint and it includes people who love “fibre” other than just plain yarn. That first American I met does a lot of wet (Nuno) felting. She actually attended a conference in Perth last week that was all about felting. How cool is that?!? Next week, another lady I met today is teaching a class on wet felting. I got to see her in action today and I really can’t wait for next Friday!

Now, I know that there couldn’t possibly be anything that could happen today that could trump 3 hours of fiber-y goodness.

OH BUT THERE IS!

You see, Little Mister, who I thought was the most serious baby who ever graced this earth,

Future grumpy CEO

 who, though is full of smiles when he wakes in the morning, oftentimes is not amused with his mother,

Maybe if I poop on her she'll stop with the silly faces

and who happens to be quite possibly the chubbiest baby ever in the whole world,

We, who are about to rock, WILL POOP ON YOU!

though also the cutest,

Tummy time with Kermit and Mr. Turtle*

Mr. Serious Grumpypants.....today......for the very first time in his life,

SO VERY worth all the poops!

LAUGHED!!

My heart! It dies from the cuteness!

* That most awesome Kermit mat was made with tons of love for Little Mister by his honorary Auntie Lyteyz. LOVE YOU GIRL!

Perfect Storm

It seems like the Perfect Storm has occurred for me in the last couple days. A really wonderful Perfect Storm full of snuggles, feedings, sleeping, and baby poop.

Yes, Little Mister has been going through a growth spurt and I’ve basically been held prisoner in my bedroom for the past couple days. Now, up until this point, I would have been filled with anxiety and counting the minutes on the clock until he finished eating. HURRY LITTLE BABY! Eat! Eat! EAT!! Up until this point, I’ve unfortunately not been able to enjoy the whole breastfeeding/bonding experience to its fullest since I’ve had something or other to accomplish RIGHT NOW and a tiny little baby takes too long to gulp, slurp, and motorboat his way to fullness.

I’ve been on-the-go non-stop for the last few months and, truth be told, I’m a little concerned how hard I’m going to crash once I’m able to process everything that I’ve been going through. I’ve been putting it off- mainly because I’ve not had the time to truly think and process and OH.MY.LANTA! I’M A MOM NOW!

Since moving here 3 weeks ago, we’ve had to do the normal things you have to do when you move to another country- get a local driver’s license, get a local bank account, get a new vehicle, have a heart attack due to sticker shock since everything out here is SO VERY EXPENSIVE, and walk, walk, walk everywhere since you do not have a car and then you are stuck walking in a strange city when your very hungry little baby needs to eat RIGHT NOW and you don’t have the privacy of your own car with tinted windows and a sun shade and your dearly beloved Boppy with you so you can feed him properly so he cries and cries and your heart breaks and you yell and cry at your husband, “WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO US???” even though you know he’s been through so very much himself and his heart breaks hearing his son cry and seeing his wife have a meltdown and he wishes he could just fix it RIGHT NOW.

*HUGE inhale*

No. It’s not been an easy transition for me. Not into motherhood, nor as an ex-pat. Although, I do think the transition into motherhood would have been much easier (MUCH!) had the whole moving-to-the-other-side-of-the-world thing did not happen AT THE SAME TIME. (When the opportunity first came up and we knew we’d be most likely be moving with a 2-month old, we thought, Crikey! Sounds good to me, mate! And we danced a dance of joy and threw shrimps on the barbie. And then the reality slowly sunk in as I started getting bigger and bigger and the pain became unmanageable and the baby just WOULD NOT BE BORN no matter how much I begged and pleaded and cried and bribed him with candy.)

When Little Mister started having blood in his stools and I couldn’t just jump in my own car and take him to his pediatrician or even to an urgent care center, I seriously thought my heart was going to break in two and would never mend due to all of the shoving aside of thoughts and emotions I’ve been shoving down deeper and deeper until I started becoming a walking zombie- emotionless and simply going through the daily motions of life- and I can’t even have the comforts of cheese to help me cope! I do not like this version of me. Not at all, Sam I am. It reminds me too much of the “me” I was last year when I wouldn’t- couldn’t- process my first pregnancy…and loss. Even to this day, I have a difficult time saying the “m” word.

Heck. It’s not been a tough couple months. It’s been a tough couple years, really.

My creativity has both waxed and waned during these times. Sometimes I’ll have a creative frenzy where the most beautiful creations and colors will rush through my mind. Other times the colors are muted and the creativity just won’t come. Sometimes I escape in my books- living vicariously through the lives brought forth in the pages before me. Recently, my creative juices have been flowing (I’m being published!!!!) and I’m happy about that. Yet I felt guilty when I would pick up my hooks knowing that I had SO MUCH to do to get ready to move and shouldn’t I be enjoying this time with my baby a little more since that’s what everybody tells me to do? “Enjoy this time- they grow so fast.”

But I couldn’t enjoy it. I wanted to very very badly to just hold my baby and love him and kiss his huge (HUGE!) cheeks and smell him- even when he’s smelly- and kiss that gummy mouth of his and snort him like a new skein of wool and I COULDN’T.

Instead I had to pass him off to my mom during the first week of his life since I knew it would be a very long time before she would see her first grandchild again. I had to put him in his car seat so he could sleep instead of lying down with him or letting him fall asleep on me anytime he wanted to just so I could get something done RIGHT NOW. I had to watch the clock and think, “Why aren’t you done eating yet?!? Don’t you know I have things I need to do RIGHT NOW and you are eating and eating and eating and I love you but you need to HURRY!”

Hurry! Hurry! HURRRRRRRY!!!

This brings me to the last couple of days. We finally have a vehicle so I don’t have to walk 45 minutes into town and 45 minutes back to run errands. We have our bank account and driver’s license. We don’t have all our stuff here yet, and that’s good. It means I don’t have to rush unpacking. I’ve been able to stay home and b-r-e-a-t-h-e and NOT in a hurried way that causes hyperventilation. And, best of all, this is the time that Little Mister has decided to go through a growth spurt.

He’s needed me every hour or so to feed him and gets cranky when I’m not with him. I’ve been able to sleep-in with him in the morning- having him nestled in the crook of my arm which is a perfect position for me to kiss his little head. Ok. So he’s sprayed me with fountains of poop which was really gross and did cause me to HURRY to get it all off me. BUT then we were able to snuggle again so he could eat (again!) and then I was able to nap with him because all of that eating and growing makes a baby very sleepy. And I didn’t need to HURRY and get up, leaving him in the bed alone, so that I could get Something Really Important done RIGHT NOW. I’ve been able to just stare at him and think- Oh.My.Lanta. This is my son and I love him.

And I thank My Mister for “doing this to me.”