This morning I came into my bedroom only to find my daughter doing this with my bra. She was vigorously pushing her legs in and out. When I asked what she was doing she simply said “my exercises”. At least now I know why my bras are all stretched out.
Archive for June, 2012
Ode to Pile of Laundry: Please get up off your lazy ass and fold yourself. I was good enough to wash you. It has now been 2 weeks and you are still here. I’m tired of you shitting up my daughter’s floor. Poor Dora can barely see over you. You are very disrespectful. You keep inviting more “friends” over, but they never leave. Go away- you are not welcome here.
Let me start off by saying I hate wearing bra pads. For all of you that do not know what bra pads are, they are pads that nursing moms put in their bras to prevent leaking. Yes, that is the leaking of breast milk onto clothing that I am referring to. I know- Yuck! The package claims that they are “invisible under clothing” and “gently contour for a comfortable fit & natural look”. They are full of shit. It’s like wearing a padded coffee filter over your boob. They are crinkly, bulky, & you can see the round outline of them through your shirt unless you’re wearing an industrial strength bra. I understand that it is necessary for some nursing moms to wear them all the time if they over produce milk. I, fortunately, am usually fine without them as long as my son eats often- or so I thought.
Yesterday the little man and I decided to venture out to Target. I only needed a few things and knew that we would not be gone for long, so I decided to forgo the breast pads. After all I didn’t want people to be staring at the awful round circle shapes under my shirt. I did my shopping quickly and then we were on our way back home. While we were there I had drunk a large Coke, so I was doing the pee-pee dance by the time I got in the door. I went to the bathroom and as I’m washing my hands I glance in the mirror only to see two large wet spots the size of half dollars on my shirt. As my 3 year old would say – AWKWARD! Now I do not know for sure if I started leaking in the store or if it just happened on the ride home. I’m going to stick with the latter of the two. Maybe next time I’ll wear the stupid pads.
Yes, I am the one who ate all of the marshmallows out of the box of Lucky Charms. Yes, I then tried to pass them off as Cheerios to my 3 year old. She wasn’t buying it.
When people find out that you’re pregnant, what is the first thing they ask: “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”. Whether or not you know the sex of the baby, the question that always follows is “Do you have any names picked out?”. My response would always be “No” or “We’re still looking”. My husband, on the other hand, did not see the big deal with sharing our picks and thought I was crazy for wanting to keep them a secret. I feel justified in my decision to keep my mouth shut and here are my reasons why:
1. People feel compelled to tell you what names they like, thinking that you’ll be greatly inspired by their choices. Are they expecting you to gush, “Oh, that’s the best name I’ve ever heard. Please, please, please let me use that name for my child.” What I really want to say is, “Go adopt a friggin cat and then you can name it whatever the hell you want.” I had my mom following me around the house with a bible in hand, calling out names: “What do think of Micah? Or how about Jacob or Jeremiah?” Do you honestly think I would name my kid Jeremiah???? And by the way I haven’t been to church in about 10 years.
2. People are very blunt and will give you their honest opinion- even if you don’t want it. When my daughter was about 6 months old, my father told me that he liked her 1st name, but didn’t care for her middle name, Rowan. He said it sounded “rough”. You know what I said? I-DON’T-GIVE-A-SHIT! You named me, and quite frankly, I think my name sucks. It’s boring and thumbs up on picking a trendy name for the times. I really enjoyed it in school when my name was called and 5 other girls in the same class responded. Way to be original.
3. There are name thieves in this world. Although, I don’t expect my children to be the only ones on the planet with their names, I do hope that they are different enough that last name initials won’t be needed to distinguish them from their friends. Nothing would piss me off more than to have a friend or family member use the same name, especially before my child was born.
Early on my husband and I both agreed upon a name for our child in tow, but as my due date neared I got cold feet because of the potential nickname. We both liked the name Mannix. Problem is I cannot stand the nickname Manny. The thought of people calling my son this made me cringe. So I took it upon myself to find a back-up name. My husband fought me tooth and nail on this. He thought he should be able to choose the name, reason being I had named our daughter (and the dog). He said it was his turn. Oh no, no, no it does not work that way. You lug a watermelon around in you for 9 months, then you earn the right to pick the name. It became a sore subject. He even had our daughter calling the baby Mannix when he was still in my belly.
When it came down to d-day, we still had not decided what name we would go with. As the doctor delivered my son, he asked “Does this baby have a name?” I looked over at my husband and said “You choose”. I don’t know if was the guilt he felt from seeing me laying on the operating table with my guts hanging out, but he finally caved. We now have our little Donovan.