We did not have an easy time becoming parents. Thank God. We have the family we were always meant to have because of our struggles. It is perfect and we are so happy for the little ones we get to love and raise, no matter if our family grows by more or not. (more…)
Mom Guilt. It’s everywhere, weaving its sticky tentacles in and out of everything we need to do, want to do, and end up not doing, all because some nostalgic Hallmark mom keeps pointing out, “It goes by so fast! Treasure every second.” Well I’m here to give Mom Guilt the swift kick in the ass it deserves, before it convinces yet another mom to give up on doing something she loves, just so she can spend every waking second with little Junior, lest she miss him finally figuring out where boogers come from. (more…)
I am not a weirdo. Let’s just get that out there right away so nobody has this crazy idea the reason I’ve had difficulty locking down a group of close friends is due to overt weirdness. I’m not a sneaky sniffer of armpits on the bus, nor a coffee-breathed close-talker. I don’t chew with my mouth open, or yell colorful obscenities at unsuspecting bystanders. I’m not a drunken nuisance, unless you count the time in college I tried to steal a mechanical Christmas reindeer from someone’s yard, and ended up barfing on their nativity scene. (more…)
Words are powerful. They have the power to evoke memories and emotions alike. They move us to take action, or calm frazzled nerves. Words unite us or divide us depending on their message. They can fill your soul with love, or, break your heart into a thousand itty bitty pieces. Words are powerful.
Take, for example, the word “moist.”
I’m willing to bet that at least 80% of you just scowled and wrinkled your nose as if you had just smelled a day old poop diaper left in a hot car during a Miami heat wave. It’s not a pretty word, and depending on your personal experiences, probably brings up an unpleasant memory, like the shared gloves in our elementary music class that were used to play the fancy brass bells. Pulling on a cold and moist pair of cotton gloves when it was time to take my turn on the bells was on par with pulling up your wet one-piece after a pee break at the public pool, which is to say exceedingly difficult and gross feeling. Needless to say, my dreams of being a professional bell toller ended around the same time as the ring worm infection I got from the gloves got diagnosed.
While I don’t love the word moist, it doesn’t really skeeve me out too much. I mostly think of cake or muffins. But there is a word that sends spider-in-your-hair type shivers shooting down my spine: Rash.
Yep. Rashes make me irrational. Big time. Without fail, upon seeing a rash, the same thoughts always go through my mind:
1. Whatthefuckisthat?
2. A RASH! I’m itchy. My eyes itch. I have a rash in my eyes?
3. Well that is profoundly disturbing, and obviously hella contagious.
4. I am itchy. I am itchy all over. My eyebrows itch. I have a rash in my eyebrows?
5. This is ring worm? This is chicken pox? This is measles? This is poison ivy? I will google it.
6. GOOOOOOOOOOOOD GRIEF! I’m NEVER googling again. (Seriously. Never google image search the word rash. And especially never click on this link that shows you THE WORST PICTURE OF A RASH YOU’VE EVER SEEN. Don’t do it.)
Having a toddler in the house, I see my fair share of rashes. Diaper rashes and viral rashes that come after a fever. Nothing that has been contagious, and nothing that has been serious by any stretch of the imagination. But still. Rashes make me itch.
So let’s hear it. What’s your least favorite word out there?
Just getting ready for the in-laws, with some good old fashion reorganization, courtesy of Baby 1.0.
In light of the horrible tragedy in Pakistan, it seemed important to remind myself that for however difficult life can be with a kid, I cannot possibly imagine how hard it would be to continue living without your kid. My heart breaks for those families.
It had to happen. I knew at some point I’d break down and write about the “S” word, because the utter lack of it is a theme common to most (all?) new parents. It’s absence hovers over us, a constant grey cloud, reminding us of a time when things were much more simple, a time when it wasn’t so hard to obtain. For 16 months and 11 days I’ve waited patiently, obsessing over my desire for it. I’ve tried everything to bring it back into my life. I’ve read books, spent countless dollars on specialty clothing, purchased hours of tailor-made music designed to help set the mood. Recently I’ve taken to incorporating aromatherapy into the bedroom, out of sheer desperation to find something that works. Each night, I go through the same routine, hoping that this night, this one night, it will happen, because I need it. “Oh please, please little baby. Please just sleep.”
Truthfully, I’ve been on the fence about writing anything regarding sleep. When you are so sleep deprived it takes you 30 seconds to figure out which end of the shampoo bottle shampoo comes out of (true story), it is hard to put anything together that doesn’t just sound horribly whiny. Also, there are already people who have done it, and done it very well (for those of you who don’t already know the blog How To Survive A Sleep Thief, check out the post I’m referring to here; it is brilliantly funny, and perfectly sums up everything I wish I could say about living with a kid who doesn’t sleep, but can’t because it took me 30 seconds to figure out which end shampoo came out of).
In case you were thinking, “maybe her shampoo bottle is confusing?” let me show you a picture of my shampoo. Not exactly a brain buster, under normal circumstances.
So what made me do it? Well, for starters, I’m delusional. With tiredness. Because the last time I slept through the night was back when the words “North West” and “One Direction” referred to parts of a map, rather than a bagillionaire toddler, and a handful of post-pubescent weasel boys ruining music. And lately, little Baby 1.0 has decided that getting up 2-3 times in the night wasn’t enough, and has increased it back up to 5 times. 5. Times. A. Night. Little reminder, she is 16 months. Being plunged back into the thick of what is essentially newborn level of sleep deprivation, I am reminded of a few things:
Pick One Direction, and head that way, away from me, forever.
1. Removing regular sleep from your routine changes who you are on a fundamental level. For example, I turn into a crazy asshole when I don’t sleep. Like, seriously, a totally crazy asshole. Case and point? This morning, after another absolutely brutal night, I spent no less than 12 minutes hunting down a fruit fly who landed innocently on my arm, and when I finally got it, I smashed it with a smile on my face, like some kind of insect serial killer. Did I have to invest 12 minutes of time in hunting down a solitary fruit fly? No. Did I have to smile when I killed it? Big time no. But No-Sleep-Emily is currently the captain of this ship, and she is a scary asshole.
This is me, the morning after another sleepless night.
2. When I don’t sleep, my mind turns into a garbage disposal of thoughts which A) immobilize me, preventing me from completing any kind of task, further perpetuating my garbage disposal tendencies, and B) keeps me from falling back asleep. Usually, somewhere around 3am after Baby 1.0 wakes up for the umpteenth time, my mind does this: I need to go to the store and get dinner food. We need to eat healthier. I need to buy more vegetables. I need to buy organic. Organic is too expensive. I need to get a job. I don’t want to have someone raise Baby 1.0. I need to socialize Baby 1.0 more. I NEED TO STOP THIS. I will count until I fall asleep. 1, 2, 3, 13, purple, I need to email every single person I know, urgently. I need to clean out my email inbox. I need to vacuum. I need to clean out the litter box. I need to order cat litter. I need to order cat food… AND IT GOES ON AND ON.
This is my brain at 3am.
3. Being horribly, hideously, sleep deprived makes me feel like I have the worst hangover of my life, but nothing makes it go away. Well I can’t say nothing, because I have a sneaking suspicion a couple of vodka tonics would do the trick, but I haven’t entered that territory since my bachelorette party where I peed (basically) in the doorway of a Walgreen’s, while leaning up against a newspaper box. My head aches, my eyes burn, my muscles are weak, my stomach hurts. I can’t help but wonder if hardcore sleep deprivation is used against spies and terrorists to break their spirit. Let me just say, I would tell someone anything they wanted to know if that meant I could start sleeping through the night again. Update: just this morning there was a news story about how the CIA used sleep deprivation against suspected terrorists. I’m not condoning torture in any way, even though I am being tortured, and misery loves company.
This would work… but probably not a sustainable solution.
4. I hate nighttime. The more sleep deprived I get, the more I dread going to bed. It’s one thing to bump along during the day, feeling crappy, but having things to distract you from the crappiness, and another to be forced out of bed for hours of the night trying, in vain, to convince another human to do something they have no interest in doing. It is frustrating on a level I still can’t wrap my head around, and more depressing than watching one of those science programs that always shows the baby deer being hunted by a wolf. Stop with that. We get it. Wolves eat baby deer.
Stupidly, very stupidly, I just googled “wolves hunting deer.” Bambi with a butterfly on his butt is better.
5. Lastly, this has served as a reminder that this is hard. This is hard, man. Not always, but sometimes, and sometimes for long chunks of time. It is hard to be patient and kind when you feel like a rabid raccoon. It is hard to be empathetic and understanding when all you can think about is the burning behind your eyes, and the heaviness in your limbs. Forget being the perfect mom. When you are bone tired, it’s all you can do to remember to put on two shoes that maybe match. So the next time some little turd kid rips a toy out of my little dumpling’s hand, and their mom just stares blankly ahead, I will try to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s just tired. I get that.
Image credits: Cover, Shampoo, One Direction, Joker, List, Drunk, Bambi
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It's just the beginning... by Ali Solomon
Hold Me, Don't Hold ME 
