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Thursday, April 23, 2015

Patent's Patented Guide to the weeks immediately before, during, and after having a baby

There's nothing on this earth that I like better than to give advice. Had you noticed?

And so, here comes another post where I tell you things that I've learned, and maybe it's new to you and you're thankful, or maybe you roll your eyes and feel superior; either way, you're better off than you were before!



Patent's Patented Guide to the weeks immediately before, during, and after having a baby


BEFORE:

Adult Diapers -- buy them

I wrote a whole post about my adult diapers, but let me give you the short version:
I was really paranoid about my water breaking somewhere other than in the shower or on the toilet, so I bought a package of adult diapers and started wearing them over my underwear every night starting at around 36 weeks pregnant. They were hideous and ridiculous and I was an embarrassment to everyone in my life.


Fun fact: the adult diapers post is my most-viewed post out of everything I've ever written. Because apparently pregnant-women-wearing-diapers fetishes are a real thing, and people click over to that post hoping desperately for pictures. They won't find any. Sorry fellas.

But then, at week 39+1d, I started having contractions so mild I didn't even realize they were contractions. They just felt like period cramps, but period cramps that were becoming increasingly more rhythmic. And at around 9PM, as I lay in bed pretending to play Candy Crush but actually just timing these rhythmic cramps, I felt the trickle of my water breaking.

I was wearing a diaper. Because of this,
   -- The bed/sheets were unharmed.
   -- I walked to the bathroom without soaking the carpet. I did not feel the need to run there with my hands clasped between my legs.
   -- As we spent the next half hour running around the house like crazy people loading everything into the car and making 50 phone calls, I was not in any way concerned about soaking through my pants and making a giant mess in the house.
   -- By the time we were actually getting in the car to leave, I had leaked enough to require a new diaper, so I put on a fresh one and we headed to the hospital. My contractions intensified in the car, but I was able to focus on them and not on worrying that I might leak through the towel I was sitting on.

Those diapers were a f***ing godsend, is what I'm trying to say. Once your water breaks, it doesn't really stop leaking ever. It is too much liquid for just a pad to handle, and I can't imagine that leaking through my pants would have been very comfortable. Being in labor is uncomfortable enough without also having to deal with that

Just buy the diapers, and if you never need them, you never need them. And if you DO need them, you will be so, so happy you have them.

Extra bonus: One very smart lady told me that she also wore diapers for the couple of days after giving birth, when the crotchal region is like Niagara Falls during a hurricane sent by God as a precursor to the apocalypse. You can bet your ass I will be following her lead this time around.


Gatorade -- buy as much of it as you can store

I did not buy enough Gatorade for after Audrey was born. Not even close. I should have bought cases of it, so that I could drink it constantly and not feel guilty about it.

Why? Because those first few postpartum weeks are PUNISHING on your body's water management system. On the one hand, your body is trying to get rid of all the extra blood and fluid it's been carrying around for the past 9 months, so you're going to sweat and pee like you've never sweated and peed before. But at the same time, your body is also trying to establish a supply of breast milk, which requires extra water. So your body is battling itself, totally unsure of what to do with fluid and where to send it. 

And I ended up feeling about as dehydrated as I've ever been in my life.



The dehydration took a terrible toll. My hands were dry and cracked, as were my lips. My appetite completely tanked, as no food sounded appealing at all. There was literally nothing that I wanted to eat. The only thing I could make exceptions for? Fruit and soup. And guess what fruit and soup have in common? THEY ARE FULL OF WATER.



Now, it's easy to sit here and say "well then why the hell didn't you just drink more water?", but it isn't always that simple. When you're that far gone with dehydration and no appetite and total exhaustion from not sleeping, the thought of chugging down yet another liter of tap water is so, so unappealing. I drank all the water I could, but it didn't seem to do me any good. I just peed it out and my lips stayed cracked and I couldn't eat and my breastmilk supply never really happened and I cried dusty tears into my peeling hands while lamenting every decision I'd ever made in my life.



I really feel like this could all have been solved by gallons upon gallons of Gatorade. Delicious, cold, refreshing, hydrating, easy to drink, and full of whatever your body needs while it goes through all these insane changes. At least for a week or two, if I'd drank four liters of Gatorade a day, things would have been better for me. I know this because one day I drank four liters of Gatorade and I felt absolutely incredible.



This time around, I'm actually learning this lesson. Gallons of Gatorade. Gallons.


It's cool to just keep one of these in the living room, right?

(Note: don't go making Gatorade your only fluid intake, and definitely don't keep up the Gatorade diet for longer than absolutely necessary. Let your body get its shit together, and then drink water like a normal person. Gatorade is full of sugar, yo. Don't give yourself a kidney stone or diabetes or anything and then blame me for it)


Your favorite protein bar -- buy a few boxes of them

It's pretty well established that eating properly in the first weeks after giving birth is a challenge. This is why women commonly fill their freezers with casseroles while pregnant, or have family members drop off lasagnas, or get "meal train" deliveries from friends and neighbors after baby is born. When cooking is at priority zero and eating isn't far behind it, it takes some pretty consistent reminding to get new moms to take proper care of themselves as their poor bodies try to heal and also try to get breast milk production going.

Protein bars are the easiest thing in the entire world to eat. You can eat them with one hand while you drive. You can eat them with one hand while your baby naps in the other. You can eat them with your non-dominant hand without spilling or putting an eye out. You can eat them on a boat, or with a goat.


OR BOTH!

Before baby comes, buy lots and lots and lots of protein bars -- enough that you won't feel like you need to ration them or find time to go shopping for more. I mean hell, it's not like they go bad in a week. If it takes you a year to get through them all, so what. Buy them.

(Also, my favorite protein bar is the Luna bar in either S'mores or Nutz over Chocolate flavor. They're pretty nutritionally balanced, with lots of vitamins along with the protein and carbs and fat your body needs, and more importantly, they taste good as f***. I will be buying at least 50 of them before new baby comes)


... 50 BOXES of them, ha ha am I right ladies?
... ladies?


80's-style sweat band -- buy one and put it in your hospital bag


They're great for gettin' physical.

I'll explain the full "why" on this one below, but just trust me when I say that if your hair is any longer than a buzz cut, you should buy one of these and take it to the hospital with you. You might not use it ... or it might be the thing that turns your entire birthing experience around. Worth the $8 they cost, I think.



DURING:

If you start to lose your motivation, change something

This one seems so obvious when you think about it rationally ... but when you're 8 hours into labor, nothing is rational anymore and it can be very easy to forget. 

So let's just all drill this into our heads: If what you're doing isn't working anymore, DO SOMETHING ELSE.

There will probably be many points in the labor process (especially if you've not had any pain medication) where you think "I cannot do this anymore." And every time you hit one of these walls, you need to change something about what you're doing. Are the lights dimmed? Maybe try turning them back on. Are you listening to Nine Inch Nails? Maybe change over to Disney's The Little Mermaid soundtrack and try to sing along to "Kiss The Girl." Are you sitting on a birth ball? Try squatting. Try walking around. 

Try out the shower. Move to a different part of the room. Look out the window. Look at a picture. Turn on the TV. Change the channel.



Finding the next "right thing" to keep your labor progressing properly is like trying to find the right prescription at the eye doctor. There might be a lot of "worse! worse! WORSE!!" before you find your "better", but when you find it (and you will find it), you'll suddenly find yourself energized, motivated, and ready to keep plugging away at it. A few miles here, a few miles there, and eventually you'll get to the finish line.


Take care of EVERY minor comfort issue

Before a man runs a marathon, he must first put tape over his nipples. He must do this because if he doesn't, his shirt will rub just ever so slightly over his nipples with each stride ... and as he sweats, his shirt will become heavier, and it will rub a bit more ... and the salt in the sweat will turn his shirt into soggy sandpaper ... and by the time he finishes his 26.2 miles, his nipples will be raw to the point of bleeding through his shirt. The same man in the same shirt in the same weather running 5 miles may have no issues whatsoever.

It is amazing how even the most minor irritation can, over a long time, become absolutely unbearable. And this completely applies to being in labor.

I remember keenly the moment when everything turned around for me. I was sitting up on the bed and it must have been 3 o'clock in the morning, six hours after my water had broken. I was dilated to maybe 6 cm or so, so I still had a ways to go. And I just didn't think I could do it anymore. I told everyone that it was too much for me, that I would probably need the epidural after all, that I wasn't as strong as I thought.

And do you know what gave me the boost I needed to keep going? It wasn't the support and positive reinforcement I got from my mom and husband and doula (though that was nice too). It was that f***ing 80's-era sweatband.


YES.

I hadn't realized it, but my hair, which had started out tied back in a tight ponytail and held in place with multiple bobby pins, was falling down and strands of it were consistently in my face and eyes. And that minor irritation had, over the course of hours, dragged me down to the point where I thought I couldn't go on anymore. My nipples had bled through my proverbial shirt.

But I put on that sweatband, and my hair wasn't in my face anymore. And that was it. I continued my labor for many more hours, without pain medication, until Audrey was finally born at 7:27AM. That f***ing sweatband was the turning point in my entire night.

Another minor discomfort to be on the lookout for is leaky bottom. As I mentioned above, once your water breaks, it will continue to leak throughout the rest of your labor. Do you want to constantly feel that wetness pouring out between your legs? If not, get the hospital to give you some of those fabulous mesh panties with a big pad in them (or, bust out those diapers again!). Keep your legs dry

(Note: this was also a godsend later in labor, when I could NOT stop peeing myself with every contraction. Seriously, it was like a dog that pees on every single tree and you're like "how do you even have any more pee left?!" but then you get to another tree and sure enough, he's got a few drops for that one too. If I had been peeing down my legs or into my bed, I would have been even more miserable than I already was).

Are you cold? Say something to someone. They will find you a robe, or another gown, or a blanket, or some big fuzzy slippers, or whatever it is that's going to make you comfortable again.

Do not let even the most MINOR of discomforts go unaddressed. Giving birth is f***ing uncomfortable enough on its own without your right arm also being a bit itchy.


Ask the hospital to give you a sitz bath to take home

Make your insurance buy that bitch for you.


DOOOOO EEEEEET.



AFTER:

Drink the f*** out of the Gatorade

Like seriously. Drink the f*** out of it. Are you thirsty? Does water not sound like something you want? Drink a Gatorade. Drink all of the Gatorade.


Eat 10 protein bars a day if the alternative is you don't eat properly at all

There were a lot of things that went wrong with my attempts to establish good breastfeeding, but I'm willing to bet that part of the problem was my absolute inability to eat and drink properly in the first week or so after Audrey was born.

Making breast milk is a lot of work for your body. Give that poor bastard the raw materials it needs to do its job.

If you're not in a situation where you can sit down and eat a slab of that lasagna that your Aunt Betsy brought over, eat a protein bar. If you need to leave for the doctors' office right f***ing now and there's just no time for any of that tater tot casserole you thawed out yesterday, eat a protein bar. Wake up, eat a protein bar. Middle of the night feeding, eat a protein bar.

When in doubt, eat a protein bar.

And wash it down with an unholy f***-ton of Gatorade.



Epsom salt butt baths motherf***er

Due to the severity of the, umm, injury I suffered when birthing Audrey, Epsom salt sitz baths were a required part of my postpartum recovery process.

And I genuinely believe that they should be a part of EVERYONE'S postpartum recovery process (unless you had a C-section, I guess, but even then, why not?? Does your bottom not deserve the royal treatment??). If your bottom has just passed a human through it, you deserve daily sitz baths. You should be pampered by more than just your adult diapers.

You set your sitz bath on the rim of your toilet and fill it with warm water and Epsom salt. Swish it around until the salt dissolves. Sit your little bare, swollen, maybe torn and stitched up tushy in there. Read. Eat. Drink. Update Facebook. Sit until the water is no longer warm enough for it to be comfortable, and then reluctantly get up and go on about your day.

Through the magic of science, the Epsom salts will help reduce any swelling in the area. The warm water plus salt together will really help keep everything clean down there, which is great when you're not allowed to wipe your arse yet. Plus, the mandatory 10 minutes or so spent alone in the bathroom playing Candy Crush (or eating a protein bar and drinking a Gatorade) a few times a day will be absolutely lovely.

I loved soaking my undercarriage in saltwater, and my undercarriage loved being soaked in saltwater. It was glorious and I highly, highly, highly recommend it to anyone and everyone who pushes a baby out of that body part. The saltwater will actually help keep you from rusting.


____________________________________



Everyone's got tips on surviving labor and delivery. These are mine. TAKE THEM OR LEAVE THEM YOU BASTARD; I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU DO!

And a happy childbearing to all :-)

And here are some linkies to other pregnancy-related, childbirth-related, and new baby-related posts I've written that you might also enjoy:
Guide to buying maternity clothes
How to craft the perfect pregnancy announcement
Why did I choose natural birth?
How to write a birth plan that won't make the nurses hate you
My birth story for Audrey
Advice to a first-time mom
Hippie parenting decisions I made for non-hippie reasons
Reviews of the cloth diapers I use

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Good child/bad child: Volume 2

The first volume of Good baby/bad baby was a hit, so here we are again with a post in which I try to make myself feel better about the terrible things Audrey does by contrasting them with the marginally good things she does, far less frequently!


BAD CHILD:
The food fake-out

I'm ashamed that I still fall for this one sometimes. At this point, it's "fool me once, shame on you; fool me six thousand times, I clearly have some sort of severe brain defect."

The fake-out goes like this: Audrey holds out a piece of food like she wants to give it to me. I lean over with my mouth open for her to feed it to me (that's the only way she wants to share -- by feeding you like a zoo animal). Then, at the last minute, she yanks it away and eats it herself, laughing at me. Now, granted, she does actually share her food with me often enough that it makes sense for me to still open my mouth and lean forward ... but she takes it away at the last minute often enough that I shouldn't ever EXPECT to get whatever piece of food is on offer. (Unless it's something she doesn't like. Then I can expect her to try and load my mouth up faster than I can even eat whatever she's shoving in there)

So this weekend, Audrey was having a snack of some baby cheetos. 


Delicious baby cheetos.

Baby cheetos are really tasty, especially when they're fresh -- and this was a brand new package. I was sitting on the floor near her, but not directly next to her, and I was pretty wiped out after doing a lot of physical activity that day. So when she walked up to me holding out one of the delicious cheetos, I actually got kind of excited and relieved. I was hungry and tired, and here she was bringing me food! Delicious food at that! She even walked over to where I was to deliver it!!

I said "ohhh, is that for me? You're so sweet!" and opened my mouth to receive cheeto.

The cheeto brushed against my bottom lip, leaving behind the faintest coating of cheddar-flavored dust ... and then just as my mouth filled with saliva in anticipation of receiving the rest of the cheddary goodness, the cheeto was whisked away and back into Audrey's mouth as she laughed and laughed at my gullibility.

Jerk.


GOOD CHILD:
"Elmo kiss!"

At Audrey's 18-month well baby checkup, we had to fill out a little questionnaire meant to test her development versus the normal. One of the questions was "does your child put together two-word statements and thoughts on their own? (things like 'all done' and 'bye bye' do not count, as these are still single thoughts even though they are two words)." I checked "yes" to this question, but then the more I thought about it, the more I wasn't really sure if that was true or not. Does Audrey do this? I don't know!

But then two days later, she assuaged my concerns by doing the cutest thing in the entire world. We always bring her into bed with us when she first wakes up in the morning, for family snuggle time, and sometimes she insists on bringing her blankie, her Elmo doll, or both in from her crib. Well, on this day, Elmo alone made the trip down the hall with her.

As soon as she got into bed with us, she decided that it was time for everyone to show Elmo some love. She started shouting "ELMO KA!" (which is Audrey-ese for "Elmo kiss") and shoving him into our faces. Elmo had to kiss Jesse, then me, then Jesse, then me, then Audrey a few times, and then back to Jesse and me. Every time, Audrey would make a kiss noise (pronounced "MAH!" in Audrey-ese) and shout "Elmo ka!"

There was so much love that day. So much Elmo love. It was precious.

And I didn't have to worry that I had lied on the questionnaire at the doctors' office, which was a solid bonus.


BAD CHILD:
"Mine!"

I think every parent remembers keenly the first time they heard their child scream "MINE!" and refuse to give up an object.

Audrey does this with my phone sometimes. She wants to keep playing her puzzle game and opening every single app one after another; I think she's had enough screen-time for the moment and suggest that we are "all done phone" and it's time to move onto something else, like reading. She immediately yanks the phone away from me, screaming "MINE!" and starting a toddler tantrum.

Ummm, excuse me? Did you pay for that phone?? Oh, you didn't?

THEN I GUESS IT'S NOT YOURS, IS IT, YOU ROTTEN CHILD. YOU OWN NOTHING. EVERYTHING YOU HAVE, YOU HAVE BECAUSE I GAVE IT TO YOU.

JERK.


GOOD CHILD: 
She potty trains her stuffed animals and it's adorable

She has started practicing with toilet paper now, too. "Wiping" everyone's bums and then tossing the TP into the potty and flushing it. So cute.


BAD CHILD:
Her methods are unnecessarily harsh


WE DO NOT TOLERATE ACCIDENTS.


GOOD CHILD:
She worried about the boo-boo on my finger

I had a hangnail, and when I ripped it off, my finger kind of hurt for a bit. Audrey was concerned about this, so I told her that Mommy had gotten a boo-boo and it would be nice if she could kiss it better for me. She did.

For the next couple of hours, she continually checked on the status of my finger, grabbing it, looking at it, saying "boo-boo" and then kissing it better.

It was so sweet.


BAD CHILD:
She made me eat her french fry

This was after she had dipped the french fry in ketchup and then sucked all the ketchup off of it four times in a row.

Four times in a row it was in her mouth. Her saliva enzymes were practically digesting it before my eyes.

And then she made me eat it.

Jerk.


GOOD CHILD:
She helped me unload the dishwasher!

I like to end on a good note, so I'll leave you with this stunning display of good-childery: I was unloading the dishwasher, and Audrey started pulling out plates one at a time and handing them to me to put away. Once all the plates were out, she started pulling out all the parts to her sippy cups and giving me those as well. And once we were finished, she pushed the empty drawer back into the machine and closed it.

Now, did this actually save me any time? Goodnesss no. I can unload the dishwasher at a much faster rate than one single dish at a time. However, it was a major step up from her usual "helping" with the dishwasher, which consists of taking all her sippy cup parts and hiding them in the pantry while putting blankies and stuffed animals in their places. So she definitely gets a ton of credit for that.


The usual "help" I receive. Also, baby bed-head is truly unmatched anywhere in the world.

Plus, she did it again this morning, and she thanked me for every item she handed me. Because I thanked her for everything she gave me, and I don't think she fully understands what "thank you" means. So we just stood there thanking each other over and over again as she handed me spoons one at a time, and it was delightfully inefficient but I love her for trying.


So all in all, I guess she's a good child.

I guess.

I mean, she did dump out all her Legos while I was desperately trying to tidy up enough for the housekeeper to vacuum (yes, I pay someone to clean my house thoroughly once a month. I make no apology for this. It's a life-changer) ... and she did hit me in the face when I told her to open her mouth so I could brush her teeth ... and she did jump on the couch after I told her not to jump on the couch ... 

But she's a good child. I'll keep her.


Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Children's shows whose premise makes no sense to me

Look, I get that children's shows aren't meant to be dissected by adult-level critical thinking. They're meant to be silly and simple, and 2-year-olds generally don't ask a lot of questions about why certain things are the way they are. They just accept them.

But I have some concerns, dammit, and we need to discuss them!


The Chica Show

The Chica Show is on the Sprout channel that Audrey and I spend a lot of time watching. It's a show about a costume shop run by a couple of chicken puppet/muppet things, and their chicken-kid Chica who I assume is female. They have the usual kids' show antics, with things being misplaced and forgotten, huge messes being made and then having to be cleaned up, and trying to find the perfect costume for some sort of unusual or special case scenario that puts them all to the ultimate test.

Here's my problem with The Chica Show, though: the costume shop also employs an adult female human.

I don't mean to sound racist or anything, but ... why the hell is a HUMAN BEING working at a business owned by CHICKENS?

At first, I was willing to allow it because they're muppets, not regular chickens. So maybe they have the capacity for thought and emotional intelligence of humans, but just happen to be in the form of chickens. In which case, it's reasonable that they would have a human working for them.

But then I saw an episode of The Chica Show where the dad chicken was reading a newspaper ... and it wasn't a regular newspaper. It was written in a weird non-language that I could only identify as "chicken scratch" ... so these chickens apparently speak English as a second language, with their first language being "bok bok bok" because they are f***ing chickens. And there was a picture on the front page of the newspaper, accompanying the lead story, and do you know what the picture was?

REGULAR MOTHER EFFING CHICKENS.


F***ING CHICKENS.

So I don't think that Chica and her family are meant to be muppets at all. I think they are just actual chickens who somehow manage to own and run a private business. This is supported by the fact that Chica herself doesn't even speak English at all. She only speaks "bok bok bok."

And this lady ...



... is at a point in her life where she has a couple of chickens for a boss. She can't mouth off to them, because they will fire her. When she's feeling ill, she has to call in and ask a chicken if she can have the day off. Every year, she gets called into the back office for her Performance Review, wherein her performance is critiqued by a pair of f***ing chickens.

Chickens.


"I've noticed you've been clocking in a few minutes late from your afternoon breaks this week. I'm going to have to dock your pay a bit to reflect the discrepancy. Bok bok bok BOKOK!"

CHICKENS, GODDAMMIT.


Sofia the First



Sofia the First is a Disney Junior show. Based on the opening credits, the back story is that there's this young girl named Sofia who used to live in the village below a castle, but then somehow they realized she wasn't just a regular villager at all, but was actually a princess from the castle. So she promptly moved into the castle and has to learn how to be a princess after being raised for the first several years of her life as a common villager.

Okay ... I have so many questions about this:

She addresses the King and Queen as "Mommy" and "Daddy" so clearly they are her parents, or are supposed to be. How the f*** did they not notice that for like 8 years she was just living down in the village with someone else? I mean I can't speak for everyone, but I've been pregnant a couple times and given birth once before, and I can tell you that that is not the sort of thing you just forget about. Did her folks really just suddenly look at each other one day and say "oh f*** didn't we used to have three kids?" How on earth does this situation even arise?

Also, who the hell was raising her in the village? I assume she had some sort of adoptive parents, but to this day I have not seen them appear on the show (Sofia's friends from the village appear often). Did her royal parents just steal her back from her adoptive parents and never let them see her again? Did they have them killed? And Sofia never wonders about them or misses them? That bitch is ice-cold.

And if she's actually adopted and the King and Queen aren't really her biological parents, how the hell did that adoption process happen? I mean, I imagine it would be quite a big deal to get adopted into royalty and become a princess. Was there some sort of lottery and her bio parents won it, and sold her into royalty in exchange for never speaking to her again? What the shit is going on here!

And finally, let's just also take a moment to consider that Sofia attends "Princess school" with a bunch of girls her own age. Where the hell are they living that there are so many princesses of similar age and in the same geographic region that they need their own school!!? There are at least 15 other princesses in the class with her. WHAT IS THIS PLACE.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND BUT IT SMELLS DAMN FISHY.

Also, Amber is a c*** and I don't care who hears me say it.


Ultra c***.



Astroblast

This is a show on Sprout about a bunch of alien animals who run an intergalactic smoothie shop.



First off, they appear to all be children, but their parents are never in the picture. There's an octopus who I think is an adult, but he is rarely around and only seems to show up when equipment needs fixing. How does a group of children manage to run a business? Who gave them a license to operate??! If no one did, then how are they not killing their customers on a regular basis??? If you asked a group of young children to make fresh fruit smoothies in bulk day in and day out, would you really expect anything but death, dismemberment, and diarrhea? My god, the diarrhea!!!


"These ought to be good for making smoothies ... right?"

Also, I can only imagine what the overhead costs are for running a smoothie shack in outer space in a giant f***ing space station


This shit does look expensive.

The smoothie shack in the parking lot of the bowling alley near my house couldn't even stay in business, and that place was run (presumably) by grown-ass adults! Not to mention, the margin on fruit smoothies is probably razor thin ... especially in outer space. The supply chain logistics of importing enough fresh fruit every single day to keep up with demand ... the mind boggles. We're talking refrigerated space ships making the trip from whatever distant planet is appropriate for the growing of fruit and delivering that inventory daily. UPS's eyes cross at the prospect, but they've got children doing it. 

None of this is adding up. None of it.


The Pajanimals

The Pajanimals are a bunch of muppets who are perpetually about to go to bed, but there's always some problem they have to deal with first before they can get to sleep.

Here's the thing with them, though: take a look at them.



They are all different species of animal. A horse, a duck, a cow, and a dog. But ... they're all siblings.

How did this happen?

Jesse's theory was that they must have all had different dads and the mom is just a gaping whore, but there is one Dad character (he never actually appears; just shouts from off screen that they need to get ready for bed) and they all seem to acknowledge him as their father. So either he's stepdad of the century (and mom's whoring ways have died down), or Jesse's theory is wrong.

Theory number 2: they're all adopted. Probably foster kids.

This makes things a bit more troubling. The Pajanimals all share one bedroom, and their "parents" never actually appear. They just call out things like "take a bath!" and "don't use too many bubbles!" and "brush your teeth!" and "five minutes til bedtime!" Other than these brief instructions, the kids are totally responsible for taking care of themselves.

Is ... is The Pajanimals actually a show about some sort of group home for foster kids, and the "parents" that these kids love and refer to as Mommy and Daddy are actually disinterested jerks collecting money from the government while totally neglecting the children they're supposed to be caring for? I mean, every night the kids have some sort of crisis, and every night they have to fly off to some Imagination Land or whatever and ask the moon for advice. Probably because their "parents" are too busy spending that government check on crack cocaine and Natty Ice.

Oh. This show makes me sad now.

I'm probably just reading too much into it. 

... right?

I just don't get muppets.



I previously wrote some "reviews" of children's shows on the Sprout channel right here