tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14760214958678107252024-02-07T12:33:52.994-08:00Double-headed Shart AttackUsing terrible artwork to make people angry since 2012.Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.comBlogger412125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-4989311622891300892018-05-09T12:29:00.002-07:002018-05-09T12:29:44.569-07:00My 4-year-old daughter draws pictures and they're all terrifyingHey there everyone! Long time no speak. Last time we met, Trevor had just turned one, which means it's been nearly two years since I've posted. My bad.<br />
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Today, we are here to discuss Audrey, who is now a precocious 4-year-old. And to my great delight, she is also a burgeoning artist.<br />
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In fact, she's not just burgeoning. She's a star. Her drawings are incredible!<br />
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There's just one thing: all her drawings are terrifying. All of them.<br />
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I don't know what it is exactly, but every single thing she draws looks like demon spawn straight from hell. And somehow, each drawing is even MORE terrifying than the one that preceded it. I tried to copy a simple drawing of hers, but mine fell woefully short of the mark. Mine just looked like a sad pen drawing made by a slightly deranged incompetent drunk person:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpbdiigXAj6P0pOC27OiiiOUJ3w5WiGP1_s6umKwY9eAMSKmyHd5A-gLVGIKUnrxzsus4plxF7w-V_FE0ZQJMSM-eh-9dNt3KYIzovMgk1XtVL-8MnSoJ1dB6YxT15H7lboNLJ_AkfZpwb/s1600/IMG_0126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpbdiigXAj6P0pOC27OiiiOUJ3w5WiGP1_s6umKwY9eAMSKmyHd5A-gLVGIKUnrxzsus4plxF7w-V_FE0ZQJMSM-eh-9dNt3KYIzovMgk1XtVL-8MnSoJ1dB6YxT15H7lboNLJ_AkfZpwb/s640/IMG_0126.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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But hers? NIGHTMARE.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaMoQeQnl4snBJ1529vRc2Z6PE8itcVTOV3IYL6FLhJkhFlXAGy9UOwMSknxeKLhd4QR24ZA8yMLmgcouWweblTLoAEYFhj4e1vPLyoYD1s0xwlvFMA9vNuSPx9p5c6d-u-7pVSmhZ-8K/s1600/IMG_0118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaMoQeQnl4snBJ1529vRc2Z6PE8itcVTOV3IYL6FLhJkhFlXAGy9UOwMSknxeKLhd4QR24ZA8yMLmgcouWweblTLoAEYFhj4e1vPLyoYD1s0xwlvFMA9vNuSPx9p5c6d-u-7pVSmhZ-8K/s640/IMG_0118.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Without further ado, let's take a look at some more of Audrey's beautiful artwork.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyH6I3L1SVfpSP19e8RHFNKssFO5Emg6kg8r2eEEM_0h0vEmuzey1Y44AAVkZJVrgpQdGnRpXgsMd6s8ZQSfM9sLSeoUoFndWeHMx2YtRzsr8VELuDNYB23kPrTav0dfx5225GrdI35BFQ/s1600/IMG_0119.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyH6I3L1SVfpSP19e8RHFNKssFO5Emg6kg8r2eEEM_0h0vEmuzey1Y44AAVkZJVrgpQdGnRpXgsMd6s8ZQSfM9sLSeoUoFndWeHMx2YtRzsr8VELuDNYB23kPrTav0dfx5225GrdI35BFQ/s640/IMG_0119.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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What the fuck.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xa3yBAdXcOpxUThIHBkywtCN9OjSqaYet4PW67tqUJ-nFIzGSPoNfSGHXxD_TmWMPcUq6p6VgBZ9SVGr9gBeF7iy1pgRemmzvv0yklSKPX1fBcBFDUhJDWDlZtjZaiUoDpQhrtQ5wCWR/s1600/IMG_0120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7xa3yBAdXcOpxUThIHBkywtCN9OjSqaYet4PW67tqUJ-nFIzGSPoNfSGHXxD_TmWMPcUq6p6VgBZ9SVGr9gBeF7iy1pgRemmzvv0yklSKPX1fBcBFDUhJDWDlZtjZaiUoDpQhrtQ5wCWR/s640/IMG_0120.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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These look like a collection of tortured souls waiting for their turn to be escorted into Hell.</div>
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I'm especially concerned about the one on the bottom row second from the right. Why are his eyes different? And what's with the one on the bottom left? Why is he the only one with legs?</div>
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WHAT IS GOING ON HERE.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwalqS86v36W_sKmo9liodJyt7KLiwU1KseIP-WmU_IVnpNf8IKRsK1zHInEBUz2IMKyBX0_SwoCwGAxTx904BEPSnYOJrRhXRMfibtEkMXapqbenEeZDMC04wD6pUW3LUC91hsXVhq98p/s1600/IMG_0121.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwalqS86v36W_sKmo9liodJyt7KLiwU1KseIP-WmU_IVnpNf8IKRsK1zHInEBUz2IMKyBX0_SwoCwGAxTx904BEPSnYOJrRhXRMfibtEkMXapqbenEeZDMC04wD6pUW3LUC91hsXVhq98p/s640/IMG_0121.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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My best guess is that this is a hideous ghost demon with another soul trapped inside him. The soul trapped inside seems remarkably okay with the whole situation. He's come to terms with it. "This is fine."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_r9ms4ZwW-fMQRlF9D2kFZ6dbn_lX6qitAVs28AIlnFgNYqBMH7i6ZDCatH-3X4NiOqZJQjMWWtltJD-PIQThOLYg6ummC4cEZ3bVP0YUzr6j-ZteYtGWf7pVI1KTQyoWTkoO-rjc9XgQ/s1600/IMG_0123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_r9ms4ZwW-fMQRlF9D2kFZ6dbn_lX6qitAVs28AIlnFgNYqBMH7i6ZDCatH-3X4NiOqZJQjMWWtltJD-PIQThOLYg6ummC4cEZ3bVP0YUzr6j-ZteYtGWf7pVI1KTQyoWTkoO-rjc9XgQ/s640/IMG_0123.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Here's a nice family portrait! Not too bad actually. But wait, there's a follow-up ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9SPILnw9rfSapIhx9Z8-mXlu_pV8vkATqI6xS39vj20guV-ZvepK8B8adnNM5gA1G6we72unSUXUxKT3la_kGrkevd4iQYdDqy5ux82ZqEWCI3g1b8YSdv4GcwBlqbh3cPKmZ8uu0NNg/s1600/IMG_0122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9SPILnw9rfSapIhx9Z8-mXlu_pV8vkATqI6xS39vj20guV-ZvepK8B8adnNM5gA1G6we72unSUXUxKT3la_kGrkevd4iQYdDqy5ux82ZqEWCI3g1b8YSdv4GcwBlqbh3cPKmZ8uu0NNg/s640/IMG_0122.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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This family portrait raises more concerns. And why are we all wearing nipple clamps?</div>
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Our mouths are open as we scream but I get the bad feeling there's no sound coming out.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKM6UbPToYCpfRAonQb5yu3KhhQIEdN3NSWHcDwthQoxmwB39EqfLpd1obGfxBkVa9GJYSUMKeAnLJ9GCn4pCbvAiyeljIr6zhcU4pmjM-E7zS2NFgrocVie0xVpvX0Zmb6g3Oz6_Q5W5/s1600/IMG_0124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnKM6UbPToYCpfRAonQb5yu3KhhQIEdN3NSWHcDwthQoxmwB39EqfLpd1obGfxBkVa9GJYSUMKeAnLJ9GCn4pCbvAiyeljIr6zhcU4pmjM-E7zS2NFgrocVie0xVpvX0Zmb6g3Oz6_Q5W5/s640/IMG_0124.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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This was supposed to be a "happy guy, a scared guy, and a funny guy."</div>
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Nailed it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgec2tT3nGrjbV8CN9d4CaIkAR6A-Smr_04opjYi5eo4TL3PdWnnL4HxMNsNgEVjTiwc5TSFrAg2JUIinNgzQcHFq9cdt0pImCkXQuDU_d8I-v6VoRDI0PzdKxTRRidBmRnMmgpslftF_Ey/s1600/IMG_0125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgec2tT3nGrjbV8CN9d4CaIkAR6A-Smr_04opjYi5eo4TL3PdWnnL4HxMNsNgEVjTiwc5TSFrAg2JUIinNgzQcHFq9cdt0pImCkXQuDU_d8I-v6VoRDI0PzdKxTRRidBmRnMmgpslftF_Ey/s640/IMG_0125.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This is a portrait of Audrey and Trevor. She asked me to help her out by drawing the outline of the heads and bodies, and then she drew everything else.</div>
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As near as I can tell, they have both been hypnotized by dark spirits. Their hands have become claws and the sun has turned black as the dark spirits run riot through their impressionable young minds.</div>
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They will be doing the spirit's bidding. I am not likely to survive the night.</div>
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So there you have it -- some super stellar artwork that she makes me hang up in my house and it's not at all frightening. </div>
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In fact, several of the pictures are hung up on the back patio door, so when you open up the blinds there's this terrifying big reveal and it makes me laugh every time someone sees it for the first time and screams.</div>
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Kids are fun.</div>
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<br />Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-70695807942353606512016-08-17T11:41:00.001-07:002016-08-17T11:41:12.420-07:00Happy birthday Trevor!! Another animated GIFTrevor is ONE YEAR OLD TODAY!!! Just like I did for <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2014/10/happy-1st-birthday-to-my-baby-girl.html">Audrey</a>, I put together a GIF showing him growing up during his first year of life. Such a sweet little dude.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkxPOn385Vl-OXaRDkgsR4_lRA3PWJKZQb5iwD4lRZ-4P4W8Ua9a7cELKYEImBO0I4ks6FcnPbbIZmB44FCFOjE8Qcd0BrR-yvoYsNeKqMzxkQjB4gdKfqXKvEql5-Bq-LPgkR_STqWm2/s1600/Trevor+birthday+GIF.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkxPOn385Vl-OXaRDkgsR4_lRA3PWJKZQb5iwD4lRZ-4P4W8Ua9a7cELKYEImBO0I4ks6FcnPbbIZmB44FCFOjE8Qcd0BrR-yvoYsNeKqMzxkQjB4gdKfqXKvEql5-Bq-LPgkR_STqWm2/s1600/Trevor+birthday+GIF.gif" /></a></div>
<br />Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-14209013872956633752016-08-05T15:15:00.000-07:002016-08-05T15:27:29.858-07:00That f***ing swimming Nemo toyHi everybody!! Long time no speak!<br />
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I haven't blogged in months because I've been pretty busy dealing with a few things, including but not limited to:<br />
-- moving<br />
-- divorce<br />
-- crippling depression<br />
-- single parenting<br />
-- my dishwasher was making a funny noise<br />
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If you've ever had to deal with a dishwasher that is making a funny noise, then you know how stressful it can be. What if it breaks? Will it flood my whole kitchen while I'm at work one day? Will I have to wash things by hand in the interim? How long before they can fix it???<br />
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But the dishwasher is fixed now and my crippling depression has been downgraded to "moderately debilitating depression" so everything is on the up and up! :-D<br />
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... with just one caveat. A couple weeks ago, I told Audrey she could choose one toy while we were at Target, and she opted for a water-activated swimming Nemo toy in celebration of the movie Finding Dory. And I have never, never regretted the purchase of any toy as much as I regret that Nemo. Nemo may be the one thing standing between me and pure, unadulterated happiness.<br />
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<img height="320" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcRGlrs-lQ7l1reFjlQpq0sM4SgafJvsViRxBmr4SzhyyJX3hVASYwkDQCWQz7ZMqboHqkQE1Os&usqp=CAE" width="320" /></div>
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This motherf***er.</div>
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The Nemo-related drama started immediately upon getting into the car after buying it, when Audrey insisted that I open the package and get Nemo out for her to play with. He was, of course, locked tightly into clamshell packaging and I had no scissors on me. I told her to wait until we got home. She responded with the opening salvos of a screaming fit.<br />
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So I Incredible Hulked it out of the plastic and gave it to her, and she was happy.<br />
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Briefly.<br />
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Once we got home, she decided that of course Nemo needed to find somewhere to swim. Could she perhaps have a bath in the middle of the day when she had just had a bath the night before? I said no and suggested instead that we fill a big mixing bowl with water, and Nemo could swim in that. She reluctantly agreed.<br />
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We started out with the bowl of water in the kitchen because I'm really really stupid. A gallon of water on the floor later, I realized that this activity would be better suited for outdoors.<br />
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So the bowl of water moved out onto the balcony, and Nemo's happy swimming resumed.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwl_NjeBvuUTGtfYqYhziR8MT-VEftSLHnHuHJrPGN27ONOnyNgHgh-pwCphXvhjY6gHf0TZ1i3muRT5FmcNw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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... until Trevor got involved. He kept reaching into the water and splashing everywhere and trying to knock the bowl over, which led to Audrey screeching "TREVORRRRRRRR NOOOO!" at a volume fit to wake the neighborhood. No problem -- I'll just get Trevor his own bowl of water to splash around in and then he won't bother Audrey. I did this because, as mentioned previously, I am really really stupid.<br />
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Two gallons of spilled water and a soaking wet child later, I realized that this, too, had been a miscalculation. I don't know what kind of brain damaged moron gives a baby a giant bowl full of water and expects anything other than Biblical Noah's Ark level flooding, but I am exactly that brand of brain damaged moron.<br />
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It was around this time that Audrey announced that Nemo was hungry, and that he wanted some Goldfish to eat. I was a bit concerned about the implications of that, but the kid wants what she wants and who am I to say no? At this point, I figured there was no way she could make any more of a mess than they already had, so I just gave her the carton of goldfish and told her to have at it.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxssEdBh5IcLjIVvQsoYoOgrrJEGoJtVbwyNINxWz4LxHpp2HrOUksVubTVpbIp4Kevyl4FvnqsiA4FAh0jSA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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She eventually poured enough goldfish in the bowl to kill Nemo several times over, and only stopped when I took the carton away from her.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwsBhr0eIHdhQy4Oi1WFQYe0j63gj2DLWh9-mQqO1YPY-GO0gTLoLTjr0cWtj33LoxEEzKXqzurMe8YJACEVJnqFOVa-NXOr2Icg5c-6ZLry-aVGxccUxKLfwKLylunv9XSTKFIFGgSOR/s1600/IMG_2702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYwsBhr0eIHdhQy4Oi1WFQYe0j63gj2DLWh9-mQqO1YPY-GO0gTLoLTjr0cWtj33LoxEEzKXqzurMe8YJACEVJnqFOVa-NXOr2Icg5c-6ZLry-aVGxccUxKLfwKLylunv9XSTKFIFGgSOR/s320/IMG_2702.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Nemo was very hungry.</div>
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Unsurprisingly, Nemo's eyes turned out to be bigger than his stomach.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBjznsjJJsF-RjbOb99xWvkWtpFp58Z74eDCvt8cVcx-LmWoap5uogLi1LUVMo0s5bPmK64w7LeyUzF2rTb2f0u0bpZgT8scGsNMdpERbn_DqUUB3gi9bp3qtz0NHRbnRpwEOPihdtleU/s1600/IMG_2703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBjznsjJJsF-RjbOb99xWvkWtpFp58Z74eDCvt8cVcx-LmWoap5uogLi1LUVMo0s5bPmK64w7LeyUzF2rTb2f0u0bpZgT8scGsNMdpERbn_DqUUB3gi9bp3qtz0NHRbnRpwEOPihdtleU/s320/IMG_2703.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Yum.</div>
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The travails of Nemo didn't stop there. Next, Audrey felt that Nemo should be allowed to swim around in the bathroom sink. Then she felt that Nemo should be allowed to play with blocks while swimming. So into the sink went 25 (I counted them) wooden blocks for Nemo to enjoy.<br />
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It was ALWAYS time for Nemo to swim in the sink. Our lives revolved around him and his needs. I spent more time looking out for Nemo and his various issues (he's hungry, he's tired, don't turn on the lights because Nemo is napping, don't make noise or you'll wake up Nemo, Nemo needs more water in the sink, Nemo needs less water in the sink, Nemo is thirsty, Nemo needs some cake, go wash your hands in the other bathroom because Nemo is having a swim, I can't brush my teeth because Nemo is in the sink again) than I spent looking after myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgTiWX5-rOvKvAG5lE0Y5t6f2d8I5E0savNuhmVkH2kyhtEmhOxnpnwTBSnR2IOlmdGRydkhqgqjk8hCwXAXYrwOHK88LiahjxoEYCOxXQrkJWO_Lo5XgHLn_FazHRhC-CuS8ccagVJuN/s1600/IMG_2709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgTiWX5-rOvKvAG5lE0Y5t6f2d8I5E0savNuhmVkH2kyhtEmhOxnpnwTBSnR2IOlmdGRydkhqgqjk8hCwXAXYrwOHK88LiahjxoEYCOxXQrkJWO_Lo5XgHLn_FazHRhC-CuS8ccagVJuN/s320/IMG_2709.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Nemo needed a washcloth in the sink with him so that he could lie down on it and have a nap.</div>
<br />
Then she wanted to go back to the store to get Nemo's mom and dad, which I agreed to do the next day while she was at daycare. I hoped she would forget about it, but nope, in the car on the way to daycare she confirmed that I would go to the store that day to buy more Nemo toys. Another $15+ later, we were the proud owners of a large stuffed Nemo and Dory. My total investment in this f***ing Nemo toy has now risen to $30.<br />
<br />
The day after that, Audrey wanted to bring the whole Nemo family in the car with her to daycare, and she pitched a screaming fit the entire way there because we forgot them.<br />
<br />
Another time, swimming Nemo went missing and could not be located in time for bathtime. Screaming fit in the tub.<br />
<br />
Nemo played in the sink with 600 toys again, and Audrey accidentally soaked herself to the point that she stripped off all her clothes and used them as towels to clean up the water on the floor. She then refused to take a nap because Nemo needed her.<br />
<br />
Nemo came out to the pool with us and Audrey wanted him in the pool, then out of the pool, then in the pool, then out of the pool. I will give you 10 guesses as to whose responsibility it was to move Nemo in and out of the water as needed. Hint: IT WASN'T AUDREY.<br />
<br />
<br />
And so, friends, in conclusion I will leave you with this: if I had a time machine and was only allowed to use it once, would I stop Hitler? Would I prevent 9/11?<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
I would go back to July 24 and I would NOT BUY THAT F***ING NEMO TOY <span style="font-size: large;">I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER</span><span style="font-size: large;">.</span><br />
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<img src="http://thumbs.ebaystatic.com/images/g/eOkAAOSwWZ9XoKK9/s-l225.jpg" /></div>
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F*** YOU NEMO I HOPE EVERYONE YOU LOVE GETS HEPATITIS</div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-87241213182220533782016-02-18T11:36:00.001-08:002016-02-18T11:36:17.049-08:00The Cuteness/Ridiculousness of Audrey<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whenever I don't know what to write a post about, I can always just think about what absurd things Audrey has done in the past week or two and write about that. Because it just never ends with her. She's ridiculous and hilarious.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here are a few recent Audreyisms:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey is now fully potty-trained, but this has only been the case for a week or so. There have been a few accidents here and there, but for the most part she is a total pro. So much so that I bought her a new two-step stool so that she can climb up onto the toilet on her own!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This morning, as I was dressing Trevor for the day, Audrey announced that she had to go potty. I was quite busy with Trevor so I asked her to pull down her pants and get started on her own and I would be there in a minute. She agreed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I went into the bathroom a moment later, I found that Audrey was sitting happily on the toilet with her pants and underwear around her ankles, and her Mickey Mouse doll was sitting on the little baby potty that is still in the bathroom even though she doesn't use it (Mickey Mouse goes everywhere with Audrey). Sure enough, Audrey had pooped in the toilet. Words cannot express the pride I felt when I saw that she had successfully managed all of this without help.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once we were all done in the bathroom (both her and Mickey Mouse, who also had to be wiped and his potty flushed), I offered her an M&M because pooping in the toilet is kind of a big deal and needs major encouragement. She insisted that Mickey Mouse also get an M&M, since he had gone potty too. I told her that no, Mickey Mouse wasn't going to get his own M&M, but she could share hers with him if she wanted. I showed her the bag and let her choose what color she wanted, and she opted for orange.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now at this point, we need to backtrack a bit to a time several weeks ago when Audrey went through a crazy phase where she wanted to always color in the eyes of any picture we drew. Draw Elmo, she immediately colors his eyeballs black like a voodoo curse. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Jo7DDZQUwtwHmRW54qnVwGHFy07Cm73cHOBcACIjZJbKtIY00sayZUmznCmC7_vronI0nOZoP3CInpq9j1i_HneszuhunFUpq3C8ayZfKGAn8SVkCFmeC3rIbMMPq_1fNLYtEsTp9p7i/s1600/A+1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Jo7DDZQUwtwHmRW54qnVwGHFy07Cm73cHOBcACIjZJbKtIY00sayZUmznCmC7_vronI0nOZoP3CInpq9j1i_HneszuhunFUpq3C8ayZfKGAn8SVkCFmeC3rIbMMPq_1fNLYtEsTp9p7i/s1600/A+1.PNG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Draw our family, she scribbles in everyone's eyes like we're a family of demons. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHsACN-f9Qgw5csxRq795J6Cgd1uQMzbCt-vU441kXGqWh6A2MDTnKrgVttYkUyjJuqJLwh2GgTxHe_yWJAl5WnQQwZCYUPxj-fdl9Y7vcLmmkBcXLpUyBSjTXdW5QwfXKc2Upze6SOlm/s1600/A+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWHsACN-f9Qgw5csxRq795J6Cgd1uQMzbCt-vU441kXGqWh6A2MDTnKrgVttYkUyjJuqJLwh2GgTxHe_yWJAl5WnQQwZCYUPxj-fdl9Y7vcLmmkBcXLpUyBSjTXdW5QwfXKc2Upze6SOlm/s640/A+2.PNG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">During this phase, at one point she saw fit to color the Mickey Mouse doll's eyes with a green crayon. Please hang on to this information.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So Audrey agreed to share her M&M with Mickey Mouse, and took him over to the couch. She sucked on the outside of her M&M a bit, then shoved it into Mickey Mouse's mouth so he could have some too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Naturally, her sucking on it melted the orange candy coating ... so when she put it in Mickey Mouse's mouth, the candy coating rubbed off everywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This, combined with the heavy green eye shadow she had applied a couple weeks prior, is how we ended up the proud owners of Transvestite Crackhead Mickey Mouse.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0q-DeHVOTkHRZiF_g0NBCN1LwW1o8TLPo-v5UbRyNaVVdK9AJ7Ne41knJVqkIL2QYYKqRqaCdKRVNHSvRP7rQYKW0F8v9SFFsxahRMjdd-RGo87yLGwvEqcXnP8dMk7ok0b0iB5RGxwr/s1600/A+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0q-DeHVOTkHRZiF_g0NBCN1LwW1o8TLPo-v5UbRyNaVVdK9AJ7Ne41knJVqkIL2QYYKqRqaCdKRVNHSvRP7rQYKW0F8v9SFFsxahRMjdd-RGo87yLGwvEqcXnP8dMk7ok0b0iB5RGxwr/s400/A+3.PNG" width="293" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">____________________________________</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I bought a big box of fun-sized bags of Utz chips because I love them and you can't buy them on the west coast. Audrey kept bringing me bags of chips and asking me to open them and pour some into her Elmo bowl. I would allow her to have a half serving of chips once a day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This morning, as she was working her way through a bowl of barbecue Utz, she brought the bowl up to me and offered me a chip. Or rather, she stuck a chip in her mouth, then realized she was being rude and offered me the chip that had just been inside her mouth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I declined the chip. Not because she had already tongued it, though. I declined the chip because I had just brushed my teeth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fact that the chip was probably getting soggy with her spit already was not even a factor in the decision.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been a Mom for too long.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">____________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This past weekend, we went to a special meeting and brunch at the local union hall. Jesse wasn't feeling well, so I brought the kids with me to give him a couple hours to nap in peace at home.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At first, Audrey was her usual total shy self, clinging to my legs and insisting I pick her up so she could lay her head down on my shoulder to hide from strangers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But at some point, I don't know what happened but a switch flipped inside her and she went from being totally shy to being the biggest ham in 200 miles. She started running up to random people and waving her Mickey Mouse doll around, screaming "LOOK! IT'S MICKEY MOUSE!" She would not stop doing this until they acknowledged her and acted excited about Mickey Mouse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then she ate like 15 pounds of fruit from the brunch buffet, which sent her on a crazy sugar high. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfl1/v/t1.0-9/12743514_10101351585089455_1304443980164185288_n.jpg?oh=70bdded3d3c596751271f25e70672732&oe=576DE85B" width="240" /></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She started rolling around on the floor. Then she started running wind sprints. Then she was hopping around shouting that she was a frog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The morning peaked when she started running up to large bearded Teamster after large bearded Teamster, flexing her arms and saying "LOOK AT MY MUSCLES!" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There will always be ugliness and bad people in the world ... but I will never doubt that human nature is predominantly good. Because every single truck-drivin' beer-swillin' cigarette-smokin' union dues-payin' Teamster Audrey accosted responded in the same way: smiling from ear to ear and then telling the 2-year-old girl in the Minnie Mouse shirt that her muscles were huge and very intimidating. "I wouldn't want to get into a fight with YOU!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Honestly, I don't know where she got this desire to be the center of attention and make everyone laugh.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Certainly not from me. ;-)</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-10567667757350779362016-02-11T11:00:00.001-08:002016-02-11T11:00:59.729-08:00My daughter is gaslighting me and I don't know what to believe anymore<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Gaslighting" is one of the classic signs of an abusive relationship. The abuser will deny reality and insist that certain things never happened, thereby making the victim feel like maybe they're going crazy, maybe they actually aren't being abused at all, in fact maybe they're the one doing the abusing, always accusing their partner of all these crazy things that never happened!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Gaslighting can be incredibly dangerous and demoralizing, because it warps your entire view of what is real, and almost turns you into your own abuser. It makes you doubt yourself and call yourself crazy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So naturally Audrey does it to me all the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The Nilla Wafers Incident</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://scene7.targetimg1.com/is/image/Target/14768231?wid=480&hei=480" height="200" width="200" /></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">One night, Audrey opened up the pantry and pulled out a box of Mini Nilla Wafers without saying a word to anyone. She then carried the box around happily for a while, eating all the Mini Nilla Wafers she could manage until I noticed what was happening.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now, I have long since learned that "just one more" of anything (snacks, renditions of "la la la Elmo's Song," books, episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse) is infinitely less likely to end in total toddler meltdown than suddenly announcing that there will be NO more without a fair warning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So I took the box away from her and said that we were all done with cookies and she could take <i>one more</i> before I put the box away.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She said okay and reached down into the package. And out came her little hand with two Nilla Wafers in it -- one clutched between her thumb and her forefinger in full sight, and then a sneaky second cookie being held against her palm by her other three fingers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">At first I thought that maybe she didn't understand when I said "one more." I mean she's only two; she's not exactly performing multivariable calculus over here. Maybe the concept of "one cookie" versus "two cookies" kind of threw her off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But then she held up the openly visible cookie and said "I take one cookie Mommy," continuing to hide the second cookie in her palm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i>She knew exactly what she was doing</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But then I thought again, she's only two! How could she possibly be so clever and so evil already? I mean this is a stunt that required some planning. Some knowledge of deception and some understanding of when things can and can't be seen from the perspective of others. Which toddlers are notoriously awful at. After all, this is the same kid who tried to hide <i>between my legs</i> during a game of hide and seek. How could a child who thought I would not be able to locate her <i>while she was touching me</i> suddenly understand that if she palmed a cookie in a certain way, I wouldn't see it and she could eat it in peace?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Did she really palm that cookie?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">If so, did she palm it on purpose?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Did she look me in the face and lie, claiming she had followed my instructions and taken only one cookie when she had in fact taken two?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">AM I LOSING MY MIND?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the end, I let her have both cookies and didn't say anything. If she thinks she's getting away with this stuff, maybe she'll let her guard down and make it easier to catch her when it's bottles of vodka she's palming and not snack cookies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm just thinking ahead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The Potty Incident(s)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We are currently potty training Audrey, which means a lot of time is spent sitting on the toilet. She has decided she doesn't want to use her own Elmo or Mickey Mouse potties and would instead rather sit on the big toilet using an Elmo toilet seat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On the one hand, this is really convenient because if she does go, there's no need to clean up the potty -- just flush and go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But on the other hand, it also means it's really hard to tell if she has peed. She mostly pees tiny amounts that are hard to detect even when I'm sitting right there in front of her when she goes (also, weirdest eye contact ever).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So she gaslights me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We use peanut M&Ms as potty training aids. If she successfully goes pee or poo in the potty, she gets an M&M. And she knows this -- if you ask her if she wants to go potty, she will get excited and start pulling down her pants while insisting "I go peepee on the toilet and get an M&M!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I can't tell you how many times she has sat on that toilet, done nothing, and then demanded an M&M because she "went peepee." YOU DID NOT. I WAS RIGHT THERE HOLDING AWKWARD EYE CONTACT. YOU DIDN'T PEE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">... or did you?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">How can I know!?!? Maybe she peed a little but it wasn't enough for me to hear it hit the bowl.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And if she did pee, and now I'm arguing with her that she didn't pee, I'm destroying her trust in me. I'm the one gaslighting <i>her</i>. "I peed!" "No you didn't, stop lying!" = lifelong resentment because there's nothing worse than being accused of lying when you're telling the truth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm pretty sure she's not peeing, though. She just wants the damned M&M.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I mean ... right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">How do I ... I don't ...</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So we switch to intermittent positive reinforcement, which is the most effective way to condition behaviors anyway. Every time she claims she peed, she gets praise. And sometimes she gets an M&M, whenever I feel like giving her one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">No more potty gaslighting, Audrey. You'll have to find other ways to make me question my sanity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm sure it won't be a problem.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The Bingo Incident</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This one happened last night. Audrey was having a meltdown because it was almost bedtime and she was tired and fussy. I had to take a shower, so I thought I would distract her by inviting her to come into the bathroom with me (since she's<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2016/01/trying-to-shower-when-you-have-toddler.html"> such fun</a> in there while I'm trying to bathe). I asked her if she wanted to sing a song with me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She said "sing Bingo Mommy!" and I agreed, launching into a boisterous rendition of the song.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After about two verses, I peered around the shower curtain and found that ... the door was closed and the bathroom was empty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had been singing to no one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once I got out of the shower, I opened the bathroom door and saw Audrey messing around in our bedroom. "Audrey, why did you leave while I was singing Bingo?" I asked her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And she looked at me in absolute confusion. "Mommy you not sing Bingo."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But ... I could have sworn ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then she told me there was a man downstairs (there wasn't), that our comforter is purple (it's black), and that she wanted her Goofy doll (she doesn't have one). She even made me search through the whole toy box for this alleged Goofy doll that doesn't exist. She also told her daycare teacher it was her birthday (it wasn't) and that I was going to take her to the park (I had made no such promise).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">STOP IT AUDREY. I'M ALREADY HANGING BY A THREAD OVER HERE.</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-82910846052887686232016-02-03T09:20:00.003-08:002016-02-03T09:20:44.089-08:00Time flies even when you're not having any fun at all<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">How the f*** is it February already? And it's not even the first of February. It's the third. I'm three days late at being shocked that a new month started.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That's a pretty fair metaphor for how my entire life is going at the moment -- always at least a few days late to being angry about how many days have gone by. Imagine how mad I'll be when I realize yesterday was Groundhog Day! (that was yesterday, wasn't it?)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There's a house on the street behind ours that still has its Christmas lights up, and the other day I silently scolded the owner of that house with "Christmas was like <i>three weeks ago</i>. Get your life in order." Except it wasn't three weeks ago. It was almost six weeks ago. Which doesn't speak well at all for the owner of that house, but doesn't really speak well for me either. (In some ways, I hope that house keeps their lights up even longer because then I'll know I'm at least following the calendar better than SOMEONE on this planet.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Time is flying. Not because I am having fun, but because I HAVE TOO MUCH LIFE TO CRAM INTO NOT ENOUGH HOURS. I barely have a chance to acknowledge that it's today before tomorrow gets here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But it's okay -- this is what happens when the kids are itty bitty. I'm not worried. I know the clock will slow back down to a reasonable speed when they're a bit older and a bit more sleep-through-the-nighty and don't-take-up-literally-every-waking-momenty. Until that day comes, here are some ways that I am dramatically behind the times.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I've just started my New Years Resolution to get back into exercising</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It's not really a New Years Resolution per se, as I'm not trying to lose any weight. I'm the same size as I was before I got pregnant. But I haven't been exercising, and it's really starting to weigh down on my mental health.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So I decided that after the new year, it would be time to get back on that horse. Trevor was born plenty long enough ago that I can get back into exercising without making a million excuses. My body is fully recovered and has been for months now. Trevor doesn't need me every minute of the day. My breastfeeding and pumping schedule has calmed down enough for there to be time to work out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So I joined LA Fitness and looked up their class schedules at the gym near my house and the gym near my office. I planned out which classes I would attend.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And now here we are, February 3rd, and I just went to my first regular Zumba class this past weekend and then another one yesterday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I'm only a month late on this one, so that's not so bad, right? Better than that lady with her Christmas lights.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Also, totally unrelated, but at my Zumba class yesterday, there was a man in the class. Which was a bit strange, since Zumba classes are like 99% women, but hey, there's no rule against men in the class and good for this guy being bold enough to work out in the way that makes him happy even though it's against the norms!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Except this guy was <i>so bad at Zumba</i>. Like <i>wow</i>. I'm not exactly about to get hired as J-Lo's backup dancer either, but this guy was just on another plane of bad. I mean not only could he not do the most basic Zumba choreography -- we're talking simple mambo steps here -- but he was also doing these random leaps and pirouettes that had nothing to do with what the instructor was doing. Part of me wonders if he was just doing his own Zumba class in his head with no regard to what was going on around him. U</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">sually if someone is struggling to follow along, they tone down their movements and focus on only the feet or only the arms. They certainly don't go "wow, jazz squares are tripping me up so I'm just gonna start doing some random leaps and spins into other people. You know, so that I stay under the radar until I get the hang of it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But I guess I have to hand it to him for getting out there and getting his cardio in? Good job, guy. At least he probably knows what month it is, so he's got me beat.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Audrey got excited about Easter and I told her she would have to wait six months for the Easter Bunny</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Audrey was looking at pictures on my phone, and found all the pictures from Easter last year. She was so excited about it that she started demanding my phone at all hours of the day and night so that she could look at pictures from Easter. She couldn't WAIT for the Easter Bunny to come again and hide eggs for her to gather up!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I didn't want to encourage her excitement just yet, so I told her that she would have to wait quite a while until Easter. "It won't be Easter again for like six months, sweetie. The Easter Bunny will come then."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But now I'm looking at my calendar and it's going to be Easter in like a month and a half? SINCE WHEN?!?! </span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Facebook showed me a picture of Audrey's outfit from the Superbowl two years ago and I thought it was a technical glitch</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="'Go Hawks! Take one and take two. This baby needs multiple outfits to get through half a game'" src="https://scontent-sea1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-0/p296x100/1010091_10100611322761095_1836489370_n.jpg?oh=5f65ab50d19fd278d6f82b7cdfc320ac&oe=576E6782" style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif;" /></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
It was like "you posted this two years ago!" and I was like "WTF why would I randomly post a picture of Audrey in a Seahawks onesie in the middle of summer or whatever. Facebook must be going crazy." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And then I realized that it had in fact been the Superbowl on that date two years prior. It is not the middle of summer right now. But I never really thought it was the middle of summer right now. My brain just kind of told me that exactly two years ago was the middle of summer, even though it's not summer now? Like two years was secretly 1.3 years, or maybe it was dog years?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I don't know.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I don't even do drugs you guys. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have no excuse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The most recent photos on our refrigerator are from before Trevor was even born</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I mean, you'd think it would take less than six months to <i>acknowledge the addition of a new human being to your family</i>. That's a pretty big deal.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">But nope. Can't seem to make it happen. I can order photo prints online to be delivered to my doorstep in less than five minutes. Have I done this? Oh, sweet summer child.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have done nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I still haven't deposited a money order that I received for Christmas</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I just haven't had a chance yet. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Come on, you guys. Christmas was only like ... three weeks ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Also I forgot to celebrate my 30th birthday which was nearly 4 months ago so let's all take a second to sing Happy Birthday to me. Dirty Thirty! The big 3-0! That's a milestone!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif;">Or am I 40? I don't even know anymore.</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-47998143448882947372016-01-22T10:07:00.001-08:002016-01-22T10:12:09.439-08:00Trying to shower when you have a toddler<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It is both a happy and a sad day when your kid first learns how to work a door handle. Happy because it means you'll no longer have to rescue them when they shut themselves in the pantry and can't get out ... but sad because now you cannot escape them no matter where you go to hide.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This especially includes the shower, which used to be a 'safe space' for me to relax.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">NOT. ANYMORE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDIwyeGv49xilEiXB7ksm838LopHJ5EfBCViReE4ku4oc_lms1fJJ_ONuy31V1lqFisqN8RWcbkoOa1qYy7VqpGSjohzaTh3cY2eREIiiOL1A6W3WaU0BlYDOttY9dSZqX9vEg2kTFlWW/s1600/IMG_1079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDIwyeGv49xilEiXB7ksm838LopHJ5EfBCViReE4ku4oc_lms1fJJ_ONuy31V1lqFisqN8RWcbkoOa1qYy7VqpGSjohzaTh3cY2eREIiiOL1A6W3WaU0BlYDOttY9dSZqX9vEg2kTFlWW/s400/IMG_1079.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">IT'S THE ONE ON THE RIGHT YOU'VE GOT TO WATCH OUT FOR.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now, obviously there are things I could do to improve the situation for myself. I could lock the door, or only shower when she's asleep, or give her some special toy that she only gets to play with while I'm showering so she has extra incentive to leave me alone. But the fact is, I love her and she makes me laugh, so she can bother me in the shower if she wants.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And bother me she does.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It starts with the announcement of the intention to shower. "I am going to take a shower!" She responds to this by confirming it at least six times. "You're going to take a shower? You're going to take a shower Mom? Are you going to take a shower?" and on and on until she is satisfied that I am, in fact, going to take a shower.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I take my clothes off and shut the bathroom door, wondering how long the defenses will hold this time. And sure enough, within a minute or less of the water being on, I hear the doorknob start jiggling and then a little voice asking for the seventh confirmation: "Mommy are you taking a shower?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then begins the Great Handing of the Things. Audrey loves to be helpful. Nothing gives her greater pleasure than to assist me, whether it be by dragging a bag of bottles across the driveway of Trevor's daycare ("I'm carrying these bottles Mommy <i>don't take them away</i>"), or putting away her dirty bowl in the clean dishwasher I'm unloading, or taking groceries out of the bag and putting them in Trevor's car seat for some reason ("I'm putting the groceries away!" But why would they be stored <i>in Trevor's car seat</i>, Audrey? Why??).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">This misguided helpfulness applies to my showers as well. She will yank the curtain open three feet and stick her head in, asking me "Mommy do you need something?" I tell her no, I have everything I need, and then I shut the curtain and go back to applying shampoo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Moments later, the curtain is again yanked open and Audrey's head appears. "Do you need ... some toilet paper?" she asks me, shoving a big wad of toilet paper under the water where it promptly starts to disintegrate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"No! Audrey no! Mommy does not need toilet paper please get that out of the shower and put it in the garbage."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"It's all wet!" she complains, like this is somehow <i>my</i> fault.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shut the curtain again and resume my shower, only to be interrupted again ten seconds later. "Mommy, do you need ... this?" she asks, shoving the dirty end of the toilet cleaning brush towards my leg.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"GOOD GOD NO! Audrey that is dirty! Please put it away!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Again she disappears, and again I close the curtain. And again she yanks it open, this time to offer me a comb that I do not need.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Over the course of my 5-6 minute shower, she yanks the curtain open no fewer than ten times, offering me a towel, a bottle of Tilex, a toothbrush, a second giant wad of toilet paper, a plunger, Jesse's razor, one of Trevor's toys, etc. I have to readjust the angle of the shower head so that her constant interruptions don't flood the entire bathroom. And when I finally turn the water off and open the curtain completely, I find that she has taken the floor towel out of the bathroom and hidden it god knows where.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And then she reappears in the bathroom to confirm for the eighth time: "Mommy, are you taking a shower?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/gleethenextgenerationfanfiction/images/7/73/Headdesk.gif/revision/latest?cb=20120410024824" /></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And then there's the running commentary as I dry off. She points at my front and asks "Mommy, is that ... your bum?" I tell her that no, that is Mommy's <i>vagina</i>, because I want her to learn the real words for things so she doesn't turn into one of those weird adults who could let loose a string of curses fit to make a longshoreman blush, but still refers to her genitals as "my bajingo" and calls her 20-years-husband's penis his "pee-pee."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She struggles with this word a bit, as it is not something she hears often. "It's Mommy's ... gina?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Yes. Mommy's va-gi-na."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Where is MY vagina?" she asks, and I point at her crotch. "And where is DADDY'S vagina?" she asks, and I start laughing really hard because I should have seen this coming but I <i>didn't</i> so it's <i>hilarious</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In addition to loving to help people, Audrey also loves to make people laugh. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Exhibit A: She walked around with this thing on her head for like 15 minutes because we were laughing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Exhibit B</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And through my laughter, she has just learned that asking about Daddy's vagina is COMEDY GOLD. She doesn't understand why; all she knows is that Mommy is busting a gut over here and she wants it to continue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Daddy!" she calls. "Daddy! You have a vagina?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jesse appears holding Trevor, looking confused and telling her that he does not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"DADDY WHERE IS YOUR VAGINA?" she demands like an angry cop interrogating a suspect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Now everyone is laughing. Which is just positive reinforcement for Audrey to continue this. Dear God what have we done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Also, now the entire family is in the bathroom with me as I try to dry off after my nice relaxing shower. Arguing about vaginas and who has them and who does not have them. I realize I really need to start locking the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">And finally, as the cherry on top after this very relaxing shower experience, Audrey grabs a tube of chapstick, comes up behind me while I'm toweling off my hair, and rubs it on my buttcheek.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Here Mommy! I put this on your butt."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Thank you, Audrey. As usual, you have been an <b><i>enormous</i></b> help.</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-16075570545755658722016-01-13T13:55:00.002-08:002016-01-13T13:55:47.143-08:00We have another ghost<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2012/11/our-house-is-haunted-by-lamest-ghost.html">might recall that our old house</a> may or may not have been haunted by the ghost of the prior resident who had committed suicide there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I guess our bad luck continues (though arguably the bad luck isn't OURS so much as whoever lives in houses before us), because our new house might be haunted too. As we were in the process of purchasing the house, the guy who was renting the house unfortunately died right in the middle of the living room, probably from some kind of aneurysm or embolism or other -ism that ends in fairly young, healthy people dying very suddenly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Despite this unforeseen disaster, I wasn't particularly worried about there being a ghost in the house. Y'know, since I don't really believe in them and all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But ... well ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey talks an awful lot about ghosts now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A whole awful lot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And she's never talked about ghosts before.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is there really a ghost in the house, or is she just letting her little kid imagination run wild? I'll let you be the judge, based on these conversations she and I have had about the ghost:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One day, she told me that she was scared because there was a ghost. I asked her where the ghost was, and she pointed to the top of the spiral staircase that leads to the finished basement. So I picked her up and carried her a little closer to the stairs, and she pointed downwards, saying that the ghost was on the stairs. I got a bit freaked out (because <i>everyone</i> knows kids can see ghosts) and asked her if the ghost was nice. Even though she was clearly frightened, she said that he was nice, and that he was going downstairs to play with her dishes (note that her play kitchen and all its accessories are down in the basement). I called down the stairs "Hi ghost! Be careful with Audrey's dishes and put them away when you're done please!", thinking that being totally calm about the ghost would keep Audrey from getting scared. But the closer we got to the top of the staircase, the more she freaked out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not gonna lie -- seeing a small child become visibly distressed because we're getting too close to the ghost she sees on the staircase kind of spooked me. She pretty much had me convinced that there was a real ghost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A ghost who likes to play pretend kitchen. A doughnut on a hamburger? Ghost, you've gone completely mental!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey often talks about the ghost in the morning when we're leaving for daycare. It is still dark out when we leave, and the stupid motion activated outside lights don't work very reliably, so it can be pretty friggin' dark out there as we lock up the house and head for the car. I always leave Audrey on the porch while I put Trevor's car seat in the car, and then come back to get her. It's when I come back to get her that she starts going on about the ghost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The other day, she told me that the ghost was singing. Once again, this made me feel pretty nervous and uncomfortable ... until I asked her what he was singing. She told me that the ghost was singing "Ghost Song", which she then sang for me. It was set to the tune of "Elmo's Song", and just went "la-la la-la, la-la la-la, GHOST SONG!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I mean, the original "Elmo's Song" even contains the lines "Elmo wrote the music / he wrote the words" so it's not like you can claim ignorance, Ghost. You just straight-up stole that shit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">From that moment on, I resolved to no longer be afraid of the ghost, even if he's 100% totally real. Because clearly he's aware that he's a ghost, or he wouldn't have called himself a ghost while singing his song. Movies have taught me that ghosts are at their most dangerous when they think they're still alive. And clearly he's pretty kid-friendly, having sung Audrey's favorite song after all. I asked her again if the ghost was nice, and she said that he was, and that they were singing "Ghost Song" together. So at least there's that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I wonder if he's available to babysit?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The most in-depth discussion about the ghost occurred this morning, though, and was the motivation for me to write this post. As I went back to the porch to get Audrey and put her in the car, she told me again that the ghost was outside and that she was scared. I asked her where the ghost was, and she said that he was in Daddy's car, which was parked beside mine in the pitch-black driveway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I asked her why he was in Daddy's car -- where was he going? And she announced that he was going shopping. She then spent the entire car ride to daycare monologuing about what the ghost was up to. It went something like this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"He's going shopping! To get an apple!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"He has to buy it first, though. Before he eats it." (every time I take Audrey grocery shopping, we pick out an apple first for her to eat while we shop. But I remind her that we have to pay for the apple before she can start eating it, so she always solemnly repeats that "we have to buy it first" whenever apples come up in conversation)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"He's going to buy an apple for me too! And he's going to bite off all the peels!" (Audrey doesn't like apple peels, so when she's eating her apple, she spits out bits of peel into her hand and puts them in an empty produce bag I tie to the cart handle for this purpose. The ghost biting off all the peels for her would therefore be a major help.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"The ghost is very nice. He's a nice ghost. I want to give him a big hug."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"He's going to do all his shopping. He's going to buy apples. And candy! And he's going to give it to me!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"I really want to give the ghost a hug!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"Today is the ghost's birthday. Happy birthday ghost!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, in conclusion, do we have a ghost? Probably.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Does the ghost sing Audrey's favorite song while playing with Audrey's favorite toy and going shopping to buy Audrey's favorite things? Uhh, probably not. I think those ideas came from her.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Is today the birthday of the renter who died in the house?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">... I'd be lying if I said I didn't consider emailing the former owner to ask if she knows what the guy's birthday was. Because ... what if it's today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Holy f*** you guys what if it's today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-68334678262652499682016-01-06T13:05:00.002-08:002016-01-06T14:01:00.689-08:00The pros and cons of breastfeeding: a totally non-medical and non-health related journey<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So everyone already knows that from a purely health perspective, "breast is best." Like if the only variable involved in the decision was "which is better for my child's health?", breast would win because breastmilk comes from humans and formula comes from cows and human babies obviously do better with human milk than with cow's milk.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But there are WAY more variables involved than that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was not able to breastfeed my daughter successfully. It just didn't work out for us. My supply was jacked up and I had terrible anxiety and stress about it, which made supply even worse. My commitment to breastfeeding her even when it <i>clearly was not working</i> actually gave me postpartum depression, and it was just a nightmare from start to finish. The depression cleared up within HOURS of me announcing to Jesse that I was "f***ing <i>done</i> with this shit."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With Trevor, however, things have been going pretty great (which is something to keep in mind for anyone else who struggled with breastfeeding their first child. Second kid might be a whole different ballgame). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because of this, I have an excellent standard of comparison, since I've both formula-fed and breast-fed kids within a couple years of each other. And based on these experiences, here are the pros and cons of breastfeeding:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: You have a "shut up and calm your ass down" button attached to your body</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This may sound cold-hearted, but seriously -- having the ability to silence your baby during even the most insane crying jags is f***ing invaluable. I'm not talking about normal baby wahh wahh I'm bored and my foot is cold crying -- I'm talking about the crying they do when they've just gotten three shots in five seconds, or if they're extremely overtired to the point where they cannot pull themselves back from the abyss. This is the type of crying that makes parents lose their minds, because it is so loud and hopeless and there's just not much you can do about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But there is. Stick a boob in their mouth, and it's like the whole thing never happened.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Trevor is 4 1/2 months old, and I can still reliably use a boob to calm him down and put him to sleep when he's worked up. With Audrey, we used a binkie, which worked sort of, most of the time. But the boob works 100% of the time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I like those odds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Even at a crowded family gathering full of people, excitement, and noise, I still managed to get him to take like a two-hour nap with some help from tit wizardry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: Your wardrobe will be extremely limited</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You need to be able to get to your boobs easily at all times. Some people wear regular t-shirts and just pull them up to get the boob out. I salute these people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I cannot/will not/don't understand how it is possible to do this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wear nothing but open-front cardigans or a zippered hoodie with nursing tanks (which unsnap at the shoulder so you can pull down and reveal boob). I will continue to wear nothing but this until Trevor has been weaned.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have all these great sweater-dresses sitting in my closet that just won't be making an appearance until next year. Can you imagine trying to get to a boob while wearing a sweater dress?! Good grief!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also, nursing tanks are at least $20 each. Because of course they are. F***ers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: Impossible to overfeed, so there's no anxiety on that front</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Overfeeding a formula baby is not only possible, it's pretty easy to do. Babies are greedy little bastards, and they can suck down a bottle in the blink of an eye and still come at you wanting more. Audrey was fat as hell when she was a baby. I mean look at her -- she looked like Chris Farley.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE7C-2PrBfRLeL_oXDK5nd3mSgy48YfD2MPIm-B1Ye2-RLxZGKeSg384WYkOdDzFQiP5Th6UV3SGaOYgANiYgtWzD7mfzE6N6vsJIZXfeBhhnWiqJDYxzHdCDD7rP-GbIwNjaMNCVb_va/s1600/A+78.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE7C-2PrBfRLeL_oXDK5nd3mSgy48YfD2MPIm-B1Ye2-RLxZGKeSg384WYkOdDzFQiP5Th6UV3SGaOYgANiYgtWzD7mfzE6N6vsJIZXfeBhhnWiqJDYxzHdCDD7rP-GbIwNjaMNCVb_va/s320/A+78.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">FAT GUY IN A LITTLE COAT</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But you can't overfeed a baby at the breast. Literally cannot be done. So you can just shove a boob in their mouth whenever, and it's all good. With all the possible anxieties that come with being a new parent, it's pretty sweet to be able to avoid one.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: It is totally possible to underfeed a breastfed baby, though, so there's that anxiety finding its way back in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't think any breastfeeding mother has ever NOT googled "how can I tell if my breastfed baby is getting enough?" Googling this is a rite of passage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And you don't really stop worrying about it unless your baby is visibly fat. But even then, you'll manage to worry whether your supply will be able to keep up with your baby's growth -- "sure they're fat now, but will they STAY fat?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This sucks. This anxiety is terrible. It still plagues me to a degree, though not as badly now that I've given full permission for formula to fill any gaps left by my own milk supply. But with Audrey, it was this particular anxiety that eventually spelled death for our breastfeeding relationship.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: It's free!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">THE PRICE IS RIGHT BITCHES. Obamacare now even forces insurance to pay for pumps! YEAHHHHHH!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is especially meaningful if your child has special dietary needs that mean special fancy expensive formula. My boobs are saving us hundreds of dollars a month.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: No matter where you are or what you're doing, the milk has to come out of you on schedule</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had to bring my pump to my brother's wedding, where I sat in the bridal suite with my dress around my waist TWICE as I pumped milk out. This was not convenient.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xfa1/v/t1.0-9/10400905_10101310810107845_974090786866392760_n.jpg?oh=65b2000d0ad6f01f0db85678a32034a5&oe=5710086E" width="240" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I also got to eat a PB&J sandwich because I still <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/10/adventures-in-milk-protein-allergy-rant.html">can't eat dairy</a> (thanks TREVOR) so I didn't want to risk showing up starving to the wedding and not being able to eat anything there.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had to leave a work Christmas party early because my boobs were like "time to go!" and I had left my pump at the office. This was not convenient.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When Jesse and I were in the middle of packing and moving houses, I had a series of alarms set on my phone and when the alarm went off, I had to drop everything and go pump for 20 minutes. I pumped in the car, I pumped sitting on the floor in our cold and empty old house, and I pumped while I was IN THE F***ING ZONE PACKING AND I HATE STOPPING WHILE I'M IN THE ZONE! This was not convenient.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I pumped in the middle of the locker room at an LA Fitness because my car was getting a trailer hitch installed. This, too, was not convenient.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can't just leave the milk in there. It must come out, whether it's convenient for you or not. And you really can't pump in a public bathroom, as the pump itself needs somewhere to sit and then the whole process is meant to be as sterile and sanitary as possible. Setting my pump in a puddle of pee on a bathroom floor and then filling bottles carefully on my lap and hoping I don't accidentally drop them in the toilet is not very sterile or sanitary.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, so many people walked in on me while I was pumping at my brother's wedding. Sorry guys.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: You can feed your baby in the night without even waking up all the way</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one is gold, Jerry. <i>Gold</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Baby gets hungry in the night. Do I have to get up, let the tap run long enough for the water to get hot, turn on a light at least bright enough to mix a bottle of formula, and then sit up and feed this bottle to the hungry baby, like we did with Audrey?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">NOPE. I just whip out a boob and give it to him. He eats and we both immediately go back to sleep.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Awesome.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: If the equipment malfunctions, you're kind of screwed</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The "equipment" includes both your pump and your boobs themselves. If the pump breaks while you're at work, well I hope you work close to a Target because your ass is heading over there immediately to buy a new pump. Oh yeah, and they're like $300. You could always just buy a manual pump (for $40) and use that until Medela customer service can overnight you a new pump ... except lol that manual pump takes forever and is a giant pain in the ass. Thankfully, the equipment is reliable, but ... shit happens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And your boobs can malfunction too! Joy of joys!!! Last week mine decided that they weren't really <i>feeling</i> the pump anymore at work. Weren't into it. Just wouldn't let down, no matter what, no matter how many <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/11/pumping-milk-my-secret-shameful-video.html">baby videos I watched</a>, no matter how many kumbayas I sang. I literally had to call in sick for a day and a half because <i>my boobs were having technical difficulties</i>. How is that even something that happens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also, they're doing it again right now. What the f***, you f***ers. You have <i>one job</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: It's relaxing and you can look at your phone while you do it</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Have you ever tried to feed a baby a bottle and look at Facebook on your phone at the same time? Can't be done!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Breastfeeding and Facebooking, though? They were made for each other! Plus, breastfeeding baby releases lots of happy brain chemicals that make you feel awesome and relaxed. It's pretty sweet if you can make it work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: You still have to watch what you eat and drink</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Want to get wasted? Ha! Good one!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Want to drink a bunch of coffee? Well, I hope you like caffeinated babies because that shit comes out in breast milk!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Want to take some cold medicine because you're sick? Not today, buddy!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Want to consume any dairy products at all when your <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/10/adventures-in-milk-protein-allergy-rant.html">kid has a milk protein allergy</a>? LOL TO YOU, FRIEND. LOL TO YOU.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Someday my body will be mine again. <i>Someday</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: Impossible to forget boobs at home</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can leave the house without your diaper bag, without a stroller, without any of the things you need to care for your baby. But you cannot forget your boobs. God saw to the impossibility of that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So no matter what, at least you can always FEED your little one. Borrow diapers from a stranger, or use a paper towel or something. I dunno, you're smart. You'll figure it out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: Very possible to forget your pump, pump parts, storage bottles, breastfeeding cover, breastfeeding cushion, nipple shields if you need them, absorbent nursing pads, cooler, ice pack ...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A lot of this stuff isn't strictly necessary -- like the breastfeeding cushion or cover, for example -- but you'll be a lot happier if you have them than if you don't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And the pumping supplies are necessary, at least if you're going to be away from baby for a while. Just yesterday I forgot my storage bottles, and was actually contemplating putting pumped breastmilk into an old Gatorade bottle before realizing I'm a moron and I just needed to go back home and get the bottles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, even if you're formula feeding, you can still forget all the stuff you need to feed your baby, so nobody's really safe from this unless they're not stupid. But we're all stupid, so ... here we are.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: Required, non-optional downtime spent snuggling baby (and required, non-optional break time spent pumping milk)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While feeding the baby, you are helpless. You cannot do chores. You cannot get your own dinner. You cannot change the other kid's poopy diaper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">All you can do is sit on the couch and snuggle your baby. It's a hard life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even pumping is a required break. While Jesse and I were moving, I called my pumping breaks my "union-mandated rest period" because it was not optional and meant I got to play on my phone instead of lifting furniture.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sweet.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: You WILL cry over spilled milk</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last night, I had to dump out a bottle of pumped breast milk because it had been warmed up and not drank twice and that's already more times than you're supposed to do it. I practically whistled Taps as I poured it down the drain, and even now I can't stop thinking about things I could have done differently to have saved that milk. That milk is like a fallen comrade for whose death I will never forgive myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I even had a nightmare about it last night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">PRO: Boobs look incredible</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No, for real. They are bomb.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">CON: Breastfed babies don't usually sleep through the night until they're older than formula-fed babies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one isn't really that big of a deal, though, because as I said, I can feed the baby without even waking up all the way. So ... I don't really miss the sleep that much?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But in a couple months, I may well be singing a different song. Some breastfed babies won't sleep through the night until they're like a year old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A YEAR.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ain't waitin' no <i>year</i> to get my nights back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(and by the way, in case you didn't know, the reason for this is because formula is harder to digest than breast milk, so it takes longer, so formula-fed babies don't tend to eat quite as frequently. Which means they stay asleep longer instead of waking up hungry)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">PRO: DID I MENTION BOOBS LOOK INCREDIBLE?!?!?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not used to this. I don't know what to do with them. I will miss them when they're gone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, which is better? Totally depends on which of these pros and cons carry the most weight for you. With Audrey, I didn't find breastfeeding relaxing at all because I was drowning in stress and anxiety. My boobs didn't put her to sleep -- they made her angry and frustrated. The formula she drank was relatively cheap (though compared to the special formula Trevor has to drink, Dom Perignon is cheap). The cons outweighed the pros by a mile.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But with Trevor, well ... we're still doing it, so I guess that shows you which side is winning here! Breast may be best from a medical standpoint, but there's so much more to it than that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Choose wisely, friends. And please don't give yourself postpartum depression trying desperately to breastfeed when it's not working. Please.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mixing bottles in the night really isn't that bad.</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-38961768221782552942015-12-22T11:20:00.001-08:002015-12-22T11:20:24.582-08:00Stop being so easily offended! It ... offends me.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's Christmas time, and once again I'm annoyed as f*** by stupid people getting themselves all up in arms over stupid shit.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Time to rant about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">"Merry Christmas"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you think I'm going to rant about how we should be allowed to say "Merry Christmas" without offending people, you're wrong.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm here to rant about the idiots who are offended that they 'aren't allowed' to say "Merry Christmas" anymore because they might offend someone.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First of all, no real person is actually offended by the phrase "Merry Christmas." Okay maybe some super self-important 14-year-old angry atheist is offended by it, but nobody and I mean <i>nobody</i> feels the need to pander to super self-important 14-year-old angry atheists.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We say "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" because it's more inclusive of people who don't celebrate Christmas. Jews exist, y'all. So do atheists, and Muslims, and Hindus, and every damn other person who doesn't celebrate Christmas for whatever reason. Are you seriously offended by "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas"? You're offended that your holiday greeting wasn't specific enough, that it didn't stick it to the Jews enough?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXa0KGjtbHeOyeIF6U8as6pWhGYMC1POlOSwMtrAvK5bXv5opB1TQ2inB-_72CxBar_-tmQCoTOA6h32k149kzFMdIeoDxTNgZuDk24vK_sGihzvMci4XgHQ5w-dtxaqBP3Y6ucFBKzlf/s1600/O+1.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSXa0KGjtbHeOyeIF6U8as6pWhGYMC1POlOSwMtrAvK5bXv5opB1TQ2inB-_72CxBar_-tmQCoTOA6h32k149kzFMdIeoDxTNgZuDk24vK_sGihzvMci4XgHQ5w-dtxaqBP3Y6ucFBKzlf/s1600/O+1.PNG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You're a moron. You're offended because businesses, schools, government, whoever, decided to go with a greeting that includes everyone. How f***ing entitled are you. And then you have the nerve to go on about how terrible it is that "political correctness is ruining this country! Can't even say 'Merry Christmas' anymore!" No, asshole, you're perfectly welcome to say "Merry Christmas" all you want. The only person offended around here is you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>You</i> are the problem. When you bitch about how people are so easily offended these days, <i>you are talking about yourself</i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And it offends the hell out of me. Goddamn it, there's no escape. Everyone is offended all the time and I am too! THIS IS YOUR FAULT.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Those goddamned Starbucks cups</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So Starbucks decided to change their winter cups over to just a plain red cup. Why did they do this? Maybe it was cheaper to make, or their design department thought it looked best, or maybe they wanted to be more inclusive of other religions as I mentioned above. The point is who gives a flying f*** why they did it. It's a f***ing red cup.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Number of people offended by Christmas messages on the old Starbucks cups: like 7.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Number of people offended that the cups don't say "Merry Christmas" anymore: I don't know, maybe 30.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Number of people offended by the existence of these 37 people: 500 million.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you're offended by stupid bullshit that doesn't affect you in any way ... like, the imaginary offense taken by people who either don't exist or are just searching for attention ... YOU ARE THE PROBLEM.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">STOP BEING SO EASILY OFFENDED. JESUS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">IT MAKES ME ANGRY AND THEN I'M PART OF THE PROBLEM TOO.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5nMzESXVVzJxy9EeX9Zir1HXZb1bS3hsy6JzQn9cAJoANh0KM2kLtaDFp_VmK2_e48CYuyQdKgefrXptftoZUJij14cbkNBs38NpixRrAtoJhat9sydvGf1VXKdk62Ie0HUR1O__MzE_/s1600/O+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5nMzESXVVzJxy9EeX9Zir1HXZb1bS3hsy6JzQn9cAJoANh0KM2kLtaDFp_VmK2_e48CYuyQdKgefrXptftoZUJij14cbkNBs38NpixRrAtoJhat9sydvGf1VXKdk62Ie0HUR1O__MzE_/s1600/O+2.PNG" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">DO I LOOK ANGRY TO YOU? BECAUSE I'M NOT. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT'S ANGRY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This holiday season, let's all do our best to stop it. Just knock it right off. If you read something on Facebook and it starts to make you feel offended -- whether you feel offended directly by the thing itself, or if you feel offended because the people who are offended by the thing are too easily offended, just take a deep breath and STOP. IT.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This "culture of outrage" exists because we all feed into it. 99% of these people whose offense we read about are probably just faking it for attention anyway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Example: the houses on my street pretty much all have American flags on them. Many even have actual flag poles sunk into the ground, which is kind of unusual in this part of the country. But I was born in Canada. So I could pretty easily write a blog post about how all these American flags make me feel uncomfortable and excluded, and maybe that post would go viral and now I'm on Good Morning America talking about my experiences as an immigrant, and you see me on there and write a rant on Facebook about how ridiculous it is that people could be offended by an American flag and people need to grow thicker skin because this is all just over the top. And then someone reads your Facebook post and they get angry too, and they start their own rant, and soon enough half the country is ready to wring my neck because of how ridiculous and easily offended I am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I'm not offended by the American flag. I just wanted to get on TV, and I knew that would work.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So we're pretty much all worked up over nothing, all the damn time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Can we please all just knock it off?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">... Please?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Merry Christmas if you like, Happy Holidays if you like, Happy New Year if you like, and GOD BLESS AMERICA GREATEST COUNTRY ON EARTH EVERYONE ELSE CAN GO SUCK AN EGG.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">HEY BRITISH ATHEISTS I BET THIS PICTURE REALLY PISSES YOU OFF A HA HA HA.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I'M POSTING IT ANYWAY THOUGH BECAUSE I HAVE RIGHTS!</span></div>
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<img height="320" src="http://www.christmascompany.co.uk/productImages/productZoom/Y0932-C000-0S.JPG" width="213" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">HEY WHAT THE F***?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">PS: Vaccines cause autism. I seen it.</span></div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-14410652282543249182015-12-14T09:28:00.000-08:002015-12-14T09:28:25.285-08:00Hunting the good stuff: funny things Audrey has done lately<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm not gonna lie, you guys: I'm in hell a little bit right now. We are still recovering from the move, but recovering completely is going to take forever and the garage is still FULL of things that haven't been unpacked. The house doesn't really feel like home yet, and my commute home from work somehow managed to get worse (because sitting in bumper to bumper traffic for an hour wasn't bad enough, so now it's more like 1:20 to 1:30 every day just to get home). My evenings are about one hour long, during which time I have to get myself showered, eat dinner, get kids fed, get Trevor's bottles organized for Jesse to hopefully wash before bed (or else I have to wash them in the morning), get pump parts sanitized and milk put away that was pumped that day, give Trevor a bath, and then get myself and Trevor off to bed before it gets too late and we won't get enough sleep by 5AM reveille.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's a very anxiety-producing schedule and even though I know it will get better (IT WILL GET BETTER!), it sucks right now. So what do I do when everything sucks? Hunt the good stuff.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Jesse taught me this technique, and it makes such a difference. When you focus your attention on all the things that are good rather than all the things that are bad, it can turn your whole outlook around.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here I go!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yesterday, Audrey was having a Level 10 Meltdown. She was overtired and needed a nap, but wouldn't go to sleep so I thought "I guess I will give her a much-needed bath while Trevor is napping and Jesse is out getting a haircut." So I stripped her down and put her in the tub, and for whatever reason, she just started crying inconsolably.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She's got new tub toys that she loves to play with, so she really had no reason at all to be upset. But that's how toddlers work -- they get upset over nothing and you can't fix it. You just have to wait it out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I washed her as fast as I could, then I turned off the tub and let out the water and pulled her out to dry her off. And the meltdown intensified, as she started SCREAMING and trying to climb back into the tub. Apparently being miserable and crying in the tub was better than being out of the tub? I don't know.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We battled for a good long while. I don't even want to relive it because it was that bad. All I know is that she was running around naked and screaming, and I wanted to put a diaper on her so that at least her naked tantrum-throwing wouldn't lead to turds on the floor. But she was not interested in cooperating and allowing me to put a diaper on her. I had to literally wrestle her like an alligator, pinning various parts of her body with my superior strength, trying to get her legs through the holes in a pull-up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She fought and fought. The diaper stayed off. Nothing I tried was working. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had one more idea to test out: vocal sternness. In other words, shouting at her to knock it off and hoping that she would be so surprised and cowed by this -- I NEVER raise my voice -- that she would be still just long enough for me to get the diaper on her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I shouted in my best angry Mom voice: "AUDREY, <b>STOP IT.</b>"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And what did Audrey do?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She stopped screaming, looked me in the face and scolded, "Mommy, <i>don't shout at me.</i>"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I couldn't believe it. Here she is, assaulting my eardrums with every decibel her little larynx is capable of producing, but I shout ONE THING at her, and <i><b>I'm</b></i> the one in trouble? As soon as she was done scolding me, she went right back to screaming as loud as she could and waving her arms around, hitting me in the face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was so funny I just started laughing, which made her even angrier. I eventually got the diaper on her, and then the meltdown ended when I gave her a blue M&M. She went to sleep shortly thereafter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mommy, don't shout at me. It's rude to shout.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey thinks that every accessory related to my breastfeeding Trevor is called "Mommy's boobies." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So she will snap herself into the My Brest Friend pillow and announce "Look, I'm wearing Mommy's boobies!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She will pull a nursing pad out from under the couch (where she stashed it, of course) and call out "I found Mommy's boobies!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This morning, she got upset and came running up to me, crying about how "I broke Mommy's boobies" and handing me a part of my breast pump that she had accidentally split in two.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also, while we were in line for Santa, she reached her whole hand down my shirt and shouted "I'M GRABBING MOMMY'S BOOBIES" which was absolutely hilarious to everyone who isn't me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She's just started getting into more imaginative play, which is really fun to see. We were downstairs playing in her toy zone and she brought me little triangle that she had put a block inside, telling me it was my coffee. She had her own coffee as well, and we both had to drink them. No tea parties up in <i>our</i> house; we're all about the hot coffee. She even insisted I blow on mine because it was "too hot."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Later, she asked me if I wanted some of her "pizza", which it turned out was her iPhone (yes, she has her own iPhone; it's my old one and all it does is go on wifi so she can play games and watch Netflix) wrapped up in a burp rag.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She seems to understand the difference between being good and being naughty, but doesn't seem to grasp why being good is better. She kept jumping on the couch, which is naughty, so I sent her to her room and told her to come out when she was ready to be good. So she went off to her room and closed the door, and then returned a couple minutes later, announcing that she was ready to be good.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This lasted maybe ten minutes before she was jumping on the couch again and was returned to her room. I pointed out to her that Mommy was just sitting on the couch being good, while Audrey was jumping on the couch and being naughty, and maybe she should try being good like Mommy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So for the rest of the day, whenever she did something bad (which was like all the time), she would cheerfully explain that "Mommy is being good and Audrey is being naughty!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn't have the energy to do anything but agree with her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here are some other good things that have happened lately:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- I cooked a bunch of food this weekend, so we are in good shape to have enough food cooked to get us through the entire work week. This is huge, because I have roughly zero minutes per week to spend cooking, so we need good, healthy food that is ready to go -- just pop it in the microwave and you're in business. And we have it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- I took the kids to see Santa this weekend, which was a huge ordeal that I'm definitely keen to not have to do again for another year. It's always a good feeling when a really unpleasant task is crossed off the list!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- I just pumped 4 ounces of milk, which is a lot for me to pump in one sitting. I'm pleased about that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- I got the clean laundry up out of the basement laundry room this morning. It doesn't sound like much, but it's so nice knowing the laundry is one step closer to being folded and put away. Little things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If anyone else is finding themselves in hell right now, join me in hunting the good things! Even the smallest thing is worth celebrating. What good things have happened to you today and over the weekend? Writing them out will make you feel better, I promise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-57045235359593130512015-12-04T13:30:00.000-08:002015-12-04T13:30:12.492-08:00I illustrated these Christmas songs for you<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have not blogged in forever, but I have a good excuse: we bought a house, and then we moved into it. And we celebrated Thanksgiving in the interim. It was a major pain in the ass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm going to write a blog post about it eventually, but we're still not even fully done moving so I'm too stressed and depressed to make jokes about it right this minute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Instead, here are a couple illustrations that popped into my head while listening to Christmas music this weekend:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The first is from the song "Happy Holidays" by Andy Williams. I kind of hate this song, mostly because of one line:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">"And don't forget to hang up your sock!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now obviously that is referring to stockings, which makes sense because stockings are pretty much just socks. So he's being all casual and slang-y about hanging your stocking by the chimney with care (or with Scotch tape if you're worried about damaging the wood and haven't bought those weighted stocking hooks yet).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But every time I hear this line, I just picture someone putting a thumb tack through a tube sock and calling it a day. Like Santa's gonna fill that stank-ass piece of shit with candy and a Pez dispenser and you'll lose your mind over it Christmas morning.</span><br />
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NO ANDY WILLIAMS, NO.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I mean if Santa did slip a Pez dispenser into one of those socks, would you eat the Pez? Would you??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there's Little Drummer Boy. This time, I have a mental image that cracks me up. It's about <span style="background-color: white;">this line:</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">I played my drum for him</span><br style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;" /><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">Pa rum pum pum pum</span><br style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;" /><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">I played my best for him</span><br style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;" /><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">Pa rum pum pum pum,</span><br style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">I just picture this person showing up and being like "omg, I have no gift for Jesus. Shit. Okay I have this drum though. I hope Jesus likes drums. I'mma play him some sweet drums and hope he's into it. Here I go." </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">And then Jesus is like:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3_BEBWuJWzjUdCmR9nMkqQCkERFC0dkGFuz3uQMICdi1vHCZavPB7qWn-RmdjlZWfPhxRITFuzUFwXo6Ch24v_AOXnuPGhJTRojSxZAcFc1EVQhPsfN8wL6tjxlnmWuN1sDN61nGt_5G/s1600/Jesus+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3_BEBWuJWzjUdCmR9nMkqQCkERFC0dkGFuz3uQMICdi1vHCZavPB7qWn-RmdjlZWfPhxRITFuzUFwXo6Ch24v_AOXnuPGhJTRojSxZAcFc1EVQhPsfN8wL6tjxlnmWuN1sDN61nGt_5G/s640/Jesus+2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">Wow that super sucks, Little Drummer Boy. I guess your skills did not impress Jesus after all, even though you played your best for him. Keep practicing and then try again next year maybe.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 25px;">I swear I will write more blog posts soon. It's not that I'm done with this blog or anything (BECAUSE I AM SO NOT) ... I'm just completely drained of life force at the moment. It will come back. I hope.</span></div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-20814260473417927452015-11-17T11:30:00.000-08:002015-11-17T11:30:19.591-08:00A toddler and a baby: The love. The torture.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I feel compelled to write this post not just for everyone's immediate amusement, but for posterity's sake. Eventually, there will come a time when Audrey and Trevor have a relationship that looks very different from the relationship they have right now. And when that time comes, I want to remember things as they are now. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because right now, shit is CUTE AS F***. Seriously, oh my god.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When Trevor was two days old and had just come home from the hospital, Audrey decided to serenade him with some tunes on her Doc McStuffins guitar. When I asked her what she was doing, she told me she was "playing guitar for baby Trevor."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE TORTURE:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few days later, Audrey decided that the sleeping Trevor was looking a bit shabby, so she wanted to spruce him up. She took some brightly colored hair ties that she wears as bracelets and put them on her baby brother, one by one. Thankfully he did not wake up.</span></div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-nsk6_7O8_rweRMch-nosBKpJzs60BHD8-_kY4oLjWRDnyJl8h6V9sknzTAU-7P-RcUGBuSRX9S5E-qgvr7RieVnsBKkQ62Sao1JKGKxxJF7eXZqswScmNyzKRK4jj5JS5eshstxBNZQ/s1600/AT+16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-nsk6_7O8_rweRMch-nosBKpJzs60BHD8-_kY4oLjWRDnyJl8h6V9sknzTAU-7P-RcUGBuSRX9S5E-qgvr7RieVnsBKkQ62Sao1JKGKxxJF7eXZqswScmNyzKRK4jj5JS5eshstxBNZQ/s400/AT+16.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey always wants to "hold baby Trevor." She demands this of me at least once a day. I generally allow it as long as she is sitting down, and as soon as I put him in her lap she becomes absolutely giddy with excitement. Oftentimes, she will then shout "LOOK! I'M HOLDING BABY TREVOR!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's precious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It doesn't matter whether Trevor is enjoying it or not -- she's still happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE TORTURE:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She loves Trevor so much that she can't resist sharing her favorite things with him. This includes burying him under many large Elmo dolls ...</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpiFWNGEbzHJLg66OOfa0Ttco2BgJ-YFbj1oKpYaxanegWmk1A1ZCiulTX4zAaujAMOJ8hUwD5KAuR-1c0g9W5Ap1e02QJ5_b6ShzFkXXawSaFZDZYEzR6EcHmLIJ8Cgq53Gbj7m9PpSC/s1600/AT+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOpiFWNGEbzHJLg66OOfa0Ttco2BgJ-YFbj1oKpYaxanegWmk1A1ZCiulTX4zAaujAMOJ8hUwD5KAuR-1c0g9W5Ap1e02QJ5_b6ShzFkXXawSaFZDZYEzR6EcHmLIJ8Cgq53Gbj7m9PpSC/s320/AT+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbEwdExioZcVhI8EohdvPT6TvyTQKOgbLzsaCU0fnbuQBPNiYq9or1S5pITXqG2qgNlDEYFvRG-0kRmTqnq5JuVAKuE3t4B8NVlIYCEOuv7xUJo7HEKoUJuiMi7n0-rdBhPKE4iuOqz0l/s1600/AT+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbEwdExioZcVhI8EohdvPT6TvyTQKOgbLzsaCU0fnbuQBPNiYq9or1S5pITXqG2qgNlDEYFvRG-0kRmTqnq5JuVAKuE3t4B8NVlIYCEOuv7xUJo7HEKoUJuiMi7n0-rdBhPKE4iuOqz0l/s320/AT+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Here Trevor, you can play with Elmo," she said. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">... and even giving him her treasured binkie when he gets upset, despite the fact that he hates binkies and has no interest in sucking on one. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb2lUq9C1k2vSa0A1R8Dx4N4EZRa2cVVBrVXRzb_AkNQX9GEtfJ4rCFcibAqyC3x79l8p_HkdXnGOCf6ueFF_uLJb14GTDrUkACm-agw_oNOAxpRnbbIBgDcZofSjvr4GCWjdJICgs8sj/s1600/AT+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGb2lUq9C1k2vSa0A1R8Dx4N4EZRa2cVVBrVXRzb_AkNQX9GEtfJ4rCFcibAqyC3x79l8p_HkdXnGOCf6ueFF_uLJb14GTDrUkACm-agw_oNOAxpRnbbIBgDcZofSjvr4GCWjdJICgs8sj/s320/AT+6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TAKE THE BINKIE GODDAMMIT TREVOR I WILL SHOVE IT IN YOUR MOUTH UNTIL YOU COMPLY.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She wants to kiss him and cuddle him all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. First words out of her mouth when Jesse gets her from her crib every morning: "I want to go see Trevor."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She and I will go downstairs while Trevor stays sleeping for a bit in the morning. As soon as I go upstairs to get him, she tails me and screams that she wants to "say hi to Trevor!" This includes hugging him, pressing her face against his head, and kissing him repeatedly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We cannot go to bed at night without her first giving him a kiss on the lips. If he turns his head, she will keep trying until she gets lips.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-uTCHiW8zkJQI4XVKwTxaXAbXf-cz9eTRR4swShY19sBL0v6Ggcj_xYoUA7qyiIXzKmel2YzVJVBka0KhIVucfhTTjKU8yf1b7rStD6d3oiS3kaW_5FHZ3XWr2PBHkF7hqiHlhchrfry/s1600/AT+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-uTCHiW8zkJQI4XVKwTxaXAbXf-cz9eTRR4swShY19sBL0v6Ggcj_xYoUA7qyiIXzKmel2YzVJVBka0KhIVucfhTTjKU8yf1b7rStD6d3oiS3kaW_5FHZ3XWr2PBHkF7hqiHlhchrfry/s320/AT+4.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was afraid she would be jealous of how much time I spend holding Trevor as he breastfeeds, but nope -- she just hops up on the couch to snuggle against him while he eats.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Selfie interrupted by smooches.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vId3x4NLUk2gac79wnu1icTs_09zeuWv-hNq_GhGkSD1-U1ou2h1DkbHQ2S6yB9KVXlj9toXOSfKVN8MjGRusGts3XtlqOmTHmRnXJIUsFctNOlfUNd5eW5XkRbHxS9wKo9Q1hQSEiyo/s1600/AT+13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0vId3x4NLUk2gac79wnu1icTs_09zeuWv-hNq_GhGkSD1-U1ou2h1DkbHQ2S6yB9KVXlj9toXOSfKVN8MjGRusGts3XtlqOmTHmRnXJIUsFctNOlfUNd5eW5XkRbHxS9wKo9Q1hQSEiyo/s400/AT+13.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">More kisses for her brother.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE TORTURE:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She knew, just KNEW, that he wanted to play with crayons while he was sleeping.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So she provided them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She always wants to snuggle Trevor. No jealousy, no tantrums, no "you're MY mommy" ... she is just thrilled to have a little baby brother. Sometimes her snuggles are a bit ... aggressive, though:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CCn49-qKvu0r5XDUg7mXdTMw0h2a9-ZIAmV8SjQzb6gE-ctUzukRbDLwJeWx0MGzr-zp4_M3xB9f1YrQzE20D9GUVybKISP7nu72er8wj3zXnixZWXyDuXdfXKcZHqNy3PFLPCWI4l5n/s1600/AT+7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CCn49-qKvu0r5XDUg7mXdTMw0h2a9-ZIAmV8SjQzb6gE-ctUzukRbDLwJeWx0MGzr-zp4_M3xB9f1YrQzE20D9GUVybKISP7nu72er8wj3zXnixZWXyDuXdfXKcZHqNy3PFLPCWI4l5n/s400/AT+7.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Oh God please don't, not another snuggle!"</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmvU63ualnc6aPtWuzq4bIbl9pF5v0SWFjq84kqs7lkH2zY0crr2-9Rm6dMyaI-pOlIUB0GW9Ns5U3bZF8TU_9HjslNP9StlNV9aYukEAvV2mUR_ILLBoOLMOGsYJrfS31j4Y_dSkFsOq/s1600/AT+8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQmvU63ualnc6aPtWuzq4bIbl9pF5v0SWFjq84kqs7lkH2zY0crr2-9Rm6dMyaI-pOlIUB0GW9Ns5U3bZF8TU_9HjslNP9StlNV9aYukEAvV2mUR_ILLBoOLMOGsYJrfS31j4Y_dSkFsOq/s400/AT+8.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"LOOK MOMMY I'M SNUGGLING TREVOR!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE TORTURE:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She wanted to try on all her shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then she wanted Trevor to try on all her shoes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This poor kid; I can already see 8-year-old Audrey putting a bunch of makeup on him and dressing him in drag during sleepovers with her friends.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrtcSbB7rQ7RVdAu3GQ3oMkMHofwuJA-X4DA_xsXKPu48klNy5Q9uCt7Zx75cmelaLhAIzptr1jhx9sk2dE_bmCQt_3imwGDqwwLTVO-xyX5O5evmqEEu8P2hf9J_Z6hPq8XBilErjKwF/s1600/AT+9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsrtcSbB7rQ7RVdAu3GQ3oMkMHofwuJA-X4DA_xsXKPu48klNy5Q9uCt7Zx75cmelaLhAIzptr1jhx9sk2dE_bmCQt_3imwGDqwwLTVO-xyX5O5evmqEEu8P2hf9J_Z6hPq8XBilErjKwF/s320/AT+9.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lookin' good there sir.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Whenever Trevor "plays" with something (I put "play" in sarcastic air-quotes, because let's face it: he's too little to really play with anything. He just looks at stuff and flails around), Audrey wants to play with him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This means climbing into the exercise gym with him:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKQacu_QZRIZj0qAqO-sD9EeADZx_Sirc1at68iLIJ6CG9n0wduAWx8bGCgrN2D9NPZ9jTnP4qTSnKPo0mCup3owbzJvekL55cNk-nXKdbQ4dPJkQg1PuIpq_n01kniXJwY7AswP08NI9/s1600/AT+12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSKQacu_QZRIZj0qAqO-sD9EeADZx_Sirc1at68iLIJ6CG9n0wduAWx8bGCgrN2D9NPZ9jTnP4qTSnKPo0mCup3owbzJvekL55cNk-nXKdbQ4dPJkQg1PuIpq_n01kniXJwY7AswP08NI9/s400/AT+12.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I had to stop her when she tried to lie down next to him, though. It was getting a bit unsafe in there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She also insists on regular Tummy Time, as this amuses her greatly. Sometimes, he will be nursing or asleep and she'll come up and shout "TREVOR, WAKE UP! WE NEED TO PLAY TUMMY TIME!" While he's on his tummy, she will bring toys over one by one and show them to him. Tummy Time isn't over until <b><i>she </i></b>says it's over.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Someday, she won't want to play with him to save her life. But today is not that day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE TORTURE:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She was playing with stickers. I guess Trev was looking a bit shabby again.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVgENIcnuk9hlsbSQF5igbqxFnYPvAeHYCw5irD0zUD8JuyaCyZNv4WIGim8uIePLM2jGSdVnXyjpyGOnP7h0ploF5rgJ6mmByzvGT5kYlzOJYM4mpg5xKxzmtn5vTghwnUJ6d_5yiIvn/s1600/AT+14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVgENIcnuk9hlsbSQF5igbqxFnYPvAeHYCw5irD0zUD8JuyaCyZNv4WIGim8uIePLM2jGSdVnXyjpyGOnP7h0ploF5rgJ6mmByzvGT5kYlzOJYM4mpg5xKxzmtn5vTghwnUJ6d_5yiIvn/s320/AT+14.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I put the monkey sticker on Trevor's head."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"[sigh] Yes, I see that."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Luckily, she had stuck it like 500 other places beforehand, so it wasn't very sticky anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">THE LOVE:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She comforted him when a part of a movie she was watching scared her. She naturally assumed that Trevor was scared of it too, so she swooped him up and told him it would be okay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For real. She did that.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZZE0T-eJZT7Lsgd96pF35iaBvzwtnJzGYU_ZAzTECwIqTxsOkYEUbXUFEJujLqHsS3zuqYWCiIv0aNG4ULWdwxswgAX_Gn8_nTET-s2NEVNpdT9RRWt0lXLXFirfBGiXaNYwgijSe9Uu/s1600/AT+11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyZZE0T-eJZT7Lsgd96pF35iaBvzwtnJzGYU_ZAzTECwIqTxsOkYEUbXUFEJujLqHsS3zuqYWCiIv0aNG4ULWdwxswgAX_Gn8_nTET-s2NEVNpdT9RRWt0lXLXFirfBGiXaNYwgijSe9Uu/s400/AT+11.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When he cries in the car, she tells him "it's okay Trevor, it's okay."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When he cries at home, she brings him binkies, blankets, toys, anything she likes because she figures he likes it too and so it will make him stop crying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even her torture comes from a place of love. She has never once harmed him intentionally. <i>Never</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When he was a newborn, she wanted to stand on a stool and watch him have his baths every single night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When she threw a binkie at me and it bounced off me and hit his head, she sobbed for several minutes in true remorse as she hugged him, filled with sorrow because she had inadvertently hurt him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey loves her damn brother. And I love her all the more for it.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HwrW-MMHBe3PZh48biP8qTLbCN5BNs6gRQNQ4dyfLJuv8Xb3fDsH54so1w5fKKK24fJZEQ-0pW8YVhxXTLO1itsIm1tHfwXS1Yf6egtzG6aj6rqEuWfJGCSZL4omMjiujlSbTyOWr2vc/s1600/AT+19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2HwrW-MMHBe3PZh48biP8qTLbCN5BNs6gRQNQ4dyfLJuv8Xb3fDsH54so1w5fKKK24fJZEQ-0pW8YVhxXTLO1itsIm1tHfwXS1Yf6egtzG6aj6rqEuWfJGCSZL4omMjiujlSbTyOWr2vc/s320/AT+19.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mUy3pYFEsuDRXfz6c172LtTlGqKwVepx2tuhu0ZZMVfVhtcwWPnOPpbqt6bELJi1QqWd9doX3qoIZ0ymfDrx3_ecWYzB4uadsWbXkn366dTL7QUB3KphcgfnFYUTX2skhpuLM3LbLzlu/s1600/AT+20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3mUy3pYFEsuDRXfz6c172LtTlGqKwVepx2tuhu0ZZMVfVhtcwWPnOPpbqt6bELJi1QqWd9doX3qoIZ0ymfDrx3_ecWYzB4uadsWbXkn366dTL7QUB3KphcgfnFYUTX2skhpuLM3LbLzlu/s400/AT+20.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-58880721038902292682015-11-12T11:39:00.001-08:002015-11-12T11:39:27.368-08:00Pumping milk: My secret shameful video stash<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't really know how to write this post without ending up on some sort of government list, so I'm just going to do my best to avoid putting certain words next to each other, and hope for the best.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">_______________________</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I'm back to work now, my maternity leave having ended a week ago. This is why there haven't been any posts in so long -- life is absolutely frantic chaos at present, and will be until we get a better routine in place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But, being back to work means that I am now relying on the double electric hands-free breast pump to get the milk out of me, rather than relying on sweet little Trevor.</span><br />
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<img src="http://www.medelaimages.com/product_images/lrg/MPNSA001-02-001.jpg" /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">vs.</span></div>
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<img height="320" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xtl1/v/t1.0-9/12063768_10101255833197015_4800005241700816486_n.jpg?oh=c84973e20a8f032a420f89fef281e738&oe=56EF7015" width="223" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Can you guess which one I prefer?</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pumping milk out isn't exactly a 100% clinical endeavor. It requires your body to cooperate and produce the necessary hormones in order to work properly. If you're overly stressed, cortisol will prevent milk from letting down. If you're completely distracted, it will take longer for the pump to convince your body to let loose the milk torrent. Because if it were super easy to get milk flowing, we'd all be soaking through our shirts constantly.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Nope, in order to pump milk successfully, I've discovered that what I really need is some high quality video assistance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Porn, essentially. Pumping porn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The frighteningly close analogy between pumping milk and, uhhmmm, 'enjoying oneself privately' occurred to me yesterday, as I turned on the pump and then immediately watched a video of Trevor smiling at me while I played peek-a-boo with him. As soon as the video started, I smiled at Trevor's sweet face, felt my heart fill with love, and then felt the milk start to do its thing in response to the flood of oxytocin. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I thought, "my god, this is exactly like watching porn."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I didn't have the video, I would have to resort to closing my eyes and picturing Trevor doing whatever it is babies do when they're hungry and require milk.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="209" src="http://www.gabrielmitchell.com/uploads/gabriel-2008-jan-finger-sucking.jpg" width="320" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This random internet baby knows what's up.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or maybe I could read some milk letdown literotica?</span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The baby was hungry, that much was clear. It had been hours since he last ate. He let out a sharp cry, turning his head roughly to one side with his toothless mouth open, rooting, but was left frustrated. He stuck his tongue out, and then immediately clamped his mouth around his own closed fist, sucking aggressively.</span></i></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you think there's a market for stuff like this? I could write more. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there are the videos themselves. I have three of them, and I often watch more than one to get the milk flowing well before moving on to other tasks (once it starts, you don't really need to pay attention anymore and can just let the pump do its thing). The three I have are very different, and they appeal to me in different ways. There's the peek-a-boo one, which makes me feel very happy and loving because he's doling out smiles and cooing like the cutest baby on earth:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bmFJ9b9T_HbqlzZoSa0imhM8Kck9QB5hfygcYmiH0sYNjfGHNP4EnC5GoDOCJEosgeh8WKDrDxU-B3-uR0HNXTHWyFeuwMgFktYyDnK_PaSCbRFFomAV1KdM4RWtSTuIO5kBrf7Yihsj/s1600/IMG_0678.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bmFJ9b9T_HbqlzZoSa0imhM8Kck9QB5hfygcYmiH0sYNjfGHNP4EnC5GoDOCJEosgeh8WKDrDxU-B3-uR0HNXTHWyFeuwMgFktYyDnK_PaSCbRFFomAV1KdM4RWtSTuIO5kBrf7Yihsj/s320/IMG_0678.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ohhh boy, here comes that oxytocin!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there's the other "chatty cathy" video of him, where he spends the video making baby talking sounds before shoving his fist in his mouth:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyCDUdn-p7pK_DVZ1TE3iIJjc7WnchM1jrI_NuvLx9_EQqN7F-ZaVQsKZnULZPK-LTGcxtfSr93YvkchoxxXG9wOBwzIjOaO62uYZoqFE9WzzYP190S98P8e6I3Kj2q6KGsY5VrgrUNqO/s1600/IMG_0677.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyCDUdn-p7pK_DVZ1TE3iIJjc7WnchM1jrI_NuvLx9_EQqN7F-ZaVQsKZnULZPK-LTGcxtfSr93YvkchoxxXG9wOBwzIjOaO62uYZoqFE9WzzYP190S98P8e6I3Kj2q6KGsY5VrgrUNqO/s320/IMG_0677.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Fist-in-mouth is Trevor's preferred means of telling me he's hungry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there's video 3, which is just pure hunger. He's crying a bit, opening his mouth wide, and sticking his tongue out. I always watch this video second, after letting one of the others get me in the mood first.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LIDnssljZ5x3o6FtOL6EwgmYpggtKyuVBOSaU6_yXwKuTvRbCaxwT_6rovzqzKqo3xrCXRmq8MSM7MuP3b7b-hC-MEog8Cg1F4O6KpceFJrBM5Qi_kh6ExaaLbfzJiYQENLlteN30lfJ/s1600/IMG_0679.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9LIDnssljZ5x3o6FtOL6EwgmYpggtKyuVBOSaU6_yXwKuTvRbCaxwT_6rovzqzKqo3xrCXRmq8MSM7MuP3b7b-hC-MEog8Cg1F4O6KpceFJrBM5Qi_kh6ExaaLbfzJiYQENLlteN30lfJ/s320/IMG_0679.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
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The sound of a baby crying, of course, being <i>famous</i> for causing milk letdown in lactating women.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The problem now is that I'm starting to get sick of these same videos. They aren't really doing it for me anymore -- I've watched them too many times. I need more variety. I need to make new videos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I need to catch him when he's super hungry and rooting around on whatever is nearby. Crying. Sucking on his fist.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I need videos of him being really cute and sweet -- making faces in his sleep, smiling at his toys, telling me all about his day in that precious little baby way ...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I need to store all these videos in a folder on my phone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And oddly, I feel like I then need to hide this folder so that people can't find it when idly browsing. Because it's my porn stash, and it's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS WHY I HAVE SO MANY VIDEOS OF HUNGRY BABIES ON MY PHONE LEAVE ME ALONE YOU NOSY BITCH.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3heEEcJu1YFrYWacy7yAEaXICKgpHultIjp_hGMefTtwxox898vDgL8Zl-7wTfvsIwFcBzk5hwAU6p_BcIeg8Ky68M-ZvCb78n4RhXiUWrW9b6xG4VcPyAt9LSq-1gF1XfKva7pprGCnG/s1600/IMG_0680.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3heEEcJu1YFrYWacy7yAEaXICKgpHultIjp_hGMefTtwxox898vDgL8Zl-7wTfvsIwFcBzk5hwAU6p_BcIeg8Ky68M-ZvCb78n4RhXiUWrW9b6xG4VcPyAt9LSq-1gF1XfKva7pprGCnG/s320/IMG_0680.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">IT'S PERFECTLY LEGAL STOP HASSLING ME.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Bodies are weird, man. Weird.</span></div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-74517679919950885962015-10-27T08:36:00.000-07:002015-10-27T08:43:42.999-07:00Totally Not Legit Restaurant Yelp Reviews<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today's post is a review of a few restaurant experiences I had recently. Please note that there's a reason they are here on this blog rather than on Yelp: because they are completely ridiculous and have no business whatsoever being on the real internet where actual people might read them. But at the same time, they're in keeping with some actual reviews I have seen people post. Because the world is full of people who are ridiculous ALL THE TIME and they aren't even doing it on purpose to be funny. They're really like that. Blows my mind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Review 1:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Steamers Seafood Cafe</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Steamers is a little seafood restaurant down by the Tacoma Narrows bridge. We went there recently with the whole family, and they gave us a set of crayons and a picture for Audrey to color while we waited for our food.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since Halloween is fast approaching, the picture they gave us was of a few jack-o-lanterns. Audrey wanted me to help her color them, so I looked through the cup of crayons and discovered that there was no orange crayon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How the f*** am I supposed to color jack-o-lanterns without an orange crayon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I tried coloring it yellow and then coloring red on top of it so that I could make orange the old fashioned way, but crayons don't really work that way and it looked like crap. Then I tried to color the pumpkin's hat but the darkest color I had was this light fawn gray.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That pumpkin looked like a pale idiot with a sunburn wearing a stupid hat.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Was the food good? Yeah, sure, but that's not the point. My experience was already ruined by that fugly non-orange pumpkin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Due to this totally irrelevant and unimportant detail, I give this restaurant one star.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Review 2:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Red Robin</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We went to Red Robin for a birthday lunch for me and my niece. Unfortunately, I am still constrained by the dairy-free diet that Princess Trevor has forced me into, so my menu selections were limited somewhat. Plus, I was feeling pretty fat from eating a lot of junk food recently, so I decided to go with a salad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They had one salad that looked really good and I figured if I got it without the cheese on it, I would be safely dairy free. So I ordered it and specified no cheese.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When my salad arrived, it had no toppings whatsoever on it. Literally just a plate of lettuce with blackened chicken and balsamic vinaigrette on the side.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The waitress came by the table to ask how everything was, and I pointed at my sad salad. She immediately recognized the problem and went to the kitchen to retrieve a plate full of all the salad fixins that had been left off my plate (somehow, the "no cheese" directive had been misinterpreted to mean "no toppings at all"). She was back within thirty seconds, and my salad became delicious.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But still ... for like 1.5 minutes there I had a salad that was just lettuce, chicken, and dressing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was awful. I still wake up at night sometimes remembering it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Due to this minor error which was swiftly corrected, I give this restaurant one star.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">EDIT: I forgot to mention, because it was my birthday, they sang their birthday song and gave me and my niece each a free ice cream sundae (which cost no money and was free and also did not require payment).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I CAN'T EAT ICE CREAM YOU ASSHOLES; I'M ON A DAIRY FREE DIET. WTF am I supposed to do with a free birthday ice cream sundae???! I gave it to Audrey to eat instead while I sat there in sadness. Worst birthday ever. I'm changing my review from one star to ZERO STARS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Review 3: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Crockett's Pub</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We went to this local eatery for breakfast one day, and once again I was subjected to the misfortune of not being able to eat dairy. Do you know how sad breakfast can be without dairy? No butter, no milk, no whipped cream on waffles, no coffee creamer, no cheese. Pathetic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well anyway, I looked through the menu and decided that my smartest choice would be to get an omelette, since they usually have enough ingredients that I won't miss the ones I can't have. The omelette that I ordered came with avocado, tomato, bacon, scallions, some other stuff probably, and then a healthy dose of Gruyere cheese.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, I had to order it without the Gruyere cheese.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It tasted okay without it, but I know it would have been way better with the cheese on it. I'm really disappointed with how it turned out. Also, I'm disappointed that my decaf coffee had to be consumed black, and I'm disappointed that I couldn't share any of Audrey's cinnamon Belgian waffle with whipped cream on it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Due to my own dietary restrictions and the negative impact they had on the deliciousness of my meal, I give this restaurant one star.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What do you think, guys? Do I have a future as a restaurant critic? You don't have to answer; I already know I'd be great at it.</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-35125085288599351162015-10-15T09:14:00.000-07:002015-10-15T09:14:10.461-07:00The indignities of pregnancy: the aftermath<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Since I plan on never being pregnant again, this is well and truly the FINAL installment of "The indignities of pregnancy." Are you crying? Me too!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am now over eight weeks postpartum with Trevor, and things have pretty much returned to normal in my body. My life has achieved a new routine, and things are going well. Trevor is adorable.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But there are still indignities. Pregnancy aftermath. And they are real, and I am here to tell you about them (at least, the ones that have impacted me in particular).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">"Stress Incontinence"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After Audrey was born, even though <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/10/my-birth-story-graphic-gruesome-gory.html">I tore from bow to stern giving birth to her</a>, I never had any issues with things leaking when they weren't supposed to. Pee and poo both stayed in until I told them it was okay to come out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But the second kid ... the second kid did me in. And multiple people told me it might happen, but I didn't listen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You see, I thought I was special. Different. I did my kegels, I was fiercely strong in my pee-holder muscles, and I never ONCE peed a little while pregnant, even when I sneezed aggressively or held a squat position.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPOzmTdwPq0MRVvGk43csZEGa70fiungW_7i6n5rgFuStvQRpmF2dY7cAn-pEClFa6HbJQQ6QgqbVvNXMH0UM5dFwdgDaBXOSp2bXZpB2QVBCa60n4iFKscI-Ykdxd8DrPclGq9L8myRq/s1600/IMG_0213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPOzmTdwPq0MRVvGk43csZEGa70fiungW_7i6n5rgFuStvQRpmF2dY7cAn-pEClFa6HbJQQ6QgqbVvNXMH0UM5dFwdgDaBXOSp2bXZpB2QVBCa60n4iFKscI-Ykdxd8DrPclGq9L8myRq/s320/IMG_0213.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But then Trevor was born. And things went south on me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For the first couple of weeks, I had what is called "urge incontinence," which is when you go from "I kinda have to pee" to "I am now peeing my pants" in literally less than one minute. It was like having a newly potty-trained toddler, except the toddler was my own bladder. And the instant that little fella started whining "Momma I hafta potty!", I had to find a bathroom RIGHT AWAY or else it was going to be a problem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But then the urge incontinence went away, and life was good again. I figured I was in the clear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So then I decided to go jogging.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I was not in the clear :-(</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The doctor said it should hopefully get better within a couple of months. But the other moms I've talked to said that they STILL can't do jumping jacks or join their kids on the trampoline, even though their kids are 3+ years old.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This may just be my life now. Putting on a maxi pad before Zumba class so that I don't make a puddle on the floor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It is not dignified. Not dignified at all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">These stretch marks persist</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-indignities-of-very-late-pregnancy.html">wrote previously about the stretch marks</a> that appeared on my belly button towards the end of my pregnancy. I was not pleased with them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, I am happy to report that the skin crumpling phenomenon I was worried about did NOT happen ... so there's that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But those stretch marks are still there, and they're still pissed off. They're still drunk and belligerent. Maybe they're not inviting any more friends to join their party, but they don't need to -- they're plenty bad enough on their own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUbrkWxQflKlnIJ_uxbUHQw_VGUOQzO5ZjZ1WVLuwpXsvVhbHPRqKNRI32rS5c9UUkduBP9vI13PfZxrBOuuYFYYGj7kFQ5ROWkLwYyTkcRFLniTKLal-Bei9CxnO8H5FaWoju2Diuv0Z/s640/blogger-image-971867609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTUbrkWxQflKlnIJ_uxbUHQw_VGUOQzO5ZjZ1WVLuwpXsvVhbHPRqKNRI32rS5c9UUkduBP9vI13PfZxrBOuuYFYYGj7kFQ5ROWkLwYyTkcRFLniTKLal-Bei9CxnO8H5FaWoju2Diuv0Z/s320/blogger-image-971867609.jpg" width="237" /></a></span></div>
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Also I just realized it looks like I'm wearing underwear in this picture. But I'm not -- that's my hand in the corner. I'm wearing pants. Actual pants. I just thought you should know.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I put Shea butter on them every day and hope that they'll fade at least a little by bikini season. But if they don't ... eh, I'll still wear a bikini anyway. Eff it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">My belly button is permanently larger now</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Apparently, <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-my-outie.html">being inside-out for like six months</a> is hard on a belly button.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I used to have this adorable tiny little belly button that you could barely get your pinkie finger into. Now, it's the size of two index fingers. 1.5 thumbs easy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I need to get a bigger belly button ring, because the one I've got in there now just looks like a pebble in a coal mine. Sad day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Spontaneous milk letdown is real</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You know how in TV shows, nursing mothers always hear a crying baby and immediately soak through their bra and shirt with milk? And it's a hilarious punchline??</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I kind of thought that was a myth just like the whole every-labor-starts-with-water-breaking TV trope. But it's not a myth. It's totally real.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, the part about soaking through the shirt is a myth, because I constantly wear nursing pads in my shirt. If you're a nursing mother and you DON'T wear nursing pads in your shirt, you're kinda asking for it. That's like walking around with no pad in your underwear during your period. Or going to Zumba class without a pad after recently giving birth (did you like how I just referred to a joke I made earlier in this blog post, within the same blog post? Meta as hell.).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Still though, I will regularly feel the milk let down on its own. If I'm talking about nursing, it'll happen. (in fact, I fully expect it to happen at some point before I finish writing this section). If Trevor gets too close to me and he hasn't nursed in a while, it'll happen. And sometimes, it'll just happen for no reason whatsoever while I'm perusing Facebook and looking at pictures of the renovations someone did to their house. I guess my boobs just like the new granite countertops they installed?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Thank god for the disposable nursing pads, or this would be VERY undignified.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">My boobs are ridiculous</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Speaking of boobs and nursing ... oh lord. Okay, so when I say "ridiculous," I don't mean "huge." If they were huge, I wouldn't consider that an indignity. I could consider that awesome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">No, no; something much less flattering is going on in my shirt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You see, it's very common in nursing mothers for one boob to outperform the other. They're like sisters but one of them is the valedictorian and the other one gets pregnant at 15 and drops out of school to work for Amway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For me, the right boob got accepted to Stanford, while the left boob wonders if you have a moment to talk about a great investment opportunity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This means that ol' righty is twice the size of lefty. LITERALLY TWICE THE SIZE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't even know what to do about this. I was looking at proper nursing bras yesterday (the ones I wear are more like sports bras -- no cups, no underwire, just pure comfort) and I realized that there was no way I'd be able to wear one of those. I'd have to buy two different ones and Frankenstein them together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I guess I'll stick with the sports bras. And maybe stuffing a sock in the left side. There's nothing wrong with being 30 years old and still stuffing your bra. Right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">... right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ugh. He's worth it and I love him and I'd do it all again in a heartbeat and so on ... but c'mon now. Can't I at least get TWO honking hooters out of it? Is that really asking so much??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-u3erKdS35UDNSJiIm9l4XQ3Fh0gjeVgLCNtIWgoYsJOi9tfEEAP0SSX_QklR5G-PewIGd7CADdovFr_rkxWPUZUaYzLMCE8OskBc9__eeHkvhGCYZa9Nwr3utKFkFsRTecjkjoNce8L/s640/blogger-image--1946898127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-u3erKdS35UDNSJiIm9l4XQ3Fh0gjeVgLCNtIWgoYsJOi9tfEEAP0SSX_QklR5G-PewIGd7CADdovFr_rkxWPUZUaYzLMCE8OskBc9__eeHkvhGCYZa9Nwr3utKFkFsRTecjkjoNce8L/s640/blogger-image--1946898127.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjisRtMI-USXN-PzjgQT_D1pN4aOzeSej85tgtMRyEyuAQU2rC-SfFKqtO0VtE4ot3-JWlqlK2B49B67Y_YBrHOQUIMQ0zfp3IpFRk9PsIwXHrjwmXO2ZVVgKrS_3uRN3VEaRdJbqI1sm/s640/blogger-image-2023073463.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFjisRtMI-USXN-PzjgQT_D1pN4aOzeSej85tgtMRyEyuAQU2rC-SfFKqtO0VtE4ot3-JWlqlK2B49B67Y_YBrHOQUIMQ0zfp3IpFRk9PsIwXHrjwmXO2ZVVgKrS_3uRN3VEaRdJbqI1sm/s640/blogger-image-2023073463.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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He's worth it. He's worth it. He's worth it.</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The full collection of past issues of "The Indignities of Pregnancy":</span></div>
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<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-power.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Power Walking</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-2-plumbers.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Plumbers' Gut</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-3-emotions.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Emotions are Real</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-i-own.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">I Own Adult Diapers</a><br /><span style="color: #6699cc;"><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-my-outie.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">My outie looks like a nipple</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-snack.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The snack hoard in my office is embarrassing</span></a></span></div>
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<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-indignities-of-very-late-pregnancy.html"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The stretch marks are very, very angry</span></a></div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-91963946014242273502015-10-07T08:42:00.000-07:002015-10-07T08:42:04.548-07:00Adventures in milk protein allergy: A rant about the dairy-free life<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every baby has something about them that is less than perfect. Maybe they have colic, maybe they have reflux, maybe they are a terrible sleeper. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With Trevor, the major factory defect is that he has a milk protein allergy. Any protein that comes from milk that isn't human (so cows, sheep, goats, cats if you're weird) will cause an allergic reaction in him and will inflame his little tiny baby intestines. The poor thing; I can't imagine how uncomfortable that must be, especially since he has no control over what he eats.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But this post isn't really about Trevor. Today's post discusses the myriad ways in which his milk protein allergy has annoyed <i><b>me</b></i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For starters, there was diagnosing the problem. Trevor has been exclusively breast-fed since birth, but his weight gain in the first few weeks was less than ideal. I figured I was having supply issues like I was with Audrey, and got all upset and dejected again like I was failing at this whole feeding-my-child thing AGAIN even though this time I was doing EVERYTHING right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The real canary in the coal mine that led to the whole milk protein allergy diagnosis, however, was his poop. It was green and mucousy like someone very ill had sneezed into his diaper. You're welcome for that mental image.</span></div>
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<img alt="Image result for sneezing person clipart" 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" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Why did I do this.</span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, after some back-and-forth with the lactation consultants and pediatrician, it was decided that the best thing would be for me to cut all dairy out of my diet and see if that improves things for him. The ol' Dr. House approach of diagnosis through treatment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So that is what I have been trying to do: stop consuming dairy in any form. And it has been harder than I expected.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Breakfast is a pain in the ass. I used to start every day by drinking a Slim Fast chocolate shake, because it was full of protein and vitamins and bought me some time to get real food into my body.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But hey, wouldn't you know it? Slim Fast chocolate shakes are made with milk. Oh, and when you're dealing with a milk protein allergy, you can't have soy either. So replacing this with a soy milk substitute was out of the question.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">OK, no problem… I'll just drink almond milk instead. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, except almond milk has no flipping protein in it whatsoever. It's basically just chocolate flavored sugar water. OK, no problem… I'll just add protein powder to my almond milk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, except whey protein is pretty much pure milk protein. So I can't have that. OK, no problem… I'll just order some milk-free soy-free protein powder from Amazon.</span></div>
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<img alt="Image result for orgain organic protein plant-based powder" 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" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Uhhh ... yum?</span></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The protein powder I got uses protein from peas. F***ing peas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<img alt="Image result for peas" 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" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Look at em, all frozeny and pea-like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For some reason, this offends me greatly. I hate peas. They are gross. Their very existence is an abomination. They pollute shepherds pie and ruin pasta dishes. They are unforgivably foul vegetables. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And yet here I am making chocolate protein shakes with PEAS.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The upside, I guess, is that the shake tastes so weird and there's so much going on in it that I can just add a scoop of Brewers yeast (which is good for milk supply, but tastes foul and sour like an old fart in a gym sock) and I can't even taste it amongst all that weird pea protein noise. In other words, the pea protein tastes so bad that I can add more bad-tasting things to it and I can't taste how bad they are. I should leave a review online.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got breakfast from McDonald's one morning. I had an Egg McMuffin, but I couldn't have butter on it and I couldn't have cheese on it. So it was just two dry English muffins with an egg and a slice of ham. Deeeeeelicious. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oh, and I had to drink black coffee with it because of course I can't have dairy creamer either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I made cupcakes for Audrey's birthday. I could not eat them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">They even looked marginally like the Sesame Street characters they were supposed to resemble!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My mother brought over fancy gourmet cupcakes for Jesse's birthday, and I had to sit next to everyone at the table and watch while they ate them. Audrey kept twisting the knife by repeating "it's good!" while eating hers. I allowed myself a sniff of the salt caramel cupcake. It smelled like Audrey was probably right. :-(</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We had individual English muffin pizzas at Audrey's birthday party. I had to make mine with no cheese. PIZZA WITH NO CHEESE. What fresh hell is this??!?! There were sliders, too. I bet they were delicious. But I wouldn't know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">THERE IS BEN AND JERRY'S FROZEN YOGURT IN THE FREEZER AND I CAN'T HAVE ANY. WHAT IS THE POINT IN BEING ALIVE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now, after all this bitching, you might be wondering why I don't just give Trevor formula instead and avoid all of this. And the answer to that is the next phase of this rant.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Babies with a milk protein allergy cannot drink regular formula. They have to drink formula that is specially made for this specific allergy. And that formula is 1. Expensive as f***, and 2. Tastes so awful that even a newborn baby knows better than to drink it without a fight. I accept that this expensive and disgusting formula will be a part of our lives for the next year, but I would much rather make breastmilk the largest part of his diet for long as I can. Because breastmilk is free. (if you exclude the cost of the anguish I feel when I see cake and ice cream and can't have even a tiny bite or else my baby will shit blood)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So basically, I've just been sentenced to a full year of breast-feeding when my original intention was to maybe make it six months, if that. And I have to train Trevor to drink the disgusting formula by using this ridiculous supplemental nursing system where I mix formula, put it in a little bottle, and then attach this to a skinny little tube like an IV and attach this to my nipple so that when Trevor latches to breast-feed like normal he actually drinks this disgusting $30 formula instead of breast milk. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is not me, obviously. But just looking at this contraption should be enough to make you hate it for how complicated and annoying it is to use.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So basically, for one feeding every day Trevor thinks my breast milk tastes rancid. But, he does drink it. And then, over time, I need to start mixing this rancid formula with actual breast milk in bottles, and forcing him to drink this until he can actually stomach the taste of the expense crap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there's his poop. I am constantly staring at his poop to see if this dairy-free diet is actually working. One of the major symptoms, besides the green mucus poop, is that there will be small tinges of blood in the stool. So that means every time Trevor poops, I end up holding the diaper up to my face so that I can stare deeply into the goo and look for traces of blood. I hold poop diapers four inches from my face to examine their contents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is madness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">MADNESS!!!!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But ... when baby's health is on the line, alas I will do what I need to do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I just don't need to be happy about it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">HARRUMPH.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">F*** YOU DAIRY QUEEN THAT DOESN'T EVEN LOOK DELICIOUS.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">YOU'RE A C***.</span></div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-32529650218744708892015-09-29T07:53:00.000-07:002015-09-29T07:53:09.635-07:004 weeks with a baby: KID #2 UPDATE<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This post originally went live October 29, 2013, the day Audrey turned 4 weeks old. I feel like now that Trevor has achieved the same age (okay, he's actually 6 weeks now but I'm apparently lazier this time around in terms of publishing blog posts), I should update it with how things are different this time around. Everything I've written new is going to be in Times New Roman font, so ... y'know ... pay attention.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My baby is four weeks old today, so I think it's time to start eeeeeeeasing back into writing this blog. I'm going to ease my way in with today's post which shall not contain any Paint pictures. I'm sorry. I don't know where my computer mouse is, and I'm not about to try to draw anything with the touch pad ... so no pictures for you. But you'll be alright.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(haha remember when I used to draw a lot of pictures instead of just Googling shit and uploading photos of my children? I really <b><i>am</i></b> lazier now.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">After spending the last four weeks on maternity leave with baby Audrey, I have watched myself become a total Mom. Let me just share with you the things about parenthood that are apparently inevitable. It doesn't matter what kind of person you were before you had a kid; these things WILL happen to you because they happen to anyone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everything you do becomes a "we" activity</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I pretty much never say "I" anymore. Anything that happens to either the baby or myself happens to "us". There is no getting around this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes it makes sense, like if I were to say "we went to Safeway today." The baby and I did, in fact, go together to Safeway. It's not like she was here watching Dr. Oz while I hopped over there. She went with me.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then there are the times when it makes no sense at all. Like if I say "we had a poop so big it almost escaped the diaper!", that has nothing to do with the baby. That was all me. Or if I say "we threw up all over the laundry room floor today!", that was Audrey and not me. But I still say "we" ... because ... I don't know. I just have to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: This is still entirely true. WE have meltdowns. WE do big sharts. WE get poop in our outfit and have to change. WE just had to buy this Halloween onesie because COME ON, WAS I SUPPOSED TO NOT BUY THIS? I AM NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO RESIST.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You will talk about yourself in the third person, referring to yourselves as "Mommy" and "Daddy" ... and this will begin to extend into areas of life that do not involve the baby at all</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The baby is constantly listening to you talk and absorbing everything you say, even if it doesn't look like it. In order to win the race to have her first word be "mama" and not "dada," I constantly refer to myself as "Mommy" when talking to her. And Jesse, equally invested in the competition, always refers to himself as "Daddy." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You start to get used to calling yourself that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And next thing you know, the baby is in bed and I'm telling Jesse to "pour a beer for Mommy."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There isn't really any avoiding this either, unless you're willing to cede the first word battle to your spouse. <i>Like an idiot.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: with two kids in the house, not only do we call ourselves "Mommy" and "Daddy," but we call each other these terms. I will often shout "Daddy" up the stairs if I need something from Jesse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">My only hope is that we don't turn into those parents who continue to call each other "Mom" and "Dad" long after their children have moved out. Because that's weird.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You will become expert at timing the baby leg pistons when changing a diaper</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Newborn babies flail a lot, because they don't have the motor skills to contain their limbs. Mostly it's the arms that flail -- hence the whole swaddling in a tight blanket thing -- but when it comes time to change a diaper, it's the legs that take a turn.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As soon as her bottom half comes out of her one-piece sleeper suit, her legs become little pistons, pumping up and down in a bizarre rhythm understood by no one. Sometimes the two legs pump together up and down; sometimes they alternate one and then the other; sometimes, one does 80% of the pumping while the other just steps up 20% of the time. I have discovered no pattern in this.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These little leg pistons are powerful. Like, POWERFUL. I am not really strong enough to fight the pistons -- at least not without feeling like I'm going to rip her little legs off -- so instead, changing the diaper becomes a game of timing. You have to tape up the new diaper in time with the pumping legs, waiting until each leg straightens out to quickly slap the tape onto the front of the dipe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then putting her back into her clothes is even more challenging: you have to wait until the leg-piston bends up and quickly put her foot into the suit, and then as soon as the leg straightens, tuck the rest of her leg into it. And then repeat on the other leg when it does its pump. And then try to do up the snaps or zippers during those rare moments when both legs are straight out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is especially fun in the middle of the night.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And of course, as soon as the clothes are back on, the legs stop pumping. Because <i>of course they do</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: I don't really notice this happening anymore. I mean obviously, it still happens, but it doesn't even register to me. Also, I have learned the important lesson of the snap front sleeping gown. I can just pull his bottom half out to change the diaper, no leg pistons to contend with. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Added bonus: because of the snap front, I don't have to pull anything over his head. These things are the bomb.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You will not get grossed out by things that are objectively kind of gross</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one is old news. Everyone says this happens -- that whole "when it's your kid, it's different" thing in regards to pee, poop, and puke.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But I think it's not necessarily the fact that it's my kid. I mean, I don't exactly get a thrill out of cleaning up my OWN poop or puke, and <i>I am me</i>. Why would I be less disgusted by my child's bodily fluids than my own??</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I think what really happens is that baby puke/poop just doesn't even register as gross. Like, if you spilled some soup on your kitchen counter, you wouldn't start projectile vomiting everywhere in disgust. You'd just clean it up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The baby's poop affects me about the same way as soup on the counter might. It's just a mess that has to be cleaned up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A mess that is green and curdy and stinks, and that you have to be really careful about with those little leg-pistons because if you're not, she'll dip her heels in it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sigh.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: I am so completely desensitized to poop but it isn't even a thing I think about anymore. Poop is love. Poop is life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You will start calculating how much puke needs to be on something before it's considered too dirty to wear</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's easy to say "if my kid throws up on something, I will change it. Only clean clothes for us!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But then you realize just exactly how frequently babies spit up. It is <i>all the goddamned time</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If you really changed your clothes or her clothes every time she spit up on them, you would never get anything done. You'd just be spending all day and all night changing clothes and doing laundry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So you start to get a little lazy with it. You start to debate yourself about how much puke really is too much. Like, if she throws up on my shirt, I will quickly wipe it off and maybe wet down the spot with some water. When it comes time to leave the house, if I can't see the outline of where she puked, then the shirt is considered clean.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And with her, it's really just a matter of percentages. Any puke that covers less than 5% of her body is not an outfit-changing event. If that first puke mostly dries but then a second puke occurs, that second puke is considered on its own -- not combined with the first puke. Two pukes can only be combined if they occur close enough together for them to be soaking wet at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We brought the baby over to my parents' house in a little Halloween sleeper suit that she had thrown up on no fewer than five times already.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We are awesome parents.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: he is not a spitter upper! We did it! We won! I mean, he does puke <i>sometimes</i>, but not anywhere near as frequently as Audrey did. Trevor will wear one outfit for an entire day. I never thought that I would be so lucky as to have this life. A life relatively free of puke. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Also, Trevor is mostly breast-fed, which means that when he does puke it doesn't smell hideously disgusting the way formula pukes do. My life is beautiful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You will take like a <b>billion</b> pictures</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The funny thing about babies is that they really truly do look different almost by the day. They grow and change and learn new facial expressions and do new funny things, and it's almost impossible not to take pictures of all of them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Our baby started out looking like an Eskimo. Then she started to fill out, and her distinctly Asian features got a little more Caucasian-looking. And then she started to get a chubby face from all the food we force down her little gullet. And then she got a bad case of baby acne.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now she looks like a chubby teenager with bad hair, but on a 1/20th scale.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And of course she's still cute as all get-out. Because she's mine. :-)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">... and my iPhone has at least 50 pictures of her. That's more than one per day of her life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And don't even get me started on what my Facebook feed looks like. Sorry, friends. There are a lot of pictures of my baby.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">TREVOR UPDATE: I have to remind myself to take pictures of Audrey too, instead of just taking 1.7 million pictures of Trevor every single day. Also, at this point, my camera roll has almost 1700 pictures taken since Audrey was born two years ago. So I guess you could say this one is still true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So many pictures. My Facebook news feed has not improved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">For example, here is a series of photos of Trevor sleeping. Literally just sleeping, and yet I still cannot stop taking pictures:</span></div>
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Sorry for all the almost-boob. I don't know if I should be sorry that it's <i>just</i> almost-boob, or that it even rises to the level of almost-boob. I guess that depends on how closely related to me you are.</div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-15463967848125925762015-09-21T09:00:00.000-07:002015-09-21T09:00:09.330-07:00Presenting: pictures of my hilariously adorable baby<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Good news, everyone! I have gotten over my aversion to using voice to text technology, so I can write more blog posts while Trevor wastes the day away on my boob.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Unfortunately, I'm still not feeling very funny yet, so I'm going to take the easy way out and just point out all of the ways that my baby looks ridiculous. Because trust me, he looks pretty ridiculous a lot of the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But damn if he ain't cute as hell!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 1: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor has seen something very frightening and he may not recover from the shock</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn88qUjt-9xWS8aJq7tZvmI4n6gYs81sIFZyIDIxoHneGjMtO2wg_S6AZ9aI1kVOJeac-XtFlySBEyD258vr_0c2EZuGVwdUbX5BFJhwWh2r3C8rwAGf-fApkhFZsIa_lFQcNwWNdzKuxC/s640/blogger-image-684537841.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn88qUjt-9xWS8aJq7tZvmI4n6gYs81sIFZyIDIxoHneGjMtO2wg_S6AZ9aI1kVOJeac-XtFlySBEyD258vr_0c2EZuGVwdUbX5BFJhwWh2r3C8rwAGf-fApkhFZsIa_lFQcNwWNdzKuxC/s400/blogger-image-684537841.jpg" width="276" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 2: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor poses for his modeling head shots</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORcysqaVyqJnPsJkiIAlkot2m59Dutvq34YJec8l6iLJ9JsG3J9JeUrKrC6G4xwXSkrinsZ5reRog8XvwDf7ioyp9SHS-x7dRgYTFWvcXLh8lfk_Ay2yn2qU30OUnYXOw4rX3_ZhZaPA3/s640/blogger-image--971277942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORcysqaVyqJnPsJkiIAlkot2m59Dutvq34YJec8l6iLJ9JsG3J9JeUrKrC6G4xwXSkrinsZ5reRog8XvwDf7ioyp9SHS-x7dRgYTFWvcXLh8lfk_Ay2yn2qU30OUnYXOw4rX3_ZhZaPA3/s400/blogger-image--971277942.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 3</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">:</span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trevor looks like the grandpa from Pawn Stars</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6j9laj7Ih1fIWA1YdS5A-0Dal4SyyiSdDWLHgWcK6v0J_6mHvXLa1Q28cX5Gfsi0itOESik3Is0g-5ZIyZsKRQ-MrNZKi2YIp4zFBBsO3JRcQwChaLmCenX488sF-wSlg5A9EzrPwS3H/s640/blogger-image-1040857792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD6j9laj7Ih1fIWA1YdS5A-0Dal4SyyiSdDWLHgWcK6v0J_6mHvXLa1Q28cX5Gfsi0itOESik3Is0g-5ZIyZsKRQ-MrNZKi2YIp4zFBBsO3JRcQwChaLmCenX488sF-wSlg5A9EzrPwS3H/s400/blogger-image-1040857792.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<img height="202" src="http://katysconservativecorner.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/pawn-stars-richard-harrison_475x240.jpg" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 4: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor looks like Bruce Willis</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6zA6mFE2OVemrYZALwv0YLYgRlh1JVA5bhDw_in2Eb4UaJ9oNZy7de8aYzvg1YeU-ypBEprwBAUnSRoDiMIOCTRW1GYwbzWWKuznV1zVJ5IuWBAWlRmvCEc-iiSUFKQw83RxvKs-Cb5E/s640/blogger-image--1253000573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS6zA6mFE2OVemrYZALwv0YLYgRlh1JVA5bhDw_in2Eb4UaJ9oNZy7de8aYzvg1YeU-ypBEprwBAUnSRoDiMIOCTRW1GYwbzWWKuznV1zVJ5IuWBAWlRmvCEc-iiSUFKQw83RxvKs-Cb5E/s400/blogger-image--1253000573.jpg" width="304" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 5: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor had fun at the zoo</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_k3VkWLuzs6mmW7FwiRk3RbMyGfvWEYMLYyIX8UeORtwUAvgv3mIlOsdV-SOXclqT6uswfmdEv9Khu_CL9Ll7gcUjEaJ9L69sKXkBMQCwv2u5IwBQ1BfWJ-PEnuN4_Y-lzi7pZufmhsv3/s640/blogger-image--1323861708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_k3VkWLuzs6mmW7FwiRk3RbMyGfvWEYMLYyIX8UeORtwUAvgv3mIlOsdV-SOXclqT6uswfmdEv9Khu_CL9Ll7gcUjEaJ9L69sKXkBMQCwv2u5IwBQ1BfWJ-PEnuN4_Y-lzi7pZufmhsv3/s400/blogger-image--1323861708.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 6: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor enjoys some light reading</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY06OldaCvQM2LkF8EVOITjWxpwjho3QsQ_2FfE9164WrowhPCSCNeYGqI-oOdpKbw4yQxNI6eeDRUwqHoGydmyOE-hadD_HwR1StINP9IWSU7QZOJhxq7Tp1PQoc9gYfLnBq59-Wrc85v/s640/blogger-image--2065339261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY06OldaCvQM2LkF8EVOITjWxpwjho3QsQ_2FfE9164WrowhPCSCNeYGqI-oOdpKbw4yQxNI6eeDRUwqHoGydmyOE-hadD_HwR1StINP9IWSU7QZOJhxq7Tp1PQoc9gYfLnBq59-Wrc85v/s400/blogger-image--2065339261.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 7:</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor takes a selfie for his LinkedIn profile pic</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegslvM7m-1Ym_KtgLJ1YK08lnN72CcyVSPpUOelljUSutR_1_2IWyLn3q0X8N_vPK7_MeLslTQ8NAjqgpqxedEc_Gv03vPaL7fMZxZF200YVzrwKfiqJXctocne8xItIV4fqv25OmbJlK/s640/blogger-image--275494548.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegslvM7m-1Ym_KtgLJ1YK08lnN72CcyVSPpUOelljUSutR_1_2IWyLn3q0X8N_vPK7_MeLslTQ8NAjqgpqxedEc_Gv03vPaL7fMZxZF200YVzrwKfiqJXctocne8xItIV4fqv25OmbJlK/s400/blogger-image--275494548.jpg" width="372" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 8: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Does Trevor look more like Sir Patrick Stewart or Sir Ian McKellen? Either way, he looks like an old man</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6eT0TkhF0k5BjoogXxCGKoidrDMiLaTDWj9pvUZad2Qm9eXpQXH0lzWD9FrBgivvVnKiaTWgUTR9OC4jcQ3O3tPpApwLoYtkSYsKxEL-5HlU5MAIxvKSx1Auz7yGmvMu3KfC2iXogFe_1/s640/blogger-image--1186415809.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6eT0TkhF0k5BjoogXxCGKoidrDMiLaTDWj9pvUZad2Qm9eXpQXH0lzWD9FrBgivvVnKiaTWgUTR9OC4jcQ3O3tPpApwLoYtkSYsKxEL-5HlU5MAIxvKSx1Auz7yGmvMu3KfC2iXogFe_1/s400/blogger-image--1186415809.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 9: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor's mind is blown apart by a piano rattle</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyphenhyphentv6qvf5oEO72zUyAVPmdpTo-1Yz7KlPEiMP5O-8-ctQiX52ce7AxP8yt3UzwI7Rltd7WHEvqz3byn5f-OL4-CQ2ubb7iJihTObSdDRpVPG8bjlF4OU8faVAHDESV1W54nfS4gzDDQWP/s640/blogger-image-2116786719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyphenhyphentv6qvf5oEO72zUyAVPmdpTo-1Yz7KlPEiMP5O-8-ctQiX52ce7AxP8yt3UzwI7Rltd7WHEvqz3byn5f-OL4-CQ2ubb7iJihTObSdDRpVPG8bjlF4OU8faVAHDESV1W54nfS4gzDDQWP/s400/blogger-image-2116786719.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Picture 10: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trevor makes this face</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64_CHn8ziokt1hJNOa0YYk5z16hb1139TTCshttUtd0Cj2a41uZJ4u7c34WVB47iVCB7otOQsGZ_oiieqDXK_eLiOrFvE6GDQSBjC17E2g69FJpNo1_OMu-hwENrfOLBfwsUhJEeA9caU/s640/blogger-image--853283603.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64_CHn8ziokt1hJNOa0YYk5z16hb1139TTCshttUtd0Cj2a41uZJ4u7c34WVB47iVCB7otOQsGZ_oiieqDXK_eLiOrFvE6GDQSBjC17E2g69FJpNo1_OMu-hwENrfOLBfwsUhJEeA9caU/s400/blogger-image--853283603.jpg" width="385" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So there you go. Old Man Baby strikes a pose.</span></div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-76339178022204017532015-09-10T08:10:00.000-07:002015-09-10T08:10:33.310-07:00Totally legit product reviews: Graco Ready2Grow Double Stroller<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Part of preparing for the birth of our second child involved choosing a double stroller that Trevor's infant seat could snap into. We've been a Graco family since Audrey was a baby, so I stuck to looking at what Graco had to offer. And as far as double strollers ... there wasn't much. The Ready2Grow stroller was pretty much it.</span><br />
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<img src="http://static1.consumerreportscdn.org/content/dam/cro/news_articles/babies_kids/Graco-Ready2Grow-Classic-ConnectLX.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></div>
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<img src="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/aplusautomation/vendorimages/75cfee22-dfb6-4a3d-8157-c85a8c611fe8._V330509713_.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Its main claim to fame is that it can do all these things. Most of which are useless.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This mobile monstrosity weighs in at 33 pounds empty and is roughly the size of a shopping cart. At Costco. But if I wanted a stroller that I could both strap Audrey into securely AND snap Trevor's car seat into easily, then there wasn't really much other choice. A minor advantage is that the Ready2Grow can accommodate two kids in like 12 different configurations and might be convenient as the two kids get bigger (except it probably won't, because I will ditch it for a much smaller side-by-side double umbrella stroller as soon as Trevor is old enough to sit up on his own).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But. I took this stroller out with both kids for the first time this past week, and MARY MOTHER OF GOD IT IS ENORMOUS. I decided to review it for you, mostly because I have a lot to say about it and I can only update my Facebook status so many times a day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is how that experience worked out for us:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey had some sort of itchy skin thing going on on her scalp, and the pediatrics clinic at the hospital had no appointments available so they sent us to Urgent Care instead. Fearing that we might get stuck with a long wait, I decided I needed to bring the Titanic stroller along instead of just letting Audrey walk while Trevor rode in the Graco Snugrider stroller frame (13.6 pounds empty). I went so far as to ask Jesse to put it into the back of my car before he left for work, because IT IS GIGANTIC AND WEIGHS 33 POUNDS. It's not that I <i>can't</i> lift 33 pounds of giant awkward; it's just that if I can make someone else do it for me, I'm going to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1vMNrPcTGYUH4d7PAU_qyQO6xKOhN9Uw9y0v2F7n4xTHAQi-Mv9Xlho9BHRBj0tAHKgqfYurYJ6suibVnzqFmyz4LxL-O42aLx3iT-Ljq-JQ2meaEVGYmKL0cRg4_LFTh7ixeSF41A9C/s640/blogger-image-330313836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL1vMNrPcTGYUH4d7PAU_qyQO6xKOhN9Uw9y0v2F7n4xTHAQi-Mv9Xlho9BHRBj0tAHKgqfYurYJ6suibVnzqFmyz4LxL-O42aLx3iT-Ljq-JQ2meaEVGYmKL0cRg4_LFTh7ixeSF41A9C/s400/blogger-image-330313836.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Here she is folded up in the back of my SUV. It barely f***ing fits. I'm not actually certain that folding it up made it any smaller.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When we arrived at the clinic, I manhandled the beast out of the back of the car and opened it up, marveling again at its girth. I then strapped Audrey into the front seat and attached Trevor's infant seat to the back, facing towards me. We were ready to roll.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh348WYUo1FKyDR4-qfD-6ct0e-Pj0cnYRmNIoSSV-WqkcxQpvcO-vPkkrLKzk5HkGnPhmzRrtkMmuFQVwjQwTkX9WowzTSxjYnt4XVC4BimTLvdssxanQu_xjQviSW-j-95a3t32PlpUye/s640/blogger-image--98061663.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh348WYUo1FKyDR4-qfD-6ct0e-Pj0cnYRmNIoSSV-WqkcxQpvcO-vPkkrLKzk5HkGnPhmzRrtkMmuFQVwjQwTkX9WowzTSxjYnt4XVC4BimTLvdssxanQu_xjQviSW-j-95a3t32PlpUye/s400/blogger-image--98061663.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First impressions of the stroller: I could not see Audrey at all. I assumed she was still sitting up there in front because I hadn't noticed her flattened under the wheels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90sjuN7DkQOQxjWFtzKhZUMYMLlIEqojNjlhe9_nvNWfeFj9KsUaZtkZ-qjQrogj1sp_o3mco2yu8OtduJB7kwd8ntxlrQ-KcQB6CNeDG3mLZb5MpLawldK2jrIBCKdNaZWYoCF57fT-s/s640/blogger-image-1067348912.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90sjuN7DkQOQxjWFtzKhZUMYMLlIEqojNjlhe9_nvNWfeFj9KsUaZtkZ-qjQrogj1sp_o3mco2yu8OtduJB7kwd8ntxlrQ-KcQB6CNeDG3mLZb5MpLawldK2jrIBCKdNaZWYoCF57fT-s/s640/blogger-image-1067348912.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Here's the view from the Captain's seat (by the way, I insist on being called "Captain" whilst piloting this monstrosity, in keeping with the whole "it is a yacht that travels on land" theme). As you can see, even when I step far to the side, I can only barely see Audrey's leg.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This thing handled like a Carnival cruise liner. I tried to drive it with one hand while I responded to a quick text on my phone, and almost ended up in the middle of the Interstate somehow. It is absolutely impossible to open doors while pushing this stroller, because its length exceeds my wingspan. I guess you could maybe manage if you went in front of the stroller and opened the door with one hand, and then pulled on your child's foot to move the stroller forward far enough to block the door from closing. And then you could climb over your children and get to the back of the stroller to push it the rest of the way through the door. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Or you could pray for one of those wheelchair door open buttons, or just rely on the kindness of strangers. I stuck to the latter two options exclusively.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The storage bin underneath the stroller is massive, which makes sense since there is <i>so much f***ing space for it</i>. So there's that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBTKzUs7lYCq9WcUW0UC4CHiePtu_JK7dpps2VDthjjVUA_hGWa-jp114Fp_cL0YcQuCgHPfnutg9Q4c_n67tlC0Nckao3jj5z219eyC5UgQocIkibXRxTOVgN4DbpBMSpWhVPaKYcLrS/s640/blogger-image-1104657261.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBTKzUs7lYCq9WcUW0UC4CHiePtu_JK7dpps2VDthjjVUA_hGWa-jp114Fp_cL0YcQuCgHPfnutg9Q4c_n67tlC0Nckao3jj5z219eyC5UgQocIkibXRxTOVgN4DbpBMSpWhVPaKYcLrS/s400/blogger-image-1104657261.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I tried to take another photo in the waiting room at Urgent Care, but I don't have a wide angle lens so I couldn't fit the whole thing in the frame.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A few days later, I announced that I was going to take Trevor for a walk since he was all worked up and needed some fresh air. Audrey heard me and said she wanted to come for a walk too, so ... out came the Titanic of strollers again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time, I got to experience some rough terrain with the stroller. I took it over some gravel, where it handled like a pogo stick on wheels. Audrey kept shouting "weeee!" while I watched the wheels worriedly. Thankfully none of them rattled off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then I had to navigate a slight bump about an inch high, but the stroller stopped dead when I hit it. So I tried ramming with more speed, but once again we stopped dead. I could not do my usual pop-a-wheelie trick with the Titanic so I had to drive through grass until the bump back up to the sidewalk was less than one inch high.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Also my foot kicks the brake on the back of the stroller roughly once every five steps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In conclusion, here are the stroller's cons:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- barely fits in my car folded up</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- 33 pounds of awkward when empty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- can't see the kid in front</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- can't negotiate even minor bumps in the road</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- impossible to open doors</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- handles like an early 20th century steamliner</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- not good for people with a long stride</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Pros:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- it fits both of my children</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So yeah, I would totally recommend it to a friend. Because if you have a baby, a young toddler, and a Graco car seat, what the hell else are you gonna do? CARRY one of them, like some kind of peasant??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">NO THANKS.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFtCde5mOPlYrUteyKH9mTXkIZdgb39oXDWZh_0_c6FaVcQtjRN4G6YwGQQT6oAKdEjH5NX4n0i1ySu0348YMDfeECLurLK5xwRrJHYOezGiC_euo_9TG1myeCcai9e38WTPTLQeHsz93/s640/blogger-image--865517399.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFtCde5mOPlYrUteyKH9mTXkIZdgb39oXDWZh_0_c6FaVcQtjRN4G6YwGQQT6oAKdEjH5NX4n0i1ySu0348YMDfeECLurLK5xwRrJHYOezGiC_euo_9TG1myeCcai9e38WTPTLQeHsz93/s640/blogger-image--865517399.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Audrey lost this binkie at some point on our walk, but I didn't notice because as I mentioned, I COULD NOT SEE HER.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">CURSE YOU, ENORMOUS STROLLER.</span></div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-27707965370121017042015-08-25T16:09:00.002-07:002015-08-28T08:58:43.472-07:00My birth story: Natural birth after a 4th degree tear<span style="font-size: x-small;">My birth story from my first child can be found </span><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/10/my-birth-story-graphic-gruesome-gory.html" style="font-size: small;">here</a><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And my birth plan for the birth you're about to read about can be found <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/07/funny-birth-plan-round-2-natural-birth.html">here</a>.</span><br />
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This story probably starts on Saturday morning, August 15,
when I woke up feeling so fantastic that I actually decided to go to Zumba
class. I couldn’t believe it – 39.6 weeks pregnant, the size of a house, and
feeling awesome enough to actually go and dance through an entire hour-long
Zumba class. I hoped maybe the exercise would help shake him loose.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The face of a genuine idiot!</span><br />
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The next day, still no baby. We took Audrey to the local
spray park to play in the water, and then my mom and I went for a three mile
walk that afternoon. I felt a bit crampy with a contraction here and there, but
nothing noteworthy. Of course, I still made sure not to tell anyone about the
crampiness, in case it was a sign of early labor. I didn’t want to jinx
anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That night, I went to bed early and fell asleep quickly.
But I woke up several times having strange dreams. Pain dreams. After the third
or fourth time, I realized that I was being woken up by contractions. I let
myself get a little excited.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At 10:20PM or so, I was woken up by another contraction,
and then I felt the slightest trickle between my legs. My heart skipped a beat
and I felt my adrenaline surge. My water must have just broken. It was going to
happen tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I reached over and tapped Jesse on the arm until he
responded. “I think my water just broke,” I whispered. “And I’m having
contractions. I think I’m in labor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And Jesse’s response? “No. Don’t do it tonight. August 17
is a terrible birthday. Just go back to
sleep.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Deeply offended and annoyed, I went to the bathroom to
inspect the situation, but there were no further gushes of fluid. The original
trickle had been so minor … maybe I <i>had</i>
imagined it. Pregnant women’s vaginas can be a bit … ahem … unpredictable in
their fluid levels, after all. Dejected, I went back to bed and closed my eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At 10:35, an unmistakably large gush of fluid came out of
me. There was no denying it this time; I was in labor and we were going to have
a baby tonight. I reached over and tapped Jesse again. “I wasn’t imagining it,”
I said when he responded. “This is happening tonight. Get up.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Suddenly, Jesse came alive. “Really? Really??! Oh my god.
Are you having contractions? Did your water break?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yeah … it broke a while ago. When I told you it broke.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And then we realized that the entire conversation Jesse
had had with me, where he complained about the August 17 birthday and told me
to go back to sleep, had occurred while he was completely asleep. He remembered
none of it. So I guess I don’t need to be mad at him for the shit he said. I
don’t <i>need</i> to. I can still <i>choose</i> to. :-)<o:p></o:p></div>
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We got our bags organized, woke up my mom and told her
she was on Audrey duty, and then took off for the hospital. Contractions
started coming pretty regularly along the way – I downloaded an app to track
them (of COURSE there’s an app for that) and found that they were about three
minutes apart and lasting a minute each. Shit was <i>on</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We got to the hospital and were overjoyed to find out
that the midwife on call that night was the same one I had seen for every
appointment when I was pregnant with Audrey (during this pregnancy, I saw a
different midwife for every appointment, so that I would be acquainted with the
whole team before showing up to the hospital to give birth). She was as excited
to see us as we were to see her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the Labor & Delivery triage room, I was hooked up
to a machine to track both baby’s heart rate and my contractions. Even though
my <a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/07/funny-birth-plan-round-2-natural-birth.html">birth plan </a>specified that I wanted these to be tracked only intermittently
throughout my labor, they needed to track them steadily for 20-30 minutes when
I first arrived so that they could make sure that everything was going well in
my uterus.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ready to do it to it.</span></div>
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While this was going on, it was also time to sign some
papers … and have a very difficult conversation with the midwife.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You see, as many of you well know, giving birth to my
daughter Audrey was a bit of a disaster at the end. She got stuck in the birth
canal and her heart rate was dropping, which necessitated an emergency
episiotomy and vacuum-assisted birth to get her the hell out of there as fast
as possible. Unfortunately, these interventions led to me getting a
fourth-degree tear, which is when the perineum tears completely apart and the
vagina and bumhole merge into one superhole called a vaganus. It sounds
horrendous and I’m sure you’re all crossing your legs right now even if you
were already well aware of this story, but I’m TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW that I did
not feel it happen, it didn’t hurt as it healed, and it healed completely
without issue. Stubbing my toe really violently hurts a lot more than that
fourth-degree tear.<o:p></o:p></div>
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HOWEVER. Healing completely from one fourth-degree tear
is one thing. Healing completely from <i>two</i>
fourth-degree tears is asking a whole lot more of one’s body. <i>There be scar
tissue in them hills</i>. Scar tissue tears more easily and has a harder time
knitting back together when it does. So another fourth-degree tear would be
really bad and could lead to me having bowel incontinence issues for a lonnnnng
time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Therefore, my birth plan specified pretty clearly that if
we reached a point where those same kind of interventions were going to be
necessary, I would prefer we ABORT ABORT ABORT and go for a C-section instead.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The midwife and I discussed this for a bit and she
understood my perspective, but wanted to get the OB in there as well to have a
chat with me (since if things reached that point, this birth would no longer be
a midwife show and would be handed over to the OB-GYNs to handle). The OB’s
point of view was essentially this: we will do our best to do as you request,
BUT … if the baby is low enough down that his head is basically sticking out of
you, we can’t really push him back in and give you a C-section. Or rather, we <i>can</i> do that, but it could take up to ten
minutes to get it done, and you’d have someone’s entire hand in your vagina
pushing the baby back up, which could also cause a big tear. Whereas using the
vacuum on you for 15 seconds might be all it takes to pull him out. The only
way to <i>truly</i> avoid your nightmare
scenario is to do a primary C-section right now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I only paused for a moment. As much as having another
fourth-degree would suck, the chances of that seemed pretty low. Having a
primary C-section and going home from the hospital with staples in my abdomen
was a 100% guaranteed suck. So I told the doctor that I understood what he was
saying, and that if things really got hairy I would of course defer to their
judgment on the whole vacuum-assist thing, and that I would much rather have a
vaganus and a healthy baby than an unhealthy (or even deceased) baby but HEY
DID YOU SEE HOW GREAT MY BUTTHOLE LOOKS?? So that’s where we left it – everyone
crossing their fingers that it didn’t come to any of this, but understanding
that a C-section is preferable to another fourth-degree tear, but a
fourth-degree tear is preferable to a damaged baby. And cross my fingers I did.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, I was transferred to the birthing suite
and hooked up to my antibiotic drip for Group B Strep. I’m allergic to
Penicillin, so lucky me, I got to be hooked up to a mighty powerful antibiotic
called Vancomycin that takes a full hour to dispense from the IV rather than
the ~20 minutes or so most people have to suffer through when they’re GBS
positive. Harrumph.<o:p></o:p></div>
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During all this, my contractions had slowed down
somewhat, probably because I was lounging in a bed rather than walking around.
In fact, the contractions got so manageable that I spent the entire hour of the
antibiotic drip, from 1AM to 2AM, lounging in bed (minus the trips to the
bathroom for the Labor Shits, which are like Period Shits but on steroids. Oh
god it’s so terrible). When a contraction would come on, I discovered that for
some reason, I really liked rubbing my face as hard as I could while Jesse
rubbed my scalp as hard as he could. Like, this was not some gentle Asian lady
at the salon giving you a friendly scalp massage. We were rubbing like we
wanted the skin to come off. And it felt wonderful.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Finally, FINALLY, I got to ditch my IV at 2AM, at which
point I knew it was time to start walking around so we could get this show on
the road. It’s a funny thing, being so in charge of your own labor. I knew full
well that walking around was going to make things suck a lot more for me, but I
also knew that if I didn’t do it, we’d be here forever and they might start
floating words like “Pitocin” if I couldn’t get things moving enough on my own.
So I took a deep breath, and up I went. And of course a big fat contraction hit
the instant I stood up and dropped baby’s head onto my cervix.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I turned on a podcast of trance music that I’ve loved for
years and years and know every single beat of, and I just stood there with my
iPod on my upper arm ‘dancing’ to the music. I put ‘dancing’ in sarcastic air
quotes because my dancing was like the one guy at the rave who is so f***ing
high he can’t even communicate in English anymore and only understands the
language of the staaaaaaars. I closed my eyes, templed my hands in front of me,
and bounced back and forth from one leg to the other, lolling my head along
with my body as I bounced. And every time a contraction came on, Jesse would
jump up and try to remove the skin from my head. It was going well.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The podcast went on for an hour and I listened to the
whole thing … so that would put us at around 3AM or so. I then decided that I
wanted to give the shower another try.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I am a big time shower relaxer. Nothing takes the edge
off for me better than a supremely hot and endless shower. But when I was in
labor with Audrey, for whatever reason, the water in the shower at the hospital
was NOT hot enough. It was truly the worst part of my labor with her – cowering
in that almost-but-not-quite-hot-enough shower, fighting through contractions
and brimming with disappointment. I would take ten fourth-degree tears in a row
before I’d repeat that shivering misery.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But this time, the shower cooperated. We turned that
bitch up to 11 and in I went. And since Jesse was the only person in the room
with me this time (last time I had my mother and doula in the room as well), I
felt zero shame in just getting completely naked in the shower. Which was way,
way more comfortable. Highly recommend.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was in there for what seemed like ages. The midwife
came to check on us and told me that when I have a contraction, I should squat
down because that will put more pressure on my cervix and will help it open up
faster. This sounded like a terrible idea because opening my cervix is painful
and I don’t like it one bit … but alas, she was right. So with every
contraction, I squatted down and Jesse adjusted the shower spray to be right on
me as I huffed and puffed and shouted and moaned and shrieked “I DO NOT LIKE
THIS I DO NOT LIKE THIS” on repeat.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was while I was in that shower that labor turned on
me. It all went from manageable to MOST F***ING UNMANAGEABLE. I asked Jesse to
get me the egg-shaped birth ball, and I sat on it. And the contractions reached
a point where I started feeling that urge to push, even though I knew it was
way way WAY too early. But urge to push changes the way you sound during a
contraction. Instead of just a higher-pitched AHH AHHHH AHHHH screaming sound,
you get a nice mix of AHH AHH AHH <i>UNNNGGGGHHHHHHH
</i>AHH AHH AHH <i>UNNNGHHHHHHH</i> as you
start pushing uncontrollably like you’re having ferocious diarrhea (btw, thanks
Labor Shits for clearing me all out so that I wasn’t actually having ferocious
diarrhea in the shower). The nurses all know to listen for this change.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The midwife came back to check me again, and she found
that my cervix was open a solid 6cm and fully effaced (thinned out). I was
starting transition, a.k.a the worst part of labor. A.k.a THE WORST HOUR OF MY
LIFE.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m not going to sugar coat this: transition this time
around was the most savage, relentless torment I have ever experienced in my
life. I hope to never go through something like that again as long as I live. I
crawled out of the shower and it was all we could do to dry me off a bit before
another contraction came. I waddled over to the bed screaming and grunting and
shouting “THIS IS NOT OKAY. THIS IS NOT OKAY.” I sat down on the edge of the
bed to try and put my hospital gown back on, but another contraction hit and I
peed everywhere. I screamed for Jesse to get my sweat band out of the bag, and
then another contraction hit. At this point, they weren’t even going away
before the next one would start. The contraction would take off, peak within 10
seconds, remain at that peak for another 20 seconds, and then dissipate back
down to a 20% level or so before the next one would take off. It never stopped.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sounds I was making were terrifying and primal.
Screaming, but not prolonged “I’m being murdered” screaming. Just these
awful bursts of “<b><i>AH AH AH AH AH” </i></b>like a hyena caught in a trap. I wanted to put
my mesh panties back on because I couldn’t stop peeing, but the thought of
holding still long enough for Jesse to put them over my feet was inconceivable.
So no mesh panties.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I screamed that I was too hot, that I was burning up from
being in the shower for so long, that I was going to die. The nurse turned on a
giant fan and aimed it directly at me. And by god, it was the best thing I’ve
ever felt.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I decided I needed to turn around and get in the ‘open
knee chest’ position, which is basically yoga child’s pose. It uses gravity to
take baby’s head off the cervix, and I knew that if I couldn’t get a break, <b>I</b> was going to break. So I turned around
and gripped the edge of the bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The midwife checked me again at this point, and said I
was there. There was just one tiny lip of cervix left. “I’m just gonna go get
some stuff and then we can do this,” she said, and I was in complete shock. I
knew things had been moving fast and those contractions-on-top-of-contractions
had probably been doing good work, but to actually be ready to <i>push</i>? <o:p></o:p></div>
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This was also a very strange emotional experience for me.
With Audrey’s birth, I never really got to experience that “IT IS NOW TIME TO
PUSH” moment. Things were already 1000% drama at that point, with my room full
of nurses and doctors and anesthesiologists as I was given the instruction to “push
NOW and if the baby doesn’t come out we’re doing a C-section.” But here we
were, just me, Jesse, one nurse, and the midwife, and she was telling me it was
time to actually push in a normal and controlled manner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I did. Contractions would come and I would
push-push-push, and then the contraction would lapse and I would stop. It was
all so normal. I could feel the midwife back there tugging and stretching at my
perineum, rubbing mineral oil into it and doing everything she could to ensure
I didn’t tear from bow to stern again. I pushed and pushed, and everyone kept
telling me I was doing a great job, but I didn’t really feel that way. If I was
doing such a great job, then why was the baby still inside me? Somehow, I had
convinced myself that I could push him out with just a few big heaves. So I
asked the midwife, how was it coming along? Was I actually making any progress?
And she told me … to feel for myself.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was reluctant. Even though my birth plan specified that
I would like to touch baby’s head as it crowned, now that I was actually in
position to do so, I didn’t want to. But she pretty much told me to DO IT NOW
because when else in my life could I possibly get to experience something like
this? And she was right.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So I reached down and felt that there was the top of a
baby’s head sticking about a quarter inch out of me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Gross.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Awesome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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At this point, I realized that pushing in this position
wasn’t working for me anymore. I was spending far too much energy just trying
to keep my balance on my hands and knees, and my legs were getting tired. I
asked if I could try something different, and the midwife suggested that I roll
onto my side instead. That way, I could relax and let the bed hold my weight,
but with one knee up in the air, my pelvis would still be wide open in a great
position to make room for baby to come out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This position was fantastic. I was comfortable, and I felt
strong enough to keep working. I kept pushing with each contraction while
everyone reminded me to tuck my chin into my chest for maximum pushing power. I’m
pretty sure I pooped. I’m 100% sure nobody cared.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The midwife told me to reach down and touch the head
again, and this time I did so without hesitation. It was definitely farther out
than it was the first time I touched it. It was incredible.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With each push, I found myself experiencing the famous “ring
of fire” that women talk about – that as the tissue of the perineum stretches
to the max, it starts to burn like hell. But this didn’t even register as pain
to me – it was just an interesting feeling that I didn’t get to have with
Audrey. The midwife never told me to slow down or push less, so I just kept
maxing out with every contraction and finally, they told me that his head would
for sure come out on the next one.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In a state of complete disbelief, I buckled down and gave
one more huge push, and sure enough his head was out! Then everyone started
shouting at me that I wasn’t done yet and I had to get the shoulders out next,
so without skipping a beat I gave another big push and screamed “OH F***” as I
felt the weirdest and grossest and most indescribable thing I have ever felt in
my life: a whole human person suddenly being expelled from my vagina in one
single moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that was it. I was finished. Trevor Elliott was born
at 5:47AM, a mere ~7 hours after my water broke.<o:p></o:p></div>
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From there, everything followed my birth plan perfectly.
I was not given a Pitocin drip even though those are standard protocol at my
hospital (recall that I didn’t want one because giving Pitocin to someone who
hasn’t had any drugs during labor can result in contractions that hurt even
more than the ones they felt during labor. Yeah, no thanks, unless I’m actually
hemorrhaging to death). We were not able to do delayed cord clamping because we
had opted instead for cord blood donation, so the cord was clamped immediately
and Jesse cut it. And my little boy was plopped down on my chest in a blanket
for some serious snuggle time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The final tally: he weighed in at 8 pounds 2 ounces,
almost a full pound heavier than Audrey at 7 pounds 4 ounces. 19 and ¾ inches
long. As for my bottom, I had a second-degree tear, which is when the perineum
tears up to but NOT including the rectum – in other words, IT WAS A
VAGANUS-FREE ZONE! And since people always end up curious about this, allow me
to just reiterate: I had no pain medication whatsoever, not even local
anesthetic down there this time, and I did not feel that tear happen. I did not
feel any pain after the birth. I had no idea if I’d torn at all, and was
somewhat surprised to find that I had even reached a second-degree because it
didn’t hurt a bit. The recovery from this tear has been a total breeze.
Complete non-issue. So if the possibility of perineal tears is the kind of
thing that keeps you up at night, please remember this. I wouldn’t lie to you
about something like that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So there you have it! Trevor is born, I didn’t rip my
asshole apart, I made it through without drugs, and I’m NEVER DOING ANY OF IT
AGAIN SO HELP ME GOD.<o:p></o:p></div>
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SERIOUSLY.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Being born is the worst!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> Being a week old is way better!</span></div>
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Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-39846464685719300102015-08-18T18:28:00.001-07:002015-08-18T18:28:22.736-07:00I had another baby!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Hey there friends/foes (why would foes waste their time reading this though?? Madness I tell you!), if you're wondering why the blog has been silent, it's because baby Trevor has joined the world! He came out yesterday morning and has total old man baby face. He's adorable, though I do think he spends too much time ranting about gerrymandering congressional districts and not enough time just being a baby. I guess in the end it's his life, though.</span></div><div><br></div><div>I have a lot of half-written drafts of blog posts, so hopefully things won't be ALL silent for the next few months. You might get some half finished unfunny garbage to scoff at, for example. And definitely a birth story will come your way soon. Spoiler alert: no vaganus this time.</div><div><br></div><div>And now for the pictures!!</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOKXccCOVJFw8hx3ZGHI0lEVhYq0DnYbnnDYHsNN7Aq6r_bcZWLqMOyp-7oD7utRpuyJzli4rAt5p6iBYlUj9x5wscyGwoOiuPd9grg6oir9XNHJx84tcBZKBMunPhX6bs0hBNoC_XRDj/s640/blogger-image--33813683.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiOKXccCOVJFw8hx3ZGHI0lEVhYq0DnYbnnDYHsNN7Aq6r_bcZWLqMOyp-7oD7utRpuyJzli4rAt5p6iBYlUj9x5wscyGwoOiuPd9grg6oir9XNHJx84tcBZKBMunPhX6bs0hBNoC_XRDj/s640/blogger-image--33813683.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Wk1DNDJOP27SvEHjb2hlgiSMBPvl_iyzIkdGfxpHfx7uJ0drvsPy6ubiWfWHixg1_1OxNEMhGScyEEk50j5L-GxYdSzrF-o1veDtgbY_Q81DRjp2Ew9Lc4cg9JHfBX3Z7ek2if_G5P3e/s640/blogger-image-939467826.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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YES, YES IT IS.<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the most common bits of advice that toddler parents give to each other is to constantly ask the question "is this the hill you want to die on?" We are like a broken record with this question, asking it over and over and over again every time some disciplinary issue comes up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why? Because toddlers can be willful, and they don't respond well to reason and logic. You can explain to them all day long how important it is for them to brush their teeth, but if they don't want to brush their teeth, they're just gonna scream and hit you in the face as you come at them with the toothbrush.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So whenever they engage in a behavior that you're not a fan of, you have to ask yourself: is it REALLY worth it to fight this fight? Is this issue important enough to be worth doing whatever it takes to emerge victorious? Or am I better off just caving on this one and saving my ammo for bigger, more important battles later on? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes, the answer is "yes, this is worth it." But far more often, the answer is "no, not really." And recognizing that distinction can be the difference between being a happy and relaxed parent with a happy and relaxed kid vs. a harried and overwrought parent with a psycho kid. If you turn <i>everything</i> into a pitched battle, you're just turning yourself into an adversary ... and that pretty much never works out well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey definitely has some behaviors I wish she didn't have. She spends too much of the day with a binkie in her mouth; she often refuses to wear the clothing I've picked out for her; sometimes she doesn't want to eat whatever healthy thing I've prepared her for dinner after she's been at daycare all day; if she sees a cupcake in the fridge, she won't stop screaming until she gets a bite of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In a perfect world, I would say "EAT YOUR DINNER AND NO CUPCAKES FOR YOU" and she would just obey me quietly. But we don't live in a perfect world; we live in <i>this</i> world. Where she <i>usually</i> eats her dinner without issue, and we <i>rarely</i> have cupcakes in the house, but sometimes we do and sometimes she sees them in the fridge when I'm getting out her milk. Why would I subject myself to a screaming, irrational toddler tantrum that could last for an hour just to make the point that I'm in charge on some minor issue that almost never comes up?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That would be madness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So she gets her way a lot. And that's fine. (the key is to act like the whole thing was your idea anyway, rather than acting like you caved to their demands. "Oh, you want a cupcake? Okay, let's have cupcakes!")</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But there have been hills upon which I am content to make my last stand, and if I die, I die:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><u>Real ones:</u></i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">NO HITTING</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This one has to be nipped in the bud from the very first time they do it. You can't have a kid that hits people when they're mad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And kids will naturally hit people when they're mad. They didn't learn it from TV or from their cousin or from that kid on the playground -- it is HUMAN NATURE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why, just this morning, Audrey was out on the driveway watching a worm when I told her that we needed to get in the car to go to daycare. And she was like "no." And I was like "yep, you can look at worms another time, but right now we need to go." And I picked her up to carry her to the car, and she screamed bloody murder and punched me in the face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Punched me. In the face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And she got in trouuuuuuuuuuuuble. I was every kind of stern as I informed her that "we do NOT hit. EVER. I don't care how mad you get -- WE DO NOT HIT." And then I strapped her into her carseat coldly, methodically, and without eye contact, and she cried. Only when I was finished putting her in the seat did I soften and tell her that I of course loved her very much and I always would.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I have to go ten rounds with her <i>every single day</i> until she learns not to hit, I will gladly do so. Because I WILL NOT be one of those parents whose kid gets violent whenever they don't get their way. This is just not acceptable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I will die upon this hill.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">NO SQUISHING FOOD</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sometimes, when Audrey has decided she doesn't want her dinner, she will start grabbing fistfuls of food and squishing it as hard as she can before throwing it on the floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I find this to be Grade A Asshole Behavior and I will not stand for it. It is not cute. I do not laugh. When Audrey starts squishing food and throwing it, she gets her plate taken away and that is the end of dinner time. Oh, you were hoping for some fruit for dessert? Shouldn't have squished your food, then.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I will not have one of those kids who goes to restaurants and throws food around thinking it's funny. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I will die upon this hill.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">If I say you've had enough sweets, YOU'VE HAD ENOUGH SWEETS</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Sweets are delicious. You know it, I know it, and Audrey definitely knows it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So naturally, whenever there's a special occasion and we treat ourselves to something really yummy (like cake, ice cream, candy, etc.), Audrey ends up wanting more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And once I decide she's had enough, I do not give her more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't care how many times she asks. I don't care how hard she works herself into a frenzy. How loud she screams. How hard she hits me in the face. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She is going to learn moderation, goddammit, <i>if it kills me</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I will die upon this hill.</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And then, there are the hills that I should probably abandon because seriously? Come on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">BUT I'M STUBBORN SO I WON'T.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><u>Real stupid ones:</u></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i><u><br /></u></i></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">YOU CANNOT TOUCH THE FLY SWATTER TO YOUR FACE</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">These two f***ing flies have been in our house since the weekend, and at this point my vendetta against them has reached comically exaggerated proportions. I would smash my car through the back windows at 60mph if I thought it would lead to the death of those flies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Alas, that would be impractical, so instead I hunt them with a fly swatter. And of course, Audrey wants to be just like Mommy and Daddy, so when I put the fly swatter down, she picks it up and starts carrying it around hitting stuff with it. It's super cute.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But then she touched the fly swatter to her face. We told her not to do that, because the fly swatter is covered in diseased fly corpse juices, but she did it again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So Jesse took the fly swatter away, and she pitched a huge fit, but there was no way she was getting that fly swatter back. <i>You can't just walk around touching fly swatters to your face like some kind of cave person</i>. I will let her play with a KNIFE before I'll give that fly swatter back!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I will die upon this hill.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">NO, YOU MAY NOT WATCH TWO DIFFERENT NETFLIX SHOWS ON TWO DIFFERENT DEVICES AT THE SAME TIME</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Audrey figured out a long time ago that between Netflix and On Demand cable, we can pretty easily turn on the shows she likes on TV whenever she asks. And since she doesn't watch any TV at all while she's at daycare, I don't worry too much about over-saturating her with screen time. If she says she wants to watch Elmo, I'll turn on Elmo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently, however, she has also figured out that I have the Netflix app on my phone. She knows which folder it's stored in, and she knows what the app's icon looks like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And sometimes, while Sesame Street plays on the TV, she will take my phone, open up Netflix, and turn on Mickey Mouse so that she can watch that at the same time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">NO. A THOUSAND TIMES NO. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's bad enough that you force us to watch Elmo all the goddamned time ... now I have to listen to competing high-pitched voices as both Mickey and Elmo battle for your attention (and my sanity)??!?!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR, AUDREY. TOO FAR.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>I WILL DIE UPON THIS HILL.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">IF THERE IS POOP IN YOUR DIAPER, YOU ARE GETTING A NEW DIAPER GODDAMMIT</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Oftentimes, when it's time to change Audrey's diaper, I will ask her how she feels about that and she'll either signal that she's cool with it, or she'll say "no" and I'll wait a bit longer. I figure that unless the diaper is about to burst, there's no reason not to let her have at least <i>some</i> say in the matter. I don't want to turn diaper changes into an overly traumatic episode between us if I can help it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">However, all semblance of autonomous decision-making goes out the window as soon as a poop enters the equation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here's how it goes down: Audrey poops. I tell her we need to change her diaper because there's poop in it. She says "no." I tell her that "no" isn't an acceptable answer and that we are changing the diaper right now. She says "no" again and runs off to hide somewhere -- usually the pantry.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I chase her down and WRASSLE HER LIKE AN ANGRY CROCODILE into the laundry room where the changing pad is, and then I WRASSLE HER LIKE AN ANGRY CROCODILE until her pants are off and the diaper is getting changed, and she screams and cries and tries to hit me and I just bellow WE ARE CHANGING YOUR DIAPER RIGHT NOW AND THAT IS FINAL and she squirms and flails and tries to escape and I WRASSLE HER LIKE AN ANGRY CROCODILE until the new diaper is on. Once the whole thing is done, she has a bit of PTSD but NO CHILD OF MINE IS GOING TO WALK AROUND WITH TURDS JUST CHILLING IN THEIR DIAPER.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="http://assets.nydailynews.com/polopoly_fs/1.1716584!/img/httpImage/image.jpg_gen/derivatives/article_970/wkd-b-movie-summer.jpg" width="212" /></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Parenting: it's a messy business. Choose your battles carefully.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>And keep the fly swatters well hidden.</b></span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-67389286895027418182015-08-06T09:50:00.001-07:002015-08-06T09:50:28.044-07:00The Indignities of (very late) Pregnancy: These stretch marks are very, very angry and they scare me a little<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Welcome to what will likely be the final installment of "The Indignities of Pregnancy" ... because I won't be pregnant for much longer, and if all goes according to plan, after this I will NEVER BE PREGNANT AGAIN!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">EVER!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am now full term with baby #2. Over 38 weeks. He could come at <i>any time</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With baby #1, I made it all the way to delivery without any significant stretch marks. I only had one little one, which appeared right on top of my belly button (my belly button is pierced, so the hole where the piercing exits my navel gave the stretch mark a foothold). The little stretch mark set up camp in the final few weeks of that pregnancy, but he never had much chance to establish himself before Audrey was born and the cops came and told him to move on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time around, that little stretch mark came back ... and he brought some friends he recruited. Once again, that stupid exit-hole of my navel piercing provided Mr. Stretch Mark and his pals a place to establish their camp. And they did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are now three of them living there in that camp. The camp started out small and neat, with the three of them living in small individual tents. They were clean, they were quiet, and they generally stayed out of everyone's way, so I didn't have much problem with them. We left each other alone and everything was fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But then all of a sudden in the last couple of weeks, something seems to have happened to the stretch mark camp.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's gotten ... rowdier.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">They've started drinking more. They took down their tents and hung up a bunch of tarps instead, making a sort of stretch mark hobo shantytown. They even got another small family to join their camp, albeit on the other side of the train tracks (my belly button). The new family is pretty respectful, though I'm certainly not happy about their arrival.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As for the original three marks, they're belligerent. They're drunk 24/7 and their camp is littered with empty beer cans and bottles of Military Special vodka -- $8 for a half gallon. They don't talk -- they shout. They interpret everything I say as some kind of insult or personal attack, and they accuse me of talking shit about their little sister. One of them tried to throw a punch, but missed and fell into the campfire instead.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's getting ugly down there, is what I'm trying to say. And the cops have done nothing to shut this down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4yUbNlUzaSkDk1ly-Z_b8HbLinXjlpl4cuRJE9uuueFtYgcTuOEWor_5ib84HvgFn7R3duSM4ZPVNkRqrF7qpbTjINL4wzCRjEw0FUxxQFOCbCwn-mpWxk-Ps0jUPVRtJ-KNQGDA6P9R/s1600/sm+2.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ4yUbNlUzaSkDk1ly-Z_b8HbLinXjlpl4cuRJE9uuueFtYgcTuOEWor_5ib84HvgFn7R3duSM4ZPVNkRqrF7qpbTjINL4wzCRjEw0FUxxQFOCbCwn-mpWxk-Ps0jUPVRtJ-KNQGDA6P9R/s1600/sm+2.PNG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now, I will freely admit that I am one lucky duck to still only have three big stretch marks. But DAMN, they are assholes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've started dousing their camp in 100% Shea butter and Aquaphor ointment several times a day, but this only seems to infuriate them more (for the record, I have been slathering on the 100% Shea butter daily throughout my entire pregnancy). I have two major fears here: one, that they will successfully recruit more psychotic lowlifes to join their camp over the next week or so. It could happen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And two, the fear that most keeps me up at night: that once their camp is finally raided by the cops and they're sent on their way, that the campground itself will be utterly trashed. And by this, I mean the dreaded <i>puckered navel</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v419/mknzmom1/IMG_3477.jpg" height="240" width="320" /><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Like this.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hate that I am worried about this. I should happily accept any and all changes that my body needs to make in order to grow and birth my beautiful children. I should embrace whatever form my belly button takes once this is all over, because whatever it ends up costing me is a small price to pay for the privilege of carrying two successful pregnancies to term.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But ... I'm worried about it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because it sucks sitting here helpless, eating healthy and working out and controlling my weight gain and moisturizing-moisturizing-moisturizing and <i>still</i> seeing these asshole dickhead stretch marks taking dumps and then setting their dumps on fire on my lovely abdomen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1VIwS1lS9mLhPrduqkI8FQCrgrdO3mPVQRnL923ELa0pZwM7DRW7SMXyAWUpGXRFoX4vhxkd94vuO5eqppdiDB7UUdWXD6Be-uGr1xMLXolD02dbFL9JJ91LxzAMVQ2JfPAExd8bu8Eb/s1600/sm+3.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1VIwS1lS9mLhPrduqkI8FQCrgrdO3mPVQRnL923ELa0pZwM7DRW7SMXyAWUpGXRFoX4vhxkd94vuO5eqppdiDB7UUdWXD6Be-uGr1xMLXolD02dbFL9JJ91LxzAMVQ2JfPAExd8bu8Eb/s1600/sm+3.PNG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Why do I call this an indignity?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because it looks like shit. My cute, round, adorable 9-months-pregnant belly looks like <i>shit</i>. Even Audrey had to agree with that: as I was getting dressed the other day, she pointed at the stretch mark encampment and said "Mommy ... big poopoo mess."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">SHE'S NOT EVEN TWO YEARS OLD AND EVEN SHE RECOGNIZED HOW UGLY THINGS HAVE GOTTEN.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Ice cold, Audrey. Ice cold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn't want to even include a picture in this post, but I feel like I ought to, for the sake of full disclosure:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xaopl7cAfLeUp-piRkDkR-i0bvKsvMF0mLW266IeT3rm1LtNdlzCcVCxsayPiAXF2arVvgI4ungKBic6NffjNzmjjDjH5qbWbvr1miRUTjQskoAQyrB_mbwBrn7JB6sWJa_Jz8evNkJW/s1600/sm+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xaopl7cAfLeUp-piRkDkR-i0bvKsvMF0mLW266IeT3rm1LtNdlzCcVCxsayPiAXF2arVvgI4ungKBic6NffjNzmjjDjH5qbWbvr1miRUTjQskoAQyrB_mbwBrn7JB6sWJa_Jz8evNkJW/s640/sm+4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is in rather favorable lighting that doesn't quite capture exactly how RED and ANGRY the stretch mark hobo camp looks most of the time. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Honestly, they look like wounds. Actual injuries.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It's brutal.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But you know what? There ain't a damn thing I can do about it except what I've already been doing, so I'm not going to worry about it anymore. It's out of my hands. If Mr. Stretch Mark and his lunatic squad want to burn everything down and salt the earth so nothing shall ever grow there again, that's just how it goes.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And you know what else? </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Once this is all over ... I'm still gonna wear a f***ing bikini.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">:-)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Past issues of "The Indignities of Pregnancy":</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-power.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Power Walking</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-2-plumbers.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Plumbers' Gut</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/08/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-3-emotions.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Emotions are Real</span></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-i-own.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">I Own Adult Diapers</a><br /><span style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;"><a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-my-outie.html" style="color: #6699cc; text-decoration: none;">My outie looks like a nipple</a></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14.8500003814697px; line-height: 16.6319999694824px;">
<a href="http://patentspatented.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-indignities-of-pregnancy-snack.html"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The snack hoard in my office is embarrassing</span></a></div>
</div>
Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1476021495867810725.post-55302130040535761192015-08-04T09:15:00.000-07:002015-08-04T09:15:00.066-07:00Stuntin' like I'm 9 months pregnant<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I may be large, awkward, and unwieldy. I may have what is essentially a giant watermelon hung from my spine and dangling between my legs (or at least it certainly feels that way).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But don't you for one <i>second</i> think that I'm not still capable of stunts that would make even the Flying Wallendas blanche!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="204" src="http://hamodia.com/hamod-uploads/2013/06/Wallenda.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This guy ain't got nothin on me.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here are the stunning feats of acrobatics that I am still able to perform, and their difficulty ratings. Prepare to be impressed:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> Use my ab muscles to pull in and lift my entire uterus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 8.5</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As my uterus grows and my belly hangs off me like a piece of overripe fruit, exercising full control over the abdominal wall becomes more and more difficult. Non-pregnant me can easily flex all the abs and pull the belly in to a flat and hard state. Pregnant me, however? Not so easy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But in the right circumstances, I can still do it. Obviously not pull the belly in to <i>flatness</i>, since that is literally impossible given the size of my uterus compared to the size of my body, but still ... a heck of a lot flatter than it is right now. I call this move the Belly Lift, and it involves flexing all my abs at once and using them to lift my enormous uterus up and in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have shown this stunt to many people, and the response has been almost universally the same: "Do that again." [I do it again] "Gross."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So yes, it is impressive. I am available for parties, but not for much longer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And before you even ask, OF COURSE I MADE VIDEOS AND TURNED THEM INTO GIFS. Who do you think I am, some kind of amateur?!?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Do that again."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Gross."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> Drop into a full lunge to pick something up off the floor while holding Audrey</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 8.8</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">According the the bathroom scale that Audrey insists on weighing herself on several times a week, my little 22-month-old weighs 27.4 pounds.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">According to that same bathroom scale, my weight gain thus far this pregnancy is between 26-29 pounds (depending on the time of day and how many Chipotle burritos I have eaten that week).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Getting out my trusty calculator, this means that I can drop into a low enough lunge to reach whatever critical item has been dropped onto the floor while holding at least 54 pounds of extra weight. <i>And then I can stand all the way back up afterwards</i>. I can do this as many as <b><u>one</u></b> times in a row.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That being said, I don't think I will be performing this stunt any more from here on out. There's simply too much risk that I will get down and then not be able to get back up, and I'll either have to toss Audrey at the ground, fall over, or call for help from a ridiculous position.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"But why did you <i>start</i> kneeling on the floor?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"STOP ASKING QUESTIONS AND JUST HELP ME, JESSE."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> Prop my leg up at chest height in the shower to shave</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 9.1</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Yes, I do still shave my legs. And I haven't even changed my technique! I still lift my leg up and rest my toesies on the chest-height ledge in the shower to do it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Except on days where my sciatic back pain is acting up really badly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can tell those days because my right leg will be smooth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Only</i> my right leg.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> While holding Audrey, pick up her binkie with my foot and transfer it into my other hand</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 9.2</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I don't think the title on this one makes it clear just exactly how incredible this feat is. So let me describe it further: I hold the 27.4 pound Audrey in my right arm, resting her weight on my hip while my giant belly hangs off my front.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I balance this precarious tower on my right foot only.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I take all weight off my left foot and use my long, monkey-like toes to grab Audrey's binkie, which she has dropped onto the floor.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I then bend my left leg at the knee until my left hand can reach the binkie that is gripped in my toe-fingers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I give the binkie back to Audrey.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And she doesn't thank me, because she has no concept of how incredible it is that I was able to do this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">WHEN WILL SHE EVER LEARN TO APPRECIATE MY TALENTS.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> Sit down on the floor in the middle of a room (i.e. not near anything I can use to pull myself up) and then return to my feet again without help</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 9.9</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This maneuver is so difficult that it's risky to even attempt it without a spotter. You may find yourself stuck on the floor, having to crawl over to a counter or railing to pull yourself back to your feet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have only dared attempt it a couple of times in the recent past, because I know the risks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is my technique, starting from a criss-cross-applesauce seated position:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- untangle legs and roll forward onto hands and knees</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- open knees to at least shoulder width apart</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- shift weight towards hands and then tuck feet under you</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- walk hands in towards feet, moving more and more weight onto feet</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- straighten legs slowly, either with hands still on the floor or transferred to your knees (depending on flexibility). Don't be a hero and try to stand up all at once</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-- once legs are mostly straight, begin rolling body up one vertebrae at a time until you have reached a standing position</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Congratulations! You have successfully stood up from a seated position on the floor!!! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Maneuver:</b> Put on underwear while standing up</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Difficulty:</b> 10</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Lol just kidding. I cannot do this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">:'(</span>Patent's Patentedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03612505162983356794noreply@blogger.com0