My 4-year-old daughter draws pictures and they're all terrifying

Hey 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.

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.

In fact, she's not just burgeoning. She's a star. Her drawings are incredible!

There's just one thing: all her drawings are terrifying. All of them.

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:

But hers? NIGHTMARE.

Without further ado, let's take a look at some more of Audrey's beautiful artwork.

What the fuck.

These look like a collection of tortured souls waiting for their turn to be escorted into Hell.

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?

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE.

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."

Here's a nice family portrait! Not too bad actually. But wait, there's a follow-up ...

This family portrait raises more concerns. And why are we all wearing nipple clamps?

Our mouths are open as we scream but I get the bad feeling there's no sound coming out.

This was supposed to be a "happy guy, a scared guy, and a funny guy."

Nailed it.

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.

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.

They will be doing the spirit's bidding. I am not likely to survive the night.

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. 

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.

Kids are fun.

Happy birthday Trevor!! Another animated GIF

Trevor is ONE YEAR OLD TODAY!!! Just like I did for Audrey, I put together a GIF showing him growing up during his first year of life. Such a sweet little dude.

That f***ing swimming Nemo toy

Hi everybody!! Long time no speak!

I haven't blogged in months because I've been pretty busy dealing with a few things, including but not limited to:
-- moving
-- divorce
-- crippling depression
-- single parenting
-- my dishwasher was making a funny noise

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???

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

... 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.

This motherf***er.

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.

So I Incredible Hulked it out of the plastic and gave it to her, and she was happy.

Briefly.


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.

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.

So the bowl of water moved out onto the balcony, and Nemo's happy swimming resumed.

... 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.

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.

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.

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.

Nemo was very hungry.

Unsurprisingly, Nemo's eyes turned out to be bigger than his stomach.

Yum.

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.

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.

Nemo needed a washcloth in the sink with him so that he could lie down on it and have a nap.

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.

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.

Another time, swimming Nemo went missing and could not be located in time for bathtime. Screaming fit in the tub.

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.

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.


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?

No.

I would go back to July 24 and I would NOT BUY THAT F***ING NEMO TOY I SWEAR TO GOD I'M GOING TO SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER.

F*** YOU NEMO I HOPE EVERYONE YOU LOVE GETS HEPATITIS

The Cuteness/Ridiculousness of Audrey

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.

Here are a few recent Audreyisms:

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!

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Draw our family, she scribbles in everyone's eyes like we're a family of demons. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

____________________________________

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.

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.

I declined the chip. Not because she had already tongued it, though. I declined the chip because I had just brushed my teeth.

The fact that the chip was probably getting soggy with her spit already was not even a factor in the decision.

I have been a Mom for too long.

____________________________________

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.

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.

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.

Then she ate like 15 pounds of fruit from the brunch buffet, which sent her on a crazy sugar high. 

She started rolling around on the floor. Then she started running wind sprints. Then she was hopping around shouting that she was a frog.

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!" 

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!"

Honestly, I don't know where she got this desire to be the center of attention and make everyone laugh.

Certainly not from me. ;-)

My daughter is gaslighting me and I don't know what to believe anymore

"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!

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.

So naturally Audrey does it to me all the time.


The Nilla Wafers Incident

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.

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.

So I took the box away from her and said that we were all done with cookies and she could take one more before I put the box away.

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.

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.

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.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

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 between my legs during a game of hide and seek. How could a child who thought I would not be able to locate her while she was touching me suddenly understand that if she palmed a cookie in a certain way, I wouldn't see it and she could eat it in peace?

Did she really palm that cookie?

If so, did she palm it on purpose?

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?

AM I LOSING MY MIND?

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.

I'm just thinking ahead.



The Potty Incident(s)

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.

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.

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).

So she gaslights me.

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!"

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.

... or did you?

How can I know!?!? Maybe she peed a little but it wasn't enough for me to hear it hit the bowl.

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 her. "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.

I'm pretty sure she's not peeing, though. She just wants the damned M&M.

I mean ... right?

How do I ... I don't ...


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.

No more potty gaslighting, Audrey. You'll have to find other ways to make me question my sanity.

I'm sure it won't be a problem.



The Bingo Incident

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 such fun in there while I'm trying to bathe). I asked her if she wanted to sing a song with me.

She said "sing Bingo Mommy!" and I agreed, launching into a boisterous rendition of the song.

After about two verses, I peered around the shower curtain and found that ... the door was closed and the bathroom was empty.

I had been singing to no one.

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.

And she looked at me in absolute confusion. "Mommy you not sing Bingo."

But ... I could have sworn ...


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).

STOP IT AUDREY. I'M ALREADY HANGING BY A THREAD OVER HERE.

Time flies even when you're not having any fun at all

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.

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?)

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 three weeks ago. 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.)

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.

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.

I've just started my New Years Resolution to get back into exercising

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.

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. 

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.

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.

I'm only a month late on this one, so that's not so bad, right? Better than that lady with her Christmas lights.

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!

Except this guy was so bad at Zumba. Like wow. 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. Usually 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."

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.


Audrey got excited about Easter and I told her she would have to wait six months for the Easter Bunny

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!

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."

But now I'm looking at my calendar and it's going to be Easter in like a month and a half? SINCE WHEN?!?! 


Facebook showed me a picture of Audrey's outfit from the Superbowl two years ago and I thought it was a technical glitch

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." 

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?

I don't know.

I don't even do drugs you guys. 

I have no excuse.



The most recent photos on our refrigerator are from before Trevor was even born

I mean, you'd think it would take less than six months to acknowledge the addition of a new human being to your family. That's a pretty big deal.

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.

I have done nothing.


I still haven't deposited a money order that I received for Christmas

I just haven't had a chance yet. Come on, you guys. Christmas was only like ... three weeks ago.

Right?


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!!

Or am I 40? I don't even know anymore.

Trying to shower when you have a toddler

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.

This especially includes the shower, which used to be a 'safe space' for me to relax.

NOT. ANYMORE.

IT'S THE ONE ON THE RIGHT YOU'VE GOT TO WATCH OUT FOR.

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.

And bother me she does.


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.

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?"

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 don't take them away"), 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 in Trevor's car seat, Audrey? Why??).

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.

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.

"No! Audrey no! Mommy does not need toilet paper please get that out of the shower and put it in the garbage."

"It's all wet!" she complains, like this is somehow my fault.

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.

"GOOD GOD NO! Audrey that is dirty! Please put it away!"

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.

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.

And then she reappears in the bathroom to confirm for the eighth time: "Mommy, are you taking a shower?"

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 vagina, 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."

She struggles with this word a bit, as it is not something she hears often. "It's Mommy's ... gina?"

"Yes. Mommy's va-gi-na."

"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 didn't so it's hilarious.

In addition to loving to help people, Audrey also loves to make people laugh. 

Exhibit A: She walked around with this thing on her head for like 15 minutes because we were laughing.

Exhibit B

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.

"Daddy!" she calls. "Daddy! You have a vagina?"

Jesse appears holding Trevor, looking confused and telling her that he does not.

"DADDY WHERE IS YOUR VAGINA?" she demands like an angry cop interrogating a suspect.

Now everyone is laughing. Which is just positive reinforcement for Audrey to continue this. Dear God what have we done.

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.


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.

"Here Mommy! I put this on your butt."


Thank you, Audrey. As usual, you have been an enormous help.

We have another ghost

You might recall that our old house may or may not have been haunted by the ghost of the prior resident who had committed suicide there.

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.

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.

But ... well ...

Audrey talks an awful lot about ghosts now.

A whole awful lot.

And she's never talked about ghosts before.


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:

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 everyone 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.

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.

A ghost who likes to play pretend kitchen. A doughnut on a hamburger? Ghost, you've gone completely mental!

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.

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!"

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.

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.

I wonder if he's available to babysit?

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.

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:

"He's going shopping! To get an apple!"

"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)

"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.)

"The ghost is very nice. He's a nice ghost. I want to give him a big hug."

"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!"

"I really want to give the ghost a hug!"

"Today is the ghost's birthday. Happy birthday ghost!"

So, in conclusion, do we have a ghost? Probably.

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.

Is today the birthday of the renter who died in the house?

... 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.

Holy f*** you guys what if it's today.

The pros and cons of breastfeeding: a totally non-medical and non-health related journey

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.

But there are WAY more variables involved than that.

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 clearly was not working 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 done with this shit."

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). 

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:


PRO: You have a "shut up and calm your ass down" button attached to your body

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.

But there is. Stick a boob in their mouth, and it's like the whole thing never happened.

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.

I like those odds.

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.

CON: Your wardrobe will be extremely limited

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.

I cannot/will not/don't understand how it is possible to do this.

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.

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!

Also, nursing tanks are at least $20 each. Because of course they are. F***ers.



PRO: Impossible to overfeed, so there's no anxiety on that front

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.

FAT GUY IN A LITTLE COAT

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.



CON: It is totally possible to underfeed a breastfed baby, though, so there's that anxiety finding its way back in

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.

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?"

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.



PRO: It's free!

THE PRICE IS RIGHT BITCHES. Obamacare now even forces insurance to pay for pumps! YEAHHHHHH!

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.



CON: No matter where you are or what you're doing, the milk has to come out of you on schedule

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.

I also got to eat a PB&J sandwich because I still can't eat dairy (thanks TREVOR) so I didn't want to risk showing up starving to the wedding and not being able to eat anything there.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So, so many people walked in on me while I was pumping at my brother's wedding. Sorry guys.


PRO: You can feed your baby in the night without even waking up all the way

This one is gold, Jerry. Gold.

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?

NOPE. I just whip out a boob and give it to him. He eats and we both immediately go back to sleep.

Awesome.


CON: If the equipment malfunctions, you're kind of screwed

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.

And your boobs can malfunction too! Joy of joys!!! Last week mine decided that they weren't really feeling the pump anymore at work. Weren't into it. Just wouldn't let down, no matter what, no matter how many baby videos I watched, no matter how many kumbayas I sang. I literally had to call in sick for a day and a half because my boobs were having technical difficulties. How is that even something that happens.

Also, they're doing it again right now. What the f***, you f***ers. You have one job.


PRO: It's relaxing and you can look at your phone while you do it

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!

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.


CON: You still have to watch what you eat and drink

Want to get wasted? Ha! Good one!

Want to drink a bunch of coffee? Well, I hope you like caffeinated babies because that shit comes out in breast milk!

Want to take some cold medicine because you're sick? Not today, buddy!

Want to consume any dairy products at all when your kid has a milk protein allergy? LOL TO YOU, FRIEND. LOL TO YOU.

Someday my body will be mine again. Someday.


PRO: Impossible to forget boobs at home

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.

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.



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 ...

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.

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.

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.


PRO: Required, non-optional downtime spent snuggling baby (and required, non-optional break time spent pumping milk)

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.

All you can do is sit on the couch and snuggle your baby. It's a hard life.

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.

Sweet.


CON: You WILL cry over spilled milk

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.

I even had a nightmare about it last night.


PRO: Boobs look incredible

No, for real. They are bomb.


CON: Breastfed babies don't usually sleep through the night until they're older than formula-fed babies

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?

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.

A YEAR.

I ain't waitin' no year to get my nights back.

(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)



PRO: DID I MENTION BOOBS LOOK INCREDIBLE?!?!?!

I'm not used to this. I don't know what to do with them. I will miss them when they're gone.




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.

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. 

Choose wisely, friends. And please don't give yourself postpartum depression trying desperately to breastfeed when it's not working. Please.

Mixing bottles in the night really isn't that bad.