Scribbling Dame

Preposterous Pondering.

Letter to Santa November 14, 2012

We have made it. A day I have been dreaming of since before Sofia was even born. She is into Christmas–and I mean really into it. I have unabashedly groomed her for this since she was 2 weeks old. I wanted to raise a Christmas addict. This is largely because I am married to a Grunch. This is a Grump mixed with a Grinch, which is what my husband becomes around the holidays (he is also disappointingly apathetic to birthdays). He doesn’t actually steal toys from children, but if it was up to him, there would be no tree, no presents and definitely no christmas lights outside.

So I knew that if I was ever going to have the magic of Christmas live on, I would have to raise my kids to be so excited that their Daddy would have to play along. Mwaha haha haaa…(read as evil laughter).

So I won. Sofia is into it, and now that she is just shy of five, we wrote our first letter to Santa today, which I think is worth sharing:

Dear Santa,

I really love you. I’ve been a good girl this year. I love purple and pink and all the colors. 

I would like rainbow stuff, a rainbow Barbie, a pretty pink and white hair clip and also I would like a heart shirt that is rainbow. Also I want a new laptop [DVD player] and plug because I broke my other one. 

I’m going to make five cookies for you and also I’m going to give you a present that is nice. It’s a new car. 

Have a great day with your elves and your reindeer and also riding your sleigh. 

Love, 

Sofia

P.S. I am glad I have that whole car thing in writing. This will come in handy later I think.

 

Angst and Advertising September 27, 2012

Hey ladies– (warning to men: we are going to talk periods and tampons here so feel free to avert your eyes…)

Come here. You wanna know what?

People who make tampons and tampon commercials hate women. I mean, they really have to hate us.

Before I continue; yes, I got my period. Yes, I forgot I was going to get it back. And, yes, this is just in time for date night. Aargh. I acknowledge my angst and I embrace it.

It does not change what fucking assholes tampon advertisers and product managers are.

I am in the bathroom unwrapping my little buddy and do you know what it says on the package?

“Go get ’em.”

This is not even a fucking joke. My tampon wrapper is giving me cheesy, high school sports coach talk. For my vagina.

Exactly whom am I supposed to go get? Is my tampon supposed to get my vagina? Is this positive reinforcement for going another month without an unplanned pregnancy?

Or, is this a modern woman tampon? Am I going to go kill it in the boardroom now?

This is really me hitting my limit with lady product advertising and packaging. Every time I see a commercial for feminine products, I sort of start to hate women.

Women care about two things when it comes to vagina products;

1)We don’t want any embarrassing moments. 

2)It’d be nice to not even realize we are using the product. 

Here’s an idea. Why not turn that whole Ryan Gosling “hey girl” meme into a lady product advert? I’d much rather see his face on my tampon wrapper than fucking “go get ’em.” Go get ’em and fuck yourselves Playtex.

Time for chocolate! XoXo

 

Sweaty Bridesmaid and Fucking Up August 28, 2012

Filed under: SuperWoman Syndrome — Scribbling Dame @ 12:02 pm
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I was in a wedding this weekend. The couple are some dear friends who are awesome. The wedding was awesome, but I realized I was a complete wreck about it leading up to it.

Dear God please don’t let me fuck up this wedding…

With your own wedding you are nervous about what will go wrong and all the last minute details you still need to handle in only 24 hour days. However, you aren’t worried about messing up–it’s your own wedding. Any little mistake you might make will be the cute tidbit of personality that, along with the gazillion details you’ve planned for months, will make your ceremony stand out. Plus, almost everyone at the wedding loves you and /or was hired by you, so they will let it go.

When you are in someone else’s wedding, if you fuck up, you are FUCKING UP SOMEONE ELSE’S WEDDING! Which means, depending on the magnitude of said fuck up, you could ruin the day and married life of your beloved friends and your fuck up will be FOREVER BURNED IN THEIR BRAINS not to mention captured on YouTube, fifty iPhones and a professional photographer’s portfolio.

So here is me, realizing this about a week prior and knowing my history of fucking up. I don’t fuck up often, but I tend to fuck up in really dramatic, intense moments or in really awe-inspiring ways.

Here are some examples, both involving deaths and pets.

1. I accidentally let my best friend’s dead grandma’s bird out of the house. We tried to get the fucker back inside but were too late and ended up watching it be devoured by a small dog in their neighbor’s yard. This was the equivalent of watching their grandma die again. Funny now. Major tragic fuck up then. I still hate fucking birds.

2. My friend’s dad passes unexpectedly. I rush over to take care of her kiddo while she packs and neglect to close their gate. Dog gets out and we spend hours trying to find him. We see him once, but he takes off (fucker). It’s 100 degrees. We eventually have to tell my friend that in addition to losing her dad, she may have lost her first-born hair baby too. She has to push back her flight to her hometown. We find dog sitting under a tree hours later. This is just now hitting inside joke status, but still makes my stomach turn to think about it. This is why I basically only like my dog.

So, when I fuck up, it is rare, yet epic. And this is why, besides heat, I was sweating like a Republican at a Women’s Convention at my friend’s wedding. Alas, all went well and I only made one teeny weird mistake that was totally fixable and only a few of us noticed. <Relief sigh>.

 

Love in the time of Bieber August 20, 2012

Filed under: Vagina — Scribbling Dame @ 9:18 pm
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It has occurred to me lately that my definition of “romance” has drastically changed in my eight years of marriage (12 years of togetherness), and of course many of these shifts have occurred after having a child, and now children.

Here are three things that I now consider romantic, that had you told my younger self these things, I would have definitely rolled my eyes and felt sorry for my now self, and thought I was a total weirdo.

1. Matching tattoos. This is a suggestion from my husband. This idea is cool to him because 1) the tattoos are on sale. Seriously–they are flash tattoos for $20 and my husband will buy almost anything if he feels like it’s a good deal. Secondly, it’s spontaneous and he likes that. I usually don’t because I am the responsible boring one, but I agree that being spontaneous is a definite prerequisite for many a romantic endeavor. So, I am seriously considering it, even though I am a total wimp and it’s gonna hurt, which is why I will go first.

2. Daytime sex. Woot! This is one all of you parents of non-napping children can appreciate. Most parents have to have sex late at night because that is their only opportunity for privacy. Before we had Ellie there was the occasional spontaneous nap that would afford some love time, but the odds of both our children being asleep simultaneously AND long enough for us to play “just the tip”…well let’s just say there are better odds at a Vegas card table.

3. Vasectomy. I am laughing as I write this, but I seriously think getting a vasectomy is in the top five most romantic gestures from my husband. Before you go thinking he must be really bad at being romantic (he’s not bad at all) consider this; he is going to let another person use a knife and cauterize him near his penis and ball sack areas–fully awake, so that he will NEVER produce sperm again. I can’t think of a more intense way to say “I’m in it for the long haul.” Besides having kids, of course. I’m just sayin’. That’s commitment people.

So romantic!

 

 

It’s the little things… August 9, 2012

Filed under: Mommy Issues — Scribbling Dame @ 2:33 pm
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A strange thing happens when your baby becomes a toddler and then a kid. Suddenly they become a bit thoughtful and simultaneously see beauty in mundane and random objects. So, it’s both pleasurable and bizarre when Sofia decides to give me something–sometimes directly or other times as a surprise. Usually she leaves things on my nightstand or by my kitchen sink, most of which are somewhat craptastic in nature, but given my affinity for the giver, all of these little tokens feel like treasures. Here is the latest bounty; rhinestone stickers (stolen from my office), a sticker that no longer sticks, and a penny.

 

The Mother of all Fears August 1, 2012

Filed under: Mommy Issues — Scribbling Dame @ 8:43 pm
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We have rounded the corner on month four of keeping two children alive. So far so good. Ellie is finally taking a bottle (I never thought someone would love my boobs more than my husband…) and Sofia is enjoying her summer shenanigans (which includes getting into minor trouble for saying potty words under the table at school–don’t know where she picks this stuff up from…ahem.)

There is something I noticed this time around, that started when I had Sofia and continues today, now centered more around Ellie. I am speaking of an uncanny ability to envision the most horrific dangers that could possibly ever happen to my children. Let me share some examples;

A normal person might be afraid to drop a baby–a valid concern. A Mother’s fear is more like being terrified of tripping whilst wearing the baby bjorn and landing on said baby resulting in a head squashed like watermelon on the pavement.

Pretty fucked up huh?

Once you become a mother, in the back of your mind, you fear the worst…

 

There are some more obvious fears like SIDS, which for me manifests itself in a slightly weird noise heard over the monitor that was probably nothing but what if it’s choking and I don’t get out of bed to check then she dies and it’s all my fault.

Sunburns=cancer potential

Accidentally feeling a buzz from dinner wine (as a breastfeeding mommy)=BAS (Baby Alcohol Syndrome) which is probably not real, but I feel potentially guilty for anyway.

 

I suppose this is what they call “motherly instinct” or also paranoia.

 

From Sugar Tits to Booger Boobs July 1, 2012

Filed under: Boobs — Scribbling Dame @ 9:51 am
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Yes I am alive! I bet you thought the children finally were able to overthrow the house and hold us captive…but, I took a month off to enjoy the new babe and then I just got lazy, therefor you should congratulate me on writing this post because it means I am not being lazy (about blogging) any more. For now.

We have rounded the corner from newborn semi-chaos to baby bliss. Routine is nice. However, there is a mystery abounding in the household that baffles my mind. I cannot fathom how such small beings generate so much snot and boogers. I’m not talking the occasional green fugitive here and there. I am talking full-on blob-like invasion. A tsunami of nose nuggets overtakes our house EVERY DAY.

Even Barry has boogies…

The pleasantries begin with my four-year-old’s allergies. This involves clear snot rocket boogers that shoot out upon every sneeze. Inevitably these sneezes occur near my face as I am prying open my eyelids to tolerate the day, or more awesomely, at meal times. After the snot has presented itself, Sofia sits there like a walrus with booger tusks and waits for one of us to bring her a tissue, as if we are fucking tissue valets. Blech.

In her defense, we are not expected to clean up all her boogers, because she also likes to eat them. (Puke in mouth.) One day I asked her, “why do you eat your boogers?” She looks at me like I am a total  freaking moron and says, “Because they taste good.” Duh.

On to the tiny. You would think for having such small nasal passages that gigantic green goblins wouldn’t be a part of our lives yet. However, they are there. They stare at me from the light of the beautiful smiling cherubic face which makes me impulsively have to pick them. I can’t concentrate until this flaw has been removed.

Sometimes though, I don’t have to bother. When Ellie is breastfeeding, she manages to deposit her boogies onto my boob. This is like wiping them on a dinner table if you ask me. It is these moments when I get a little depressed, remembering when my boobs used to be perky things of glory that would get me free stuff when I went out. Now they are milky booger depositories. Sigh.

It’s okay. I’ll take boogers over poop any day.

 

Something about Plurals… April 23, 2012

Filed under: Mommy Issues — Scribbling Dame @ 7:35 pm
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It has recently occurred to me that my husband and I have two kids. As in plural. As in there are as many children in our family as their are of us. Huh. There are few times in a life when one experiences the power of becoming plural: marriage/partnership, puppy, first pregnancy, first baby, subsequent babies. It’s an interesting moment when you realize “you” is becoming “we,” and “we” is becoming different.

Even though the whole pregnancy thing is planned and a long time coming (sometimes it can feel like forever), we all have those moments when the weight of our life sinks in–both in beautiful ways that make us feel grateful and amazed and on other days, in ways where we  think it’s very possible we have doomed ourselves to a never-ending cycle of feeding, cleaning bodies, and cleaning houses/clothes. Both are true.

Some differences I am noticing with this iteration of “we” now that we have a 4 and a new-year-old:

For the forseeable future, and thanks to OR car seat laws, probably the next 7 years, we will always have to take separate cars to locations. Getting a table at a restaraunt for our family plus anyone is now looking more like a banquet affair–no “squeezing in” six people. And, unlike our first, where my husband and I were the trailblazers in baby-having, we are surrounded by more supportive friends and their families who are helping us bask in the joy of our newbie and the new family dynamic, which really does make things sweeter.

Another benefit, which I’d heard of, is just being more relaxed. I don’t immediately jump off the couch or out of bed at every little whimper.  In fact, here are two totally terrifying body things that, thanks to second baby, I am not remotely worried about. 1)Face paralysis. Normally not being able to control one half of your face all-of-a sudden might be cause for alarm–usually this brings “stroke” to mind. I now know this is a just a whimsical little condition called Bells Palsy, which is totally harmless and temporary, although does a number on one’s vanity. It is also completely random and not necessarily pregnancy related. Sigh. 2)A marble sized hard lump under the breast of your newborn. First thought: cancer. Reality: hormones from breastmilk can cause these (in girls and boys). Again, temporary and harmless. It is weird how many body things having a baby can make you normalize. Although, I would like my face back soon, please and thank you.

Alas, this post is random, reflecting the day-to-dayness of our lives with the Ellie addition. Some days I literally have no thoughts to share because I am too tired or too wrapped up in the cycle of people maintenance. Other days I feel like we are hitting the stride of the new normal. Either way, we are cozy and content and grateful.

Ellie Marie

 

One healthy baby, with a side of Percoset March 26, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Scribbling Dame @ 10:37 am
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So tomorrow is the big day. I can’t tell you how bizarre it is to know exactly when we are going to have a baby. It is a total mind fuck. We are at home today looking around the house thinking, “What else needs to get done before we have this baby?” And weirdly the answer is things like clean out the fridge and vacuum and get the dog groomed. Oh, and paint my toes and shave my legs–my last feeble attempts at staying girly and pretty before I become a human all-you-can-eat buffet. 

It’s also weird from another perspective this time, in that, we know our whole family dynamic will never be the same again. We will no longer be a threesome. My daughter’s entire existence is about to change. It sort of feels like the night before we neutered our dog. I knew things would never be the same for him again, and what was worse, I knew he had no idea it was coming. At least in Sofia’s case, there is more to be gained from this major life change than Chachi’s ball removal. Still, we will drop her off at her grandparents tonight knowing that her life isn’t going to be the same anymore. 

The nature of a countdown is also a cause of major anxiety for me. The unknowing of the first pregnancy/labor was nice in that I knew it was close but until I was in it, I could only think in hypotheticals. It is not the same as tomorrow at 5:30 a.m. a person will put a needle in my spine so that I don’t feel anything when they cut open my stomach, peel four layers of me back like an onion, cut open my uterus, wrestle the baby out and then put me back together again. (That’s the cliff notes version of a c-section for those of you who may think it is an “easy” way out. I might concede to easier than some vaginal deliveries I’ve heard of, but it is certainly not the get out of jail free card that some people seem to think.)

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Relax! You're life is never going to be the same again!

The nice thing about a second kiddo is that I also know how much of all this I will forget and not care about once I see that little face. I still distinctly the remember the first time we looked into Sofia’s eyes and it is the most enchanting thing I have ever experienced. I just have to get through the final physical hurdles of pregnancy and delivery and recovery. Once that’s done, I’ll be in a very tired, messy, state of heavenly bliss. It will be great to have a newborn again, and it will be fun to see Sofia become a big sister and start to learn about how they are the same and how they are distinct from one another.   

The reality of things is, the pregnancy and delivery is but a moment in time and I will be glad when it’s over because it’s everything after that truly makes kids worth having, for those of us who are so inclined.

Stay tuned for my next post, as I am sure it will lean far more towards the absurd and hilarious than the sentimental due to lack of sleep, constant leakage of fluids, and the realization that I still can’t drink even though I am not pregnant anymore… 

 

Pregnancy Resignation: Parting is such sweet sorrow… March 17, 2012

Filed under: Mommy Issues,Vagina — Scribbling Dame @ 8:40 pm
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We are days from d-day… I can’t go in public anymore without concerned looks from the general population, all thinking “Damn girl, should you be out with that thing?” I keep tripping over my dog, because my belly hides me from seeing him at my feet. We are all just waiting for the last day of work, counting down the remaining to-dos and the list is almost non-existent. Even Sofia is impatiently asking, “When is Ellie going to get here?”

I am physically over being pregnant but equally nervous about delivery this go around as I was last time. It’s an impending bodily invasion, mixed with complete excitement at seeing her new little face, and at seeing Sofia become a big sister.

The weirdest thing about these last few days is I know I will never have them again–at least if things go according to plan. We aren’t having more than two, so this is basically all she wrote for my fertile shenanigans.

It’s like giving two weeks notice at a job you really love. The last two weeks drag on and there is so much bullshit you encounter and are relieved to be rid of. You know it’s a necessary close to a chapter in your life. But, then there are the sentimental moments too–the finality of knowing you will never have the experience there again. I won’t ever be woken up in the middle of the night because someone’s hiccuping in my belly. I will never have the best of excuses not to do dishes or to demand weird foods at my whim. It will no longer be acceptable to wear elastic pants (at least for a few more decades…)

Even more bizarre, I will soon enter an existence where the next milestones of my womanhood no longer include being the bride-to-be or mother-to-be, but something else-to-be.

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This is my dog in a Boppy. He is also slightly unnerved by the impending changes in our household...he knows he is losing rank to yet another ankle biter...

 

Sexy is relative. And obviously scientific. March 2, 2012

Be careful work peeps–this may be TMI…

I am so fucking pregnant. This is not just a statement of fact–it is the official final stage of pregnancy. I am sure you have heard of it.

The others are:

1) Yay! I’m pregnant. Nauseous, but grateful.

2) How cute! I am pregnant. Showing a “bump” and having some of the cute-sie symptoms like pickle cravings and burps. So sweet! and then there is where I am…

3)So fucking pregnant–as in I am so fucking pregnant I feel like a leg or arm could be dangling out of my nether-regions and I may not even realize it. This is the phase where everyone loves to say “wow. you’re ready to ‘pop.’ ” This is also nature’s way of helping a woman not care so much about what happens to her during labor/delivery because at least it will all be over with.

I am the stage of pregnancy where I am in a pharmacy next to senior citizens and we are evaluating/purchasing the same products. Attempting to keep myself groomed below the belt, because I can see nothing below my navel, results in something that looks like small wild animals attacked me.

Mee-ow.

 

And this brings me to a strange miracle that I have observed in both of my pregnancies as well as those of my friends. My husband doesn’t seem to care. In fact, he, and many of my man friends have told me they find their partners somehow more attractive and dare I say fuckable at exactly the same moment women are feeling like they could not be larger, more awkward, or less attractive ( a la Shrek). In my eyes, this is like someone going from a luxury sports car to a used mini-van and being far more excited about the latter. God bless ’em. (*sorry to be exclusionary to my same-sex friends–not sure if the experience is the same for y’all. So far my only exposure/conversations have been with hetero-couples…)

To me, this must be hormonal and scientific. I liken this phenomena to another of my husband’s habits, which is the need to “plant his seed” when I am deathly ill. It’s like his last shot at continuing his genus. In other words, there must be some evolutionary reason that men dig pregnant chicks (and there are totally porno sites of pregnant chicks out there–Google if you don’t believe me.) It’s not as if I can get more pregnant. For the life of me, I can’t think of what that reason is.

On this rare occasion, I don’t feel the need to hotly pursue the answer. I will just be happy knowing that the person who counts most still thinks I am hump-worthy, despite how I may feel or think I look in the so fucking pregnant stage of pregnancy. Yay pheromones and hormones and other moans.

 

Pregnant From Behind February 21, 2012

I can’t get over the fascination people have with how pregnant women look. People will say things to a pregnant chick’s face that they would never dream of saying to any other woman. I am noticing this even more with my second pregnancy than with my first. With my first, everything about my body was novel and mysterious. When would I get the “bump?” How much bigger could my boobs actually get? Would I experience the cankle? So, I didn’t particularly notice other people’s comments on my appearance.

Be it "bump" or watermelon ka-pow--we should all want to strut it...

I gained a good 50 pounds with my first born and by the end, at least 30 of those pounds were in my face. But, I was content and healthy and successfully delivered a healthy baby girl, so there was no wrong in the world as I knew it, even when I didn’t really lose much of that baby weight after-the-fact.

This pregnancy I am tiny by comparison. I weigh less now at 8 months than I did before my pregnancy. My midwife keeps asking me questions to make sure I don’t have an eating disorder and/or I am not starving. But, I am eating at least 6 times a day, have totally upped my protein intake and still can’t seem to pack it on.      With being put on disability early and dealing with “gestational diabetes” (it’s a real thing it’s just that since my “diagnosis” I haven’t had one damn abnormal blood sugar reading) this pregnancy has actually been fairly unhealthy comapred to the last one; and I am getting the most compliments on how I look. Apparently I don’t even look pregnant from behind, whatever the fuck that means.

I am not sure what to do with this. On the one hand, I am hoping I can maintain this magical metabolism post-pregnancy so I can get back to a healthier size, and it is nice being constantly told how lovely I look, even though I have absolutely nothing to do with this outcome. I also don’t mind that I can still wear some of my non-maternity shirts.

On the other hand, I figure, shouldn’t I look pregnant from behind? It seems a shame not to look pregnant when I am in fact so pregnant I have to roll my legs out of bed first so I can build the momentum to move my torso. I am also pretty sure that my husband will have to paint my toenails for me from now on.

The one time a person should look pregnant, from any direction, is when they are, in fact, pregnant. And, the last thing a pregnant woman should be made to feel insecure about is her appearance.  Don’t worry–she has plenty of competing guilt about other topics like her diet, her birth plan, the choices around immunizations and circumcision. If you must, if you are absolutely compelled to comment, tell her she looks magnificent–if only for the reason that she is bringing new life and hope into our world.

 

 

Interview with a four-year-old February 11, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — Scribbling Dame @ 10:37 am
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As part of my nesting period in this pregnancy, it’s become really important for me to do more sentimental time-capsule-y type things. I am working on finishing Sofia’s baby book (makes sense before the next kid arrives). I am archiving and scanning sentimental photos in case our house burns down. I am a human historian and trying to think of traditions to start that will be great heirlooms and memories for the girls going forward. I had none of these things growing up–I am, beyond memories, history-less. There are no relics from my childhood save a few pictures.

Cuter than bunnies...

So, one of the things I put together, which is by no means original, was a list of 15 questions to ask my girls every year around their birthday. I’ll print/write these out with their answers and collect them in a little book to give them when they are older. If you do this, consider video taping the interview. The faces Sofia made when answering were priceless…

 

Here are Sofia’s answers this year;

1. What do you want to be when you grow up? A chef

2. What is your favorite toy? My rainbow bear

3. What is your favorite color? purple and pink

4. What makes you happy? Ellie (her sister)

5. What makes you sad? When you put me in time out

6. What does Mommy say to you all the time?  I love you

7. What does Daddy say to you all the time?  I love you

8. What is your favorite thing to do at school?  play

9. What’s your favorite food? pancakes

10. Where is your favorite place to go? school

11. What is your favorite thing to pretend? My pig and my duck.

12. If you had a million dollars, what would you buy?  A cute new little pet bunny.

13. If you could go anywhere, where would you go?  the supermarket

14. Who is your best friend?  Emily and Grace and Sage

15. What do you think it will be like to be a grown up?  I’ll be a sister chef

 

Baby Tigers January 16, 2012

Filed under: Lessons in Parenting,Mommy Issues — Scribbling Dame @ 7:08 pm
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I never cease to be impressed by how smart a four-year-old can actually be. My kid is  a god-damned genius. I say this not in reference to any academic capabilities–she’s totally fine in that area and has a good vocabulary etc., etc. It’s her ability to manipulate any situation to her advantage and negotiate the hell out of anything. For a four-year-old this means getting out of trouble, and negotiating less bites of dinner required before dessert.

Most kids have an imaginary friend that they have tea parties with or keep as company if they are lonely. My kid has a pack of baby tigers who are responsible for all things naughty that she does. Her imaginary friends are her scape goats, uh tigers.

Don't let these bastards fool you with their cuteness.

 

Some examples;

Why Sofia cannot stay in bed all night without waking up mommy and daddy lately: Baby Tigers are playing and keeping her up.

Why Sofia’s socks come off immediately in the car: Baby Tigers take them away.

Why Sofia’s room looks like the aftermath of the Zombie Apocalypse: Baby Tigers won’t put things away.

In general, if I get after Sofia for something: Baby Tigers aren’t listening.

As far as I can discern, baby tigers live in various light fixtures in the house. I am told there are 18 of them.

Sometimes I think I am smart and I will scold the baby tigers directly, or threaten to put them in time out, but Sofia is smarter and will tell me every time how ineffective this is.

I am both impressed, and as usual, bested. Sigh.

 

Inventory December 18, 2011

Filed under: Boobs,Vagina — Scribbling Dame @ 9:59 pm
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It is a sad and true fact that while you are pregnant, everyone is watching your body and feels the need to comment on it. Your doctor is looking at it monthly, then weekly. You are watching it for all the right signs and hoping none of the “wrong” signs show up. And, the general public feels license to notice and articulate its observations, whether welcome or not.

I have been lucky this go a-round in that the general consensus is that this pregnancy has treated me well. I fit into the “adorable”  “can barely tell you are pregnant” categories–(not my words). This makes me happy because hopefully the avoidance of the double chin and the fat suit that doesn’t come off means less work for me when I actually make an effort to get my curves back post-pregnancy. Still, I think it’s only fair that I get to comment on the less obvious, as I recently took inventory of what the fuck is happening to this body in Round 2 of what I call, “Pregnancy is not for Pussies, except it is in the most literal sense.” Below are some things that I noticed I have gained, as well as some losses.

As you can see here, we are increasing boobs and losing ass...

Surplus:

Nipple circumference: You could land a jumbo jet on my areolas. Now, I am all for the beauty of pregnancy and am totally impressed at what the body does to handle the development of a baby, but what in God’s name is the point of larger nipples? I am pretty sure my kid can see when it comes out, and even if not, the mouth will know the nipple. My husband can also locate my nips fairly easily–probably even better than a hungry infant. WTF nature?

Belly fuzz: Thank God I am Scottish or else the slight peach fuzz on my stomach might actually need a waxing. Apparently nature believes my stomach might get cold. So much for evolution.

Boobs: I’ve whined enough on this topic. I am starting to think the bigger size is so I don’t fall over from the belly circumference…or, my husband is in God’s favor, which would be especially odd since he leans towards the agnostic…

Losses:

I have a washboard ass. It has literally disappeared. If you rolled a marble off my shoulder and down my back it would go in a straight line down to the floor. I am going to have to buy the Spanx with the built-in Kim K. feature after this. I’ve always been sadly caucasian in the caboose–a great wide expanse, but I accidentally saw myself walking away in a mirror the other day and it’s one of my life’s regrets.

Vagina. It might be gone entirely for all I know, or, there has been a hostile takeover. I guess we’ll know when it’s time for labor. Rumor has it that’s where babies come out–though that didn’t work out the last time for me.

Overall, I think we’ll be up one baby and while it will mean a need for a stronger workforce, it should also result in large gains of happiness margins.

 

 
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