Not Your Mama's Cloth Diaper

Cloth or no cloth?
Before we had a baby, we watched our friend Lauren with her daughter, Reese. She used cloth, interchangeable with her disposables. Typically when she went out, or overnight, the baby would be in disposables. But if they were home during the day, cloth.
So, that's what we decided we would do. We stocked up on a good hundred dollars worth of cloth diapering equipment long before I was even showing.

We used several avenues.

Craigslist.
Online.
Women who sold them like Parylite Candles or Avon.

Cloth diapers can really be found almost anywhere. If you want to try them out you are in luck because they've become super popular again. Even main stream stores sell them. Like Toys R Us and Buy Buy Baby. Target even sells them. They are so trendy, I'm sure even Walmart will eventually jump on the bandwagon, where you will be able to buy them for the price of a tootsie roll and the blood sweat and tears of an indonesian child. But hopefully you won't buy yours there. Hell, maybe they already sell them. I donno, and I don't care.

Anyway.

Amanda got the system down in less than a day. For some reason, It took me until I started to use them to understand.

You can buy the liners with inserts. These are called all in twos. Or you can buy all in ones. These are the liners with the inserts already connected.
The inserts themselves come in all sorts of different styles. Bamboo and Charcoal for maximum leak protectction, Bleached cotton. You can even use prefolds, which look like the old cloth diapers we used to wear.

All of the combinations are really dizzying.

So I want to break it down for you like this.

It's going to take you a couple weeks of using them to make any decisions.

First, it's going to take a couple weeks to decide what you personally like best. You're the one who will be spraying baby shit into the toilet, wearing a fine mist of it on your face and hands. (Handy tip. Keep your toothbrushes in a medicine cabinet from now on)You're the one who will have to pull a luke warm pee soaked insert from it's shell. So you decide.

What I have decided works for me, is the all in twos. I find that the all in ones are too bulky, and they take forever to dry. I also find that they hold more moisture and of course they cost more. Plus the inserts are really thin, and wave up like a potato chip.
We only have one, and I use it last everyday, because I hate them.

Also, I still haven't found a liner I like best. If I had to choose, it would be the prefolds. For some reason they seem to hold moisture the best.

It's important that I say here too, it's going to take you a couple weeks to decide if you really want to stick with cloth diapering. So give it at least that. They are going to leak, you are going to have to hook up a sprayer system to your toilet or to your wash tub to clean them before they go in the wash. Every once and a while you are going to have to strip them of all of the detergent. It's going to take a while for you to figure out the whole system.

And it's going to take a while for you to figure out if you are indeed saving money. You will have to sit down and see if the amount of money spent on the water, the diapers the liners and everything else will save you or cost you.


Here are some cloth diapering nuggets of wisdom I wanna pass along to you....

• Diaper rash cream supposedly makes them leak

• They smell realllllllllllllll bad if you don't wash them immediately.

(esp if you keep them in a closed lid hamper. I learned that the hard way)

• You'll prolly bank on washing them every other day

• It's kinda awesome when your disposable pile takes forever to dwindle

• You'll use your Diaper Genie wayyyy less and save on refills

• Don't use cloth in the first two weeks. The Meconium will never come out of them.

• Get a scrub brush for the poopy ones. Breast milk poo stains cloth.

• Expect people to be resistant to the idea of you cloth diapering your baby. Expect them to give you all sorts of reasons not to.

• Always have a change of clothes, because cloth leaks.

• Cloth diapers barely fit under your babies clothes. Also cloth makes your baby look like an old man with a dumpy gut.

• If you use all in twos, pre assemble them before you need them

• Oh, and change cloth diapers a little more often than disposable, which is about every two hours. It doesn't wick the moisture away all that well.

• And a freebie from my friend Lauren; Use a cloth with essential oils in the bottom of your cloth pail, and in your cloth away from home bag. Your nose will thank you.

I could tell you six million other things about cloth diapering. Really, this blog could go on for hours.
But you know, read this, take what you will from it, and as I learned from Lauren, as with everything else in child raring, you don't have to take cloth diapering so seriously.

Teeeeeeeeeettttthhhh

I feel like a baby boomer with a computer. I'm hunting and pecking with one finger and one hand. Im holding a teething baby with the other, who after three hours of shrieking in pain, has finally fallen asleep in my right arm turning 14 pounds into 50.
Has your baby started teething yet? It's a very wet process. He's turned into a Saint Bernard celebrity. Drool everywhere. Several outfit changes a day. There's ice in a washcloth pooling on our repurposed coffee table.

                                                               We tried it, he hated it.


There's several bags of teething pods, the safer and organic alternative to Oragel which has Benzocaine.

We tried that on his gums. That made him scream even louder. Have you ever had the opportunity to stare down your babies throat as he screams and tears the flesh from your face? It's like looking down the mouth of a whale....
Baby Tylenol? Might as well be a placebo.
Mam  Teether? He shirked that too.

Which is surprising because he loves his Mam pacies. It just goes to show that you never know. You never know what your baby will like and dislike. Especially when they're teething. They become so irrational.

Having wisdom teeth myself that shoulder against my gums from time to time, I understand the sheer pain and torture it is when you have teeth pushing against your skin. It's so horrific.
But it sucks so much more for a baby. They can't articulate the pain, any other way than crying. They can't mix Tylenol 3's with whiskey. They just have to tough it out like champs.

I'm hoping we get through this quickly. I'm hoping these pearly whites start popping through like tomorrow. Or better yet in the next five minutes.

And I'm trying not to think about the fact that until he's around three, we have twenty more teeth to go....

Another Baby Pic on my FB feed

This one is for all of my Facebook friends who don't have children. I want to touch on the topic of the endless stream of baby pictures that you see in your feed and why.

Before I had a baby, I HATED scrolling through my Facebook feed. It was like this.....Cool post, boring post, baby pic, baby pic, baby pic, baby pic. Everyone's babies looked exactly the same to me. I would outwardly groan. C'mon motherfuckers, how many shots can you post of your baby doing EXACTLY the SAME THING every single fucking day!!!!!! So rude. All of these parents posting baby pics totally cut into my self absorbed pre-baby routine. I really didn't give a shit that your kid smiled, or was wearing a cute outfit, or was having a birthday. I never hit the like button. I even considered hiding certain people from my feed. I hated baby pics. I would rather see 4,000 memes than another baby picture.

And then I had Jace. And I totally got it. I started genuinely looking at other parent's baby pictures. I actually enjoyed really studying them. Even looked forward to seeing a new barrage of pictures everyday.



There's three reasons why. The main one is, Until I became a parent, I simply could not comprehend the way you love a child. I am not a good enough writer to put it into words. I could never explain to someone who doesn't have children the feelings you get when you finally do.
Secondly, when you become a parent, you have a commonality with other parents. You enjoy seeing pictures of babies screaming, or puking or holding onto toys. Because you know the struggles those parents go through having that baby, and you also see yourself and your child in those pictures.
Lastly, whether you want to hear this or not, before you are a parent you are one self centered motherfucker. You have nooooo idea. You might say to yourself, I volunteer, I work with kids, I love animals, I head special needs olympics in third world countries. Doesn't matter. Swear to god, until you have a baby, you are super self centered. Just take stock of how many selfies you have posted. Enough said.
And it should be that way. There's nothing wrong with that. It's just par for the course.
So try to understand that when you see all of those damn baby pictures in your Facebook feed, it's so much more deep than another annoying baby shot.

And maybe some day your time will come and you will start posting baby pics too. If not though, try to walk in a mother's or father's shoes.
 How can you get sick of so much love?

Sexy Time after Baby Comes

After 121 days it has finally happened. Amanda & I had a chance at sex and we were both disinterested.
Here's how it went down. Sunday morning on the couch.

Amanda: The baby isn't crying, wanna do it?
Me: eeeeeeeee. Not really.................(45 second pause) But I could take care of you, no problem!
Amanda: No....That's ok. Then I'd have to get up and shower, and anyway I'm just not feeling too good.

We stare at each other as if we've never seen each other before. Her eyes are beady looking at me, and I can't really read them. The last thing I want to do is have sex. I feel gross, tired and aggravated. I suspect she feels the same.
I pat her leg and slink away to the kitchen. Instead of having my head rammed repeatedly into the headboard, I'll make 6 million lbs of sweet potato gnocchi. If that's not a sign of sexual frustration, I don't know what is.

So while I'm elbow deep in flour, I really think about this situation.
We have been trying to have sex for almost a month now. Whole weeks have gone by where we have literally tried every night, and where the baby would immediately start crying, like he had some sort of anti-sex sensor embedded in his forehead. We would give up, or immediately stop what we were doing and tend to him, often times falling asleep together on the bed, cantankerous and defeated.
I am so lonely for Amanda that I have dreamt about sex every night since our last encounter. This must be what it feels like to be a 14 year old boy.

Yet still I declined her last invitation for some lovin. Why?
Well,  because I reasoned with myself, I am 110% absolutely fucking exhausted. But it's more than that too. Sex for me is like exercise, or an ice cold pool. If I keep it goin, it keeps on goin. If I put a stop to it, or it gets stopped by a needy first child, then dipping my toe back in becomes really hard. And It's not that I don't like sex. Anyone who knows Amanda and I can sometimes understand that we are too sexual with each other. I am certain I've seen some eye rolls and dirty looks from our friends. I get it, we're over the top. But we're in love. Still.

So what it boils down to, for me or any new mother is this....You're gonna get super fucking tired. You're gonna feel like jumping off a cliff instead of having sex sometimes, but don't say no! The first couple minutes, you might be cursing yourself, it might hurt a little because you'll be thinking about the strange noise the baby made earlier today, or whether or not Dish Nation will be another re-run.  But go with it. Try to power everything else down and give yourself over completely to your man.
Sex is something you can still do for you, separate from being a mother. (Even though that's likely how you became one)
Also, I know I can be kinda out of the 1940's sometimes but, you always want to make sure to take care of your honey so they don't look outside of your dirty, baby furnished home for some love.
You fell off the horse, get your ass back on...
And Amanda, if you're reading this....come home...

Gisele and the Mighty Boob

The world has gone mad. Well. We already knew that.

I can't help but to notice all of the hype about this picture of the gorgeous, thin and rich Gisele Bundchen.

It's an okay photo I guess. There could be a lot of meanings behind it. Vanity. Pride. Someone who wants to show off all of the servants she has. I don't know, and I don't really care.

But What I have discovered is that there is a great amount of people in the media and otherwise who hate when woman breastfeed. It makes them uncomfortable and insecure.

Just catch up on some of the things that have been said regarding Gisele's photo...


"I think breastfeeding is a very personal thing,"  
 "And for her to put this on Instagram while she's getting her hair and make-up done is a little outrageous, and I think obnoxious." ABC NEWS & Denise Albert, co-creator of TheMoms.com

opinionsmatter 

• 20 hours ago

"Oh please, life is so rough !
I don't find that it's necessary for us to witness her breastfeeding. That's something that should be done in PRIVATE." INAGIST.COM

Even Wendy Williams, an influential daytime TV talkshow host feels similar.

"It's something I don't care to see, but I realize it's natural"

And this is not uncommon. I have noticed that almost anywhere I go, even to the houses of certain un named family members, I always get an uncomfortable grimace if I breastfeed my son, or a anecdotal story about "formula feeding back in my day"

Who says your elders are always right?

Astonishingly enough, it seems like it's the women who really take offense. The men usually see it as an order of business and get on with what they're doing, unless they're close enough to sneak a peek at a huge, milk engorged booby. The men smile warmly. They pat my back or rub my arm. Ask if I'm eating the right foods, if I'd like a glass of water.
The women stay a hundred feet back, like I'm a siren wailing ambulance, or my naked boob and I have the plague. They tell me stories of how they couldn't breastfeed, didn't have time, had no education on it.
The funny thing is, I don't really care. Your baby your choice. My baby my choice. There's nothing wrong with formula feeding. I just don't choose to do it.
I just wish someone would tell me why there is such a negative feeling surrounding breastfeeding? Don't act for a second like there's not. I can feel it like a force field. I can already sense the way this blog will be perceived. Un-wad your panties girls, I'm not saying I'm more right than you.
Is it like pilates? Good for everyone, but no one wants to do it?
Do women view it as an exclusive club?
Do I seem snobby because I breastfeed?

Jace's whole life, the majority of people I have talked to have tried to push formula on me. Why?
I want someone to step up and tell me what it is.
I can make my own conclusions, but I'd like to hear it straight from the horses mouth.
What is it about breastfeeding that makes the majority of women so uncomfortable?

                                Me & Jace. No glorious hairstyle. No mile long legs. No Waitstaff.

Me Time

If you're like me, and you have a baby who only binge sleeps every couple days, you want to take advantage of that time.

It always starts the same. With a marathon "Crying, I can't be put down, I want to nurse for an hour" situation, and then his little arms fall limp, and his little mouth hangs open, and I have to feel under his nose to make sure he's still alive. Because he rarely sleeps.

Then I rock him and rock him until I'm sure he's good and out, and then I slowly lower him into his swing, and off of my arm,  like a teenage magician trying to pull out a table cloth from under fine china.

I turn his swing on warp speed and back away slowly.

IT'S MEEEEEEEE TIMEEEEEE...

Most days I clean the house, or organize cupboards. Some days I shower, or read a month old magazine.

Other days, when I'm feeling lazy and self righteous, I slip on my pillowy terry cloth robe, and act like I am pretty woman in the pent house. Without the whore part.
I belly up to the mirror and with a fistful of concealer, dab away the bags from my eyes. I shade my lids in metallic earth tones, and dust blush over my cheek bones.
I feel lovely.
So I pose for a few bathroom mirror-white robe glamour shots. Which are totally badass. Then I take a few mental pictures.

Boom!!

When I'm done with that, I poke my head out of the bathroom door like a mere cat and make sure the baby is still sleeping happily away. I don't feel done quite yet, so I work on my toes. It's totally important to paint my toenails. It's winter in Michigan, so I never take my socks off. Except for to sleep. I hope my sheets like the look of turquoise piggies, because they are the only ones who will see them. 

"I need this" I tell myself. "I have to look amazing while I stay inside to take care of the baby all day"

I don't know about you, but it makes me feel better. 

Make up: Check!

Painted toes: Check!

What else do I love that I can't do while the baby is awake? Oh yeah...EAT! 

So I float past my little sleeping sweetheart in the living room and look into the fridge like a homeless man against the window of a fine restaurant. I've become weird about food. Because I never get to eat when I feel like it, I will now eat side dishes like they are entrees, and I will be totally cool about it. 

So I break into a vat of sweet potatoes, and dump in a half pound of feta cheese. It actually tastes pretty fabulous. Gotta post that shit on Facebook. 

Why is it, anytime I bring food to my mother in law's, it comes back untouched? They totally love me. Just not my food apparently. 

Even though the baby is still sleeping, I eat my food like I'm in a pie eating contest, or I'm full of jet fuel. It's just become a bad habit of mine. I really wish I could break it. 

It feels so awesome to have a full belly. It feels so awesome to have some down time. Even though the house is a mess. 

"I need this" I tell myself again, as I stretch out onto the couch. I rub my legs back and forth over each other and lay my head down to rest. My body starts humming with the effervescent twighlight of sleep. 

I nod out in less than 7 seconds, no shit. 

As soon as I do, Jace wakes up. He's well rested and ready to rock and roll. 

I have a small temper tantrum inside of my head.

It's then I realize maybe today, my priorities are juuuuust a little skewed. 

Lessons in Etiquette

This post is really important to me. It's important that you read it, and maybe try to apply it to your line of questioning next time you run across an LGBT couple with a baby in tow.

We all know Amanda wasn't able to literally get me pregnant. It's a very sore subject for us, and probably for any queer couple because neither of us could have wanted anything more. I have always been in love with Amanda since the day I met her, and like most people who know her, I don't really see her as a woman. It even catches me off guard sometimes when people call Amanda "She" "Her" etc. Because she radiates manly habits. Because like any other husband, she doesn't listen when TV is on. She also lets the trash pile up in the can until is spills over, so I will take it out. So she doesn't have to. Typical male jerk.
If you don't know Amanda, you probably know someone who fits her exact description. Mens clothing. Mens attitude. Can fix cars and make all the girlies blush.

In order to have a baby who was related to us both, we used a donor from Amanda's family. Some queer couples choose to use an anonymous donor from a bank. Either way, it breaks my heart that Amanda would even for a second feel left out, or bad about herself that she couldn't get me pregnant.

Well, technically she did. She's got a hell of an aim. But you can figure that one out for yourselves.

So. My point in all of this rambling is this. Stop asking questions about the donor to any of your lgbt friends or family. Act as if said donor does not exist. Do you think either Amanda or I, or any queer couple wants to constantly be reminded of the fact that they had to use a donor? No, man. If we want to talk donor to you, we will. That's our choice. It's just not polite for you to bring it up first.

Also, it doesn't matter if the donor had the same color hair, the same chin, or the same sleeping habits. The donor is not working mind numbing hours to raise the baby. The donor does not experience every first smile, first step, first word. The donor doesn't love the baby. Amanda and I do. We are his parents. Just the two of us. No one else.

Family and friends, I implore you to make your "Amanda-esque" friends feel warm and comfortable and accepted as the father role in the baby's life. Because she is.

I'm pretty certain she will even let him get away with everything behind my nervous mommy back. And although it will make me angry at the time, it's totally acceptable, because that's what daddies do.

One last tip. Please don't just assume we both want to be called mommy. Because in fact we do not. Amanda is not a mommy. It also shouldn't confuse you. It is what it is.
Ask politely what the homo couple in your life would like to be called before you just assume. Because they've already painstakingly worked it out.

Ok. For real one last thing. When said couple tells you what they'd like to be called, keep your fucking comments to yourself. If you don't, you have every right to be kung fu sucker punched in the nose. No one cares about your opinion.

Just. Be. Curtious. After you get all of that out of the way, you will never have to stumble over your words again. And life can go on normally for all of us.

This has been your PSA for today. Goodbye.

This Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving it will have been 19 years since my mom died. I have known her as a ghost in my life way longer now than I have alive. If I close my eyes I can't remember her face at all. Sometimes if I still myself, I can remember certain lilts to her voice, certain ways she elongated words, or shortened her midwestern vowels. What I can remember most about her physical body were her hands. They were long and skinny and creamy white. They were knobby at the middle knuckle. But this is so easy for me to remember because my sister has the very same hands as my mom did.

My mother was a drug addict and an alcoholic. She was so many more things like a liar, and a thief and quite possibly, a sociopath. She was my mother, so I have every right to say these things, because they are true.
I am not sure if her lifestyle made her that way, or if she was that way before the drugs.
And still, I will always love her, and mourn for her.
But because of these things, really, I grew up with no mother ever.
And because of that, I am raising my son with no prior knowledge on how to mother or raise children. I had no role model on how to love, or nurture or care for children. So many of us don't.


Right before Jace was born, I was sitting quietly alone one day. The sun was filtering in through the window, and shining into my face, so that I had to close my eyes. That forced me to do nothing else with my time but think. And I started to think about the fact that I would not know how to mother my son, the way a blind man cannot describe to anyone, the color orange.
A lot of times in my life I had to learn how to grab quickly, fend for myself, put myself to bed, soothe myself when I was hurt.
No one taught me how to communicate, how to be part of a family unit.
I thought I would be shit out of luck.

Now, several months after my son is here, I realized tonight, as I am sitting here again quietly, that I am separate from my mother. That I knew how to nurture long before I was born. That being motherly was and still is a huge part of my personality.

I have my sister, who has pioneered childbirth before me for all of the technical answers. When to start tummy time, any breastfeeding question I might ever have (she is the breastfeeding guru), whether or not to call the doctor.
But I need no one to teach me how to love and care for my son. I need no assistance in communicating with Amanda or Jace, in telling them how much they mean to me. Or in telling them what I need.
 I have wished for a child since I played alone on the fire engine red of my carpet as a child.
I have waited my whole life to start mothering.
And In some ways I wonder if the absence of my mother made my mothering instinct stronger?
Either way, it is present, and solid and unwavering.

If you are a parent, and you are missing something from your past, or in your life, don't doubt yourself. You are not your past, or your parents. You are your own being and even though your experiences have shaped you, they will not make you what you are. You will make that of yourself.
I will not let my mother influence me. I know I am the best mother I can possibly be for my son, every single day of my life.
If nothing else, from her, I know how not to be.
I have never felt so strong.

The Muffin Micro Manager

Speaking of the way things change post baby.....Tonight as Amanda and I were doing what any couple normally does on a rainy evening, I came to realize that without having each other to lean on, day to day tasks would become virtually impossible.
When you have a baby who refuses to be put down, it's important that you and your partner work together in order to get things done.
When you can rely on one another for help, you are then able to continue to do the things you loved pre baby, just with a little tweaking.


I love baking. I have always loved baking. When I am stressed, or sad, or lonely, or angry, or really feeling anything other than flat lined, I love to put on music, strap on my vintage apron and put a myriad of ingredients together until I come up with an end product. The fact that it's an edible end product is even better.
Nothing has ever stopped me from baking. I baked the whole time I was pregnant, and hope that one day Jace will want to bake with me and learn to bake on his own.

I am even writing down recipes for him, and any future children. It's on actual paper with an actual pen. This way it will seem just as archaic as the recipes I inherited from my grandmother, on old brown 1940's recipe cards.
Tonight I put together a great recipe my sister emailed to me, only I made the recipe my own. The muffins came out great. They were really fucking amazing. Only Amanda complained the whole time she ate hers that she didn't like having chocolate in her muffins, and never again should I put chocolate in muffins.
"They are Trader Joe's Chocolate Chips though" I stated firmly, as if that would change her mind.
"So. I hate chocolate chips in muffins".  (Munch munch. Munch munch.)
I am in love with a freak.

However. The baby was a little fussy tonight. Needed to sleep, didn't want to be on his own. My hands are still so numb. Sometimes after hours of holding him, the pain becomes too intense, I have to find another option. So I sling him. This fits perfectly into my attachment parenting scenario, and gives my hands a break, but sucks for my back.
So, here he is, snoozing in my sling. I had already put my muffins in the oven and realized I could not get them out, nor could I check their doneness with a baby strapped to my chest.
Enter Amanda. My chocolate chip hating other half.
While I stood four of five feet away ready to micro manage, Amanda kindly took my muffins out of the oven, and at my instruction, checked for their doneness. She even refilled the muffin tins with batter, and put in a second batch for me.

While I wasn't able to finish my baking spree, I still got the satisfaction of baking. I also got the satisfaction of being there for my son when he needed me.
Tonight I had the best of both worlds. Bossing Amanda around, and rocking my son back and forth, back and forth against my chest.

So see...Most things now will go this way. We will become really proficient in baby passing. Our priority in making him happy. Secondly, we will be able to enjoy all of the things that make us who we are.
It will just be done a little differently these days.





                                                Recipe for Kate and Amanda's
                                         "I hate Chocolate Chip Banana Muffins"

1 C All Purpose Flour
1/2 C Rye Flour
2 tsp Baking Soda
1/4 tsp Salt

2-3 Really Ripe Bananers
2 large Eggs
1 tsp Authentic Vanilla. Not the fake kind from beaver butt excretions.
1/3 C Milk
1/3 C Oil (Vegetable or Canola)
1/2 C Brown Sugar Packed
1 C Vanilla Yogurt

Oven to 350.
Mix all dry ingredients together in one bowl
Mix all wet ingredients together in another bowl
Add Wet to dry and Mix
Add 1/2 C Chocolate Chips, or not if you're making them for Amanda.

Place in greased muffin tins and bake for twenty minutes or until golden brown.

Best fucking muffins ever. Best. Fucking. Muffins. Ever.

Balancing the Clean

The baby is in the bath, he is learning to move his feet in order to get the water to splash. We put up a mirror for him, but he has yet to discover that.
I turn my head for a moment, and zero in on a dead fruit fly on the window sill. My gaze trails down to the floor and hones in on little bits of toilet paper resembling snow. Worse yet, I can see dust in the corners of the floor.
But back to the baby.
Amanda and I love to bathe him together. It is our family time every couple of days, it's become a real treat for us both, watching Jace's thoughts begin to connect there in the soapy water.

I carry him out to the living room and see a small rodent run by. Wait...no, it's not a rodent, it's a dust bunny. Fuck. How long has it been? I can't remember the last time I swept.
I look around, clutching the baby to my chest like the last pair of boots at a sample sale. Every flat surface has clutter. I fucking HATE clutter. Clutter is my worst nightmare. If my house is going to be cluttery, we might as well move into a trailer park, start smoking Kools, and drinking Bud Light. Clutter is that bad to me.
Everyday is pretty much the same for Jace and I. We wake, marathon nurse on and off for hours and when he finally falls asleep, I spend that time doing dishes, making dinner, and cleaning house. Or so I thought.
I guess I never realized just how much time the baby takes up and just how little time I really have to clean. Sometimes I look up from Jace's cherubic face and whole hours have passed.
Last night I tip-toed downstairs after the baby fell asleep, and at 2:30 in the morning, cleaned out the refrigerator. While that sounds like brain death for most people, I found it exhilarating and gleeful. I love cleaning. I am, after all a Virgo. Organization makes my soul happy.
At first I thought to myself I must find balance. Time to clean the house, to put away the camera, the nail clippers, Amanda's work boots.
But then I know, right now, there's no such thing as balance. Even if I tried, all I really care about is spending time with the baby. I want to be there for him always. Not just when he needs something, but I really like the time we spend together, bonding. Breathing in each others breath, his hand holding my finger, watching him stretch out on a blanket on the floor.

And I don't mind sneaking in a random cleaning session in the middle of the night. If I have the energy, then I'll do it. But I won't pressure myself to be or do anything more than I can right now. That's a recipe for an unhappy momma. And I want to keep things light and airy in this house.
The clutter won't go anywhere. I keep the house clean enough. Though it doesn't really meet my pre-baby standards, eventually, when the baby is older, and needs less of me, I will get back into the swing of things. Wood will become polished, frames will be dusted, dogs will again be brushed. I myself, may even get dressed, instead of living in pajamas.
Housekeeping standards. They have lowered.
This is just one of the way things change after you have a baby.

Dear Male Roles

Dear Male Roles (including but not limited to, Husbands, Partners, and the more masculine duos of girlfriends and wives)


I want to write to you a little letter about the changes you will go through now that your wife has become not just wife

but also wife and mother

So many things are going to be different now, boys. So many things. I'm sure you have caught onto that during the pregnancy stages of this new life the two of you have embarked upon. You have had approximately ten months to get used to hormones and mood swings. So why have you not coped? Because you probably didn't take that time seriously, and now the baby is here, and you're unprepared for a few things, you're caught like a naked teenager in class, and you may be feeling very awkward by now.
Let me just throw a few things your way. Keep this as a reference if you need. It might come in handy.


Mood Swings

These don't end after pregnancy. They sometimes can even get a little worse right after the baby is born. Jace is almost three months now, and while the anger portion of my mood swings has fizzled out a little bit, the random bouts of sadness and irritation still run rampant. For example. Just the other day I was crying on the toilet, because the mere memory of having my son bought me to tears. Instant tears. Do you know what it's like to pee and cry? No, sir, you do not.

Your Role

Just as with pregnancy, be real sensitive. Even if we are being 100% irrational and every fiber in your being is telling you to disagree with us- don't. Smile and nod, like you do with any crazy person. Just to make us feel better. And validated. I cannot tell you how comforting it is to be validated when you are having a bad day.


Body after Baby

Women can understandably become very uncomfortable with how their new body's look after having a small person in them. They change in so many ways. The way my body has changed may be different than the way your wife's body has changed. But no matter what, things will sag where they didn't before, or dimple where they used to be supple. And everywhere her body has changed, she is well aware of that.


Your Role

Even if you've had a long day at the office, and all you want to do is come home and veg and say or do nothing, Please, Please Please, take a few minutes to brush your wife's hair away from her face, nuzzle into her neck and tell her how beautiful she is. After all, she may not even be dressed, or have eaten. Make her feel like a princess even if it's for 30 seconds. She's been tending to your baby all day. She deserves it. And for the love of GOD, never comment on any weight gain, stretch mark or cellulite pocket, because I SWEAR, if you do, I will come punch your lights out myself.


Pets

You may have one, you may have three, or you may be shit ass crazy and have nine like we do. They used to be your wife's babies. She used to carry them, dress them and take their picture. They are still your buddies. You will always have a frat boy-like relationship with them, especially now that the baby is here. They are after all, the closest thing that you have left to your old bachelorette lifestyle. But understand me clearly. Your wife now has a baby that replaces those feelings she had for her pets. The pets were just practice, much like her first couple of boyfriends/girlfriends were.  Now she's in the big leagues.

Your Role

When she yells about the dogs or cats or ginuea pigs, or anything else that becomes just another thing she has to take care of, when she doesn't really have the time, let her vent, man! Don't get all up in arms and defensive about your precious animals. Even agree with her, because it will calm her down and get her off of your case. And try to understand that she barely has time for herself anymore. It's very hard to take care of extra beings when you have a brand new baby. Also, try to gently dissuade her from getting rid of her pets. She doesn't really mean it, and even if she does, try to make things easier on her. It's not fair to the pets that they be out on their asses. Step up your game, and help out a little. Take some of the burden off of her. Remember, she's just venting.

Sex

Every woman is different. One of my friends didn't want to have sex for over six months after the baby. Another one of my friends still doesn't want to have sex and it's been over four years! I on the other hand was ready for sex right away, and could barely wait for clearance. Ok. We didn't really wait. But whatever.

Your Role

Always remind your wife how attractive and sexy she is to you. Most likely she'll scowl and point out some flaw. When she does that, look her in the eyes and tell her she is your everything. Or that she is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. Tell her you're ready to have sex when she is. Don't push it, but every once and a while, nibble on an earlobe, kiss the back of her neck, or rub her leg. THEN walk away. Don't over crowd. That way you are giving her the option to tell you when she's ready, but you're still treating her with the attention she deserves.

Down Time

If you were not the one to have the baby, I cannot even try to explain to you how tired, dirty, hungry and busy we are. Especially if your wife is a stay at home mom. We need to do things for ourselves and it is your job to facilitate that.

Your Role

Take the baby for a couple hours so she can sleep, or do her nails, or take a bath, or go out with girlfriends. She desperately needs to replenish her calm bank, or she may just go apeshit on you, and no one needs that. Whatever you do, don't tell her that work counts as a day out. One of my friend's husband said that to her. What a mistake. Give her some time to herself. She will reward you with a kind word, a hearty dinner, or a romp in the hay. Money back guarantee.

Gents, there are so many other tips I could give you, but here I have mentioned the biggies. The rest you will have to figure out for yourself. But if you follow this basic set of rules, you should be ok.
Once you get the first baby down, the second one should be smooth sailing for you. Just keep your wife in mind, like you did when you first courted her, and your time at home will go from tip-toeing around corners, back to the old times. Or at least as close as you can get with a new baby.

New Shades

Amanda has the baby for a few moments in the evening. We have been passing him back and forth so that each of us, in turn, may do a couple things for ourselves.
I sneak up to the bedroom, sounds of Jace disappearing behind me.
I tuck my foot under myself at my vanity table and open the drawer, slowly, almost like a thief.

For My 30th birthday I bought myself a really crazy lipstick color. A vivid pink with violet undertones. I haven't had the chance to try it on. Plus, I have been savoring it, keeping it for an emotional meltdown.
Nows a good time as ever.
I tried to go clothes shopping earlier, and came back with nothing but a candle. Everything I tried on looked horrible and wrong. So I settled on a little aromatherapy to calm my nerves.
But back to the lipstick.
I slide it out of the case and pass it over my lips. It feels like warm butter and smells faintly of wax.
I open my eyes wide, like an innocent doe. I turn my face from side to side. I make the expression that every woman does when she is considering herself in the mirror.

I look ridiculous. The color is foolish. It's meant for a child, or a Kardashian.
Also, where would I ever wear it? My mother in-laws house? The grocery store? This is the mid-west, not LA, so I would either look really pretentious, or really schizophrenic, considering my coat no longer buttons over my milk engorged breasts, and my hair always looks like I was in a wind tunnel, or a crawl space.
I wipe it off with a square of toilet paper and throw it toward the garbage. It sails through the air, but because of it's lightness, lands feet from the basket.
The act of picking it up seems daunting right now.
Adjusting to body after baby is really hard. Adjusting to mind after baby seems harder yet.
And, realizing there are certain things in your wardrobe which will rarely if ever be used again is another life lesson I have learned.
For example. I might look a little silly in an asymmetrical,  off the shoulder sequin tunic. Especially if I'm pushing a stroller, or holding a screaming child. I might as well throw in my 6 inch sparkly heels, or that really great lipstick I purchased for my birthday.
I'm not saying that I can't dress nicely, but things I think are just going to be a little different from now on.
How many of you women have altered your mode of dress after baby? Whether it be looser garments, less cleavage, or lower heels, I'm sure in some way or another you have toned it down.
Maybe that's how things are supposed to be.
I'm already covered in tattoos, and make up one half of a queer couple. I already shock and scare. I don't need clothes or make-up helping me along.

We are role models for our little ones.
If nothing else, we have to make the statement to them, respect yourself, show your confidence through the way you present yourself to others.
Don't lose who you really are, but don't let things like fushia lipstick on a tired, puffy eyed face, come back to bite you in the butt one day.
That, or a selfie of yourself in a white bathing suit, where your all boobies and ass and desperation.
Call me crazy, but nothing says I'm a new mother more than that look.

Sleeping Arrangements

Tonight is kinda rough. I feel a little blue. It is one of the first times Amanda and I have not gone to bed at the same time.
For the past couple days, Jace has been having a really hard time sleeping. The littlest noises wake him,  and because of that he has not napped well, and hasn't slept too good at night.

At first I was the type of mother to say "Make as much noise as you want around the baby! It's good for him!"

Two things on that. My mom made a shit ton of noise around me when I was little. She liked to party and live up her "I'm a princess, not a mother" fantasy while I was sleeping. I now have insomnia, and have never slept well in the 30 years I've been alive.
Also, at this point, I'm so desperate for the baby to sleep, I'll cut the next bitch who makes a sound in this house.

I feel like I've pretty much turned into Satan while the baby sleeps, because I can't get anything done around the hose until he's out. I glare at any human making noise with a firey vengance, and have taken to squirting the dogs with a spray bottle any time they cause a ruckus. I've even considered fashioning felt bottomed shoes for the cats paws... I feel like I'm turning into a 90 year old man, in a house coat and slippers.

"Get off my lawn, you little bastards!" yup. right now that's me.

I'm not sure what to do here. I enjoy a hodgepodge of parenting styles. I'm pretty much a "do it if it feels right in your mommy gut" type of gal. In saying that, I don't know if I try to put the baby down in a reallll quiet room during the day for naps or if I continue to wear him and let him cat nap on and off for  5 or 6 minutes here and there. I've gotta figure something out, because I'm losing sleep and sanity.

Also, right now he's asleep in his swing. I'm sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself that I might have to snooze on the couch until he wakes. I miss Amanda. I want to sleep next to her.
Do I wake him and reap the consequences? Or dream alone? Of my bed, and my baby?

As of now I'm just sitting bleary eyed, pumping and blogging.
Wearing an even deeper rut into the footsteps of the parents who have come before me, unsure as hell, if what they are doing is right.

Contrasts

My whole world has flipped. Because of the baby's schedule, I live like I did when I was younger, a party girl. I sleep till noon, and am up all night. But this time, instead of being out and shaking my ass to fast rap music, I am straightening things, mopping floors, showering. I am living a whole world by myself. I put everything into their compartments. Amanda & Jace in bed. The dogs in bed. The dishes away. The coffee waiting to percolate.

My mind is going at warp speed. Sometimes sentences don't even finish themselves. They hang mid-air, and disappear before they are done. I can almost sound them out in the silence of the living room. Sometimes they bounce along the hardwood floors. Sometimes they reappear like memories from scents, or song.
During the early morning hours its seems my thoughts are razor sharp, if nothing else. Nothing else makes a sound but them.
When I come to bed I am still awake, eyes owl-wide. The baby twitches and startles beside me. Amanda's breath quickens and stills, quickens and stills. The dog snores quietly into the carpet.

I have time to reflect on the days. They are so dissimilar from the night. My days are thick and sludgy. I forget whole words as I speak them. Sometimes halves of sentences escape me, and I stare with an open mouth, tasting the essence of them, of where they used to be. My hands are still tingling, and burning. I feel as if I am starting to go mad at the buzz of them.

The baby and I wake and sleep together. Around noon we stir, a symbiotic dance against the sheets, and he nurses at my breast before we rise. It is one of my favorite times, because he eats there with his eyes still closed and fingers lazily pushing at my skin. I think of nothing, letting my eyes blur against the blue of the walls.

I don't know if being a new mother is the reason my mind and body are starting to fail me so, or if it's something more dark, or sickly.
Truth is though, I will never forget the words I feel for my son, and Amanda.
I say them over and over to myself, here in the dark, and the light of the computer screen.
Love. Permanence. Symphony. Reality. Choice.
I am so happy these days,
I could just float away.

Eff you Kate Middleton

Look at this shit right here. Just look at it. Why does it look like Kate Middleton, Princess of Perfect, look like she never even had a baby? How is it that only three months after the birth of her son she appears to be what is a very narrow size 2. Son of a Bitch.

Before I had Jace, I was a sizzling size 6. I loved getting dressed everyday. I had drawers and drawers of form fitting skinny jeans in every color of the denim rainbow. I looked good no matter what. Everything fit me just so, unless you include the length of things because I'm short as hell, topping out at a measly 5 foot 2 if it's on a day I'm not slouchy. I stood on top of my stool, which teetered on top of my soap box, and clucked at any woman who did not have a good body, regardless of whether she had kids or not.
"Just go to the gym like me, losers" I'd think to myself while twirling in front of the mirror, admiring my perfect little buttcheeks.

I was a drug addict, and my addiction was being skiiiinayyyy.
But that was then.

I guess I just never understood until now. Shame on me. This is karma full force.

Some days I catch my reflection, and I am puffy. I've filled out like a Polish gramma, round in the middle, facial expression like a gremlin. I jump back on those days, horrified at what my body has become. I straighten my posture, and suck in my gut. God damn it!
"How can I get back to meeeeee?" I wonder.

And I realize, until the baby is older, or I become a princess and get a nanny nurse who can take care of the baby while I focus only on me, me, me, I'm stuck with this jiggly version of myself. Also, I'm pretty sure my hips have shifted outwardly, so I'm not sure If i'll ever get back into my sixes again.
Sure, I do my ab workouts when the baby is doing floor time. Some days I even do lunges while I'm wearing him in the pack.
But any real mother without help, or the finances to go to a gym with a daycare will tell you, it's just not about you anymore. Not until you can weasel time away for yourself. And when you can finally do that, will you really want to spend it at the gym, or will you want to spend it doing something that involves rest, or a shower?

So. I apologize to any woman I have secretly judged in my head. Baby or no, it's not my business why anyone carries extra fluff, and I'm sorry I had nothing better to do before than to worry about the weight of my fellow sisters.

But no matter what, the last thing anyone who just had a baby wants to see, is how quickly rich people, who don't really realllly take care of their own children, bounce back from being pregnant. Eff you Kate Middleton. Pull your shirt over your washboard abs and have some respect for those of us who are still longing for the days when we will be back to our pre-baby weight...should that ever again, happen.

7,000 Ways to Cry

I'm writing this hunched over. My right hand is completely numb, and I don't know why, my feet are freezing and achy. I'm pretty sure I am going to die if I don't go to the bathroom, or at the very least, pee all over the sofa.
But I can't. Can't move, can't put on socks, or even use the bathroom.
I have the baby strapped to me in a front carrier. He is slumped over to the side, like a little milk-drunk angel, and he is sleeping.
If I move, I risk waking him, and chances are, if I wake him. He. will. cry.
No one ever said to me. Kate. Your baby will cry on average of 4 hours a day. Sometimes more. Rarely less. He will throw his head back and cry until you can see his little white tongue, the tooth buds under his gums, the peach flesh under his chin rolls. And It will be an octave you've never heard before. One that is completely incompatible with your ears. Or with nature even.

Picture it. 12:30 am. Your baby has been blood curdle screaming for hours. You and your partner pass him back and forth like some creepy hot potato game for adults. You glare at each other like vultures over his arched back, saying disdainful things to each other, but luckily you never hear them over the baby's wails. But you sense them. Evil things have been said.

Picture it. 10:15. You lay the baby down. You squeeze into some sexy number. It's romance time. Nevermind  your stomach still looks like a popped can of biscuit dough. You have been waiting all day for attention and lovin. Five minutes in. Baby is hysterical. It's like he can just tell you are about to do something for yourselves and he is going to put a stop to it. immediately. Your partner takes the baby while you trudge back into the bedroom for something a little more practical. Some jammie pants and a nursing tank. Dang.

Picture it. Pictures on hay bales for the holidays. Crying.
Picture it. Grandpa Wil wants to hold the baby. Crying.
Picture it. You need to get your housework done. Crying.
Picture it. Crying. Over and over and over again.

So we take him into the doctor. We think colic. She says prolly not. Prolly a growth spurt. You'll just have to deal.

What do you do with this situation?

Well....for weeks, I panicked. I sweated about the upper lip and under my boobs. I yelled at everyone who wasn't the baby. Because I really didn't know what to do, or how to take it. Any new mother will tell you she simply cant bear for her baby to cry that way. It breaks your heart and mind in two.

Now? I'm getting used to it. I can tell the difference between his "I'm crying because something is wrong" and the usual "I'm crying because I'm tired and frustrated and I can't fix things myself".  Deep inside myself I think that's what it is.
I'm still not perfect. I still give Amanda the stink eye if he cries too long. I still feel sorry for myself some days when everyone else's babies are smiling and happy always.
I still wonder, why me?

All I can hope for is that this is a "new baby" thing. That he is super sharp, and super in tuned with things and it's very strange and alien for him to experience all of these new and raw emotions, sounds, smells, faces.
I can also hope that eventually it wears off, and he becomes a happy, smiling boy, filled with wonderful and adventurous journeys in his life. I just want my son to find a sense of peace.
And if he doesn't? I will  still be here for him.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that as with everything in life, there is a beginning to a story, a peak, and an ending, and then eventually a new story starts.
So it is with Jace. Some days a peek of a smile comes out, when normally he would be crying.
We will figure it out together my son, the three of us. This I promise you.

Dr. Sears Says

So Im up late one night breastfeeding. It must be close to dawn, because the sky is changing to indigo, and the outlines of the trees are black.
I have the duck clamp lamp on. The dog is snoring at the foot of the bed. Amanda is tossing and turning in her sleep. The baby is grunting at my breast.
I am reading a Dr. Sears book my sister loaned me. I come across a chapter called "High Needs Babies". Could this be Jace?
High needs includes never wanting to be put down, crying at most everything, not liking for others to hold them...
This could be my son...
What cures high needs?
Co-sleeping, Babywearing, Breastfeeding.
I wonder to myself as I am up with the dawn, how did I get a fussy baby? I have felt myself relax exponentially since I've had my son. I never thought I'd be the one with a very unhappy baby. All of my girlfriends who have had children say infancy is when they are easiest. All they do is sleep and eat.
Not our son. He sleeps or not, cries at everything and nurses.


So this is how we came about curing Jace's High Needs attitude...

Co-Sleeping
Co-sleeping can include anything from your baby sleeping in a bassinet or swing, or whatever he'll sleep in at the side of your bed to the more extreme- baby sleeping in bed with you.
We started off with Jace sleeping next to our bed. We had great intentions for the bassinet. It made its way into our room before he was even born. We would look at it and smile. Soon it would be filled with our own bundle of joy.
Wrong.
Jace hates the bassinet. Mostly all we can get from it, is a few short minutes, where he cries, and we rock him in it, trying in vain to get him to sleep.
Then came the swing. We realized we could get a few short hours of sleep if Jace was in his swing. But he had to be going warp speed. Sometimes with the vibration on. Sometimes he would want his paci, and we would play a game where he would suckle it, spit it out, cry, we would put it back in his mouth, and this would repeat itself constantly.
Fast forward to a few sleepless weeks.
Several times a night Jace would cry to eat. I would get up quickly, change his cute little butt and take him to bed with me to breastfeed. Being as tired as I was, I would nurse his sweet, warm, baby smelling self, and rapidly nod out, like a drunk in an alley, or an old person in a recliner. I would wake up with a start! Had I dropped my baby, rolled over on him, smothered him as Drs would like you to believe? No.
There he would be, lovely as ever, sleeping in my arms.
There might be something to this, I would tell myself.
Next time I laid his little body next to mine, there in the half light of our bedroom, nursed him and we fell asleep together, as one family.
When I awoke, I realized something glorious. We had all slept great. Including Jace. My heart soared. When I say we slept great, I mean for several hours, no one cried including me. I mean the baby nursed when he needed, and seemed to sleep great, nestled there in our bed.
I know co-sleeping isn't for everyone. And there has to be some common sense attatched. If you lack that, simply don't do it.
Guard rails must be involved. Tight fitting sheets. No blankets or pillows near to smother baby. If you or your partner have been drinking or taking medication - Don't do it. Plain and simple.
But for us it is working. So far. Until it doesn't. And then we will find something else. Because for the baby to be better rested, and happy, that to me is priceless.
Besides, women have been sleeping with their babies for centuries. We are not idiots. We know how to care for, and keep alive, our children. Don't let the doctors and Tv and whomever else tell you that you are stupid and incapable. Because you are not. Make your own informed decisions, and lastly, do what feels right.

Breastfeeding

This is a given. Do it when baby asks. That means on demand. And be present. Look into his little blue eyes, talk to him. Stroke his hair or his feet or his sweet baby skin. It will instill confidence in him and create a stronger bond.
Simple as that.

Babywearing

So Co-sleeping kinda took care of nights. Babywearing also happened mostly by accident for days.
As I mentioned before, Jace cannot be put down. I mean like EVER. This resulted in me holding him all day, getting no housework done, because it's just impossible to do without hands, and then handing him off to Amanda the very nanosecond she walked through the door. It was hard to eat, hard to use the facilities. Hard to do anything but hold the baby and breastfeed.
I had four slings. I tried each and every one. Until I found one that worked for us. It was some mesh number that the baby clipped into. He faces me, his chest to mine. Because he's so small still, there's a little ledge to hold his neck up. He really wasn't fond of it at first. Each and every time, even now, I kinda gotta settle him into it, by bouncing him, speaking to him in soft tones, and sometimes offering a pacifier.
This allows me to sweep, eat, do laundry, let the dogs outside. Ya know, not a lot of stuff, but enough stuff so that by the time Amanda gets home to relieve us, I have less of a chore list to knock off.
However, just as with co-sleeping there are some things that are off limits when you wear your baby.
Anything involving hot water. Cooking on a stove. Using cleaning products. Any common sense thing that could harm baby.
Here are a few things I don't reccomend. Not because they harm baby but because they're awkward.
1. Putting on makeup. Look down. Baby will have flecks of eyeliner, blush, bronzer and eyeshadow on his head. He will look like a drag queen, or a circus clown.
2. Brushing your long hair. It will get into babies face. And baby will give you a "get it out of my personal space" look.
3. Eating popcorn. Long after you un-sling baby, you will find bits of popcorn in his diaper, his arm pits, under your boobs. Everywhere, as if you were eating it like a maniac. And probably you were.


So maybe there's something to what Dr. Sears says after all about comforting a High Needs baby. Don't take his word for it, or mine. Try it. Especially if you're dealing with a stressed out baby like we are. And try everything else under the sun until you find things that comfort your child. Because you want him to be happy as he can be. It's a ripple effect. It makes you happier, and your partner happier, and eventually, after some time, the whole High Needs baby thing will have seemed like a lifetime ago...

Animal House

Like most queer couples, we had a barrage of animals before baby came. And like any good family, as crazy as they make us, we committed to them, so we kept them, even though they don't really fit into our schedule of this new "baby infused life".

Any pregnant woman will tell you that she starts to get a little squirrely about having animals in her house, especially the closer she gets to the end of her pregnancy. Nothing will ever be clean enough, or safe enough. But hopefully most women realize it's the hormones talking and wont post their animals on craigslist or facebook through gritted teeth and sweaty anger.

I personally became pretty resentful of our five dogs, as I tied my apron around my big belly and swept a tornado of hair from corners and out from behind doors. It always seemed worse when I got to the kitchen, which also happened to be a perfect vantage point for me to give Amanda the stink eye, as she seemed to sink into the couch, looking like a deer in headlights or a nervous child. Luckily she always held her tongue as I toiled, and I am grateful today she never intervened, just letting me be pregnant and crazy.

It wasn't just the hair. It was the incessant barking. I wondered to myself as I cleaned, or fed (what felt like a whole fucking kennel of dogs) or bathed them, how often they would get under foot when the baby came, which of his toys they would chew up, how many times they would wake him (undisciplined bastards) as soon as I got him to sleep.

I felt horrible in spite of my anger, that my love for them seemed to have diminished, or taken a backseat. I knew that when the baby came, the amount of time we used to spend walking them and playing with them would be gone.

And It is. And all of these things Im saying are true. The hair still floats around the house. I still have to sweep every day. And some days I still curse Amanda (though it's not her fault), and the dogs as I pick hair off of the baby's onesie, or out of my eyeball. The dogs DO bark every time the mailbox hinges squeak shut, or every time they hear the neighbors talking, every time the freaking wind blows. They do get under my feet. And because the safety of the baby comes first, sometimes I do step on them. They have gotten to the baby's toys, they have had accidents in the house, they have made me feel like I'm going out of my fucking mind. I have even fantasized about their old age, and eventually their demise.

                                                                     Ciaya




But I know I could never live without them. Not even one of them. As much as sometimes I feel like I do.

I'm not saying these things are fixable, or they aren't. Im saying give it some time. Eventually you and baby and your better half will get into a routine, and the dogs will follow suit. Some days you will feel bad because you forgot to feed the little guys until 1pm. Some days you will pat yourself on the back because you spared some time to take one for a walk, or get on the floor and play tug with them all.

And as any good dog does, they will forgive you, for yelling, for being cold or distant, for forgetting they exist sometimes.

And hopefully because it's in your nature, you will remember why you loved them once, and carried them around like they were your children. You will find a greater way of doing things with your new plus one. Think of all of the fun the baby will have when he can chase the dogs around, throw balls with them, use their furry sides as leverage to pull himself up and learn to walk.

The dogs I think are really a vast blanket of symbolism for what is really happening in your life now. A whole lotta change. And I for one, have never been so good with that...

504 Hours

It's been almost a month since I've written anything. And not because I meant to take a break. But because the baby won't stop crying. Because When he falls asleep, most times I still have to hold him, and rock him, or he wakes and is inconsolable. Understandably angry because all he wants is sleep.

And I identify with him in the worst way. 

Which brings me to today's topic. Exhaustion.

Everyone says how tired you will be. When you don't have kids, you listen as they say this to you. Shake your head in agreement. Maybe even smile a little. It's a gesture my 4 year old niece does, when she's trying to appease you as you're speaking to her, but really she has no idea what the hell you're saying. It's the same thing. 

Because really you don't understand what tired is, until you've been up every half an hour in the night, to nurse, to rock, to pat the back of a fussy baby. To change a wet or poopy diaper...Breast milk spilling  down the front of your body like a roof leak. 

And then comes morning. And day. And the baby still does not sleep. Or if he does, it's in small hour long stints. Waking up and raising his little chubby fists. Hungry. Wet. Lonely. Gassy. 

When he does sleep, you do housework. Because after all, that is your job. Stay at home mom. Housewife. Home maker. 

When you are this tired-this tired-it feels like your brain is trudging through mud, the consistency of pudding. 

Easy things fuck you up. Adding sums in your head. Words escape you. Silly words like waffle or shoe. All of a sudden you cannot remember your age. Or what day or time it is. 

It's almost as if your body becomes sensorily numb to anything but the baby. 

Someone may touch your arm, and you may not feel it. One of the little dogs may have an accident at the door because you did not see his interest in going outside.

But also, It's such a wonderful thing. This fuzzy tired feeling.

Because you are there with this new love in your life. And he is warm and smells delicious, and is posted up in your arms, small gulping sounds as he nurses. And you watch the sun come up, changing from shadows on his face to a pink blush against his cheeks. 

Or you look over your jasmine tea, and he is smiling as he dreams, fingers and toes twitching against the blankets.
Try to remember all of these little details, because as they say, this time flys by. He is already almost two months old, and eventually he wont want me to rock him to sleep, or maybe he'll pull away when I try to smooth his hair, or rub his back.
So, yeah, exhaustion takes it's toll. I have heavy bags, yesterdays make up smudged at the corners of my eyes. My hair is unbrushed, and Im pretty sure I haven't showered or changed clothes....But how am I to remember.
But I am happy.
Down to the soul happy. I have everything I ever wanted. My love is in the other room, working on her art. The baby is asleep next to me in his swing. And I am thinking of them both, while I write this blog. I am wide awake and dreaming.