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.