Product Review-HALO SleepSack Swaddle

Probably around 3 months, give or take a couple of weeks, we moved Baby T from the swaddles in this post, to the Halo SleepSack Swaddle. Oh Em Gee, love it!! It's may favorite by far. See it here. While I truly loved the aden + anais easy swaddles, there were a few times that Baby T somehow wiggled her arms up towards her face and some of the material bunched up too close to her face for my comfort. Again, this post shows you what I'm talking about.

Anyway, when we went to one of our "preparing for baby" classes, there were two women there that showed us the product that they recommended for babies to sleep in. I made a note of it, but didn't run out to buy one. Thankfully, one of our friends sent us one as a gift. Once we started using it, almost all my worries went away regarding baby being in danger of something covering her face. The way its made just doesn't allow for it. It comes in various colors and materials. Although we are beginning to transition Baby T from the swaddle, they also have non-swaddle options that we may try as well.

Photo is from the Halo website

See an informational video here.

***These are solely my opinions due to my own experiences with this product. This is not a sponsored post.***

HALO® SleepSack® Swaddle: The Safe and Easy way to Swaddle

Product Review-Sleep Blankets, Swaddles, etc.

There are all kinds of information (overwhelming) regarding sleep. It honestly created the most anxiety for me. I was so concerned that Baby T would be cold...or hot...or not comfortable. But mostly the concern is about safety. There are so many horror stories floating around about devastating things happening to babies in their sleep. The first few nights with Baby T, I made my husband sleep so I could stay awake and stare at her, then I slept when he woke up in the morning. I mean, I just couldn't fathom feeling comfortable enough to sleep while she slept. Of course that initial panic and fear subsided a bit, but for me, still hasn't gone away fully even now and she is six months old.

Sleep sacks/swaddles, etc. seem to be how a lot of babies sleep. I heard all about them and saw them in the stores while I was pregnant. We got a few as gifts and Baby T loved being swaddled so they were awesome.

receiving blankets

At first, for naps during the day, we used receiving blankets as Baby T was a tiny 5 pounds 6 ounces coming home from the hospital. (We tried these for overnight sleep as this is how she slept in the hospital, but I was too nervous to do it for long--a few nights at the most.) These worked well until she got a little stronger (a week maybe?) and she was able to wiggle which made me worry that she would get the blanket too loose and it would cover her face. We did continue using them for naps as long as she was monitored while she slept. You can find these everywhere and they have a million different uses. Some examples here and here.

easy swaddle- aden + anais

For night time sleep, we used the aden + anais easy swaddles seen here. I really liked these. Not only do they come in different sizes, they also have adjustable snaps to loosen/tighten the swaddle as baby grows or feels more comfortable. The material is lightweight so depending on how you keep your house, then you can dress baby in pjs underneath or either a onesie. We used a onesie and socks for a while. They also have an option for organic material if you so choose. They are more secure for wiggly babies and eased my mind when it came to Baby T getting anything over her face. Thee were a few times that she wiggled her arms up towards her face so far that some of the material bunched up near her face. Its a little loose in the first picture below and fits much better in the second picture. I didn't like this, but figured out that if you pull the material down and then tightly around her shoulders, it helped this issue a lot. Here she is in these aden + anais easy swaddle.

aden + anais swaddle blankets

As Baby T outgrew the receiving blankets, we used the swaddle blankets by a + a seen here. These are awesome as well. They're large enough to swaddle bigger/longer babies easily, lightweight material and comes in organic as well. We used these for naps, but not night sleeping for baby for the same reason--if she wiggled too much, then the blankets came undone and risked covering her face. She is 14 pounds, 26 inches at 6 months and can still be swaddled in these if we choose to do so for naps. I've used these for many different things including, a carseat cover if its bright out on a walk or in the car and she's napping (also works great to keep strangers away from your new baby if you have to go out in public with them), she snuggles with the soft material sometimes, I cover her legs from the sun in the stroller with these, and I stuffed them in the bottom of my ergo until she was big/tall enough to not need extra support. Endless ways to use these.

Here is an example of her wiggling out of the swaddle and is why she didn't sleep unmonitored with them.

See more on swaddles.


***These are solely my opinions due to my own experiences with this product. This is not a sponsored post.***

Emotions and Moving Baby to her Crib

How I feel when my husband subtly suggests we move Baby T from the bassinet in our room to her crib in her nursery:

And then I try to quickly dismiss the topic:

And then he says something else about it:

And then I realize he is actually serious:

And so I answer him as honestly as possible:

After a 30 minute discussion complete with panic and tears...(MY panic and tears, that is):

When he tells me we don't have to move her to her crib just yet after my horrifying reaction:

You're welcome for the overload of gifs.

Product Review-Blooming bath

Blooming Bath for Babies

Source

Price Range: $40

When we were searching for must-haves for Baby T, we knew we needed some type of bathtub for her. But we have limited space with only two bathrooms. Our master has just a shower so we'd be bathing the baby in our spare which is the one guests use. I didn't want to get one of the more common tubs that are bigger and take up a lot of space because I knew I would want to hide it when we were having people over.  I found the Blooming Bath for Babies and decided it was the one for us.

This product has worked very well for Baby T. She was very tiny at birth, so she got baths in the kitchen sink for a while. I did have to put a bowl underneath the Blooming Bath for extra support or else the petals would fold up too much and not allow baby to lay properly, but other than that, it made me feel like she was comfortable and protected for the hardness of the sink. Some water will puddle in the bottom, but not enough to emulate an actual bathtub. If you are trying to keep baby warm with the water, then maybe not so good, but otherwise its fine.

Now that Baby T is older, we lay the Blooming Bath down in the bottom of the tub and she loves it. She likes to kick freely in the bath and this allows her to do that where I don't think other baby bathtubs would. You can see a picture of her in this blog post. Like I said, its super soft and provides cushion for her to just lay in the bath and kick around.

Overall, the product's pros outweigh the cons for me and I do recommend this especially if you have limited space for storage and a baby that likes to kick in the water. (Baby T's head is far enough out of the water when she lays on this to to be worrisome as long as you don't fill the tub too much.)

PROS:

*Very soft and flexible for easy storage; can be stored underneath our bathroom sink of in the linen closet
*Can be used in the sink or the tub
*Soft and cushiony for baby's comfort
*Can be packed in luggage if needed on a trip
*Its cute!
*I've seen people use it outside for baby to lay in the grass on as well. It doesn't have to be a bathtub I suppose

CONS:

*I mentioned earlier that it needed some support underneath it in order for it to work in my sink. This could depend on the size, depth, width, etc. of your kitchen sink.
*It gets really heavy with water--One of my biggest complaints (which is probably silly) is having to pick the Blooming Bath up after Baby T's bath and squeeze the water out of the foam. It seems trivial but it just annoys me.
*You will need somewhere to hang it after bath time to ensure proper drying. I'm not sure, but it seems to me that mold could grow because of the moisture in it if its not dried properly. We haven't had any trouble with this yet and we've been using it for 6 months now.


You can find the products here:

www.bloomingbath.com

Target

***These are solely my opinions due to my own experiences with this product. This is not a sponsored post.***

A Festival and a Fail

Happy Monday? No. I didn't think so.

We went to the Temecula Valley Wine and Balloon Festival yesterday. And while we missed the 6 am launch of the balloons (throw my sucker in the dirt and kick it), we did not miss the wine part.

Umm, should we be worried? Does this show us a glimpse into her future?

Yesterday was also the San Diego Half Marathon. We missed that, however, about 8 months into my pregnancy, I hear my cell phone beep one day while Husband was at work. As I reached for my phone, I realized I'd have to get out of my current position to be able to reach it. So I lurched myself to the left, then I used some other muscles to lurch myself to the right--this continued until I had enough momentum to roll my whale-sized belly onto my actual side, after which I roll down off of the couch and onto my knees on the floor. Then I used the ottoman to push myself up to standing--hearing my poor knees cracking the whole time. My dogs sat nearby, watching--the only thing missing was a box of popcorn and a soda because they were clearly entertained by the scene I was creating. Anyway, I finally made it over to my phone even though I was out of breath and saw that my dear husband had sent me a schedule of all the 5Ks, 10Ks, and half marathons we would be participating in the upcoming year. The rest is history really, I walked calmly to the laundry room where my husband keeps some tools, located the hammer and smashed my phone to death. After which I sat waiting on my husband to get home from work, hammer in hand. 

NO, y'all! I'm kidding! But you probably believed me didn't you!? I'm sure I've convinced you all how insanely scarily crazy I really am. 

Anyway...he got home and asked if I received the schedule that he sent me to which I replied, "Yes." I waited for laughter or at least a "oh giant pregnant wife who hasn't slept or pooped in 78 months, I'm just kidding."---this didn't happen. Quickly, I realized he was serious. This mother effer was serious. Pride took over and I went along with the plan...knowing that even before pregnancy, I wasn't much of a runner--like, at all. To say that I loathe running would be a small understatement. I like the results of running, but unfortunately the results never outweighed the horrendous hate of the actual act. 

Fast forward to 6 weeks postpartum. Husband says, "Can't you workout again now?" Daggers shot towards him out of my eyes. "Because I googled and it says that women can workout as soon as they feel like it after birth." 

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Well in that case, I guess I'll put on my running shoes, buddy. So I ran. After all, we were training for the dang Iron Man so I needed to be ready! To his defense ladies, (because I know you are appalled at his suggestion and your jaws are probably dragging the ground while you google how-to-build-a-bomb-and-send-it-in-an-envelope-to-this-bitch's-husband) he didn't mean I *needed* to work out, body-wise. He was actually very complimentary about my giant pregnant belly and body afterwards. And if you know him, this is probably surprising. He just wanted us to both to do these damn marathons. What can I say? He's a planner. And an idea guy. And a go-getter. Which happens to be my polar opposite. It makes life interesting to say the least.

.......SO I'm running. He's in front of me with the dogs AND the stroller and I'm quickly falling behind. 

It was a bummer and I was questioning my sanity, but it was good to pretend to have the freedom of my body back after 10 long months. And, umm, just in case you are going to start running again soon after having a baby----heads up, you may be absolutely certain that your uterus is falling out of your vagina. I mean, you may not. You may be one of those women that don't feel like they've left their reproductive organ in the middle of the street--and for that we, other women, hate you. So shut up. And go away. And if your uterus didn't feel similar to what I would assume over-full cow udders feel as the cow is running for its life from a crocodile then lucky you, Miss Uterus of the Freaking Year. 

Fast forward to a few weekends ago--about 5 months after having Baby T. And how is my training going? Umm, its not going. I hate running! I admit it. I can't make myself WANT to do it! But, a tiny little 5K is coming up and I totally forgot that I signed us up. WTH was I thinking? Its the Coronado Bay Bridge Run. What's that you ask? Its this:

source

So, there we were. Waking up balls early to go run over this bridge. I was less than excited. I'd never done any kind of organized run before so I didn't know what to expect. I thought about feigning illness--not because I didn't want to do the run (because who were we kidding? I knew I'd probably walk a lot of it) but because I was scared we would get bombed. I don't like big crowds anyway and I was convinced there would be a shooter or something crazy happen. Gawd, y'all...what is wrong with meeee? I'm one of those people that looks normal but I'm not! At. all. 

Because I wouldn't take Baby T without her carseat in the shuttles that were taking people from Coronado over the bridge into downtown San Diego (where the race started), we were forced to drive...and find parking in the chaos. Husband is a real stickler for punctuality and told me the night before we had to leave by 7:14 am. "Not 7:15," he said, "We need to be in the car at 7:14." 

"Okay," I nodded, wide-eyed, implying I understood the necessity of being at the "race" on time. Welllllll..............we departed at 7:24ish. Wah wahhh. Fail. Husband was annoyed and I didn't have the slightest clue what the big deal was. It wasn't like we were actually running the race portion. 

Turns out, he knew best. We spent the entire time behind the elderly walkers. I mean I was cheering them on, but it doesn't do much for your self-esteem to be behind them let me tell you. Shamefully enough, I was still hideously tired at the end of it.  

How to Avoid Someone Touching your Pregnant Belly

Before I got pregnant, I always heard people talking about how perfect strangers would walk up to them and touch their bulging stomach. It always perplexed me and I often wondered how in the world anyone would think it possibly would be okay to put their crusty, crawly, creeper, germ-infested, scaly, smelly hands on another person period, but especially in such a personal way. Once I became pregnant, all those little voices whispered in the back of my head and I found myself determined that no juicy nub would be touching my belly.  Not only did I want to avoid germs and the ever-lasting grossness of being touched by a stranger, I also did not want some freak putting a spell on me or my baby through their touch! So here are some tips for you if you'd like to avoid those pesky, unwanted belly touches.

1) The most effective way to avoid getting someone else's dead skin cells on your precious tummy is the look on your face. You must always, always look mad and avoid eye contact at this point. No matter that you're just glowing pure sunshine out of every pore on your body because you are growing a human, you have to stay focused. Practice it in the mirror if you have to. This was never hard to accomplish for me. I am really super great at the angry face. It was always the polite, sweet face that gave me trouble. I know, you're shocked. 

2) Usually an angry face really will do the trick, but if you spot someone that is sweetly looking in your direction and staring at your belly (or just staring at your belly and drooling a little), this is a sign that the angry face is not working. These people are usually not very smart and need extra help. My first go-to with these people is to grab my cell phone and stare at it like something very important is happening. You have to enlist another facial expression here: the furrowed brow. While you are looking down at your phone, brows furrowed, you must still maintain your angry face. I recommend practicing in the mirror a few times. You can also try it on your unsuspecting husband when he walks in from work. If you looks at you and turns around and goes right back out the door, then I would call your experiment a success. 

3) As unbelievable as it sounds, there are actually people that are immune to these tactics. This means they are probably closing in on you and your belly quite fast at this point. You must do something soon or else your baby might get dirty when they touch your stomach! While I usually suggest avoiding any type of eye contact or even acknowledgment that the belly toucher exists, you may need to use eye contact as a tool if they haven't picked up on your other clues so far. Here, you have to implement a variety of mechanisms at once to ensure the person's belly scratchers don't reach your precious cargo. Your angry face needs to continue to be implemented, as well as the furrowed brow, but now I suggest you look them straight in the eyes. You will feel bad about what you're doing because you will see shear delight in their face as they gaze at your blossoming belly, but a clear head and focus will get you through your guilt. Just remember that this person is about to invade your belly with their hand--a hand, mind you, that you have no idea what they've just done with. Let that thought propel you through even if the said hand belongs to a little old lady, which Im sorry to tell you, often times is the case. Now, you've got your brow furrowed and your angry face in place--look at the threat dead in their face, imagining you are shooting lasers out of your eyes at them and sigh. Sigh very, very dramatically. This will usually deter even stubborn belly rubbers away from you.

4) If none of the previous tools have worked for you, then honestly, you're probably doing it wrong. I never, in all of my ten months of pregnancy (that's 17 billion years in pregnant woman's time by the way)--I never had these tactics fail me. Here are a few last ditch efforts you can try if they are within feet of you and your tum-tum and still closing in: put your hand over your mouth with one hand and hold your nose with the other while looking at them--they will hopefully develop some insecurity about how they smell and become too embarrassed to get any closer to you. If you'd like to take it a step further, you can always gag. Nobody wants to be in the path of projectile vomit. Another option is to grab your belly as if to imply that you are having a contraction, but I caution against this as it may give you the opposite of your desired outcome and people could flock to you from all over to assist. It may be worth a try though, if your incoming belly grabber is at all squeamish, he/she may turn on their heels and bolt. 

Like I said, if none of these work for you then you are seriously doing it wrong. Practice more and more in the mirror and practice on your unsuspecting husband. Its important that he not know that you are practicing this on him because he will probably laugh at your swollen face pretending to be mad. This will remove some of your confidence when you are faced with a real, live stomach grazer and you don't need that to happen.  

If you're stomach has been touched, go home and take a shower. Pay extra attention to your stomach area and lather with soap 3 times. Your baby will probably be fine, although I can't say the same for your pregnant mind. 

And in case you didn't know: it's illegal here! 

Memorial Day is not...

Veteran's Day.

I know most of you are sunburned, drunk, and full of some obscene amount of grilled meat (gross. seriously.) but before this Memorial Day ends, I just felt that I couldn't lay my head on my little pillow tonight without addressing something. =====> Umm, you guys do know that Memorial Day is not actually Veteran's Day, right? :-/ If your pits are starting to sweat and you are looking over your shoulder, then I'm talking to you. Today is about the people that fought and died for your country. As I perused social media today, I discovered that entirely too many people thought today was because the United States of America thought they needed an extra day off of work to float in a pool and stuff their face, but I was giving them the benefit of the doubt that they knew what the holiday was really for. But then, what really perplexed me was that it was apparent that some people were confusing the meaning of today with Veteran's Day. Bless their hearts. I know the words "veteran" and "memorial" are really, really similar and all, but for those of us who have to share this land and breathe the same air as you, could you pretty please with a cherry on top, not be such a sad excuse for an American?

Hmm, so I read someone's blog today (and a few times before) but I just decided that I really don't like this person. Why, oh why do people like to pretend like life is a bunch of swell moments that turn into swell hours which then turns into a whole swell day? Come on. Just stop before we all smash our face into our keyboard! And that made me think, "hmm...I wonder how many people read my blog and don't like me because of it?"...which made me laugh...a lot--because I know for sure there are many. --And then I went on to eat my PB&J for dinner. Yea, that's right you judge-y foodie/fit folks. That's what I ate and then I had some sorbet. What? I'm still on my post-gestational diabetes binge. Lay off me.

By the way, if you're a loyal reader here, you'll notice some changes coming soon. I'll be adding a few categories to the blog, some of which will include pregnancy & infertility related things, and also some product reviews. I'll also be doing some giveaways in the near future. I'm pretty stoked about this because I LOVE giving gifts and I really love shopping, so I am looking forward to sharing some of the things I love with you guys. Is it bad that I'm so obsessed with new things that I can't wait to give some new things away to possibly a complete stranger here? Yeaaaap, that's what I figured. Anyway, stay tuned ;)

Ta-Ta!

Single and ready to....

pass the fu&k out.

The husband was out of town this week. He likes to tell me how much he works and how long his days are and how hard the wind blows and how bad it hurts to get sand in his eyes. He's in the desert, yes. He is also hanging out with a bunch of dudes, blowing shit up. Now, I could be wrong, but that mostly sounds like any guys dream week. Not only do they get a break from their lovely wives, but they also get to be warriors and bomb the hell out of things with no repercussions.

Doesn't he look cool and important and yummy and warrior-istic? 

Oh, me? What did I do while he was away besides long for his return? (I wouldn't even read all the crap that I'm about to type out if I were you.) 

Wake up, feed the baby, change the baby, walk the dogs, scold Fritz for trying to fight two dogs, scold Fritz for biting his brother because he couldn't get to said dogs, soothe screaming mad baby because she wants to take a nap but doesn't actually want to take a nap, brush my teeth, workout, stop halfway through, feed baby, change baby, pet the dog, talk sweet to the dog because of my guilt for ignoring dog, watch dog scoot his butt across the floor for the 1700th time, make a note to call the vet, spray anti-itch oil on dog's butt, then blow on it so it will dry before he licks it off, eat a protein bar, warm coffee from 3 hours earlier, forget it in the microwave, wonder what the microwave really does to our food, coo at baby, love on the baby, try to sing a song but I don't know one, feed the baby, rock the baby, she backhands me, I rock more and harder, she screams, she's mad, she pokes me in the eye, I rock and rock, baby falls asleep, I creep to the crib to lay her down, she wakes up bright-eyed and laughs at me, I take a shower, feed baby, change baby, walk the dogs, the same dog that Fritz tried to bite this morning is in front of our house again, wish ill-will on the old lady who walks her perfectly well-behaved dog next to my house, bring dogs back home, continue walking baby, walk faster to get nervous energy out, come home, take trash out while baby sleeps in stroller, baby wakes up, hold baby while I pee because now we apparently have terrible separation anxiety...feed baby, play with baby........................microwave a potato and drink wine from a bottle after baby goes to bed.

Right back at ya, husband. 

Shopping with babe and those ugly shorts girls are actually wearing these days...

Lately it seems as though I've been forced to venture out of my hole and meander into town for supplies and such. So, in Coronado terms--that means walk a few blocks to the post office and to some specialty shops to get a few gifts for some mothers in my life. I really try to do most of my shopping online, err, don't mention that if you know my husband. :-/ Its a sore subject around these parts. Apparently, receiving a package a week is too much? I had no idea! I definitely just got in trouble Saturday because another package showed up. Seriously though!, who the hell delivers on Saturdays?! I didn't even get a shipping notification! Don't they know that husbands are home on Saturdays!? I try to intervene most packages because I stalk the delivery website. I know when it says "out for delivery" that means I better get my ass downstairs and wait for the mailman because God knows I don't want to hear, "Jenny, what did you order this time?" Or, in a really panicked-pissed voice, "How many fu&king packages are going to come from baby Gap this week?" (They send each item separately sometimes!! What the hell!? I cant keep up. PSA to GAP--send my baby's new shiat in ONE bag so I can continue to be your patron!)

Anyway...I've gotten off on a tangent. Point is, sometimes on rare occasions I have to leave my house. (And if you'd like to know why I don't like to do that, then read here.) There are lots of super cute stores here on the island that I like to frequent when the Husband isn't stalking the credit card statement. (If you didn't know already...I have a baby now.)

Well, I went out to shop around the other day for some Mother's Day gifts and I put my sweet little teeny tiny bundle of pure blissful joy in her stroller so that she could come with. From what I understand, it wouldn't have been appropriate for me to leave her home alone yet. Does this story seem weird to any of you? Mothers---you put your child in strollers when you go shopping, don't you? Or am I doing it wrong? Because, umm, I could seriously be doing it wrong. 

I get to my favorite store and walk inside. Its like sensory overload. I just can never choose what I want to look at first. Do I want to look at the jewelry? The scarves? The....the....well, you get the point. I guess I should add that real estate on this island is like 1 billionnnn dollars per square foot, so the shops are quite small. But! Not too small to fit myself and my trusty stroller. So I am in the store, muscling around the stroller, paying careful attention to its wheels and making sure I don't run something over or knock something off the shelves--nevermind the skinny-as-a-rail girls in there wearing those hideous shorts that are back in style from the 80's. You know, the ones where your ass looks really long and flat and your butt cheeks say hello to everyone walking behind you? Hold on, I'll find you a picture......


.....I'm back after googling "high waisted 80's shorts butt cheek".....

BAM! There you go.

Ok, no. Those are not them, but I just thought you'd enjoy a momentary boost in your self-esteem.

These are the shorts that I'm talking about here:

Umm, no. Just no. No, no, no. Oh, ha! "Those look way better on me than that!" That's what you're thinking if you happen to be one of the sad souls stuffing your cheeks into these monstrosities. Well, I am here to inform you that you do not look better and whoever told you that you did LIED to you sister! And furthermore, no female wants to see you wear these and only about 3% of the weiner-clad population are not offended that you are wearing those--and guess what? They, unfortunately lost their eye sight or either also like to stare at photos of donkeys in their free time.



Alrighty...so here I am in my favorite store---I peruse the racks, getting to a place of shear bliss...looking at all the maxi dresses and the colorful shirts. For a moment, I feel like I am 22 again and I am shopping for an outfit to go out on the town later! I can even taste the martini (or 5) I will have later. I see another girl, looking at me. I smile politely at her and continue with my shopping high. She clears her throat, so I am forced to look at her again. She looks at this stroller thats sitting really near me and then back at me again. I give her a puzzled look, and turn back to the party dresses. "Excuse me," she says, smacking her gum. (For a second I thought it was her ass cheeks clapping in the wind, but it turns out it wasn't them.) Her eyes roll a bit and she exhales really loudly. WTF. Now I'm getting annoyed. I look back at her and she says, "Can you move your stroller? I need to get by." What the hell is she talking about? Stroller?? 

Suddenly, I am sucked back into reality and I remember that no, no I'm not going out tonight and no, I'm not going to have a martini or 5. This is actually my stroller and the baby riding in it is mine too. 

Ok...so of course I didn't really forget about the baby. It was just a little mental vacation while I browsed some stupid dresses that not only should I not buy because there is yet another package or 7 coming to me already, but I have no place to wear this brilliant little dress. Turns out, babies don't care what you're wearing and they will spit up and poop on any and everything. 

I say all that to say this...what is up with people's irritation with strollers?? This has happened several times where I get a look like I shouldn't be somewhere or like I am in the other women's way while they are trying to shop. Like their shopping is ranked higher on the cool meter because they don't have a baby. *middle finger up bitches* I mean, I have to bring my baby with me. I can't just leave her at home. And inconveniently enough, we human mothers don't have a nifty little kangaroo pouch to stuff our babies in while we hop about our day. I cant balance her on my head...and I can't even realistically carry her in my arms while I try to shop one-handed. And to be honest, I don't give one RCH whether you don't want my stroller blocking the aisle. Seriously, I don't! Chances are that just before I got here, the baby just blew her diaper out and needed an entire outfit change and now there is a puddle of poop waiting for me to get back to the car to clean out of the car seat--and I have about 40 minutes to run 17.8 errands before she is screaming to eat again which would force me to pull my boob out and feed her in the store and we ALL know what a controversy that would cause--so unless you want me to aim her butt in your direction the next time I see her sweet little face turn red and she starts to grunt, then why don't you get your tiny, little, weirdly-long ass cheeks out of my way because I am one millisecond away from losing my mommy mind on you. And p.s. by the way...those shorts are like the stone once its thrown--you can never un-wear those. *look you up and down, eye-roll, hair flip*

Guns A'Blazin'. --Gun Rights

Hold on to your britches, y'all. I still can't believe this happened. Its events like this why I choose to stay home and wander aimlessly around our overpriced island-dwelling, making lap after lap--day in and day out, rather than to go out and mingle with the crazies.

Husband and I made the trek across the good ole USofA about a month ago to introduce our sweet little offspring to her extended family--you know, the great-grands and such. Doesn't that sound sweet? Let me paint the picture for you. We flew into NC and visited some family there, showing our precious little pumpkin pie off. She, of course won hearts galore. Then we drove down to GA to visit my family once again proudly boasting this oddly-sweet-for-who-her-parents-are baby girl. Don't worry, I got quite a few puzzling looks from my own family as she laid cooing and ahhing and making sweet noises and smiling instead of flipping them off and screaming at them. If you know me, then this may make a little more sense than if you don't. Let's just say I probably should have had horns as a child--and as a teenager, errr--and as an adult? Anyway, the point is that this child is sweet. And I don't know where she came from.

The event happened as we drove from NC to GA. We were driving southbound through the good ole Atlanta in the HOV lane. There was a lane merging into the HOV lane from the left which can be kind of awkward anyway, but husband let a car merge in front of us, then continued moving forward. It was pretty heavy traffic so we were only moving about 15-25 mph. Baby was cozy in her carseat in the backseat, sleeping away being the angel that she is. I sat excitedly in the passenger seat, anxious to get to my mother's house and show her this little human that I grew all by myself when suddenly a SUV pulled up beside us on the shoulder of the road trying to pass us on the right. No, there was no lane there. At this point, Im assuming they are mad because we didn't let them merge in front of us and instead they had to merge behind us. I mean, what kind of assholes are we that we only let one car merge into the lane in front of us? Long story short, the people wanted to get in front of us but were being extremely aggressive--you know, off roading it and trying to pass us on the left when there was no lane there. Basically, husband had the option of being pushed by their car over into the lane to the right of us or maintaining his position in his lane. Even if there was an opening in the lane to the right of us, lets just say my husband isn't the type to let anyone push him out of his lane, and that just may be a slight understatement. (Its rush hour--cars are back to back so there wasn't an opening regardless.) So I look over at the SUV thats now battling for the lane with us and just as I did, their passenger side mirror hit our drive side mirror. Very minor. They fall back a little and then the next thing I know, they come roaring back up beside us and the older lady in the passenger seat is screaming things that should only come out of the mouth of the devil. Demonic sounds radiate into our car and I am in shock not only that this is happening, but that such a gross sound can come out of a woman's mouth. Her husband, meanwhile, (in his vigilante camouflage outfit) is steadfastly attempting to get in front of our car.

I opt to call the police at this point. I mean, we realize our mirrors just hit, but for the amount of bat shit crazy that is flying out of their mouths, we aren't about to pull over. We try to tell them that we are calling the police and we are not pulling over until we can meet a police officer in a safe place. From this point on, I am on the phone with a 911 dispatcher, telling her play by play of what these people are doing. All this happened in a matter of 2-3 minutes.

So we've got a demonic woman and a wormy little man wearing camo for no apparent reason in the car trying to force us to pull us over and then traffic stops. The car that merged in front of us was stopped. "Oh," we think, "traffic must have stopped." But when we look around traffic is actually still moving and the only people that were stopped was the car in front of us and the SUV with the demons in it. Just as we register that this is strange, the car in front of us reverses towards us, attempting to block us in the lane and prevent us from moving any further. The demons are now behind us and have pulled up so far on our bumper that it is obvious the two cars are trying to box us in.

Let's break in the story--I wish I could have sent these people some sort of telepathic message that this is not a good idea. I wanted to tell them that this would inevitably not end well for them. Husband doesn't like to be messed with. And in the years of knowing him, it just never ends well for the people that do. Most of the time he is a nice guy that would give someone in need the shirt off his back, but at a certain point, the nice normal human shuts down and out comes the guy who drops bombs and shoots giants bullets out of a giant gun at real people for a living. I wanted to tell them that they were about to get bombed, but then I thought "oh what the hell, survival of the fittest."

Next in the story, out jumps a "Joe Dirt" type of guy out of the car in front of us, putting his hand up as if to motion for us to stop the car--meanwhile behind him, his thin ponytail flaps in the wind.
The demons are now out of their car and making their way up to our windows.

To say that I was in shock, would be an understatement. This man is out of his car on an extremely busy road in Atlanta, standing in front of our car, which, oh by the way, my husband has managed to get out of their attempt to box us in and is now moving again. When Joe Dirt realized we weren't stopping despite his mighty warrior hand motioning, he stepped in front of our car. In front of our car that was moving mind you. Again, survival of the fittest.

Meanwhile, in our car, I am telling husband to stop the car. He doesn't. I say it louder and nudge his arm. Nothing. Its like husband cant hear me anymore. I realize whats about to happen and wonder if our daughter will have to visit her father in jail. Had I known then what I know now, I wouldn't have been worried. So, Joe Dirt Warrior still believes he can stop my husband and this however billion trillion hundred pound vehicle from moving with his own body. Obviously he knows something we don't about his t-shirt with the sleeves cut off being some type of secret armor for him. He digs his rubber flip flops into the pavement and puts his magic sleeveless arm up once more and demands that we "STOP THE CAR."

Bam. The car bumped into him. Whoops. I guess his armor wasn't working properly. I am beyond panicked in reality. I tell husband to stop again, but his mind is on one thing and thats getting his family out of this unsafe situation. Now let's clarify, the car didn't like smash him into the pavement and flatten him--the bumper just gave him a little nudge. He backed up and the car continued to move. Husband never really accelerated while he was in front of the car--thankfully and shockingly.

Joe Dirt Warrior then turned into Joe Dirt Warrior Ninja and frog-hopped onto our hood.

Once again let's break and reflect. In rush hour traffic, there is a man in a sleeveless t-shirt wearing a trucker hat with a ponytail flapping in the wind, now riding our hood like a our SUV is a bull--his rubber flip flops doing their best to maintain his position. Who knows where the demons are at this point? And oh...in case you haven't figured it out-- the demons are the Joe Dirt Warrior Ninja's parents who called him and told him to stop our car.

Husband did not stop just because he was riding our hood, holding onto the windshield wiper with one hand. Nope. He pressed on. He pressed on until Joe Dirt Warrior Ninja turned into Joe Dirt Warrior Ninja with a gun pointed at us. That's right folks, now he's pointing a gun at us. But did that stop my husband? Nope. Not until he had calculated his speed and decided that he wasn't going fast enough to slam the brakes and throw the man (loosely used term) from the hood. So, husband stopped probably only because his 3 month old daughter now had a gun pointed in her direction and unfortunately, or fortunately, he did not have his own gun in the car being we live in CA and you can't conceal carry here.

Joe Dirt Warrior Ninja releases the windshield wiper and stumbles down off of the hood, after which his wife promptly delivers his CANE to him. He sits patiently waiting on the police while he chain-smokes 4 cigarettes at a time--apparently Joe Dirt's lungs are warriors too.

Three hours later, we are all still on the side of the road with the Georgia State Patrol. Joe Dirt and demon family argue with the officers that they believed they were doing the right thing by forcing us to stop despite officers telling them they were very, way, totally wrong. When asked why they didn't just take our tag number and call the police, their jowls jiggled and drool sloshed from their mouths, followed by a blank stare.

After learning that the District Attorney in Atlanta was too busy to take the case (yes, were were shocked), one of the officers informed Joe Dirt that if he had climbed on his hood with his newborn and wife in the car, that he would have shot the shit out of him with his gun that he always carries and would have been right by the law to do so. Joe Dirt would be dead and the person that shot him would be totally in the right. Once again, jowls jiggled.

By the way, mothers that are reading this...have you ever had to breastfeed your baby while they are strapped into a car seat? Yea..it was fun contorting my body in unnatural ways...but when you're on the side of the road for 3 hours and the officer told me to keep her in her carseat...baby's got to eat!

So, we watched Joe Dirt get a verbal lashing and then was let go. We learned after the fact that the State Patrol officer that treated us extremely well through the whole thing had gone to the DA in Fulton County and had presented the case again, causing them to press charges on the man after the fact. The Joe Dirt Demon Family were residents of TN, and at this time we still do not know what, if anything happened to them for what they did.

Joe Dirt had a clean record with a permit to conceal carry--and let me be clear--I am all about gun rights. I think we should have the ability to defend ourselves and law-abiding Americans should be able to have guns. But this is clearly an example of a person who does not know when to pull a gun. I mean, you pulled a gun on a 3 month old baby you stupid bottom-feeding idiot. Our system is flawed no doubt. His permit should be revoked promptly before he is forced to shot a toddler that bumps into him at a park or something. At the end of the day, it worked out for us, but things could have gone very differently.  And how can a District Attorney NOT take this case right off the bat? And how does an inbred idiot get a concealed carry permit?

Now, put your eyeballs back inside your head and join me in wishing a whole lot of ill-will on Joe Dirt and the Demon Family.

Good Day, peeps. And may all guns stay holstered for you today.

Things that make you go shi%balls--baby blow outs and new mom woes.

As you know from my last post...I'm a new mom. I was a little on the crazy, irrational side before baby, and now...well, lets just say its hard to imagine that a pterodactyl isn't going to fly over us on a walk and steal her. Or maybe a tiny ninja Mexican drug lord might come in at night and take her. We DO live near Mexico you know. And human trafficking is on the rise. I don't have statistics to back that up so don't ask but I wouldn't lie to you, seriously. Its true. Point is, I am a worrier. A large, big ole, monumental worrier. This has always bothered my cool, calm, and collected big, bad, fighter pilot husband. I mean, clearly nothing bad would ever happen to that lean, mean fighting machine. Or maybe he just isn't a worrier. Its one of the two. But I AM. Last night, I woke up and stared at Baby T in her bassinet like I do every. single. night. every. hour. on. the. hour. I always see her little chest rise and fall and I know she is okay. Even then, I put my hand on her belly to make sure my sleep deprived eyes aren't playing tricks on me. Well, last night I thought I didn't feel her belly rising and falling. Panic isn't even in the realm of what I did. I woke her right on up at 3 AM by ripping her swaddle off of her and jiggling her legs. She looked at me like I was the Mexican ninja lord coming to get her. Anyway...you get the point.

The following happened when she was about a week old. And just as a warning, I'm not planning to censor this (Do I ever?), so if boobs and poop bother you, you should go back to hash tagging things about your selfie you just took...hopefully not in a dirty mirror with the toilet photobombing in the background. Seriously people, those are the worst. So. Gross. #nasty #lookatmytoilet #lookat mytoothpastesplatteronmymirrorohwaitmaybethatsnottoothpaste?

Back to the story: Baby T is a week old. (Not today, duh. But back when the story happened.) There were a few things that were bothering me. 1) Her umbilical cord did not look right. I mean, nuh uh. Surely that thing isn't supposed to look like the stuff that spews out of an alien when the hero finally slices its head off in those really swell alien-takes-over-earth movies?!? A gooey mess on this sweet precious baby? Nooo....that cant be right. And then she kept getting this blue tinge around her mouth-not to be confused with blue lips. Calm down folks.

I was worried. Husband was not. But he had already seen my postpartum hormones turn me into a puddle of patheticness, (yes I know that isn't a word), so he did me a solid and called the pediatrician which turned out to be the biggest clusterfu$% of our weeklong bout of parenthood. He called this lady which directed him to that lady and then she told him to call another number which sent him right back to the first lady. It was so ridiculous. All the while, the first lady is freaking out asking us when we were leaving to go to the ER. Why, you ask? Because my "potAtoes, potatoes" husband missed the fact that telling the nurse that there was a blue tinge around our newborn's mouth and telling her that her lips were blue meant two very different things. I am trying to mouth silently to him..."No, not her lips...you can't say her LIPS are blue. They will think she isn't breathing...this is different." After that confusion was cleared up, the nurse asked to call us back after she spoke with the Dr. *Minutes pass* I sit on the floor with two very odd cones attached to my boobs, ripping milk out of them in a way that should not be humanly possible, wondering if they will ever come back from this dark side that is breastfeeding and staring at the baby, wondering what the hell is wrong with her. Husband reads the news. I occasionally glance over at him wondering how he could read the news at a time like this and imagine ripping his phone from his hand and putting it in the garbage disposal, but then I decide that would take it too far and perhaps should be reserved for another time. I also wonder whether HE will in fact be able to bounce back after seeing my nipples stretched almost to the other side of the room with this torture pump device. I'm resentful that he doesn't have to have his boobs suctioned and so I ask him if he will let Baby T suck his nipples. Of course he said no. Typical. effing. man.

The nurse calls back and asks us to take the baby's temperature. Sure, no problem. We go for our easy peasy ear thermometer and just as we stick it in her ear, the nurse reminds us that she will need us to take a rectal temperature. Pause. We look at each other and both swallow hard. I mean, whoa. The days of taking shots until 4AM at a bar flashed before my eyes and I did a quick comparison of now and then. How'd I get here, I wondered? But! Good news. My cool, calm, and collected husband has this. There is no need for me to worry. Nothing is insurmountable to this think-on-your-toes, save-the-world kind of guy.

I feel like I should stop at this point in the story to say to my husband, "I love you, you roaring jungle beast."

Back to the story again: We've got a thermometer. Is it rectal? We don't know. But we go with it. Well you can't just stick it up her little bum without some lubrication. Who knew? (Soon-to-be parents...pick up some petroleum jelly now so you don't have to go the route we did) I'm wondering what we are gonna do, then in walks husband with KY jelly. See, he thinks on his toes. I got a good one, y'all. Alright, so we are ready. Baby is laying on the changing table, oblivious to whats happening. Husband has the lubed thermometer aimed at the target. The nurse is now on speaker phone.

In his most professional and polite voice, "I'm about to perform the temperature check now."

The nurse waits.

In goes the thermometer. I cringe, hoping he is doing is correctly. Im watching the baby to see if she is going to say, "Ouch", or "Umm, thats not very cool, daddy. Please stop." Nope nothing. But what I did see is the thermometer fly out of her bum at lightning speed--along with about a pound of poop splatter. Its everywhere. All over the changing table. All down the side of the changing table. All on husband's hands. Its running down the side of the changing table and she may or may not have doused a teddy bear's face with it. Everywhere. Seriously. My eyes were the size of watermelons as I registered what was going on. Think of a bomb exploding in a war movie--everyone is running for cover...the ground is shaking...fear consumes everyone's eyes--Thats what SHOULD have happened but we were stunned. We didn't take cover, but we should have. Husband stood very still for a couple of seconds at least, looking at all the damage from the bomb. I see his face and laughter begins to rumble in my belly-- something can in fact throw him off his cool train, and that something happened to weigh the same as a bag of sugar--but I try to keep quiet for the nurse's sake who is still clueless as to whats just happened. Also, for our reputation in the baby' pediatrician's office. After his damage assessment, he began trying to locate the thermometer and I stare at my phone wondering what would come up if I were to google "hazmat team...San Diego".

"What's her temperature?" The nurse asks.

*Shuffling sounds* on our end.

She asks again.

"Umm...one, one second. She just pooped." My husbands voice has risen a few octaves. "She just pooped the thermometer out all over the place...I wasn't prepared for this. Oh man. This is bad."

I begin to laugh uncontrollably. And I try to find something to clean the disaster that just attacked the entire nursery. Baby T is just staring around, kicking her little legs proudly.

"Did you get her temperature yet, sir?"

"Ummm....I...I got a lot going on here."

"Should I use a towel to clean this?" I manage to get out of my mouth through laughs. I've not seen my husband so taken aback by anything. Ive not seen him lose his cool or his ability to multi task. I cant stop laughing, then I feel something wet on my feet. Fearful, I look down.

Do you remember what I was doing before the nurse called back? Yea...pumping the udders.

So now I'm running around like a raging milk cow trying to catch milk with my hands while I look for a towel for him to at least wipe his hands with. Seriously, you do not want to come to our house anytime soon--not until I get that hazmat team over here.

It was a low point for us. We weren't prepared. We weren't prepared at all. Who knew a 5 pound baby could spew something out of her ass like a bullet bouncing around a ribcage, while not skipping a beat with her leg kicks? We do now I suppose. Yea, and experienced parents, why don't you warn new parents about this type of thing? I mean, we don't know what we are doing! We used KY Jelly on our newborn because none of you sons o'bitches thought you should mention that picking up some vaseline may be useful. A little help could have gone a long way and possibly saved a teddy bear's life. I guess its funny to you assholes to hear about little mishaps like this one. Jackassholes.

So, if you're a new parent or a soon to be parent and you need to take your baby's temperature rectally, let me help you newbies out--get some lube that's appropriate for babies and that you won't feel like shitballs for using on an infant, get some goggles, put on your worst clothes, and have a lawn size trash bag waiting at the end of the changing table for the explosion thats to come. Maybe you can catch at least some of it in the bag. You're welcome and may the force be with you.

A year has passed--Potatoes, eggs, and a NEW BABY!

Well hello there. You may remember me. I used to blog here and on occasion offended people...made fun of people, etc, etc, etc. All of this pretty much came to a screeching halt last year when I got pregnant. That's right, there is an offspring and its a she. She's already given me the finger several times, thrown up all over me, pooped ALL over me, and yanks my hair out hourly with her tiny demon fingers, so it is clear to me that she has inherited my genes and I will be repaid ten fold for how I have lived my life. Ehh, not to mention her father is a real ass too, so we are in trouble. Anyway, I digress. I stopped blogging because well to be honest, I was in the trenches. I was in the dirty, evil trenches of the 7th layer of hell also known as pregnancy. I was too busy trying to keep my head above water, err, out of the toilet to blog. I mean, it was a real, real hell of a time. And what really pissed me off was that nobody told me how awful pregnancy could be. Nobody warns you which, in my opinion is a complete and total betrayal among the female race. Aren't we supposed to stick together you bitches?! Ha! (No is the answer to this question obviously.) I finally decided it was because the women in the world want all the other women to go through what they went through. Its like this secret among mothers and they are all in this little mommy club just mothereffing the hell out of the cute little naive, newly pregnant girl that has no idea what she is walking into.

Are you puzzled? Are you thinking, "I never felt better than when I was pregnant." Well go straight to hell I say! Do not even bother doing the dishes. Just get up , go find the nearest bus and stand in front of it because you are hated by many women…even if they don't say that to your face. Or whatever, don't go to hell. Just know that one day you may say that to the wrong woman and she may lose it and I can't say I'd blame her. Especially if she's pregnant…and having a hard time. Especially if she spends her whole day swallowing just so she doesn't throw up all over everything around her. Especially if she has popped every pill the OB prescribed to her to help her be able to eat something other than a baked potato and all she got in return was 9 days of constipation from the pills. And especiallyyyyy, if her husband just happened to walk through the door from an emergency grocery store run because she ran out of potatoes and when she looked in the bag, she wanted to shove them down his throat because the only explanation for the size of these damn potatoes is that he got them from Saturn or Neptune or some-freaking-where in outer space and she knew they would NEVER microwave properly.

**Here is where I will stop pretending that this story happened to someone else. It isn't about someone else. Its actually about me, sadly.**

So, I go into the kitchen, wash the giant brick of a potato, all the while knowingggg its fate. I slammed it into the microwave and after 5 minutes, I retrieved the still hard as a rock potato. After 3 more minutes, then 4 more minutes, the damn thing no longer looked like food. The ends were wrinkled and the pure life had been nuked out of it, yet the middle was still hard as a rock. This was not edible. Translation to a pregnant, miserable, sick, irrational girl=breakdown. Full on total, uncontrollable emotional breakdown. I started stabbing it. Hard. With a really sharp knife. Which alerted my husband who was sitting in a nearby room, probably oblivious to how much his potato purchase had knocked me off my rocker. Stab. Stab. Stabstabstabstab. Long sigh. "Stupid, stupid, potato." STAB. Stabstabstab. Stab STAB. "Grrrrrrrrr." Another sigh. Tears. Tears. Can no longer see through the tears, yet still stabbing the potato and calling it stupid. And then I couldn't get my breath, but don't worry, Im still stabbing it with the extra sharp knife. I think this is the point where my husband finally was able to catch my hand that was doing the stabbing and take it out of my hand. And then I fell into his chest, sobbing and crying, and drooling all over his shirt as I tried to tell him what was wrong, but only spit bubbles gurgled out of my mouth.

What?? Don't act like you've never cried like that. Maybe it wasn't over a potato but you know you've cried like that.

I finally was able to say, "I hate that potato!!!!!" He was able to look and see what the problem was, although there were bits and chunks and pieces of potato all over the counter at that point. Long story short (ha), he made me another one while I sat on the couch and caught my breath and wiped my nose.

And this was my life. This was my life for 10 months. Oh, you thought pregnancy was 9 months?? Nerp, its 10. Surpriseeee bitches! There was also a little thing called gestational diabetes that occurred very shortly after I was able to actually eat and enjoy food again. And really, I could not think of anything except the fact that I was pregnant and was forced to eat a very limited diet, lacking anything and everything I actually enjoyed eating including pasta, pizza, cupcakes, chocolate, pie, cookies, and soda. It really was just bullshit. Near the end, I had to leave a restaurant because I was crying due to the fact that I had to eat eggs for breakfast for the 3rd month in a row. Yes, eggs every morning for three months because this kept my blood sugar under control. Holy holy holy balls. It was like a torture prison. I didn't want to blog! I didn't want to live!!!

So anyway. Here we all are now. Baby T is 2 months old, so I survived. My husband survived, luckily. Zeus and Fritz made it. Louie the first, our fish, sadly didn't make it, but I guess all wars have casualties.

So, now I'm one of those annoying people that only post pictures of their baby. I used to hateee people like that. I know people hate me and my baby posts. Oh well. Its my life now. Sometimes I brush my hair, but mostly I just take pictures of baby T doing the same thing she did yesterday and the day before that. I mean, she's two months old. She can't like really doooo a whole lot. I'm thinking of starting a separate blog about motherhood, so this one can continue to be about how much I hate people. No blurred lines here. Ugh, hate that song. Do I sound like my brain is smaller than the last time I blogged? Because I am pretty sure it is. The baby took a lot from me. But in all seriousness, I've heard pregnant women's brains literally get smaller. But I thought it grew back?? Its going to go back to normal size soon right? Oh yea, none of you bitches will tell any of us other bitches the truth about anything anyway so why am I asking?!

Welp, I need to sign off. My husband just said I was being vile to him. How is that even possible when all I'm doing is sitting on the floor writing this blog? Silently writing a blog, and still manage to be vile. That, folks, takes true talent.

Hope you've all had a really swell last year and were able to eat things other than potatoes and eggs. (Not really.)




Disclaimer:

It took me a long, long time to get pregnant. Roughly 3 years. A lot of shots, and procedures, and uncomfortable doctors appointments later, I managed to get pregnant. Something so many people take for granted. (hate you all too, by the way) Do not think for one second that I am not overwhelmingly, monumentally, insanely grateful for this precious little miracle baby girl. My heart is overflowing. I still, however, hate eggs and martian-grown potatoes.  

**No, I did not stab Louie the first with a knife. I assume he died from natural causes.**