Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Random Thoughts, My Favorite Kind.


I'm resurrecting my blog.  Me writing this now is the equivalent of Dr. Frankenstein exposing his monster to the lightning and shouting "Live!" in an overly-dramatic tone.  Let's hope I'm more successful with reanimation than the good doc.


Quite possibly the most hilarious parenting decision a person can make.

Actually, it was less of a "Decision" than it was a "Result".  Evelyn didn't want to sleep in her crib, and I didn't want to lose a week's worth of sleep trying to get her to sleep in her crib, so naturally she ended up in bed with me.  Hence, the result of my exhaustion and laziness.  

It started off cute enough - we would go to bed and lay in the dark until she fell asleep, which facilitated some of the best moments of my motherhood thus far, like the time when she turned toward me, pressed her little nose up against mine and started stroking my cheek.  (Actually, looking back on it now, that might have been some kind of plot to get me to sleep fast so she could go shopping online or something.)

Then, the farts began.

They started out quite innocent.  Sometimes, I would question whether I actually heard anything or not as a tiny toot squeaked by.  Gradually, though, they became these big productions complete with their own dance numbers that would involve intricate twists and turns.  Caution:  Audience members in the first three rows might get punched.  The show would always end with a gaseous eruption the likes of which would make a drunk frat boy blush.  Encore?  Sure, why not!

Log-rolling is one of her favorite things now.  She has limited space on the bed between the wall and my pregnant belly, so she maximizes it by rolling into a rock or a hard place and then manages to somehow continue rotating her body.  Sometimes, she ends up on her stomach with her butt in the air (Act II of the fart show, perhaps), sometimes she ends up on her back in a funny super-hero pose.  Rarely, she ends up on her side curled up to me like I remember from our nights of sleep when she was much less mobile.

This of course leads to a lot of interesting ways for me to wake up:  Suffocating in pee-smelling diaper butt is just one of the ways I've been woken up before.  Far less hilarious and much more adorable is when she's sitting next to my face, patting my arm and saying "Mama?" with a huge grin.

Some people think co-sleeping is dangerous (mostly the crib industry), some people think it's weird (because putting your baby in a box in a dark, lonely room to sleep is completely natural), and some people just plain don't get it.  Clearly, none of these people have ever woken up to a baby's forehead pressed against theirs, eyes shining with anticipation for them to wake up and provide copious amounts of morning kisses without ever having to leave the bed first.

My son has no name.

I'm 33 weeks pregnant with a little boy who mercilessly beats upon my bladder and treats my diaphragm as his own personal trampoline while I'm trying to sleep.  Tums have become their own food group to counteract the burning sting of near-constant heartburn.  I'm collecting stretch marks like they'll be auctioned off at Christie's for millions of dollars someday.  My belly button pops through my shirt like a turkey timer and braless, my breasts dangle to my knees.  I gained nearly a third of my body weight in six months, I have no center of gravity anymore, I can't sleep and I still have to chase a nearly 1-yr-old child around all day regardless of whether I'm getting light-headed from random drops in blood pressure or if I'm suffering a hot flash.  I pee every hour but I can't poop; I'm hungry but my stomach is too smashed up inside me to allow me to eat enough to satisfy myself.  My hormones are out of control and I'm starting to get extremely uncomfortable Braxton-Hicks contractions that make standing up and breathing at the same time seem like some kind of magic trick.

And my husband still won't give me the final say on my son's name.

In Erie.

I'm in Erie right now visiting family.  My mom can't sleep in the same room as my dad because he snores so loudly, so she's in the other guest room across from the one the baby and I are staying in.  I can hear her doing that "I'm going to sigh just loud enough to let you know that I'm still awake and I disapprove of you being up this late despite the fact that you're nearly 28 years old and can make the decision for yourself of when to go to bed" kind of sighing, so I guess I'm done updating.  

...for now.  Live, little blog!  LIVE!