This has nothing to do with 30 being the new 20, but I think it's a funny thing to put as a title.
It's been rather hot where we live and I've been unmotivated to go outside in such heat with my tiny person whose skin is as fair as mine, and me with my pregnant bun-oven already cranking up my internal temp.
So today the bud and I went to the mall. The nearest indoor mall to us (which is not the nearest mall to us) and we were greeted by magnificent air conditioning and new sights to see. I really rallied myself to get us there. Errands and going about town don't usually take so much out of me but as per my previous post I'm still getting past the "meh" in my head and the tired in my body, particularly with the part of life that is figuring out how to entertain the bud with things he'll enjoy, and ideally things I'll enjoy with him. You might be thinking - why would a toddler enjoy the mall? And I will tell you - the people to watch, the bright things to see, and the comfy, COMFY, air conditioning.
I had no solid plan of what to do when we got there. At the very least I figured I'd find a 70-yr-old mall-walker and follow that guy's path until Emmett's internal alarm for TIME FOR SOMETHING NEW went off, then we'd leave.
And now this is the story of The Gifts from The Mall:
My phone battery was at 8%. May as well take me out back and put me out of my misery if that thing dies (no WAZE?!), so I had to figure something out. I remembered to bring a battery pack but left the charging cable at home. Classic. Not 20 seconds into our mall adventure I walk by a small kiosk in a department store and thought - they must have a charging cable at this $10 And Under kiosk amongst the neon paraphernalia and furry keychains. They did (a hot pink one, score - so anyone 'borrowing' it will be caught pink-handed) and I happened to have a very, very old gift card for this department store that came within coins of covering the cost of the cable.
BOOM. Gift.
We were trolling for mall-walkers when I decided to pop into Baby GAP, just to see (maybe check out their maternity clothes area?) and imagine my disappointment when the clerk told me they cleared out their maternity section and will only be selling it online now!
Dear GAP - This is dumb. We pregnant people may make up a small percentage of your customer base but I assure you, when we are no longer pregnant WE HAVE BABIES and then CHILDREN and we want them to wear your clothes. Please treat us well while we are arguably insane and our bodies are changing every week and we are just trying to look cute and feel good so please, please let us try on these weird, paneled versions of your 1969's in the store and not have to deal with online returns if something doesn't fit because we will already be devaaassstaaaateeed that even though the size chart says "we" should be a Medium based on our pre-pregnancy size, "we" are truly a Large. And if I get this pregnant bod and that toddler to GLENDALE then I'll be damned if you can't just put some clothes on a friggin' rack.
Thank you,
Meg Miller
Anyway.
The clerk said to me, "We actually have a few maternity items here behind the counter, though, if you want to look through them."
I hesitated, figuring they're all either tiny sizes or super frumpy.
She said, "These items came here from another store just to clear the inventory and everything is marked down."
Marked down, eh?
"And everything is 90% off the ticketed price," she said!!!!
What? I mean, "It's 90% off the already marked down price?"
"Yes," she said!!!!
"Well, sure, I may as well take a look," I said. (!!!!)
I walked outta that place with two pairs of pants, a shirt, and a dress for a grand total of $3.49! USD! Including tax! Okay, GAP, okay. Thanks for that.
BOOM. Gift.
I also walked out of that place with a little bud who made himself a very stinky diaper while vrooming around the fitting room with his dump truck (the irony). And zero diapers. Yes, I left the house with ZERO DIAPERS.
We went directly to Target where I thought pretty hard about what diapers to get - the cheap ones just to get us through? The slightly more expensive ones we usually get [20% off from Amazon Mom, delivered to our door] because those are the ones we like the best? I went with the cheap ones, purchased them, had a tally of just three dirty looks from people with keen sniffers, went into the bathroom, and discovered/remembered that Emmett wears size 5 diapers. Not the size 3's that I just opened. Whatever. I went for it because dude's poop was kinda watery and it soaked through to his shorts. He's on the table, pant-less. There is no time, NO TIME!
The bud wasn't having it. The toilets were flushing, loudly. Everyone was opting for the hand blow-dryer instead of paper towels, loudly. There were a hundred people in there. Emmett was real bummed, like, reeeal bummed. I calmly sang Old MacDonald and Wheels on the Bus as if he gave a shit (pun) and as if he could even hear me over the chaos. Eventually the loud noises stopped, the bud was happy and diapered, and remained pant-less and strapped into his stroller, wagging his finger toward everything we passed asking, "Whussat? Whussat?" as we exited the bathroom.
I decided to try returning or exchanging the pack of diapers. Thankfully I got a 40-something, mom/aunt type lady when I stepped up to the Guest Services counter. As I glanced at Emmett's bare baby thighs and exposed diaper, I said, "Ummmmmmmmmm, we just had a sort of diaper emergency and I purchased this pack of diapers which is actually two sizes too small. I used one, but I'm wondering if I may exchange them, or...?" The lady asked for my receipt, gave me a reassuring look, scanned the diaper pack and handed me $7.07.
BOOM. Gift.
THANK YOU, TARGET. Thank you for the complimentary diaper that barely covered my son's pant-less cheeks because of my baby brain moment. Thank you, mom/aunt lady for being caring and understanding of this mall-walk gone wrong.
And thanks, again, GAP, for practically giving me those maternity clothes which will help me feel and look good while I set my Gratitude sail and raise my Sense of Humor flag. (See previous post.)
Thanks also to the bud for hanging in there and being awesome and not carin' to have no pants. And for refusing to even wear shoes during this whole ordeal which made us look EXTRA ghetto.
And to the lady warrior within me for the RALLY.
And to you!
And you!
And YOU get a car, and YOU get a car!
And thanks to Oprah. Because of the YOU get a car joke.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Twenty-nine. Meh.
Do you ever have those days that are really meehhhh and the days turn to weeks, months, etc.? I've been in my head about stuff (all kinds of stuff) and have had the urge to crawl into my cave and hide away until things are more...something else. Just more something else.
Hence, no Not-Blog posts. I didn't want to gooooo there in my posts and also couldn't bring myself to document any funny, informative, or otherwise intriguing stories. But sometimes things are just shitty and that's wussup. Or they seem it, feel it, smell it.
I've been very tired in all the usual ways. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Trying to be a lady warrior always and do all the things and be pumped while doing them. What is the point of being or doing anything other than that?! Attitude does not have to be dictated by how much sleep I get or what my circumstances are that day, that week, or that season of life. Right - ?!
And then there are times a lady warrior steps back and says, "Okay, then." And sits on the bed, maybe lies her head, and feels all the feels and and reads Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss to herself and no one else and grieves and celebrates the parts of her that are on trial in her mind.
Then that lady warrior's little bud wakes up from his nap and he's groggy and whiney and she picks him up and snuggles him close and he quiets down and lies next to her, sucking his thumb, and she stares at his face with her face so close she's fogging up his eyelids and she remembers that she can and she will. She'll do all the things and be pumped about it because LIFE, that's why, and GRATITUDE is her sail and she will raise it and go.
Then that bud opens his eyes and takes his slobbery thumb out of his mouth and promptly pushes her face away leaving saliva on her cheek and nose and she's like - Oh, right. Life. - and continues raising her Gratitude sail, and also raises her Sense of Humor flag and carries on.
Hence, no Not-Blog posts. I didn't want to gooooo there in my posts and also couldn't bring myself to document any funny, informative, or otherwise intriguing stories. But sometimes things are just shitty and that's wussup. Or they seem it, feel it, smell it.
I've been very tired in all the usual ways. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually. Trying to be a lady warrior always and do all the things and be pumped while doing them. What is the point of being or doing anything other than that?! Attitude does not have to be dictated by how much sleep I get or what my circumstances are that day, that week, or that season of life. Right - ?!
And then there are times a lady warrior steps back and says, "Okay, then." And sits on the bed, maybe lies her head, and feels all the feels and and reads Oh, the Places You'll Go! by Dr. Seuss to herself and no one else and grieves and celebrates the parts of her that are on trial in her mind.
Then that lady warrior's little bud wakes up from his nap and he's groggy and whiney and she picks him up and snuggles him close and he quiets down and lies next to her, sucking his thumb, and she stares at his face with her face so close she's fogging up his eyelids and she remembers that she can and she will. She'll do all the things and be pumped about it because LIFE, that's why, and GRATITUDE is her sail and she will raise it and go.
Then that bud opens his eyes and takes his slobbery thumb out of his mouth and promptly pushes her face away leaving saliva on her cheek and nose and she's like - Oh, right. Life. - and continues raising her Gratitude sail, and also raises her Sense of Humor flag and carries on.
Monday, June 27, 2016
28: Parts!!!
Our new baby has a penis!!! We will have BROTHERS! I'm so excited.
Finding out the gender...or sex...or, let's just call it anatomy - is a surreal moment. Both times (the first time with the bud and this second time with the nugget) it was like meeting this baby for the first time. The little blurry cloud of "a baby" in the family picture because much more clear. It's not just a hypothetical baby anymore. It's a boy! A tiny boy. A full, separate, unique, new person in this family. Similar to the one before but not actually at all. Maybe in his looks (he definitely has the same nose). But that's all! We have a whole lifetime with this person to learn all about him and I CAN'T WAIT!
I wonder if his farts will smell like peppery eggs and if I'll like it as much as I did with Emmett.
Finding out the gender...or sex...or, let's just call it anatomy - is a surreal moment. Both times (the first time with the bud and this second time with the nugget) it was like meeting this baby for the first time. The little blurry cloud of "a baby" in the family picture because much more clear. It's not just a hypothetical baby anymore. It's a boy! A tiny boy. A full, separate, unique, new person in this family. Similar to the one before but not actually at all. Maybe in his looks (he definitely has the same nose). But that's all! We have a whole lifetime with this person to learn all about him and I CAN'T WAIT!
I wonder if his farts will smell like peppery eggs and if I'll like it as much as I did with Emmett.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
27: Parts
At this stage of pregnancy if the baby is a boy his testes will start descending into the scrotum and the penis is fully developed. If it's a girl, her ovaries are fully developed and are holding about 7 million eggs.
So, in my uterus there is either:
1. A penis.
2. One half of any potential grandchild I'll have from this kid.
We find out tomorrow!
So, in my uterus there is either:
1. A penis.
2. One half of any potential grandchild I'll have from this kid.
We find out tomorrow!
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
26: A Host with the Most
This baby is moving and grooving in my uterus and IT FEELS WEIRD. It's never really something I got used to with Emmett and it feels just as strange this time around.
I mean, it was regular and fine and sometimes neat. But I was never like, "I LOVE FEELING A HUMAN INSIDE OF ME!" Because that's weird.
A human - IN MY UTERUS. Living in my body like a parasite. It eats what I eat, it drinks what I drink. It's sucking life out of me so that it can live. To be clear, I'm really happy that it does all of this because I want it to thrive in there, since that's the current design of procreation. But I've got some major suggestions for improvement, as I've mentioned before.
For example, though - why does it have to be in a uterus? We know about marsupials! We know they've got the pouch. And in my opinion, that pouch should be removable, adjustable, and shared. Like the Ergo (not an official endorsement - but clearly is a rad baby carrier).
Then there's the seahorse. Their reproduction process starts with a lady and a mister dancing and swimming together for hours - then the female deposits eggs into the male's pouch (after she decides, based on her intuition, his dancing skills are good, and so must be his pouch?) and DUDE carries those babes until it's time to release them. Just read this (from awebsitethatifound.com):
"Before breeding, seahorses may court for several days. Scientists believe the courtship behavior synchronizes the animals' movements and reproductive states so the male can receive the eggs when the female is ready to deposit them. During this time, they may change color, swim side by side holding tails or grip the same strand of sea grass with their tails, and wheel around in unison in what is known as a "predawn dance". They eventually engage in a "true courtship dance" lasting about 8 hours, during which the male pumps water through the egg pouch on his trunk which expands and opens to display its emptiness. When the female’s eggs reach maturity, she and her mate let go of any anchors and drift upward snout-to-snout, out of the seagrass, often spiraling as they rise. They interact for about 6 minutes, reminiscent of courtship. The female then swims away until the next morning, and the male returns to sucking up food through his snout.[14] The female inserts her ovipositor into the male’s brood pouch and deposits dozens to thousands of eggs. As the female releases her eggs, her body slims while his swells. Both animals then sink back into the seagrass and she swims away."
There are so many things to note here. But come on. "Her body slims while his swells." And then "...she swims away." [Probably to get a mani/pedi.]
This. Is. What. I'm. Talking. About.
I mean, it was regular and fine and sometimes neat. But I was never like, "I LOVE FEELING A HUMAN INSIDE OF ME!" Because that's weird.
A human - IN MY UTERUS. Living in my body like a parasite. It eats what I eat, it drinks what I drink. It's sucking life out of me so that it can live. To be clear, I'm really happy that it does all of this because I want it to thrive in there, since that's the current design of procreation. But I've got some major suggestions for improvement, as I've mentioned before.
For example, though - why does it have to be in a uterus? We know about marsupials! We know they've got the pouch. And in my opinion, that pouch should be removable, adjustable, and shared. Like the Ergo (not an official endorsement - but clearly is a rad baby carrier).
Then there's the seahorse. Their reproduction process starts with a lady and a mister dancing and swimming together for hours - then the female deposits eggs into the male's pouch (after she decides, based on her intuition, his dancing skills are good, and so must be his pouch?) and DUDE carries those babes until it's time to release them. Just read this (from awebsitethatifound.com):
"Before breeding, seahorses may court for several days. Scientists believe the courtship behavior synchronizes the animals' movements and reproductive states so the male can receive the eggs when the female is ready to deposit them. During this time, they may change color, swim side by side holding tails or grip the same strand of sea grass with their tails, and wheel around in unison in what is known as a "predawn dance". They eventually engage in a "true courtship dance" lasting about 8 hours, during which the male pumps water through the egg pouch on his trunk which expands and opens to display its emptiness. When the female’s eggs reach maturity, she and her mate let go of any anchors and drift upward snout-to-snout, out of the seagrass, often spiraling as they rise. They interact for about 6 minutes, reminiscent of courtship. The female then swims away until the next morning, and the male returns to sucking up food through his snout.[14] The female inserts her ovipositor into the male’s brood pouch and deposits dozens to thousands of eggs. As the female releases her eggs, her body slims while his swells. Both animals then sink back into the seagrass and she swims away."
There are so many things to note here. But come on. "Her body slims while his swells." And then "...she swims away." [Probably to get a mani/pedi.]
This. Is. What. I'm. Talking. About.
Monday, June 6, 2016
25: Baggage
The bud and I recently took a trip to Seattle. Walking through the airport, pushing a VERY loaded stroller (arms out-stretched, head down, huffing and puffing to get that thing to the gate), I noticed that all the tiniest people have the most luggage. And they have little to no ability to carry it themselves.
The oldest people barely have any luggage at all. We've got 80-yr-olds rolling with a wind-breaker, fanny pack, and - let's get real - one of those secret hide away wallets under their shirts and they get to have airport staff wheel them around like kings and queens (which, they are).
Meanwhile, I'm over here juggling one hundred thousand baggage items, a toddler, and the dirty looks of judgy people who are annoyed that my kid makes a peep. (Or a scream, maybe... but do I need to remind you, 29-yr-old hipster with your vintage leather bag, overpriced headphones, and iProducts popping out of every worn-out pocket of your skinny jeans, that we all started as toddlers?! EVEN YOU. You and your bearded face.)
I can easily pack everything I could need or want in one carry-on bag. If I really had to, I could even consolidate to the size of my JanSport backpack from 1998. But Emmett. EMMETT. He requires a full suitcase, a gate-checked stroller, a carseat bag, and a fully-stocked (read: over-stocked) diaper bag with all the essentials plus emergency measures. And of course, he must have his tiny, adorable backpack with his special items that he gets to carry. While I (read: the pack horse) carry the rest.
What. Is. Up. With. This. Picture.
(Disclaimer regarding the hipster reference: Wayne and I have hipster bags and all the major iProducts, skinny jeans, and worn out denim --- but we certainly do not have over-priced headphones.)
The oldest people barely have any luggage at all. We've got 80-yr-olds rolling with a wind-breaker, fanny pack, and - let's get real - one of those secret hide away wallets under their shirts and they get to have airport staff wheel them around like kings and queens (which, they are).
Meanwhile, I'm over here juggling one hundred thousand baggage items, a toddler, and the dirty looks of judgy people who are annoyed that my kid makes a peep. (Or a scream, maybe... but do I need to remind you, 29-yr-old hipster with your vintage leather bag, overpriced headphones, and iProducts popping out of every worn-out pocket of your skinny jeans, that we all started as toddlers?! EVEN YOU. You and your bearded face.)
I can easily pack everything I could need or want in one carry-on bag. If I really had to, I could even consolidate to the size of my JanSport backpack from 1998. But Emmett. EMMETT. He requires a full suitcase, a gate-checked stroller, a carseat bag, and a fully-stocked (read: over-stocked) diaper bag with all the essentials plus emergency measures. And of course, he must have his tiny, adorable backpack with his special items that he gets to carry. While I (read: the pack horse) carry the rest.
What. Is. Up. With. This. Picture.
(Disclaimer regarding the hipster reference: Wayne and I have hipster bags and all the major iProducts, skinny jeans, and worn out denim --- but we certainly do not have over-priced headphones.)
24: Party Time
The politically correct way to talk about one's Very Important Parts is "sex," not "gender."
So if we throw a party to reveal of the sex of this baby, do we have to call it a Sex Party?
That just doesn't seem right. Please advise.
So if we throw a party to reveal of the sex of this baby, do we have to call it a Sex Party?
That just doesn't seem right. Please advise.
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