The thing about living in this city is that it doesn’t matter how vast it is, how many people it consumes, the speed it works in — it never seems to let me forget how many times I’ve loved and hurt and been broken, or where these things happened. It doesn’t matter how many new places, nooks, corners, high rises I discover, it doesn’t matter how many someones you surround yourself with — seeing that one flower shop, sitting in that park, watching that fountain flow, passing that church tower, running around like kids in the biggest known toy store in the city will never erase the memories you spent with the one you thought you’d spend something like forever with. And even if these places disappear, fall down, crash, or are rebuilt — you come to realize that the memories don’t go that easily, and they will stay, for however long they can, in the deepest corner of your heart, because at one time they meant the world and sometimes you’ll miss it, want to relive it, but someday somebody will change your mind and in time, the city will look anew again, ready for more adventures in love.
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
I know it's weird to post that you've had a boring day, but I totally did. I was nearly dying of boredom.
Cary got me up at seven thirty this morning. Which isn't bad - he's still not used to the time change, but I don't actually mind: I need to get up earlier than I have been, so this is actually the most perfect excuse in the world to get up.
Do you know how much is on at seven thirty on a Saturday morning? Nothing. Yeah, even with my bazillion channels from Bell, there is absolutely nothing to watch (actually, TV in general has nothing to watch on TV these days).
So I decided to do some cleaning. I am so in a Monica mood right now. We're talking borderline obsessed right now. FYI: not pregnant.
Okay, so anyway, after the whole cleaning up and waiting for my hung-over husband to get up (different story, another day) I laid around and waited. And watched some really lame shows on the DIY network. And waited. And then Shane came over. Then we went to Home Depot. Then we bugged my mother in law at her house, THE END.
Today does not mark my best of days lived awesomely. I think I'll just forget about it.
I don't like not having anything to do. Makes me feel lazy.
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
Busta Rhymes feat. Estelle: World Go RoundO-Zone: Dragostea Din Tei
Superbus: Lola
MC Solaar: Le Belle et La Bad Boy
Sean Kingston: Face Drop
MGMT: Kids
Europe: The Final Countdown
I like to expose my baby to a plethora of really terrible music.
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
Why is it that my life revolves around this? It's actually kind of embarrassing. If I'm not cleaning up poop I'm wondering when it will come. And when it's not there, I start getting freaked out. It's something every mother deals with. And even when they're potty training, you don't get a rest from it. You spend eons teaching the little buggers how to wipe their butts. Go talk to some moms if you never have. See how many times the word "breast" or "boob" comes up, then how many times you hear any form of the word "poop".
I don't know where Cary's bowel irregularity comes from. I have a highly attuned colon and can practically set my watch by my bowel movements. Now if that's not more information than you actually wanted, then I don't know what is. I feed him a plethora of fruits because, let's face it. Fruit makes you poop. Breastmilk apparently makes you poop. However, the instant that I give him something else it's waiting. And waiting. And waiting for number two to drop. He did not get a good large intestine from his mother. It doesn't matter whatsoever what I put in my mouth. I will always void at 8.30 in the morning. If I'm lucky, it's again at three in the afternoon.
Last week he went four days without taking a deuce. FOUR DAYS. This kid used to crap twice a day, religiously, once his I'm-a-poop-factory-newborn stage wore off. When I started him on über wet solids it went down to once a day. He's still getting the ridiculously wet food and he even has his sippy tumbler full of water that he likes to drink, but do you think that helps? No.
When he hadn't gone for four days I was starting to get worried. Every day he'd give a half-hearted push but nothing came out. He was still gassy and passing that. I even palpated his abdomen and listened to it with a stethoscope to hear if there was any sounds in his gut (when I think about this, I was listening for equine colic) or hard parts. No. No hardness anywhere, and still bubbly and farty. I went and bought some Parent's Choice prunes for him. I wish I had taken a picture of the jar because on the front, there are two blissful, happy, smiling, sleepy looking whole prunes. I tried googling a picture of it, but alas. I thought it was cute and didn't really put anymore consideration into it.
The kid loved the prunes. I have never seen anyone inhale food like that before. Because I tend to be really stupid at times, I didn't consider how much was going in.
He ate a whole jar in one sitting. Yup. You can re-read that if you want, I'll wait.
After that he went down for a nap and I decided to google how long it was going to take for the prunes to exit his system. Oh, crap. Prepare for the explosion.
Boy, did it explode. You could see every color of the rainbow in that poop. Sweet Potato Orange. Banana Yellow. Breastmilk Brown. And Prune Purple. It was so thick, gloppy and profuse that poop ended up in his hair. When his father took his onesie to the wash, gagging the whole way, globs of poop fell onto the linoleum. I will confess this here and now. I was secretly laughing my ass off when I heard him gagging. It doesn't take a whole lot. If I see someone eat toenails (it was on Tyra Banks!) then, yeah, I'll gag. But it has to be some kind of crazy mutant poop in order for me to gag at it.
Anyway, so I drew a bath for Cary, which was hard because I didn't want to put him on anything, nor touch him. He had so much poop everywhere I couldn't believe it. I can't even begin to describe the poop everywhere. I had to bath him twice to get all the crap off of him. First one ended up dying the water the same colors found in his drawers (and between his shoulder blades) which then had to be changed and fresh added back into the water.
That whole incident wasn't too bad.
The worst one was when I let him have naked tummy time and he pooped all over the carpet. Twice. His butt was like a volcano of feces spewing everywhere. I had fed him avocado earlier, so that was a sweet green color. No odour, luckily.
The part that makes this so bad is that I was home alone with Cary, Kendo, Huggy, Porsche and Shylo. Have you ever tried to clean up a poopy baby AND keep away two Boston terriers that are absolutely intent on noshing on some of the pure awesomeness that they smell coming out of the baby's bowels? You need about seventeen hands and a mega phone. You have to stun them into stopping what they're doing, and then use a meter stick to keep them at bay. That, or you have to start using your feet and yelling in their squashed, shit eating faces.
And imagine, once you have the baby cleaned up, put into his jumpy chair so he's out of the way, and most of the offending mass off of the Berber carpet, that you have to turn your back for two seconds to actually retrieve the carpet shampooer. Just think about it. THINK what two extremely determined, terrier-like, fecal-philes are going to do. They're going to go to town for as long as your eyes are off of them. Which is exactly what the disgusting rotters did.
Now that. That makes me gag.
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
My record keeping for October was spotty at best. I don't know why I didn't post anything. It's not like nothing at all happened. My baby turned six months old. I turned twenty-five. We JUST celebrated Halloween, or Spooktacular '09 as I like to call it.
But I've also been feeling more saddened lately. I think that's why I don't write much. I don't want to dwell on the fact that I'm feeling less than happy, and overwhelmed with things. Baby class getting canceled was a huge downer for me, even with the ability to meet up with other mommies outside of the class. There was something nice about going over to the health place and talk there. Not that I don't enjoy going to people's homes, because I do.
Part of me is wondering if it's SAD - whether I'm feeling grumpy and out of sorts because the days are so short. It's hard to get out of bed in the mornings, and I hate that feeling. I will go get Cary if he needs me, but often we will head back to bed until I can manage to get up. Which is horribly, and stupidly sad if you ask me.
After my birthday party, which I didn't even really post about, I looked at my home after twenty-some people had been in here and I just wanted to fall down in a heap and bawl my eyes out. It was such a mess; it still is to be honest. I have tried making attempts at tidying when I don't have any really pressing work to deal with and when Cary's having a good long sleep. But I never seem to make a dent in it. I don't just sit on the couch and watch Dr Phil either. I actually put things away, fill the dishwasher and wash clothes. I try to vacuum often (with two cats and two dogs...it's never ending!) and wash my floors.
But this week I just couldn't keep up. I didn't get to do my Friday-big-time-clean up like I wanted to. I usually do that. I got busy doing some work things. Cary was awake lots. My dogs were fighting. I didn't get clothes put away. I felt very defeated and like I just - couldn't.
I admitted, out loud, in Bible study on Thursday that I have postpartum depression and I feel like it's been rough. People were extremely understanding and for that I was grateful. In a way, I don't like talking about it because that forces me to think about it. But I know the only way I'm going to cleanse my soul of this horrible feeling is to start pouring the blackness out of it: even if the only way out is through my mouth.
I'm not looking for sympathy when I write this. I am merely trying to vent out my thoughts and feelings on here. I'm trying to work through things. I am truly happy if someone can find this, read this and relate to anything at all that I am saying. I am grateful for people's advice and assistance through this process I'm going through. If you have nothing to say, that's fine. You may be bored to death and hate this, and for that I apologize, but I need to get things off my chest.
It's like being locked in a clear box sometimes. Out in the middle of the desert. In a way you don't really want to get out of that box because you don't like the prospect of what's out there. The prospect of still being alone, though uncramped. Of wandering through your life wondering if you're ever going to see someone. Part of you wonders if you should just go back into your box.
And then, when you're not looking for it, there's an oasis where you can hang out.
That being said I have joined NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) for November 2009. So I hope to have thirty, good, solid entries here ;)
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
I wish I had time to take photos for this because it'd be a gooder.
You know there's the seven "deadly" sins, right? Mine's definitely vanity and pride. I had to narrow it down. See, I don't really care about food, so I'm not a glutton. if something isn't fun, I'm not going to keep doing it (anti-glutton for punishment). I do enjoy money, but I am absolutely not obsessed with it, thus greed is out. I haven't actually seen anyone, since Richie, that I've wanted to jump the bones of, thus, I am not lustful. i tend to be a bit overly dramatic, and a tad quick tempered, but I also get over it VERY quickly and I don't ever feel the need to seek revenge on someone. Then there's envy. I don't know anyone who, at one time or another, hasn't said "Oh, I wish I had ______________ like her." be it hair, makeup, a body, a husband, yada yada yada. Sometimes I wish that I had Anne Hathaway's lips (they're nice on her face!). I have admitted to being lazy a time or two, but overall I am pretty proud (ha!) of how much I can accomplish in a day, so I wouldn't say sloth is one of my worst vices.
Which brings us to the vanity/pride thing.
I care about how I look.
There, I said it. While I don't really care if other people think I look beautiful, I care about it (very much!) on my own level. I don't compare myself to other women in terms of looks, though. It's kind of hard to explain. It's kind of like a dog. Dogs don't know what they look like, and they think everyone is nice looking. I'm like that too: I think every woman, regardless of her age, race, hair style, etc. has something beautiful about them. But me....I think that if I don't have a stitch of makeup on or am wearing truly hideous clothes, then I feel really bad about myself. It's not even that I think other people think poorly of me: it's my OWN thoughts about my OWN SELF.
While my makeup regime is very simple, I feel like I must do it. I always moisturize. I use anti-aging skin treatments. I use Burt's Bees night creme. SPF is my best friend. I wear big mascara every single day (and have tested out a myriad of products, so if you have any questions about popular brands, let me know!), as well as lipstick/lip gloss. And that's it. I have a very simple approach on makeup and find, for me, less is more. I feel positively nude without these two things. Oh, and I wear perfume too.
Pride. Have I ever told you that I, under no circumstances, let people help me? Well, that's not entirely true. If something is very heavy, then I will let them help me. But if it's something like I don't know the meaning of a word, or I don't know what a term means, I am much more content and happy to find it out myself than have someone tell me. This part of me IS very concerned of how people think of me. I don't want to be thought of as stupid. Nothing bothers me more. I'd rather spend a thousand days "looking" ugly than one day feeling stupid. I don't like to feel incapable. I like to have my crap together, even if this mother thing is kicking my ass at it.
I feel deliciously happy when I can tell people that I work from home, take care of my home, and take care of my son. While my home suffers a bit (which is why I've taken to doing my big clean for the week on Fridays, and my laundry on Mondays), I still think I'm doing a good job: and I don't feel like I'm struggling. Except on the days when the postpartum is taking a hit...then I feel like I can't do anything right. Man, those are not very good days, let me tell you.
Wow...that was a lot more cathartic than I thought it would be. :)
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
Actually, if you're still using IE 6, then I suggest upgrading or installing firefox.
I'm also using the FLIR plugin to make fonts appear in the headlines; at least I HOPE that's what's happening right now. It might not work. Ah well. I guess I'll find out.
So, some slightly bummed out news: my baby class got canceled! Because of H1N1 and the nursing short-staffing in this province, they are pulling every nurse from any non-essential group or work, except for the home visits and post-partum problems - but that type of stuff is essential. What that means is that class got canceled and we just found out about it today. And today was our last class. I wanted to cry.
Luckily, some people in the group had their brains together and we figured we could either host it at one person's house, or rotate houses. I wouldn't mind having people over, aside from the fact that we have two cats and two dogs. Not that I don't enjoy it, but I know that not everyone loves the pets: and they don't have to. So, we'll see how next week's meeting goes. I really hope that the other mommies show up for the class. It can be lots of fun.
Except for today...we talked about sexuality after birth and pregnancy. It wasn't bad by any means, but I felt kind of strange. All the talk about boob spraying milk, and husbands being gun shy...it was interesting. I think that's a better word.
Well, that's all I've got for right now. Cary hasn't done anything interesting or exciting or funny lately. Really. He's just been his normal, happy, drooling adorable little self.
Originally published at diaper bag princess. You can comment here or there.
I had something I don't normally have: the turkey wrap with red onions (bleh), avocado, turkey, lettuce, tomato (double bleh) and honey mustard. Did not enjoy. although my fries, as per usual, were perfection, and my mango pasta salad was awesome and swimming in dill. Is there a greater food additive than dill? No. Well, unless it comes in the form of chips, then Old Dutch ketchup is the clear winner.
Through dinner I thought it would be hilarious to ask Richie to do weird things that may or may not turn a person on. Things such as wearing a dog collar and a red patent leather leash. Then he said I should wear chaps, a leather vest and one of those weird leather biker hats. To get him back, I asked him if he was thinking about Baby Girl in that outfit.
Before I met Richie, he used to work at clubs doing promo and stuff and was a spectator at many a wet t-shirt contest. Insert eye roll here. It nauseates me. Anyway, so there was this one slightly obese girl (the way he tells the story, he makes it sound like she had orbiting moons, but I'll give the girl the benefit of the doubt and say that she was just overweight.) that liked to enter the wet t-shirt contests. They tried all kinds of stall tactics so she couldn't enter, such as: "we have enough girls this time", "you had to enter earlier in the night", and "we ran out of shirts". To combat this, she'd bring her own shirts and once all the other wet t-shirt ladies left, she'd get into the kiddie pool herself and get herself all wet. And then roll around on the dance floor in her clingy wet shirt. she nicknamed herself "Baby Girl", so that's the only way I know her.
Every time I feel the need to disgust Richie I just have to ask him about Baby Girl.
Once we were thoroughly disgusted with one another, we headed off to the movies to watch Where The Wild Things Are. A bit slow...but as you can imagine, making a nearly 2h flick out of a 7 page children's book is no easy task, so kudos to Spike Jonze for that. i loved the wild things. They were so unbelievably perfect. Go see, but do not let children watch it. Once scene involves some arm ripping...and it's actually pretty frightening.
Before all of this awesomeness transpired I partook in a mom-to-mom sale not all that far from where I live. After spending approximately $58, I have outfitted my child with a number of clothes, mostly pants, some Robeez and an exer-saucer that's practically in mint condition. oh, and I also saw my old best friend from elementary school there that I haven't seen since I was twelve. Small world, eh?
She's recently had her third baby (and oh my lord, CUTE!) and is living not too terribly far from here. I just thought that was nice.
Other than that, been feeling pretty depressed again...so that's not so good.
