Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Bubble Girls

15.5 months. We made it 15.5 months with only one minor instance of any kind of sickness (I am knocking on wood right now). Until now. Teags came down some kind of bug that gave her a pretty high temperature and a case of the cuddles. Which is somewhat rare, because she'd rather smother her mother than snuggle. This didn't sit well with Caroline, who almost matched Teagan cry for cry the past few days.

Now I'm all for self-responsibility, but she obviously didn't give this sickness to herself, so I need to place blame somewhere else. And I blame the peds office. They have the waiting room divided into two sections: a "well" child section and a "sick" child section. Thank god germs are not airborne, otherwise the sick kids could infect the well kids (insert my not impressed sarcastic face here). I'm also glad they give the sick kids masks to wear. You know the ones I'm talking about right? The ones the kids take off in order to sneeze. Yeah, those.

 I mean, I should get used to this, right? Well maybe I don't have to get used to this because I have a practical, ingenious idea stolen from Jake Gyllenhaal and John Travolta movies. I'll just put the girls in a bubble! Their own separate bubbles of course. And only for the formative years. The only qualm I would have is that Caroline has a pretty stinky butt that may make her bubble uninhabitable for most of the day. And I'm worried about them running over rocks. And wind. Wind's a big issue. But other than that, I think it's a perfectly appropriate solution.

If the girls were in a bubble they wouldn't get sick, therefore, they wouldn't get me sick. I am also sick at this moment and although it's not horrible, it's still a pain in the buns.  I don't typically "do well" with sickness either. I'm fortunate I didn't have a temp as high as Teagan's because the last time I did, I hallucinated Asian children dancing and mocking me around my bed (true story). Teagan won't share her goldfish crackers with me, but she'll share whatever this is. I know the exact moment she infected me. She was sitting next to me on the couch and I allowed her to have her nuk because she wasn't feeling well. I was looking at her and she was looking straight forward. Then she sneezed. You're probably thinking "Oh, well if she was looking straight forward, the sneeze shouldn't have been by you". But you are forgetting she had a nuk in. And that nuk acted as a sneeze shield, which dispersed the sneeze SIDEWAYS!! And directly into my mouth. It was like every scene in the movie "Outbreak". I could actually hear my antibodies scream a collective "shit". It was karma because I laughed a few days earlier when one of the girls (probably Teagan the "Ebola Monkey") drooled into Brad's mouth. Or it was god punishing me. One or the other.

While three years ago, I could have just laid in bed, reading or watching movies all day, as a mother, you just have to power through it. There really are no sick days allowed sometimes (or snow days or mental health days or day drinking days).  So here's to hoping my baby feels better, I feel better and my other one doesn't get sick.

NOTE: No babies were placed in bubbles for the writing of this blog. Tarable's Two also doesn't suggest nor encourage you to place your baby in a bubble, because that's just crazy talk.

*Disclaimer* Before anyone freaks out and wants to scold me because I blamed the doctors office, I realize it was not their fault for my child's sickness. That was used for dramatic effect. And besides, everyone knows liberals are to blame....

That was a joke too, because I'm liberal from my mom's side...

Thursday, February 21, 2013

A Special Kind of Crazy: Stay at Home Mom

When people ask what I do, it's hard to tell them by only using a title. Stay at home mom isn't entirely accurate, because I do work outside of the home too. So I usually break into a long winded description, telling them that I'm a full time SAHM (stay at home mom) and part time crisis counselor, working between 2-3 nights during the week, but not like "night" nights, but, you know, nights. After giving them more information then they cared to have because they were just being polite, I either get one of two looks: a look like I was born with an extra toe (sympathy and pity) or a look like I just slapped their grandma (disgust and possible rage). Then, because they are feeling lots of feelings, I get their opinion on my "job" choice. There's the "Oh, it must be soooooo nice to just sit home all day, watching your own kids and doing whatever you want" or "I wanted to be a SAHM, but I wanted to have a career and do something with my life". When I hear shit like that, I look like this, but the adult version:


 I know some people are just natural born assholes that can't control what comes out of their mouths.  But those people should be warned. It takes a special kind of crazy to be a stay at home mom.

Sometimes I think I am very fortunate that I am able to take advantage of this opportunity and be with my girls while they are growing into real people. But then I'm snapped back into reality while getting smacked in the head by "Goodnight Moon" from one girl while the other one is eating a strand of carpet. And I realized pretty quick that my job isn't the stereotypical description that everyone thinks it is. It's not arts and crafts, watching tv, enjoying long afternoon naps. It is to keep these little death seeking minions alive. I bet most of you didn't know that a toddler has 3 objectives: to terrorize, to disarm one with cuteness, and to seek out ways to harm or maim themselves or others. Seriously. I can place the girls in an absolutely empty room that has one square inch of lead paint and they will find it and they will eat it.

You may be thinking, "I can probably do that, that isn't really all that crazy". That's just part of things, my friend. One doesn't just automatically become a SAHM. It's a slow stumble into madness. So I will discuss physical and social/mental aspects. And this is just my experience, not all SAHM's are the same way. I'm sure there's 1 or 2 sane ones out there.

Physical: It all started when I came home from the hospital with the girls. I had brought some cute clothes to wear at the hospital and on my way home. Instead of wearing those, I wore the same busted, stained up maternity pants and shirt I had worn throughout the pregnancy. And some saweet mesh undies. My wardrobe since then has been consistent. Pajama pants and tshirts. My brother-in-law Mike was helping with the girls one day and I saw one of the lady drug dealers that lives across the street walk by wearing PJ's. I made a comment about how trashy she looked and Mike kind of looked at me funny. Of course that day I was wearing my finest Christmas tree jammies.  You know you're a stay at home mom when you have to go out into public quick and you change into your "good" clothes, which is a nice pair of black sweats (because, you know, the grey is just too casual). But I will try and not wear a sweatshirt at the same time, because I don't need to be wearing a sweat tuxedo. Personal hygiene also takes a backseat. I'm not going to tell you how long between bathing I went when the girls were newborns. I would rather sleep for 10 extra minutes in my bed then chance falling asleep in the shower. But falling over and getting knocked out might have been a welcome reprieve. I don't get to get out of the house very often with the girls. I do go out, but it's usually dark by then. So my skin tone is usually one that is reserved for prison inmates. I can go on and on about this, but for your sake, I'll reign it in a bit.

Before kids

After kids

Social/Mental: I spend pretty much all day every day with the girls during the week. When I work, I leave a few hours before they go to bed so I'm still with them for a majority of the time. Now before you start feeling too sorry for me, I did have help from my dad the days I had to work, where he would watch the girls while I slept in the afternoon. Those days are sadly gone. But there are days where I would have nothing but Toddler Time on my hands. I can't stand some of the new music that's out there, but I have either the "Bubble Guppies" or "Dinosaur Train" songs set to repeat in my head and that's fine with me I guess. But I've noticed that some of my social skills took a digger in the past 1.5 years. I'd much rather text somebody than talk to them. I feel like I don't have anything else to talk about besides my kids. And sometimes, I speak as though English is not my primary language. Have you ever told a colleague that you "had to go potty", cause I have! I should probably invest in some of that there brain training programs to keeps me smarts. Most days, when I think I'm going nuts, I actually have a voice in my head that laughs maniacally. I don't know where it came from and I'm not sure how I can get rid of it. And of course I know it's not real....
But I am, for the most part, happy where I am now. I'm not sure if I'd be able to change it. Because then the big, bad Mom Guilt will come out. So if you are a pregnant mom looking to stay home, don't set up expectations on how you think staying at home will be like. And if you're anyone else, the next SAHM you see, mentally give her a hug. Because uninvited physical contact by someone other than a child may result in a karate chop to the throat.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (aka Pregnancy)

Errbody pregnant around here (while I do talk like this sometimes, it still pains me to write) these days. What a wonderful, magical time... I'm not sure how I can say that with a straight face because it's meant to be said with heavy, drippy sarcasm. There is a reason why my body produced a hormone that made me forget how awful childbirth was and while not scientifically proven, I think my body produces something that makes me remember how shitty it was. Of course, the end was worth it (or so I think most days) but don't you dare tell that to someone in the midst of this pukey, itchy, crying, hairy 10 MONTHS! Unless you want to be karate chopped. In the throat.

I think everyone should thank their lucky stars that I wasn't aware nor wanting to blog throughout my pregnancy. There was some seriously farked up shit that happened. So while I didn't chronicle my pregnancy, I would like to share some of the "highlights".

Finding out the sex: I had to have about 13 ultrasounds due to complications and the fact it was considered "high risk", so I got to see the babies wiggle and shake quite a bit. But the biggest and best ultrasound was when I was able to find out the sex. Brad's job made it difficult for him to be at all of them, so I had my dad take me to a lot of them. Everytime I went there with him, I made sure to say "Dad" really loud multiple times in order to squash anyone's thought that he was like, my partner or something. It was gross. But that day I asked him to step out so it would only be me who found out what I was having. I was so convinced that one or both were boys. I could just feel it. I told people I knew God wouldn't let me have two girls because I knew I wouldn't be able to handle two mini-mes. So the doctor came in, started looking around and said "Female". BOTH? Surely he said He-Male, meaning they were the manliest little boy fetus' he's ever seen. Nope, they are both female. I immediately regretted every overly dramatic, girly thing I had ever put my parents through, because I was now terrified that it would come back to haunt me, twofold.

Food fight: I really, really love food. If someone said "Well why don't you marry it?" I probably would have moved to Kentucky and considered it. So you can imagine how I began to covet food in my pregnancy. Throughout, I would have to say I was pretty calm and laid back, but it was a whole new ballgame with food, mostly because I couldn't eat food without throwing up or taking medications for the first 5 months. One day, Brad and I went to KFC and I ordered chicken strips through drive through. We get to the first window and wait for 5 minutes. The worker dude comes to the window and says "Oh, well, we are out of strips". "You're out? Really?" He told me, no they weren't really out, but they would have to drop some into the fryer and it would take an additional 8 minutes. He asked me if I wanted some boneless wings instead. Woah, wrong answer. "I DON'T WANT FUCKING BONELESS WINGS. IF I DID I WOULD HAVE ORDER THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEMMM". I didn't say that directly to him because I was in the passenger seat, but he heard me say it to Brad. The worker said to Brad "Oh, would she like me to drop some in the fryer?". Sigh. It took 5 more minutes and they asked us to pull into the parking lot and wait. 10 more minutes go by and a different worker comes out, brings the bag to Brad's side of the car, even though there was no car on my side and there was on Brad's. "Here you go. Sorry it took so long. I threw in a Pudding Bucket". Oh thanks! How about you throw in the last half hour of my life I wasted pissed off over chicken? And they forgot my honey mustard. Bastards.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the only food incident. I had a hankering for a Big Mac and only a Big Mac. So I went over to the "24 hour" McDonalds by my side of town and found out that the stupid sign was just for decoration because it was closed. At 10:30 during the summer. Feeling defeated, I went home and googled it to make sure it actually was 24 hours and I saw that the McD's way across town was open. So I made the 20 drive over there and was very pleased with my persistence. I get to the drive-thru and ordered a Big F'n Mac. I was then told "Uh, sorry ma'am we have a limited menu at night, there are no Big Mac's. Can I interest you in a Quarter Pounder". I shit you not, I literally saw red and that workers' life flash before my eyes. I flipped my shit on that poor soul. "NOOOO, I DON'T WANT A FUCKING QUARTER POUNDER AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH" and then proceeded to burn out my brand new tires squealing out of there. I went home empty handed. The next day, I got my Big Mac. And then proceeded to throw it up. Thanks karma.

Chasing my B: I was 8 months pregnant for our 1st anniversary. We decided to go to The Little Farmer, which is a pumpkin patch/apple farm. I've gone every fall since I was a baby and it's fantastic. One thing that sucks are the copious amount of bees. And the fact that Brad believes he may be allergic to said bees. So, we went to pick out our pumpkins and were looking for where to buy them. We couldn't find the stand so I pointed out a stand in the middle of nowhere and said that looks like it could be it (it wasn't). I was trucking along behind Brad when a bee flew by him. And it wouldn't leave him alone. He began to run around, with two pumpkins in his hands, trying to get this Satan bee away from him. And I waddled faster in order to keep up with him. I begin to hear laughing and I look over to see an audience of people watching us, pointing and laughing at Brad. I had to explain to them, but the damage was done. I was so embarrassed I wished the bee would've just stung him so the ambulance could have taken me back to the car.

Come back next week when I continue the theme of pregnancy and discuss what I liked and disliked about that time!