From Andrea's Facebook wall:
I asked Elsa if she knew her new address and she said, "Ferndale, Washington in the Washington States of America." Yeah, close enough.
Today I gave John Carl some avocado to eat with his fingers and Elsa screamed, "No mommy! Babies are not supposed to eat grown up food! The authorities would frown!" Uh, maybe I shouldn't have taught her that phrase.
And yet another huge plastic piece of crap enters our lives. How did parents ever raise children before Fisher Price and Amazon? They probably had to make their own jumparoos from tree stumps and burlap sacks.
Now, I'm not saying that my daughter is insane. But if Mussolini and Shirley Temple had a love child who was ever so slightly bipolar, that kid would have a few things in common with Elsa right now. That's all.
Double green light. For the uninitiated, this means that both kids are in their rooms, doors shut,completely silent. Go ahead, you've got the double green light.
You know the final scene in Dirty Dancing when everyone is gyrating around in their mini skirts and tights, grinning like idiots? That's how I've felt since John Carl started sleeping through the night a couple of weeks ago. I could totally do the lift right now.
Apparently, I can handle about three weeks of single parenting before I begin to lose my motivation. I can tell because that's when I start ordering chocolate on Amazon Prime. Too bad they won't deliver a babysitter and a bottle of wine...
felt pretty proud of myself for getting to the play cafe with a toddler, an infant, and all of their gear. Then I saw a dad doing the exact same thing with one arm in a sling. Well done, Sir. Well done.
Today Elsa spotted the Golden Arches® and said, " That's an M. M is for mommy." Take that, Ronald McDonald.
There is a very short, very specific time in your life when it is actually kind of cute that spit-up collects between your fat rolls. Enjoy it while it lasts, boy.
John Carl is fascinated with his big sister, but she won't give him the time of day. Except when she wants to smother him with kisses and feed him plastic ice cream all of a sudden. I wish I could tell him that women will get less confusing...
Two babies in two years, and this is what I've learned:
- It hurts more without the drugs. A lot more. Like, you might get a little stomach ache when you think about it two months later.
- Never, under any circumstances, get your hair cut in the first 6 months after giving birth
- Most days, you won't feel like a good parent or a terrible parent for more than 20 minutes at a time.
Okay, he's started grinning when he sees me. Maybe I won't sell him to the gypsies.
It's becoming clear to me why sleep deprivation is used as a torture device. I'm ready to be a witness for the prosecution, give up all my contacts, sign a full confession... seriously, little man, I give up.
Over the course of this holiday season, the dogs licked the frosting off of 12 homemade cupcakes, the baby vomited down my shirt, and the toddler swallowed a plastic hot dog. Obviously, the Christmas tree is going to fall on someone... who will it be?
Yesterday Elsa announced, " When Daddy comes home we will dress Frances in a banana costume and Charlie will be a big banana." Hmmmm, I might be overusing the phrase, "when Daddy comes home."
I tried to cut Elsa's bangs and now she looks like an adorable little mental patient. So… perfect.
Transferring a sleeping infant from a baby carrier into a cradle requires the skill and precision of a bomb technician. No. Sudden. Moves. And no sneezing.
Today Elsa and I watched a "dance movie" called 30 Day Shred, starring Jillian Michaels. One of us had very poor form during the abdominal exercises. I'm not going to say who.
John Carl Harmeling born 11/3/11 at 11:33 pm. 7 pounds 11 ounces and 20.5 inches. Everyone is happy and healthy!
Elsa just lifted up my shirt and said, "Your belly button looks jacked up." Um, number one, stop listening to my inappropriate language; number two, that jacked up belly button is your fault, Sister.
Elsa: "What's Daddy cooking?"
Rob: "Matzo ball soup."
Elsa: "Monster ball soup."
Rob: "Exactly. It's like chicken soup but with monster balls."
I can say with absolute confidence that my belly button has never been so clean.
I no longer have room in my belly for both dinner and dessert. I am not amused by this. Do you hear me, young man? Not. Amused.
Um, what's with all the micro mini skirts and transparent hoochie shirts in the toddler/kids section? Hey Target, 6 year-old girls are going back to school, not back to the bar after puking up a plate of nachos and four appletinis.
When I was a kid, Curious George seemed mischievous and funny. Now he just seems like a dick.
I just saw a guy standing in the dairy section of Fred Meyer, wearing boxer shorts and drinking straight from a carton of buttermilk. Hey man, make yourself at home.
Gentle reminder to elderly women in public restrooms: if my child is screaming "POOP! POOP!" at the top of her lungs while I attempt to change her diaper on a dirty bathroom floor, please assume that I am not in the mood to chat about... well, anything. A sympathetic smile and a quick exit will do, thank you.
The ultrasound tech asked us if we wanted to know the gender because she definitely saw "it." (Hmmm, I wonder what she means by "it?" A little pink purse? A tiny tiara? How very mysterious.) She was very nice, so I totally acted surprised when she said, "it's a boy!"
If I have to read The Pokey Little Puppy one more time I am going to pokey my own eyes out.
Tonight at Trader Joe's I watched a guy put The Club on the steering wheel of his white PT Cruiser. Dude, relax. Your car looks like a tampon. None of the yuppies in this well-lit parking lot are going to steal it.
I love it when I find someone who has seen all my favorite episodes of Hoarders. If you've ever witnessed someone puke on herself at a party (you know who you are) and then gossiped about it later, that's what talking about Hoarders is like. Disgusting and awesome.
When I tell Rob that the baby was cranky all day and I got absolutely nothing done, that's exactly what I mean. When Rob says it, he means that he made pizza from scratch and whipped up a pan of brownies.
Dear Strangers, when you find out that I earn my living as a counselor, please do not assume that I am interested in your personal tragedies, persistent feminine odor, and/or your firm opinions on everything mental-health related. Okay, maybe your personal tragedies, but not that other stuff.
So, the vet told us that we have to get our dogs tested for worms because THE BABY COULD GET WORMS! And apparently THE WORMS WILL EAT HER BRAIN AND MAKE HER BLIND! What they neglected to tell me is that I have to bring in fresh poop, like within the hour. Um, really? There parents all over the country delivering steaming fresh dog poop to the vet and I'm the only one who didn't know? Really?