Let’s take a look at how convincing these spammers can be, shall we. And while we’re at it, since their comments will end up in the trash bin about 2.7 seconds after I hit Ctrl C, I’ll even be so kind as to take the time and reply to them. Are you jealous? I barely have time to reply to real readers comments. As it is my posting has uh, waned (understatement), but I have a really good reason. The world still runs on 24 hours a day and I need at least 30 to get all my crap done. Blogging has sort of fallen by the wayside. I do hope to get back up to posting at least one real post a week and I promise I will make more of an effort to reply to you, if you make an effort to comment.

Without further adieu:

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Seriously? You require time to absorb a picture of me and my kids. That’s really creepy dude. Stop absorbing anything you see here and just mosey along.

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Uh, WINNING!!

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I have been terribly lax at recording all the new cool stuff Avelyn is doing.  In July I started a list of all the words she could say and understand but it’s grow exponentially since then.  I will never catch up with what I haven’t already recorded so instead we’ll just start right here, right now with what I’ve got.

Words my Hobo can understand:
E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.  Watch your mouth.

Words my Hobo can say that sound close enough to the way they are supposed to sound [an off the top of my head list]:

Yeah that’s right, I taught her to say boob.  Not technically on purpose, but it was funny as hell when the moment arose and I just had to go for it.  It’s not as if she will be interviewing for a job when she’s 21 years old and list among her accomplishments “Well, I said ‘boob’ when I was a wee 16 month old baby and I can still identify them on almost anyone”.

Don’t worry, it’s not a word we’re going to encourage but hot damn it is funny to hear.  She says it so quiet too, as if it’s a naughty word.

“Avelyn, say ‘BOOB’” I will tell her.

“Boob” she says in an almost whisper.

“Where’s Mommy’s boob?” I will ask (I think she’s had it pretty good so far so I need to give her something to talk about in therapy).

She will stare at me and either point to my belly button or to my, er, boob.  All of this ends with outrageous, side slapping laughter and bubbly little giggles, the kind that sound so sweet because they know they’ve gotten away with something good.

Speaking of belly buttons, she found hers in the last week or so.  You’d think she’d found the holy grail.  As if we had been hiding all the belly buttons in the world until one day she stumbled upon hers and by golly if that thing wasn’t the weirdest thing EVERRRRR and ohmygod MOM AND DAD HAVE THEM TOO!?!? SERIOUSLY!?!?!

She will pull her shirt up whenever, wherever to find it and then point at our bellies expectantly, waiting to push her little fat finger in ours as well.  I have news for you kid, my belly button could eat your hand and you’d never get it back it’s so deep.  All thanks to you.  It’s not as bad as the immediate post partum belly button, you know the one that could swallow your newborn baby if you weren’t holding them with both hands?  It’s not that bad anymore, but what was once a taut, attractive innie of a button is now large enough in diameter that it can easily take in an entire 16-almost-17 month old index finger.  IT’S SCARY.

So just in case you were wondering, everything around here, as they say, is coming up roses.

Regrets, I Have a Few
Being a new mother means feeling a need to say I’m sorry.  By Merrin Dungey

Since I had my first child three months ago I’ve dealt with an endless string of sleepless nights, the relentless cycle of feeding and pumping and changing and comforting, and the slow realization that my life will never be the same again. Now that I’ve emerged from the fog of being a new mommy, I have a few things I need to say.

I want to start by apologizing to my vagina. I just … I just didn’t know what was going to happen. I thought it would be easy. All my life I’d been told I have "child-birthing hips." That turned out to be a dirty lie. I pushed for three hours, and I put you, dear vagina, through hell. I did my best to protect you, and I apologize. I can only hope that the bad feelings between us can be healed. This relationship has gotten really painful, and it’s been weeks now. Please let the healing begin.

I’d also like to say I’m sorry to my husband for all my inappropriate name-calling in the delivery room and the resentment I felt because I had to carry our child for nine months and you didn’t.  I will have sex with you again someday, I promise.  Don’t hold your breath or anything, but we’ll get there. I’ll wear attractive lingerie again as well. These grandma underpants aren’t forever!

And honey … about my boobs. While I appreciate your attempts to touch them, try to understand that they are not for you at this time. These are working breasts, they are under construction at the moment, and we appreciate your patience. It’s funny: I can see a mixture of fear and delight in your eyes at the size of them. And trust me, they are something to fear. I never thought a boob could dwarf the size of my baby’s head, but it is true. Little Maisey’s bravery in attacking them day after day is impressive. I must apologize to her as well. I had no idea they would operate in a sprinkler fashion, and I have sprayed her in the face many, many times. But the way she fights through it is quite something.

I apologize to every woman whose baby shower I attended before I became a mom. All those useless stuffed animals and baby booties I bought … well, I’m sure they might have come in handy at some point, but I should have stuck to the registry and gotten things you truly needed.

I also must quickly apologize to my cats for bringing home the new “hairless cat that gets all the attention theses days.”  I’m sorry you are no longer permitted to sleep on the bed and that you have felt it necessary to let me know how you feel about things with your poo.  Message received.

I apologize once again to my husband, this time for criticizing you about the way you dress our daughter. I know she’s my very own personal doll come to life, and I like to play dress-up. But you make such weird choices. Why would you put her in a sweater when it is 85°F? It’s the middle of the day–a night-gown really? It’s bedtime, sweetheart, why is she wearing a hat? I recognize this is not America’s Next Top Model, but I do ask you to think about what makes sense sometimes. That’s all.

I must also apologize to every new mom I ever bumped into before I had a baby for judging your appearance. I mentally criticized your old sweatpants, your over sized T-shirts, and your haphazard ponytails. I figured you just hadn’t taken the time to get ready before you went out or were in dire need of a makeover. Now I understand those precious minutes you savor when the baby goes down for a nap–the desperation to make the most of them. I could shower! I could eat! I could sleep! Check my e-mail! Work-out! Do laundry! Have sex! (Well, maybe not just yet, but…) I could do so much if she would just sleep a little longer. Then, inevitably, there’s that sound through the baby monitor. (Stop. Wait. Listen.) Was it for real? … That was just a sneeze, right? … She’s not up,right? … Oh, please, I’m almost done eating, the coffee’s finally ready, I thought I could shower. Just five more minutes please. Just … nope. She’s up. She’s hungry. She’s wet. She’s something. And once you’ve got her fed and changed and played with her, you’re on the clock to get that errand done before it all unravels again. I get it now: There is absolutely no time for a blowout or blusher.  I was a complete jerk, and I’m sorry.

I see how people look at me–with that mixture of pity and disgust–in my old nursing tank covered in spit-up and the same maternity shorts I wear every day. I’m like the Elephant Man. I put my daughter in fancy clothes to compensate for the monster pushing her around. I see the stares. I know what you’re saying. Well to heck with you, you small-pants wearing Miley Cyrus fan. I just had a baby. I am not always this fat.

I guess I should apologize for my anger.  But in solidarity with new moms everywhere, I’m not going to.

But I would definitely like to apologize to my former self. I always thought I had a few pounds to lose and could look better. I never knew how great I had it. What I wouldn’t give to fit into my old clothes again! I look at them longingly day after day. Hi, jeans. Hello, Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress. You were all so good to me. (Sniff.)

I should have slowed down and enjoyed my freedom more when I had the chance. I used to beat myself up if I slept past eight or stayed out too late. I was a fool. A fool. What did I know? Oh, to do anything at all at a leisurely pace–shop, eat, read the newspaper–and anything without having to wear a monitor. Waiting. Listening. For her.

While I’m sending regrets I should apologize to my pre-baby boobs for not appreciating them enough. They were a great pair of boobs–not too big, just enough décolletage. And now … sigh … who knows what will be left of them once I stop nursing? I’m sorry, former boobs. I truly am.

I’ll never be sorry about deciding to become a mother, though. There may be no going back to my old body or my old lifestyle, but having Maisey is worth everything I’ve had to give up and then some. But you already know that.

To find the original article click here to view Parents digital magazine.

I would like to write about the emotional roller coaster of real honest to goodness feelings I’m having again, something you don’t have often on antidepressants.  But I don’t have the time and I don’t feel like writing a super sappy sounding post.  I’m busy APA formatting a paper on Autism/Asperger’s.  (Can’t you tell?)  So instead I will summarize my experience as follows:

I had Post Partum Depression.  I cried a lot.  I thought I might die.  I imagined Avelyn dying.  I thought I was letting her down.  I knew I was letting myself down.  I knew I had a problem.  I got help.  Therapy + Drugs = Saving.  I started feeling better.  I learned I’m not to blame.  I learned it’s not my fault.  I learned I’m not responsible for anyone but me and her.  At some point I started feeling nothing.  I didn’t like feeling nothing.  I wanted to cry if I felt sad and yell if I felt angry and feel happy if I was happy.  I didn’t want to live in a dense fog of nothingness and not be able to form thoughts about what I wanted to say.  I wasn’t depressed anymore so I weaned off the drugs.  It was weird.  Now I’m feeling a lot.

So anyway, that drug saved me and if you’ll recall I am a nurse which means I believe in drugs when they are medically necessary and used judiciously.  But now the old me is back.  With gusto and angst, a pinch of sarcasm and a sprinkle of sardonicism.  Just regular old me.  I wonder if my Post Prozac (new) friends will like the old me as much as my Pre Prozac (old) friends do.  Hmm…

With that I leave you with a few tidbits that roll around up there on a some-more-regular-than-others basis:

The sound of you chewing is making me want to throw your food on the floor and rip your hair out.  Not necessarily in that order.

I can’t stand listening to you breathe.  My chest tightens, my hands clench and my heart races and I want to jump out of my chair and scream in your face “STOP BREATHING LOUDLY OR DON’T BREATHE AT ALL!!!!! EITHER LOSE SOME EFFING WEIGHT AND/OR STOP SMOKING SO YOU DON’T WHEEZE LIKE A FATASS COW!!!!!”  (My fake apologies to any of you [non-baby] loud breathers out there.)

Why are you here?  I clearly don’t want you here.  Don’t you see me tensing up and cringing in an involuntary defensive emotional response to your presence?   I’m trying to control it but it’s not working because I am having a visceral response to you.  My therapist and friendapist both said the same thing – I should quit feeling guilty about my FEELINGS.  They’re MY feelings and it’s how I FEEL so I am allowed to FEEL this way dammit. 

Dumbass*.

More and more I find myself shutting my eyes tight and breathing deeply to avoid screaming and embarking on a murderous rampage since this particular behavior could be potentially hazardous, especially while driving.

Sometimes the sound of that voice makes me hate you.

Wow.  That feels good to get off my chest.  I feel like a weight has been lifted.  Welcome back Me. 

(“Now maybe back off the “Angsty” part a tad until these nice folks get to know you better.”  “Shut yo’ face!”)

*For Richey.  Even though he doesn’t read this blog.

“Yeah, I bet half our class doesn’t even know what Microfiche is. [To a younger friend] Do you know what microfiche is?”

“Is that like Twitter or something”

‘Nuf said.

64 days to Momma’s graduation!

Hobo Baby has been sick since Wednesday suffering from her first bout of fluid imbalance (AKA vomiting and diarrhea-ing all day).  Close to half the kids at school including three in her class were out with the same bug.  Four weeks in and the Bubonic Plague Academy of the World (daycare) has kicked my kid to the curb three times.  A cold, an ear infection and the heaves.  

Speaking of ear infections, after sleeping all day Thursday and barely eating anything she ran a 103.5 temp so Kevin and I took Hobo to the doctor when they got to Houston.  Guess what she has?  Duh da da daaaa, another ear infection.  This is two times in the left and once on the right.  Three since December.  I can almost hear those tubes a-comin’.

Since I have packed up most of the house and eaten everything worth eating in the pantry Kevin stopped at Luby’s to pick up some dinner.  I had my usual, LuAnn with fried fish, green beans and mashed potatoes.  He had the chicken pot pie.  The man loves him some CPP.

I ran Avelyn a bath which finally made her remember who I was and we bonded a little.  Oh, did I forget to mention that my ten month old(!) daughter has decided that she loves Kevin like she used to love me and vice versa?  Well she has, little turncoat.  I hobbled around for weeks after her gorgeous body came ripping out of my hoo hoo and this is how she repays me?  By pretending that this temporary shift in home base somehow means Daddy is her savior?  Oi.  I thought this wasn’t supposed to come for a few more years.  Or months at least. 

After she hit the hay we ordered the moving truck, reserved the storage space and got to packing up the rest of the random crap laying around our house.  Where does all this stuff come from?  Why do we own it?  I don’t use this stuff but I can usually find one reason not to throw it away. That being said, in the future please refrain from sending anymore crap my way.

As the night dragged on Kevin kept making reference to his sick stomach, worrying that that his Seinfeld-esque vomit streak was soon to meet it’s end.  Eventually I told him to go take a “not hot” shower and go to bed.  I hate packing all by myself but what I would hate worse is vomit in my open box of barware.

Just when I decided to call it quits for the night I heard the thunderous stomp of a man running for the bathroom.  Damn.  Good thing he took that bucket with him to bed.  Being a good nursey-wife I sprang into action and bounded upstairs, only to veer off into Avelyn’s room to check on her until the worst of the gut wrenching heaves had stopped.  Hey, I can handle all kinds of gooey goodness but there is no reason to stand above a man hurling the entire contents of his bowels into a toilet.  He ain’t got no hair to hold back.  I did take care of him after that and now he is sleeping peacefully.  Hopefully he didn’t get Avelyn’s bug and just caught the death from the Luby’s.

Damn chicken pot pie.  

J: How do you feel about my blog?
K: [Repeats question] It’s hard to come up with an emotion I feel about it.  Envious.  Envious, that’s how I feel.
J: [Giggling] Why?
K: You have a blog that’s good that people read.  I don’t have a blog that’s good that people read.

[Chuckling]

J: Do you secretly want your own blog?
K: Yes.
J: What would you write?
K: Probably my musings on pop culture and mass media.
J: You sound boring. 
K: Yeah.

J: Can you, and do you ever do the moonwalk just because you can?
K: I can do it.  I don’t because it’s too powerful.

J: Do you want another baby?
K: Yes… No… Yes… No… not right now.  Although I would like to have sex more often so maybe.

J: How do you feel about the dinners I make for you?
K: Uh, you don’t.  I feel the same way about your dinners as the children of Never-Never Land feel about theirs.  They’re imaginarily delicious.

J: What is your favorite thing about Avelyn?
K: Waking up to her, when she wakes up happy.  That or her falling asleep on me, I like that too… reading bedtime stories to her.  There are a lot of favorite things I have about Avelyn.
J: Looks like they all involve sleeping.
K: Yeah they do, I like it when she sleeps.  [Mutual laughing].  Reading stories to her is also fun.  I like being able to recite the pigeon book at any point and she lights up.  I like her determination.  She finds ways to get places. 
J: Good Lord, she sounds like you.

J: Words to live by?
K: [Repeats question]  Get off your ass you lazy bum.
J: I hope you’re not talking about me!
K: No that’s my words to me, I say it to myself.
J: Oh okay.

J: Why are you so retarded, ahem, mentally challenged?
K: [Laughs.  Repeats question]  The honest answer?  Probably too many blows to the head as a child. 
J: [Giggling] By whom?
K: Okay, too many bows to the head by sporting equipment.  Lack of Jamba Juice in my diet as a youngster.  Lack of brain food.
J: I don’t think they had Jamba Juice when you were a youngster, Old Man.

J: If you were an animal what would you be?
K: OMG.  One of those questions? 
J: Yes.
K: [Repeats question]  I’d be a kangaroo. 
J: A kangaroo?
K: A kangaroo, yes.  Am I allowed to justify the reason?
J: Yes.
K: Because I could beat anyone up and no one would want to eat me because I taste like shit.  Really I do, even in sausage form.
J: [Laughing] And how do you know this?
K: Because I’ve eaten a kangaroo in sausage form and it tastes like shit.

J: Blonde or brunette?
K: For what?  For what I want to [sleep with]?  Blonde.  For myself?  Brown because I have brown hair.  Wait, are you asking if I want to be a blond or brunette kangaroo?  Because if that’s the case, probably black. 
J: What?
K: I’d look meaner wouldn’t I?  A black haired kangaroo?
J: Yes, I guess you would.

J: Do you think you could come up with an interview yourself?
K: Um, I’ve given interviews before, so, well, yes then.

J: Can I have a sample question?
K: [Repeats question]  An interview without a purpose seems kind of pointless.  Why am I interviewing you again?  Okay, if you could be your spouse for a day, would you and why or why not?

J: Can I answer that question?
K: Yes, please do.
J: I would.  I would want to see just how much sex you think about during the day.  I’d also want to see how much of a bitch I am to you from your perspective.

[Laughing]

J: If you could be a New Kid on the Block who would you be?
K: That’s easy.  Donnie.
J: He’s the ugliest! Why?!
K: He’s the one who’s gone on to do something meaningful with his life.
J: Oh right.  I was thinking of Jordan.  He’s the ugly one.  And Jonathan.  Oh and Danny.  Yugh.
K: And Donnie has a rich brother, Mark.
J: Oh yeah, he’s hot.

J: What do you want on your tombstone?
K: “Get off your ass you lazy bum”.  Or no, “You should’ve gotten off your ass you lazy bum”.
J: No words about your loving wife or your child?
K: “He is survived by his lazy wife and hopefully not so lazy child”.
J: You’re an A-hole.
K: How ‘bout “Get off your ass you lazy beloved husband and father”?

J: Any last words?
K: No.

J: Is that a metaphor for our life, “No”?
K: No.  I don’t know, we do have to say “no” a lot.  We have a horrible matricidal  cat, a dog that’s on meds that make her pee a lot and want to eat all the time and a baby becoming mobile that hears “no” a lot.  Maybe it is a metaphor for our life.

J: Okay, so what is a metaphor for our life?
K: The tide.
J: The tide?
K: Yeah, the tide.  Not the detergent but the tide.  You know what I mean?
J: Uh, sure, it goes in and goes out but it’s always there?
K: Sure but how is that a metaphor for us?
J: I don’t know, it always come back?
K: [Chuckling] Okay thank you.
J: No, thank you.

I remember my MIL telling me about the first time Kevin laughed for real, and how beautiful it was but she could not for the life of her figure out what she did that was so funny. She tried for hours to do “it” again. Turns out it was some weird noise she made. I felt like that tonight. Avelyn has been laughing for weeks now but never in a real “OMG this is so funny this is so funny, I’m going to laugh until I — uh oh I just peed on myself ha ha huh huh huh huh huh this is so funny” kind of way. For the record, it was SOOOOO funny. Man I love this baby.

Can you tell how much she enjoyed her first pancake? It was an awful lot.