Several people have generously suggested that I turn these musings into a book. While I appreciate the compliment, I can assure all of you that I have neither the patience nor the extended narrative arc necessary for a book. But if I could do it, here are some fragments of what would appear.
These are some of the things I have learned during this pregnancy:
There is not one but two kinds of ultrasounds. I always thought an ultrasound consisted of waving a magic wand over the belly to produce an x-ray like picture of the baby (or in our case, babies) inside. But there is also an internal ultrasound, the one our dear friend has labeled the dildo cam. And that's exactly what it is: a camera that goes inside the pregnant woman via the....um....babies' exit door from the womb. But the important lesson I learned: never make the ultrasound technician laugh when she is using the dildo cam. It seemed really funny to bend down next to The Saint's belly during this procedure and yell, "Ouch! My eye!!!!" However, The Saint was not amused.
Arguing with a pregnant woman is like reasoning with a drunk person. While The Saint has been a real trooper throughout the pregnancy, there have been moments where reason simply took a hiatus. Case in point: The Saint wanted to start packing our hospital bag.....in early June. This would have been a good two months before we even had the chance to give birth. Fashions trends could have come and gone in that time period. I know that I am now in a different size altogether. But when preggers got something in her head, there was no arguing. So our bag has been packed, repacked and re-repacked for the past 7 weeks. And counting.
The world does not stop just because we are preparing for babies' arrival. I have been busy preparing not one but two nurseries, one upstairs and one downstairs. We are finally at a point where we can take a break and what happens? The basement floods. On both sides. This meant a fun and exciting trip to Home Depot for a shop vac at 8:30 pm. Then the cleanup began with The Saint feeling sad because she couldn't help. And again, this is why she is The Saint: who else would feel guilty about not being able to suck up sewage? Frankly, I would have been laughing.
But I guess that's why she is the pregnant one...
- The 2nd Mommy
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
The 3rd Trimester: Practice Parenting for The Partner
It turns out that nature has a plan for the non-pregnant parent as well:
The third trimester.
This has been the tough part of the pregnancy but I think I know why. I believe this is the time where the pregnant one begins to mimic a lot of the behaviors of the impending bundle of joy.
For example, a normal sleeping pattern is no longer possible during the third trimester. On top of the itchy PUPPP rash from hell, The Saint has a belly full of babies who like to do scenes from A Chorus Line at exactly 11:00 pm every night. Their encores usually follow at 2:00 am and again 2-3 hours later. Heads up, co-parents: you do NOT get to sleep in blissful ignorance of this little performance. Our job is to massage, hand hold or simply commiserate. And when 8:00 am rolls around, we let her sleep while we prepare breakfast because that's how it's going to be when the kiddos arrive. Babies don't care if their parents are well rested; they have needs and it's our job to meet them. The (lack of) sleep training in the third trimester is a good bootcamp to prep us for this.
Another development in the third trimester is that going out starts to become a real chore. The Saint is not as mobile now that she is lugging around over 10 pounds and 34 inches of baby. Any trip out requires the type of planning that typically goes into a tactical airstrike. We have to determine how long we will be gone, what to eat before we go, whether or not we need to eat while we are out, etc. We also have to plan for any possible spills, mishaps or accidents that could occur while we are out, depending on what we are doing. No matter where we are going, we now have to bring supplies of some sort. For the third trimester, this means packing Benadryl, hydrocortisone cream, at least one snack, a change of clothes (I am not allowed to explain that one - puzzle it out yourself, Nancy Drew), something to read and a pillow. Ultimately, this means we often just stay at home because it's too big of a hassle to figure this all out. From what I understand, this is parenting in a nutshell.
The third trimester is when the center of my life stopped being me. The Saint has my full time attention now. If life were a prison, I am now her bitch. Perhaps this is the biggest shift of all that preps us co-parents for what is about to happen. Suddenly, giving up my car, forgoing a new iPad, and shifting my priorities no longer seems like a sacrifice. Instead, it means I am about to live the dream.
It means I am becoming a parent.
(Okay, getting rid of the car stings a little but I really am excited for my boys to get here....)
- The 2nd Mommy
The third trimester.
This has been the tough part of the pregnancy but I think I know why. I believe this is the time where the pregnant one begins to mimic a lot of the behaviors of the impending bundle of joy.
For example, a normal sleeping pattern is no longer possible during the third trimester. On top of the itchy PUPPP rash from hell, The Saint has a belly full of babies who like to do scenes from A Chorus Line at exactly 11:00 pm every night. Their encores usually follow at 2:00 am and again 2-3 hours later. Heads up, co-parents: you do NOT get to sleep in blissful ignorance of this little performance. Our job is to massage, hand hold or simply commiserate. And when 8:00 am rolls around, we let her sleep while we prepare breakfast because that's how it's going to be when the kiddos arrive. Babies don't care if their parents are well rested; they have needs and it's our job to meet them. The (lack of) sleep training in the third trimester is a good bootcamp to prep us for this.
Another development in the third trimester is that going out starts to become a real chore. The Saint is not as mobile now that she is lugging around over 10 pounds and 34 inches of baby. Any trip out requires the type of planning that typically goes into a tactical airstrike. We have to determine how long we will be gone, what to eat before we go, whether or not we need to eat while we are out, etc. We also have to plan for any possible spills, mishaps or accidents that could occur while we are out, depending on what we are doing. No matter where we are going, we now have to bring supplies of some sort. For the third trimester, this means packing Benadryl, hydrocortisone cream, at least one snack, a change of clothes (I am not allowed to explain that one - puzzle it out yourself, Nancy Drew), something to read and a pillow. Ultimately, this means we often just stay at home because it's too big of a hassle to figure this all out. From what I understand, this is parenting in a nutshell.
The third trimester is when the center of my life stopped being me. The Saint has my full time attention now. If life were a prison, I am now her bitch. Perhaps this is the biggest shift of all that preps us co-parents for what is about to happen. Suddenly, giving up my car, forgoing a new iPad, and shifting my priorities no longer seems like a sacrifice. Instead, it means I am about to live the dream.
It means I am becoming a parent.
(Okay, getting rid of the car stings a little but I really am excited for my boys to get here....)
- The 2nd Mommy
Monday, July 25, 2011
Gardening: Literal Nesting?
As much as I once hated all domestic duties, there is one time-sucking chore I absolutely loathed:
Yard work.
All things gardening fell to The Saint. For some reason, she found it relaxing to plant, weed, water, etc. My only contribution was mowing the lawn, which is a lot like vacuuming and therefore something I can manage. Gardening was the only task I took over with some resentment and angst. But why such disdain for what many view as an enjoyable hobby?
First and foremost, it's outside and, as you can see by the translucent hue of my legs, I am not an outdoorsy kind of gal. For me, the outside is simply a means to an end, the middle ground I must travel to get from inside Point A to inside Point B. Mother Nature simply can't compete with central air, indoor plumbing and cable.
On top of that, The Saint is a perfectionist when it comes to the yard. When planting flowers in their beds, a fraction of an inch apparently makes all the difference in the world. And if a flower isn't thriving after a week, then it's time to experiment with light and shade by moving it all over and conducting MIT-like tests to see where the maximum amount of each is in the yard. This attention to such minute detail is really not my forte.
Then there is my complete lack of knowledge of the fauna and flora of earth. Not too long ago, I couldn't tell you the difference between a weed and a tomato plant if you held a garden hose to my in the dead of winter. Couple this with my philosophy of Darwinism in the garden (if a flower can't survive without water but a weed can, then I guess the weed wins - so be it), and you can only imagine what the yard would look if it were left entirely up to me.
Fortunately, it's not solely up to me. I do recognize the fact that the appearance of the lawn somehow relates to The Saint's sense of well being in the world, so I am making the effort to keep up. Initially, that effort meant calling my sister and her family and begging them to help me get the yard in order earlier this spring. While I hate to admit that my niece (6) and nephew (11) were more knowledgeable and better workers, the necessary work got done and The Saint was actually happy with it.
So imagine my surprise last week when I correctly noted that the hydrangeas looked a little droopy and, despite the 105 degree heat index, I should probably water them. On my own, with no prompting from The Saint, I proceeded to water the entire yard. Sure, the lawn still looks like burnt straw and the potted flowers have seen better days, but this is still significant because I recognized the need for action and I took it. All.On.My.Own.
Now if I can just keep The Saint from looking outside for just a few more days....
- The 2nd Mommy
Yard work.
All things gardening fell to The Saint. For some reason, she found it relaxing to plant, weed, water, etc. My only contribution was mowing the lawn, which is a lot like vacuuming and therefore something I can manage. Gardening was the only task I took over with some resentment and angst. But why such disdain for what many view as an enjoyable hobby?
First and foremost, it's outside and, as you can see by the translucent hue of my legs, I am not an outdoorsy kind of gal. For me, the outside is simply a means to an end, the middle ground I must travel to get from inside Point A to inside Point B. Mother Nature simply can't compete with central air, indoor plumbing and cable.
On top of that, The Saint is a perfectionist when it comes to the yard. When planting flowers in their beds, a fraction of an inch apparently makes all the difference in the world. And if a flower isn't thriving after a week, then it's time to experiment with light and shade by moving it all over and conducting MIT-like tests to see where the maximum amount of each is in the yard. This attention to such minute detail is really not my forte.
Then there is my complete lack of knowledge of the fauna and flora of earth. Not too long ago, I couldn't tell you the difference between a weed and a tomato plant if you held a garden hose to my in the dead of winter. Couple this with my philosophy of Darwinism in the garden (if a flower can't survive without water but a weed can, then I guess the weed wins - so be it), and you can only imagine what the yard would look if it were left entirely up to me.
Fortunately, it's not solely up to me. I do recognize the fact that the appearance of the lawn somehow relates to The Saint's sense of well being in the world, so I am making the effort to keep up. Initially, that effort meant calling my sister and her family and begging them to help me get the yard in order earlier this spring. While I hate to admit that my niece (6) and nephew (11) were more knowledgeable and better workers, the necessary work got done and The Saint was actually happy with it.
So imagine my surprise last week when I correctly noted that the hydrangeas looked a little droopy and, despite the 105 degree heat index, I should probably water them. On my own, with no prompting from The Saint, I proceeded to water the entire yard. Sure, the lawn still looks like burnt straw and the potted flowers have seen better days, but this is still significant because I recognized the need for action and I took it. All.On.My.Own.
Now if I can just keep The Saint from looking outside for just a few more days....
- The 2nd Mommy
Friday, July 22, 2011
Holy Crap: I'M NESTING!!!
I am not the most domestic person in the world. Not too long ago, dusting was a quarterly chore, my meals consisted of sandwiches and cereal, and I thought nothing of putting chocolate Slim Fast on my Cocoa Puffs if I ran out of milk. (This happened more than you might think.) Even my nephew, who was around 4 at the time, noticed my lack of housekeeping skills when he offhandedly remarked "You sure don't do a lot around here, do you?" (Yes, the biting witticisms run in the family.)
Of course, that was a long time ago and gradual changes have occurred. For example, I am queen of laundry in our household; The Saint is not allowed to touch the laundry, pregnant or not, because I have perfected my system. My cooking catalog has also expanded beyond pop tarts and cereal. I am pretty handy on the grill and can make some pretty tasty dishes, like caprese salad, fried egg sandwiches and.....uh....ok, well it's more like a postcard than a catalog but the change is significant.
Still, I have never been a fan of keeping up the house. But when The Saint got preggers, I knew I had to step up my game. I am not trying to toot my horn because the house is far from perfect (if you see a closed door, please do not open it - this includes the bathroom) but I think I have been doing ok.
But now I am freaking out.
Last week, I decided we need to get a new vacuum cleaner. The one we had was ok but kind of old and didn't work that great. {Look - I am avoiding the easy sucking joke here!} I decided to upgrade and get a Dyson. The old me would have spent the money on a new iPad 2 but I was actually excited about the Dyson. I literally put it together as soon as I walked in the door. And then? I vacuumed....the entire house. And I was giddy! The only thing missing was a strand of pearls and a pair of heels, which I still cannot wear. I am encouraging my niece and nephew to eat chips, cookie and popcorn all over the house so I can really test the Dyson next week. OMG - Is this what moms get excited about??!!?
And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Yesterday, I bought space saver bags, the kind you can stick your bed in, suck out all the air and store it in your shirt pocket. I decided the guest room had too much "wasted space" (a phrase that once referred to me in the kitchen) and it needed tidying up. So I spent the hottest friggin' day of the year in the room that gets the least amount of air doing just that. And I loved it! Those bags are amazing! I am going back and buying about six more tomorrow so that I can do the entire house! Don't be surprised if you open up the fridge and find our couch! I can't wait to see how much storage space I can create over the weekend because....
Seriously, what is wrong with me??!!? Maybe a minivan isn't out of the question....
Tune in next week to hear about what's happening outside the house. Yep, I'm gardening, too....
- The 2nd Mommy
Of course, that was a long time ago and gradual changes have occurred. For example, I am queen of laundry in our household; The Saint is not allowed to touch the laundry, pregnant or not, because I have perfected my system. My cooking catalog has also expanded beyond pop tarts and cereal. I am pretty handy on the grill and can make some pretty tasty dishes, like caprese salad, fried egg sandwiches and.....uh....ok, well it's more like a postcard than a catalog but the change is significant.
Still, I have never been a fan of keeping up the house. But when The Saint got preggers, I knew I had to step up my game. I am not trying to toot my horn because the house is far from perfect (if you see a closed door, please do not open it - this includes the bathroom) but I think I have been doing ok.
But now I am freaking out.
Last week, I decided we need to get a new vacuum cleaner. The one we had was ok but kind of old and didn't work that great. {Look - I am avoiding the easy sucking joke here!} I decided to upgrade and get a Dyson. The old me would have spent the money on a new iPad 2 but I was actually excited about the Dyson. I literally put it together as soon as I walked in the door. And then? I vacuumed....the entire house. And I was giddy! The only thing missing was a strand of pearls and a pair of heels, which I still cannot wear. I am encouraging my niece and nephew to eat chips, cookie and popcorn all over the house so I can really test the Dyson next week. OMG - Is this what moms get excited about??!!?
And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Yesterday, I bought space saver bags, the kind you can stick your bed in, suck out all the air and store it in your shirt pocket. I decided the guest room had too much "wasted space" (a phrase that once referred to me in the kitchen) and it needed tidying up. So I spent the hottest friggin' day of the year in the room that gets the least amount of air doing just that. And I loved it! Those bags are amazing! I am going back and buying about six more tomorrow so that I can do the entire house! Don't be surprised if you open up the fridge and find our couch! I can't wait to see how much storage space I can create over the weekend because....
Seriously, what is wrong with me??!!? Maybe a minivan isn't out of the question....
Tune in next week to hear about what's happening outside the house. Yep, I'm gardening, too....
- The 2nd Mommy
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
The Heat Has Gotten to Me
Let me start by saying The Saint, though she hates that I am calling her that, was an apropos pseudonym for my partner. I heard stories from friends and family about what to expect from pregnant women: raging hormones, wild mood swings, whacky cravings, bizarre bodily mishaps, etc. But The Saint has been a real trooper throughout.
For the most part.
Of course, there have been a few tiny bumps along the way, most notably the ones that just appeared all over her belly, legs and arms the past few days and itch like crazy. Here are a few of my favorite episodes:
Shortly after Christmas, and very early into the pregnancy, The Saint's sister-in-law posted on her Facebook wall that the kids LOVED the Zhu Zhu pets The Saint bought for them, referring to them as "kiddy crack." This triggered a waterfall of tears from The Saint. Confused, I gently asked (because I am not stupid and know better than to laugh, mock or freak out) what was wrong. Her response? "I almost didn't buy them and am just so glad that I did because they like them so much...." And that was all I understood.
This was almost as funny as watching the U.S. women's soccer team play Brazil in the World Cup quarterfinals. I am not allowed, under the strictest orders from The Saint, to reprint what was said during the game. Let's just say that if a sailor and one of the Osbornes had a child who was now an adult, he/she would have blushed at the string of profanities that came out of The Saint's mouth that day. The halo needed quite a bit of polishing after that game.
Of course, that episode was definitely more funny than what is now known as "The Capri Pants" episode. Several months ago, The Saint woke up around 1:30 am in a MOOD. For whatever reason, she realized that I had not gotten to the laundry that day, probably because I overbooked and was trying to keep up with 8 million other things. But in the laundry, crumpled at the bottom of what she thought was a teeming, stinky heap, lay her magical Capri pants. And these pants were truly magical because no other pants would suffice. This realization triggered an onslaught of bitter, angry tears and I was transformed into the evil hellhound who stood between her and those pants. So at 1:45 am, I did what any sane person would do: I did laundry. By the time she woke up, the magical Capri pants were clean, dry and pressed. The only thing crumpled in a heap was an exhausted me.
But today took the cake. As I mentioned earlier, The Saint has a terribly itchy rash. This requires lots and lots of lotion, at various states of undress and at some inconvenient times. Sadly, The Saint cannot reach all the places that require lotion, which is not a big deal as I am more than happy to help. But The Saint still has her dignity and there are times where she does not want my help, like when she has had a meal that did not quite agree with her. And this is what happened today. She disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like an awfully long time. Suddenly, I heard a bang and ran to her. As I approached, she let out a frenzied warning: DON'T COME IN HERE!!! IT SMELLS LIKE POOP AND COCOA BUTTER!!!!
And that, my friends, is a good way to sum up this pregnancy: a little poop and a lot of cocoa butter....
This installment of The 2nd Mommy was brought to you by The Saint's Catholic guilt. Catholic Guilt: the feeling that keeps you permanently grounded, whether you need it or not.
- The 2nd Mommy
For the most part.
Of course, there have been a few tiny bumps along the way, most notably the ones that just appeared all over her belly, legs and arms the past few days and itch like crazy. Here are a few of my favorite episodes:
Shortly after Christmas, and very early into the pregnancy, The Saint's sister-in-law posted on her Facebook wall that the kids LOVED the Zhu Zhu pets The Saint bought for them, referring to them as "kiddy crack." This triggered a waterfall of tears from The Saint. Confused, I gently asked (because I am not stupid and know better than to laugh, mock or freak out) what was wrong. Her response? "I almost didn't buy them and am just so glad that I did because they like them so much...." And that was all I understood.
This was almost as funny as watching the U.S. women's soccer team play Brazil in the World Cup quarterfinals. I am not allowed, under the strictest orders from The Saint, to reprint what was said during the game. Let's just say that if a sailor and one of the Osbornes had a child who was now an adult, he/she would have blushed at the string of profanities that came out of The Saint's mouth that day. The halo needed quite a bit of polishing after that game.
Of course, that episode was definitely more funny than what is now known as "The Capri Pants" episode. Several months ago, The Saint woke up around 1:30 am in a MOOD. For whatever reason, she realized that I had not gotten to the laundry that day, probably because I overbooked and was trying to keep up with 8 million other things. But in the laundry, crumpled at the bottom of what she thought was a teeming, stinky heap, lay her magical Capri pants. And these pants were truly magical because no other pants would suffice. This realization triggered an onslaught of bitter, angry tears and I was transformed into the evil hellhound who stood between her and those pants. So at 1:45 am, I did what any sane person would do: I did laundry. By the time she woke up, the magical Capri pants were clean, dry and pressed. The only thing crumpled in a heap was an exhausted me.
But today took the cake. As I mentioned earlier, The Saint has a terribly itchy rash. This requires lots and lots of lotion, at various states of undress and at some inconvenient times. Sadly, The Saint cannot reach all the places that require lotion, which is not a big deal as I am more than happy to help. But The Saint still has her dignity and there are times where she does not want my help, like when she has had a meal that did not quite agree with her. And this is what happened today. She disappeared into the bathroom for what seemed like an awfully long time. Suddenly, I heard a bang and ran to her. As I approached, she let out a frenzied warning: DON'T COME IN HERE!!! IT SMELLS LIKE POOP AND COCOA BUTTER!!!!
And that, my friends, is a good way to sum up this pregnancy: a little poop and a lot of cocoa butter....
This installment of The 2nd Mommy was brought to you by The Saint's Catholic guilt. Catholic Guilt: the feeling that keeps you permanently grounded, whether you need it or not.
- The 2nd Mommy
Monday, July 18, 2011
Thoughts About the Haters
The Saint and I have been truly impressed with how well family, friends and total strangers have reacted to the news that we are starting a family. We expected a lot of resistance and tsk-tsking but folks have been very open and accepting.
Well, most people have been good.
Of course, we have heard stories of negative reactions from some friends and family. (Funny how none of them have the guts to say it to our face.) It has been the run of the mill kind of stuff that we expected but it still irritates me how incredibly stupid people can be! Seriously, people, did you not see The Kids Are All Right? last year? This should not be a shocking turn of events.
Here are some of my favorites:
Those poor boys won't have a male role model without a father. (Right. Because we don't know any men. By the way, when was the last time you saw your kids? Oh, that's right - they hate you because you were never around for them. I wanted to call and point out the irony to you but I am willing to bet you don't know what the word means.)
They will probably turn out gay, too. (Hooray for us if they do! I will finally have someone to help me pick out jeans that are actually comfortable and flattering. And our home will be stunning and meticulous. Perhaps our parents or the millions of other straight parents who raised gay kids can give us some pointers on how we can arrange that.)
What a shame the Saint didn't outgrow this phase - she probably just didn't find the right man yet. (Or perhaps you are not gay because you haven't found the right man yet. Yeah - it sounds equally ridiculous when you say it, fucktard. I often wonder how you don't trip over your knuckles when you're walking.)
To be fair, those who shared these stories with us completely shut down the naysayers in a much more positive and informative way, one that left the haters very quiet and embarrassed. For that, I am eternally grateful as that is the only way we will all be equal one day. But haters be warned: hold your tongues or guard your throat when you're I am near.
When the willfully ignorant spew hatred, I have a penchant for punching them under their chins....
- The 2nd Mommy
Well, most people have been good.
Of course, we have heard stories of negative reactions from some friends and family. (Funny how none of them have the guts to say it to our face.) It has been the run of the mill kind of stuff that we expected but it still irritates me how incredibly stupid people can be! Seriously, people, did you not see The Kids Are All Right? last year? This should not be a shocking turn of events.
Here are some of my favorites:
Those poor boys won't have a male role model without a father. (Right. Because we don't know any men. By the way, when was the last time you saw your kids? Oh, that's right - they hate you because you were never around for them. I wanted to call and point out the irony to you but I am willing to bet you don't know what the word means.)
They will probably turn out gay, too. (Hooray for us if they do! I will finally have someone to help me pick out jeans that are actually comfortable and flattering. And our home will be stunning and meticulous. Perhaps our parents or the millions of other straight parents who raised gay kids can give us some pointers on how we can arrange that.)
What a shame the Saint didn't outgrow this phase - she probably just didn't find the right man yet. (Or perhaps you are not gay because you haven't found the right man yet. Yeah - it sounds equally ridiculous when you say it, fucktard. I often wonder how you don't trip over your knuckles when you're walking.)
To be fair, those who shared these stories with us completely shut down the naysayers in a much more positive and informative way, one that left the haters very quiet and embarrassed. For that, I am eternally grateful as that is the only way we will all be equal one day. But haters be warned: hold your tongues or guard your throat when you're I am near.
When the willfully ignorant spew hatred, I have a penchant for punching them under their chins....
- The 2nd Mommy
Friday, July 15, 2011
Another Letter to My Boys
Dear Spud and Sprout -
It occurs to me that you may need to know a few things to make your transition from womb to world a bit smoother. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:
You have been tap dancing on Mommy's bladder, head butting her in the ribs, and dictating when and what she can eat for the past few months. She never got the golden second trimester; instead, she got kidney stones (although she did enjoy the morphine). You might want to sleep for a few days when you get out just to give her a little break. Plan on going on lots of long walks or rides with me while she recovers. Mommy is a Saint....unless she is tired or hungry. That's when the three of us need to pull together and get her back on track. Or play it smart and just get out of her way.
I am sorry that only Mommy is going to breastfeed you. I know I could have tried and I seriously considered it, especially after I found out I could burn 500 calories a day! But I suspect my milk would be either curdled, khulua, or caffeinated, none of which you would enjoy. I promise I will help her every time and do everything else. We both agreed that if one of us is up, then we will all be up. (We'll see how long this will last.)
Please do not repeat any of the words Mommy said during the U.S. women's quarterfinal soccer match against Brazil when it is time to start talking. It was a real nail biter and some of those calls really were bullsh-... silly.
No rush on the walking thing. I finally convinced Mommy you really don't need shoes until you actually use your feet for something other than an attached pacifier.
Feel free to sleep in as often as you'd like, especially on the weekends, but not when you start school. (I bet all of the parents who read this just fell to the floor laughing hysterically. It's like winning the lottery: it could happen....)
Santa adds an extra present for every long nap you take.
Looking forward to more chats with you very soon but please stay in there just a little bit longer.
Love,
O'Mo
p.s. I am test driving different names for what you can call me. O'Mo seemed like a neat shortened version of other mother. However, I am now picturing Dick Van Dyke saying it in the voice he used for Mary Poppins and it sounds like a Cockney slur....
- The 2nd Mommy
It occurs to me that you may need to know a few things to make your transition from womb to world a bit smoother. Here are a few tips to keep in mind:
You have been tap dancing on Mommy's bladder, head butting her in the ribs, and dictating when and what she can eat for the past few months. She never got the golden second trimester; instead, she got kidney stones (although she did enjoy the morphine). You might want to sleep for a few days when you get out just to give her a little break. Plan on going on lots of long walks or rides with me while she recovers. Mommy is a Saint....unless she is tired or hungry. That's when the three of us need to pull together and get her back on track. Or play it smart and just get out of her way.
I am sorry that only Mommy is going to breastfeed you. I know I could have tried and I seriously considered it, especially after I found out I could burn 500 calories a day! But I suspect my milk would be either curdled, khulua, or caffeinated, none of which you would enjoy. I promise I will help her every time and do everything else. We both agreed that if one of us is up, then we will all be up. (We'll see how long this will last.)
Please do not repeat any of the words Mommy said during the U.S. women's quarterfinal soccer match against Brazil when it is time to start talking. It was a real nail biter and some of those calls really were bullsh-... silly.
No rush on the walking thing. I finally convinced Mommy you really don't need shoes until you actually use your feet for something other than an attached pacifier.
Feel free to sleep in as often as you'd like, especially on the weekends, but not when you start school. (I bet all of the parents who read this just fell to the floor laughing hysterically. It's like winning the lottery: it could happen....)
Santa adds an extra present for every long nap you take.
Looking forward to more chats with you very soon but please stay in there just a little bit longer.
Love,
O'Mo
p.s. I am test driving different names for what you can call me. O'Mo seemed like a neat shortened version of other mother. However, I am now picturing Dick Van Dyke saying it in the voice he used for Mary Poppins and it sounds like a Cockney slur....
- The 2nd Mommy
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