maternity pictures + our first major parenting fail

We all know Y’s photography track record isn’t exactly stellar, but because we were too lazy/cheap/ambivalent to have maternity photos done, I asked him to try harder than he’s ever tried at anything ever and take some pictures of me. I think he did a pretty good job. mat1

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In pretty much every photo ever taken of me, I’m looking down and smiling at something. Hint: It’s Ike. It’s always Ike. In the photo above, he was crouching on the ground, moving back and forth in a way I’ve never seen him move before.

“What is he doing?” I asked Y calmly. “IS THIS A SEIZURE?!” I thought to myself, less calmly.

Turns out Ike was physically preparing for this feat:

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I may be new at this, but It’s totally safe for your dog to jump in your baby’s crib, right?

(No, he won’t be doing that again.)

Girl or Boy

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Do you want a girl or a boy?

The “correct” answer here, I’ve learned, is “It doesn’t matter as long as he or she is healthy!” (add #blessed for bonus points). I suppose that’s true, but if we’re being honest, I have some personal feelings on the matter… and there are some obvious pros and cons I think we can all agree on. (see: 4, 6, 8)

1. I’ve always thought it would be fun to grow up with an older brother, so if I were to create that ideal scenario we would need to have a boy first, and then a girl. POINT: BOY

2. We have a couple of girl names we really like and I’m worried they’re all going to become popular before we get the chance to be the trendsetters. POINT: GIRL

3. If we have a boy, and he ends up being anything like that OTHER boy I live with, my house will forever be filled with the sounds of gunshots, explosions, and other loud noises. POINT: GIRL

4. SPARKLY HEADBANDS. POINT: GIRL

5. We have a boy name that we really like. POINT: BOY.

6. Teenage boys are gross. Teenage girls are beautiful princesses. Exhibit A:

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POINT: TIE.

7. I hear moms of girls complaining about their little girls giving them attitude as early as two years old. POINT: BOY

8. My daughter and I could totally have a Rory and Lorelai Gilmore relationship. POINT: GIRL

9. Everyone seems to think we’ll be having a boy, and the rebellious part of me wants to prove them wrong. POINT: GIRL

10. I have saved all kinds of stuff — journals, love notes, dresses — “for my future children” and if I can make a sweeping generalization, girls tend to appreciate that kind of stuff more than boys. At least, none of the boys I know care about that stuff.  Plus, the odds are more likely that my girl baby would grow up to treasure my wedding dress than my boy baby. POINT: GIRL

11. If we had a boy, I could call him, Ike, and Y “my boys.” That’s just cute. POINT: BOY

WINNER (by a hair): GIRL.

#blessed

Mama loves you: Unflappable

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Dear Sir or Madam,

A few months ago at work someone called me “unflappable.” I tend to think that’s true as far as work matters go. I don’t usually get stressed about deadlines; I have a lot of experience with procrastinating and no disasters have ever come of it, so now that I’m more of a planner I feel downright invincible. Also, thanks to some perspective from living with a resident, I can clearly see the bigger picture that an “emergency” in my office is never truly an emergency.
Apparently, this colleague of mine used the word “unflappable” to describe me to a few people. I was starting to be slightly proud of this reputation until a few days later when a bird smacked into my office window. He fell to the ledge and sat there, motionless, unable to fly.

HE WAS LITERALLY UNFLAPPABLE.

And I lost it.

I started sobbing. I don’t DO hurt animals, I managed to tell my friend/co-worker that happened to walk in at that moment. I was convinced I was going to have to watch the bird die on my window ledge.

You’re probably wondering, sir or madam, what this has to do with you. Honestly, I just threw the thing about the bird in there for your first lesson on irony. The real lesson here is that at one point, your mother seemingly had it all together. People complimented her on it.

I fear that might not last long.

Other than animals getting hurt, the thing that sends me into hysterics is, well, silly, but it’s something I’m truly worried about. I get flustered, anxious, angry, and sometimes even frustrated to the point of tears when… wait for the dramatic reveal… I have a lot to carry.

Stupid, right? But if I have more than a few things in my hand while I’m, say,  checking out in a store, I get flustered and start to sweat. I pay, and then put my credit card somewhere completely random with no recollection, and then panic later when I can’t find it. Having a certain place for anything doesn’t help… I temporarily lose my mind when I have a lot of stuff.

From what I understand, babies require JUST A FEW additional accessories and do things in public that may or may not make me flustered and on top of all that I hear I won’t be getting a lot of sleep. And while pregnancy and giving birth comes with SO MANY FUN PERKS, I am here to tell you that no extra hands are grown during the process of gestation.

I’ve been carrying things around for close to 30 years and still haven’t figured out how to leave my house with a purse, gym bag, and lunch without forgetting something, dropping something, sweating, and/or crying. I imagine I will be a flustered mess for your entire childhood what with all of the crap your existence is going to require. When it embarrasses you and you wonder why you couldn’t have a more composed mother, I just want you to know IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT.

Mama loves you (almost as much as she loves injured birds),
D

P.S. We named the bird Elmer and he slowly but surely got his groove back and flew away. I think he had a better day than I did.

checking in

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1. They say it takes a village to raise a child, but you never really hear much about the second half of that maxim which is “and that village starts with someone to carry your pouf.” So, many thanks to my friend/village member A for carrying the ottoman that now lives in our nursery through a shopping center to my car without any complaints. Later, Y carried it from our garage to the nursery and whined about how heavy it was. I’m voting him off of the village.

2. People love to offer pregnant women their seats. Super nice. Don’t stop doing that. Here’s the thing: I DON’T WANT YOUR SEAT. When I sit down, feet and elbows and other sharp things start to stab me in the ribs and a knife starts slicing down my back. I’ll stand, thanks, or better yet, I’ll get on all fours in the corner and do cat/cow stretches. What? That’s not appropriate for a board meeting?

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3. We’ve moved past nesting and onto doomsday prepping. We have weeks worth of food (and horrifying DIY post-partum remedies that I don’t even want to talk about) in our freezer. I also, as you can see in the above picture, stocked up on razors because in an adorably naive moment at Costco I decided that I would have the time/energy to shave my legs eight times in the next EVER.

4. I’m going to miss being pregnant if only because people make you feel like a HERO for doing every day things. Walking up a flight of stairs? GOLD STAR. Staying at a party until midnight? GOLD MEDAL. Going to the gym? JUST GOT KNIGHTED.

5. Over pancakes this weekend, Y and I started asking each other the questions from the “To fall in love with anyone, take this test” article. He got bored after answering 4 questions and didn’t care about any of my answers. We are now madly in love. #nailedit