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    What you’ll tolerate for 5 minutes peace

    February 28, 2007

    I have just discovered the world of “babysitting by television.”  You people that have been doing it with your kids for years and telling me how great it is–you were so right.  I couldn’t get The Boy to pay attention to television for longer than 2 minutes (other than CSPAN) until a month ago.  Now he yells “MOOOOORRRREEE   DOOOOOOORRRRRAAAAA” like a lunatic.  All day long.  When I tell him “no,” he resorts to asking to watch the news.

    I swear I am not lying.

    “Eat-ney watch news, Mama.”
    “All the news is bad, buddy.  No news for you today.”

    Back to Dora.  So I’m sitting on the couch last night when Ethan has convinced us to put on Dora yet again (an easy sell since he held his brother for 25 minutes while we frantically cleaned the house in anticipation for the potential buyers that NEVER SHOWED). 

    K:  Hey, that animal Swiper.  When he is swiping, he is stealing?
    D:  Yep.
    K:  So we are teaching kids that it isn’t “stealing,” it’s just “swiping?”
    D:  Yep. 
    K:  So Swiper is potentially a felon and we act like it is no big deal?
    D:  Yep.  And last episode Swiper got stuck in a bottle and for 30 minutes everyone tried to help him get out.  I would have left the thieving bastard in there. 
    K:  And this show is one of our better options?
    D:  I don’t know.  The other day Ethan was saying “Ga, ga, goo, goo” and I couldn’t figure out where he learned to talk like a baby.  I guess it was the Baby episode of Dora.
    K:  Would that be the same episode where they tell you to cry very loud like a baby to help Dora get to the next level of her adventure?
    D:  Yep. 
    K:  And let’s not even talk about the Unicorn episode.  What the hell is up with that?

    E:  Moooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeee Doooooooooooooooorrrrraaaaaaa, Mama.

    At least it’s not Alien….

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    I can’t wait til Junior is throwing up all over me….

    February 27, 2007

    I find it’s the 4th hour of constant nursing in the middle of the night that gets me.  The first three hours of constant nursing, no problem.  I can practically sleep right through it.  It’s the fourth hour that cripples me.  The fourth hour of “I-really-just-want-to-have-the-nipple-in-my-mouth-in-case-I-MAYBE-want-to-eat-but-I-probably-won’t-but-don’t-you-
    dare-take-it-out-or-I’ll-scream-bloody-murder.”

    Uncle Mike said that having your second isn’t like doubling the work.  According to him, it grows exponentially.  I didn’t want to tell Uncle Mike that 1 quared is 1. 

    So after my virtually sleepless night, I “woke up” at 5:45 a.m. to Derek putting The Boy in bed with me and The Baby.  No problem.  Until 7 a.m. when The Boy, who was practically naked, was squirming around bed so much that I opened an eye.  Not both, because that would have been too much work.  Oh, no.  He just got one eyeball. 

    I opened my eye to see The Boy lifting his diaper away from his body.  I closed my eye, hoping that I was having a very bad dream.  I opened it again.  And there it was….

    A puddle of pee on the bed.  Through the sheets, to the mattress pad.  He moved off the puddle and there it was.  The wet spot on the comforter.  The Calvin Klein bamboo comforter that represented the frivolity of my youth.  The comforter that I purchased when I was a DINK.  When I had a job.  When money was flowing free and it seemed perfectly reasonable to purchase a comforter for $175 when anyone with half a brain would have just spent $40 at Target and then had $135 to waste elsewhere.  Like at Starbucks.  I could have wasted that on 30 venti caramel macchiatos.  30 days of being awake. 

    Thank God Mom was here to throw it in the wash.  It’ll be my turn tomorrow. 

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    If given the opportunity, she’d be changing him more often than a 7 year old with 30 Barbies

    February 25, 2007

    K:  HEY!  What are you doing putting the “Sunday” onesie on him?  It’s Friday night.  You should put the Saturday onesie on him now. 
    Mom:  Who are you kidding?  I’ve seen how often you change this kid’s clothes.  He could be wearing this Sunday onesie on Monday still.
    K:  Good point.

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    Oh, you treat them different, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

    February 23, 2007

    Things you do with the Firstborn:

    1. Buy the Costco size Dreft Baby Detergent, use it for the recommended 12 months (and I mean TWELVE MONTHS, PEOPLE), only cheating once when you find that damn onesie underneath the bed after you washed every single eff-ing piece of baby clothing in the house.
    2. Leaving an establishment the second the baby started crying so that others would not bothered.
    3. Pull over on the highway IMMEDIATELY when baby starts to cry so that you can feed him.  Heaven forbid he feel abandoned by you when you haven’t been holding him for a whole 5 minutes.
    4. Only drink 1/2 of a beer to ensure that baby would be “safe.”

    Things you do with the Second born:

    1. Buy the Costco size Dreft, use it for baby clothes washed before birth, then forget that Dreft is on the top of the fridge in the basement and just start throwing baby clothes in with towels, dish rags and whatever the hell else needs to be washed because, for God’s sake, did he really need to pee on that outfit when he could have just waited one more minute to pee in his brand new dry diaper.
    2. Pretend that baby is not crying because, for God’s sake, we are paying big bucks for this meal and how long has it been since we’ve been out, we are going crazy, what do these children expect from us?
    3. Start singing “Little Red Caboose” really, REALLY loud so that we can’t hear the screaming of the children on Mile 26 of our drive and while these kids don’t look a lot alike, they clearly have the same ear-piercing scream that will make you want to lie down in front of traffic.  Not traffic through a suburb street, but traffic in The City on a Friday night before a lauded opening on Broadway.
    4. Drink my half of the “Portions for 6” margarita recipe from cook’s illustrated cookbook that dad was inspired to make after incident chronicled in #3.  Hope that baby will sleep for at least another 45 minutes so majority of alcohol can be gone from system.

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    Taken at 6:00 p.m.–And I wondered why these kids are up all night

    February 20, 2007

    His father doesn’t even feel guilty.

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    If this is my only problem, then I’ve got no problems.

    February 19, 2007

    He treats breastfeeding as one treats a bottle of Montrachet 1978 that has been purchased in lieu of a home.  He approaches it with trepidation that maybe, just maybe, if he turns his head away for one moment, it will be gone.  He takes slow sips, savoring the full-bodied flavor.  He knows in his heart of hearts that he can make that one drink last for hours. 

    It’s the only time in a mother’s life that she wishes her child breastfed with the enthusiasm that gives her faint glimpses of a future Daytona Beach Beer Funnel Grand Champion, Spring Break, 2028. 

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