Currently Browsing: Laugh With Me
May 15, 2013
As you may know, men shop differently than women. If you’ve got a plan of shopping action, he’s willing to here it and execute it. But there’ll be no lollygagging and meandering about aimlessly for items.
The first Christmas season we spent together, we went to the Towson (Maryland) Mall and went separate ways to shop. And when we met back up at the appointed place, Mark was pale and shaky. Seems he’d been traumatized previously by shopping. Maybe he was hypoglycemic too, who knows.
So it’s been many of years of shopping therapy. The last time we went out, he knew his size and style of preferred jeans and his tailored shirt numbers so well that there was no fuss. I was astounded that we didn’t have to try on anything else.
And this week he surprised me with, “Let’s go shopping”. And we did and again there was no drama. We teased each other and strolled the baby around the store and then we were done. $300 in Kohl’s got us 5 shirts, 2 jeans, 2 shorts, and 2 pr of shoes. And when I came upstairs the next morning, He’d laid out his clothes out so nicely on the bed. Had to take the picture.
The second pair of shoes were on his feet. I thought about taking a picture of the ones he finally was allowing me to replace. But your eyes would burn to see them they’re that hideous.
And now I really need to get myself some new or even gently used clothing that don’t have spots or pregnancy panels on them. I suspect that the reason I no longer have anything this size is because I let go of those when I lost that weight last Spring. My ever changing wardrobe lamentation posts are here and here.
If you’ve got a good Mars vs. Venus shopping story, do tell.
May 8, 2013
She was like impending doom watching me from the other side of the room. One of many of the parade members. They were all just letting themselves in. As hospital staff, they all have a purpose there. But something about her wolflike stare creeped me out. She had a true purpose. And it was breastfeeding.
The hospital has two fulltime gals for the specific purpose of coaching, training, and assisting with the new mothers with their breastfeeding “plan”. This isn’t just a job for them, they’re missionaries.
Their belief is a altruistic. That breastfed children enjoy many benefits to their health that they wouldn’t if they’re just on formula. Immunity, intelligence, security, and much much more. I don’t disagree.
What they also know is that having a baby is extremely scary and painful and breastfeeding only adds fuel to that scary fire. I found it messed with my head but good to know that this creature’s survival was dependent on something that came out of my body that I didn’t have conscious control over. And your nipples really really hurt, your breasts ache, and sometime you get this feeling like you want to peel the leech off of your personal space and go screaming off into the night.
Her Leche League leading self was trying to act calm during her first uninvited visit. She sat in the chair and asked if I had any questions. I knew she wanted me to show her my technique. And I wasn’t about to do that. Not for nobody. I’d read those pamphlets, watch videos, and talk to anyone but her. It was a proprietary conversation during which I happened to spill water on my newborns head. She didn’t crack a smile. Just stared at me with that lupine stare. She creeped me out.
She showed up uninvited to my hospital room the next day (stalking me) during the exact moment when I began my breakdown from the constant flow of people showing up unannounced in my room to poke and prod me and the baby. I am sure she was still wanting a technique demonstration. And she got the bums rush with everyone else so I could relax for a few hours.
I am still breast feeding, not that it’s anyone’s business. It takes the patience and temperament of a saint. Honestly, selflessness isn’t any of our natural propensities. But we’re doing it. And we’re throwing down a couple of ounces of formula for good measure. At first to put weight on her. Now to get probiotics in her.
And don’t worry Breast Police, she is a nipple snob. She absolutely hates any rubber nipple in her mouth. Aren’t you happy? Keep doing what you’re doing if only because you have the children’s well being in mind. But I’ll hope not to meet you in a dark hospital alley any time soon.
Apr 26, 2013
I recently had to explain to my seven year-old why I was shooing the kitty away from the house and away from the girl kitty who was acting kinda funny. We were having a birds, the bees, and kitties talk in which we discussed how boy kitties have spikes on the end of their winkles to ensure their parenthood possibilities.
My poor son will never be able to shake the images of that conversation. Good. He did understand there’s a biological imperative for species survival. They don’t even realize they are programmed to continue their existence. People too. And our job is to ruin their job when propagation is a bad thing.
If left up to their funny business, this is how cats would multiply and procreate. One mommy kitty can have three kittens three times a year. So she can potentially spawn 9 kittens per year. Second year and you multiply those 9 kitties by three and three again and now you have 81 kittens. And by the third year, 775 cats in your backyard howling and spraying.
So we treated our girl kitty to a cab ride to the clinic and unkittened her. Because I feel that if you’re going to feed them, then you need to make sure there will be no other mouths to feed later.
We’re just lucky enough to have an old country vet down the road who’ll take their crazy furry butts out of the trap and fix ‘em up. My husband and I live near a river and this is a highway for all animals. We have taken care of at least 50 cats in one way or another in the past 12 years. And, although it’s been heart wrenching at times, it’s also the least we can do.
One week ago, we lost our Butthead to a surprise case of cancer. And although we got him from the streets of Denton, actually in a parking lot, that is no place for kittens. So please do an extra good responsible action toward an animal and spay or neuter or call the local authorities to humanely and compassionately end or deter future suffering of any animals. Our bigger brains suggest we are smarter. Right practices of any sort are a choice.
Apr 23, 2013
Newborns are like zombies. Maybe it’s me missing those last Walking Dead episodes. But there are some uncanny similarities.
No one mentions this but those weird dark eyes we are born with are kinda creepy. Have you seen the opening montage for the Walking Dead and that sudden shot of the black eyeball twitching about? Aha.
Secondly, she’s trying to eat me alive. Albeit with the cutest little bowed lips and hopeful gulping sounds. But eating alive is eating alive.
And then there’s those weird jerking movements. You know the lurching and twitching and flailing that zombies do even if they are missing a torso. The spastic movements of a newborn are eerily similar.
The insatiable need for you is last on the zombie-alike list. Their hunger to have you satisfy their continued existence. Husband said she was like a vampire, sucking on his neck and staying up at night and we called her Fionicula at first. But zombies have an undying need for you too. The need for your brains.
Willingly and happily we invite zombie babies to come live with us. And they do and then proceed to eat our brains, one sane brain cell at a time, for the rest of our lives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Apr 14, 2013
I never suspected it would happen to me. I coveted the cute girl’s clothing while shopping for my baby boy. Frankly, boys clothing is Boring. I wanted to fondle pink and purple and tutus. There seems to be an innate drive to dress a dolly up
As we didn’t know what flavor child we were having this time either, I had gathered “gender neutral” clothing again. There’s no such thing. There’s girls clothing and then there isn’t.
But then, we had a girl! So three-day old Fiona got her some pink hot pants from Mama from Target store after her pediatrician’s appointment. And thus began the influx of pink outfits by mail and gift wrapped at my door and smuggled in with my visitors.
I realized this ‘need’ we ladies all seem to have to buy girls clothing can now be satisfied for some with the excuse (Fiona the beautiful) I’ve provided. And I’ve given blanket permission to everyone to help dress up the dolly.
I feel some funky clothing styling coming too. Change out the buttons for vintage ones. Pair pink and black, orange with old lace, and so on. Not something I’d do for myself, of course.
Although fashion has never been my thing, I could easily live vicariously through Fiona. And everyone is welcome to shop for her to your hearts content. You know you want to.
I suspect her entire wardrobe for the next six months is pink pink pink all the time time time.
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