Ever thought you'd be *worse* than your mother?

Everyone always talks all the time about how they think they'll be a better mother than their mother. And, I confess, I was probably one of those self-righteous judgers. But it has recently occurred to me that not only will I not be *better* than my mother, there's a good chance I'm WAY WORSE than she is.

A scenario that may illustrate this:

I've been so busy puking lately that I can't drag myself out of bed except to puke. My baby has grown tired of watching 8 hours a day of Thomas the Tank Engine in my bedroom, so he's started to just wander around the rest of the house and play by himself. Part of me always thinks that if I were a good mother, I'd be able to at least drag my puking butt out to the couch so I can kind of watch him. (I've heard that leaving 1 year old's unattended for 8 hours at a time is generally frowned upon.) But apparently, I'm not that good because I can't get out of my bed. So, periodically I just yell out, "Hey! Are you OK?" And being the smart-alec that my baby is, he yells out, "yeah," in a "please stop harassing me you crazy woman," tone of voice.

Well, one time I called out, "Are you OK?" And there was no response. I found this troubling, so I did manage to get myself into the living room where I saw the following: My one year old baby had gotten himself a Pepsi, arranged pillows on the couch, and was sitting there, all lounging, with his feet up. He had managed to start himself a DVD of cartoons and had the remote in one hand and his open can of Pepsi in the other. When he saw me he just raised his eyebrows and was like, "Yeah? What do you want?"

I just shook my head and got back into bed.

What's the fundamental question?

On the radio this morning this songwriter (David Grey, I think) was talking about how he writes about mortality because, "well, that's what it all comes down to, isn't it?"

For me, the fundamental question has always been, "what makes life meaningful?" But, listening to Mr. British songwriter guy, I thought that maybe not everyone agrees.

What's your "fundamental question?" That we all die? That our lives should mean something? Whether or not the universe hates us? (I'm pretty sure it *does* hate me, but that's fodder for another post another time.)

God and/or the universe hates women

I think that Albert Einstein once said that the most important question about the universe was whether or not it was friendly.

Well, Albie, chew on this:

If you're a woman and you get pregnant and you're normal, you can expect a semi-constant urge to vomit to accompany you for, oh, four months.

If you're me and you get pregnant you vomit your brains out for, oh, nine months.

Friendly my *$%.

In case the full meaning of that last post was lost on you

I am pregnant.

They told us that there was a 0% chance of us ever conceiving a baby naturally.

My other baby is only 18 months old.

Curses on fertility specialists everywhere.

If your doctor tells you you're inferitle

DON'T BELIEVE HIM!!!!!! That is how you FREAKING end up pregnant when you already have a crazy one year old! ARRRRRRRRRRRGGHHHHHHH!!!!

The most disgusting thing that can possibly happen with a baby

just happened to me.

He was holding out his fingers and I thought he wanted me to kiss them. So, since sometimes I actually like my kid, I started gobbling up the fingers and kissing him.

But . . .

He wasn't holding them out to be kissed.

He was holding them out to show me the poop he had just scooped out from his diaper.

It was green.

I didn't see it because it was dark and I didn't have my glasses on.

But I tasted it . . .

Mommy is SO proud

I had to pick my kid up from daycare early last week because he was beating up babies.

That's right.

He'd take their juice then push them to the ground and run away.

Yeah.

I'm not ignoring your comments

I just haven't figured out how to reply very well yet. I could post a comment myself, but how would you know to read it? I've tried replying to the email I get with your comments, but it won't let me do that. Against cyber rules or something. And creating a whole blog entry made me feel odd, too, because who knows who'll read that. So, anyway. I don't think that your baby looks like a boy. She's way too cute. I also haven't read those books, though I have heard of them. I'm afraid they'll be depressing but maybe the subject matter is unfairly prejudicing me. Have you read them? And thank you for saying Sam is lucky to have me. It kept me from yelling swear words at him one day.

Don't skip a dose of your anti-depressants

That's what we should all learn from that last post.

thoughts on baby raising

I have been depressed all morning. Questioning my life choices. I arranged my entire life so that I could stay at home with my baby. I got degrees suitable toward a part time teaching career. Period. I’m not employable in any full-time kind of way, despite having gone to grad school. I spend the day cleaning the house, watching my baby mess the house up, then cleaning it again. We watch Baby Einstein and then drive around the block until the kid falls asleep. Then I sit in my car alone in the driveway. You wouldn’t think that that would be the best part of the day, but it is. I read books. Check my email. I used to write stuff, but I’m still on strike now. Tired of failure.

Everyone says that raising babies is oh-so-important, oh-so-meaningful.

It never once occurred to me at any point previous in my life that everyone was full of shit.

Raising babies completely annihilates you. Raising babies is boring. And worst of all, raising babies is a temporary gig. It is not some divine life-calling. They grow up. They move out. Marry some ho.

I just want to shake the next person who tells me that when you lose yourself you find yourself. That’s a load of crap.

Because I am gone. And I haven’t heard a single fracking little squeak from anyone remotely like some stupid new found self.

Crazy kid

If there is one image that completely personifies my baby, it's the one I saw in the shower this morning: rows of tiny teeth marks in my soap.

My kid is going to hate me for this one

Everyone keeps thinking my crazy masculine baby is a girl. He'll be running around a store, dirt covering most of his 30 pounds worth of fat rolls, wearing a blue shirt with hammers on it, and someone will say, "What a beautiful girl you have!" I always want to say, "What on earth about my 30 pound hunk of baby fat dirty craziness (dressed in *man* clothes) is the least bit girly?!" But I think I know what it is. He's too good looking to be a boy. He's got these huge blue eyes, fat pink cheeks, and whispy little blonde curls that poke out from behind his ears. So. I just consider it a compliment when someone mistakes my obviously manly child for a girl. All they're really saying, I tell myself, is just how amazingly good looking he is. I just say, "thanks," and brace myself for his teenage years when the real girls will go CRAZY.

Whatever works

My one year old has a laptop (it's an old one that we only gave him to keep him from harassing us when we're on ours) and he couldn't get it to start. He pushed all the buttons twice and nothing happened. I got up, checked the chord and it was plugged in. Then I tried to turn it on. Nothing. Finally, he just picked up his football and hurled it at the screen. LO! It turned on. He just nodded his head, as if it's turning on was the only real response to expect from the football hurling. Then he started typing.

You do freaking better

that's what I want to say to the next dang person who whines about JK Rolling's overuse of adverbs.

Call me crazy

I brought a piece of writing to my writing group that was secretly about something I had done in real life. I didn't tell anyone I was the protagonist, though, because I was too embarassed to admit it.

Their response was: "Your protagonist is OBVIOUSLY schizophrenic."

I said, "isn't it possible that, you know, under the right circumstances?, a normal person could do something like that?"

And then this one lady shook her head all disgusted and said, "Oh, honey. She may THINK she's normal but she is NOT normal."

And then everyone in the room started brainstorming about what horrible things could have happened to this person during her childhood that could possibly make her so psycho.

Yeah.