The New Girl

What's That Saying? Six Of One And You're Basically Fucked Either Way?

I have to put him down at some point, despite the screaming.

Because if I don't, I don't like the way it makes me feel. About my life, about this time, about him.

So, I put him down, turn the monitor sound to zero, walk away and get the house together or get dressed or shower or write a post because if I don't, I just don't like the way it feels.

And down he goes, into his safe bed and although the sound of the monitor is basically off and I can't hear it, I can still see the series of red lights go on and off, all the way to the top, with the volume of the (muted) screaming.

He's back there, crying, crying, wanting nothing more than to be in a sling, tied to my body. Snuggled close to his mommy, while I'm out here, trying to get a minute to breathe.

And the real kick to the head is this:

I don't like how that feels, either.

It's All Relative. Age Is Just A Number. It'll Be Over Before You Know It. ETC.

It has been a strange, slow motion whirlwind around here, I have to say. It's pretty much expected and I feel like a broken record, saying this shit in every one-time-a-week post that I manage to spit out. I feel like the 140 characters of Twitter are passing for posts for updating and well, that's just stupid and sad.

But! I do have some time(ish) and figured that I could update you in a [modified tweet-type way] series of BULLETED! TIDBITS!

* Currently, I am ambulating in what can only be described as a kind of lurching stagger. It is, I think, a result of the combination of [being old] my muscles being atrophied from non-working out for MONTHS and [being old] bouncing on the ball while holding a 12 pound [monstah] baby in a sling. So, when I stand up from the floor or the ball, I experience a great amount of pressure/stiffness in my lower back that makes it difficult to stand ALL THE WAY UP into an erect posture right away. I end up going into a hunched over posture [you know, like an OLD FUCKING LADY] and then EASING my way up to straight. In addition, I have a CORN on my foot (OMFG) and I have to tell you that shit [MAKES ME OLD] HURTS.

* I get the corns on my feet from wearing only mules for shoes, I think. I wear the mules because I have abnormally small feet that make me look RIDICULOUS if they are housed (clothed? shoed?) in shoes that are my size. So, yeah, I buy shoes that are a half-size too big for me. WHATEVER. Then my feet slide around and create calluses/Corns of Death and that doesn't help the Ambulation Situation.

* The talk about being old is only because right this minute, I FEEL old.  Normally, I do not.  In regular times, when I'm exercising and stretching and eating well and uh, sleeping, I feel like I did in my early 30's, I guess. Late 20's even.  I never noticed a significant difference in my physical self from year to year and am usually flexible and limber.  I can always stand UPRIGHT for fuck's sake. Never having had any major medical issues, pregnancy, childbirth and having a newborn/infant (both times) were a seismic shift for me in terms of health, physical fitness and self-perception.  I believe that as I get more sleep and get back to a [semi] regular exercise routine, I'll get back to my old-but-not-old-feeling self.

* I normally do no Old Talk of my own and am famous for p'shawing any Old Talk from The Man.  I think that what you believe about yourself is important and how you talk about it/project yourself are significant in how you perceive yourself and how you are perceived by others.  Not in a whoo-whoo, The Secret way.  In a practical, 'You Are What You Think' way.  If you repeatedly tell yourself/others that you're old (fat, dumb, poor, ETC.) you are sooner or later going to feel that way. I'm not talking about 'Thinking Positive' or giving myself a 'Mantra,' nor do I think that the way I think can STOP TIME.  It's just that I think that the way you FEEL is often a result of what you are THINKING.  (This is making no sense and going nowhere. Probably Early Onset Dementia. Heh.) 

* In a related note: I do absolutely NO Fat Talk in front of my kid.  This isn't because I'm all of a sudden super-duper satisfied with how my body is looking. (I'm not The 'Oh, I LOVE my pooch! It was my baby's FIRST HOME!' Type. Just not.) It's because I am bound and determined to save her from that kind of deluge in the sanctity of her own home.  (I was certainly NOT spared and was SERIOUSLY DELUGED with that kind of Talk for my ENTIRE childhood/adolescence/adulthood, ETC.) Until TLNG can see commercials, music videos, print ads for underwear for herself, she will not be exposed to negative body-image comments from me or those close to me.  No Weight Talk, No I-Hate-My-Body-Talk, none of that.  Not that I think that this is going to prevent blahblabhbaalah, I'm just not going to be The Model for a fucked up body image. She goes to the gym with mommy to 'exercise' to 'keep our bodies strong,' and THAT my friends, is what she says EVERY SINGLE TIME we pull into the parking lot.

* Believe it or not, I've found that No Fat Talk Ever has kind of translated into a Calmer, Quieter self-evaluation.  I'm still not crazy about the post-partum body but I feel more like, 'I'll get there,' instead of, 'I SUCK AS A PERSON,' if you know what I'm saying.

Bits Of Randomness Fact Friday On A Tuesday. Because, Apparently, That's How I Roll These Days.

* Instead of writing posts (which are brewing) about The Boy's birth story or my Post Partum Experience this time around (I know, those sound SCINTILLATING, right?) all I can think about is the MAD amount of TV (and new TV) that I'm watching.  Most notably, I watched the first two seasons of Dexter in three days (and then had like three dreams about dismembered bodies. Niiice.)  I became OBSESSED with this show and so when I ran out of seasons to 'Watch Instantly' (I LURVE me some Netflix), I went and got the first Dexter book from the library. Am a tool.) I also watched the first season of Weeds (the BEST EVER theme song, yo.)

* Yesterday morning I heard TLNG calling for me at 5:40 in the AM (DST, YOU can suck it, my friend.) Anyway, I was going to run in there and tell her that it wasn't waking-up time (6AM at the effing EARLIEST) and then go and feed the waking baby. When I got to her door it was cracked.  'Hmm. That's odd,' I thought to myself and when I opened the door? I saw a BEFUDDLED, STILL-HALF-ASLEEP, The Man, changing TLNG out of her diaper. Getting her up for the DAY. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVAR. Huh? Um. I'm all for the initiative, dude, but how about we try that say at 6:00--or better yet, on an EFFING SATURDAY?

* Most often, when half asleep, The Man is more amusing than annoying.  If you haven't read that post that I linked, you really should. I wrote it back when I was still funny.  The number of stories that I could tell about The Man leaping out of bed half [dressed and half] asleep to rescue someone is impressive but sadly, probably such a telling is verboten. 

* I hate my dog again.

* Guys, my son is 6 weeks old and I just had to buy him a whole slew of 3-6 month clothes.  And size 2 diapers.  What the hell, kid?  My daughter, you know, the TODDLER?  Two and a half, almost?  Weighs like 25 lbs. and my son weighs TWELVE POUNDS. OMFG. Half her weight.  He has also grown a whole inch since he was born.  He's 23 in long.  How is it possible to have one kid be a peanut and the other be a monstah?

* At the 6 week post-partum mark, I'm starting to have a few *body image(ish)* issues.  Not really bad, just, well, you know.  I don't feel motivated to DO much about it and the clusterfuck that my week of sleep is makes it hard (for me) to want to do anything but eat and sloth (when not bouncing or otherwise infant-toddler wrangling.) I didn't really have much of a pooch last time but this time, WHOO BOY.  Tis a little, er, FLAPPAY.  Hmm. I have decided that a daily dose of 457839058 packages of M&M's is probably not a great idea and so for now, I'm trying to just keep track of what I'm eating and do as much as I can (so far that's a couple minutes of stretching.)  

* We have also had (recurring) issues with The Thrush that make me want to throw myself off a bridge.  If you're on twitter, you know that this resulted in a [totally MORTIFYING] mildly embarrassing exchange with my new doctor, in which I told him the baby and I had The Thrush and he looked in my MOUTH, when, you know..it's on my nipples (hate that word.)  Since I couldn't bear to say the word aloud, me notifying him involved pantomimed circular motions with my fingers a la Kelly Le Brock in Weird Science and he grinned and told me that it's only called The Thrush if it's in your Mouth. M'kay.

* I think because I have the name 'Girl' in the blog title (and I curse a lot,) I get super-gross Search Engine Hits.  Today there was this one: 'Girl giving finger,' which took The Google Perv to this post.  HA HA HA! Sometimes ESL is a bitch, yo.

One Month. Give Or Take. In Other Words, It's Already Started.

If you're keeping track, you'll no doubt notice that The Boy is 5 weeks old by now (how did THAT happen?)

Anyway.

The 'Second Kid Getting The Shaft' has already begun, I suppose. 

He's a hefty, refluxy, crusty, squeaky little guy who is losing his hair.  I'm getting to know him but it's really like my friend Swistle says. He's like a little stranger.  It is bizarre in a way and in another way, I'm sure it's the most natural thing in the world.

The differences between him and TLNG are numerous.

But still, there are similarities.

Here's a picture of my girl at one month old. (Probably published Right On Time.) 

I think her eyes are rounder and it's hard for me to tell who he is going to look like yet but I see a likeness.

 

Except that he's like TRIPLE her size.

GEEZUZ.

Ding Dong. Who Is It?

Flowers for MumbleMumble.

Who is it?

Plumber.

........

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Candygram.