The Confessional

Before I had kids, I had really bad IBS. Needless to say, I have pooped my pants before. Twice. I have two friends that I text the following update to each time it happens again, "Times I've pooped my pants to date: X."
 
Sins from fellow boozehounds: 
Hannah says: I can eat a dozen krispy kreme donuts without getting sick or gaining weight. And with the amazing sweet tooth I've developed while pregnant--I could probably eat more than just 12. ILBAB says: Girl, get your donut on. Ain't no shame in that!

Jennifer says: I used to do this thing where, if a friend told someone else what I had said in confidence, I would deny that I said it and look at the gossiper like they were crazy. I've had people do it to me with things NOT told in confidence and it drives me absolutely batty. ILBAB says: Remind me not to tell you any secrets. Oh. Wait. I already tell all of them here. Never mind

Nesser says: I use baby lotion when I'm too lazy to give the widgets a bath. They smell clean- that counts, right? ILBAB says: If it smells clean, it is clean. End of story.

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.

Postpartum My Eggo Update: Week 5

Things that have happened in the last week:

1. While applying A + D ointment to The Cool Cucumber's peanut, ADD Daddy asked me if A + D stood for A** +D*ck. I replied, "I doubt it, but I think we should contact them about changing their slogan."
2. While holding The Cucumber, I smelled something funky. I asked him if he was just farting or if he pooped his pants. ADD Daddy asked if I was talking to him. I repeated what I said and asked if he really thought I was talking to him. He replied, "Oh. I didn't hear the last part." Um. OK.
3. I find, that no matter that we have 3,000 of them around the house, that I NEVER have a burp cloth when The Cucumber barfs everywhere. How is this even possible. Does it have something to do with the space-time continuum?

Postpartum tip of the week: Aquaphor works for mamas, too. Whether you have a bit of your own diaper rash from constantly wearing a pad or things are a little rough around the stitch area, slap some Aquaphor on it and call it a day. As I have said before, Aquaphor is awesome. I use it on diaper rash, burns, cuts, dry skin, pretty much any ailment a baby/mama can have of the skin.

Funniest Google search that led someone to I like beer and babies this week: thermomiter (sp) in pee hole. Um...ouch. It doesn't go there. It is bad enough that it sometimes goes in the butt.

Postpartum Porn

So if you live under some sort of pregnancy rock and have not heard of the hilariousness that is Pregnant Chicken, you must check it out. She just featured the most awesomeness of posts: Porn for Pregnant Ladies.

This post got me thinking of what would turn me on while I am stuck in the hell that is postpartum phase. Such as ADD Daddy saying:

• Let me take the baby tonight. You just relax and get some sleep. You deserve it.
• I love your hysterical crying. It just reminds me of how much of a woman you really are.
• Six weeks isn't that long. Besides, I already dream of making love to you every night.
• Let's order Thai food and obsess over the color and consistency of the baby's bowel movements.
• Those aren't stretch marks. Those are battle scars because you are a warrior. A sexy warrior.
• Let me get you another ice pack. I know your hemorrhoids must be killing you and I hate to see you in pain.
• Tonight I just want you to rub your feet while you lay on the couch, hold the baby while it sleeps and watch reruns of True Blood.
• I didn't think it was possible, but you are actually sexier than you were before you got pregnant.
• That's not baby weight. It's just more of you to love.

The Confessional

In college, I decided to give myself chunky blonde highlights. The end result: I had two huge, bright whitish/yellow clumps of hair at the front of my head that made me look like I had some sort of incurable disease. I was too lazy to re-dye it, so my hair stayed that way until it grew out.

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.

Postpartum My Eggo Update: Week 4

Things that have happened in the last week:

1. I spilled a $2.99 glass of Charles Shaw Chardonnay on our $1,500 laptop, basically rendering a very large paperweight. Hence, the lateness of this post. Craptastic.
2. The Cool Cucumber slept all the way through his first feeding one night only for me to wake up for his second feeding to the first snowfall of the year. Magical.
3. We have decided that every time one of our kids gets on our nerves so bad that we want to scream at them that we are going to give them up for adoption that we will just yell, "Twinkies!" at the top of our lungs. It is a very effective stress reliever.
4. The Cucumber and I started baby yoga this week. When I whipped out a formula bottle to feed him and then proceeded to change his non-cloth diaper, some of the harpies in the class audibly gasped. Screw you, hippies. Mama has her hands full and the last thing I need is to carry around is a shitty diaper all day to make you feel better. I recycle, so there.

Postpartum tip of the week: If you keep track of baby's eating, sleeping and pooping, download the free Similac Baby Journal app in iTunes. I did and it is a life saver. With The Quiet Contemplator, we kept track of everything on paper in tiny stupid slots, this app allows us to keep track of The Cool Cucumber's activities in an organized manner that helps us track what he has done for the last day/week/month, email it to our Dr if needed, project what he will be doing in the next coming days, etc. It rocks. It is great for breast feeders, too. It even let's you record which boob you are feeding from. The pee/poop recording part cracks me. There are three dirty diapers you choose from. One with a blue line in the front, one with a blue line and brown spot and one with just a brown spot. If that isn't funny enough, once you select the correct diaper, you enter a screen with a slide down of like 15 colors of poop and another slide down with like 15 consistencies. Being this detailed or recording it at all might seem stupid to some of you, but it came in hella handy when The Cucumber got constipated and we needed to track when the last time he actually went was and report all of the details to our pediatrician. Anyhoodle. If you are interested, you can download it for free here. Enjoy!

Momenemies of the Mom of a Newborn

Momenemies of the Mom of a Newborn
We all know the basics enemies of new mommy sucktitude: endless feedings, endless crying, endless baby weight, etc. The enemies below are a little lesser known, but just as evil.

Germs They're everywhere. Or so people would like to have you think. Banning a mom indoors for three months because it is cold and flu season is just cruel. Does it really matter that I take the baby to the grocery store to get some milk? I plan on leaving them in their pumpkin seat and covering them in an infant Haz Mat suit, if it helps. I promise not to let anyone with the Plague sneeze on them or let them lick any toilet seats or eat any raw chicken while we are out. I get that germs are bad, but I have a two-year-old in daycare. She is like a walking case of rubella. Can I please just go outside? PLEASE?

 The Veteran Mommy This bitch knows everything. From breastfeeding to sleep training to vaginal rejuvination, the Veteran Mommy knows it all and isn't afraid to tell you about it. As a new mom, she can be both your best resource and worst enemy. She can make you feel relieved and stupid at the same time. Now that I am two deep in the world of drunken midgets, I try to keep my Veteran Mommy advice to a minimum for newbies, but it is HARD.

Vomit It's everywhere. Your hair, your ears, your clothes your mouth. Babies are disgusting, and now, you are too. You will go out in public to pick up some diapers and feel that you have done a pretty good job of making yourself presentable only to discover that you have baby vomit all down the back of your shirt. Oh, sorry, that sour milk smell is me. Can you pass me that pack of Trident?

Boobs Once a pair of beautiful pillows to push up and out to flaunt and make men go crazy, boobs are now gigantic and painful sacks of milk that spring leaks at will. Amazonian nipples, a track of veins more pronounced than a heroin addict's and silicone-looking fullness make a new mama's boobs less about sexuality and more about biology.

Sleep Sleep is a thing of the past (duh!). If you manage to get any, it is more like drunk sleep where you wake up feeling worse than when you went to bed. An hour here, three hours there, it never really adds up to a well-rested mama. And whoever started this "sleep when the baby sleeps" crap is an asshole. Right, I will sleep when the baby sleeps, and wake up to the same stack of dishes, loads of laundry, vomit-covered couch, empty bottles, full trash cans, uncooked breakfast/lunch/dinner, etc. WHAT A GREAT IDEA! Moron.

The Drive-by Pediatrician This is what I like to call the busy bodies who like to give you random parenting advice wherever you are. You know, like in line at Arby's, the grocery store, gas station bathrooms, etc. Many times, these know-it-alls haven't even birthed no babies but they love to tell you what they think you are doing wrong. Feel free to punch them in the neck and move on.

Pooping After you have a baby, pooping becomes one of the scariest things on the planet. If you had a c-section, the thought of popping a stitch or using your stomach muscles in any fashion makes you want to start on a starvation diet so you never have to go to the bathroom again. If you pushed your baby into this world, your “area” has just received a beating 18x as bad as a pack of midgets could deliver with their tiny little fists. Either way, the thought of pushing anything else out of your nether regions is horrifying. Also, word to the wise, take stool softeners until the first #2 happens. You will thank me later.

Travel Going anywhere with the baby is a feat of titanic proportions. Before you had a child, you just grabbed your purse (which contained everything you ever needed in life) and headed out the door. Now, you have to plot the trajectory of the baby's eating/sleeping/pooping schedule along with the lunar phase of Mars, pack a bag filled with every item a baby could ever possibly need, make sure the baby is fed and changed, stop to change the baby again because they just pooped and threw up at the same time, contact the Dr. to make sure it is OK to go to the store for more milk even though it is cold/flu season, remember where your car keys are, remember where you were going in the first place, etc. Then, once you finally get the baby all strapped into the car seat and ready to go, you realize that your boobs have leaked through your shirt and you have to head back in the house and start the process all over again. REALLY?

The Real World Venturing out into the "real world" is now a very scary ordeal. Even though it has only been a few weeks, you now can't remember how anything works. How do I get the store to let me take the things in my cart home? I remember it has something to do with plastic. Where does the grocery store keep that white stuff that comes in a jug that cows make? You are now a sleep-deprived zombie mommy that actually scares people when you go out in public. Plus, you smell like vomit and haven't combed or washed your hair in a week.

Your Husband Once the wonderful man who you couldn't wait to have children with, your husband in now the bastard that got you into this whole situation. Just looking at his asshole face makes you want to punch him in the neck. In your eyes, everything that he now does is annoying, from the way he sleeps, to the way he holds the baby (the WRONG way). No matter what he does and how well he means, the mere site of him can send you into a postpartum rage. And why does he keep asking if you are OK and backing away slowly?

Visitors Visitors mean well (mostly). They want to see what your loins have produced and hold a sweet baby without the commitment of getting up 16 times in the middle of the night to feed it. They also want to see how labor treated you and if you have lost the weight/your schmidt yet. Knowing you have a visitor coming, even for a short time, kind of ruins your day. You have to do the ungodly (shower, comb your hair and remove your pajamas), try to act like you still know how to form sentences and remember what the real world is like, and entertain someone in your house while it looks like a baby tornado hit it. It is tedious and a bit demoralizing. If you are a visitor, you better bring a gift and food.

The Crazy Train Every new mom takes at least short ride on The Crazy Train (AKA postpartum depression). Uncontrollable crying, feeling completely alone, wanting to run away screaming and never look back. You know, the fun stuff. I took a pretty long ride with my first. I remember telling her little newborn self that I would throw her down a well if she didn't stop the endless crying. Don't call DCFS, I was just joking…mostly. I don't even know where to find a well and she was probably crying because she could see The Crazy Train coming down the tracks. Oops.

Want to read more Momenemies? Read my post about Momenemies of a Daycare Mom or head on over to Rants from Mommyland for more fun.

The Confessional

After a local Mardi Gras one year, I came home and fell asleep on the toilet. My husband woke me up and slowly lured me out of the bathroom by offering me cupcakes.


The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.

Postpartum My Eggo Update: Week 3

Things that have happened in the last week:

1. After breakfast one morning, I remarked to ADD Daddy that it was only 9 a.m. and The Quiet Contemplator had been in her nighttime diaper for 14 hours and The Cool Cucumber had already peed in his own mouth. We are awesome parents.
2. While cleaning the living room, we found a dried up wipe with poo on it. We are also classy.
3. The first day ADD Daddy was back to work, The Cucumber had a doo doo explosion that resulted in the usage of an entire package of wipes, a bath and the washing of jammies, a swaddle wrap, the changing table cover and my pajamas. It was ugly. All 15 minutes after Daddy and The Contemplator walked out of the door.
4. I barely haulted The Contemplator from jamming a set of keys into a power outlet. She likes to remove the childproof covers and give them to me as presents. Damn stupid smart kid.

Postpartum tip of the week: One of the suckiest things about having a baby is having to wear a pad for weeks on end. I have discovered the best pads ever, and thought I would share. I am pretty sure they are the ones they advertise on TV as being like a sports bra for your crotch. Though I don't exactly disagree, my vagina isn't exactly training for a marathon right now so I think there is a bit of a disconnect. Anyway. Always Infinity pads rock. They are SUPER thin, made of some weird space material that molds to your vag and they have big wings. I am a huge fan (well, as big of a fan as I can be of something that I refer to as "my diaper"). The Quiet Contemplator told me the other day, "Mommy, you need a new diaper." Um. Thanks.

Postpartum Depression Sucks a Bag of D*cks

I know a lot of people don't talk about postpartum depression. And a hell of a lot less talk about needing medication to treat it. But, hey, I have already told you that at one point my vag looked like Mickey Rourke and that I poop with my feet on a stool, so why stop the self-humiliation there.

When I had The Quiet Contemplator, my postpartum experience was a shitstorm that I never want to go through again. Not only was I extremely depressed (baby blues my ass) but I also had a cancer scare, developed a thyroid problem, got two bacterial infections and found out my mom had Parkinson's Disease. 

Needless to say, I went down and went down hard. I never really recovered. Que the after-effects of having a baby in an already depressed person, throw in the obstacles that were thrown in my path during it, take away all things that resemble sleep and add an infant that cried from about 3 pm to 8 pm, and you had me: one hot fucking mess of a mama. Let's just say, it was not pretty. I lost friends, alienated the ones I loved, lost all sense of self-worth, etc. The only thing I managed to do right was to be a good mom. But that is all that I was. Outside of being a mom, I was a shadow of my former self.

I even went to therapy right before I got pregnant again because I didn't want to start meds since we were planning another baby and the jury is still out on what the effects of being on anti-depressants while pregnant are. Therapy helped and things evened up a bit when I actually got pregnant, but I was never really there. I participated in my life but didn't really have an active role in it. I didn't realize it then, but I hadn't actually experienced true happiness in years.

This time, I decided to take control before The Crazy Train of postpartum depression even left the station. I started anti-depressants in the hospital right after I had The Cool Cucumber and had a prescription filled for when I got home. So far? Best. Decision. I. Have. Ever. Made.

Now that I am actually on medicine, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time: happiness. I didn't know how far out of control my depression had gotten until I actually did something to fix it. Now, not only does the medication (Lexapro) not sap me of all emotion, but it has actually helped me feel real emotion again. I actually feel like I am someone again. I feel joy, sadness, relief, anxiety, love. I feel everything. I am not just a passenger on the back of the bus that is my life anymore. I am actually driving again and it feels fantastic.

Now are meds an easier choice for me because I am a formula mama? Sure as hell are. Is there something you can do even if you are not? Yep. Talk to someone. A friend, your Dr, your priest, your mom. Hell, talk to me. Having a baby is hard. Having a baby while struggling with real depression is impossible. It is not your fault and you are no less of a mom for having it. Just get help. I did this time and I feel real again. I feel whole. I feel strong. I feel like me.

The Confessional

When I was about 6, I wanted contact lenses really bad. I was tired of wearing glasses and decided, at a school movie party, to take matters into my own hands. Being only 6, I thought that anything that looked like a contact would work. So, I took a popcorn kernel hull and stuck it in my eye. Bad move.

Sin from a fellow boozehound: I once threw up in the bathroom at a house party and passed out on the floor with my leg fully extended to brace the door closed (because even when you're drunk, covered in vomit, and sprawled on the filthy floor of some bachelor pad bathroom, you never know what kind of perv might wander in and try something). I learned the next morning that, due to the fact that it was a one-bathroom apartment and I had barricaded myself in, the guys spent the rest of the night pissing out the window. I never did hear how the ladies managed. I don't know which is worse - the incident itself or that I'd forgotten about it until now. (ILBAB says: I love that you were passed out drunk in a pool of your own vomit yet still mindful of pervs. Way to protect your lady bits.)

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.

Postpartum My Eggo Update: Week 2

Well, we have made it two weeks and we are all still alive and somewhat sane. So far, we are all adjusting well as a family and I have to say that it is a hell of a lot easier the second time around. When we brought The Quiet Contemplator home from the hospital, we drove 5 miles an hour home and panicked at every squeak. When we brought Baby Boy home, we clicked him in his carseat base, kind of forgot he was even there for the most part and hit up Trader Joe's and Target on the way home (don't worry, we remembered he was there). Things are just so much more serene this time.

The Quiet Contemplator has done pretty well with the change. She seems to like Baby Brother, who we currently refer to as "The Cool Cucumber" due to his laid-back disposition. She only seems to be pissed at me. It is getting better day by day, but I won't lie and say that there aren't some days where I want to stab my eyes out with a rusty screwdriver from her acting out for attention--even when I am sitting on the floor playing with only her and the Cucumber is nowhere in sight. She is just adjusting to everything changing and mommy not only being there for her. I know it will get better, but it is really hard right now.

So far, The Cool Cucumber is a prince. All the kid does is eat, sleep and poop and I am drinking it all in. When ADD Daddy has him and I want to hold him, I just say, "My vagina hurts," and he has to fork him over. I know it is a dirty trick but, damn it, my vagina does hurt and I want to hold him. :) He is a healthy little dude. Only scare we had was that he might be deaf in one ear at the hospital. When the Dr told me he might be deaf in one ear I replied, "Well, his sister is pretty much blind in one eye so I guess that levels the playing field." She did not think it was funny. My thought was, "What do you want me to do? Get on my knees and start bawling and praying?" If the kid is deaf in one ear we will get him the best help we can find, do what we can and move on. It isn't cancer and there isn't anything we can do about it. My freaking out won't make him hear. No worries though, he passed his hearing test with flying colors the next day. Guess we will have to make him wear an eye patch too just so his sister doesn't feel bad.

As for me, I am doing pretty damn fine. Birth was an amazing experience, my recovery has been pretty good and I did the smart thing and started anti-depressants in the hospital. That's right. *GASP* I struggle with depression and actually did something about it before it took me down hard again. I will elaborate more in another post, but for now, just know that it is OK to need help if you are having a hard time after having a baby. Even the perfect mom at Gymboree that manages to do her hair and makeup AND hit a pilates class while juggling what you can barely even dream of might be struggling. She just might have asked for help by now.

I have also made tremendous strides to put the beer back into I like beer and babies. I won't speak to the exact amount of wine I have consumed, but let's just say it is enough to make make a Jehovah's Witness blush. I love booze. I missed it so. Don't call DCFS. I have never once been drunk around my kids and I am not breast feeding (also for another post). Just slightly warm.

Moral of my Week 2 story: Wine + anti-depressants = happy mommy.

The Confessional

I once got drunk at a frat party, threw up down the front of my shirt, went to the bathroom, removed my cardigan, turned the vomit shirt around backwards, replaced the cardigan and returned to the party. Classy.

The Confessional is now open. Have something you need to repent for? Feel free to send me your sin and I will help your purge your demons.