The Cool Cucumber's Tube Surgery

Friday was the big day for The Cool Cucumber's tube surgery. I thought I would share the details with everyone because it is a pretty common thing and some of you might have to go down this road in the future.

Friday morning, the Cool Cucumber, who usually wakes up around 7 or later every morning, woke up right at 5:30--his final deadline to get any solid food before surgery. That boy has a sixth sense about food! So he ate a big breakfast and we played until it was time to head to the hospital.

Breakfast!

Once we got to the hospital, we signed in, he got weighed, got his stats taken and then we waited. Our hospital has a huge toy room for kids to play in before surgery and we spent much of the time doing rounds in a Cozy Coupe around the same-day surgery ward.

Playing before surgery

A visual for you: they had asked me to have The Cucumber wear a button-down shirt. They didn't tell me they would be removing his pants. So, basically, my son walked the halls looking like a drunken frat boy for about an hour before surgery. The staff called him Risky Business and would laugh every time he would take a lap, toddling past the nurses' station.

About a half hour before surgery, a little Irishman came out and introduced himself as our anesthesiologist. I can honestly tell you that I didn't understand a fucking word his adorable little ass said. His accent was so thick that it was like a leprechaun was trying to tell me what was about to happen. The little I did pick up contained a lot of really far-out metaphors and euphemisms. One was that The Cucumber was going to dream for a thousand years and travel to faraway lands while he was under during surgery. Um...OK. That sounds totally relevant to what is going on right now, Lucky Charms. Any other knowledge bombs you want to drop on me? I finally just nodded and said it all sounded great.

Fifteen minutes before surgery, a nurse gave The Cucumber some hydrocodone. A few minutes after that, a few people came to get us for the big walk to the surgery suite.

Make sure every. single. person. knows about what allergies your kid has.

I had asked to be there when The Cucumber was put under, so I suited up and went into the room. which is good, because the nurse didn't know I was going in so she took him and he freaked out. But once I took him back and went in, he was happy as a clam.

Once we were in, I laid him down on table and they put the gas mask over his face. I then put my hand on his head and sang his favorite song into his ear, just like I had when The Quiet Contemplator went under for surgery.

Going in to the surgery suite is really important to me for surgeries and I have been very lucky to have understanding anesthesiologists who have let me do this. A lot won't. Mainly because it is fucking intense and you might freak out. I don't. I am a stone cold statue when my babies need me. No emotion outside of mommy being there for them. But it can be hard, so only do it if you 100% know you can handle it. The room is full of tools and lights and it can get overwhelming. Also, a person going under anesthesia can act strangely and it can scare you. They can cry, or convulse, or their eyes can roll back. So just be prepared if this is something you want. Both of my experiences have been lovely and made it so much easier for the kids.

I felt like Missy Elliot in my surgery suit

So The Cool Cucumber drifted off to dreamland and I went back to our room to wait. Not even 15 minutes later, a nurse was there to let me know that he had done great and that he was in recovery coming to. Then I didn't hear anything for a while. Maybe another 20 minutes, and I started to freak out a bit. Another nurse then came in to tell me that his breathing was not going well and that his heart rate was high. They were going to give him a breathing treatment. Fuck. I knew this was going to happen. Always listen to your inner mommy instinct (more on that next Thursday)!

After a bit, I got a call on the phone to tell me I could go back to recovery. I ran/walked there and got to his room to find him crying. He immediately went to me and calmed down. The nurse said, "Oh, he just wanted his mommy." Um...duh. After I got to him, I had to hold him and give him his breathing treatment. He was not a huge fan, but we got it done.

After he finished the treatment, we were moved back to our original same-day surgery room to wait a bit more. Generally, you are discharged from recovery but since he had had breathing and heart issues, we needed to sit tight and make sure he was OK.

Checking his stats

After his heart rate finally leveled out, we were on our way home. The steroids from the breathing treatment had WIRED the little dude so he was a tiny tornado once we returned home. He was everything, everywhere, all the time. It was hilarious. Though he had no real nap that day, he actually rallied past his bedtime. Once he was down though, he was out for over 14 hours straight! The next day he woke up his usual rock star self. He even went to his cousin's birthday pool party the next day!

So there you have it. We were lucky things went as well as they did and that I listened to my gut and did what was right for my son. Never, ever fuck with mama's babies (Again, more on this next Thursday).

My baby.

Why Having a Baby is the Best

Now that we are saying goodbye to the baby stage for good, it made me think of all of the wonder that we have enjoyed over our few years of having a baby in our lives. These are the things that made having a baby in our life the best.

The Smell
Though as we have given up unnatural scents in baby products and therefore given way to babies that don't smell, well, quite as baby-like, babies still smell awesome. Even though much of that smell is derived from the presence of spilt--and spit up--milk. From their feather-like fuzzy heads to their teeny, tiny toes, babies have a smell that can't be duplicated. Not unlike that new car smell. Breathing in a deep whiff off a baby's bean elicits a euphoric reaction from me. And it always will.

Tiny Clothes
Baby clothes are ridiculous. They are just so small that sometimes you can't imagine them fitting on anything that is alive. Even when we had our second baby, I remember getting a newborn diaper out and thinking that it was just so SMALL. How could anything's butt ever be so little? But they are. And folding those tiny clothes after the wash actually makes doing laundry kind of enjoyable. Kind of.

Bottles
Feeding a baby a bottle (or a boob to all you breast feeders) is such an amazing and calming time. All they do is eat. And all you do is breathe it all in. There are no food aversions or messes to clean up or battles at the dinner table. Just a baby in your arms drinking in their dinner while you drink in their babyness. Because it is true that it is fleeting and that it goes so fast. I may or may not still give The Cool Cucumber a bottle before bed. Lay off me, I have had a hard year and some nights it is all that gets me by. I plan on stopping soon. At least before he goes off to college…

Sleep
Yes, you don't get a lot of sleep when you have a baby, but you do get a lot of down time while a tiny baby turns your body into a mattress. And that time is the best time. Ever. Not being able to get up to clean the house or do the dishes because a little bitty baby has made you into a comfy bed? Priceless. I miss nothing more than the weight of a baby quietly slumbering away on my chest as I caught up on my TV time. Now that is my idea of heaven. Especially the days when baby and I laid on the couch watching True Blood or Project Runway and there was a glass of wine and bar of chocolate sitting on the coffee table beside us. Drool.

The Built-in Excuse
One of the best things ever about having a baby is their ability to get you out of stuff you don't want to do. Like birthday parties: sorry we can't make it to your kid I barely know's 2nd birthday party, the baby is sick. And work: I just had a baby, see you in 12 weeks! And dishes: I would get up and do the dishes but the baby hasn't slept all day and just fell asleep on me…

The Enormity of it All
Having a baby to take care of is a profound responsibility. And for every day that it sucks your will to live, there is a day that it gives you the feeling of being the Queen of the World. Because you not only made a baby, but you also kept it alive. And safe. And helped it thrive, and learn, and feel loved. Though motherhood is mostly a thankless job, we should be thankful to ourselves. For making it through each and every day. And making a difference in a life that would cease to be without us. That is beyond enormous.

The Confessional

Confession from Candice at Mommy in the Midwest:

Picture it.  Sunday after Thanksgiving 2012 around 4 p.m. Me, my husband Ryan, my almost 3-year-old son Theo and my 18-month-old son Dexter, all in the car.

I am behind the steering wheel in the middle of standstill traffic, about 3 hours after a long lunch and at least 5 glasses of sweet tea at Buffalo Wild Wings. That spicy salad really was spicy and it made me really thirsty. Theo was asleep, but woke suddenly, maybe due to the sudden lack of motion. For some reason, this translated into him screaming at the top of his lungs for no known reason over the course of the next 15 minutes (that felt like 521 minutes). 

Interstate traffic + me = anxiety. 
Screaming toddler that can't be reasoned with + exploding bladder = nerves beyond their breaking point.

Anxiety + Frayed Nerves = Complete & Total Meltdown.

I screamed at Theo while he was screaming, just to be louder than him in irrational hopes that he would hear me.  I screamed to let off some of the tension that had been ballooning up inside like, well, my bladder.

Eventually Theo stopped screaming. My bladder did not. I begged Ryan for some kind of help. Some promise of relief. Of course there was nothing he could do. I threw that Highlander in park and climbed in the backseat, where the windows are tinted ever so slightly darker than the front. I discreetly grabbed Theo's Mickey Mouse sippy cup and twisted that lid off at lightning speed. I pulled my pants down and relieved myself in his cup. All while avoiding eye contact with either of my children out of humiliation. 

Problem.

Those cups aren't very big and certainly don't hold 5 glasses of sweet tea, regardless of how much ice was in those cups to begin with (tea always takes a lot of ice, you know?). There's this phenomenon of stopping and starting that I had to use and use well. Long enough to hold this cup in position with one hand while getting a size 5 Luvs diaper out of the buried diaper bag with the other hand. And yes, after conquering a mild to moderate case of stage fright, I finished the job in that baby diaper.

I have never felt more relieved than I did at that moment. All of the stress and tension of that traffic situation melted away immediately. I situated myself and resumed my spot in the driver's seat. All the while, Ryan was looking out the window with paranoia, and rightfully so, while saying things along the lines of:

Oh my god.
Are you serious?
I can't believe you're doing this.
Seriously?

Yes, seriously. I sure did. And that was that. Until the next day.

Picture it. The Monday after Thanksgiving 2012. 

On the way to the babysitter's house around 7:30 a.m.

Theo: Mommy?
Me:  Yes, sweetie?
Theo:  Why did you pee in my Mickey Mouse sippy cup?
Me:  Thoughtful pause...I didn't.
Theo:  Yes, you did.
Me: No, I didn't.
Theo:  Yes, you did Mommy. In the car yesterday. You peed in my Mickey Mouse sippy cup.
Me:  Thoughtful pause, accept of defeat. Oh. That. Well, you see, Theo. Mommy had to pee really, really, really, really badly and there were no potties nearby. All the cars on the road were stopped and there was nowhere for mommy to get out and use the bathroom. So I had to find something I could potty in.
Theo:  But Mommy. That was my cup and I really like my Mickey Mouse sippy cup.
Me: Yes, I know, honey. I'm sorry. We can get you a new cup.
Theo:  Thoughtful pause. Mommy? 
Me:  Yes, Theo?
Theo:  I have a Mickey Mouse cup at {the babysitter}'s house. Mickey's riding his bike and wearing a helmet and I really like that cup.
Me:  Oh? That's good!
Theo:  Mommy, please don't pee in my Mickey Mouse sippy cup at {the babysitter}'s house. 

And at that moment, I knew our secret was not safe. I knew that if I didn't tell the babyistter what had happened, Theo would tell some version of this story. She wouldn't know if it was true. She would be confused. She might think I was making my child drink urine and report me to CPS. I had to explain. 

Good morning, babysitter, let me tell you my most embarrassing story ever and get your week off to a hilarious start. 

It wasn't too funny then, but it's pretty funny now. Darn kid is too smart for his (my) own good. 

ILBAB says: First off, kudos for getting done what needed to get done. And with such aplomb. I would have gotten pee everywhere. I remember trying to get pee in a cup to take ovulation and pregnancy tests and that shit is HARD! I always ended up with a hand full of pee!

Second off, I have thought many times about needing to use a diaper in such situation. I am glad to know that it was effective.

Thirdly, they should use this as some sort of ad for cars with third-row seating. Or, scratch that, lets just add a potty to the third row. Seriously. Road trips suck with toddlers (and moms who drink too much sweet tea). Especially when you have to pull over for them to go potty every 15 minutes (not you though, champ). Let's just get rid of the middleman and add a shitter to the seats.

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.   

Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?


This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

This is Star. She is the mom of a 5-month-old little boy.

Thanks, Star. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

Meet the Boozehounds

It's time for another exciting round of Meet the Boozehounds.

The Confessional

Confession from Kristen at BeerCat Brewing:

Last Wednesday, we knew the Littlest Brewster wasn’t feeling well. I had had the stomach funk the previous weekend, so we figured she was coming down with something similar when she moped around all day and simply picked at her food.

It was my day to work late, so the DreadBrewer was in charge of bath and bedtime. I got home while they were in the bath and I could hear her giving him a hard time. Normally she loves bath time, but that night she was having no part in it. I helped DB get her lotioned up and in her PJs, kissed her good night, and off they went to her room for a bedtime bottle.

At this point, I thought, “You know? DB has been really great with the Littlest Brewster tonight. He deserves a treat.” So I changed into a pair of really tiny lace undies (and nothing else) and grabbed a stogie out of the humidor. I had some vague notion of lying there suggestively when DB came out of the Littlest Brewster’s room.

All of a sudden I hear, “Oh shit!! Kristen!!!!” I toss the cigar on the dresser and run into LB’s room to find…

DB and the Littlest Brewster absolutely covered in vomit. There is throw up everywhere. And she’s sobbing hysterically and reaching out for me.

So I grab her blanket and wrap her up in it before picking her up off his lap. (All the while, DB is looking at me like, “What the hell are you doing in here in nothing but your underwear?!?”) I’m patting her back and trying to calm her down while trying to figure out what to do next when…

The Littlest Brewster proceeds to projectile vomit all over me too.

Now, under normal circumstances, your clothes provide not only a level of protection between you and the vomit, but also serve to sort of “catch” it and keep it off the floor. Not so when you’re essentially naked.

I’m standing there, holding a screaming 15-month old, with upchuck just sliding down my body and onto the floor, next to my husband who is also covered in upchuck, and all I could think was, “What in God’s name am I supposed to do now?”

With as much dignity and grace as I could muster, I slogged from LB’s room, through our room and bathroom, and got us into the shower. Eventually everyone was cleaned up, toddlers were comforted and put to bed, and large pints of beer were poured for the understandably frazzled adults.

At which point the DreadBrewer looks at me and says, “Do we still get to have sex?” 

ILBAB says: First off, friend, you are one amazing fucking wife. I told this story to my husband and I don't think his brain got past the part of imagining a woman naked with a cigar. I mean, throwing your hubby a BJ every now and then is like an epic gesture when you are a parent, but your went all out and pulled a Lewinsky. 

Secondly, well, nothing. You are amazing. If I ever decide to let my husband take on another wife, you are first on my speed dial. I need a sister wife who can do all the heavy lifting in the bedroom and still sit back and enjoy a brewski with me after. Cheers, bitch.

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.  

If only having two kids were only twice the work…

(Warning, if you are pregnant with #2, you might want to come back tomorrow.)

The other day, me and the Fam made our weekly trek to The Target. ADD Daddy and I had just got done commenting about how we were finally in an easier phase of parenthood. Both of the kids are somewhat independent and awesomesauce right now, giving us a little break from the constant need that baby/toddlerdom present. Most of the time. Believe me, there are still days that those chubby little cherubs make me want to hit myself in the face with a hammer. Repeatedly.

As we were walking into The Target, we saw another couple who seemed to be around our age. They had what appeared to be a 2-year-old toddler and a 7-month-old baby bump. They were blissful. You could see on their faces that they were at that point in their life where they were invincible. The place where everything is puppy dogs and rainbows and the future holds nothing but endless possibilities. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I remember that time. Kind of. That sense that life with two kids will just be twice as hard as life with one. Good Lord Baby Jesus, I wish. Because life with two kids, especially the first year, is Mother. Fucking. Hard. H to the A-R-D. Hard.

Here are some of the things that make going from one to two particularly hard:

Jealousy
No matter what, there is going to be jealousy about baby #2 on Baby #1's part. The level will vary, depending on the age of your firstborn when your second born arrives. My daughter hated the sight of my face the first few weeks after my son came home. It was like she actually thought I brought him into our house to ruin her tiny little life. One day, when it was just her and I at The Target, on a trip designed for us to have some alone time, she even went so far as to tell me that she wanted her "mommy". I said, "I'm right here, honey. What do you want?" She replied, "No. I want my other mommy." I said "Which mommy, honey. Mommy is right here." She then told me that she wanted to go be with her school teacher "mommy" because she didn't like me anymore. Needless to stay, we left immediately with me in hysterics. That shit hurt. Deep.

What do you mean Santa isn't taking him back?

You Can't be Two Places at Once
Try as you might, it is hard be there for both of your kids at once when one is an infant and one is a toddler. Sure, you can lay the baby down for tummy time while you play trains with your toddler, but once that baby starts squawking for food, things change. If only we were more like the goddess Durga. That mama is not only the mother of the universe, but the girl's got EIGHT arms and three eyes. I mean, I could get some serious momming done with that kind of equipment. Can you imagine? You could change your baby's diaper, while playing Chutes and Ladders with your toddler, make dinner for the family AND fold the laundry! Swoon.

Guilt for the Second Kid
I felt like The Cool Cucumber kind of got the shaft, parenting-wise. I mean, we rocked him, bathed him, loved him, etc. But not nearly to the degree we did so with The Quiet Contemplator. With her, she was our entire world. With him, he was a part of our world, but not the whole thing. He couldn't be. People tend to frown on you completely abandoning your first born to take care of your second. The Cucumber didn't get as many books read to him, get as much one-on-one time, or get as much of anything as The Contemplator did. And that sucks. But it is just the way things are when you have two.

There is no way this could end badly...

Guilt for the First Kid
And man, does having to divide up your time up when you have a second kid really hit home for your first. The Quiet Contemplator went from being our one-and-only, to having to share. And that shit is hard to understand when you are two. Every time she would want something and I would have to tell her to wait or that I couldn't because her brother needed to eat, or had just exploded out of his diaper, or needed to be rocked constantly to calm his colic, my heart broke a little. I remember crying for her when we dropped her off at school to head to the hospital to be induced with The Cool Cucumber. Because I knew that things would never be the same. And they weren't.

They may act out...

The Have Different Needs/Wants
Once kids get older and can interact more with each other, things are smooth sailing (kind of), but during the baby phase, you can't really do any parental multitasking. After about a week, the novelty of the baby will have worn off and your toddler will be bored with them. The hard part of that is, there is not a lot of things that will interest them both. So you have to basically raise two completely different animals at once: one that needs constant physical attention, and one that needs constant intellectual interaction. It is exhausting. 

Oh, and That Sleep You Got Used to With Your Toddler?
Gone. So you get to deal with all of the above on zero sleep. Because the likelihood is, that the new baby will be up all night, you know, because they are a baby. And your toddler will be up all night because the presence of the new baby will screw up all that your toddler has learned about sleep. Yay! 

But without all that, you wouldn't get this...

Worth it.

So, what about you? Have you made the transition from one to two seamlessly? Trying to raise two or more kids without losing your shit at the moment? Awaiting the birth of number two and are now frozen with intense fear and want to stab me in the gizzard (why didn't you listen when I said not to read this. :)? Reading this and swearing you will never have one child, let alone two?

Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?


This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

This is Michelle from Mucho Gusto Mexico City. She is the mom of a 2-year-old boy and a 3 1/2-year-old girl.

Thanks, Michelle. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

Baby Got (sway)Back

Ever heard of swayback? Chances are, many of you haven't. Chances are even more likely that many of you may have it. I know this mama sho' nuff does. Let me break it down for you:

Swayback (or lordosis) is when your spine curves inward. So when you are standing, your belly sticks out and your back kind of has a c-shape. Check out the super scientific illustration below:

Hot, right? Turns out, swayback may be why a shitload of us mamas have people asking when we are due when there is no way we are even considering sex in the next year, let alone pregnancy.

So why would we have this super sexy condition? Pregnancy, of course, as well as the way we carry our babies (and toddlers and cats).

I carry The Cool Cucumber around A LOT. When I do so, I sway my back like a wayward nag. I basically contort my body so my gut becomes a little seat for him. Yeah, not so good on the back or the posture.

Years of holding babies like this, as well as two pregnancies, had gotten me to the point where I literally looked pregnant all the time. And it wasn't just all the wine, pizza and chocolate I was consuming. Then one day I stumbled on a pin for reducing your tummy pooch and hallelujah! I discovered swayback.

The good news? Swayback is seriously easy to fix and can make a HUGE difference in your profile appearance (it took me from looking six months pregnant to only looking three!).

AND! Fixing the problem also helps decrease lower back pain.

Now, you would think strengthening your stomach muscles is the go-to way to nip this problem in the bud, but no so. It helps, but strengthening the hip extensors on the back of the thighs and stretching the hip flexors is the real sweet spot.

Here is the link I used (warning the top half of the post has a high douche-factor. Just skip right down the video).

I hope it helps you ladies as much as it has helped me!

Winning at Pinning: Framed Dry Erase Quote Board

While trolling Pinterest the other day, I stumbled upon a pin that caught my eye. It was a pin about taking a frame with a glass front, putting a design of a quote inside of it and using it as a dry erase board to capture the funnier things that your kids say. Like when The Quiet Contemplator told me you put on tights by putting them on your feet, then "Pull them all the way up to your booty and bagina."

While on Pinterest, yet again, I saw a font made of frames and mustaches and I got inspired to get crafty and make my own.

 
And, since this is a ridiculously easy project (all you need is a printer and an 8 x 10 frame), I decided to share my finished product so you all could do the same.

All you have to do is click the design above, download, print and place in a frame. Then just use a dry erase marker to fill in your quote. You can erase and refill as your children provide you with new material.

Classy!

Enjoy, Boozehounds!

Why we don't have a dog

(Warning, there will be talk of dog poo in this post, so if you are pregnant or easily nauseated, feel free to come back tomorrow.)

Before we had kids, we had a dog. She was a weird dog, to say the least. Her name was Roxie, as in Foxy Roxie, because she looked just like a fox. She was also equal parts sly as a fox and crazy as a fox--not the best qualities in a canine companion when you are planning to have kids, thus her exit from our family just prior to The Quiet Contemplator's arrival. (Sidenote: NEVER give your dog away when you are eight months pregnant. It is not pretty. The overall sadness of losing my best friend to another family, combined with the crazy pregnancy hormones made me cry every hour for WEEKS. Watching her get into the car and pull away from our house with her new "mommy" was one of the hardest things I have ever done. And one of the least selfish. She is so happy now.)

Hi. My name is Roxie.

When Roxie was a puppy, she was the master of disaster. Left to her own devices, she could tear up a house from top to bottom in five seconds flat. Needless to say, we crate trained her until we could get a handle on her…um…willfulness.

Roxie's crate was the size of Texas. She had plenty of room to roam while we were away, but not enough room to destroy our house. Since it was big and had wood floors, we kept her crate in our bedroom. Roxie was not a big fan of being held captive by "The Man". Even in her crate, her slyness let her find ways to give into mirth. One fateful night, Roxie decided to let out her frustrations on our Ralph Lauren comforter…

First things first, how did Roxie get a king-sized down comforter into her crate? Simple. She took her bulky butt and used it to shimmy the crate, inch-by-inch, until she had moved the crate five feet across our bedroom floor and to the edge of our bed. She then proceeded to, little by little, to pull the comforter off of our bed and into her crate.

After that, the party was on. Roxie decided it would be an awesome idea to pee and poo on said comforter. She then decided her next step should, obviously, be to shred the comforter into tiny bits.

The end result? We arrived home to find a dog that had tarred and feathered herself (and covered our entire bedroom in feathers). The tar? Her own pee and poo. The feathers? Eighty bajillionty tiny bits of duck butt.

My bad.

This, my friends, is why we don't have a dog. Because if I came home to that hot mess right now, I might have a rage stroke. But I am weak and love dogs, so doing this all over again is inevitable...

Body by Baby

Many of us feel embarrassed of our post baby bodies. Some of us are surprised that we didn't snap right back to our pre-baby bodies. The truth is, no matter how fast you bounce back to your pre-pregnancy state, you will never be the same. Be it from stretch marks, wider hips, sagging breasts, or just a new state of mind about your body, you are now forever changed by the miracle that is childbirth.

So, because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

This is Amy. She is the mom of a 12-week-old little girl.

Here is her story:
Here's my lovely stomach! The photo doesn't show the c-section scar very well because of the belly flab hanging over it, but it's there too. Oh, and we can't forget these lovely legs - no one told me I'd have stretch marks practically EVERYWHERE. Baby Adeline is 5 weeks old now, and since she's sleeping so peacefully right now I'll admit she was more than worth each and every one of those stretch marks and scars. Ask me again when she's crying for no reason I'll cry and curse about my body and demand another beer.

Thanks, Amy. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).

When a man gets sick

Those of you that follow me on Facebook know that ADD Daddy recently came down with the dreaded Man Cold. Since he was nice enough to share said cold with me, it brought to light the subtle differences in our behaviors/responsibilities when we are sick.

You see, when I get sick, I still have to cook, clean and mom likes it's nobody's business. When my husband gets sick, however, he does nothing of the sort.

Like most men, my husband is a gigantic baby when he is sick. Unlike most men, however, he doesn't stick around to annoy me with his constant whining and sniffling. No, he bails on me completely.

When ADD Daddy gets sick, he goes into hibernation like a bear, only to return when he is completely healed. I, on the other hand, am stuck in the trenches with two tiny soldiers who have constant needs.

To illustrate how our sicknesses compare, I have made this handy graph. FANCY!

So what's it like in your house when you/the hubs gets sick? Is he there to wait on you hand and foot or are you stuck working while suffering the effects of hand, foot and mouth?

What real beauty is

The other day I was skimming through my Google Reader and I read a blog that made my heart hurt. It was a beautiful girl complaining about her weight. Said girl clocks in at a weight that is 20 pounds less than my current. Did this make me feel bad? No. Not for me. But it did make me sad for her. Because I think I am beautiful. Just as I am. Yes, I could use to shed another layer of baby weight, but whether I ever do or not, I am really happy with myself. My self that is 20 pounds heavier than this incredibly beautiful woman who is writing about how the weight she saw on the scale was devastating. Trust me, sister, seeing a few more pounds on the scale is far from devastating. It's life. And not all that important an aspect of it.

This whole thing got me got me to thinking about what real beauty is.

That very same morning, after I read the post, The Quiet Contemplator was in the bathroom with me while I was getting ready. While I was putting on my powder, she said, "You look really pretty, Mommy." I replied, "Thank you, Baby. Makeup can make you pretty on the outside, but what really matters is how pretty you are on the inside." She looked at me quizzically, so I continued to explain to her the sorts of things that make someone pretty on the inside. I told her that being nice to people made you pretty on the inside. And sharing. And giving people compliments. And being polite. And telling people that you love them. I told her that those are the things that make someone truly pretty. I told her that anyone could be pretty on the outside, but that the people who are really special are the ones who are pretty on the inside.

Raising a little girl in today's society is hard. Mother fucking hard. Girls want to grow up twice as fast, be twice as thin and work half as hard to obtain it all. Because they don't know reality. Because they don't interact with real people. They tweet and text and chat. They don't know what real people are like in front of the "screens". They don't voice how they feel or who they are because they live a virtual life. Surrounded by images or perfect people with no emotions.

But I don't want my daughter to grow up like that. I want her to grow up knowing how to have a face-to-face conversation with someone. And how to say, "I love you". And how to give a hug to someone who needs it. And how to be kind to people. And how to see the true beauty in herself, not just what is reflected in the mirror. I want her to grow up being a real person, not a virtual version of herself, a self modeled after unachievable standards.

I started Body by Baby to help other mothers know that what they look like after having children is OK. That the stretch marks and the saggy boobs and the excess skin don't matter. What matters is that you mamas are so beautiful on the inside that you were able to make something as perfect as a child. And that is what real beauty is. Not your weight, or if you have flawless skin, or if you can still fit into your pre-pregnancy jeans. Because we mamas are beautiful on the inside. And that is pretty, no matter what we weigh.

Body by Baby

Because Gisele and all her friends make it seem like stretchmarks don't happen, I started Body by Baby. Stretchmarks do happen. So does saggy skin. And saggy boobs. And that is ok. Because we are real women. Our bodies aren't perfect. But they didn't get this way on their own. They got this way because we are fucking awesome and CREATED A HUMAN IN THEM. What's a stretchmark or a muffin top when we actually made life?

This is what a real woman's belly looks like. This is what having beautiful babies does to a girl. And it is awesome:

This is Karlie from The "B" Fairy. She is the mom of an 8-year-old little girl and 1-month-old boy.

Thanks, Karlie. You are the shit for sharing with us what we all hide from each other.

Body by Baby all started here, but you glorious bitches have kept it going. Feeling frisky? Send me your own Body by Baby portrait and I will share it with all six of my readers the world. Anonymously or not. Your choice. Email them to me at ilikebeerandbabies @ gmail . com (remove spaces).