Monday, April 09, 2007

Very. Much. Annoyed.

The one productive thing I was able to do today was transfer our dirty dishes from the sink to the dishwasher.

Actually, I take that back. I took a shower, so that makes two productive things. The reason I was unable to do anything else (e.g. vacuum, clean the bathroom, make the bed, grocery shop, make lunch for myself, do laundry, talk to another adult for a change, consume a food item whose preparation involves the use of more than one hand, respond to emails, open the regular mail, pay bills, etc. etc. etc.) weighs about 14 pounds, wears a lot of pink, and has a powerful set of lungs.

It was one of those you-best-not-put-me-down-unless-you-want-to-pay-dearly days for The Munchkin and me. A little ride in the swing? Not so much. Some play time on her activity mat? Puh-lease. Five minutes in her bouncer so that Mommy can freakin’ pee? I think not, Mommy.

With The BassMaster having been out to sea for the last month, it’s been just the two of us for some time now, and you can imagine that she’s gotten quite attached to me and hates for me leave her line of sight for more than 30 seconds. This is not without perks: I get all the best smiles, have borne witness to all her early milestones (rolling over back to front is her most recently mastered trick) and when she laughs? I can’t even put into words how happy that makes me. There are some days when I look at her and can’t believe this wonderful gift that we’ve been given. I know how lucky I am.

All the same, I am trying to teach her to entertain herself once in awhile, and trying to get her used to the idea that I cannot hold her all the time, but I can only listen to her scream for so long. She’s quite persuasive for someone with no control over her bodily functions.

I’m in no rush to head back to work, but I must confess that this stay-at-home-mom gig is exhausting. By the time 6:00 rolled around today, I found myself straining to hear the sounds of The BassMaster's motorcycle making it’s way up the street, knowing that with him finally home, I could hand off the young on’ for a bit and take a moment to regroup. Maybe even pee.

Which brings me to the main cause of my annoyance…I have not yet regrouped. Because he came and went without so much as a diaper change. He came home, downed two slices of pizza, held Sarah for 23 seconds, and went off again to see a man about entering a bass fishing tournament. No, unfortunately I am not joking.

It’s one thing when duty calls and he can’t be here. It’s another thing entirely when he can be here and chooses not to be. This must have registered on my face at some point, because he said point blank, “You don’t want me to go?”

“No, I don’t want you to go,” I replied. No sense beating around the bush. “But that’s never stopped you before.”

He could have proved me wrong here by, you guessed it, STICKING AROUND. But he didn’t. I’ve never found so little comfort in my being right.

It’s taken me an hour to write this because she has woken up screaming every 15 minutes. I will tell him this when he comes back, and he will say, “I’ll get her the next time.”

Gee, that’s big of you
, I will want to say.

Like I said. Very Much Annoyed.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

It's a Love-Hate Thing

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Exhibit A: The Toy with the Loop Thingies.

I can't quite figure out what Munchkin's relationship with this toy is. When I dangle it in front of her, she lunges for it the way I would lunge for a pint of Ben & Jerry's, or a tray of stiff martinis once this nursing nonsense is done with. When she has this toy laced between her little fingers, all is right with the world, as evidenced here by Exhibit B:

For five minutes, that is.

And then, with no warning whatsoever, she loses her damn mind. I give you Exhibits C and D:

This happens every day, every time she holds this stupid thing. I am perplexed. Which is why, instead of y'know, picking her up and comforting her, I continued to snap her picture say, "Wow! You are really pissed!" No Good Mommy points for me today.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

A Complete Wax Job

I had an interesting experience at the hair salon today, which is to say that I got my eyelashes waxed.

Granted, it was an accident. My stylist was actually aiming for my unibrow, which was slowly taking over the entire upper half of my head. But as she lifted the applicator out of the wax tub, a, a droop...a gloop of the stuff sailed down and attached itself to my lash line. I didn't feel it at first, and might not have noticed it at all if she hadn't gasped out loud and screamed "Oh my God...OH MY GAWWWDD!" From the way she reacted, you would have thought that my eyeball had in fact detached itself from its socket and was rolling across the floor of the salon.

I still had my eyes closed at this point and did not yet feel the need to panic. Hell, I've been through labor. At first, she tried to wipe my eye down with a damp towel, which only succeded in smearing the sticky stuff across my lid like eyeshadow. "Oh, no," she said. "Hang on, let me get some baby oil." I heard cabinet doors behind me being opened and slammed shut with serious gusto.

"Where's the baby oil?" she cried to no one in particular.

"Mmmm...I dunno," the receptionist mumbled.

It's just wax, I wanted to say. Then, in the furthest recesses of my mind, I started to toy with the idea that wax becomes quite solid when it cools, and that this might be problematic when it came to, say, opening my eyes.

"Hang on, I'm going to try some soap and water," she said next. "Don't open your eye."

Of course, like a 3-year-old whose sole purpose in life is to do the thing she's been told not to do, I tried to crack my eye open and found that it was indeed sealed shut. This unnerved me a little, because it suggested that the wax had in fact cooled off and that I might be doomed to live out the rest of my life as a cyclops.

Next, she used a soapy paper towel to scrub my eye so hard that I thought she might actually relocate it to the side of my head. I kept trying somewhat desperately to open this eye, all the while fearing for the safety of my beleagured lashes and the integrity of my contact lens.

I'm sorry to say there were a few casualties. When we finally got enough wax off for me to expose my bleary eyeball to a mirror, I had about five loose lashes stuck pathetically to my eyebrow. My eye was three times its normal size, teary and bloodshot. And with one final wipe of the towel, my stylist managed to tear my contact lens right off my cornea. To her credit, she caught it before it hit the ground and handed it to me with a grin, as if she were now redeemed for ten minutes of torture.

So for all you facial-waxers out there, watch where they're puttin' that stuff. It could save your, your lashes, I mean.

Monday, April 02, 2007

The Breast Way to Lose Weight

I may be starting to overestimate the weight-loss powers of breastfeeding. Whenever I find myself knee-deep in a gallon of Edy’s, or realize that I have once again consumed an entire bag of candy that was intended for The Munchkin's Easter basket (I mean heck, I’m going to end up eating it anyway, right?), I tend to justify my gluttony with the old excuse, “breastfeeding will cancel this out."

Nursing does burn a ton of calories – I’ve heard everything from 500 calories a day to 200 calories per feeding. A week after giving birth, I was within 4 pounds of my pre-pregnancy weight, which I thought was pretty cool. However, I was also nursing nine times a day for an hour at a time. I spent most days chained to the Boppy pillow, bathed in a haze of Eau de Sour Milk, naked from the waist up because even the slightest touch of fabric on my ravaged nipples felt like sandpaper. Aside from my sheer joy at finally having this baby, I was a miserable human being. But I was a skinny miserable human being.

These days, The Munchkin only eats about five times a day for around 20 minutes. I’m feeling somewhat less svelte than I did in the early weeks of motherhood (less svelte, but more sane, I must add), and I am starting to think that I may have to supplement the calorie burning by oh, I don’t know, getting off my ass and walking, perhaps. Or I could probably manage with just one scoop of ice cream a day, instead of four. Breastfeeding does not really give me license to snarf junk food like it’s my job.

It’d be great if it did, though. A mama can dream.