Friday, July 20, 2007

Just the Right Words

The BassMaster has been in Virginia for about a week now, so we have been communicating via email a lot. This morning, I opened my Inbox to find a message from him titled simply "Can't wait..."

Oh lord, I thought. What man-toy has he purchased and cannot wait to use? What fishing tournament has he entered and cannot wait to participate in, and how much was the damn entry fee?

When I opened the email, all it said was,

"...to @%&$! you."

I must say, in these times of showerless days, muffin-topping my favorite jeans, having to pull strained peas out of my hair on a daily basis and other manifestations of my descent into the frumpiness of motherhood, it's nice to know that somewhere out in the universe, someone can't wait to @%&$! me.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

A Conversation with my Daughter

"Good morning, Munchkin!" I say when I walk into her room.

She whips onto her back and glares accusingly at me.

"Where have you been, you fool? she screams. "Do I have to change myself? Is that it? Have you any idea what life is like inside my diaper right now?"

"If I give you a new diaper, that means I have to put you on the changing table," I warn.

"NO! I HATE THAT INFERNAL CONTRAPTION!"

"Do you want to walk around all morning with a turd stuck to your butt?" I ask. "It smells delicious, by the way."

"NO, BUT..." she wails.

"Then you have no choice, " I reply. "No choice, no choice," I sing absently, my brain cells deteriorating by the minute. I pick her up and start to move toward the table.

"Do not...no....woman, do NOT put me on this...NOOOOO!!!" She lets loose a gutteral scream as I lay her down, arching her back as if being exorcised.

"DO NOT PULL MY SHIRT OVER MY HEAD!"

I take off her shirt.

"DO NOT TAKE OFF MY DIAPER!"

I take off the diaper with the thumb and index finger of each hand, taking care not to let the massive overnight poop fall on the floor. Once the diaper is off, she quiets immediately.

"Ah, this is much better. Sorry for screaming," she says with a sheepish smile.

"That's quite all right," I say, blowing raspberries on her little tummy. "Now, would you like something to eat?"

"Why yes, I..." she trails off, and her smile disappears. "Wait a minute," she says. "I just remembered...I am hungry - nay, starving....STARVING! I AM STARVING!! YOU TRICKED ME!"

She wriggles and kicks with indignance as I carry her downstairs. I strap her into her high chair ("No! NO! Do NOT put me in this godforsaken chair again!") and start mixing up some rice cereal, breakfast of baby champions.

"What are you doing, you imbecile?!" she demands. She starts to whine, that nasaly droning whine that will eventually make my ears bleed and rob me of my hearing forever. "Give me a BOTTLE," she cries. "I can't possibly EAT from a spoon when I'm wasting away!"

"We are going to try some cereal again this morning!" I say. "Aren't you excited?"

"You must be joking," she says.

As I begin to feed my darling girl, she alternately screams bloody murder when I put the spoon in her mouth and goes quiet when I take it away.

"STOP FEEDING ME THIS CRAP!" she wails. "Wait, just one more spoonful, I'm starving. NO! I HATE THIS STUFF, TAKE IT AWAY! Hang on, just a little bit more...."

After six spoonfuls, she decides that she hates cereal, me and life in general. She is screaming through the food stuffed in her mouth, flailing her arms, kicking her legs furiously. We have reached critical mass.

"Munchkin, Mommy is losing her patience," I say evenly, as a wipe a chunk of cereal off my eyeball. "If you do not calm down, I will put you out with the trash with a sign around your neck that says 'Take Me'."

"DO IT!" she screeches, screeching the screech of a baby who has lost her mind. "Where, oh where is my bottle?" she cries. "My life is wretched! WRETCHED! I hate it here! I HAAAAATTE it!!"

As I make her the #$%&! bottle, I try to pretend that her screaming does not make me feel like my skin and major organs are all on fire. I slam the bottle down on her tray.

"HERE," I say with a clenched jaw.

In an instant, Ms. Jekyll returns. "Ah, thank you kind woman," she says sweetly. "You are dismissed."

I'm cheating on my diet big time today.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Life's a (South) Beach

So I have decided to do the 2-week, no carb, not-even-a-grain-of-rice first phase of the South Beach Diet.

Granted, I am not horrendously overweight but I swear, the day I quit nursing, all the extra fat cells in my body congregated around my love handles and said, “Hey! Here’s a good place to make camp!” My midsection and I are not on good terms these days. And it’s the middle of swimsuit season.

I like the South Beach plan because it literally outlines for you, word for word, what you need to eat for each day of this two-week stint in my own personal hell initial phase, in which you basically give your body a “clean slate” in terms of how it reacts to high carb foods.

Today was my first day of the diet and honestly, it wasn’t so bad. Here’s a random sample (ok, a complete rundown, because I am so proud) of what I ate today:

Egg white omelet with peppers and shredded cheese
V-8 veggie juice
Celery stuffed with Laughing Cow light soft swiss cheese
Chopped salad with tuna and balsamic dressing
String cheese
Grilled chicken with oven roasted veggies and a side salad.
Hunk of ricotta cheese w/a little vanilla extract and 1 packet of Splenda (not as gross as it sounds…I was actually looking forward to it, how sick is that?)
Leftover lo mein noodles from China Palace

Sh*t, how did that last one get in there?

Ah, that’s right, now I remember. I cheated. I am a dirty, rotten carbohydrate slut.

I got hungry while I was cooking dinner (that piddly stick of string cheese didn’t quite tide me over. Clearly the South Beachers do not know who they’re dealing with here) and yes, I partook in an evil carb or two. Literally, I ate like two noodles. But if you had a teething baby and a husband who was leaving you alone with her for 6 weeks, you’d cheat too (er, on your diet, not your husband). Don’t you judge me.

In fact, I won't be surprised if I cheat a little bit every day, because there is a part of me that believes life is too short to deny yourself the occasional treat, like a Dairy Queen Blizzard, or a cannoli from the pizza place down the road, or a Snickers bar, or marshmallow fluff by the spoonful or Christ this diet thing was the worst idea I’ve ever had someone get me my car keys because I must get a sugar fix….

Actually, there is definitely something to be said for eating right and steering clear of nasty stuff (like the stuff in my cupboards), because it’s now just after 8:00 PM and I would normally be harfing down a bag of microwave popcorn or a four-scoop-heavy bowl of cookie dough ice cream right now. But I am truly, seriously, not even a little bit hungry. So instead of eating, I’m here writing. I wonder what else I could do with all the time that I used to spend snacking? Oh, the possibilities!

Saturday, July 07, 2007

Step 1 of Moving: Eat Down Your Stash of Edibles

In preparation for our move, we are doing what we always do with regards to our food supply, (and by "always" I mean "that one other time over 3 years ago") which means that we are slowly but surely eating the contents of our refrigerator and cabinets, while at the same time showing great restraint when we do the grocery shopping.

The latter is particularly difficult for yours truly because, well, I love food. But the ultimate goal here is have as little leftover food as possible, since it'll all be going in the trash when we leave, which is just throwing money away and geezus, we have a college tuition to fund now, for crying out loud.

The one problem with this method is that when all the fresh fruits, veggies, milk and eggs are gone, we're left with a ton of carb-o-riffic foodstuffs that have absolutely no nutritional value and will certainly not bring me any closer to my dream of losing five (maybe seven....ten would be sweet) pounds. At this point, I'm quite certain that my last meal in this house will be macaroni and cheese with a side of instant mashed potatoes, Ritz crackers, and croutons. I'm getting bloated just thinking about it.

By the time we were packed and ready to go in Charleston, I would have given my left arm for a chunk of grilled chicken and I'm sure this time will be no different. But it's not all bad news. We do have several boxes of ice cream novelties in the freezer, which also urgently need to be consumed. Hmm, yeah, the weight loss thing could be problematic. Maybe I'll just get pregnant again.

Totally kidding. Totally, utterly, with every fiber of my being...........kidding!

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

At least one of us is sleeping through the night.

It's now just after 1:00 AM, and I have slept for approximately 3 of the last 48 hours.

I'm officially overtired, which means that no matter what I do, I cannot shut my brain off. I already got up once around 11:00 (I optimistically went to bed at 9:30 thinking that I would crash hard...HA) to read a little bit, guzzle some water and Google a couple of burning issues that simply cannot wait til tomorrow (the cast listing of Tenacious D and the Pick of Destiny, and the exact definition of a Tom Swifty, in case you were wondering). I'm so worked up that I'm sweating. I hate this. I don't know what my problem is.

Well, that's not true. I actually know exactly what my problems are, and my mind won't rest until I obsessively analyze all of them until my frazzled brain cells come spewing out through my eyeballs.

For example. The BassMaster is leaving for Virginia next week, which leaves me and the Munchkin alone to duke it out until the end of August. Granted, I've done the temporary-single-mom thing before, but it still kind of sucks. My child finds me wretchedly uninteresting most of the time. By the end of the day, she all but scoffs and rolls her eyes when I try to entertain her.

Then there's the impending Move to the South. Am also nervous about this, even though it's stupid for me to be worrying about it because I literally don't have to lift a finger when the movers come. When we moved from Charleston, I sat on my ass in the middle of the living room floor (because they eventually took the couch) and worked on a cross stitch while two guys packed up our apartment one kitchen utensil at a time. It's nice not having to do any of the manual labor, although it is a little weird having total strangers go through ALL of your sh*t. I should probably go outside and bury my whip and ass-less leather chaps.

Of course, it's not just major life changes that I'm thinking about on this early Wednesday morning. The Munchkin is cutting more teeth (we think) and has been waking up twice a night for the last couple of nights, so I am unable to sleep because I am listening for the slightest whimper from the baby monitor, in the hopes that I might rush in there and soothe her before she becomes fully conscious and loses her mind. And of course, because I am on High Alert, she probably won't even wake up tonight. Stupid Murphy and his stupid stupid laws.

Also, it is frickin' hot in our room. I swear The BassMaster could melt polar icecaps in Antarctica just by standing shirtless in our front yard. And I have to share a bed with him. AND HE'S BEEN SOUND ASLEEP SINCE TEN O'CLOCK, I MIGHT ADD.

I'm still not feeling any sleepier so I guess I'll get back to this riveting chapter of What to Expect the First Year. Did you know that by the end of this month, my baby should be able to feed self a cracker, look for a dropped object, and possibly even creep or crawl? Well now you know. Thank you, and good night....er...good morning.