She’s a Very Stinky Girl

And yes, the poop does sometimes go from her head down to her toenails.

 Does anyone know how to get a poop stain out of a onesie? How about once it’s been dried and is set in? Is there any hope, or is it a goner? Cause Emily (who takes after her father in this area) has ruined almost half of her newborn sized wardrobe. Which isn’t such a big deal, since she has almost outgrown all of those clothes, but I was hoping to save them for future babies. Any advice?


The Great Escape

As it turns out, I got some time away from the baby, which was exactly what I wanted. Or so I thought. I will be away from Emily for 9 hours a day for the next 4 weeks, since I am once again replacing a teacher who did the dirty dirty with her husband approximately 9 months ago is pregnant and ready to pop. I wanted a break, but this is a bit too much for me. What I was looking for was 5 minutes here (to use the bathroom without holding her, which is very, very difficult by the way. Especially the pulling up of the pants.) and 20 minutes there (to bake some cookies, which are exactly what I need to get those last few pounds off my thighs).

However, there are some great benefits to this. Not only will this help me get my foot in the door of what I consider to be the best school system in my area (I’m in Effingham, if you were wondering), but getting to be Megan the Teacher and not just Megan the Mommy all the time is doing me a lot of good. Plus, there’s money! And it’s actually pretty good money.

But I miss her. I feel like I barely saw her at all yesterday. She fell asleep about 2 hours after we got home, and I went right along with her – for 3 hours! And after we woke up and got our bellies full, it was bedtime. I spent about 3 hours with her all day. That isn’t going to cut it.

And so it seems that the grass truly isn’t always greener on the other side.

Misery Loves Company

And I thought that I was miserable during the last few weeks of my pregnancy. That was nothing. Compared to this.

And although I don’t wish for anyone else to be in the same boat I’m in, I would love some company of another sort. I would love for someone to come over and take the baby so I can have a minute – just one stinkin’ minute – for myself. Anyone will do, I’m not picky. I just need a break. I need to not be responsible for anyone or anything for just a little while.

I need to brush my teeth. I need to take a shower. I need to exercise because I hate the way my body looks, but it’s 93 degrees outside and it’s too hot and sunny to take the baby out right now. I need some Mederma for my stretch marks, but that crap it expensive, and I am cheap. I need to bake something, because that relaxes me and I enjoy it, but the baby won’t let me put her down, not even for 5 minutes. I need a crib mobile that doesn’t stop playing music after only 3 minutes (who is the genius that thought of that anyway? Seriously, a wind up mobile? Have you never heard of an on/off switch? Stupid.) I need to type a blog post with both hands again, like I used to be able to do.  I need to calm down and stop being mad at Emily because she is a BABY and she has no other way to communicate than to whine (well, she could cry, which would be much better, because I simply cannot stand whining). I need to start appreciating her because there are other people in this world who would love to have a baby and can’t, and I should feel so lucky. I need my husband to come home from work (yes, he’s working on a Saturday) so that I will stop resenting him for being so lucky that he gets to leave the house! And he gets a break from the baby! I would love to go to work right now. I would love to go anywhere for that matter.

Anywhere, except for crazy town. Too bad I’ve got a one-way ticket……

Birth Day

Yesterday was a rough day for vaginas. Our sister-in-law gave birth to one baby:


Who looks just like his big sister Bea!


And our cat gave birth to 4 babies!


But as I soon learned, the universe can be a bastard sometimes. Poor Whitaker West was born too soon, and as you can see, he needs help breathing. His lungs are not fully developed, and so he was transported to Savannah to a hospital that is better equipped to take care of him, and in a few weeks he should be just fine! Please keep him and the rest of his family in your thoughts and prayers.

There is bad news with the cat as well. Mama cat sucks as a mother. Maybe it’s because she is less than a year old, and in my opinion, she is still a kid herself. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. Anyhow, she birthed 4 kittens, and she is now down to 2 (there are 3 in the picture above). Yesterday morning when I woke up, I saw Pookie run across the yard with what appeared to be a kitten in her mouth, but I wasn’t sure because I didn’t know if the cat had given birth yet or not. I yelled at her since the windows were open (cause we live in the south and the weather is so awesome this time of year) and she disappeared with the kitten. We went outside to look for it, with no luck, and I hoped and prayed that it was only a mole. So since the stupid cat decided to give birth in the dog house (and dogs and kittens clearly don’t mix) the dogs have been banished from their humble abode.

Today we (stupidly) decided to give the dogs access to their house again, since they get along so well with the big, fully grown cat whom is as big as the dogs, while we were watching them, just to see what they would do. To see if they would bother the kittens, or let them be. And I just knew that the mama cat would be protective and never let them get close to her babies. We only turned our backs for a minute to tend to more important matters (a snake in the yard) when I saw Pookie once again running through the yard with a kitten in her mouth. Have I mentioned that I hate that dog? I’m ok with Magnum – he doesn’t get on my nerves. But Pookie? She is BAD, and she barks all. the. time. So yeah, she isn’t exactly this (wo)man’s best friend. The mother in me wanted to kill her, but since the cat didn’t seem to mind, I let it go.

Anybody want a kitten?

Nobody Told Me

My mother suggested that I enter a writing contest over at Scribbit. Isn’t it funny how mothers always think that their children are the best? Like my mom, who thinks I am a good writer, although I beg (desperately, wholeheartedly) to differ. Anyhow, I wanted to make her proud, so I went along with it. This month’s theme is “Mom”, and this is my interpretation.

In the few short weeks since I became a mother, I have wondered why nobody told me what I was in for. While I was pregnant, other mothers advised that I should sleep while I had the chance, and warned that labor and delivery would be the easy part. But nobody really prepared me for what to expect once the journey began.

Nobody told me that I would be so exhausted that I would fall asleep when the baby was nursing. Nobody told me that I would be awake for 3 hours in the middle of the night, crying with my baby, praying that she would go back to sleep. They didn’t clue me in that it was possible to get mad at a 1 month old, and that I would have to apologize to her time and time again. They also didn’t tell me how stupid and silly I would feel for getting mad at an infant.

Nobody told me that I would count down the minutes until my husband would get home from work so that I could hand him the baby long enough to take a shower and brush my teeth (for the first time that day and it was already 5:30). They didn’t let on that I would be forgotten by friends and family members who would bypass me without so much as a “hi” and go straight to the baby (whom they are sure I am lying about because she never, ever cries when they are holding her). Nobody told me how worthless I would feel now that my days consist of taking care of a newborn and having time for nothing else. Nor did they describe how excited I would be to leave the baby with my mother for a few hours so my husband and I could go out together.

Nobody told me that I would come this  <–> close to having Postpartum Depression because my vagina was no longer recognizable to me. They forgot to mention that it would never look the same after an 8 pound baby came through, or that my husband would be scared of it, along with my new stretch marks and gaping navel. 

Looking back, I am glad that nobody enlightened me and frightened me; no expecting lady wants to hear about how much hell she will be put through by the beautiful baby growing inside of her. Those are lessons that need to be learned firsthand. I am also glad that nobody ruined the sweet surprises that were in store for me either.

Like how nobody told me how it would feel when my baby looked at me for the very first time, knowing that I was her mommy by the sound of my voice. Nobody told me how much I would miss her when I left her for the first time (and every time after that, too). They didn’t tell me that I would wake up a half dozen times each night and put my hand on her chest to make sure that she is still breathing.

Nobody told me that her smiles could make my heart so happy that I would feel like it was going to burst out of my chest. They didn’t say how much fun she would be, or that she could make me laugh by doing nothing at all. They didn’t warn me that I would get lost in her eyes, staring at her for so long that I would lose all track of time. Not one person told me that I would cry and hold her close because I could not believe how lucky I am to be her mother, and that I would constantly worry that at any minute she might be taken from me.

Nobody told me how much I would love her. How much I would be IN love with her. How sweet her kisses would be. How much she would love it when I rub her feet. Nobody told me what it would be like to be a mother.

But then again, nobody could have.

Sure, they might have tried, but would I have believed them? No, probably not. Now I know that they already knew what I did not. Being a mother is something I had to experience to believe, and no words could have described it. Being a mother, it’s a feeling. And that’s why nobody told me.