Penelope the Bully


So, I’m late, but you know what? I said right from the start that I made no promises as to timeliness and continuation of this series. Every month I actually think that this may be it, maybe I’m done. Maybe I documented Penny’s first six months, but seven was just too much. But no. Here I am. I have dragged out this lame ass carcass of a form post to delight you once again.

PENNY IS SEVEN MONTHS OLD!

I feel like I’ve spent this entire month fending Penny off. She’s so violent. She wounds. When we lay down in bed for a nap, she swings a tiny arm all the way across her body to punch me in the face. If I turn my back, she PULLS MY HAIR until I SCREAM. She pinches and claws and kicks.

And she LAUGHS through it ALL.

It’s just awful. It’s awful.

Let’s see, what else happened in Penny’s seventh month?

Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving was great because as I’ve mentioned before, we’re doing baby-led weaning. This allowed us to lay out quite a feast for Penny. I brought banana, Mum Mums, and pickles from home. Penny’s Aunt Laurie also provided her with some soft baked carrots and sweet potato, and we threw some mashed potatoes and green beans on her high chair tray as well.

At this point, Penny is eating all of the above, plus apple, raspberries, watermelon, Cheerios, broccoli, yogurt, noodles, and basically whatever else looks good. She is still eating her normal amount of formula, and two to three times a day, she goes in her high chair to make a mess of herself. At first, she was just playing around, but every day, she’s managing to actually EAT more and more of the food. This is such an easy, low-stress way to handle baby feeding. We’re really enjoying it, and so is Penny.

Broccoli has been a particular favorite.

I have tons of adorable messy-face pictures, but look, I am not trying to hurt anyone’s feelings here, but posting messy-face pictures is something I solemnly swore to myself I would never do once I had a kid. I have a very delicate gag reflex. Seeing your adorable child with wet, mushy food all over her face kind of makes me want to yak. It’s not that your kid isn’t cute. It’s that no one is cute with food all over his face. Except Penny. But I am cognizant enough to know that only I can see the cute under the thick, gross veneer of banana yogurt. And even I have a hard time. I admit it – sometimes, when she’s particularly dirty? I flee the scene. I won’t even look at her until Phil has given her a wipe down. There’s a reason she’s sitting next to me eating Cheerios and raspberries right now and not yogurt. It’s because Phil isn’t here to handle the degoopening.

Penny at seven months old:

Nicknames: Pens. Buttface. Stink McButtersen. Babe. Babes. Baby Baberson. Jerk.

Special skills: She can sit, if you put her in a sitting position. Her pincher grip is kind of coming along, though she still tries to eat the back of her hand once she has something pinched between her fingers. She just discovered her feet, a little behind the curve, and can stick one in her mouth. Unvelcroing diaper covers.

Most annoying features: Still very clingy. Has moved back into our bed after several months of sleeping in her own space. Seems to think 3am is party time. PULLS MY HAIR.

Most desirable features: My dad asked me if I do nothing but stand around all day, waiting for Penny to smile so I can take a picture. I do not. Penny finds EVERYTHING to be a reason to smile. Everything. She smiles constantly. All day. At everyone and anyone. Also? She won a baby photo contest, hosted by Perinka Baby Clothing company.

Penny poses with her sweet-ass prize.

Dislikes: When you don’t have at least one eyeball on her. Eggs. Having her nose Nosefrida’d. That’s… pretty much it.

Likes: Bath time. Food time. Bottle time. Jumper time. Floor time. Car trips. Shopping cart rides. Strangers. Her dad.

“WE’RE HERE FOR PICKLES!!”

Penny is, as I’ve stated in the past, continuing to get more awesome with time. Oddly, before I had a kid, I would have assumed that a kid turning out to be awesome would prod me in the direction of having MORE kids. However, even aside from the fact that I never want to go through pregnancy again, as Penny becomes more awesome, I feel MUCH less inclined to have another kid. The more awesome she is, the more I want to hog her just for Phil and I. I don’t want to share her or my attention with a hypothetical second baby. I know people have second babies all the time and it totally works and no one gets the shaft, etc. I’m not saying I’m being logical. I’m saying this is how I FEEL. Damn, Internet. I’m just going to get a diary.

Besides, even knowing what I know – how you manage to get through it, how things do get better even though it seems like you totally ruined you life, how the baby gets more and more delightful – there is NO WAY IN HELL I will ever go through another infancy.  No. No. NO. My kid is awesome. She’s AWESOME. But she’s a BABY. And babies are TERRIBLE. The idea of starting over again makes me feel like my heart has squeezed itself into my eye sockets.

I will stick with this one awesome one, thanks.

Fiber commercials and the general culture of underpants assumptions and expectations.


I HAVE TWO THINGS ABOUT WHICH I WOULD LIKE TO BITCH TODAY.

*****

Have you seen that commercial where the lady is unloading her groceries and the husband is all, ew, gross, fiber! Yuck! Blagh! Everyone hates fiber! It is universally known that fiber tastes like tree trunks and scrotum and conveniently ignores that fiber can be found in all kinds of delicious foods and then used in even more numerous delicious recipes! BLAH! FIBER! TREE SCROTUM!

And the lady is like, doodly doo, whatever, as she unwraps and starts to eat a Fiber One bar.

AND THE HUSBAND JUMPS INTO HIS ARGUMENT WINNING POINT! He’s all, how dare you preach to me the benefits of a douglas fir tainted with TAINT, while you stand there and eat a CANDY BAR!

And then in my mind there’s the big outrage that I reserve only for television commercials, improperly placed apostrophes, and people who cut in line like you aren’t even going to notice they cut in line.

IN WHAT WORLD is a Fiber One bar – or ANY granola-based bar-shaped food – even REMOTELY comparable to a CANDY BAR? In no world, that’s what world.

I’m not going to go so far as to say a Fiber One bar tastes like a festive mix of bark and ball sack, but I will say this: I got a good deal on Fiber One bars a week or so ago – they were $2.50 a box and there was a military store coupon for $3 off 3 boxes. So I had a BUNCH OF THEM. So I consider myself kind of an authority. One, CANDY BARS have a lot more CANDY. Two, I was eating the chocolate one (“chocolate”) and you know what the main flavor profile I noticed was? CELERY. It tasted like CELERY.

I’m not even saying celery is a bad thing. I enjoy celery. I ate more of those Fiber One bars, even. I’m not complaining about the BAR ITSELF. I’m just saying, who do you think you are fooling, Fiber One? YOU ARE NOT A CANDY BAR. No one would EVER mistake a Fiber One bar for a CANDY BAR. Not even a foolish television husband, who then eats one, blissfully unaware that he is HAVING FIBER, because it doesn’t taste like wood and nuts.

I don’t know. The whole commercial makes me so mad.

*****

I was reading this book lately, and I hated it, for about 800 different reasons. But I’m only talking about one reason today. Actually, it’s not even a reason I hated the book. It’s something the book reminded me of. The whole book was pretty terrible and this thing falls under that general terrible umbrella, but it’s not something I’d add to the list of specific ways this book made me wish that you could drown a book.

There was one part of this book that talks about a woman who didn’t groom her area, and wore a bikini, letting all of the area hair-ea poke out and about. I believe this was referred to – if not in the book, then at least in other places – as a “70s-style bush.” Which made me insane. Insane.

SEE, in calling it a “70s-style bush,” one is implying that different eras have had different kind of area hair-ea styles. That just like you can peg combat boots and a flannel around the waist as a 90s style, so too can you spot a vaguely grungy, somewhat angsty bush and know instantly that it’s been styled up in a nod to My So Called Life.

WHICH BRINGS ME TO MORE POINTS.

1. Bush is just crude. I mean, there are way more impolite words to use for the area hair-ea, I suppose, but bush. I will stop using it for the rest of this post.

2. To be able to call it “70s-style” indicates that you have seen ENOUGH lady styles to know how to categorize a lady’s downstairs choices. Do ladies who choose to wax walk into their waxer in the same terrified way I approach a new hair stylist? Are they too running the risk of walking out with the pubic hair version of The Rachel?

3. To criticize or even point out or EVEN SUGGEST THE POSSIBLE PRESENCE of a “70s-style” in the pants, you are making an assumption, an assumption that has started to drive me past the brink of okayness with people who make such an assumption.

See, these days, there seems to be an assumption, or an understoodness, that the area hair-ea will be tended to in some way. Look, I am not coming out in favor of or against a raging wilderness. I’m just saying that I think the general assumption – IF IN FACT THERE MUST BE AN ASSUMPTION – should be ones geared more toward a natural state of things.

Lady magazines, such as COSMO, as well as OTHER LADIES, seem to imply that the choice to not tend to the lady garden is now not the norm. That you are supposed to. That you are expected to. That you are somehow obligated to shave, trim, pluck, wax, or otherwise shape the area hair-ea into some kind of pleasing form. It is now the assumption that any lady walking around has FULFILLED HER LADY RESPONSIBILITY and HANDLED the situation.

Worse is when a LADY MAGAZINE OR OTHER LADY implies that you should be doing this or that or ANYTHING in your personal wine cellar because it is EXPECTED by the man in your life. Look, as far as I am concerned, when it comes to underpants parts, a man can expect in one hand and go handle his own penis in the other because male expectations have little to do with how I tend to the sculpture garden. A man may request. A man may have a preference. A man may not EXPECT anything of personal lady grooming.

I am just driven INSANE by this assumption of what goes on inside the underpants of a “normal” lady. You can’t assume what’s in my underpants. You have no idea. And right now you’re thinking, “Well, TJ, I think I can make at least ONE assumption about what you’ve got in there,” BUT NO. YOU CAN’T. I HAD A C-SECTION. IT COULD BE A LANDSCAPE OF SURPRISES AND VOLCANOES FOR ALL YOU KNOW.

My point is – my points ARE – that NO ONE believes that a granola bar, fiber-fortified or not, is a candy bar and ALSO that I OBJECT to the general culture of UNDERPANTS ASSUMPTIONS AND EXPECTATIONS.

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You could have read Cosmo yourself in the time it took me to do this. You’re WELCOME.


Ok, the time for false promises is through. I have an hour until nap time, a baby in a jumper, and a fresh Cosmo that no one has the time or inclination to read. So, with all of these ingredients, I attempt to bring to you once again Cosmopolitan Magazine: The TJ Notes.

Oh, I know, you thought it was never coming ever again. That I had given up on helping you out in this way. But did you ever think that maybe I was giving you a chance to decide if you’d really like to read an entire Cos– HAHAHA, I kid.

Anyway, usual stuff – Cosmo has this page inside of it, near the front, that lays out all the important points of the magazine for you so that you don’t actually have to read it. I take it one step further for you, providing TJ Notes, so that you don’t even have to buy it.

Adele is on the cover this month, with the tag line, “Why She’ll Never Regret Falling for Mr. Wrong.” I’m sure Cosmo will drag that whole thing out to a couple of pages, but I’m pretty sure she has no regrets because now she’s rich and famous and he’s not, which erases regrets in two ways: One, with money, which can erase many, many things. And two, with a whole bunch of IN YOUR FACENESS to the ex, which, come on, makes up for any hassle and pain. You broke up with her, now she’s loaded. I can understand why she’d have no regrets. She’s basically the winner. No one regrets winning.

As always, 34 pages and one Barrymore into the magazine, you will find the “Ask Cosmo” section. I think I’ve been doing this long enough to know that one, Cosmo is almost always wrong and two, my answers are way better, so here we go.

Q: I’m freaked out by all the stories about stars’ phones being hacked and their naked pics being leaked all over the Internet. Is there a way to keep my secret stuff safe?

A: Two part answer, lady. Part one: are you a star? No? Then no one actually gives a shit about your nudie goods. Part two: Are you an idiot? I can only assume so, if you’ve got naked pictures of yourself on your phone. As a non-star, your pictures are safe. As an idiot, someone is surely going to find them anyway. There’s basically no hope for you.

What’s sexy right now: Showing off a lacy bra. Oh, you mean, to your husband? No? You mean… just, out there? Like your shirt is cut too low and there’s your bra? For everyone to see? Cosmo, I overrule you. Revealing something that is usually covered for everyone to see is not sexy. Hinting at something is sexy. Or revealing something to a specific person, that is sexy. Putting your grunties out there for the world to look at is not sexy.

Also, I don’t see how going to DJ school is sexy. It’s like Cosmo didn’t even get the highlighted and annotated dictionary I mailed. I don’t see how Cosmo has time to write a whole magazine if they don’t have time to even open their mail.

So I’m reading the Adele article and guess what? She doesn’t regret Mr. Wrong because now she’s rich and famous. BAM. Nailed it.

(This is how far I got before nap time. It’s now 3 hours later. “Why didn’t you write during Penny’s nap?,” you ask, as if you know everything, ever. Well, I didn’t say WHOSE NAP TIME it was, now did I, smart butt?)

This month’s The Naughtiest Thing I’ve Ever Done was supposedly written by a supposed woman who supposedly slept with her supposed professor. All those “supposedlies” should translate to, “Wow, this sounds completely made up.” Next month: The Naughtiest Thing I’ve Ever Done: Completely made up a story about sleeping with my professor so I could gain some kind of anonymous non-fame in a magazine widely regarded as a joke by anyone above the age where they might have found sleeping with a professor to be a fantasy of some sort. Not that ladies don’t sleep with professors. I just don’t think that this lady did. Because it sounds made up. Like some of the blogs I read. (The Internet isn’t that stupid.)

It seems that once again Cosmo is running the 101 Things About Men feature, and I maintain that there simply are not 101 things about men to know, but I do have to hand it to Cosmo this month. Right at the front of the feature are three pictures of men – Jude Law, Marc Anthony, and Anthony Kiedis – demonstrating the recent apparent “trend” of creepy porn-esque mustaches. And it’s true, Jude Law and Anthony Kiedis look disgusting and creepy. But Marc Anthony looks how he always looks. 

I see what you did there, Cosmo, and I liked it.

Apparently, a lie 50% of men tell is about how many people they’ve slept with. Apparently, 50% of men date women who are insecure and intrusive, but probably some of them mask it behind the “we have no secrets” front as an excuse to demand unnecessary details. Just because you have no secrets doesn’t mean you tell each other everything. Phil and I don’t keep secrets from each other, but he doesn’t know how old I was when I started my period.

His Top 5 Sex Dreams, Number 3: He’s getting it on with a vampire.

Cosmo, have you met men? I’m just curious.

Stud Meter! The top of the stud charts this month is Colton Haynes, whoever the shit that is. Apparently he’s the star of Teen Wolf? And there’s nudity? In Teen Wolf? Look, if it’s got nudity and no van surfing, Teen Wolf it is not.

At the bottom of the stud meter is Matthew Fox, because apparently he got drunk and punched a woman in the crotch. Hey, look, if you flip the Stud Meter upside down, you have the Hilarious Meter!

This month’s Fun, Fearless Fashion is all centered around the color red. Wearing red during the holiday season – how novel, fun, and fearless.

YOUR HIDDEN WINTER SKIN RISK! ATTENTION! ATTENTION! DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION? The sun still comes out in the winter! It’s still the sun! It still has rays! There’s no magical winter light-ball that’s letting you see your way to work, home, and skanking around. That’s the SUN! IT’S STILL THE SUN! The cancer sun. YES! THAT SUN! STILL THERE!

Q: How can I rock the pink eyeshadow trend without looking like I am hungover or have a cold?

A: First, have green eyes. Second, I don’t care. Third, ladies, look, we need to talk. Stop saying “rock” in this sense. You are not “rocking” those jeans. You are wearing them. You are not “rocking” pink eyeshadow. You’re wearing it. Besides, your eyes aren’t green. You look hungover. No, but seriously. Stop saying “rock” when you mean “wear.” You sound ridiculous. You’re probably the same person who talks about grabbing a “tee.” YOU ARE NOT ROCKING THAT TEE. I am going to rock you. With a rock. That’s how you do it.

Next, we come to one of the cover features, titled 100 Best Sex Tips of the Year. Of the year people. These are 100 sex tips from just this year, confirming my belief that if you neglect your sex life for too long, they up and change it on you.

Let’s see if we can find some groundbreaking sexual discoveries for 2011.

7. Slip on cashmere gloves, and slowly stroke his member.

Don’t do this. Times are hard, you guys, and even if they weren’t, we don’t use cashmere on penises. We also don’t call penises “members.”

11. Spike a pasta dish with saffron. A 2011 study proved the garnish is an aphrodisiac.

Oh, yeah, let’s just bust out all the cashmere and saffron. Let’s gold-plate my vagina while we’re at it, huh? Also, WHO WANTS TO HAVE SEX AFTER A BIG PLATE OF PASTA? I want to lay around and moan. Alone. In elastic pants.

All of the rest of this is definitely 2010 stuff. NICE TRY, COSMO.

The Fierce Sex Every Couple Should Try: It sounds insane, but werewolf action, inspired by WILFs (that’s werewolf I’d like to, well, you know) on –

COSMO YOU ARE SERIOUSLY FUCKING WITH ME RIGHT NOW, RIGHT? Did Cosmo seriously just coin to term WILF? WILF. WIIIIIIILF. Say it with me. WILF. WILF. If I pointed out a WEREWOLF to you and called him a WILF, could you ever be my friend again? No. No, in fact, you’d be obligated to slap me across the face and punch me in the crotch, Matthew Fox-style.

Goddamnit, Cosmo, I wish you had a crotch right now.

Sex Q+A - Look, Internet, I’m not a sex expert – or a “sexpert,” as Cosmo would say, right before doubling over from a punch to the crotch – but I’ve had some. I have proof. I call it Penny. So, here I go, with some As for the Qs.

Q: What’s the best position for having sex in the bath tub?

A: You tell me that, and I’ll tell you the best position for squatting over a cup so your UTI can be diagnosed.

(This is how far I got before second nap time. I got up part way through to finish this for you. This used to be way easier.)

Here’s an article about how women should stop being so polite (and start getting real). No, seriously. It’s about how, as ladies, we sometimes act in ways that are detrimental to ourselves in the name of being polite. Here’s a shocking example: if you don’t ask your boss for a raise, you probably won’t get one. You won’t get one because you’re too polite. Or, because you have no idea how the world works. Or, because, like the Internet, you have a misguided idea about “niceness” and it’s place in the world.

NO, SERIOUSLY, THOUGH. It’s not “not nice” to advocate for yourself. It’s not “not nice” to not like everyone. It’s not even the end of the world to not always be “nice.” You know what’s a stupid word? Nice.

Once again, I come across one of Cosmo”s “shameless” sections, which always centers around money. To dedicate sections to money-saving tips and even just common sense ideas – such as this month’s tip on finding cheap airfare – and then call them “shameless” seems to indicate that we should feel shame – or would, without Cosmo’s permission not to – about finding deals, saving money, or simply being wise with our spending.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m never against money-saving tips. I’m just against money-saving being categorized as something sneaky, or secret, or as a “no one has to know you didn’t break the bank!” kind of thing. I don’t think searching for a deal is something to be ashamed of. I don’t think looking for the best price reflects on you as the act of a poor person. I don’t think being wise with your money makes you appear cheap or broke or anything unflattering. I don’t see why Cosmo continues to back-handedly continue these ideas.

YOU ONLY COST $4, COSMO. YOU’RE NOT EXACTLY A LUXURY HABIT YOURSELF.

Hey, let’s do that thing where I read the title of an article, don’t read it, and then write the entire thing myself.

20 Reasons to be Naked This Winter, written by someone, ignored, and rewritten by TJ

1. Heater is stuck on.
2. Locked in the bathroom, it doesn’t occur to you to get out of the shower.
3. Too lazy to do laundry yet too finicky to wore jeans you already wore the day before.
4. Same as above, but more valid, because a baby pooped on those jeans.
5. Locked in a heated “who can be naked the longest” battle with… anyone.
6. Attempting to shame yourself into shaving your legs by constantly having to look at them.
7. Attempting to Stockholm Syndrome your significant other into being okay with you never shaving your legs.
8. You have a great rack.
9. You were going to have sex but fell asleep on the couch while your partner was brushing his teeth.
10. You got out of the shower and realized you had no place to go so, fuck it.
11. Waiting for your husband to notice you have no clothes on and ask why so you can passive aggressively bitch him out for shrinking all your clothes in the wash when he was JUST trying to HELP.
12. You hate your naked body slightly less than you hate the way all of your clothes make your body look.
13. Baby oil slip and slide in the hallway.
14. Trying to get overstaying house guests to leave.
15. Because you have no concept of “good naked” and “bad naked.”
16. Because you imagine yourself to be some kind of natural, deep, in with yourself and the earth type of person and haven’t connected that to the fact that you have no friends yet.
17. You’ve given up like the grandparents in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but you’ve taken to your tub instead of a living room bed.
18. Over-holidayed and you’ll be DAMNED if you’re going to buy bigger pants.
19. You grew a suit of body hair, rendering clothes unnecessary.
20. A victim of crippling paranoia, you painted your entire home flesh-colored and stripped off all of your clothes in order to hide during the inevitable impending break in during which your precious Hummel collection will be stolen. You also paint the Hummels flesh colored.

Not too bad of a job, I think, especially since I myself am never naked.

Anyway, Internet, there’s absolutely nothing redeeming about the last few pages of this magazine, so I’m just going to sum them up for you, bullet-point style:

- This month in the pretty girl is murdered/gets cancer section, a pretty girl is… murdered! Apparently, the most dangerous part of a relationship is when you break it off. So, basically, Cosmo says to stay with that dickhead forever or DIE. Judging by Cosmo, you’re especially at risk if you’re unusually pretty. OR, it could be that Cosmo only finds your death sad and tragic if you’re particularly pretty.

- This is how Cosmo thinks you can double your “going out” wardrobe. Get all your best stuff, go over to a friend’s house with all your lady pals, put on a “good beat,” and swap clothes around until everyone is hot. Or, until someone is crying and left with her own clothes because no one likes them/she doesn’t fit in everyone else’s. Also, seriously? Musical sequined tops? Is this real life? Does Cosmo live in real life?

- Oh, the fashion section. It’s the holidays, so basically, wear something disco-bally and you’re fine. I guess. So much of this stuff exposes back. Am I the only one who feels more modest exposing a inch or so of cleavage than showing my entire back? Am I a Back Prude? Am I alone in my back prudery?

- Lastly, here’s Cosmo’s big tip for boosting your health this holiday season – use hand sanitizer after you touch something germy OH MY GOD, Cosmo, and I thought I’d been phoning it in recently.

BAM. TJ NOTED.

Old notes:

November 2009
December 2009
January 2010
February 2010
March 2010
April 2010
May 2010
August 2011
September 2011

 

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Butt insurance and baby theft.


This is the first year that I’ve had a blog, I think, that I haven’t even attempted NaBloPoMo. It is more NaBloDon’t-Po-No-Mo’ for me, I think. I don’t know. I don’t have any excuses and I’m not going to apologize, I just haven’t really made it around these parts too often in the last few weeks. There’s tons to read this month, though. I’ve noticed that a lot of newer bloggers are really putting a lot of effort into NaBloPoMo, while some older bloggers are doing it but REALLY phoning it in.

I’m just saying. I’ve NOTICED.

*****

The power is going to be off for a significant amount of time on Wednesday. That’s pretty much no big for me, except for the fact that neither of our laptops is holding a charge for any length of time, so laptoppery is pretty much out of the question. Penny’s basically battery powered, so I don’t have to worry about her, so I spent a little while the other night loading my Kindle up with all sorts of books. One book wouldn’t be enough, because I like to start several before I decide which one will have my attention for the duration, and then repeat for the next book.

Anyway, I sat on my Kindle.

(“This is why I buy extended warranties. Because of your butt.” — Phil)

There’s a new one coming on Wednesday, so it’s really not totally traumatic, except for the fact that WHAT WILL I DO ON WEDNESDAY? With no power? And a baby?

Phil said, “Well, you could take her to the library.”

AHAHAAA HAHAAAA — wait, you don’t follow me on Twitter, do you? So you don’t know why that’s hilarious? And that the base library is my absolute nemesis forever and ever?

Well, trust me. It is. Up that place’s.

And then I realized I wouldn’t have my Kindle for bed time, which is tragic. Because I’ve been taking a medication that makes me not sleep. At all. And I need something to do while I just lay there, forever.

Phil said, “Well, you could read an actual BOOK.”

“NO. ALL OUR BOOKS ARE STUPID. I READ THEM ALL. I HATE PAPER.”

So you know what I did? I didn’t take my medication last night. And I fell ASLEEP! I was sleeping like I’d been doing it my whole life. It was incredible.

Penny got a shot yesterday, so the incredibleness lasted about 24 minutes. Those things will fuck a baby up, seriously.

This whole section had no real point. I broke my Kindle with my butt.

*****

PICKLE BREAK.

*****

You know, I’m not really scared about putting pictures of Penny on the Internet. I know people can see her. I also take her places, and plenty of people see her there.

I know the fears people have. That a certain kind of person will see the pictures and think thoughts about them. Or save them to a hard drive to think thoughts about them at will. And I don’t like that idea. I don’t like it at all. But the thing is, I don’t feel like I can stop that from happening in life in general.

I have to tell you, all the craziest people I have met? I met them in REAL LIFE. I can keep pictures of Penny off the Internet, but what am I supposed to do in the mall? At a playground? Places where these certain kinds of people may actually GO. They might BE there. To look. And to save those pictures in their minds.

I don’t know. I could be totally naive, but I don’t feel like pictures of Penny online put Penny at anymore physical risk than she is in real life. And I don’t feel that someone looking at her pictures and thinking thoughts is any more likely to happen due to someone coming across my website than it is due to me taking her places where children go, and where people who like children may also go.

This is a weird topic to talk about. It’s okay if you disagree with me.

I DO have a fear about Penny’s pictures online, though. I don’t know if this happens as often as it used to – and oh lawd, back in the early days of blogs, it happened ALL THE TIME – but I am afraid of pictures of Penny being used for deception.

You know, where someone stumbles across a cache of pictures of the same baby and makes a fake blog – always a sob story. Cancer, some rare disease, anything. Or even maybe just a fake life. Whatever. But they portray someone else’s baby as their own.

THAT is my concern with posting Penny on the Internet. That someone will steal her pictures and claim her as her own. Does that actually hurt me in any way? No. But if you’ve been blogging forever, you’ve been burned by one of these people, and you know how it feels. I would hate to have Penny any part of that.

I only post pictures of Penny on THIS blog. I have NO other blogs (aside from Penny’s Tumblr). If you see Penny somewhere else, PENNY HAS BEEN NABBED BY AN INTERNET BABY NABBER. In a non-physical way, because, come on. Try to nab my baby from me in person. Just try it. I will come at you like a fucking spider monkey.

If you ever see my baby ANYWHERE, anywhere at ALL, and you are concerned that it wasn’t me who posted her picture, PLEASE let me know. Even if you’re just not sure. Let me know. I went through a lot of shit for this baby and I won’t have someone else claiming my efforts.

“It’s understandable, of course. I am one fine-ass baby.”

*****

Hey, I don’t really know what kind of toys and stuff to get Penny for Christmas. What do you get an 8 month old for Christmas?

Don’t give me that, “Oh, don’t get her anything, she won’t remember!” or “Just wrap up some of her current toys, she won’t know the difference!” Save that shit for your second, less awesome, less loved children.

Right now, she’s really into stuff like Steve Canada – things that crinkle and what not. But she’s sitting a bit now, and I expect that to improve, so I figure she needs some toys for babies who can sit upright. I have no idea. Are the age ranges on toys generally pretty accurate? Because if so, the toys for Penny’s age look pretty dull. I mean, my baby isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’d like to give her a little credit. Or at least a little incentive to hone her edge a bit. Because, come on. Peek-a-boo, Penny. This is basic stuff.

We aren’t going apeshit, we do intend to keep things small this year, because you’re right, jerks, she won’t remember. But we will. But I’d like to know what went over well with your kids in the 6-12 month range. Like her jumperoo – she goes apeshit for that thing. I’d like a couple ideas that inspire apeshittery in babies. Every parent wants to be a Christmas hero, right?

Seriously, what do you get babies for Christmas? I already have pajamas for her, and a wooden worm. What are your babies and former babies into?

*****

Normally, I’d write another thousand words here, but have I told you that Penny, the incredible non-napping baby, is on a NAP SCHEDULE? Six months, you guys. It pretty much rules.

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You don’t have to wait for someone else to do it for you.


My main takeaway from The Blathering: if you want to see all of your friends, invite them over.

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Penelope is six stinking months old.


Penny turned six months old a couple of weeks ago. Normally, I’d write this post on the actual day of the six monthening, and it would be in the same format that I’ve used for all of the other monthenings, loosely, but I think that six months has brought on our first phase, and all I can see and hear and do and think about is this phase.

First, I have to say that Penny at six months is awesome. I mean, compared to Penny at one month, or three months, or even five months. This baby shit gets better all the time, I think. I doubt that upward trend lasts forever, but we’re enjoying it right now.

She has preferences about this, and habits (most of them annoying, but still), just like a real person. She laughs and smiles a lot, and is generally pretty happy. Her napping leaves a lot to be desired, as always. It’s not that I need her to nap more for her own benefit, though. It’s easy to tell when she’s tired, and she’ll go to sleep. But she wakes up entirely refreshed after 20, 30 minutes at the most. I want her to take long naps for MY benefit.

She also does this:

She can only turn back to belly, though. She only turns one way, just like Derek Zoolander.

I call this look Baby Steel.

Anyway, that phase. This phase. Oh, god. I wonder, did we spoil her somehow? Is she ruined? But then I remind myself that she’s pretty much right on target for her age, and this IS just a phase.

We can’t walk out of her sight. Ever. At all. Strangers can’t hold her, and we CANNOT BE OUT OF HER SIGHT. She cries and she cries, and there’s only so much crying you can let her do, because she gets SO worked up and it puts both Phil and I on edge and makes us tense and cranky with her in ways that we don’t want to be. Because it’s a PHASE.

It is a phase, right? It’s got to be. Because I’m so tired. I want to nap all the time, I am so tired. But I’m tired from doing nothing. I’m tired from the mental energy exerted worrying about all the things I haven’t done and that need to be done.

Phil never harps on me about the fact that the house is falling to rubble around us. I know that sometimes, he’s frustrated and annoyed and he has a right to be, but he never nags at me about it, never asks what I do all day that leads to NOTHING GETTING DONE AT ALL.

But even though he never bugs me or says anything negative to me, I still felt kind of relieved yesterday when he took a day off and he let me sleep in. I woke up and heard him getting very short and tense and frustrated with Penny, because he was just trying to DO something – do ANYTHING. Pour himself a drink, have some food, clean up dog puke, make HER some food – and she cried and she cried. And even though he never speaks negatively about my inability to get anything done, even though he understands WITHOUT a demonstration, I felt relieved that he was SEEING it, seeing how impossible it is to do ANYTHING because sure, go ahead and let her cry, because things need to get done, but crying babies WILL EVENTUALLY MAKE YOU INSANE.

What can you do, though, right? It’s a phase. You tell yourself it’s a phase both to reassure yourself that there WILL BE an end to it, and also to explain to yourself that it’s normal, that it’s a problem no one has ever in the history of babies solved, and it’s okay to just struggle through it while you’re unshowered and unfed and generally uncared for and no one can judge you because it is a PHASE and it happens to EVERYONE and no one can judge you for that one bottle that went moldy in the sink because the GODDAMN TINY TYRANT WOULDN’T LET YOU WASH THE STUPID THING.

Also, we started some solid foods!

So far, Penny has sampled banana, beans, and apples. She went pretty nuts for a Honeycrisp last night. As nuts as a baby with no teeth can go, anyway. She was quite delighted.

We’re following baby led weaning, if you’re wondering why Penny is chowing down on a whole bean here, and I’ll talk about it more in the future, but I’m not in the mood now. You can look it up, though – there’s a whole wealth of information out there about it.

In short, though, baby led weaning has two major benefits for me, aside from all the ones that are actual benefits. One, it’s freedom from giving a shit. I don’t want food to be this huge issue, like most people. So, until she’s a year old, I don’t give a shit. As they say, “under one, just for fun.” She’ll continue to get the bulk of her nutrition from formula, and we will offer her whole, fresh solids several times a day. Eat it, don’t eat it, stuff it up your nose – we don’t give a shit. The point is that she explores food at her own pace, participates in family meal times, and just gets a feel for the whole thing.

Also, I don’t know about you, but spoon feeding a baby is just about the most fucking tedious thing in the world and I just refuse to do it. I just… I can’t. No.

At six months old, Penny was 24.9″ inches long (in the 15th percentile) and 14 lbs, 11 oz (in the 18th percentile). She remains wee, but proportionate, giving her a nicely rounded, somewhat jolly appearance. She lags a little behind on some motor skills, but we (and her doctors) remain unconcerned.

Aside from this stupid shitty phase, she basically rules.

For reference:

No months
One month
Two months
Three months
Four months
Five months

 

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Dimes, inefficiency, and mental hauntings by semi-historical figures.


Whenever I spot a coin on the ground – a nickel or a dime, maybe – and I find myself not BOTHERING to bend down and pick it up, I immediately chastise myself with some ferocity.

“LAURA INGALLS WILDER WOULD BE APPALLED.”

That’s what I tell myself, quite sternly. Can you imagine what she’d think, seeing me too LAZY to bend down to pick up a nickel? One time, she took a nickel to buy a whole new blade for her pa’s plow. A WHOLE NEW BLADE. For a NICKEL. And she had to guard the nickel with her LIFE the whole way to the store because it was a WHOLE NICKEL. And here I am, just leaving one on the ground.

I kind of think about Laura Ingalls Wilder a lot more than I assume is normal. Like when I’m driving somewhere, I wonder how I would explain to her that I am going to the store and back and I will be home within 30 minutes. Or that we’re driving to see Phil’s grandmother for Thanksgiving, about a berjillion miles, and it’s only going to take four hours.

She rode a WAGON to get places, people. With OXEN. If she rode in her wagon for four hours, and suddenly realized she forgot something at the house, she could just hop out because they’d probably STILL BE IN THE YARD. And if they got in their wagon and went a berjillion miles, like as far as it is from here to the Thanksgiving casino (we stay in a casino for Thanksgiving, thus the Thanksgiving casino – keep up with me here, people), she wouldn’t ever go home. She’d just unpack. Because a berjillion miles away IS home for her. Might as well START OVER, because the oxen are DEAD.

And you know how for some reason it’s become kitschy and cute to be into pirates or robots or ninjas or zombies? What would Laura Ingalls Wilder think, you guys? “Oh, I’m going to buy this blank piece of paper and frame it and hang it up because it’s got a caption about there being a ninja you can’t see! Oh, ho ho! That’s right in my wheelhouse of things that interest and appeal to me!”

WELL, one time? Laura Ingalls Wilder – she was just Laura Ingalls at the time – went to a birthday party in town, and you know what they served there? ORANGES. It was, like, the third orange of her LIFE, probably. So we’re all, “tee hee! Pirates! Bacon! Zombies!” and she’d be all, “Uh, I’m feeling a little scurvish, so I’ll just have a FRUIT, thanks.”

And don’t even get me started on the robots – Laura Ingalls Wilder would not GET YOU. You know Cap Garland, right? One day, you were struck by wondering what the hell ever happened to Cap Garland and you Googled it, right? Everyone’s done that. Well, CAP GARLAND WAS KILLED BY A ROBOT. Look it up.

Internet, ALMANZO DIDN’T EVEN GIVE HER A DIAMOND. And Kim Kardashian is getting divorced after 72 days. WHAT WOULD LAURA INGALLS WILDER EVEN SAY?

I’m not kidding, though. I mentally weigh in with Laura Ingalls Wilder’s opinion on my day to day life on the regular. I don’t know why. I just do.

The same is true for Frank Gilbreth. Do you know Frank Gilbreth? Have you read Cheaper by the Dozen or Belles on Their Toes? You should. The DAD in those books – well, book, because he dies – sorry, spoiler alert a couple of words back there – was Frank Gilbreth. And he was an efficiency expert. You know, he went into factories and stuff to show how time and energy and movements were being wasted, and came up with a set of concepts for each step of the process of completing a STEP. If that makes sense. Which it doesn’t, which is why you should READ THE BOOKS, I can’t do everything for you here.

So, throughout the course of my day, I’ll be doing something – unloading the grocery cart at the self-scan checkout, for example – and I’ll realize how FURIOUSLY AGGRAVATED Frank Gilbreth would get at the way I am proceeding with the task – bending into the cart, grabbing a single item, scanning it, placing it in a bag, repeating. Now, I don’t know WHAT the more efficient way to do that would be, but FRANK GILBRETH would know, and he would be hopping up and down with rage at my ineptitude, which would not be a wise idea for someone with a bad heart – oh, spoiler alert, he has a heart attack.

I have read the Little House books and I have read the Gilbreth books both several – lots of severals – times. If you can’t tell. Enough times that I find myself GENUINELY CONCERNED, OFTEN, about how Mrs. Wilder and Mr. Gilbreth would feel about what I do and the way I do things.

But seriously, you guys. Do you have ANY IDEA what Laura Ingalls Wilder could have done with a DIME at Olsen’s store? You think about that the next time you are too lazy to bend down.

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