Hey, do you have Spotify? I don’t have any invitations, so if you don’t have it, I guess I’m an asshole for even mentioning it, but maybe you’ll get into Pottermore and you can hold that over my head, so we’ll be even. But if you do have it, go look up Dan Andriano in the Emergency Room – Hurricane. I recommend “It’s Gonna Rain All Day.”
But don’t listen to it until after you finish this post. It just wouldn’t go.
So, just in time for her weight check on Friday, Penny seems to have hit some kind of three month growth spurt with unbelieveable stereotypicalness.
She had a couple bad days and nights of sleep, and then yesterday, did nothing BUT sleep, only waking up to eat. Normally, when Phil comes home in the evenings, he spends time with her while I cook dinner and then do my own thing for a little bit, but for the last few days, she’s been incredibly fussy when he holds her. We eventually, finally, in a slow “we have no idea how to do this, who the hell trusted us with a baby” kind of way, realized that she just wanted to be near her food source, so she and I spent ALL of yesterday on the couch. She’d eat and then fall asleep against my chest for hours. The whole day. It looked like this:
Aside from an ill-advised giant cup of iced coffee right before she fell asleep for three hours, it wasn’t too terrible. I watched Damages on Netflix (which was only possible because that damn DirecTV commercial for the show finally stopped playing – honestly, I thought nothing could ever make me have even a glint of a negative feeling toward John Goodman, BUT I WAS WRONG) and occasionally consulting my Google Reader.
Phil came home and I cooked dinner for us — did I mention Phil and I are on a diet? We were on a different diet, one of those limited time period diets that’s supposed to jump start your metabolism and turn you into a coal-fueled powerhouse or some shit, and it works by not letting you eat anything delicious ever again with the bait that by the end, it will be VEGETABLES that you find yourself craving, not stupid ice cream and diet soda. We lasted for a week before we went to Wendy’s, made ourselves kind of sick, and started a new, more reasonable diet the next day. I think we probably could have made it the whole course of the diet, though, because we were taking TURNS being furiously angry all the time. Anyway, I made a taco salad with ground turkey last night, even though I think ground turkey is an abomination.
(OH SPEAKING OF BEING ON A DIET: That whole “breastfeeding helps you lose weight” thing? Is that a crock? Because, yes. I lost the pregnancy weight quickly, but I also didn’t gain THAT much and was really swollen at the end, so. And I lost 5 more lbs pretty quickly, which was nice. But then, nothing. And I mean literally nothing and you guys know how I feel about the word “literally.” I could find no time to eat anything but a handful of wheat thins and and six popsicles and the scale would not budge. But I could order the entire Dollar Menu at McDonald’s for lunch for 6 days straight and it STILL WOULD NOT BUDGE. I call for an adjustment into the whole “breastfeeding helps you lose weight” line. Something more like
“Breastfeeding could help you lose weight but breastfeeding could also choose a weight for you and never let you leave it, ever, even if you ask breastfeeding really nicely, and you’ll have to go on a diet that is made up almost entirely of rage and bacon-related heartbreak to bust out of that plateau.”
That would be more accurate.)
Oh, another thing about that first diet? This basically sums up the whole experience:
Me: Blah blah blah sex blah blah something blah something something blah?
Phil: Did you say something about cheese?
Right. Phil took Penny and I got up to make our dinner. Penny is eating so consistently right now, though, that I only really got to get it all cooked before I had to take her back from Phil and settle into the couch with her. I did not get any sour cream on her head when I ate dinner over her, which really shows me how far I’ve come as a parent, considering that there was a time I seriously thought about buying a small umpire-esque home plate whisk broom to handle all of the fall out after I ate a sandwich while she was eating.
I spent another couple of hours there and her bedtime rolled around, and I handed her over to Phil so I could go make my bedtime preparations. Another sign of how excellent I am getting at this parenting thing, aside from the parts where I’m supposed to know what to do, is that my bedtime routine no longer takes an hour to complete. I gather some clean diapers for the night, I get myself a glass of water, and I make SURE my corner of the fitted sheet is VERY tucked in because the ONLY THING WORSE than the crotch of my shorts or underpants OR BOTH OH LAWD not being perfectly lined up with the mid-line of my person is when the sheet pops off, which it can tend to do when you lay down-sit up-lay down-sit up all night long.
Seriously. Some day, Penny will be like, “Shit, shit, son of a BITCH, shit, shit, MOTHERFU–”
And my mom (because OF COURSE this will happen in front of my mother) will be all, “PENELOPE THURSA WENDY! WHERE did you learn such language?”
And Penny will go, “It’s the song my mom sings when the sheet comes undone in the night!”
I just hate that SO MUCH.
I’ve got the bed time routine down to just a couple of minutes now, though, and when I went to recollect Penny, Phil said, “Hey, she’s calm now, if you want some time to yourself.”
And I was all bewildered, because why would I need MORE time to myself? I had time to myself all DAY.
And that’s when I realized that my definition of “time to myself” has shifted from “time where no other person or animal in this stupid house makes any demands LEAVE ME ALONE I AM GOING TO WESTERN PLAGUE LANDS” to “Penny wasn’t crying and I had a whole arm free to peck out one-fingered responses on Twitter.”
Hey, have you ever met one of those people who inform you, “Actually, did you know that you’re only supposed to use Q-tips on the OUTSIDE of your ear? Not in?”
Which, yeah, is what is written on the box, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a CYA move for the Q-tip people. Everyone cleans the inside part when it needs cleaning. Even that person. Right?
I’ve decided (and by “decided,” I mean that I’ve had an idea I have no intention of following through) that instead of selling more ad space all up and down the page, since most people who ask for ad space are kind of a little bit ridiculous about it and I have to say no, I am just going to sell TJ’s Cosmo Cliff’s Notes. Except they obviously couldn’t all be Cosmo.
You just pick out the magazine you want TJ-noted, and PayPal enough money to cover it. Plus a dollar I can give to Phil to buy a candy bar so he’ll go to the store to get the magazine for me. Plus $1.50 more for him to get me a diet soda while he’s there, too.
So I will get the magazine and sit down with my diet soda and Phil’s candy bar (because, come on) and Cliff’s Note up all the magazines. I’ll be rich. In recyclable plastic bottles.
Basically, I want to read magazines and drink diet soda all day and want you, Internet, to fund this endeavor for me.
Are you shitting me right now? Get a job, hippie.
You want to see a magic trick?
Okay, go have your kid’s (or borrow a kid, whatever) portraits taken and purchase a really healthy number of prints. I mean, think of all the family members who might want a print, even those ones like certain grandparents who will want a print of EVERY POSE, because if you send three poses to your mother and three poses to your sister and one of them has one the other doesn’t, THEY WILL COMPARE NOTES and there WILL BE PHONE CALLS, and really, purchase a more than adequate number of poses and prints of each pose.
Then, go buy some picture mailers, lay all your pictures out on the table and start to divvy them up and magic – all of a sudden you do not have NEARLY ENOUGH at the same time that you have ENTIRELY TOO MANY.
“Ok… ok. A 5×7 for each of these people, and a wallet. Wait, is it presumptuous to assume someone would want to carry a picture of my kid in their wallet? But then, is it stupid to just send one wallet when there’s two people? The grandparents should each get an 8×10, that I know. But… I have two 8x10s left. That’s not enough to send an 8×10 to any other category! Wait, do people care? Am I being one of “those parents” by sending portraits of my kid out? Why didn’t I go for the $700 package? The $700 package would have solved all my problems!”
This is why we did not go for the $700 package.
Or the $300 package.
Or the any hundred dollar package.
Phil, holding Penny under the arms and bouncing her off his legs like an astronaut on the moon:
Houston, we have a diaper problem.
My helmet’s filling up with drool.