So here’s the person I’ve become.

Messy, ill-fitting workout clothes, no makeup, unwashed hair, bloodshot eyes, and a FREAKING MOP. 

I am officially a cliche.

We had breakfast with Santa Claus this morning.

Seriously, seven hours later I have forgotten all about how stressful it was to keep ONE from yanking on the tablecloth and how irritated I was that he spilled his milk all over the floor because they didn’t have straws there for kids to drink out of, and how TWO cried for what seemed like an eternity.

When I look at this picture all I think about is how much fun we had. 

And also how happy I am that it’s over.

But mostly about how much fun we had.

Remember when my stroller broke? Well, this week my JJ Cole diaper bag also bit it. It had a hard life for three years, and I guess it was time for it to pass on. My dear friend Lila gifted it to me when I was pregnant with ONE and we absolutely wore it to pieces.

I went on a search this week for a new bag and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty. When did Buy Buy Baby decide it was okay to charge upwards of $150 for a pleather diaper bag? I mean … come on. I was actually one of those customers muttering aloud to herself “This piece of crap is $169? PUL-LEAZE,” in the aisle.

I’m no cheap skate, but I just wasn’t willing to pay that much money for a big piece of plastic. Another issue I was running into was SIZE. None of them were big enough, or they were ridiculously enormous and carrying it would just piss me off because I would know I was carrying diapers and not clothes for a weekend getaway …

So finally I went to Babies R Us and I found the perfect bag, made by Carter’s, for $50. IAMSOHAPPY. We’re best friends. Not forever. But at least for a year or two.

I have a lot of stuff.

I got everything in there with room to spare!

I am never going to lose weight if my husband keeps bringing home whole milk and Lucky Charms. In addition, working out makes me HUNGRY. This seems counterproductive.

I realize it’s unfortunate that I am dealing with postpartum weight issues during the holiday season. It’s hard to keep perspective when you’re surrounded by egg nog.

Mmmmmm. Egg nog.

Changes are coming.

My three-month-old son has colic. STILL. It got better, and then it got bad again. But it’s still not nearly like it was a month or two ago. That was so horrible I think I’ve stricken it from memory.

People who have not parented a baby with colic do not understand what it’s like, and it’s hard to explain to them without breaking down crying yourself. I’m not sure if I should be thankful that ONE had it, so at least I knew how to handle it, or if I should feel cursed that I have birthed two children who both screamed bloody murder for the first few months of life.

I think I’ll choose to be thankful.

We’re switching back to soy formula today, a different brand than before so hopefully it will agree with him. I look forward with much excitement to the day that he smiles his little dimply smile all the time instead of just half the time. If I survive this. Which I guess I will. But most days, I want to run screaming to my mother who lives 6 hours away, or at the very least send Husband to get a vasectomy.

That’s just the sleep deprivation talking. We’ll probably have more kids. 

If I survive.

How can one little guy wreak so much havoc?

Today I found an old diaper wedged in the cargo rack of our truck. I wager it’s been there for about one week. And thanks to the freeze last night, it crunched when I tried to pull it out.

Today I came to the realization that I have not mastered the art of taking photos in a mirror. How do people do that without looking like idiots? Oh … wait. It’s always kind of idiotic. But clearly I won’t be judging anyone.

Here we are, me and TWO in our jammies. He cried a lot today.

Has anyone else experienced the phenomenon of a three-month-old trying to climb out of their carrier? Mine constantly digs his bony little feet and/or knees into my stomach in what appears to be an attempt to get out. 

He doesn’t cry in it, though. So I’ll deal with the feet and knee digs. After all, my stomach is so squishy, it’s not like I can blame him for digging deeper into the pillowy softness.

My mother isn’t answering her phone. And I need assistance.

How likely is it for a 3-month-old to develop an allergy to his HYPOALLERGENIC formula?! Because something is wrong with my kid. I have checked for teeth. He isn’t sick. No fever. 

But the screaming … the screaming. It’s killing me, people. There has to be a reason for it. His colic was so much better, and now – BAM – it’s back. I think. I’m unsure of what is causing the crying, all I know is that when he gets tired he gets really super mad and swaddling only pisses him off. He doesn’t want his paci, he doesn’t want me to cuddle him, he hates his swing, laying him down to let him work his issues out on his own does NOT work, he’s scratching the ever-loving meat off his scalp with his itty bitty fingernails and I just don’t know what to do.

Whew. 

We have tried gas drops. I am very tired of carrying my 13-pound infant around all day in my Ergo. I know that sounds bad, but I’m TIRED. Tired of hearing screaming, tired of carrying, tired of wondering when it’s going to end. I realize it may not end anytime soon. Just because he’s three months does not mean the crying will magically cease.

I just really hoped that it would.

Just because I have boys doesn’t mean I can’t have fun dressing them.

His shirt says “FEED ME.” He looks gangsta. 

Okay … maybe not. 

We really are a very, very white family.

Today I attended my first class at the YMCA. BodyFlow. One hour of yoga, pilates, and tai chi fusion … followed by QUITE an experience in the ladies locker room. 

As it turned out, my class let out at exactly the same time as the “Low Intensity Water Workout” class. One moment I was alone, the next, a crowd of elderly women came pouring in. Apparently they left their inhibitions in the swimming pool.

Let me just state here: I really could care less who I see naked or sees me naked. I don’t care about the makeshift shower curtains or the fact that all my stuff got wet because there’s no good place to put any of it. I was just happy to take a shower in peace, without worrying that ONE was smothering TWO with a blanket.

I had two blissful hours to myself. It was pretty fantastic. And I may have made a few geriatric friends along the way. An obvious win-win.