This Week.

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If I am going to blog, does that mean I have to invest in a fancy camera? Because I definitely take all of my pictures with my cell phone. And I am fine with that … until I go to other blogs and see all the pretty pictures there. 

That prompts feelings of inadequacy that I do not enjoy. But I don’t have the money to spend on a fancy camera. And if Husband secretly saved up a stash of money (this likely will never happen) to buy me something with, I would NOT want a camera. I’d want clothes and undergarments that actually fit me correctly, because let me tell you, that is something I do not have.

This week, the following took place: I took TWO to the chiropractor. I had a horrible fight with Husband and I called him a sucklord. Not to his face. 

I cooked dinner for the first time in months. I think I expected everyone to be more excited than they were. Then I realized that must be why people always say that motherhood is a thankless job. Because this week, I have also managed to stay on top of the laundry and put it all away by myself — all whilst balancing colic and three-year-old brattyness and general havoc. No one said thank you for that either. So I thanked myself.

No, there isn’t whiskey in my coffee cup. 

But if there was … would that be so wrong?

Also, I find myself wondering if I will look back on these chronicles of TWO’s early life and wonder why I thought it was appropriate to post pictures of myself on the internet, looking a hot mess. I likely won’t remember doing it. 

I have a feeling that I won’t remember this phase of my life at ALL.  It will just be a blur. Well … except for this blog. 

Which is proof of what really went down.






Leggies.

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Disclaimer: here is yet another boring mommy post. I know … I know.

I found it. The answer to my problem. “Leggies” in combination with the swing. This product line called The Woombie has been a Godsend. I feel like I am going to break us just trying to get the colic under control.

I guess I’d rather be poor than crazy.

Yesterday, the mailman brought me the “leggies” I ordered in my latest purchase of desperation. They offer the benefit of being swaddled, but the legs are cut out so we can strap him into the swing, the car, etc. $26 was a small price to pay for hope. I HOPED IT WOULD WORK. And it did! This marks the first evening in recent history where there wasn’t constant crying.

The downside: TWO didn’t want to go to bed until midnight, apparently from napping so well in his new Hannibal Lecter outfit. Also, he doesn’t seem to enjoy the new hypoallergenic formula I put him on. Okay, I’ll be honest. He hates it. He EATS it, slowly, with a look of disgust on his face.

Well, I’m sorry TWO, but Mommy is losing her mind. So you’re going to have to get used to eating that shit that cost me an arm and a leg. 

And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Yep.

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Last night I was in my bathroom, pouring sterilized water into a bottle of powdered formula when I suddenly dropped the bottle. It had no lid on it yet. 

It slammed onto the counter, and water and unmixed formula powder shot out of it like a volcano, soaking my hair … my face… my bathroom ceiling … walls … mirror … you understand.

There is nothing sexier than rocking crunchy, soy formula hair. I’m sure Husband loved it.

Chiropractor, Don’t Fail Me.

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Fact: I’m taking TWO to the chiropractor on Wednesday. For an adjustment. Apparently colic is sometimes curable by such … and I am desperate. 

The crying was, at one point, all day long. Now, it’s just 4-5 hours per day. I feel like I might be balding. ONE has taken to chewing on his shirts, grinding his teeth at night, and has developed a fear of the dark. I know it’s stress. I mean, hearing a baby cry for that many hours per day is extremely taxing. 

I will not ask my doctor for medication. 

I will not ask my doctor for medication. 

I will not ask my doctor for medication.

The Richard of Oz.

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Oh … my.

Yesterday, I got a much-needed, much-deserved, probably-overdue break from being a mommy. I got to be a normal girl again, just for a few hours. It was divine.

My (super fun, super cute, super generous — love her!) aunt and I went to Richard Joseph Salon yesterday and It. Was. Awesome. 

This particular salon is in a shoo-shoo part of town … where the other half lives … and consistently gets hailed as the best salon in Birmingham. And rightly so. I haven’t gotten VIP treatment from anyone in a very long time. There was food and drink. They carried my purse for me. I got a complimentary hand massage. They even cleaned my wedding rings for me while I got shampooed.

I mean REALLY.

Richard himself cut my hair. He reminds me of The Wizard of Oz. I think it was his perfectly coiffed appearance. Or maybe it was the flourish with which he cut my hair. At the end, he cut the last snip and kind of threw the pieces into the air like confetti. I was fascinated. I also found myself wondering if I should adapt the confetti throw. Surely, I can work it into my normal life. I shall look into that.

I returned to my children feeling much more equipped to deal with their foolishness. I also made up my mind that I have no choice but to get creative and utilize all of the resources available to me, because I AM DYING HERE. I have researched MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers). I need a support group.

My grandmother lives nearby and offered to watch TWO so I can do things like go to the grocery store without taking both of them with me. I did that on Friday and I don’t ever plan to put myself through that ridiculousness again, if I can help it. No amount of milk or eggs is worth feeling like I’m having a nervous breakdown.

Not that anyone involved except my aunt will read this, but I’d like to extend a big thank you to everyone who helped me relax yesterday. Especially the hand massage lady. 

My Kids Are Trying To Kill Me.

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I think the word “smug” perfectly describes my former, one-child self. So I plan to continue using it.

I never understood women who allowed themselves to go without showering or basic hygiene because they were too busy with their children. I never got why some moms looked like train wrecks all the time. Did they just not care anymore? Is that what happens once you become mommyfied? It seemed to me a horrible mystery that I didn’t care to solve. It was actually one of my very worst fears after having ONE that I would become permanently wrecked and incapable of doing simple tasks like shaving my armpits. 

As it turned out, I did manage to uphold a low standard of decency … but only because I had one kid. I showered and primped while he slept. I SLEPT when he slept. It wasn’t that bad, really. I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. I stupidly assumed I could handle a second child without too much of a problem and here I am now, with two kids, drowning.

On a related note, I secured birth control yesterday. But I’m not sure if “99% effective” is quite effective enough for my liking. Quite frankly, the mere thought of the possibility of having another child at this point HORRIFIES me. Husband just may be out of luck.

You may be wondering how it is that I find the time to blog about how I never have time to do a damn thing. You see, writing about how my kids may be conspiring to kill me makes me feel much more sane. So I am happy to let one of them scream furiously for a few minutes while I do this. It’s either that, or someone gets locked outside.