Childbirth
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Uncategorized, Womanhood
Have you ever had one of those days where you got out of the shower and wondered, as you toweled off, whether you remembered to wash everything? As in, everything important? As in, YOUR BITS?
Come ON. I know I’m not the only one who’s ever done it.
Ok, you bunch of liars, it’s besides the point anyway. And for the record, I always get back in the shower and do said washing, just in case I did happen to forget. That is, unless I’m REALLY tired. Fuck it, I never get back in. You happy now? I’M FILTHY. Bastards.
And to think my husband’s colleagues read this shit while at work. Hey guys. How you doin’? Get back to work, you slackers.
SO ANYWAYS, the whole “forgetting to wash important bits while in the shower” thing reminded me of the times I COULDN’T wash the important bits while in the shower — like after having a baby. And that led me to wonder whether I had ever posted about childbirth, and lo and behold, I hadn’t. So for those of you who haven’t experienced the joys of childbirth yet, brace yourselves. Because MB is tackling this horrific subject matter.
Are you ready?….
It really isn’t that bad, relax. I mean childbirth. It really isn’t that bad.
Now, I know this is a very individual thing, and some women have terrible nightmare experiences, while others (you suck, by the way) push like they have a bit of gas to expel and TA-DA! baby is born. But the truth is, most of us end up somewhere in the middle. Meaning, while it’s neither a terrible nightmare nor the passing of a bean burrito, it sucks giant monkey nuts, but eventually ends with you holding your baby in your arms. (And with any luck, that baby is sleeping blissfully for the next eighteen years).
Now, let me qualify the whole “it’s not that bad” comment by saying one word: DRUGS. Take every. Ounce. Offered. And then ask for a bit more. Because seriously, ladies, there is no medal at the end of all this — just a squalling baby. And if you’re black and blue from the battle, how are you going to win the war? And yes, I just compared child-rearing to war. Sure, I admire the women who do it all without drugs, in a barn, out in a field, while on a yoga ball, in a jacuzzi, or whatever. Props to you. Really. But don’t tell me you’re better than me, or that your kid is better off than mine. I’ve known too many women who started out with the noble desire to have a “natural” childbirth only to end up in labor for days, having to have emergency c-sections. Look, go with what feels right, not what you think you should be doing. It’s your vagina that is getting demolished, after all.
My personal experiences with childbirth were pretty good (and by “pretty good” I mean they were one notch above getting my eyeball gouged out with a mechanical pencil. Not that it’s ever happened to me. I’m simply assuming). It was a lot easier the second time around, since I knew what to expect and wanted to delay my trip to the hospital as long as possible. With Ava, I was far more relaxed, annoyed, and reluctant. I was ordering the doctor around (”No, you MAY NOT cut my lady parts! And there is no way in HELL you’re using that thing to suck out my baby’s head! You know what? Just sit there and be quiet, goddammit. I can do this myself.”)
To be honest, the worst part for me was the immediate aftermath — taking the baby home and having to sit on a donut for days while my boobs threatened to explode everywhere. Let me make a recommendation to you ladies who have vaginal births and episiotimies: DO NOT take a mirror and look down there. BAD. IDEA. Refrain from looking, directly touching, or even thinking about your bits for a couple months. Because trust me, doing so will make you cry.
Now, before I wrap up this post, let me say a word about having everybody you know plus a camera crew in the delivery room: Another BAD. IDEA. Do you really want tons of people watching your vagina stretch to gargantuan proportions? Or possibly see you poop? Actually, come to think of it, tell your husband to get lost while you’re at it. Really. Husbands are totally worthless in the delivery room, unless they’re doctors. And even then – no point in having the hubby in there if he’s a, oh, ophthalmologist. TH really didn’t do anything helpful while he was in there. As a matter of fact, he scared the living shit out of me by turning white and muttering, “Oh my God” one too many times. The nurses had to ask him if he needed to lie down. Men are so goddamned worthless.
To those ladies who have had a baby: What was the worst part for you?
To those ladies who have yet to experience it: What scares you most?
Tags: baby, bits, childbirth, Feces, lady parts, vagina
It’s About Time…
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Insane in the MOMbrane, Motherhood, Pregnancy, Stay At Home Moms, Uncategorized, Womanhood, parenting
…for another baby.
*Bursts out laughing, shoving an entire packet of birth control pills down throat with glee, washing it down with some vodka.*
NOT!
Have you ever met the woman who treats having kids like some sort of Olympic sport? Yeah? No? If not, I can introduce you to her. She's annoying as fuck. She's kind of like the woman who treats motherhood as a competitive sport, except that Preggo (what I will heretoforthwith call her) really stops caring about her kid the minute she has another one. Ok, not completely stops caring, of course. But kind of just removes the earlier-born child from her focus.
God, I'm a judgmental bitch.
But it's almost like… they aren't truly happy unless they're pregnant. Or have just been pregnant. Or are trying to get pregnant. As though their very self-worth teeters on their ability to make babies. Constantly.
I am happy / proud / thrilled to say that I think I may be done with having kids. I mean, I don't want to rule it out, as several years from now, preferably before my ovaries dry up, I may reconsider. It really depends on how drunk I am at that point. But I'm definitely not even going to think about it until I've completely forgotten how fucking miserable Newborn Land is. And guess what? I am not even close to forgetting at this point.
Plus, there's the whole Nip/Tuck issue. I want fake boobies eventually, so I have consider that as well. No point in lifting everything just to watch it drop again.
And for those of you who are thinking, "But you have to try again for a BOY!" No, I don't. NO, I FUCKING DON'T. I was given two beautiful, healthy girls. Why the shit would I complain? I'm sure having a son brings all sorts of different joys, but seriously, I'm fine. I'll survive. Really.
Plus, I've heard the stories about the shooting pee at diaper changes, and would rather not have to worry about it. I'm not sure I would know what to do with a baby that has those kind of parts to it.
So the other day I overheard a Preggo gushing, "We're pregnant again!" while I was at the gym. I happen to sort of know this woman, and I sort of know that her youngest (she already has two) is younger than Ava. And her oldest is younger than Nora. So she already has a three-year-old and a fifteen-month-old. And I have a question: Why? Don't tell me you love every second of it. Don't. Because I won't believe you. I'll think you're full of shit, dissatisfied with something in your life, and therefore use procreation as a coping mechanism.
Oh, and for the record, I am in a great mood tonight. *Beams*
Tags: birth control, boobies, competitive moms, Nip/Tuck, Preggo, pregnant, vodka
I Don’t Like Children
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Womanhood, parenting
Oh, I am SO going to get lynched for admitting this.
I was never the type of woman who went gaga over kids. To be honest, I was never very good at being a kid myself, so I find it hard to understand why kids do the obnoxious things they do. Like I told you guys before, I was raised in a fairly strict household, and I obeyed my parents like a soldier. Normal? No. But even at the age of eight, I couldn't make sense of the kids screaming obscenities at their parents or doing off-the-wall things to get attention. It drove me nuts then, and sure as fuck drives me nuts now.
I feel more or less the same way about babies, although I am far more forgiving of a screaming baby than a screaming child. Babies have that innocent, sweet, I-just-want-you-to-love-me thing going that makes me melt. IF the baby is cute. Terrible isn't it? I openly admit that I am a bad person.
Now, all that being said, I adore my own children. As they grow from sweet, trusting infants to tantrum-ridden kids, however, I am finding that, while I still love my girls more than life itself, I STILL DON'T LIKE KIDS. A few weeks ago some six-year-old girls were being mean to Nora for no reason (I know, I was watching closely — she just wanted to play with them), and they started telling her to go away, get lost, that she smelled. Oh. My. God. It would have been one thing if Nora was annoying them, but she wasn't. She was smiling and following them around in a hero-worship sort of way.
It is not an exaggeration to say that I very nearly smacked each of those little sassy-ass bitches-to-be just to see them cry. And then hunted down their moms and smacked THEM for being sassy-ass bitches who are bad role models for their daughters. Arrest me. And let me tell you, if I ever caught Nora or Ava doing that sort of thing to a younger child, I would smack THEM just to see them cry. Then smack MYSELF for sucking as a woman and a mother. It would be one big smack fest.
Go ahead, hate on me. Then remember that, truth be told, I don't like very many adults either.
Tags: Babies, bitches, kids, tantrums
Bookstore Employees (Get The Stick Out of Your Ass)
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
If you happen to work at a bookstore, let me apologize for generalizing.
With that out of the way, let me get on to the topic at hand: Why do bookstore employees suck?
I don't mean that they suck at their jobs. They are probably really good at shelving and… whatever else they do. I mean that they seem to have permanent scowls on their faces, like they really wanted to work in a library but ended up at Barnes & Noble instead. I have encountered no fewer than five such people since having children, and they all have felt the need to discipline my child for me.
Just a couple days ago I was there with my girls. They love that place – there's a train table and little picnic benches for them to sit at and look at books. They kinda walk around like they own the place, pulling books off shelves, flipping through them, and not returning them. That's what my worthless ass is there for – I follow them around, try to read books to them, and reshelve shit.
And isn’t that the most important thing? That I keep them from destroying the place? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: The bookstore is not a library. Especially the kid’s section of a bookstore. So it kind of peeves me when a B&N employee (who, for the record, is a hippy-type with super long Amish hair in a braid, glasses fro circa 1970, and nurse shoes) “shhhhh”’s my three-year-old in an overly harsh manner when she was simply squealing in delight, and then shakes her head as though to say, “People can’t raise children properly these days.”
Not that there’s anything wrong with nurse shoes. But seriously, Puma makes some pretty comfortable shoes that DON’T make you look like you’re 3,000 years old.
I was a few yards away from Nora when this occurred, so I didn’t get a chance to respond appropriately (which, in my case, would have been a “Yo, yo, yo, beeeeeeeotch! Don’t be sayin’ shit to my kid!”)
I have to say, I almost encouraged my girls to scream and tear books off the shelves. Actually, I started doing it myself. And then I left a poopie diaper in a corner. SURPRISE, AMISH LADY!”
I’m kidding…. or am I?
Tags: Amish, bookstore, discipline, employees
Men Really, Really Suck At Babysitting
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Insane in the MOMbrane, Motherhood, Uncategorized, Womanhood, parenting
No, really.
Maybe it's the lack of attention to detail, the inability to understand that 14-month-olds need to be watched carefully, and NOT by a three-year-old. 14-month-olds need to be watched carefully ESPECIALLY if they are anywhere near a three-year-old.
I admit I can be negligent sometimes. Just today I looked up to find that Ava had eaten three-quarters of a blue crayon while I was Facebooking. Oops. My B. But hey, aren't crayons non-toxic? So she has some blue poop. Who doesn't have blue poop every once in a while?
But TH… TH takes the fucking cake. Seriously.
This weekend we visited TH's parents. TH's parents happen to have two enormous cats that make me violently fucked up. (Yes, I just said that. You didn't read it wrong. I couldn't think of a better way to put it). You know, puffy eyes, scratchy throat, inability to breathe, sinuses that feel like they may spontaneously combust… So TH encouraged me to go take a nap, since allergies + drugs = messed up me who can't walk straight and drools uncontrollably. (What drugs am I taking for my allergies, you ask? Good question. Quaaludes. Why?) His exact words were, "I've got everything under control. Go lie down."
Famous last words. Kind of like, "Don't worry, it's not loaded." Or "Don't worry, it's so tame you can put your head in its mouth." Or "'Don't try this at home', my ass."
For one hour, I was blissfully unaware that my children were being dropped on their heads. Then, TH burst into the room and said loudly, "Ok, you about ready to get up now?" He may as well have added, "Goddammit, you lazy bitch, hmmmm?" No, I kid – TH doesn't call me names (that don't include the word "poop" in them).
When I frantically jumped out of bed and asked him what was wrong, he mumbled something about Ava needing me. The child stared at me like I had betrayed her, like she wanted me to eat shit and die. Her eyes were red, her hair was crazy, and her lower lip was in a permanent pout. Poor Ava had had a rough afternoon. She'd tumbled down the stairs and gotten a bloody nose. Then she'd fallen off her grandparents' bed. THEN she'd jammed her finger in the door. THEN she'd eaten mud. Where was TH during this whole escapade, you ask? Good. Fucking. Question. Something I was wondering as well. While he insisted he was watching her the whole time, I have a sneaking suspicion that something called "college football" had to do with the lack of parenting that was going on.
I'm the dumbass that left TH in charge of the girls while Texas was playing.
But the fun didn't end there.
After I'd put Ava to bed, I left Nora with TH to take a nice, long, hot shower. As I was drying off from said shower, TH burst in the room with a shrieking Nora, asking, "What the FUCK is taking you so long?" Nora had also jammed her finger in a door.
In the name of all that is good and holy… What is wrong with my husband?
Either TH has the magic touch, or he's doing this on purpose so that I never, ever leave him in charge of the girls again. Oh, I wouldn't put it past him.
So tonight I was bathing the girls when TH came home from work. He changed out of his work clothes and came into the bathroom to "help" me. He'd been there no longer than five minutes when he decided to pour water on their heads. He poured water on Nora's head, she slipped and BAM! banged her head on the edge of the tub; he poured water on Ava's head, she also slipped and KABOOM! banged her head on the edge of the tub. They were both wailing within ten minutes of TH coming home.
I would tell him to go back to work, but I think he might like that too much.
Am I the only woman with a husband who has some sort of X-Men kill-every-toddler-he-touches power? Or are there others out there?
Tags: babysitting, Facebooking, famous last words, husbands, quaal, quaaludes, TH, X-Men
Sibling Strife
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
As Ava has gone from baby to toddler (Holy shite! Ava's a toddler! Time to try for #3! NOT!!!! GOD that is the most UNFUNNY joke EVER!), to Nora she's also gone from "baby sister who just sits there and cries" to "little sister who fucking RUINS MY LIFE." Granted, Nora has yet to use those exact words, but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before she does. Except I hope she never uses the "F" bomb. Who am I kidding? Since I am her mother, I can almost guarantee that she'll be "F" bombing by the time she's five. (There's another really unfunny joke. I need to go back to bed.)
Back when Ava was a tiny thing, I thought God had heard my prayers and given me an "easy" baby. She seemed to spend a good amount of time just sitting and observing, unlike Nora, who'd spent most of her baby-dom screaming her little head off. And then she became mobile. Around the time she started crawling, she developed a major attitude. Whatever Nora was doing, whether it be playing with dolls, watching TV, or sitting on the potty, Ava wanted in on it. As she realized that 1) Nora was bigger, faster, and stronger than she was, and 2) crying wouldn't always get her what she wanted, she started to fight back.
I distinctly remember when my brother started doing this. He wanted my attention, and resorted to sitting on me to get it. I'd be lying on the floor watching TV, and he'd toddle over and flop his diapered butt directly on my face. With any luck, it was a shitty diaper. Ava is no different, and she's developed this aggressive streak to getting Nora's goat.
Example: Nora will be playing "tea party" or something with her dolls and stuffed animals. She will carefully line her "friends" up, placing a tea cup in front of each. Ava will watch from a corner, plotting. You can see the wheels turning in that curly head as she watches Nora meticulously set everything up. Then, just as Nora begins the party, Ava starts running. She dive bombs in the middle of the tea party, flailing her arms and legs, making sure that everything is destroyed thoroughly. And Nora wails, “NOOOOOOO AVA!!!!” There is only one way to describe the expression on Ava’s face as she rolls onto her back, spread eagle amidst the destruction: Smug.
Having been in Nora’s shoes, I really should sympathize more than I do. I mean, I do sympathize, it’s just that I find it hilarious, too. I mean, I think it’s adorable that Ava would do anything for Nora’s attention. Because that’s what it boils down to – wanting your sibling’s attention.
Ava is proving to be a force to reckon with, just like her sister. They’re not only smart, but conniving, sassy, and full of feminine wiles.
TH and I are so doomed.
Tags: attention, Ava, Nora, sibling, siblings, sisters, tea party
911
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Stay At Home Moms, Uncategorized
I readily admit that I am one of those mothers who totally freaks out when her kids hurt themselves. I tend to be fine until I see blood, and then I lose it. I think it's safe to say that most mothers lose it when their kids hurt themselves, but I really go off the deep end. Especially when I'm exhausted, emotional, and haven't had any drugs or alcohol. Or drugs AND alcohol.
One thing that really gets me is nosebleeds. The only time my nose ever bled was when I was pregnant. But I never got nosebleeds as a kid. So when one of my girls gets one, I really am beside myself. The sight of one of my little girls gushing blood from their nostrils… *shudder*
So the other day Ava decided it would be fun to slam her face as hard as possible against the wall. When Ava gets excited, she tends to headbang, for lack of a better word. No, I don't get it either, and yes, I'm fairly certain she's not retarded. Anyways, she and Nora were playing on my bed – something they love doing – bouncing in the pillows, when Ava face-planted into the wall. Her scream was mind-numbing, and when I picked her up, blood was gushing from her tiny nose.
Has anyone tried to stop a toddler's nosebleed? Because, shit, it's near impossible and shit, Ava IS a toddler now. You hear all these instructions about what to do – lean them forward, pinch the bridge of the nose, blah, blah, blah… But let's be honest, a flailing toddler does little to help the situation. As I tried to quench the bleeding, Ava was screeching and kicking and twisting, and I was lucky if I got to so much as touch her nose. As a result, there was blood everywhere – on the floor, on my clothes, on her clothes, on my face… It didn't help that Nora started screaming, "WHAT'S WRONG WITH AVA??? WHAT'S WRONG WITH HER??? MAMA, HOLD ME! MAMA, I'M SCARED!!!"
It was around four in the afternoon, and I'd had a long, exhausting day. I wasn't thinking straight. As Nora screamed and Ava screamed and both fueled each other's screaming, I thought Ava was losing too much blood. And I thought she was looking like she might faint. And how much fucking blood is in a one-year-old? Like twelve pints? I swear, it looked like there were at least five of those pints on my clothes alone. So what did I do? I called 911. I explained what was happening, and the operator said she would send over an ambulance. As I hung up the phone, still trying to stop Ava's bleeding, TH called. I told him what happened, and then admitted that I'd called an ambulance. He was pissed. "WHAT? Why the fuck would you call 911 for a nosebleed??? Call them back and CANCEL the ambulance! That shit ain't free!"
Ok. Ava's bleeding seemed to be stopping, and her crying was less urgent. She was actually starting to eye a couple toys with interest, losing patience with my frantic mothering. Nora, on the other hand, had flung herself on the floor wailing. All in all, however, I began to think I'd overreacted.
Oopsies.
"Uh, yeah, operator? I'd like to cancel my request for an ambulance… The baby seems to be doing better…"
Operator: "Well, we've already sent one out there, so they're just going to stop by. Don't worry, they won't charge you."
Ok. Well, that's good. But God, I felt like a tool. Before I had a chance to change my shirt, Ava's shirt, or even wipe the blood from either of our faces, EMS was at the door.
As Ava tried to struggle out of my arms to get to the choo-choo train that Nora was now playing with, I opened the front door, an apologetic smile on my blood-splattered face.
Holy. Shit. I wondered, briefly, if I had accidentally called an L.A. modeling agency / male strip club instead of 911. Yeah, hi, can you send over a couple hotties in EMS outfits? Thaaaaaanks.
One of them smiled kindly. "Is this the baby you called about?" he asked, indicating Ava who, despite being splattered with blood, was blowing bubbles and cooing at her sister.
ME, grinning idiotically: "Well, yes, um… I think I overreacted… There just seemed to be so much blood…"
The other guy nodded sympathetically. "Any amount of blood is too much blood for a mother."
Uh-huh. At that moment, I felt like the biggest. Idiot. EVER. Oh, I forgot to mention – the biggest, most UNATTRACTIVE idiot ever. My hair was crazy, my face, chest, and shirt had blood all over them, and I must have looked like a victim in a horror flick. The "ugly girl who didn't have a life anyway" victim in a horror flick. To add insult to injury, my so-called wounded baby was FLIRTING with the EMS guys, batting her eyelashes and flashing her dimples.
You know, just as an aside, had I needed an ambulance when I was hot, young, and single, I would have gotten the fat, balding EMS guys. Granted, the injury would have to be a delicately twisted ankle or fainting or something. Something non-fatal, which still allowed me to look good. You know.
Tags: 911, blood, EMS, hotties, injury, nosebleeds
Changing Tables
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, parenting
I try, as often as possible, to avoid using public changing tables. And by “avoid” I mean I’d rather let my girls wallow in their own excrement for hours, develop uncontrollable diaper rashes, and scream in discomfort non-stop than use one.
If anything has ever motivated me to potty train my girls directly out of the womb, it’s these bacteria-laden contraptions. “Antibacterial protection” my ass. I’m soooooo sure your Microban is protecting my kid from the CHUNK OF POOP hanging from the corner of that Diaper Deck. Not to mention, is anyone else afraid that thing will break while your your baby is on it? They creak and moan under the weight of my kids, and it doesn’t help that someone thought it was a good idea to place it level with an adult’s chest. Yeah, so the baby falls a good four feet to the hard, urine-splattered floor beneath. Or, on the flipside, these things are so hard to pull down you worry it’ll snap back up while your kid is in it.
That’s not to say I don’t use them. Sure, I’ve used them out of desperation (think poopie explosion up the back and – no, I’m not kidding – into the hair. God, partenthood is fun). Not just that, I’ve used them when I’ve had nothing to put between my kid and the table itself. Yes, I know, GROSS. But what do you expect me to do? Use my sweater? Fuck that. Plenty of kids have survived E. coli infections, I’m sure. Just don’t touch my Theory cardigan.
The other day I was at a Chili’s and absolutely HAD to change a diaper. I can’t stand the food there to begin with, so I don’t need the stench of poop wafting in the air to make me lose my appetite. So anyways, I went in to the bathroom and saw that the changing table was directly in front of the bathroom door. Who the FUCK came up with that brilliant idea? So anyone who needs to use the bathroom opens the door and BAM! gets hit by the sight and smell of a baby’s shitty ass. Turn the baby around, you say? You’ve forgotten about the mirror. So it doesn’t matter what you do – people will get a font-row seat to your child’s bowel movements.
And another thing: I want to petition for more changing tables in men’s bathrooms. Come to think of it, how about changing tables ONLY in the men’s bathrooms? Yeah, ’scuse me, dude, could you change my kid’s diaper? We don’t have one of those in our bathroom…
Bwahahahahahaha! Ahem. Photo by orbz via Flickr.
Tags: changing tables, Chili's, diaper, Diaper Deck, E.coli, Feces, Microban, poopie explosion
Random Shiznit
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, FYI, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Motherhood, Preschoolers, Uncategorized
- Nora only wants to wear one shirt, her so-called "Happy Shell" shirt. I've managed to wash it once before she noticed it was missing, and that was only because I was certain there were feces stains on it. Not wearing said "Happy Shell" shirt causes her to have monumental tantrums, replete with kicking, moaning, and head-banging.
- It's that time of the month, and my girls were fighting over a box of super absorbent tampons this morning. I had to pull one out of Ava's mouth. Tantrum ensued.
- I've become highly adept at carrying both girls at the same time. I just have to make sure to switch their places every once in while, so I don't get uneven guns.
- Ava uses Nora's potty seat to play peek-a-boo. Were the hole a bit bigger, I have no doubt she would wear it around her neck.
- Nora is currently watching Yo Gabba Gabba while sitting languidly in her Elmo chair, her legs crossed, wrists limp, looking like she should have a cigarette hanging from her lips. And like she should remove the cigarette from her lips every once in while to rasp in a French accent, "You people make my ass twitch."
- Is it just me, or does Muno from Yo Gabba Gabba look like an enormous, warty penis?
I'll let you guess which one is Muno. Photo by [177] via Flickr.
Tags: Ava, Feces, meltdowns, Nora, penis, random, random shit, tampons, tantrums, Yo Gabba Gabba
No “Mother of the Day” Awards For Me
Posted by admin | Filed under Babies, Feces, Insane in the MOMbrane, Just plain funny, Preschoolers, Uncategorized, parenting
I am in the process of potty training Nora (read: feces on the carpet). I've decided not to go the "potty train in a day" route, because the thought of shutting myself in my house all day taking Nora to the potty makes me want to cry. Because I'd rather eat bellybutton lint (and not my own, mind you) than stay home all day encouraging my kid to shit and piss (in the right place).
As it is, my half-assed attempts at potty training are complicated by the fact that Ava wants to know what all the fuss is about, and every time Nora pees or poops in the potty and I praise her for it, Ava wants in on the action. She crawls over to where Nora is sitting (shitting?) on the potty and tries to push her off, because something is going on in there and it isn't gonna happen without her, goddammit! I have to pry Ava off of Nora, not to mention dispose of the poop/pee ASAP, lest Ava stick her chubby fingers in it. This has turned the potty into a place of great interest for Ava, and I've often caught her with her head in the potty. I'm thinking about buying stock in Lysol.
As a result of said potty training, Nora spends most of her time at home running around bare-assed. This, of course, means that I have to slap a diaper on her when we leave the house, and unfortunately I don't always remember to do that.
So. The other day I had to run to the neighborhood Walgreens for my allergy meds (and some milk, if you must know) before the pharmacy closed, and so I chucked the girls into the car and rushed over, not bothering to take anything but my wallet with me. I was standing in line at the pharmacy (apparently I wasn't the only one trying to get her drugs before closing time, much to the dismay of the pissy Walgreens pharmacy technicians). Ava was strapped into a shopping cart, and Nora was running around and making a lot of noise, showing off for the (mostly elderly) people in line. She was wearing a pretty little summer dress from Carter's, and she decided that NOW was a good time to play a game in which she repeatedly bent over and touched her toes.
Nora: "Up, down! Up, down! Up, down!"
Oh, FUCK. Nora was flashing / mooning no fewer than fifteen people over and over again, because Mommy forgot to put a diaper (or some panties, for God's sake) on her little pride and joy. I hissed at her to stop, all the while trying not to laugh. Not one to be outdone, Nora stopped the bending but began pulling the hem of her dress over her head.
Nora: "PEEKABOO!"
For the love of Christ. Could those stupid technicians take ANY longer? It's like they're deliberately moving in slow motion just to piss everybody off.
Everyone in line was horrified, except for Ava, who thought it was hysterical. Which only encouraged Nora to continue.
I'm gonna have to start going to a different Walgreens.
For old time's sake, because you can never have enough baby tushie, even if you ARE at Walgreens.
Tags: ass, Feces, flashing, mooning, pee, pee-pee, poopie, potty training, tushie, Walgreens
