Category: Am I Insane?

We adopted a dog today.  He’s a four-year-old beagle awaiting a new name and currently snuggling on the couch.  Now we need to fence in the back yard, and I have two children to chase around the house.  I’m fairly certain I have lost my ever-loving mind.

That said, he’s adorable:

El pupus

No, Mom, I sposed to be here. Really.

He hasn’t yet decided to be super-protective of the Munchkin, but he’s only been with us for a few hours now.  Mostly he just ignores the Munchkin or gives me puppy eyes if he can’t get to me for scritches.  Goober.  😀


Phantom cries

I’m no expert here, but I’m fairly certain that I can’t actually be hearing the Munchkin cry if he isn’t in the house, much less when he’s miles away.  I mean, that’s how acoustics works, right?

So why do I keep thinking I hear him?  There’s only one logical explanation.

Our house is haunted.

Or, you know, I’m so used to listening for him that I’ve become hypersensitive.  But I prefer to think it’s a ghost, because that’s so much more interesting than, “I’m home alone with my child every night and it’s slowly (or not so slowly) warping my brain.”

(And this, children, is why leaving me alone on a Saturday night with internet access and no one to talk me down off the “But you sound like a total whackjob” ledge is a bad, bad idea.)

So, what happens when you frequent an online community that revels in amusing mustache photos and you’re home alone with your child?

Why, a webcam photo of matching mother-son eyeliner mustaches, of course.


Oui, oui, I DO have a fine mustache, monsieur.

And this is why one day, CPS will come knocking at my door.

(Yes, I cleaned off his mustache afterward.  And yes, he did try to eat the cottonball when I did so…)

Do you ever wonder?

  • What are babies thinking as they sit around and babble?

Actually, after the Munchkin fell off his rocking horse this evening and hit his head, I’m not sure I want to know what he was saying.

  • What are cats thinking as they investigate babies?
I think I know the answer here: “Can he feed me, can I eat him, or does he at least have a good return policy?”
  • Why is baby formula so absolutely disgusting?  And since it is, why do babies eat it like it’s going out of style?
I’m not sure I actually want to know the answer to this one because it implies a hideous lack of taste on the babies’ part.
  • Why do babies wait to spit up until they’re directly over your mouth or the clothes you just put on for work?
  • Why are all the good TV shows scheduled during baby awake time?  I’m looking at you, “Kitchen Nightmares”!
  • Why can’t I sleep more than six hours in a night, no matter how tired I am?  It’s enough to make a girl exhausted, especially now that the Munchkin is sleeping pretty much all night.
  • Why Southern Honey has been taken over by the Angry Birds?  😀
  • And why in the world am I still sitting here instead of washing up bottles and making the bed where the Munchkin spit up all over it last night, necessitating sheet washing?
Hum, that last one might be a hint…

Too hot to handle

It’s 95* outside and our AC is out.  This is no bueno.  We’re heading to my mom’s for the rest of the week and weekend since the repairman can’t get here until Tuesday just to take a look.  Thank goodness for our window unit and the fact that we can go stay with my mom.

Now I’m off to pack a crap-ton of stuff to get us through the weekend.  At least I don’t have to corral the cats this time — Tesla about lit me up trying to get him into the car on Monday to go to my mom’s (we didn’t have the window unit in at that point).  In the process of transporting a screaming baby, two pissed-off cats and a massive load of stuff to sustain us all, said cats managed to pee on my new (yard sale) copy of Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal.

The baby bullet

Or, why I have a gutter mind.

So there’s this cooking contraption called the Magic Bullet.  Chops and blends and all that stuff.

But there’s also a Magic Bullet that’s a vibrator.

This brings me much merriment whenever I see the cooking one in stores or Southern Honey says he wants to buy one.

But today I saw an informercial for the Baby Bullet.

No, it’s not, as my 12-year-old-boy brain tried to tell me, a teeny tiny vibrator.  Sadly.  It’s a version of the cooking Magic Bullet for making baby food.

I still snickered for like ten minutes, though.  This is why I should not have been allowed to have children.

* Bowling while 8 months pregnant.  I know it really doesn’t sound like a good idea, but I have to say that it was more fun and far less awkward than I was anticipating.  I was lucky to make it through a full game before my back started really hurting, but the hardest part honestly was getting my socks and bowling shoes on.  😛

* Buying purple and black zebra-striped knee socks so you can bowl.  To wear with your black dress pants and fancy burgundy ruffle-necked shirt.

* Sporting a baby bump bigger than your bowling ball.

It was a great way to celebrate Valentine’s Day for us, though.  Our history with the holiday is not what I could call the best one, so hibachi and bowling seemed the way to go.  It was certainly more interesting than sitting around hemming the crib blanket, which I’m fairly certain I am never, ever going to finish.  Ever.  The Munchkin is going to be 21 before I give him the darned thing at this rate.

Bonus points for me: I vacuumed the living room in prep for having company next weekend.  Still have to clean the bathroom, vacuum off the guest bedspread (which the cats LOVE), finish the laundry, and clean the kitchen.  Oh, and get something for our second set of friends to sleep on since we only have one guest bed.  Hooray for double-height air mattresses!

That’s what I found myself thinking yesterday on my drive home.  This week, the Munchkin, according to The Bump, is roughly the size of a poppy seed.  Which, when you get right down to it, is pretty insignificant.

Unless you’re me.

You see, after I thought about how insignificant something the size of a poppy seed is, my brain took it too far.

“But… heroin comes from poppy seeds.  And so does opium.  And I’m pretty sure a war or two has been fought over that stuff.  Huh.  Maybe poppy seeds aren’t so insignificant after all.”

And suddenly the Munchkin has been to war and back.  All while still firmly ensconced in utero.  I think that’s pretty impressive.

Also, for the geek moms out there, a bit of XKCD for you, on the dangers of mixing violent video games and pregnancy.  I guess it’s a good thing I’m playing “Little Big Planet” and leaving “Kill Zone 2” for Southern Honey?

A Moment of Doubt

This weekend we went to my grandfather’s big birthday bash, complete with all my cousins’ new little ones.  I have second cousins who are eleven, not-quite-three, ten months and nine months (yeah, I know that’s a big gap), and the younger three were all there.  It was mostly awesome, kind of eye-opening, and all-around food for thought.  And maybe a few doubts.

You see, my dad’s family, at least this generation, is all about getting a later start on having a family, with the exception of one cousin.  By comparison, we’re really, really young to be thinking about having children.  Almost scarily so.  I mean, if they didn’t feel comfortable getting started until now, how are we supposed to do it?

Okay, it’s not that bad, but you have to understand the age schism in my family.  There are my older cousins, who are all in their thirties — actually, my oldest cousin is nearing forty.  There are my younger cousins, the oldest of which is getting ready to turn twenty-one.  And then there’s me, smack-dab in the middle at twenty-five.  So, for me to be thinking about having a child who will only be a couple of years younger than his or her cousins (second cousins?) but whose parents might be a decade older seems strange.

So last night I got home and I wondered: Are we really ready?  It took my cousins years to get to this point.

Fortunately, before I chased all of this too far down the insecurity rabbit hole, I remembered something.  I met Southern Honey when I was eighteen; we got married when I was twenty-four.  I don’t think any of my cousins got married until they were in their late twenties or early thirties.  So of course they ended up having kids later than us.  And we can do this.


Growing up, I always thought I would go to college, get my degree, and get an awesome job.  Then I would meet someone, probably through work,  fall in love, and get married.  The idea of a children was so far down the line as to be this distant afterthought to everything else.  We would each be major wage-earners, a DINK family enjoying the good life.

What happened?  I met Southern Honey my senior year of high school, went off to college and did the long-distance thing for two years.  Junior year I moved in with him and spent the next two years juggling jobs, an internship, classes and my honors thesis to crank out my degree/  We got engaged and a couple of months later, I got my current job; two years later, we got married and I found myself less than three years into this position and ready to start a family by the time I’m 26.

I’m not sure where this surge of “Oh my gosh, I want a baby!!!!” came from, but it has made the past six months or so really interesting.  Before Christmas, having a munchkin was simply a general future goal we had.  Then we decided to start trying this year, and things changed.  I started doing some research, and I started feeling things that were completely unanticipated.

What I really wasn’t expecting about the whole situation was the almost overwhelming desire I found myself feeling  not to leave our little one with a daycare provider early on in his or her life.  The intensity of that emotion completely baffled me.  I mean, we aren’t even actively trying for a little one yet, so we’re talking at least ten or eleven months in the future, yet I found myself getting upset — I teared up over it once or twice! — about the idea of leaving my (hypothetical) six- or eight-week-old child in daycare while I go to work.  I was having separation anxiety from a being who doesn’t even exist yet outside my imagination.

I’m not sure how you can have separation anxiety from a hypothetical, but I managed it there for a while.

By the time I got that under control, Southern Honey had come to the realization that maybe he didn’t actually want to be a police officer.  We agreed that if he did not make it through the application process, he would be the stay-at-home-parent once the baby arrived.  That led to the second unexpectedly ridiculous emotional surge of mine: jealousy.  If anyone was going to stay home with our munchkin, why couldn’t it be me?

*rolls eyes*  Never mind point A from above, that I’m the primary breadwinner and still would be if he were a cop.  It was completely irrational, but it was there.  I didn’t say a word to Southern Honey, though.  He had enough on his plate with the fitness tests and the interviews; I did not want to burden him with it, figuring I would get over it.  Sure enough, it passed.

Southern Honey didn’t.  He made it to the final round of interviews — in the top fifteen out of almost 175 applicants — but wasn’t accepted.  So the plan now really is for him to be the stay-at-home dad, keeping a couple of night shifts a week, and he’s so excited that it’s absolutely adorable.  I think he’s going to be a fantastic dad, and I’m grateful that we won’t have to go to daycare from the get-go.

The good:

  • Having a post-partum game plan in place, even knowing that circumstances could change in the next year, means one less thing to worry about at the last minute.
  • I did a pretty good job of holding some totally irrational emotions firmly in check.

The bad:

  • That jealousy.  Where did that come from?

The ugly:

  • I turned into a quivering mass of emotions PRIOR to the hormone flood.  Completely unexpected.