Hey people, I have to say keeping all the balls up and having a newborn with a cold when I have one myself is challenging. We are now both on week 2 of this cold. It’s not bad, but durable. Rex wakes up a lot from about 4 to 7am, which are the key REM hours for sleep. It breaks our heart to hear his stuffy breathing. He has been doing a bit better when we put him in his vibey seat (vibe off, cause that’s a lot of batteries) per doctor suggestions.
The upright is better than the lying down. But frankly, after I nurse him in bed, I’m often too pooped to put him back in the vibey, so we both pass out together in bed. And he feels so yummy and cuddly, but then he wakes up more. But you know how beat tired you are that you can’t even get out of bed? Need to work on that.
My other challenge is to get Vivien to school on time. I think she’s been on time once since Rex was born. Eight a.m. comes so fast.
This is me getting back to my roots… no, not that medium brown I’ve been covering up for years. Back in the ’90’s when I lived in San Francisco, I was briefly an automotive reviewer. I reviewed cars on a syndicated radio show and for a local magazine. The radio show had brought me in to consult but couldn’t pay me, so they said if they set me up with my own segment then magically cars would be brought to me every week that I would review. It was cool. A fresh, lovely car arrives; I drive it, and then poof, it’s gone after a week. I had a an old, red Mazda hatchback at the time, so I was thrilled to get into new cars.
When the radio show went belly up (maybe it was my consulting?), I hustled a spot in a magazine to keep the new car smell in my life. I had a thing called the Daph-o-meter: “How many fairly good looking men turned to look at the car, assuming half the stares are for the car.” Thus, a red Honda Del Sol was off the charts; a minivan got a 2. Ah, such different days that I would want a car for sex appeal. Now, it doesn’t even occur to me.
Anyway, I met a PR gal for GM, and right I away I was like, “Hey I use to review cars; let me try one out”. I really wanted to say, “Come on, your company is hanging by a thread. Give a super discount on a new car.” The lease on my husband’s Dodge tank is up in June, so I thought it was well timed.
Like all things in life… it depends. One thing is for sure, I was a good public service announcement against teenage pre-marital sex. Check out the belly!
Once again, my big sis Carole is helping me out with blogging, since she can’t help with nursing. And what is the deal with playdates? Where did the name come from?
photo credit: Kelly Sue
Playdates (is it officially one word or two?) came up while Daphne and I were enjoying our annual Monday night “Mom’s Out” cocktail. (We’ve done it once, but it could be a trend.)
It seems that Vivien’s dance card is packed with playdates; the phone rings off the hook with playdate requests.
This reminds me so much of what happened when my son Charlie was Vivien’s age. I was running myself ragged going here and there and everywhere on playdates that took too much of our time. Playdating is no
different than “grown-up ” dating (except for the chaperons). You cannot say “YES” to everyone, nor should you. Of course, it is beneficial for your child to have social interaction with children, but once they are in pre-school, it is built in– and sometimes I wondered who the playdates were for…. the child or the parent?
Playdates, like everything else should be done in moderation. Now that my son is 11, I suggest that all playdates take place right after school in the park (neutral territory) and as I reassured Daphne– it really is OK
to just say no to a playdate.
I believe in equality between the sexes… just not when it comes to Twinkies.
Top of my list of “things people never told me about motherhood:” right after shaky nervous behavior, greater annoyance with spouse, and excitement when “The View” comes on is the nipple pads. I invariably forget them at some point. and poof there is the wet spot on another ruined blouse. Oh, that’s why new moms look a mess. You don’t want to wear nice clothes at this juncture.
And the pads are not well engineered. The always bunch up under my now 38 D’s! (Was a 34 B). And my big beef with the two different brands is WHY, OH WHY, ARE THEY INDIVIDUALLY WRAPPED? It’s right to keep you virtual spoon-clean for baby, but at 2 in the morning when I’m out-of-my-head tired, and my nightgown is drenched with mother’s milk, I just want to shove the pads in and go back to bed. What is it? Children’s Tylenol? Tamper-proof titty pads are a big problem.
Oh, I need more sleep
Okay people, here is another video I banked in anticipation of the phase I am in right now… mild road kill. It might be funny coming from a “mom blogger,” but sometimes moms can be too much about mommydom. When I first thought of doing this site it was because I wanted to touch on all of the mom brain thoughts that ping through our minds, not just the baby advice type stuff. I’ve been so heartened by the people who visit Cool Mom, ’cause they seem to have that little edge that I knew was out there and that wasn’t represented in the big childcare sites. So, this is about the what a drag it is when you don’t find the edge in real life.
Gone from cranky pregnant woman to pooped new mom. That would be a cool split screen between those two tigers! Ah, for the days of the energy of cranky!
Just over 2 weeks, and I have a cold. Oy vey. Rex is still a relatively good baby, but the last couple of nights have been a tad more challenging. Dying for a mid-morning snooze and just got him to nod off in the vibey chair.
I am feeling well enough now, though, to be bummed about my body. But I keep telling myself it’s just over two weeks. I should give it a month or two before I really kick in with the self-loathing.
I did the repeat-effect picture to represent what I believe is the hallmark of new motherhood, “The Groundhog Day Effect.” It ‘s the same thing, everyday.
My neighbors and friends have been so nice to me that it’ s made a big difference in any baby blues that could occur. Bringing a gift for Viv and Rex, having a cup of tea, or bringing me a sandwich. Breaking that isolated-mommy feeling does as much for me as if I had a flat stomach… Okay, maybe almost as good.
Come on, lay it on me. Your votes for the worst names. It’s so subjective, really. Well…to a point.