O.P.'s and Babies

I have a friend that has often professed her love of two very opposite but equally lovable types of human beings: babies and old people. And I think I finally understand what she means.

I mean babies, sure. I can get behind that. They are soft and cuddly and are delighted with basically any thing you do. You can talk about anything you want and they are just happy that you're there to play with.

This September I took a gig as a choir director at a local retirement village. I take Jane with me and there is a rotation of retired nurses that push her stroller up and down the hallways while we rehearse. It's the ideal job for me and Jane gets a major kick out of it.

The very first day we went I could see the joy on the residents' faces when Jane came by their apartments. In about an hour everyone knew Jane by name and I was known as "Jane's mother, the new choir director". Jane is somewhat of a local celebrity around the place.

It's an interesting dynamic during choir rehearsals. I slow everything down in the hopes that my O.P.'s (aka Old People) are able to keep up. I reiterate page and measure numbers four or five times to make sure we are together. And without fail, a man in the front row is always shuffling pages trying to figure out where we are, and yelling "WHAT PAGE ARE WE ON?!" to the man sitting next to him. This same man regularly proclaims, "I'M HUNGRY" during songs. He has also worried aloud that I might "wear out people's pants" by making them practice standing and sitting together. I have heard that he was late for rehearsal last year because he "couldn't find his teeth". Needless to say, I love him.

I have witnessed two yelling matches. One because someone in the back couldn't hear over talking, and another because someone felt as though their seat had been stolen. I just let them self govern. I'm not trying to jump in the middle of two senile 90 year olds. That's just not in my job description.

Each week, after rehearsal, Jane and I have lunch with the chorus officers. There are four ladies, and each comes from a very different background. Chris is from North Jersey and owned a catering business and deli for thirty years with her husband, Frank. Elva raised her children in Germany and is a retired teacher. Gerry, the youngest of the bunch, just finished a music ed degree at a local university and has two grown daughters. Helen has a son that lives nearby, but she wishes she had a daughter because she thinks daughters visit more often.

I love these women. Elva and Chris are my favorite. They remind me most of my grandmothers, who have now passed on. They give me parenting advice and encourage me. They even pay for my lunch. They ask me if I am eating enough and how Jane is doing. They tell me the same three stories each week and they get better every time. They take pride in the chorus and their community. They care deeply about our country and trust in God.

I've realized in the last three months that old people aren't that different from babies. They are usually soft, if not cuddly. They don't care what you do as long as you keep your promises and show up every week. I can talk about anything I want because they only hear about half of it anyway. I. Love. Old. People.

I am so happy that I have these ladies in my life. Chris even sent Jane her first Christmas card! I wish I had a picture of them to share with you, but I have yet to take my camera with me to rehearsal. So please enjoy this holiday shot of Jane with her peeps instead.

The "B" Word

There’s a certain sense of entitlement that a Mommy- to- Be feels when she finds out she’s pregnant. For years before experiencing pregnancy firsthand, I routinely heard pregnant women (mostly on TV) say things like “I can eat whatever I want. I’m pregnant!” and I got the idea that pregnancy was something like a free pass.

So then, when I actually was pregnant, I was very upset to find out that the things preggo Me could eat were limited. And people wouldn’t let me butt them in line at the supermarket, no matter how far I leaned back to give them a wide view of my belly. And most people avoided mentioning it altogether just in case I was carboloading or drinking too much beer instead of legitimately pregnant. I was so disappointed.

One day, when I was about six months along, that I got really pissed when someone stole a parking spot right out from under me. I exclaimed, out loud (to myself), “Don’t they realize I’m PREGNANT?!” Of course they couldn’t possibly realize. I wasn’t really showing yet, and, even if I had been, my car was conveniently blocking their view of my belly. But of course I didn’t think of this until later (when the Hubbo kindly pointed that part out to me).

Anyway, I have found that having a baby can get you free stuff. I swear, I’ve called my cell phone provider two or three times since having Jane, and I always walk away with extra minutes and discounts just for dropping the “B” word. People like to give new parents breaks. And you better believe we need them. The Hubs often suggests we start house- hunting with the baby to see if anyone wants to give a young couple with an adorable baby a one hundred thousand dollar discount. So keep your fingers crossed for that one.

Vacation= Relocation

I was talking to yet another mother of twins about vacationing with children. She informed me that, at least for the first few years, vacation would mean relocation for me. Same routines, same setup, just a different (and often more stressful) setting. I wasn’t really sure if I was buying into it until this past week, when we trekked all over Tarnation with Jane in the backseat. So here are some things that I’ve learned about vacationing with an infant.

When vacationing with an infant, you will bring (and need) every baby item in your house. Though Hubbo cut me off before I could bring the Jumparoo, it’s completely ridiculous how much stuff you really need for such a small person. Heck, I even had to bring her personal bathtub. What a DIVA.

Grandparents are essential. The Hubster and I took Jane for a long weekend in LBI with his parents and grandparents. I know… all of you Delawarians are cringing at the thought of going to the Jersey Shore. Barf me. But this wasn’t Snooky’s Jersey Shore (much to my husband’s surprise and bewilderment). It was really laid back, and reminded me a lot of North Carolina. There was no boardwalk, rides, or ski ball (sad face), but it was really family oriented which boded well for our family vacation avec Jane. Anyway, It was so great to have other people that love her as much as we do to hang out with her. It was so easy and stress free! I even pumped some ahead so we could even go out to dinner without her! Bliss, I tell you.

There will be lots and lots of dirty laundry. We all know how many outfits a child can soil per day, so how could one possibly plan to have said child away from home (and, subsequently, her closet) for an entire week?! Jane had the largest suitcase and ended up really needing a lot of it. We ended up bringing home a good four loads of dirties. Crazy baby.

Bringing a baby is not the same as bringing a pet. When you take a pet on vacation, you can tie them to the back porch of the house or let them run along side you on the beach. No such luck with a child. Jane ended up really hating the beach, so she spent most of her time hanging out with Gmom and Pops and playing on her activity mat. But really, who can blame her? She can’t crawl, so she was forced to lie on a lumpy blanket in a baby tent while the wind whipped around her. And the water is so cold! Poor Jane just couldn’t get comfortable.

Other vacationers will give you dirty looks. And I got really upset about this one. Dude, I have a five- month old on the beach. She’s probably going to cry a little bit. Deal with it. Chances are, it won’t ruin your vacation.

White noise is your best friend. We stayed in an upstairs room with a window air conditioner. This was the best thing that ever happened to Jane’s sleeping patterns. She wasn’t able to hear anything from downstairs, and was oblivious to our movements in the room for the most part. Even when it got chilly at night, I had that thing blasting on the “fan” setting just for the noise barrier. Definitely clutch.

So pack everything, bring grandparents, be prepared for laundry, and use white noise and a monitor. This should help you get at least a few minutes of relaxation during your baby- filled vacation.

How to: Exercise After Popping Out A Child.

I’ve realized over the years that cardiovascular activity just isn’t for me. Sure, I played soccer and field hockey and I could run if I had to. But it’s just so boring. I’m running, for no reason, with no direction, just for the sake of running. And if I’m at a track, I’m literally running in circles. I’ll pass, thank you.

I know some people claim that it makes them happier because of endorphins and they can clear their mind, whatever, whatever. Not enough incentive to run. Just not gonna happen.

I will say, however, that I’ve found a few ways to burn calories that don’t involve deliberate physical exertion. I’ve found that, ultimately, being a ridiculous human being can help you get into shape. Here are a few things that you can do to force yourself into physical activity:

Play with a baby. And I don’t mean watch a baby play. Get down on the floor with her. Eventually, she will cry, and you’ll have to pick her up and then stand up yourself. You’d be surprised how much this gets the abs going.

Once you are up, throw her up in the air a couple times. If she feels heavy, don’t let go. Just zoom her around the house a little, and you’ve worked your tri’s and bi’s.

Breastfeed. And only if it’s your baby. (Really people, let’s not let things get out of hand.) I read that feeding a baby burns an average of 500 calories a day!

In related news, I’ve recently discovered that there is a huge black market for breast milk. Personally, I wouldn’t trust someone else’s bodily secretions (too far?), but I am ready and willing to make some money off of mine- and burn some extra calories while I’m at it.

Forget everything. And I mean everything. When you leave the house for a walk (with the kids, dog, significant other, friend, what have you), leave something behind that you desperately need. Like a binky, plastic bags for your dog’s poo, the leash for your husband (gotta keep him on a tight one these days).

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to turn back after walking two and a half blocks or so. Most of the time I forget the thing that caused me to take the walk in the first place, like the dirty dry cleaning or bills that need mailing. So really, I’m forcing myself to walk five extra blocks when all is said and done. Yay,exercise.

Lock yourself out of the house (with the baby). I’ve only done this once, but I really got some exercise in. I walked to the Husband’s building, which was actually pretty pleasant. It took me about 25 minutes, so it wasn’t so bad.

On the way back, however, it began to rain. I stepped up my pace to just a stride below running, and I really thought I was going to die by the time I got home. Man did I feel that one the next day.

Put the nursery upstairs. Who needs a StairMaster when they have a crying baby? I average about six baby- related trips up and down the stairs each day. If you can also convince yourself to rely on your upstairs bathroom, there's another six or so (don't thank me, thank Mother Nature for that one). Exhilarating, I tell you.

So there they are. My very best ways to lose baby weight without actually thinking about it. I know, I know, you’re welcome.

And for your viewing pleasure, here are some babies in action:

Baby Hands

Baby parts are most likely the cutest things that God created. Except maybe those really little monkeys I just saw on National Geographic channel. They are so little and cute! I want one for a pet so I can carry her around in my pocket and take her out to do tricks for family and friends! But I digress.

I never really understood what was going through the minds of people that remark, “I just want to EAT her!” until I had a baby of my own. I really do understand the sentiment. I just want to nibble her little baby fingers off one by one and then start gnawing up her arm. If I’m not amply conveying sarcasm here, I still think it’s borderline sick to say that you want to eat any part of a child.

Which (somehow) brings me to baby hands. I can’t get enough of how cute Jane’s hands are. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught her with her hands clasped together, and for some reason it seems so unnatural for a baby to be able to do that. It’s one of the many scenes that will lead me to follow her every movement with the camera for twenty minutes. Gotta love the Parent Paparazzi.

I learned really quickly that baby hands are cute to look at, but are lethal weapons when the baby is within an arm’s reach of your body. When Jane was born, she had one pinky nail that was an inch long! Okay, maybe not an inch, but it was pretty spectacular. So right away I began to learn the pain and sadness that come with baby fingernails.

Though baby nails are paper thin, they are like shards of glass. And babies don’t understand that clutching onto skin HURTS. Jane got me so often with her little daggers in the first week. I had scratches all over my neck and chest and I had to put mittens over her hands to preserve my fragile visage. Then she started on her OWN face. The damage that was done under her eyes and jaw line made me feel like an unfit parent.

Another baby body part that needs to be mentioned is the baby bottom. Yet another baby body part that is really cute until you get too close one time. Hah, just kidding. But really.

Budget Smudget

The Husband and I took a giant hit to the cash flow when the child arrived. Though we are still using diapers that were given as gifts at the shower and we have enough hand- me- downs to dress an army, we no longer have the luxury of two salaries to pay the bills. And since the Hub just started a new job, what’s coming in is depleted after paying for the necessities.

The irony of all of this is that before having the baby I blogged about personal finance for a savings bank. And here we are, with little to no savings, trying to scrape up rent money. If only I had taken my own advice.

So since Jane arrived, I’ve come up with a few surefire ways to save money. And by save money I mean to successfully pay all of the bills and break even at the end of the month. By budgeting strategies will work for people at any stage in life, not just those of us starting out with a little one in tow.

The Grocery Bill. Don’t go to the store hungry. Plan meals. Buy things on sale only if they are cheaper than the cheapest item of its kind. A lot of times, ACME brand will be ten for ten when something else is .89. If you HAVE To have Skippy brand creamy peanut butter, fine. Just make up for it by buying a store brand of something else.

Stay IN. We have enjoyed a lot of time here at home with friends since the baby came. It’s less stressful since we don’t have to pack her up to leave and listen to her cry the whole time we’re out. And by we (let’s be honest) I mean I’ll be listening to her cry while I’m bouncing her around the restaurant lobby.

A lot of times we take turns going out for a drink or two after dinner with a friend instead of going out for dinner with each other. It saves a lot of money and gives us time to talk crap on each other. Juuuuuust kidding.

Use Your Asssssets. This one’s more for the ladies. But I guess if you’re a guy with really smooth game and a knack for catching a Sugar Mama, it might work for you, too. A few weekends ago the girls and I managed to go out for dinner and drinks without paying a DIME of the tab. This can all be attributed to a certain friend that just so happens to work at a high- end spa. It’s really all about whom you know. You better believe that I’ll be dragging her along every time I go out around here.

Sacrifice your Vice. As stated previously in this blog, I love TV. We recently canceled our cable (EEK) and got an antenna and converter box. It’s really not bad. We get the major networks, and I can still watch Judge Joe Brown and The View during the day. And it’s FREE. (Why didn’t we think of this before?!) This could be equated to any number of habits, like renting movies on Demand or shopping for new duds for every occasion outside of your living room.

So I’ll leave it at that. Tight budgets suck. But credit card debt sucks even more.

The Husband is always talking about how Jane will pay our tab once she becomes the tennis star that she is meant to be. Or maybe we’ll mold her into a triple threat child star and embezzle her funds Gary Coleman style. All I know is, she sure as heck better pay my nursing home bill. And come and visit me a few times a month if she knows what’s good for her.

The Crazy Mom

My mother often talks about how blissfully ignorant she was when she had her babies. Sure, she read a few books, but mostly relied on my grandmother and her elderly neighbors when it came to deciding how to parent. Parenting was learned from trial and error for the most part.

But now, a new breed of mother has developed that I like to call “The Crazy Mom”. The Crazy Mom asks everyone that touches her baby to use hand sanitizer (something I gave up on in less than a month). She wipes down every inch of her house and keeps a dust free environment. She wipes her baby’s hands fifty times a day and bleaches every toy the baby touches on a regular basis. She doesn’t use a crib bumper and has one of those monitors that will beep if the baby stops breathing. She never misses a day of her prenatal vitamins, drinks three gallons of water to keep up her milk production, and makes sure she has a daily update on SIDS recommendations sent to her email.

I can’t stand The Crazy Mom. The worst part about her is, she thinks she’s right about everything. She thinks if you aren’t doing these things to protect your baby, you are an unfit parent and your children need to be confiscated by child services.

I met a mother of twins in the mall the other day, and she had a really great attitude when it came to mothering. She confessed that she never got her kids’ car seats checked, uses blankets in their cribs, and (the mother of all sins) didn’t even read What to Expect When You’re Expecting. She said that she just watches her kids closely and generally doesn’t want them to die. I have confidence that her twins will survive until adulthood.

So to all you Crazy Moms out there, I understand, I really do. Keep doing what you’re doing, but keep it to yourself. It really will be okay if I don’t boil Jane’s binks for five minutes every day, or dust my bookshelves. Just sayin.

Vomit

Disclaimer: I won’t get graphic, I promise. Your weak stomach can probably handle this one.

Thankfully, I’ve lived a life with little experience in the vom department. Except, of course, for one particular night in college which I spent holding a certain friend’s hair back while she went at it in the dorm room trash can. Not to name any names, but girlfriend, that was intense.

I became close friends with The Porcelain God starting early in my pregnancy. I would spend a lot of mornings sitting on the edge of the tub trying to think of anything gross or repulsive in hopes that I could get on with it and leave for work relatively on time. The last thing the world needed was a pregnant woman with raging hormones weaving in and out of traffic on 476 with her emergency flashers on (not that I ever actually did that…)

My sister, who was also pregnant at the time, had it a lot worse than I did. She found herself pulling over on I-95 and in parking lots just to preserve her vehicle’s upholstery and new car smell. It’s a really awful feeling to be so much of a slave to your stomach sphincters.

After the first five or so months, trips to the bathroom became less frequent. And then a few months later, the baby came.

Does anyone else notice a running theme in these blog entries? THE BABY CHANGES EVERYTHING!! Just putting that out there.

I was blessed with a beautiful baby girl with a pretty horrific reflux issue. I swear she spits up over half of what she eats. The older she gets, the less frequent the regurgitations occur, but it seems like there is a lot more now. My husband has gone into full wardrobe preservation mode. If he is dressed for work, there’s no WAY that child is going within three feet of his body. So I make sure he's the one to get up when she cries at 4 am. Of course I only do it to make sure she gets her Daddy time. It has nothing to do with the extra few hours of sleep for me, honest.

Which brings us to the main event. This afternoon, the spit up went to a whole new level. Now that Jane is quasi- mobile, she really likes to wiggle when I hold her. Her favorite thing in the WORLD is standing up on my legs. And by standing I mean keeping her knees locked while I support ninety percent of her weight.

Out of this emerged a game my husband likes to call “helicopter”. (Can you guess where this is going?) Helicopter just means that I raise her up, fairly slowly, until she is above my head, and then bring her down again while making a really annoying helicopter noise. She thinks it’s hilarious, and I really want to get her to laugh, so I do this basically all day. WELL. Today, while in midair, she vomited. I mean, VOMITED. All I have to say is, thank God my mouth was closed. Yeah. That bad.

I haven’t even told my husband because I’m sure he would never hold her again. I just put her in her crib to play while I jumped in the shower. It’ll be a while before I bring her up over my head again.

So yeah, I know a lot about vomit. But I figure this is only the tip of the iceberg. I can’t WAIT until she gets a stomach virus. My husband suggested just putting down newspaper and letting her roll around on it until she’s over whatever she’s got. And since now I know what it’s like to have your child’s vom in your hair, that idea doesn’t sound half bad.

Nip Slips: Passies, Binkies, Boo Bahs and Nuckys.

Every parent has an ideal in their mind of what their child will be like. Meek, mild, QUIET, you know. Taking the whole “sleeping like a baby” idea to the next level.

And then the baby is actually home, in the house, infiltrating every area of life that its parents hold dear. For me, this caused a simultaneous jump for joy and cry out for caffeine. “Sleeping like a baby” must be some sick myth created to encourage couples to procreate. Whatever the case, I’m not amused.

Which leads me to the subject of pacifiers. Pre baby, I had strong opinions against popping passies to make my baby quiet. I don't want my baby to end up with bucked teeth, a speech impediment or "rotten R's" because of a bink. That’s what God gave us appendages for. But then she was home, screaming her head off, and wanting to be nursed every forty- five minutes because of a pretty intense reflux issue. All bets were off.

Now, three months and some change later, binkies are everywhere. There is a corner of her crib that I call “The Binky Graveyard… where binkies go to die” because you can find three or four multicolored nips there at any given moment. I’ve strategically spread them throughout the house so they are always within an arm’s reach at the critical moment. I shove them down in the corners of her car seat. I’ve even become a pro at contorting to pop one in one handed while driving. Never go anywhere without them.

I guess the moral is, it’s easy to make certain judgments and ideals before the baby arrives. It's only normal to give in. And if the worst thing I do to damage my children is pop a bink, they'll probably turn out okay anyway.

Social Media

My sister and I were recently discussing all of the things that we had to learn to do one handed once our babies came. Like making dinner, using a fork, cleaning things, etc. But for both of us, the most important one- handed accomplishment was turning on the computer to check Facebook.

It’s really sick. A whole new era of stalking has emerged. I care more about posting baby pictures and stalking other peoples’ (including my sister) than ever before. Yeah, weddings are alright, but baby pictures are where it’s at.

And then I discovered all the baby stuff you can buy on sites like Etsy. The bows and hats are so stinkin cute I can’t even stand it. And one of a kind, which makes it even better. I want every single thing I can find for her on there. I eventually had to forfeit my store cards to my husband for a Christy Debt Consolidation Program.

And with a change of subject, I’m going to use this opportunity to set everyone straight on something. A few weeks ago, I went out with some college friends for a drink after the hubbo got home from work. One of my friend’s husbands remarked that it is super annoying when new moms and dads post pictures of their children on facebook ALONE. Like, without a parent present in the photo.

What couples without babies and single people need to understand is we really don’t want you to see our atrocious post pregnancy bodies until we bounce back a little. Like I’m not about to post fat pictures of myself. Single people and couples without babies are not expected to do this, so why should I be? A baby bump is cute up until delivery, but really, nobody wants to see that mess afterwards. Just sayin. So let’s give the new moms (and even dads) a break on this one, just this once.

Rolling Over

Pre Baby, you could frequently hear me suggesting or explaining “roll overs” in the context of 401(k)’s and IRAs while fielding phone calls at INGD. Post baby, I am still suggesting the possibility, but now more literally, and to a much younger client.

Earlier this week, Jane was becoming a pro at rocking from side to side. She really REALLY hates “tummy time”, so I was encouraged to see her enjoying some time on the floor. She really gets a kick out of learning new things, and it’s super fun to watch.

After a few days of the rocking, she started what I like to call “face planting”. I would catch her on her side with her head turned directly into the floor. Being the ridiculous overprotective mother that I am, I was worried that she wasn’t able to breathe. But then I realized what she was doing; she was throwing the weight of her head in hopes that her body would follow.

FINALLY, on Friday, she did it! And of course, she rolled in the twenty minutes I was out of the house getting dinner. Typical. I work with her all week and the husband reaps the benefits.

The really hilarious part is what she does once she is on her belly. Remember how I told you that she doesn’t like tummy time? Once she is over, she is mad. I don’t know whether I should be happy for her since she is immediately crying hysterically. Hopefully, she will use her new found skill to push herself off the floor or roll onto her back again. Or just keep getting her legs stuck in the spokes of the cradle.

Law & Order

TV has become a really unhealthy part of my post baby life. I wake up at 7am, and by 7:15 the tube is on. I may not necessarily watch every second, but it’s on in the background. I watch the morning news, then a cooking show, then some women cat fighting around a table, then the twelve o’clock news and finally a game show. And then the really good programming begins. Rerun after rerun of law and order. Until seven o’clock. Score.

I get a rush from that sound. You know, the “duh-duhn” that’s played at every scene change. And then they interview someone who seems to be so busy that they can’t stop for one second to talk to the detectives. And if they catch the “perp” before the halfway point of the show you can count on them having the wrong guy. And then they go into the courtroom and convict the SOB all in a sixty-minute show. And they‘ve got Elliott Stabler, hottest detective ever to grace the small screen. Perfection.

When Jane was about two months old, I noticed a really weird habit emerging in my daily routine. Everyone became a suspect. I would case every potential perp in the neighborhood. If anyone seemed suspicious, I would mentally note a description. You know- tall, medium build, blue baseball cap, white shirt, jeans. Dark colored, late model sedan. I didn’t get all of the license plate, but I know it started with KRV. New Jersey plates. But these facts are good to know, just in case. You can never be too careful.

Pre Baby/ Post Baby

Lately, I’ve separated my life into two defined stages in my mind- pre baby and post baby. Pre- baby, I was able to make my own schedule, commit to various activities way ahead of time, go out for a DRINK- you know, the things that normal people do.

But now my every move is calculated, and revolves around my little nugget of joy. If I want to leave at noon, I better start getting the baby ready at eleven. If I want to get out sans kid, I better make sure the hubster will be home or my mom is available.

Recently, my mother praised my newly found promptness. I explained that I have nothing better to do than get ready (unless Law & Order is on) and I give myself plenty of time for variables. Like, say, a diaper blow out right after tub time or a major projectile vomiting routine as we are walking to the car. Normal mom stuff.

Ta Ta's

I remember a time when the mere utterance of the word “bra” could make me turn beet red. In the days of training bras and A cups, I could have sworn trips to the mall were some sick scheme for my mother to embarrass me down to the core. She would say, “I think we need to get you some bras a size bigger” and I would whisper yell, “MOM! You can’t say things like that in public!”

But, in the past few months, I’ve lost all sense of embarrassment when it comes to “the girls”. These days, I can be seen popping one out in my living room, in a random (and well lit) parking lot, or (heaven forbid) in front of the in laws. All of a sudden my “voluptuous ta- tas” have become “milk bags”. What gives? A baby, that’s what.