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.