11.26.2011

Patrician Vomitorium

Not a real update, but I just wanted everyone to know that while baby poop smells like buttermilk, and baby skin smells like honey and powder, and baby breath smells like cauliflower, or bread, or something really normal and homey, baby barf just smells like barf. Ask my shirts. Or the couch. Or any soft surface in our house. They know.



11.23.2011

It's oh, so, quiet. Shh. Shhh.

I try to imagine a life in which I do not nervously await the sound of something jarring, of someone needing - something. In my sleep, in the shower, in the car, walking from the living room to the kitchen, washing my hands, drifting through mundanity, I listen. I hear everything. If those children so much as breathe differently, I know.

This is not so much conducive to a functioning life of employment. Coworkers do not necessarily appreciate a twitchy, hyper-attentive, more than slightly quirky cohort. They in fact frown upon that sort of thing. Tends to detract from accomplishing actual work.

So I went back this week, and it's same, same. The work is the same, and the people are the same, even if our physical location is different (we needed a bigger office). I am making a real effort to pump this time around, and so I've been assigned my Closet of Dubious Usefulness in which to do so. It's actually kind of fun. For twenty minutes every day, I get to lock myself in a nicely carpeted storage room, post a sign that says "NO CLOSET TIME FOR YOU" (so not joking), and hunker down with some celebrity gossip on my phone.

I have actually been pretty successful at tuning out the rest of the world and getting some things done, but I really do hear phantom sounds of infant distress coming from the HP printer who lives around the corner from my cubicle. I was mildly tempted to walk over and pat his back and ask if he needed a drink of water. I mean, I thought about it anyway.

It's so hard to switch parts of your brain on and off at your convenience. I think that's a well-known fact, but it bears repeating. Kyle and I are executing this life of carefully timed comings and goings revolving around child care and work schedules. There are literally minutes between when I arrive home from work and when Kyle must appear for work. When we are home, we are caring for children, and when we aren't, we are working. That's just how it is right now.

I keep telling Kyle that everything will be magical in five years. In five years, both children will be completely in charge of their own bathroom adventures. They will sleep with some measure of predictability. They will not wear diapers or need to be fed manually. Then, THEN, when I'm good and 35, I'll be able to relax when it's quiet, not wonder what, exactly, is about to go wrong.

11.18.2011

Waterloo: Wherein Strangely I Am The Pint-Sized Loser

Okay, it's a pity party. Don your pointy tassled hats and join me, why don't you? I'm not looking for accolades here, I just really need to express how much of a bad person parenting a toddler makes me feel. What other situations exist in which you are constantly mocked, belittled, and defied by someone who lives in your house and claims to love you??? Two/three-year-olds must be the emotional-abuser-boyfriends of young families everywhere. I mean, the sheer manipulation that this child is capable of is indescribable. If anyone I knew was experiencing this kind of behavior from anyone in their life, I would tell them to cut all ties with the (colorful expletive here) and never speak to them again. That is, anyone except for their kids. Is there any other situation in which you actually cannot escape the madness? I fail to see it, if there is one.

I know I'm not experiencing anything that hasn't happened to millions of people before me. I just cannot get over that I'm so bent out of shape right now that I'm referring to my children as something that happened to me. Who does that?!?! Well, I guess I do. I am six weeks postpartum. I am tired and I'm covered in dubious milk-esque substances (both source and regurgitated). I am lumpy and haggard and I never have time to eat, so WHY DO I STILL HAVE ALL THIS EXTRA SKIN? I live with someone who actively seeks to piss off everyone near her, then when they seem like they're just about to snap, cackles in their face with maniacal glee.

I feel like I am so angry (so, so, so angry) all of the time. What is this doing to her? What kind of person is she going to become if all she knows is that it's fun to piss people off then laugh at them? What kind of person will she become as a result of living with two adults who are still so angry from her last horrible outburst that they can't even be happy with her when she is good?

I have asked several people whom I respect both as people and as loving parents to tell me what to do. The answer seems to be that we are to simply live through it. There is no solution. Party on.

11.10.2011

Let Me Sum Up

...Buttercup is marry' Humperdinck in a little less than half an hour. So all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape... after I kill Count Rugen...

Sorry, I had to go there.

Anyway, Iris likes school. She cried when I left her the first two days (like, monkeyed herself to my neck and had to be pried off by a surprisingly strong teacher's aid), then on the third day, bemoaned school in general for the entire ride in, then let me go without even a sideways glance. Win.


A couple of nights ago, in an effort to kill time while Kyle was at work, I bathed both kids. Iris, then Cormac, got all clean and snuggy and good-smelling. I tucked them both into the couch with me and everything was just delicious. Then Iris got up to "clean up some crumbs" and swiped her hand through a hidden pile of errant ketchup from dinner. Then (says the ketchup-enhanced child), I picked up Kashmir because she was sad, and there's cat hair on my ketchup, oh hey, I have to pee. Oh, I peed on the floor... oh, and the rug... and also Mommy it got on my legs and my socks. Hey, can you help me?


About three hours prior to this event, Iris informed me that she was going to work, she'd see me after lunch, she loved me and, okay-bye-bye. When I disentangled myself from nursing a few minutes later to investigate the disturbing silence, I found Iris in the refrigerator. Let me explain. I mean that Iris was bodily and wholly INSIDE of the refrigerator. It was shut as much as she could get it shut while standing inside of the refrigerator.

I honestly do not know how to express my total horror and also inappropriate abject amusement at this turn of events. I mean, this level of terror, this is karma, right? I seem to recall a warm, tired voice telling me she couldn't wait till I had kids who were exactly like me. So, that happened. Neat. Can't wait for this show to really get interesting. Perhaps I'll go scrounge up my 13-year-old person's diary and review a bit.

Meanwhile, in New Kid Land, I was simultaneously pooped, peed and barfed upon the other day. Then a few hours later, Cormac lay astride the boppy, looked right at me with a precious little gummy grin, and flipped me right off. Almost got a picure of that one too. It was. so. awesome. Those two facts pretty much encapsulate all there is to know about Cormac these days. I'm going to get him a little bathrobe and start referring to him only as The Dude.

Both kids are napping right now. It is 74 degrees and sunny on this fine November 13th, and I am sitting on my deck, hanging out with the dog. I can hear "This Magic Moment" softly twinkling in my ears, and little birds just carried a garland of sparkly unicorn magic to me in their beaks. Win.

11.07.2011

Montessori Narcolepsy

When I first started working at the Columbia Montessori School, I was 22 years old and scared out of my mind. My friend Lois convinced me that I should work there with her, that it would be great, and I would love it. I was barely an adult, convinced I didn't actually like kids all that much, and very deeply worried about my ability to turn off my sailor potty mouth around said questionably likable runts.

Turns out I liked it so much that I fell in love with the bad kids and married this tall guy who worked in one of the other classrooms. I don't think any of the rugrats picked up any bad language from me, but if you meet an 11 year old from Columbia who accurately drops f-bombs with total flourish and joy, I'll go ahead and take that bullet.

One of the things I did not love so much was nap time (GIANT FREAKING NO DOY RIGHT HERE, PEOPLE). I remember telling Claire (friend Claire from the STL, not sister Claire from the STL) that the kiddos were so funny, because they'd all be so obviously destroyed with drunken sleepiness, yet still fight me to the end. I was struggling to find the words to explain myself, when I realized that my feelings could be accurately expressed with song: Ben Folds Five, Narcolepsy (off the album The Unauthorized Biography of Reinhold Messner - great album which you should totally listen to repeatedly if you haven't already). The winning line to the song: "I'm not tired! I'm not tired! I just sleep...."

Iris attends her first day of school tomorrow at Columbia Montessori School; Lois will be her teacher. Full circle weirdness is weird, my friends.

I don't know why, but I'm completely nervous for Iris. Blame postpartum hormones, lack of sleep, blah, blah... I don't know. I do know that I had to take Iris to get her final vaccinations before she could legally join the classroom, and while I have been present for every shot she's had prior to today, I never wept loudly while rocking her in my lap quite the way I did this morning. It was just awful. She had already recovered and set to choosing her post-shot present from the treasure chest that the doctor's office so helpfully provides, and I was still over by reception blowing my nose and pulling myself together.

My heart breaks at the thought that she might be confused at the new routine, or get her feelings hurt by one of the big kids in her class (it's a multi-age classroom for 3-5 year olds, and sometimes potty trained 2-year olds). She really likes to hold hands and crawl up into laps. She likes hugs and standing far too close to the adults in the room, and that is just... not how things work there. I know this! I worked there for years!

Of course I know she'll be fine. I am good friends with both of the teachers in her classroom, and I know that these people love her. She will be looked after and she will benefit from the organization that going to school provides so much more than she might ever suffer the learning curve. I know this, but it is still so hard to let it go. This seems redundant, but I feel the need to point out here that I never, ever, evereverever thought I would be this way. I am that mom, who cries when her baby cries and frets over letting her grow up, and might even threaten to cut anyone who tries to hurt my kid. Even if that threat comes in the form of a four year old punk with an agenda. Maybe. Just don't try me...

Fortunately, Iris will only be attending half-days, so nobody will be subjected to her particular brand of not being tired. Listen to Ben. He knows what's up.


11.06.2011

Duermen, Ninos

I swear, I should retitle this blog "The Sleep Chronicles," since it's all I seem to be able to talk about. The new kid stopped sleeping, btw...

Iris likes this Sesame Street DVD called "Favorite Kids Songs: TWO," or something, and there is a song on it called "Duermete, Mi Nina." It roughly means, "sleep, my little girl." She likes the song a whole lot for someone who hates sleep. I think Cormac has been studying her, because he went from being the kid who sleeps in these big beautiful four-hour chunks with no problem, to being a fussy, tired, sleepless baby.

It's not all bad. I mean, he does EVENTUALLY sleep, but the fact that we have to work so hard for it now is very reminiscent of the whiz, and not very awesome in the least. I know this is kind of rambly and uninformative, but I just realized tonight that only NOW (now that Cormac shuns sleep with the pros), do I have that stressed out/senses-heightened/mama-bear-will-KIIILLL YOUUUU-if-you-mess-with-my-babies...thing happening. This feeling must be a direct result of sleep deprivation in new parents. I was beginning to wonder if something wasn't wrong with me, simply because I'd been so relaxed about Cormac up till now.

I actually have emergency congingency plans all laid out to deal with various (completely unrealistic and barely probable) scenarios. I remember doing this when Iris was brand new. I had this plan that if someone came to the house to plunder/rape/pillage (because vikings are so prominent in columbia and everything), then I would sacrifice myself and destroy the baby monitor, all while silently dialing 911, in the hopes that even if I died, eventually some emergency responders would find Iris, safe and sound in her crib. Or something.

The point is that I was so proud of myself for not going to that crazy place this time around, and now look at me, all wondering if crazed hobos are living in the woods behind my house. I mean, at least I usually have the dog with me back there, and I'd totally throw her under the methodone addled freaknut the bus to buy us a few minutes....

I think it's important to note here that I don't actually believe that any of this could or would happen, but it's important to plan ahead.

Right?

I should maybe sleep some.

11.03.2011

Iris at school

Iris is going to start at a new school next week, and she was invited to participate in their halloween party this past Monday. Rebecca Allen, photog extraordinaire, fellow classroom parent, and good friend to boot, snapped these shots from the party.




Eating a super nutritious rice krispy treat




Hanging with Logan



LOVING Logan



This is a really precious shot, till you learn that she got plowed down by a very large five-year-old moments later. Ah, memories.




Freaky

Well, I think the kiddos are about the same age in these photos. I must say, I always thought Iris was a pleasantly chubby baby, but she had nothing on the new kid. I have no idea how much Cormac weighs now, but it's certainly more than Iris' petite 8 week old, 11lb. self. I mean, he's four weeks old today (omg), and definitely already has that weight beat.

Anyway, not much to say today, more later. Probably. Go look at cute baby pics on Facebook. :)