Right so it's been like 6 months since my last blog. In that time I have been working, sleeping, eating, farting and seducing. In that order. Dexter is now a year and half, which is outrageous. Why is it, when you're a kid, time passes so slowly? It took FOREVER for Santa to arrive. It seemed like a million years before the next summer rolled around. Now a year is just a blip. Is it because we drink? I mean because I drink?
So now that I am working my butt off on my new company (if anyone knows or needs online video content, let me know) I put Dex in daycare a couple of days a week, which I think I already mentioned. I just needed an organic way to plug my company (www.elpeaproductions.com) so that's why I mentioned it. Anyhoo, you want to know what the biggest rip off is? When you pick your kid up from daycare at 5pm, and you still have to clean up two shit diapers. I figure he's there for 8 hours, surely he should have gotten all of his pooping done. What the hell are we paying for? Education? Love? It's one of the perks of having someone else take care of him all day. I don't have to deal with disgusting turds. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking I might ask Shakira(the daycare lady) for some money back. I think it's only fair. Unfortunately, due to her limited English, I'll probably end up just getting his poop diapers from her or something.
The other day I picked Dex up and was just going to head straight to the cottage. I had forgotten his sippy cup so when I went to get him from Shakira I asked her, "Shakira, can I grab Dexters sippy cup from you? I'll bring it back on MOnday it's just that I've forgotten his and we're going to be in the car for 2 hours." She is standing smiling at me. "Ok Shakira, so can I have his cup?"
Shakira. "Jes"
She's still smiling and staring at me.
Me, "Can I have it now?"
Shakira, "Jes. No problem."
She's not moving, just smiling.
So now I start to make the motion of drinking and I've now started to talk really loudly because for some reason I think volume might help,
"SHAKIRA. I NEED TO GET HIS CUP SO HE CAN HAVE A DRINK." I'm tipping my head back and making the drinking motion. I can see people walking home from work looking at me like I'm an alcoholic. "Jesus Christ, just forget. He can drink out of the water bottle."
Shakira, "Jes."
She has a good enough command of the English language, I guess I'm just going to have to brush up on my Persian.
Speaking of daycare, can we seriously start some kind of Egypt style revolt to change how daycare works in this province? It's bullshit. It's expensive and impossible to get into and expensive. The problem is that the people who are willing to fight for this are too busy and tired because we're all trying to work, be parents and look hot. I don't have to try too hard at the last one, just wanted to be inclusive.
If anyone from the Black Bloc is reading this, maybe you can give me some ideas as to how to start a pointless riot to get my voice heard. Until next time.
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Friday, September 9, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Can someone else do this please?
Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been 22 years since my last confession. Oh woops! I thought this was my sinning blog. I like to keep a blog of my sins, then confess them to the Internet. It's less creepy than a priest.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Anyhow, Dexter Jean-Claude Macky is no longer a tiny little baby. He is nearly a year a half (or will be in about 2 months) and he is running around like a lunatic. It is the cutest thing ever to see him walking, with his hands in the air, and his center of gravity high on LSD. It looks hilarious. I always say this but honestly, his cute levels are through the roof. Except for yesterday morning. I went into his bedroom at a little after 7am, because I could hear him whining to get up. I go into the room, smile and say good morning, but something isn't right. What's that smell? Has there been another garbage strike? Did someone just do an egg salad burp? Have we been bombed with Agent Orange? Nope, Dex has done a colossal turd and it is everywhere. He slept in just a onesie because it was ridiculously hot. The poop had seeped out of his diaper, on to his legs, into his hand, and all over his face and his crib. It was a goddamn Poo-nami. It was Poomaggedon. Just as I realize what's happened I see him go to put some in his mouth. "NOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I dive in slo-mo, "It's not a shit biscuit!" He tastes it and, quite obviously, starts spitting and makes the most hilarious/disgusted face of all time. He ate his own shit. I figure it's a tough lesson to learn but I'm glad he learned it early. You don't want to be learning that lesson your second year of University or anything.
Anyhow, I had to get Will in for backup because I couldn't handle the mountain of turd that surrounded me.
In other news, we went to NYC for the long weekend, which was the best. It was the longest we had left the baby, and let me tell you, it was awesome. I felt anxious before we left, because I knew I would miss him and would he be ok, and all of that. But then, when Will and I are sipping cocktails at 2:30 in the afternoon at some cool bar we're not cool enough to be at, any and all anxiety I had went out the door. Here's the thing. Getting away from work is THE BEST. Waking up when you want to, not answering emails, not dealing with your weird co-workers; it's all well deserved. When you have a toddler, that feeling of freedom is times 10,000. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to see him when the weekend was done, but I didn't pine for him, let me just put it that way. If you're a Mom and you don't think you can be away from your kid for more than a night or whatever, I'm here to tell you that you can, and you'll love it. Although I don't know too many Moms who seem to have a problem with that.
We saw Joey Fatone in New York, I know you're jealous. Will thought it was Lance Bass and when we walked by him said, "HA! It's Lance Bass." Hilarious.
I'm sweating my armpits off right now so I have to go. Until next time.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
What did you say?
I am officially the worst blogger in the world, but this just in: I don't really give a care. That's right,give a care. So Dex is fully walking now. It is super cute and I am constantly laughing my head off but at the same time, we're constantly running our asses off and it's hardcore. I normally try to give him decent food but I pretty much just fed him cookies tonight so he would stay in his highchair while I drank Newcastle Brown Ale with my neighbour. It's a beer worth getting your kid hopped up on sugar for. So he's in daycare a few days a week while I work and the other days I send him to work as Rob Fords taster. There are far too many people who want to poison that man.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
His daycare lady is called Shakira, as in the she wolf, as in my hips don't lie. I was at first attracted to this woman because of her name. It's awesome. The only other name that could compare to this, with regards to the person who I am going to entrust with my child's life, would be Magnum. If I could have found a daycare provider whose name was Magnum, that person would have beaten Shakira as Dexters daycare provider. There was another time I based a decision solely on the name of a person. I was looking for a new voice agent here in Toronto. I was going through the list of agents and saw that this one guy at AAB Talent was accepting submissions. His name was Warren Beatty. I called him right away. I wanted Warren Beatty in my corner. I met him and he looked like a regular sized Webster. I was going to say giant Webster, but that's really just a regular Webster right? Anyhow, turns out Warren was useless and I wasn't getting any auditions. I started asking around if this guy was any good. Turns out the A A B stands for Asian Action Booking. I am neither Asian or capable of any action. Well, that's not entirely true; I can do a pretty sweet high kick. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from making life decisions based on cool names and decided to do a little more research with regards to Shakira. Turns out she's awesome. Her English is a bit Persian but we seem to communicate effectively, except for the other day. When I picked Dex up from daycare Shakira tells me, "Oh Lareesa, diahrrhea sooo bad."
"Oh" I say, "That's too bad."
"Yes",she says, "it's very stinky."
"Oh ya? Well, was it something you ate?" She replies, "Maybe, what you eat him?" I say, "Oh ya, he's so cute I just want to eat him up." She looks at me really confused. "Well" I say, "I hope you feel better. Diarrhea's the worst." Her face twists from confused to understood. "Oohhh, noo" she says, "Shakira no have diarehhea, baby has diarrhea" She's saying this as she's pointing to her own bum. OHHHHHHHHH. Woops. She was telling me the baby had diarrhea and here I am telling her I hope her trots clear up. Hilarious but I think this makes our relationship even stronger. I was ok with hearing about her diarrhea and she was cool with me thinking she was talking to me about her floopy poops. That is precisely the kind of relationship I need with the woman I entrust my baby's life with. That's it for now.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
It's been a while
I am not the best blogger in the world, this I can admit. I think this might be the first one this month. Don't judge, I've been busy. I got married and became the Duchess of Cambridge. I just had my last show after 25 years of talk show magic and I've been trying to come up with more ways to make myself sound like a giant idiot by going about trying to disprove Barack Obamas citizenship. I've been busy. Needless to say, chasing around a toddler may be as exhausting as having a newborn suckle on your teat. Dexter is hobbling around like I do on a Friday night after a bottle of $7.50 Fuzion. He's so cute it's hilarious but at the same time, he's definitely figuring out how to push the old buttons. It's so interesting to see his little mind work. What blows my mind is how much and how well I know this little person. What's really scary is that my Mom knows my mind this well. God help her. She must lose sleep at night knowing what goes on in this warped mass of brain matter.
I'm still working on my business while mothering while scanning for other jobs. It's pretty busy but what the hell. If I didn't have this taking up my time I would probably just be scanning the internet for porn. I'm still taking Dex to baby swimming lessons on Monday mornings. I think I'm the baby swimming lesson pariah. Here's the thing; I'm a talker. When I'm in the pool with a bunch of babies and adults, I'm going to chat to the adults. Let's just be honest here for a second. The babies are cute and everything but after about 10 minutes in the pool with them, it sort of gets boring. How many times can you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to shoot yourself in the face? I can tell you. Once. You will sing that song once and then you're over it. So, I spend the other 20 minutes of the lesson bopping Dex in and out of the water while I chat to the other Mom's and Dad's. At first I think they were a little bit weirded out by me and I can't blame them. They're probably thinking, "Um, how does a professional fitness model get Monday's off?"
The Filipino nannies have been the chattiest, and I appreciate it. After swimming, myself and two of the nannies go to Tim Hortons where I drink too much coffee and pretend to know what they're talking about. One of the nannies asked me who I was nannying for. I said, "I'm not his nanny". Maybe my disinterest in baby swimming lessons made them think that there's no way I'm the Mom.
So one of the Dad's in baby swimming lessons has started to warm up to me. We'll chat and laugh and we share weekend stories. I'm 90% sure he's gay but I'm sure people say that about me too so I try not to jump to conclusions. Anyhow, I hadn't noticed up until recently, but he has a nipple ring. It's not as if I haven't seen nipple rings before. The 90's were a real boom for piercers and nipple piercing was the norm. I didn't go for the nipple but like a lot of idiots in their 20's I thought it was an AMAZING idea to get my eyebrow pierced. Lesson number one in making yourself more unattractive: Pierce your eyebrow. So I'm chatting to the nipple pierced Daddy in the pool and for some stupid reason I couldn't stop looking at his nipple ring. We're talking and I KNOW my eyes are bobbing up and down from his face to his nipple. I know he knows I'm looking at it, but I couldn't stop! 'What the hell is the matter with you Larissa?' I internally scream at myself, 'Stop looking at his freaking nipple!' but I couldn't. It was like I was in a nipple trance. I was being hypnotized by his nipple and it started to get uncomfortable. Now I was staring at the spot directly above his nose so that I would stop staring at his nipple, but I felt that was super obvious too. I started to sweat, even though I was in a pool. He then looked down at his own nipple. 'Oh shit. He's onto me'. Yup, he was. He took his baby girl and waded over to the Filipino nannies. 'Oh God', I think, 'Don't tell my nannies! I need them.' They started talking and I swear one of them gave me the sideways scorn. Anyhow, class ended and I got the hell out of there. I didn't even bother to stick around afterwards to pee in the pool. I like to leave my scent.
I've been to baby swimming lessons since and he's not been there. I hope I didn't scare him off with my staring problem. I'll let you know if he ever returns. My relationship with the Filipino nannies seems to have survived the incident. We're still just smiling and laughing at one another even though I'm pretty sure neither of us understand the other.
Maybe to smooth things over , I'll re-pierce my eyebrow so that he knows he wasn't the only one in the 90's who got sucked in.
I'm still working on my business while mothering while scanning for other jobs. It's pretty busy but what the hell. If I didn't have this taking up my time I would probably just be scanning the internet for porn. I'm still taking Dex to baby swimming lessons on Monday mornings. I think I'm the baby swimming lesson pariah. Here's the thing; I'm a talker. When I'm in the pool with a bunch of babies and adults, I'm going to chat to the adults. Let's just be honest here for a second. The babies are cute and everything but after about 10 minutes in the pool with them, it sort of gets boring. How many times can you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" until you want to shoot yourself in the face? I can tell you. Once. You will sing that song once and then you're over it. So, I spend the other 20 minutes of the lesson bopping Dex in and out of the water while I chat to the other Mom's and Dad's. At first I think they were a little bit weirded out by me and I can't blame them. They're probably thinking, "Um, how does a professional fitness model get Monday's off?"
The Filipino nannies have been the chattiest, and I appreciate it. After swimming, myself and two of the nannies go to Tim Hortons where I drink too much coffee and pretend to know what they're talking about. One of the nannies asked me who I was nannying for. I said, "I'm not his nanny". Maybe my disinterest in baby swimming lessons made them think that there's no way I'm the Mom.
So one of the Dad's in baby swimming lessons has started to warm up to me. We'll chat and laugh and we share weekend stories. I'm 90% sure he's gay but I'm sure people say that about me too so I try not to jump to conclusions. Anyhow, I hadn't noticed up until recently, but he has a nipple ring. It's not as if I haven't seen nipple rings before. The 90's were a real boom for piercers and nipple piercing was the norm. I didn't go for the nipple but like a lot of idiots in their 20's I thought it was an AMAZING idea to get my eyebrow pierced. Lesson number one in making yourself more unattractive: Pierce your eyebrow. So I'm chatting to the nipple pierced Daddy in the pool and for some stupid reason I couldn't stop looking at his nipple ring. We're talking and I KNOW my eyes are bobbing up and down from his face to his nipple. I know he knows I'm looking at it, but I couldn't stop! 'What the hell is the matter with you Larissa?' I internally scream at myself, 'Stop looking at his freaking nipple!' but I couldn't. It was like I was in a nipple trance. I was being hypnotized by his nipple and it started to get uncomfortable. Now I was staring at the spot directly above his nose so that I would stop staring at his nipple, but I felt that was super obvious too. I started to sweat, even though I was in a pool. He then looked down at his own nipple. 'Oh shit. He's onto me'. Yup, he was. He took his baby girl and waded over to the Filipino nannies. 'Oh God', I think, 'Don't tell my nannies! I need them.' They started talking and I swear one of them gave me the sideways scorn. Anyhow, class ended and I got the hell out of there. I didn't even bother to stick around afterwards to pee in the pool. I like to leave my scent.
I've been to baby swimming lessons since and he's not been there. I hope I didn't scare him off with my staring problem. I'll let you know if he ever returns. My relationship with the Filipino nannies seems to have survived the incident. We're still just smiling and laughing at one another even though I'm pretty sure neither of us understand the other.
Maybe to smooth things over , I'll re-pierce my eyebrow so that he knows he wasn't the only one in the 90's who got sucked in.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Math nurd
When I send an email from my Blackberry it does a spell check before I actually send the email. Most of the time this is a good thing but whenever I write our sons name as Dex, it auto corrects it to "Sex". Do you know how many emails I've sent where I refer to how cute our little Sex is? "Oh, you should see Sex these days. Sex is nearly walking and Sex is chatting up a storm!" The best was when I sent an email to an old friend and signed off with, "Gotta go, Sex just took the biggest shit and I'm about to be elbow deep in it."
I really have to figure out how to fix that.
In other news, Dexter is 1 year and 1 month old. Yup, that's how I'm saying it. Here's the thing, everyone speaks in months, after their kid is a year old. "Oh, she's 17 months", someone will tell you. Well guess what? I was never particularly good at math and making me sit there and figure out 17 minus 12 is annoying. I don't even know my 12 times tables! Seriously I don't. I had measles that week and I honestly missed the time when we learned them and unless it's 12 times 12, I don't have an effing clue. I think we all need to agree to speak in years and months, after the babies are a year old, d'accord? I'll start the trend. Right now I'm just saying, "He's a little over a year." I'll continue to do that until he's a year and 5 months, and then I'll say, "He's a year and five months." I also feel the same way about the 24 hour clock. Please don't tell me it's 19:00. I am not British and it's not the 18th century.
A while back I wrote about a crazy week but I never got around to talking about the 2nd crazy thing that had happened to me. Spring fever is in the air in East York and I think the fever has turned scarlet because people are slightly more crazy than before. So I was heading to the pharmacy to get my prescription (by pharmacy I mean the LCBO and by prescription I mean red wine). So I'm heading down the Danforth when about half a block away I see, what appears to be a very old woman, collapsing into a young woman. There was another older lady looking on. I was pushing Sex in his stroller and started running, to see if I could help. I was right. The woman couldn't really stand up, she looked to be about 85, she was super hunched over and it was as if her legs were simply giving out on her. The girl that was helping was about 20 and was not doing a very good job holding her up. I said frantically, "Can I call you an ambulance? Are you having a stroke?" As if she could actually answer. So the old lady responds very calmly and clearly, "No, I'm fine,I just need to sit down. I know they have chairs in there, I just need some help to get there." She points to a community centre, the door to it just around the corner. The other older lady was standing there and said to me, "Don't worry, I'll watch the baby, you just help." Now I generally expect the best from people but for a split second, I thought I might be in some crazy granny kidnapping ring. Totally irrational, yes, but I smelled stranger danger and it smelt like old mothballs. Anyhow, I said, "Ok, just follow right behind us." My adrenaline was pumping and the 20 year old was useless so I literally put this old bird over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her to the centre. Remember I mentioned earlier that she was super hunched? So even stooped, she was slightly taller than me. I'm a leggy 5 ft 3 inches so if she could fully stand up, the old bird was probably about 6ft 2inches. She was one tall fossil. What I'm trying to get at here was that she wasn't a petite waif of a Granny. Baby had back...which was hunched, and full of what I thought was lead. Anyhow, as I'm carrying this woman, keeping an eye on my baby that another old lady is pushing beside me, I catch a whiff. A whiff of what? Oh, I would say it was a bit of vodka, maybe some whiskey with a beer chaser to get it all down. She was totally drunk. I was carrying an 85 year old waste case to the community centre. At first I thought, "Holy shit lady, it's Tuesday at 2pm and you're 85!" But honestly, I can't judge. I've been a total waste case at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon so who the hell am I? Maybe when I'm 85 with nothing to do, I'll throw back some Jaggerbombs in between bridge and naps. Why the hell not? I figure if you make it to 85 you can do whatever the hell you want. Honestly, I might even try heroin if I make it to 85. Needless to say, we got to the community centre and as luck would have it, there was a doctor on site! I pretty much dumped her there, told them what had happened and left. She was in good hands. So there you go. Never assume an old person in distress isn't just having the best trip of their life.
Until next time.
I really have to figure out how to fix that.
In other news, Dexter is 1 year and 1 month old. Yup, that's how I'm saying it. Here's the thing, everyone speaks in months, after their kid is a year old. "Oh, she's 17 months", someone will tell you. Well guess what? I was never particularly good at math and making me sit there and figure out 17 minus 12 is annoying. I don't even know my 12 times tables! Seriously I don't. I had measles that week and I honestly missed the time when we learned them and unless it's 12 times 12, I don't have an effing clue. I think we all need to agree to speak in years and months, after the babies are a year old, d'accord? I'll start the trend. Right now I'm just saying, "He's a little over a year." I'll continue to do that until he's a year and 5 months, and then I'll say, "He's a year and five months." I also feel the same way about the 24 hour clock. Please don't tell me it's 19:00. I am not British and it's not the 18th century.
A while back I wrote about a crazy week but I never got around to talking about the 2nd crazy thing that had happened to me. Spring fever is in the air in East York and I think the fever has turned scarlet because people are slightly more crazy than before. So I was heading to the pharmacy to get my prescription (by pharmacy I mean the LCBO and by prescription I mean red wine). So I'm heading down the Danforth when about half a block away I see, what appears to be a very old woman, collapsing into a young woman. There was another older lady looking on. I was pushing Sex in his stroller and started running, to see if I could help. I was right. The woman couldn't really stand up, she looked to be about 85, she was super hunched over and it was as if her legs were simply giving out on her. The girl that was helping was about 20 and was not doing a very good job holding her up. I said frantically, "Can I call you an ambulance? Are you having a stroke?" As if she could actually answer. So the old lady responds very calmly and clearly, "No, I'm fine,I just need to sit down. I know they have chairs in there, I just need some help to get there." She points to a community centre, the door to it just around the corner. The other older lady was standing there and said to me, "Don't worry, I'll watch the baby, you just help." Now I generally expect the best from people but for a split second, I thought I might be in some crazy granny kidnapping ring. Totally irrational, yes, but I smelled stranger danger and it smelt like old mothballs. Anyhow, I said, "Ok, just follow right behind us." My adrenaline was pumping and the 20 year old was useless so I literally put this old bird over my shoulder and proceeded to carry her to the centre. Remember I mentioned earlier that she was super hunched? So even stooped, she was slightly taller than me. I'm a leggy 5 ft 3 inches so if she could fully stand up, the old bird was probably about 6ft 2inches. She was one tall fossil. What I'm trying to get at here was that she wasn't a petite waif of a Granny. Baby had back...which was hunched, and full of what I thought was lead. Anyhow, as I'm carrying this woman, keeping an eye on my baby that another old lady is pushing beside me, I catch a whiff. A whiff of what? Oh, I would say it was a bit of vodka, maybe some whiskey with a beer chaser to get it all down. She was totally drunk. I was carrying an 85 year old waste case to the community centre. At first I thought, "Holy shit lady, it's Tuesday at 2pm and you're 85!" But honestly, I can't judge. I've been a total waste case at 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon so who the hell am I? Maybe when I'm 85 with nothing to do, I'll throw back some Jaggerbombs in between bridge and naps. Why the hell not? I figure if you make it to 85 you can do whatever the hell you want. Honestly, I might even try heroin if I make it to 85. Needless to say, we got to the community centre and as luck would have it, there was a doctor on site! I pretty much dumped her there, told them what had happened and left. She was in good hands. So there you go. Never assume an old person in distress isn't just having the best trip of their life.
Until next time.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Spring Fever
Dex had his first fever a couple of weeks ago. I would like to tell you that I calmly handled it and did everything right but I did nothing of the sort. I was using an electronic themometer that I put in his ear. The reading seemed pretty high and I had heard, from a friend, that if you take their temp up their butt you get a more accurate reading. Well, in my haste I just went and tried to put the ear themometer in his butt. Doesn't work like that. Lesson number one in taking a baby's temperature: Don't try to use your ear themomater up their butt. I felt kind of weird trying to put something up his butt anyhow. I mean, if he wants to do that stuff when he's a consenting adult, more power to him, but for now I'm sticking to the ear reading. I thought I would have been a bit cooler when he got a fever but I have to tell you, I was slightly hysterical. The problem is I read the newspaper everyday and I pretty much assume that whatever has happened to everyone else, is going to happen to me. I've been a wreck with the whole Omar Khadr debacle. It could happen to me, you never know.
I think we`re led to believe that when we become Mothers, suddenly we`re bestowed with this amazing ability to know what to do in ever situation that requires mothering. I think I have clearly disproved this theory time and time again. Secondly, I am not a nurse or doctor and have no medical instincts. Here are instincts that I have:
a) if a dog is chasing me, I instinctively run.
b) If I'm talking to a member of the opposite sex in a suggestive manor I instinctively make sure he's over 18. I won't make THAT mistake again.
c) If I take a sip of a beer bottle that has cigarette butts in it, I instinctively spit them out.
These are a few of my natural instincts. Knowing what to do when my baby has a temperature over 100 degrees is not an instinct that I had developed, at that point. Now that's it over with, I'll know what to do next time but don't feel bad if you're a lunatic when your baby has their first fever. At least you didn't sodomize them with an ear themometer.
So a few strange things have happened to me this week. There is something in the air in East York and whatever it is, it's laced with crazy.
I went into Tim Hortons after swimming lessons on Monday. The lessons are for Dexter. I am a world class swimmer as you probably can tell from my broad, strong shoulders. The woman who walked in before me didn't bother holding the door for me and it came crashing into the baby buggy. In her defense, she had a newborn strapped to her so who knows if she had even slept in the last 48 hours. This beast of a woman behind me yells."What the hell! She could have opened the door for you! Like you don't have your hands full or something."
"Yes" I reply as she holds the door for me, "she must just be lost in thought or something."
"Ya right" beast replies, "you need to look out for one another."
"Sure", I respond doing my best not to encourage her.
Now we're fully in line at the Tim Hortons and her voice is getting increasingly louder with every word. Did I mention that she had an INSANE mop of wild gray hair and her eyes were a freaky yellow colour? On anyone else, they would have looked amazing but on her they just screamed perscription-meds-overdose-waiting-to-happen.
I thought she was done but oh no.
"I mean especially as WOMEN. We need to look out for each other AS WOMEN."
As she's saying this, she's inching closer to me, but looking over my head at the girl in front of me, who is the one to whom she is directing this whole exchange. She turns around. She is a sweet looking girl with a tiny baby strapped to her that doesn't have a clue what's going on. Crazy looks at her and says, "You've got to watch out for each other. AS WOMEN."
Now she's kind of puffing her chest out, like guys do to one another when they're about to fight over me.
Holy shit, I think. Is this lunatic going to try to fight this woman with a baby over not holding the door open for me?
I say, "Really, it's ok, just leave it be. Please."
The young girl with the baby turns back around and crazy miraculously shuts up. Now we're just standing in line waiting for our coffee and I feel the need to keep talking because it's gotten quietly awkward.
"So" I say to crazy, "Have you won anything on roll up the rim to win?"
Why did I feel the need to continue to engage crazy in a conversation? If I didn't, what kind of blog would this be really.
Crazy responds, "Ya, I'm here to collect my free coffee."
I point to the sign that says there's been 10,000 winners at this particular Tim Hortons. I say, "Well, I guess they'll have to change the number to 10,001 when you get to the cash."
'Whatever", she replies, "That's just what they WANT you to think."
"Huh?"
"They want you to think 10,000 people have won here, so you keep coming but I know different."
Oh, is that right crazy? Have the CFO and CEO of Tim Hortons been in touch today? I'm sorry , I didn't realize. What a nut job. Who actually thinks there's a big Roll Up The Rim conspiracy? I don't even know why I'm asking that question. She was about to fight a young Mom with a baby over not holding the door open.
Anyhow, I have another crazy story that happened yesterday but I'm getting carpel tunnel from typing this blog. Ta for now.
I think we`re led to believe that when we become Mothers, suddenly we`re bestowed with this amazing ability to know what to do in ever situation that requires mothering. I think I have clearly disproved this theory time and time again. Secondly, I am not a nurse or doctor and have no medical instincts. Here are instincts that I have:
a) if a dog is chasing me, I instinctively run.
b) If I'm talking to a member of the opposite sex in a suggestive manor I instinctively make sure he's over 18. I won't make THAT mistake again.
c) If I take a sip of a beer bottle that has cigarette butts in it, I instinctively spit them out.
These are a few of my natural instincts. Knowing what to do when my baby has a temperature over 100 degrees is not an instinct that I had developed, at that point. Now that's it over with, I'll know what to do next time but don't feel bad if you're a lunatic when your baby has their first fever. At least you didn't sodomize them with an ear themometer.
So a few strange things have happened to me this week. There is something in the air in East York and whatever it is, it's laced with crazy.
I went into Tim Hortons after swimming lessons on Monday. The lessons are for Dexter. I am a world class swimmer as you probably can tell from my broad, strong shoulders. The woman who walked in before me didn't bother holding the door for me and it came crashing into the baby buggy. In her defense, she had a newborn strapped to her so who knows if she had even slept in the last 48 hours. This beast of a woman behind me yells."What the hell! She could have opened the door for you! Like you don't have your hands full or something."
"Yes" I reply as she holds the door for me, "she must just be lost in thought or something."
"Ya right" beast replies, "you need to look out for one another."
"Sure", I respond doing my best not to encourage her.
Now we're fully in line at the Tim Hortons and her voice is getting increasingly louder with every word. Did I mention that she had an INSANE mop of wild gray hair and her eyes were a freaky yellow colour? On anyone else, they would have looked amazing but on her they just screamed perscription-meds-overdose-waiting-to-happen.
I thought she was done but oh no.
"I mean especially as WOMEN. We need to look out for each other AS WOMEN."
As she's saying this, she's inching closer to me, but looking over my head at the girl in front of me, who is the one to whom she is directing this whole exchange. She turns around. She is a sweet looking girl with a tiny baby strapped to her that doesn't have a clue what's going on. Crazy looks at her and says, "You've got to watch out for each other. AS WOMEN."
Now she's kind of puffing her chest out, like guys do to one another when they're about to fight over me.
Holy shit, I think. Is this lunatic going to try to fight this woman with a baby over not holding the door open for me?
I say, "Really, it's ok, just leave it be. Please."
The young girl with the baby turns back around and crazy miraculously shuts up. Now we're just standing in line waiting for our coffee and I feel the need to keep talking because it's gotten quietly awkward.
"So" I say to crazy, "Have you won anything on roll up the rim to win?"
Why did I feel the need to continue to engage crazy in a conversation? If I didn't, what kind of blog would this be really.
Crazy responds, "Ya, I'm here to collect my free coffee."
I point to the sign that says there's been 10,000 winners at this particular Tim Hortons. I say, "Well, I guess they'll have to change the number to 10,001 when you get to the cash."
'Whatever", she replies, "That's just what they WANT you to think."
"Huh?"
"They want you to think 10,000 people have won here, so you keep coming but I know different."
Oh, is that right crazy? Have the CFO and CEO of Tim Hortons been in touch today? I'm sorry , I didn't realize. What a nut job. Who actually thinks there's a big Roll Up The Rim conspiracy? I don't even know why I'm asking that question. She was about to fight a young Mom with a baby over not holding the door open.
Anyhow, I have another crazy story that happened yesterday but I'm getting carpel tunnel from typing this blog. Ta for now.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Can you do it any better?
I think the most boring way to spend your time would be watching church on T.V. Church is so epically boring in real life, sitting and watching it on television would be my Guantanamo.
I tend to have a lot of conversations with cashiers. I don't mind, I'm a pretty chatty person and if someone wants to strike up a quick conversation, I'm up for it. It's amazing what people will tell you in a 3 1/2 minute conversation. Here are some of my most memorable ones:
Me: "Hey! You're pregnant! Congratulations."
Cashier: "I'm not pregnant"
Cashier: "My husband isn't a cat person but he likes mine if you know what I mean."
Me: "...............oh god."
Me: "So nice out isn't it."
Cashier: "I'm losing my eye sight."
Me: "ha ha ha ha ha....oh wait."
Anyhow, now that I have Dexter with me, I have even more conversations, only this time it's usually only about the baby.
A couple of weeks ago I had walked to the Metro with Dexter. It was pretty cold out so he was in his snowsuit. As I went through the cash, the cashier peered over and saw Dexter. She remarked on how cute he was. I responded, "I think you mean hot, not cute."
I didn't really say that.
Anyhow, she looks at him and says, "Oh ,it's so cold out. Is he ok?"
"What?" I respond, "Ok how?"
"Well, is he warm enough?"
I chuckle, thinking she's joking because he's wearing a GIANT snowsuit.
"I think he's fine." I reply
"Do you have something to block the wind from him?" she asks
"Yes" I respond sternly, "the Gortex snowsuit that he's wearing that is covering all 2 ft 5" of him."
It was like a baby snowsuit burka for eff sake. You could see his eyes, if you really looked hard, but other than that this baby was in full winter combat mode. He looked like a mix between Maggie Simpson and the kid from The Christmas Story who couldn't get up because he was in such an intense snow suit.
She looks at me and gives me this look that says, "you're freezing your sons tiny balls off and you should be ashamed."
Well, that's how I interpreted the look.
I was about 2 seconds away from lambasting this woman with a barrage of insults attacking anything I could but I really wanted my Airmiles so I kept my mouth shut. The woman behind me said , "He's fine, he's a good little Canadian boy." Thank god she said something because all I could think of was the f-word.
In other news, I took Dex to his first day of daycare the other day. There were a lot of tears, but Will's doing much better now. More on that later. I've gone out and gotten myself ANOTHER hangover so I have to go and eat dangerous amounts of bacon. Ta for now.
I tend to have a lot of conversations with cashiers. I don't mind, I'm a pretty chatty person and if someone wants to strike up a quick conversation, I'm up for it. It's amazing what people will tell you in a 3 1/2 minute conversation. Here are some of my most memorable ones:
Me: "Hey! You're pregnant! Congratulations."
Cashier: "I'm not pregnant"
Cashier: "My husband isn't a cat person but he likes mine if you know what I mean."
Me: "...............oh god."
Me: "So nice out isn't it."
Cashier: "I'm losing my eye sight."
Me: "ha ha ha ha ha....oh wait."
Anyhow, now that I have Dexter with me, I have even more conversations, only this time it's usually only about the baby.
A couple of weeks ago I had walked to the Metro with Dexter. It was pretty cold out so he was in his snowsuit. As I went through the cash, the cashier peered over and saw Dexter. She remarked on how cute he was. I responded, "I think you mean hot, not cute."
I didn't really say that.
Anyhow, she looks at him and says, "Oh ,it's so cold out. Is he ok?"
"What?" I respond, "Ok how?"
"Well, is he warm enough?"
I chuckle, thinking she's joking because he's wearing a GIANT snowsuit.
"I think he's fine." I reply
"Do you have something to block the wind from him?" she asks
"Yes" I respond sternly, "the Gortex snowsuit that he's wearing that is covering all 2 ft 5" of him."
It was like a baby snowsuit burka for eff sake. You could see his eyes, if you really looked hard, but other than that this baby was in full winter combat mode. He looked like a mix between Maggie Simpson and the kid from The Christmas Story who couldn't get up because he was in such an intense snow suit.
She looks at me and gives me this look that says, "you're freezing your sons tiny balls off and you should be ashamed."
Well, that's how I interpreted the look.
I was about 2 seconds away from lambasting this woman with a barrage of insults attacking anything I could but I really wanted my Airmiles so I kept my mouth shut. The woman behind me said , "He's fine, he's a good little Canadian boy." Thank god she said something because all I could think of was the f-word.
In other news, I took Dex to his first day of daycare the other day. There were a lot of tears, but Will's doing much better now. More on that later. I've gone out and gotten myself ANOTHER hangover so I have to go and eat dangerous amounts of bacon. Ta for now.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Happy Birthday to the baby and to my stretch marks!
I went into this kind of hipster coffee shop in Leslieville the other day. I asked the hipster working there if they had a highchair, for the baby. I only need a booster seat, cause I'm 5ft 3".
This girl looked at me like I had asked her where they sell their Nazi paraphenalia. The look of disgust on her face was so shocking I nearly apologized for bringing a baby into her den of douchebaggery. What the hell? I guess it isn't hip to have a baby and even less hip to bring that baby into a coffee shop where it's a prerequisite to wear skinny jeans if you're a guy, and your Mom's 70's poncho if you're a girl. This just in hipsters: Justin Bieber stole your hairdo and smelling like Value Village is so 90's.
Anyhow, in other news, Dexter turned a year old on Sunday. Woooooo! He's so cute it's ridiculous. He devoured a chocolate cupcake and it may have been the greatest thing of all time. He treated that cupcake the way I treat the teat on a box of red wine: with respect and a tiny bit of fear.
It really is crazy how quickly it all went by. I guess life just speeds up the older you get, because you just become way busier. Either that or you just start losing memory because you're old and your mind is going. I should technically be going back to work but I got laid off about 6 weeks ago because they sold the company I work for! HA! It doesn't really bother me. It was time for a change anyhow. Do you know that the longest I've ever had a job was my job back in highschool? I worked at Longo's for 4 years, and haven't had a job for that length of time since. I'm a real committment-phob when it comes to jobs.
I've decided to dedicate my time to finding the perfect cheese anyhow. I feel like this is something that will be both satisfying and a challenge.
Happy Birthday Dexter! You survived year one with me as your Mom and Will as your Dad. God speed young man, God speed.
This girl looked at me like I had asked her where they sell their Nazi paraphenalia. The look of disgust on her face was so shocking I nearly apologized for bringing a baby into her den of douchebaggery. What the hell? I guess it isn't hip to have a baby and even less hip to bring that baby into a coffee shop where it's a prerequisite to wear skinny jeans if you're a guy, and your Mom's 70's poncho if you're a girl. This just in hipsters: Justin Bieber stole your hairdo and smelling like Value Village is so 90's.
Anyhow, in other news, Dexter turned a year old on Sunday. Woooooo! He's so cute it's ridiculous. He devoured a chocolate cupcake and it may have been the greatest thing of all time. He treated that cupcake the way I treat the teat on a box of red wine: with respect and a tiny bit of fear.
It really is crazy how quickly it all went by. I guess life just speeds up the older you get, because you just become way busier. Either that or you just start losing memory because you're old and your mind is going. I should technically be going back to work but I got laid off about 6 weeks ago because they sold the company I work for! HA! It doesn't really bother me. It was time for a change anyhow. Do you know that the longest I've ever had a job was my job back in highschool? I worked at Longo's for 4 years, and haven't had a job for that length of time since. I'm a real committment-phob when it comes to jobs.
I've decided to dedicate my time to finding the perfect cheese anyhow. I feel like this is something that will be both satisfying and a challenge.
Happy Birthday Dexter! You survived year one with me as your Mom and Will as your Dad. God speed young man, God speed.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Seemed Like A Good Idea
Being hungover, with a 1 year old, might be the worst punishment for bad behavior....of all time. In fact, screw Guantanamo, get all the criminals drunk on champagne, then force them to care for a litter of cranky-ass toddlers. I don't think you'll see many repeat offenders.
Thankfully Will didn't come out Saturday night. It was just me and 6 other girls, drinking like we were 23 again and looking for tail like we're 32. It was a fun night at this restaurant at Yonge and St.Clair but let me tell you something, champagne, red wine, desert wine and fois gras do not make for a pleasant-following-morning. And fuck-you very much for the time change too, by the way. That really helps.
Here's the thing. Just because you have a baby asleep at home doesn't mean that you don't like to occasionally tie one on. Maybe your occasionally is once a month,like your period, or maybe it's once a week, like your masturbation routine, or maybe it's once a day, like a teenage boys masturbation schedule. Whatever your "tie-one-on" scenario may be, the hangover is extra painful when you're awoken at 7am by the needs of another human being. It's not like when you were without kids and you thought, "shit, I should really stop watching Miss.Congeniality for the millionth time on showcase Diva. I should really do my laundry." But your laundry isn't going to suffer if it doesn't get done. Your child, on the other hand, requires a lot more maintenance. You have no choice but to get your disgusting hung over ass off of the couch, put the jacket on the baby, strap him into the car, and get yourself to Swiss Chalet or some other greasy joint to cure your ails.
Speaking of which, don't ever get the chicken sandwich at Swiss Chalet. It was like swallowing luke warm chicken flavored sand. Disgusting.
If anything happens to your baby, while you're in this state, the guilt is doubly as bad. I'm not naming names, but a certain first husband of mine (we'll call him Sharon) was in the hungover state and the baby did a major bonker on his head. He was screaming and crying and Dexter wasn't in very good shape either. I mean, Dex does a thousand head bonks a week, the pains of learning to walk, but the fact that he did a mega one on Sharon's watch, while hungover, just makes you feel like a real skid. God, what happens when you have two kids? Maybe by then I'll have grown up enough to have some will power.
Maybe.
Thankfully Will didn't come out Saturday night. It was just me and 6 other girls, drinking like we were 23 again and looking for tail like we're 32. It was a fun night at this restaurant at Yonge and St.Clair but let me tell you something, champagne, red wine, desert wine and fois gras do not make for a pleasant-following-morning. And fuck-you very much for the time change too, by the way. That really helps.
Here's the thing. Just because you have a baby asleep at home doesn't mean that you don't like to occasionally tie one on. Maybe your occasionally is once a month,like your period, or maybe it's once a week, like your masturbation routine, or maybe it's once a day, like a teenage boys masturbation schedule. Whatever your "tie-one-on" scenario may be, the hangover is extra painful when you're awoken at 7am by the needs of another human being. It's not like when you were without kids and you thought, "shit, I should really stop watching Miss.Congeniality for the millionth time on showcase Diva. I should really do my laundry." But your laundry isn't going to suffer if it doesn't get done. Your child, on the other hand, requires a lot more maintenance. You have no choice but to get your disgusting hung over ass off of the couch, put the jacket on the baby, strap him into the car, and get yourself to Swiss Chalet or some other greasy joint to cure your ails.
Speaking of which, don't ever get the chicken sandwich at Swiss Chalet. It was like swallowing luke warm chicken flavored sand. Disgusting.
If anything happens to your baby, while you're in this state, the guilt is doubly as bad. I'm not naming names, but a certain first husband of mine (we'll call him Sharon) was in the hungover state and the baby did a major bonker on his head. He was screaming and crying and Dexter wasn't in very good shape either. I mean, Dex does a thousand head bonks a week, the pains of learning to walk, but the fact that he did a mega one on Sharon's watch, while hungover, just makes you feel like a real skid. God, what happens when you have two kids? Maybe by then I'll have grown up enough to have some will power.
Maybe.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Weird things of late
First of all, I've never watched The Apprentice before, let alone the Celebrity Apprentice but any T.V show that puts L'il John and Gary Busey together, is screaming for me to watch it.
So I feel like the winter is making everyone, myself included, pretty effing squirrly. Can we please just get to April already!?! This winter has been brutal and, like every other winter, I question why we live here. Then I read the paper and I realize why.
Then I go to Scarborough and I question my choices again.
I went to the Costco in Scarborough the other day. There aren't any in the city.To begin, you know you're getting old when you get a Costco membership for Christmas. No one says to a spunky 24 year old girl, "Here, Have a Costco membership! You can get all of your paper towels, cat food and diapers for so much cheaper than the grocery stores." I tell ya, if I had a Costco membership when I was 24 I would be getting giant packages of giant condoms. Cause I was getting so much. HI-YOOOOOOOO. I would probably have also gotten a lot of perogies.
Anyhow, I'm in the produce section when a woman who really had that Scarborough air about her approached me and Dexter. Dexter is going to be 1 in a few weeks so he is absolutely ridiculously cute and gets approached by a lot of people, cause he's so effing gorgeous. She says in a pack-a-day voice, "He's so cute, how old is he?"
I say, "Nearly a year." I look in her buggy and she has a car seat with a newborn in it. I look in and say, "She's so beautiful, congratulations."
"Thanks" she replies.
Then she leans in close enough so that I can smell mock chicken, Players extra light and semen. She says, "You'd shit yourself if you knew I had 6 others at home."
Wow.
I mean, seriously, wow.
You're right lady. I have just shit my pants right here in front of the ceaser salad sample lady. I don't know what's more disturbing; the tear you have tattooed down your cheek, the fact that you have 7 children or that you've just said to a complete stranger, "You would SHIT yourself". She could have said, "you would be surprised", or "can you believe" but nope, she went right for it. Anyhow, as I shuddered away from her I thought to myself, it's time Costco in Scarborough started to sell club packs of birth control.
Not that I'm some high-society flyer. I went up to Markham, baby in tow, to fight a parking ticket, this week.
Here's the thing. The parking ticket is only $30.00 but when you're getting them on a semi-regular basis, you have to fight the man. If you fight your ticket, there is a small chance you'll have to go to court. Most of the time they get lost and you hear nothing of them. It's a bit of effort to take them downtown to fight, but worth it if you're getting a lot of them. Anyhow, I actually had to go to court for one we got in 2009. We had gotten it on my father-in-laws car, parked in front of our house. Bringing the baby with me, I knew I would get attention and that I could treat the experience with a light heart. That's one of the best things about having a baby by your side; everyone is way nicer to you and you can get away with a lot more.
Here's an example.
As I was walking through security the cop asked me, "What are you here for?" I replied, fist pumped in the air,"JUSTICE!"
He laughed. Now if I didn't have the baby with me he probably would have thought I was a jackass and a weirdo. The baby is a great accessory for comedy. People assume, if you're a Mom, that you're a responsible, tax paying citizen. Little do they know.
So now we're in the courtroom, along with about 20 other people who are after justice. I was the first person up to fight for my rights. They say a bunch of stuff, and the judge looks at Dexter and says "Is this Michael Macky?" The courtroom giggles. Ok, cool, this judge wants to joke around. I think we all know that Dexter isn't the one who got the parking ticket. I say, "No, this is my lawyer." The courtroom laughs even harder than before. "ORDER IN THE COURT!" I yell. No, just kidding, I didn't do that. The judge didn't even crack a smile at my joke, I think he was pissed I got a bigger laugh. Anyhow, the ticket was reduced to $10 from $30. That's what always happens if you just plead guilty. Did I drive all the way up to Markham to save $20? Yup, and I'll do it again City of Toronto by-law a-holes.
If anyone wants me to go and fight a parking ticket on their behalf, let me know. I'm pretty much V.I.P up there.
So I feel like the winter is making everyone, myself included, pretty effing squirrly. Can we please just get to April already!?! This winter has been brutal and, like every other winter, I question why we live here. Then I read the paper and I realize why.
Then I go to Scarborough and I question my choices again.
I went to the Costco in Scarborough the other day. There aren't any in the city.To begin, you know you're getting old when you get a Costco membership for Christmas. No one says to a spunky 24 year old girl, "Here, Have a Costco membership! You can get all of your paper towels, cat food and diapers for so much cheaper than the grocery stores." I tell ya, if I had a Costco membership when I was 24 I would be getting giant packages of giant condoms. Cause I was getting so much. HI-YOOOOOOOO. I would probably have also gotten a lot of perogies.
Anyhow, I'm in the produce section when a woman who really had that Scarborough air about her approached me and Dexter. Dexter is going to be 1 in a few weeks so he is absolutely ridiculously cute and gets approached by a lot of people, cause he's so effing gorgeous. She says in a pack-a-day voice, "He's so cute, how old is he?"
I say, "Nearly a year." I look in her buggy and she has a car seat with a newborn in it. I look in and say, "She's so beautiful, congratulations."
"Thanks" she replies.
Then she leans in close enough so that I can smell mock chicken, Players extra light and semen. She says, "You'd shit yourself if you knew I had 6 others at home."
Wow.
I mean, seriously, wow.
You're right lady. I have just shit my pants right here in front of the ceaser salad sample lady. I don't know what's more disturbing; the tear you have tattooed down your cheek, the fact that you have 7 children or that you've just said to a complete stranger, "You would SHIT yourself". She could have said, "you would be surprised", or "can you believe" but nope, she went right for it. Anyhow, as I shuddered away from her I thought to myself, it's time Costco in Scarborough started to sell club packs of birth control.
Not that I'm some high-society flyer. I went up to Markham, baby in tow, to fight a parking ticket, this week.
Here's the thing. The parking ticket is only $30.00 but when you're getting them on a semi-regular basis, you have to fight the man. If you fight your ticket, there is a small chance you'll have to go to court. Most of the time they get lost and you hear nothing of them. It's a bit of effort to take them downtown to fight, but worth it if you're getting a lot of them. Anyhow, I actually had to go to court for one we got in 2009. We had gotten it on my father-in-laws car, parked in front of our house. Bringing the baby with me, I knew I would get attention and that I could treat the experience with a light heart. That's one of the best things about having a baby by your side; everyone is way nicer to you and you can get away with a lot more.
Here's an example.
As I was walking through security the cop asked me, "What are you here for?" I replied, fist pumped in the air,"JUSTICE!"
He laughed. Now if I didn't have the baby with me he probably would have thought I was a jackass and a weirdo. The baby is a great accessory for comedy. People assume, if you're a Mom, that you're a responsible, tax paying citizen. Little do they know.
So now we're in the courtroom, along with about 20 other people who are after justice. I was the first person up to fight for my rights. They say a bunch of stuff, and the judge looks at Dexter and says "Is this Michael Macky?" The courtroom giggles. Ok, cool, this judge wants to joke around. I think we all know that Dexter isn't the one who got the parking ticket. I say, "No, this is my lawyer." The courtroom laughs even harder than before. "ORDER IN THE COURT!" I yell. No, just kidding, I didn't do that. The judge didn't even crack a smile at my joke, I think he was pissed I got a bigger laugh. Anyhow, the ticket was reduced to $10 from $30. That's what always happens if you just plead guilty. Did I drive all the way up to Markham to save $20? Yup, and I'll do it again City of Toronto by-law a-holes.
If anyone wants me to go and fight a parking ticket on their behalf, let me know. I'm pretty much V.I.P up there.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Baby Proof my boobs
Dexter just turned 11 months old. Are you kidding me? What the hell is going on? He's doing great, nearly walking and learning quickly how to make a dirty gin martini for Mommy.
Here's something they don't tell you in pre-natal class, even though you're done breastfeeding,( I've been done for about 3 months) you still have some leftovers in there. Not quite the same as Thanksgiving leftovers, doesn't taste as nice on a sandwich. Your boobs really do take a beating after you've had a baby. I mean, we all hear (before we get pregnant) that they change and all that, but I really think we all think we'll be different. "Oh, I'll get my body back right away", we think quietly to ourselves. "My boobs will just get right back to their former glory." These subtle thoughts lurk in the back of all of our minds , pre-baby, right? I mean look at Gisele Bunchen or Brooke Burke or JLo. They're all just regular women and look at them. Right back to good in 3 months or under. That's going to be me. I'm here to tell you it's not. Listen, you get your body back, but it's a bit of a softer version. Genetics play a part in it of course, and I'm pretty lucky, I feel like I've done ok considering I haven't really done much exercise. Maybe you'll get super lucky and your body will be exactly the same, and maybe monkeys might really fly out of Mike Myers butt. Don't get too upset, things aren't too drastic. I mean you won't be able to touch your bellybutton with your (can't wait for that!)but lets just say that the girls become slightly dough-ier than they once were. Simply not as firm. When you first stop breast feeding your actual nipples are kind of funny too but I don't want to ruin the surprise for some of you so I won't reveal that amazing secret. And as for your belly, it obviously goes down but the fact is, your skin has stretched so much, it's pretty hard to get it back, unless you get some Goslin-surgery. Sit-ups and exercise and diet help but how do you reverse stretching skin? If anyone knows, please share it and if you're one of those people who got their flat stomach back pretty quickly, shut up and get a paper cut. I should probably care more, but I honestly don't. I refuse to stop eating cheese and that's that. Anyhow, I'm off to eat some curds. Cheese curds.
Here's something they don't tell you in pre-natal class, even though you're done breastfeeding,( I've been done for about 3 months) you still have some leftovers in there. Not quite the same as Thanksgiving leftovers, doesn't taste as nice on a sandwich. Your boobs really do take a beating after you've had a baby. I mean, we all hear (before we get pregnant) that they change and all that, but I really think we all think we'll be different. "Oh, I'll get my body back right away", we think quietly to ourselves. "My boobs will just get right back to their former glory." These subtle thoughts lurk in the back of all of our minds , pre-baby, right? I mean look at Gisele Bunchen or Brooke Burke or JLo. They're all just regular women and look at them. Right back to good in 3 months or under. That's going to be me. I'm here to tell you it's not. Listen, you get your body back, but it's a bit of a softer version. Genetics play a part in it of course, and I'm pretty lucky, I feel like I've done ok considering I haven't really done much exercise. Maybe you'll get super lucky and your body will be exactly the same, and maybe monkeys might really fly out of Mike Myers butt. Don't get too upset, things aren't too drastic. I mean you won't be able to touch your bellybutton with your (can't wait for that!)but lets just say that the girls become slightly dough-ier than they once were. Simply not as firm. When you first stop breast feeding your actual nipples are kind of funny too but I don't want to ruin the surprise for some of you so I won't reveal that amazing secret. And as for your belly, it obviously goes down but the fact is, your skin has stretched so much, it's pretty hard to get it back, unless you get some Goslin-surgery. Sit-ups and exercise and diet help but how do you reverse stretching skin? If anyone knows, please share it and if you're one of those people who got their flat stomach back pretty quickly, shut up and get a paper cut. I should probably care more, but I honestly don't. I refuse to stop eating cheese and that's that. Anyhow, I'm off to eat some curds. Cheese curds.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Please don't sue
A few blogs back I mentioned that for a few months, late last year, I was the spokesperson for a large company that sells baby product. I have to be careful what I say so I'll tell you that the name of the aforementioned company rhymes with Scabies R' Pus. It's true! I was paid to fly around Canada, go on Breakfast Television in the major cities, and be one of those buffoons who carries on (at way too early in the morning) about some idiot crap no one cares about. In this case, it was baby crap. I took the gig because, well, the money was decent and I've been on Mat Leave. Why not? My friend hooked me up with it and for that I'm totally grateful. She could not have known the experience that would ensue. Needless to say, I got the boot, not really surprising. Hawking baby crap is the antithesis of what I am but money is money and I'm not above selling my soul for a few bucks. Or selling my body. What a sec, who said that?
I may have mentioned , on live TV, that I was going to drink wine out of my sons sippy cup, but in my defense it was in Winnipeg and I was just trying to be relateable. In Vancouver I may have mentioned some people are really into thumb sucking...like a fetish, so I can see how they figured I wasn't a good "fit". They were totally right to fire me. My loving husband tells me that I'm not allowed to come on this blog and speak negatively of Scabies R' Pus. He's right, we could get sued. So that being said I will say only positive things of the company. For example, Scabies R' Pus does a great job at saving money on travel, using only the most economical hotels for business travel.As well, Scabies R' Pus does an AMAZING job at avoiding employee obesity by limiting their food and drink Per Diem to as little as humanly possible. If you're an employee of Scabies R'Pus it's probably less painful than being Rob Fords wife during intercourse.
Is it wrong that the baby is in bed and I'm drinking scotch? Butch? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely. I have to honestly say that not drinking while pregnant was really challenging. Honestly, hardest 5 months of my life.
Until next time.
I may have mentioned , on live TV, that I was going to drink wine out of my sons sippy cup, but in my defense it was in Winnipeg and I was just trying to be relateable. In Vancouver I may have mentioned some people are really into thumb sucking...like a fetish, so I can see how they figured I wasn't a good "fit". They were totally right to fire me. My loving husband tells me that I'm not allowed to come on this blog and speak negatively of Scabies R' Pus. He's right, we could get sued. So that being said I will say only positive things of the company. For example, Scabies R' Pus does a great job at saving money on travel, using only the most economical hotels for business travel.As well, Scabies R' Pus does an AMAZING job at avoiding employee obesity by limiting their food and drink Per Diem to as little as humanly possible. If you're an employee of Scabies R'Pus it's probably less painful than being Rob Fords wife during intercourse.
Is it wrong that the baby is in bed and I'm drinking scotch? Butch? Yes. Delicious? Absolutely. I have to honestly say that not drinking while pregnant was really challenging. Honestly, hardest 5 months of my life.
Until next time.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Roses?
First of all, I want to clear something up. Just because it's your own baby, doesn't make cleaning their shit any better. When you don't have kids, and you see someone cleaning a big turd and you curl up your nose, you often hear, "Don't worry, when it's your own, it's different." Not true. Shit is shit and it's shitty.It's just that you have no choice so you just do it and suck it up. Your own flesh and blood doesn't make poop any nicer than someone elses. It's still waste that travels through the lower intestines and comes out as a disgusting blob. SOmetimes it's more like the softserve icecream machine at McDonalds has unleashed in your kids diaper and you think, "Good God, should I take this baby to emergency? How can such a tiny human survive after such a massive expulsion?" There are many different kinds of baby poop, for those of you who are unaware.
To begin, there's the tar sands. This is the first poop that comes out of your baby and it is super sticky, black and thick, much like this guy I dated once. I believe the medical name for it is merconium but I just refer to it as rotten tar. Then comes the honey mustard. This is easier to clean than the rotten tar but has the terrifying sweet smell. Like a decaying peach. Then you move onto the Green Giant, which is exactly what it's name describes. Then the real magic happens when you start feeding your baby real food, like fruits and vegetables. This stage is actually quite facinating. This is when every shade on the colour wheel comes into play. It's like every day you get to witness a new rainbow of fruit flavours. If you're lucky, you may even get a sneak peek into the world of floopy poops, or for the lamen, diarrhea. This is a stink that will actually burn, not only your nose cilia, but your retnas as well. It starts to get worse before it gets better. I've changed the diaper of a 2 year old and that's when things seriously start to get real. There's always something to look forward to. So onto other things, I recently got fired as the spokesperson for Babies R Us. Surprised? I hadn't even mentioned that I was doing this busted ass job because I had signed this contract that forbade me from basically, well, being me. They still owe me a bunch of money so I'll save the story until I see every penny and then will regale you with hilarious tales of me, flying around Canada, going on Breakfast Television, talking about idiot baby stuff. Here's a taste of what's to come. When I was on BT in Winnipeg I had said that I would be using Dexter's "no spill" sippy cup on Christmas Eve to drink my red wine out of, so that I wouldn't spill it down my front and look like a total alcoholic. That may have been the final nail in the coffin.Ta for now!
To begin, there's the tar sands. This is the first poop that comes out of your baby and it is super sticky, black and thick, much like this guy I dated once. I believe the medical name for it is merconium but I just refer to it as rotten tar. Then comes the honey mustard. This is easier to clean than the rotten tar but has the terrifying sweet smell. Like a decaying peach. Then you move onto the Green Giant, which is exactly what it's name describes. Then the real magic happens when you start feeding your baby real food, like fruits and vegetables. This stage is actually quite facinating. This is when every shade on the colour wheel comes into play. It's like every day you get to witness a new rainbow of fruit flavours. If you're lucky, you may even get a sneak peek into the world of floopy poops, or for the lamen, diarrhea. This is a stink that will actually burn, not only your nose cilia, but your retnas as well. It starts to get worse before it gets better. I've changed the diaper of a 2 year old and that's when things seriously start to get real. There's always something to look forward to. So onto other things, I recently got fired as the spokesperson for Babies R Us. Surprised? I hadn't even mentioned that I was doing this busted ass job because I had signed this contract that forbade me from basically, well, being me. They still owe me a bunch of money so I'll save the story until I see every penny and then will regale you with hilarious tales of me, flying around Canada, going on Breakfast Television, talking about idiot baby stuff. Here's a taste of what's to come. When I was on BT in Winnipeg I had said that I would be using Dexter's "no spill" sippy cup on Christmas Eve to drink my red wine out of, so that I wouldn't spill it down my front and look like a total alcoholic. That may have been the final nail in the coffin.Ta for now!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Boom goes the dynamite
I left off with a story about our trek to the resort we stayed at in the Domincan Republic. It was the first time Will and I had done one of these all-inclusive jobs. To be honest, I sort of thought they were a bit gross before. A bunch of food, booze and Americans. I was wrong, I will admit. It was great and perfect for just simply relaxing. I love to travel but I find it hard to settle down, always needing to see everything. It's nice when you really have no choice but to sit, read and drink booze. The food was actually pretty good too. In fact, it was great. So anyhow, that's my review Travelocity.
When you left the perimeters of what was the resorts beach, there were security guards that would get you to sign out. I guess in case you get kidnapped by pirates, they know what time the resort had no legal responsibility. There was this security guard, who looked like he was maybe 20, but who knows. They all look the same to me. Security guards, that is. This guy loooooooved the baby. He came running up to us as we were walking down the beach and just started speaking Spanish to Dex and cooing and going crazy. It was really cute. He then started speaking Spanish to us. Now, having taken first year Spanish in University and scoring an impressive 58% in the course, you would be surprised to know that I can't speak Spanish. So I say, "No hable espanol." Didn't matter. He just kept talking. So he gestures for us to follow him to his chair where he keeps the clip board for people to sign out. In the meantime all of these other people were just walking by, not signing out. Ok. So we follow him and he gestures for me to sit on the chair. I sit with the baby on my lap. Will has the clipboard, signing us out. He continues to go cookoo over the baby. He's yammering on in Spanish and looking at me and laughing and I'm laughing, at what, I don't know. He may have been saying that we all look the same to him. Models, that is. Anyhow, the next thing I know, he's clucking Dex under the chin, then he swings his massive shotgun around to the front and hands it to the baby! Of course Dex goes right for the effing trigger. It all happened so fast I thought I was in a Saved By the Bell dream sequence. "Holy shit!" I say, "don't give the baby the gun!" I jump up and say, "Ok see you later! Have a good day." He continues to follow us and I just keep turning around saying "Ola, Ola,Ola", which I obviously know means "Hello" (did you already forget the 58%?) but I was so flustered that it's the only thing that was coming out of my mouth. Imagine how insane that sounded? I'm running away, clutching my baby to my chest, yelling out "Hello!Hello!Hello!" So anyhow,that was that. About 2 days later, I'm alone walking down the beach with the baby. He's there again. This time he just waves for me to come to him. I walk up to him and he starts with the baby again. He wants to hold him this time. Now I'm getting a good look at this guy. I don't know for certain, but I'm 58% sure that this dude may be slightly mentally challenged in some capacity. He's sitting down and holding up his arms to me, wanting to hold the baby. I figure it's ok, he's just a sweet man who loves the baby. I know what you're thinking, you're saying to yourself, "Oh wait Larissa, but where's the gun?" Yes, maybe I should have thought of that. As I'm handing my only child over to the stranger I realize the gun is just lying across his lap and now Dexter is in his arms and jumping on the gun. I discover this and yell, "Ola!Ola the gun!" Again with the misuse of ola. He says the only words I've heard him say in English, "No problem lady, no problem." Well, maybe I'm just a soft Canadian who has never been exposed to guns before but I'm pretty sure a 9 month old jumping on a loaded shotgun is a bit of a problem. I grab Dex, sign the stupid clipboard and take off. Then I went and drank a Banana Mama.
When you left the perimeters of what was the resorts beach, there were security guards that would get you to sign out. I guess in case you get kidnapped by pirates, they know what time the resort had no legal responsibility. There was this security guard, who looked like he was maybe 20, but who knows. They all look the same to me. Security guards, that is. This guy loooooooved the baby. He came running up to us as we were walking down the beach and just started speaking Spanish to Dex and cooing and going crazy. It was really cute. He then started speaking Spanish to us. Now, having taken first year Spanish in University and scoring an impressive 58% in the course, you would be surprised to know that I can't speak Spanish. So I say, "No hable espanol." Didn't matter. He just kept talking. So he gestures for us to follow him to his chair where he keeps the clip board for people to sign out. In the meantime all of these other people were just walking by, not signing out. Ok. So we follow him and he gestures for me to sit on the chair. I sit with the baby on my lap. Will has the clipboard, signing us out. He continues to go cookoo over the baby. He's yammering on in Spanish and looking at me and laughing and I'm laughing, at what, I don't know. He may have been saying that we all look the same to him. Models, that is. Anyhow, the next thing I know, he's clucking Dex under the chin, then he swings his massive shotgun around to the front and hands it to the baby! Of course Dex goes right for the effing trigger. It all happened so fast I thought I was in a Saved By the Bell dream sequence. "Holy shit!" I say, "don't give the baby the gun!" I jump up and say, "Ok see you later! Have a good day." He continues to follow us and I just keep turning around saying "Ola, Ola,Ola", which I obviously know means "Hello" (did you already forget the 58%?) but I was so flustered that it's the only thing that was coming out of my mouth. Imagine how insane that sounded? I'm running away, clutching my baby to my chest, yelling out "Hello!Hello!Hello!" So anyhow,that was that. About 2 days later, I'm alone walking down the beach with the baby. He's there again. This time he just waves for me to come to him. I walk up to him and he starts with the baby again. He wants to hold him this time. Now I'm getting a good look at this guy. I don't know for certain, but I'm 58% sure that this dude may be slightly mentally challenged in some capacity. He's sitting down and holding up his arms to me, wanting to hold the baby. I figure it's ok, he's just a sweet man who loves the baby. I know what you're thinking, you're saying to yourself, "Oh wait Larissa, but where's the gun?" Yes, maybe I should have thought of that. As I'm handing my only child over to the stranger I realize the gun is just lying across his lap and now Dexter is in his arms and jumping on the gun. I discover this and yell, "Ola!Ola the gun!" Again with the misuse of ola. He says the only words I've heard him say in English, "No problem lady, no problem." Well, maybe I'm just a soft Canadian who has never been exposed to guns before but I'm pretty sure a 9 month old jumping on a loaded shotgun is a bit of a problem. I grab Dex, sign the stupid clipboard and take off. Then I went and drank a Banana Mama.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Is that a gun in your pants?
Happy New Year weirdos.
Will, Dexter and I went to the Domincan Republic on New Years Day for a nice week in the sun. Well, the shade really. For those of you who know my little family we are the whitest people around.SOme may even say that we're translucent. My Mom says I'm porcelin and fair, so suck on that. Will and I would come out of the shade at around 3pm. This is the time when the nightwalkers can roam in the sun without fear of complete anihilation. Anyhow, it was an amazing week and the baby loved it. The flight was a bit of a gong show but even more of a gong show was the hour and a half ride out to the resort. Dex had been ok during the flight but now it's like 10pm and he's getting super squirrly. Everyone on the bus is from Toronto and ready to get to the resort. Some skids from Milton have cracked some Canadians, butts behind their ears ready to hoser it up the moment we get to the resort. This crazy Domincan guy is on the microphone (of the greyhound) cracking really dumb jokes like this one: "I hear there's 2 feet of snow in Canada." Then he laughs really uncomfortably loud. That's the joke. Not to mention the sound system is ancient and his voice is really loud and distorted. Now the baby starts wailing. I'm holding him, well trying not to drop him (it was a really bumpy ride) and doing my best to get him to settle down. He's just getting louder and louder and now people around me are craning their necks to see how I'm torturing my baby. Here's the thing. Everyone thinks that if they were in my situation, they would be successful at getting him to calm down. I can see it in their judgemental, sympathetic stares. I'm getting frustrated as the baby is getting louder. Now amateur night at the Apollo says on the mic, "Oh tha' bebe is 'ungry." Thanks Domincan Gilligan. As a matter of fact, the baby isn't hungry but you would probably know better than me right? My blood is starting to boil and I'm getting really stressed out. This super fat guy was sitting next to Will and I can hear him say to Will, "Oh wow, she's getting really stressed out." No shit fatty, this is probably how your heart feels every minute of every day. I turn to Will and say, "I don't know what to do" and I see this sea of faces staring at me. It was like a TV show when they use the effect of peoples heads floating around to show confusion and craziness. I snapped. Now I'm effing crying. The baby is wailing, I'm bawling and fatty is shaking his chins saying, "it's ok! He's just a baby."
I mean, he was right but once the tears started, they were out there. I couldn't take them back. It was like Dexter sensed how crazy I felt because suddenly he stopped crying and passed out. Amazing. This one is short and sweet because I have to go to the airport and pick up the stroller. We left it on the sidewalk when we went to get into the Park and Fly Van. Parents of the year. Here's what's coming up next: I suffer from Tropic Thunder (if you know what I mean) a half mentally retarded security guard gives Dex his gun....twice, and Dex discovers that not everything you put in your mouth tastes like beautiful boobie nectar.
Will, Dexter and I went to the Domincan Republic on New Years Day for a nice week in the sun. Well, the shade really. For those of you who know my little family we are the whitest people around.SOme may even say that we're translucent. My Mom says I'm porcelin and fair, so suck on that. Will and I would come out of the shade at around 3pm. This is the time when the nightwalkers can roam in the sun without fear of complete anihilation. Anyhow, it was an amazing week and the baby loved it. The flight was a bit of a gong show but even more of a gong show was the hour and a half ride out to the resort. Dex had been ok during the flight but now it's like 10pm and he's getting super squirrly. Everyone on the bus is from Toronto and ready to get to the resort. Some skids from Milton have cracked some Canadians, butts behind their ears ready to hoser it up the moment we get to the resort. This crazy Domincan guy is on the microphone (of the greyhound) cracking really dumb jokes like this one: "I hear there's 2 feet of snow in Canada." Then he laughs really uncomfortably loud. That's the joke. Not to mention the sound system is ancient and his voice is really loud and distorted. Now the baby starts wailing. I'm holding him, well trying not to drop him (it was a really bumpy ride) and doing my best to get him to settle down. He's just getting louder and louder and now people around me are craning their necks to see how I'm torturing my baby. Here's the thing. Everyone thinks that if they were in my situation, they would be successful at getting him to calm down. I can see it in their judgemental, sympathetic stares. I'm getting frustrated as the baby is getting louder. Now amateur night at the Apollo says on the mic, "Oh tha' bebe is 'ungry." Thanks Domincan Gilligan. As a matter of fact, the baby isn't hungry but you would probably know better than me right? My blood is starting to boil and I'm getting really stressed out. This super fat guy was sitting next to Will and I can hear him say to Will, "Oh wow, she's getting really stressed out." No shit fatty, this is probably how your heart feels every minute of every day. I turn to Will and say, "I don't know what to do" and I see this sea of faces staring at me. It was like a TV show when they use the effect of peoples heads floating around to show confusion and craziness. I snapped. Now I'm effing crying. The baby is wailing, I'm bawling and fatty is shaking his chins saying, "it's ok! He's just a baby."
I mean, he was right but once the tears started, they were out there. I couldn't take them back. It was like Dexter sensed how crazy I felt because suddenly he stopped crying and passed out. Amazing. This one is short and sweet because I have to go to the airport and pick up the stroller. We left it on the sidewalk when we went to get into the Park and Fly Van. Parents of the year. Here's what's coming up next: I suffer from Tropic Thunder (if you know what I mean) a half mentally retarded security guard gives Dex his gun....twice, and Dex discovers that not everything you put in your mouth tastes like beautiful boobie nectar.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Sort of defeats the purpose of a BLOG
Ok, it's been forever since my last blog. Dexter is 13 but oddly I'm still 32. My moustache is still better than his. So here's the thing: it turns out that not only do we, as women and mothers, have to deal with pooping on the delivery table, have our vagina's sewn back together and have our partners search for hemorrhoids(I had to look up how to spell that), but it turns out there are plenty of things that can happen to you after the baby is born. I, unfortunately developed postpartum hypothyroidism. No biggie, just a pain in the ass. Here's what happened. In October, I started to feel super exhausted and weak. It was weird because we had Dex sleeping 12 hours and I was sleeping more than I had since I was first diagnosed with pregnancy. I couldn't figure it out. I didn't want to get out of bed, I had trouble concentrating and everything just seemed like such a giant effort. I was far more exhausted than when the baby was a newborn, to be honest I was terrified that I was suffering from postpartum depression. Searching the Internet to see what was wrong certainly didn't help. So I dragged my ass to the doctor to see if I was low in iron or something. She's a great doctor and asked all of the right questions and I had my blood taken. She called me up and told me I had the most abnormal thyroid she had ever seen. I've always been a bit of an over-achiever. Anyhow, I've tried two different levels of meds to sort me out and I am happy to say I'm feeling much much better. I have to go and get these nodules thingys that have developed on my thyroid taken off, otherwise I could get a goiter! Could you imagine...a goiter! If I developed a huge goiter on my neck I would tattoo a nipple on it and tell everyone that I had breast implants put into my neck because two boobs just weren't enough for Will. Anyhow, I'm not telling this story for any sympathy or words of encouragement or anything, I'm telling it because a lot of new Mom's might equate extreme exhaustion with just being a new mom, but if you feel like you seriously can't get out of bed in the morning, just go and see what's up because it's an easy fix, if it's your thyroid.
So that's that. My friend said to me, "Why haven't you written lately? It sort of defeats the purpose of a blog." I responded, "Your face defeats the purpose of a blog" and now I'm back to bloggin'. There has to be another word for blogging, for those of us who don't do it every day. I don't have the time and quite frankly, I don't have enough material. Life is funny, but most days are pretty ordinary and I'm not about to be one of those people who starts blogging about the amazing sausage she ate the other day. Anyhow, it's time for me and my goiter to tend to the baby.
So that's that. My friend said to me, "Why haven't you written lately? It sort of defeats the purpose of a blog." I responded, "Your face defeats the purpose of a blog" and now I'm back to bloggin'. There has to be another word for blogging, for those of us who don't do it every day. I don't have the time and quite frankly, I don't have enough material. Life is funny, but most days are pretty ordinary and I'm not about to be one of those people who starts blogging about the amazing sausage she ate the other day. Anyhow, it's time for me and my goiter to tend to the baby.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Who do you have to sleep with around here to get a kid baptized?
First off, do you think the title of this blog is too much? Ok, so here's a disclaimer: I'm going to talk about religion so if you're sensitive to it then I suggest you skip this one. Here's the thing, after much deliberating,I have decided to go ahead and get Dexter baptized. My sister-in-law put it best when she said, "Do you feel as strongly about NOT getting him baptized as your parents feel about GETTING him baptized?" The answer was no, I don't so why not make them happy and just go and do it. Although I don't consider myself Catholic, they are and it's important to them so because I love them so much, I will of course do it. I see it as a nice way to get the family together to celebrate the baby.HOWEVER, these people do not make it easy. I went to a church on Kingston Road here in beautiful East York, Toronto. I had to get my original baptism certificate (huge pain in the ass) in order to even have Dex considered. Anyhow, I think we're all ready to go when the Deacon calls me up and encourages me to get him baptized at the church of which Will and I would be considered "parishinors" if we were Catholic. So now I start to lie, (a lot), to a super nice holy man. "Well, I just really love your church and it just gives me a nice feeling and I would like him to get baptized there." The truth? You were the first place I called that had any spots available in November a.k.a MO-vember and I've been growing my moustache for weeks in anticipation of this oh-so-holy event. He was so nice and kind and just wants me to raise my baby in a church that we can become a part of and all of this stuff. I feel the soles of my feet burning as the flames of hell tickle my arches. "I understand that but I feel right about this and hope that we can do it in two weeks time." He responds, "Why don't you go round this other church, attend mass and see how you feel! Then if you really believe in your heart that this is the church for you, then I would be more than happy to baptize your baby." Crap. "Ok Deacon, I'll be in touch." I get off the phone and unleash a fury of eff bombs. I call this other church and this woman was not as nice as Deacon Jerry. Me: "Hi, I'm calling to discuss baptizing our son at your church." Her: "Are you Catholic?" Me: "Yes" ouch, here come those effing flames again.
"Well are you a member at this parish?"
"No, we just moved to the neighborhood. We just came from Vancouver." Now I'm just lying for no reason and the flames are climbing up my calves.
"Well in order for your son to get baptized here we'll need your baptism certificate as well as your husbands and both of your confirmation certificates."
"Well my husband isn't Catholic."
"What is he?"
"He's sexy."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said, "He's of no religious denomination."
Silence.More silence.
"Well you 'll have to get your priest from Vancouver to send a letter to us saying you're a practicing Catholic." Which is sort of funny because right now I AM practicing to be a Catholic. I'm practicing really really hard, some might even say I'm acting the part really well. She recommends another church so I call there. This woman not only wants all of these certificates from Will and I but a bunch of stuff from my brother and sister-in-law, who are meant to be the goddparents. PLUS, they want us to come in a meet the priest and do some class. Holy crap Catholocism. This just in: You're not the most popular choice for religions these days, not sure if you read the papers, but you could stand to be a BIT more lenient with regards to who you let in. I don't think you really have the luxury to be picky. Do I have to spell it out here? Your leaders aren't exactly the barometer by which one should judge good and bad and you're giving ME a hard time? I'm seriously beginning to reconsider this whole, "make-my-parents-happy" thingy. Anyhow, hopefully this super nice Deacon will just give us the green light and fingers crossed he doesn't read this blog. By the way, I know how hypocritical it is to have my baby baptized when I don't believe at all in the religion but what the hell.
"Well are you a member at this parish?"
"No, we just moved to the neighborhood. We just came from Vancouver." Now I'm just lying for no reason and the flames are climbing up my calves.
"Well in order for your son to get baptized here we'll need your baptism certificate as well as your husbands and both of your confirmation certificates."
"Well my husband isn't Catholic."
"What is he?"
"He's sexy."
"What?"
"You heard me."
Ok, I didn't say that. I said, "He's of no religious denomination."
Silence.More silence.
"Well you 'll have to get your priest from Vancouver to send a letter to us saying you're a practicing Catholic." Which is sort of funny because right now I AM practicing to be a Catholic. I'm practicing really really hard, some might even say I'm acting the part really well. She recommends another church so I call there. This woman not only wants all of these certificates from Will and I but a bunch of stuff from my brother and sister-in-law, who are meant to be the goddparents. PLUS, they want us to come in a meet the priest and do some class. Holy crap Catholocism. This just in: You're not the most popular choice for religions these days, not sure if you read the papers, but you could stand to be a BIT more lenient with regards to who you let in. I don't think you really have the luxury to be picky. Do I have to spell it out here? Your leaders aren't exactly the barometer by which one should judge good and bad and you're giving ME a hard time? I'm seriously beginning to reconsider this whole, "make-my-parents-happy" thingy. Anyhow, hopefully this super nice Deacon will just give us the green light and fingers crossed he doesn't read this blog. By the way, I know how hypocritical it is to have my baby baptized when I don't believe at all in the religion but what the hell.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Psychically Delicious
I was thinking; you can me overwhelmed and underwhelmed so if you're just content, are you simply whelmed? Like if I'm just hanging out and someone asks me,"Hey Larissa Primeau, what's up?" Can I answer, "Not much just whelming out." I think the laws of the English language would dictate that yes, I could. Speaking of dick-tate, how annoying is Jennifer Valentine? The baby sleeps through the night but wakes up at 5:30-6:30 now. I let him play while I watch BT. She's kind of half Kimmy Gibler half Six from Blossom: the annoying neighbor that you have to be nice too.
Speaking of annoying, I had yet another moment of WTF, with the baby , at the grocery store. He is 7 months and currently the cutest thing I've ever ever ever seen. We're at Loblaws buying lots of Presidents Choice (I wonder if Galen Weston feels obligated to only buy PC brand but sometimes just hates his Dad and goes for Heinz). I'm in the produce aisles and a woman yells over from the adjacent aisle, "WHAT A CUTE BABY! LET ME SEE HIM." She comes running over and I get a chance to assess who I'm about to interact with. She is definitely eccentric. Rings on every finger, fantasy themed sweatshirt and those kind of glasses that are so thick it looks like her eyes are holograms. She also looks (and smells) like she's been into a bag of Smartfood. Gross. She starts rubbing the baby's head, which I immediately think is a bit much, but just figure she's a friendly lady who loves babies. She's talking but I don't really know about what. Then she tells me, "You know, I'm gifted." At first I thought she meant academically and I started to cough out "Bullshit" but before I could she said, "You know....psycically." Ohhhhhh, of course, thaaaat kind of gifted. Well, even responding this with a simple "oh ya" was apparently an invitation for her to start talking about herself for (i'm not exagerrating) 25 minutes. She started by telling me she's found over 8000 kids in Phoenix, Arizona. Guess you shouldn't let your kids out of your site in Phoenix. What an outrageous lie but I continue to let her talk. She was going on and on and on about Julian Fantino(previously Toronto's Chief of Police) and how he never listens to her. I of course say loudly, "That son of a bitch!" "I know!!!" she answers enthusiastically, obviously missing my sarcasm. It's eventually getting to be a bit of a bore being so polite so just as I'm ready to say, "Have a nice day" she puts her hands on Dexter's head and says, "Oh, he is just the joy of you and your husbands life." Thanks psychic. "He's going to be a lawyer or an advocate for something." That was good to hear but she was in fact, nuts, so I didn't take what she said too much to heart. If Dexter goes to law school and fights for the little man, I have some apologizing to do but in the meantime, I said thanks, she said "God Bless" I told her "I didn't sneeze" and off we went. I spent the rest of my time making sure we didn't get in the same aisle again.
I just took Dex on a plane for the first time last week, that blogs to come. In the meantime, I have to get the baby brushed up and ready for law school. Basically I'm just going to one day tell him to tell the law school that in 2010, a psychic who smelled like Smartfood, predicted it was his destiny, so no LSATS required.
Speaking of annoying, I had yet another moment of WTF, with the baby , at the grocery store. He is 7 months and currently the cutest thing I've ever ever ever seen. We're at Loblaws buying lots of Presidents Choice (I wonder if Galen Weston feels obligated to only buy PC brand but sometimes just hates his Dad and goes for Heinz). I'm in the produce aisles and a woman yells over from the adjacent aisle, "WHAT A CUTE BABY! LET ME SEE HIM." She comes running over and I get a chance to assess who I'm about to interact with. She is definitely eccentric. Rings on every finger, fantasy themed sweatshirt and those kind of glasses that are so thick it looks like her eyes are holograms. She also looks (and smells) like she's been into a bag of Smartfood. Gross. She starts rubbing the baby's head, which I immediately think is a bit much, but just figure she's a friendly lady who loves babies. She's talking but I don't really know about what. Then she tells me, "You know, I'm gifted." At first I thought she meant academically and I started to cough out "Bullshit" but before I could she said, "You know....psycically." Ohhhhhh, of course, thaaaat kind of gifted. Well, even responding this with a simple "oh ya" was apparently an invitation for her to start talking about herself for (i'm not exagerrating) 25 minutes. She started by telling me she's found over 8000 kids in Phoenix, Arizona. Guess you shouldn't let your kids out of your site in Phoenix. What an outrageous lie but I continue to let her talk. She was going on and on and on about Julian Fantino(previously Toronto's Chief of Police) and how he never listens to her. I of course say loudly, "That son of a bitch!" "I know!!!" she answers enthusiastically, obviously missing my sarcasm. It's eventually getting to be a bit of a bore being so polite so just as I'm ready to say, "Have a nice day" she puts her hands on Dexter's head and says, "Oh, he is just the joy of you and your husbands life." Thanks psychic. "He's going to be a lawyer or an advocate for something." That was good to hear but she was in fact, nuts, so I didn't take what she said too much to heart. If Dexter goes to law school and fights for the little man, I have some apologizing to do but in the meantime, I said thanks, she said "God Bless" I told her "I didn't sneeze" and off we went. I spent the rest of my time making sure we didn't get in the same aisle again.
I just took Dex on a plane for the first time last week, that blogs to come. In the meantime, I have to get the baby brushed up and ready for law school. Basically I'm just going to one day tell him to tell the law school that in 2010, a psychic who smelled like Smartfood, predicted it was his destiny, so no LSATS required.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
What am I doing wrong?
I was just reading over some of my past blogs and I've noticed something. Odd things happen to me. I'm approached by weirdo's, I have public mishaps and I don't really know why. Will says it's because I stare at people too much; I guess that explains the weirdos. One time in Vancouver I stared at this weird guy for too long. It wasn't my fault, he was half way through a sex change and I dare you to name me one person who wouldn't look at that for a second longer than appropriate. The guy is walking towards me really quickly. Now I see that not only is he in the midst of a huge life change, but he also has "crazy" gleaming in his heavily made up eye. As he passes me, he extends his right arm and clotheslines me, right in front of a sidewalk cafe! Because he/she was going at such a fast clip, I stumbled backwards and almost landed on a baby carriage. The woman screeches and tries to push me out of the way. Now I'm falling in the opposite direction. It all happened in about 2 seconds but it was total chaos. The people at the cafe thought he/she had stabbed me and one nice man asked, "Should I go after him". I answered, "Uh no, he's crazy and you can't chase crazy out of someone." I decided to stop slack-jaw staring at people.
Now last week Dexter and I went to Winners at Yonge and Bloor. In the beginning I was way more apprehensive of taking the baby with all the shit, into the heart of the city. Not because I was worried about safety or anything, more because it's a giant pain in the ass. Now I don't really care and if me and my buggy seem to bother people, that's their problem. I was in a line-up waiting to buy a pair of shoes. The woman who was at the till was taking FOREVER and people started jumping out of line out of annoyance. A guy game and opened up a second cash and said, "I can help someone over here." The 2nd woman in line went to the new till and now I was third in line at the annoying till. So, I decided to jump into the new line too, becoming second in line. Now I don't know what your philosophy on line-ups might be, but to me, if someone opens a new till, you can either keep your spot in the original line or roll the dice and jump into the new line. It might be the right decision, it may not but that's how it works....to me. This was not the line-up philosophy shared by the she-beast who was second in the original line. As soon as I went up to the till to pay for my shoes, she came white-trashing her way over and slammed the stupid thermos she was buying on the counter and yelled, "EXCUSE ME BUT I WAS NEXT IN LINE AND YOU CUT IN LINE AND YOU ARE RUDE AND OBNOXIOUS." I don't normally use this word, but I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about so I very smoothly answered," wuh wuh wuh wuh wuhhhhht?" Fat White Trash answers "I WAS WAITING NEXT IN LINE AND YOU SHOVED AHEAD OF AND YOU'RE RUDE AND DISREPECTFUL". Now I have a handle on what's going on and I am burning with rage and want to unleash a tirade of motha fucka's on her but I see her 6 year old and her 2 year old staring up at us with sheer terror in their eyes. I have a feeling they've heard her go nutso more than once. I gave them a sympathetic look that said, "sorry that you had to be her egg. I hope at least one of your Daddies is rich." At this point there is honestly a crowd gathering.Anyhow, instead of showing her how many ways I could call her female gentalia, I decided to take the
high road and said, " I think you're confused. You could have done the same thing I did. You chose the wrong line". Fat White Trash responds, "YOU'RE RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL AND I WON'T LET YOU BUD IN LINE." Now I'm starting to lose control and for just a split second contemplate throwing my shoes at her and running. What is wrong with people? If she really thought I had wronged her, why couldn't she just calmly tell me how she felt. I'm a rational person. I would have laughed it off, apologized for the misunderstanding and let her go ahead. Instead, she chose to go menopausal on me and freak the eff out. I decide to hit low and say, "This is a fine example you're setting for your children." See, when someone is screaming and going nuts, the best idea is to calmly attack their character, I recommend going for the kids and their inability to raise them. I was pretty proud of myself until she started to slowly walk towards me. Now she's about a foot in front of my face and I'm thinking, "Oh shit, am I going to have to throw down at the Winners? I don't know how to throw down. I'm fucked." She sticks he finger in my face and yells,"I'M SETTING A GREAT EXAMPLE FOR THEM! I'M SHOWING THEM NOT TO GET PUSHED AROUND!" I could smell the ham on her breath. I figured this woman had been in a few dust ups in her day so I stepped back and said. "Alright, just pay for your stuff." In the meantime, the pimply cashier said, "Ladies, ladies please". HIlarious. This poor teenage boy didn't learn how to deal with this in Winners training. Anyhow the moral of the story is....I don't really know but it took a few drinks to calm down after than one. THe next day a psychic in Loblaws talked to Dex and I for 40 minutes. I really have to stop making eye contact. That story to follow.
Now last week Dexter and I went to Winners at Yonge and Bloor. In the beginning I was way more apprehensive of taking the baby with all the shit, into the heart of the city. Not because I was worried about safety or anything, more because it's a giant pain in the ass. Now I don't really care and if me and my buggy seem to bother people, that's their problem. I was in a line-up waiting to buy a pair of shoes. The woman who was at the till was taking FOREVER and people started jumping out of line out of annoyance. A guy game and opened up a second cash and said, "I can help someone over here." The 2nd woman in line went to the new till and now I was third in line at the annoying till. So, I decided to jump into the new line too, becoming second in line. Now I don't know what your philosophy on line-ups might be, but to me, if someone opens a new till, you can either keep your spot in the original line or roll the dice and jump into the new line. It might be the right decision, it may not but that's how it works....to me. This was not the line-up philosophy shared by the she-beast who was second in the original line. As soon as I went up to the till to pay for my shoes, she came white-trashing her way over and slammed the stupid thermos she was buying on the counter and yelled, "EXCUSE ME BUT I WAS NEXT IN LINE AND YOU CUT IN LINE AND YOU ARE RUDE AND OBNOXIOUS." I don't normally use this word, but I was flabbergasted. I didn't know what the hell she was talking about so I very smoothly answered," wuh wuh wuh wuh wuhhhhht?" Fat White Trash answers "I WAS WAITING NEXT IN LINE AND YOU SHOVED AHEAD OF AND YOU'RE RUDE AND DISREPECTFUL". Now I have a handle on what's going on and I am burning with rage and want to unleash a tirade of motha fucka's on her but I see her 6 year old and her 2 year old staring up at us with sheer terror in their eyes. I have a feeling they've heard her go nutso more than once. I gave them a sympathetic look that said, "sorry that you had to be her egg. I hope at least one of your Daddies is rich." At this point there is honestly a crowd gathering.Anyhow, instead of showing her how many ways I could call her female gentalia, I decided to take the
high road and said, " I think you're confused. You could have done the same thing I did. You chose the wrong line". Fat White Trash responds, "YOU'RE RUDE AND DISRESPECTFUL AND I WON'T LET YOU BUD IN LINE." Now I'm starting to lose control and for just a split second contemplate throwing my shoes at her and running. What is wrong with people? If she really thought I had wronged her, why couldn't she just calmly tell me how she felt. I'm a rational person. I would have laughed it off, apologized for the misunderstanding and let her go ahead. Instead, she chose to go menopausal on me and freak the eff out. I decide to hit low and say, "This is a fine example you're setting for your children." See, when someone is screaming and going nuts, the best idea is to calmly attack their character, I recommend going for the kids and their inability to raise them. I was pretty proud of myself until she started to slowly walk towards me. Now she's about a foot in front of my face and I'm thinking, "Oh shit, am I going to have to throw down at the Winners? I don't know how to throw down. I'm fucked." She sticks he finger in my face and yells,"I'M SETTING A GREAT EXAMPLE FOR THEM! I'M SHOWING THEM NOT TO GET PUSHED AROUND!" I could smell the ham on her breath. I figured this woman had been in a few dust ups in her day so I stepped back and said. "Alright, just pay for your stuff." In the meantime, the pimply cashier said, "Ladies, ladies please". HIlarious. This poor teenage boy didn't learn how to deal with this in Winners training. Anyhow the moral of the story is....I don't really know but it took a few drinks to calm down after than one. THe next day a psychic in Loblaws talked to Dex and I for 40 minutes. I really have to stop making eye contact. That story to follow.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Upper cut Upper cut
So I shaved my legs. Annoying. I guess it's better than shaving my face every day. I mean I only have to do that every now and then.
Dexter is 6 months and we're right in the midst of letting him "cry it out" at night. Up until this point, he's been getting up once a night and one of us has had to go in and just soothe him back to sleep. Anyhow, that was enough of that so we are currently on day two of letting him cry it out at night. I don't know who or what this whole Ferberizer thing is, I may have smoked weed out of one in University, all I know is that we've made the decision and we're sticking with it. The first night he cried for about an hour and 15 minutes, last night 30 minutes. I thought I would DIE when we had to do this but the wine and ear plugs are doing their job and I haven't really laid in bed bawling, like I thought I would.I wanted some valium too but apparantly you're not supposed to give that to babies.Obviously that's a joke but while we're on the topic I have an open request to science. Science, can you please figure out something harmless to give babies to make them sleep? Stop working on cloning sheep and get your shit together. Stupid science.
Here's the thing, maybe it's not that "nice" to let your baby cry in the middle of the night, but you know what else isn't nice? Having Super Nanny come to your home and make you some busted ass schedule while she tells you how incompetent you are. This baby is going to sleep for 12 hours a night, in his own bed, if it's the last thing I do.
As a new Mom, you have to quickly adapt to a brand new lifestyle. Before Dex, I had 31 years of just pretty much doing what I wanted and being amazing. Yes, it's super cool hanging out with Dex and seeing him grow, but I would be lying if I didn't say that there are times when I get a bit squirrly. It's not even that I need people to hang out with or anything, I just need to do something that has nothing to do with baby and everything to do with me. I don't think there's anything wrong with being a bit selfish. As a matter of fact, I think it's a bit good for kids, especially when you only have one. I've never been a mathematician but I have an equation: Too Much Attention = Spoiled Kid.
So I went to the gym and did this mixed martial arts class and left Dexter in the gym daycare a.k.a germ warfare. There were about 4 babies and 6 toddlers snotting around and licking everything. It was awesome. This is how you build an air tight immune system, Dexter is going to be like the bionic baby.So in this class you do a lot of kicking and punching. I was really into it and punching the shit out of an imaginary opponent. Jab , jab, jab, kick kick kick!
"HEY LADIES! CAN YOU FEEL THE BURN IN YOUR BUTT!?!?!"
My inside voice: " I can feel the jiggle in it."
"DO YOU WANT THIS?"
My inside voice: "I want plastic surgery instead"
"C'MON! I WANNA SEE YOU SWEAT!"
My inside voice: "I wanna see you die"
So there I am jumping and sweating and having a great time when I go and throw a solid right upper cut....right into my chin. I punched myself in the chin...hard. The craziest part about this whole fiasco? It's not the first time I've done it! I took a similar class a few years ago and punched myself so hard in the chin I thought I had bit my tongue off. The instructor even stopped the class. Anyhow, this self-inflicted punch wasn't so bad as the first time I did it. Hopefully next time I take this class I won't spaz out and nail myself again. I'm happy to take a class that teaches me how to kick some ass because I almost had to throw down at the Winners the other day. That's for the next blog.
Dexter is 6 months and we're right in the midst of letting him "cry it out" at night. Up until this point, he's been getting up once a night and one of us has had to go in and just soothe him back to sleep. Anyhow, that was enough of that so we are currently on day two of letting him cry it out at night. I don't know who or what this whole Ferberizer thing is, I may have smoked weed out of one in University, all I know is that we've made the decision and we're sticking with it. The first night he cried for about an hour and 15 minutes, last night 30 minutes. I thought I would DIE when we had to do this but the wine and ear plugs are doing their job and I haven't really laid in bed bawling, like I thought I would.I wanted some valium too but apparantly you're not supposed to give that to babies.Obviously that's a joke but while we're on the topic I have an open request to science. Science, can you please figure out something harmless to give babies to make them sleep? Stop working on cloning sheep and get your shit together. Stupid science.
Here's the thing, maybe it's not that "nice" to let your baby cry in the middle of the night, but you know what else isn't nice? Having Super Nanny come to your home and make you some busted ass schedule while she tells you how incompetent you are. This baby is going to sleep for 12 hours a night, in his own bed, if it's the last thing I do.
As a new Mom, you have to quickly adapt to a brand new lifestyle. Before Dex, I had 31 years of just pretty much doing what I wanted and being amazing. Yes, it's super cool hanging out with Dex and seeing him grow, but I would be lying if I didn't say that there are times when I get a bit squirrly. It's not even that I need people to hang out with or anything, I just need to do something that has nothing to do with baby and everything to do with me. I don't think there's anything wrong with being a bit selfish. As a matter of fact, I think it's a bit good for kids, especially when you only have one. I've never been a mathematician but I have an equation: Too Much Attention = Spoiled Kid.
So I went to the gym and did this mixed martial arts class and left Dexter in the gym daycare a.k.a germ warfare. There were about 4 babies and 6 toddlers snotting around and licking everything. It was awesome. This is how you build an air tight immune system, Dexter is going to be like the bionic baby.So in this class you do a lot of kicking and punching. I was really into it and punching the shit out of an imaginary opponent. Jab , jab, jab, kick kick kick!
"HEY LADIES! CAN YOU FEEL THE BURN IN YOUR BUTT!?!?!"
My inside voice: " I can feel the jiggle in it."
"DO YOU WANT THIS?"
My inside voice: "I want plastic surgery instead"
"C'MON! I WANNA SEE YOU SWEAT!"
My inside voice: "I wanna see you die"
So there I am jumping and sweating and having a great time when I go and throw a solid right upper cut....right into my chin. I punched myself in the chin...hard. The craziest part about this whole fiasco? It's not the first time I've done it! I took a similar class a few years ago and punched myself so hard in the chin I thought I had bit my tongue off. The instructor even stopped the class. Anyhow, this self-inflicted punch wasn't so bad as the first time I did it. Hopefully next time I take this class I won't spaz out and nail myself again. I'm happy to take a class that teaches me how to kick some ass because I almost had to throw down at the Winners the other day. That's for the next blog.
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