Category Archives: Daughters

Inside Voices

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There’s no telling a baby to use her inside voice, and this is precisely the reason why we haven’t visited the library yet. It seems that my daughter has officially found her voice, and it is anything but quiet. She went from sweet babblings to full-blown conversational dialogue. Sure, she sounds like a mini-German fascist spouting off propaganda and her chin is covered in more drool than a bulldog’s jowls by the time she’s done, but she’s happy as a clam to be “talking.”

She’s literally one of those people who talks just to hear her own voice. I’m waiting on pins and needles to hear her say “Ma-ma” and “Da-da” and actually understand what those words mean. But veteran parents tell me that once they start talking, they don’t shut up and you’ll never have peace and quiet again. The first time I heard this, I looked at my sweet bundle and thought, I’ll never want you to shut up. Have I wanted to silence other people’s children? Does a bear shit in the woods…of course!! Other people’s kids are annoying but my own perfect angel baby?The center of my world and fruit of my loins? Never! The unsolicited advice was like someone telling you not to get married as you’re standing in your dress mere seconds from walking down the aisle. It’s mean and unneccesary…not to mention waaayy too late. Yes, you can think it, but keep it to yourself!

I’m sure there will be times when mummy needs a break from the noisy chaos that is the very definition of children, but for now I’m enjoying every new “word” and sound that comes barreling out of her mouth. It’s only in the middle of the night when she wakes up to practice her new skill that I’m thankful for the pacifier and the silence that follows.

My Second Baby

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I gave birth to an iPhone and didn’t even know it! This is a true statement in the fact that I treat my phone like it’s my second baby: coddling it, cradling it, all but wrapping it in a soft, fluffy blanket and rocking it to sleep while singing You Are My Sunshine. It’s shameful how much I’m on my phone and I’m even more embarrassed to admit this. I want the world to think that I’m a good mom who couldn’t be bothered with Words with Friends, Facebook, or What to Expect. Yet, I’m practically addicted to these apps.

The hubby and I upgraded to smart phones a few weeks after we had our daughter. I was attracted to a phone that could take clear pictures and video since I was all about documenting every second with our little girl. I could care less about the apps…until I realized how easy it was to keep current on everything without bothering with my laptop. Soon, we were just like all our other friends with smart phones —  constantly padding the screens with our fingertips and looking up random things that we just had to know the answers to right away — important things — like who that one guy from that one movie was. Critical stuff!

A week ago, I let my daughter play with my phone because there’s a baby piano app that she enjoys. (I’m so conflicted about letting her play with it anyway. It goes against everything I thought I stood for…but it makes her happy. Which scares me just the same because it leaves me wondering if I’m going to be one of those parents who lets their kid do whatever he wants just as long as he’s happy and quiet. “Now Timmy, be careful playing with that grenade…”) Anyway, there she was composing her next sonata when I didn’t even notice she went from playing to chewing and drooling all over it instead. Long story short, she drooled into the speakers, shorting them. I was distraught, worried that she ruined my phone for good. But three hours later, it dried and was fine. I felt so foolish for getting upset about my stupid phone. It is, after all, only a phone and not my second baby, or even a baby at all!

Where Is the Snooze Button on This Baby?

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Humor, Parenting by

“5 more minutes, mom.” I’m not pleading with my mom though, I’m pleading with my baby! Wouldn’t it be so nice if she did have a snooze button. She doesn’t —  I’ve looked all over. To be able to push on her head like Small Wonder and sleep for at least ten more minutes would be glorious. But you know I’d start to abuse it, snoozing for at least an hour. Why do we do that to ourselves? I remember going through a phase when I was younger that I would purposely set my alarm clock for a half hour earlier and hit the snooze until I really had to get up. Is that why it’s so hard to tear myself from the covers now? Or is it because it’s not on my terms?

A baby dictates the schedule from day one. If she’s crying, you’re up trying to soothe her. When she’s awake for the day (even if she’s just babbling to herself in her crib) that means you’re awake too. When she’s taken a massive dump in her pants and you can smell it down the hallway, you don’t get to change her diaper when it’s convenient for you. You change that dirty diaper even if your eyes are still full of sleep. When she’s screaming because she’s starving even though she just ate two hours earlier, then it’s boobie time. Forget that you were in the middle of a dream where you were kissing James Franco. My favorite is when she’s up earlier than normal — happy and smiling at the crack-o-dawn. I bring her in my bed to show her it’s still sleepy time, but she’s bright-eyed and ready to play. She slaps me on the face and tries out her newest, loudest vocalizations. Only when I fully give up on trying to sleep and surrender to the day, does she decide that she’s tired again and needs her morning nap. She’s got a cruel sense of humor. (But at least she has one.)

Babies don’t have snooze buttons, but what a wonderful world if they did.

The Top 5 Things I Realize Now

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The Top 5 Things I Realize Now That I’m a Mummy

1) Boobs are Overrated. It’s not like they can cook you dinner or wish you a happy birthday, so why all the fuss? Why did I wish I’d wake up with the chest of a Victoria’s Secret model when I was a teenager? We’ll blame TV and the media. Now I realize that fun bags are just that–fun to look at for 5 minutes then they’re just…there. And now that I’ve experienced both worlds, I’d rather go back to how they used to be! (Maybe that’s #6–appreciate what your Mama gave ya!)

2) It’s Not About the Stuff. For months before I had my baby, I’d obsess about all of the things we needed to have before she arrived. The crib, the obnoxiously expensive rocking chair and baby bouncer, the clothes, blankets, beanies, and nursery decor. Who knew babies needed so much crap! But they don’t…it was me thinking I needed the crap. The baby gets here and poops and vomits on everything and you wondered why you cared so much about all the stuff.

3) Date Nights Are Crucial. Romance isn’t something that comes easily after eight years of marriage, and it was the last thing on my mind after giving birth. But now I realize that making time for just the two of us is more important than ever. Plus, it’s nice to clean the poop from under your fingernails, change into something that doesn’t smell like sour milk, and go out (even if you’re just pretending not to think about your baby every 10 seconds.)

4) Judge Lest Ye Be Judged. I used to get annoyed with screaming kids in public. Who wouldn’t, am I right? I used to hide in nearby aisles, grumbling and vowing that I would never be that mom. But I realize now that the mom of the temper-tantrum, shrieking child is going to be me one day. Luckily, my baby hasn’t made me sweat too badly yet, but I know it’s a matter of time. And I hope when that time comes, people will not be so quick to judge but will offer a knowing smile instead of a scowl.

5) Chores CAN wait: I like a clean house. I like organization and order. But I LOVE my daughter. Sometimes I panic that time is going by too quickly and why am I wasting all this time with dishes and dusting? Do I want to look back and remember having a clean house or remember the day we rolled around on the floor laughing and playing with her toys? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be on Hoarders anytime ever, but I realize now that the dishes will still be there tomorrow while my daughter will be a day older.

Show Me Your Teeth…

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

is not just the name of a freaky & fun Lady Gaga song — it’s what I’ve been singing to my baby because she’s been teething for what feels like forever and still no sign of her first pearly white. I know it’s causing her pain and wrecking havoc on our “normal” routine so I keep telling myself that once it finally comes through, my sweet happy girl will return to us. Lately she’s been like Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde…happy and blowing raspberries one minute then screaming bloody murder the next. Teeth are the devil, I tell ya!

Why couldn’t mother nature have all the teeth pop through at once? Because it would be so freaking painful our heads would explode? Probably. I wish it were as easy as one night she goes to sleep with her toothless grin and the next morning she wakes up looking like those creepy toddlers in beauty pageants who were those fake “flippers” to present a flawless smile. Well, I don’t really want her to look like one of them, but if she woke up and had all her teeth at once, it would be a lot easier on all of us. Getting this first tooth to pop through is just the tip of the iceberg. How many teeth are in the human mouth? 26? 32? What a looooong road ahead of  more drool than Niagara Falls and more screaming than a banshee. My poor little bebe.

At the same time, I’m dreading the first tooth to appear because that means we’re really leaving the baby days behind us and I’d like to keep her little as long as I can. So maybe I should stop singing Lady Gaga and enjoy the toothless grins while I still have them!

The Olden Days

Posted in Babies, Comedy, Daughters, Family, Humor, Parenting by

It dawned on me that my daughter will never know a world without cell phones, texting, sexting (god forbid), The Internet, and Facebook unless we move to the mountains of Appalachia and live amongst the Hill People. That’s never going to happen because her father and I love having indoor plumbing and 7-11’s on every corner.

When I was growing up we had one old IBM computer, a phone that plugged into the wall–a cordless one at tha t– and a Zenith TV you had to hit hard on the right side when the color went out. A far cry from today’s smart phones, laptops, and widescreen TVs.

I was nineteen or twenty when I got my first cell phone — a dinosaur by today’s standards. These days my daughter will have enough money saved up from the Tooth Fairy to buy her first phone by the time she’s seven. (This Tooth Fairy forks out a lot of dough, I hear.) Note to self: tell my daughter the Tooth Fairy retired.

I tried to imagine what my teenage years would have been like if we had cell phones, texting, and unlimited Internet. Cue the music from Aladdin because it woulda been A Whole New World! If I do break down and allow her to have a phone when she’s a teen I’ll have to take the good with the bad…just like The Facts of Life. Good: I’d be able to get a hold of her whenever. Bad: cyber-bullying and potential video-chatting with boys.

I guess I have to get over the fact that my daughter will grow up in a drastically different world than I did. Hopefully she’ll be an old soul and prefer how things were in the olden days — the days of Saved by the Bell Saturday mornings and when books were things on a shelf not in a Kindle. If not, guess we’re packing up and moving to Kentucky.

My Little Foodie

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“This smells like it already came out her other end,” I thought as I spooned pea green sludge into my daughter’s mouth. I expected her to turn into The Exorcist spewing pureed peas all over the place. But she actually liked it and opened up for another bite.

I don’t think I’ve EVER eaten peas in my life — except for ones hidden in a lasagna or casserole. I’m not a fan of vegetables unless they’re raw, and then they have to be smothered in a mayonnaise-based dressing for me to even consider them. The smell of steamed vegetables takes me back to being six-years-old and a victim of my brother’s stinky farts (my mom made a lot of broccoli back then.) This is just one reason why certain veggies trigger my gag reflex.

As I sat feeding my daughter her first taste of peas, it got me wondering how could I expect her to eat vegetables when I don’t even like them? I must admit that I don’t have a refined palette and I’d rather eat Skittles than brussel sprouts, but my tastes have matured over the past ten years. I used to survive on a diet of Frosted Flakes and candy but now I’ll eat asparagus and bell peppers…big steps for someone like me. I want to set up good eating habits early for my daughter — heck she’s already got me beat by a long shot. In my mind she’s going to become an accomplished chef making dishes with sunchoke tomatoes and whatever else fancy ingredients they use on Top Chef.

I think I’ll invest in one of those cookbooks where the vegetables are hidden in the dishes…pretty sad when it’s for my sake and not hers!

*Funnymummy apologizes for the gross-out picture…but a visual was neccesary.*

Not Your Mom’s Mom Jeans

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Pajama Jeans could very well be the best invention…ever. I wouldn’t know first-hand, but I’m guessing they’re fantastic! Stretchy pants that look like jeans? What in this world could be better? I dare you to find something that can stand up to comfort and style all rolled into one. You can bike in them, take your kids for a walk, go to the grocery store (all examples used in the infomercial) while still looking fabulously chic…or like you’re wearing faux jeans–which you are. One of their slogans is “They’re so comfortable, you’ll want to sleep in them!” Awesome, so I can roll right out of bed in the morning and be ready for the day? Tell me more!

Pajama Jeans are a new mummy’s dream-come-true. Who wants to put real jeans on after squeezing a watermelon from your nether regions? Not me! For one, I couldn’t fit into my actual jeans for a couple of months post-baby so I lived in my yoga pants and maternity jeans. While maternity jeans have come a long way, I’m betting they lack the comfort, not to mention the sophistication, of these pajama-like threads.  “Jeggings,” or leggings intended to look like jeans, are a close relative to the Pajama Jean, but they are just not an option for someone with natural, child-bearing hips (or over the age of twenty-two). So it seems Pajama Jeans is the way to go.

I’ve been tempted to order these clever duds because it would allow me to remain comfortable in my day-to-day wear while tricking my hubby that I’m not giving in to “The Decline”. But I just can’t make sense out of spending money on these imposters. I’d rather stick to my run-of-the-mill black yoga pants when I’m having a lazy day because then I wouldn’t be found out. I could just imagine someone noticing that I was, in fact, wearing Pajama Jeans. Would I be ashamed? Would they be jealous? It’s hard to say. It’s not like I wouldn’t give them a try if someone happened to buy me a pair. Just like I wouldn’t turn down a Snuggie or a Shake Weight either, but you wouldn’t hear me announcing that I owned these products.

What if these Pajama Jeans are the new “MOM” jeans? What if ten years from now they’re the equivalent of the belly button skimming, tapered, stone-washed jeans your mom would’ve worn in 1983? That’s a risk this Mummy is not willing to take…in public at least.

Me Time

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A moment to myself…what is that? Is there time to escape to a tropical island? Nope. Is there time to eat a sandwich? Just barely. Thus is the life of a mom with a serial cat napper. It’s rare that my daughter will nap longer than 45 minutes. This makes it virtually impossible to get anything done around the house. Everything is always half-finished. This drives me insane! I don’t claim to be a June Cleaver or Martha Stewart (that’s my mother) but I like to keep a clean, organized space.

Since becoming a mummy I’ve had to say sayonara to the days of a neat and tidy home. I get twenty minutes to straighten up what was left undone from the previous nap and about a whole 90 seconds for “me time.” It seems she has a sensor that goes off when my butt hits the couch and I prop up my feet. As soon as I’m good and relaxed–pop–eyeballs! I can’t imagine how anyone with more than one child gets anything done. That’s got to be the reason why school was invented. Get these kids out of the house so Mummy can think straight, and while you’re at it, teach ’em something.

On the odd occasion she naps longer than 45 minutes, I don’t know what to do with myself. Plenty of time to do all my daily chores and thirty minutes to enjoy whatever show is on Bravo (even though I’ve probably already watched it twice already.) Oh happy day!

Is it bad to admit that sometimes I look forward to naptime? Well…I just did. I wish, as moms, we wouldn’t put these crazy impossible standards on ourselves. We shouldn’t feel guilty for indulging in a little Mummy time. That is what keeps us sane, right? That’s what the handbook said, anyway.

Fur Babies

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I would be so embarrassed if the world could hear how I yell at my dogs sometimes. Between the death threats I spew at them and terrible names I call them when they’re acting out, it would seem I went from exceptional pet owner to Michael Vick…well, I wouldn’t go that far. My death threats to them are all empty threats. These animals were once my babies. I confess that I was one of those crazy pet owners who treated her animals like her kids. I didn’t go as far as pushing them around in doggie strollers that is all the rage right now, but I did dress them up in silly outfits and put them on our annual Christmas card.

People kept trying to tell me that it would change once I had actual children, but I never believed them. I used to listen, nodding in agreement while inside I vowed to remain loyal to my four-legged babies. They were our kids for seven years before our little munchkin arrived so I was sure they wouldn’t be neglected, although this was something that worried me while I was pregnant. Fast forward to the day we brought the baby home from the hospital…the animals were excited yet confused on why there was this funny little bundle permanently attached to us. The guilt was strong, yet I didn’t have time to dwell on it what with taking care of a newborn. Their sad little faces were pathetic as they tried to figure out their new pecking order…they still haven’t figured it out. There were many days when I’d have the baby and both dogs on my lap.

I still feel guilty that the dogs don’t get walked everyday and they don’t get as much cuddle time anymore. I still think of them as my kids, we call them brother and sister to our daughter after all. But I definitely understand what everyone was trying to tell me. There’s really no comparison. I love my fur babies very much but I love my daughter beyond words.