I’ve given birth for the third time!
It doesn’t have ten fingers and ten toes, or a perfect button nose. It’s not a boy or a girl…it’s a BOOK! And to get it out into the world was nothing short of a miracle.
I’m thrilled to announce the birth of my first book,
One Funny Mummy Defines Parenthood (in 140 Characters or Less)
I’m not claiming to be a parenting expert, but I’m sort of an expert when it comes to delivering babies and punchlines. I much prefer to deliver the latter even though it’s not easier, and sometimes it’s just as painful, but it’s rewarding in very similar ways.
While I normally feel bad for babies born in the month of December, I’m super happy that my baby is just in time for Christmas. Just in time to be stuffed into every stocking you come across. Because who doesn’t want to wake up on Christmas morning and laugh about parenthood?
The book is a best-of collection of my funny-because-they’re-true tweets that perfectly sum up parenthood. Get yourself a giant cup of coffee, (or a giant mimosa) settle into the couch that’s covered in shredded wrapping paper and plastic packaging, and read the whole thing while the kids play with their new toys.
It’s the perfect gift for anyone who likes to laugh or needs to laugh, but doesn’t have a lot of time to read anything longer than a sentence (ahem, that’s everybody these days)! You’ll feel great knowing you did your part to spread a little holiday cheer this season, not to mention, you’ll be my favorite person ever.
Plus, if you don’t buy my book it’s like saying my baby is ugly…and you don’t want to be that person.
Have kids and babies always been so fashionable? Or is it a new trend that I’ve only started to notice since joining the mummy club? When I look at baby pictures of myself — I wasn’t dolled up in leopard print or pink, frilly tutus with the words “Princess” and “Glamour Girl” printed on them in big, glittery letters. My mom dressed me in floral rompers and white Little House on the Prairie bonnets. (See below.) Now does this call into play my own mother’s sense of style? Or was that all she had to pick from? (My mom claims to have good fashion sense, but I’ve seen pictures that have made me question her taste level…but maybe the 80’s were to blame for those fashion misses.)
Today’s baby clothes are anything but boring. There’s cargo pants for little boys. What for? To hold their Swiss army knife? There’s even high-heeled shoes for little girls who can’t walk yet! Whaaa? Then there’s the countless onesies with silly slogans turning your kid into a walking, er, sitting billboard. It seems like we’re rushing them into being grown ups. (I don’t want to delve into that whole ugly mess about what’s age appropriate, but it has opened up my eyes as a new mom.)
Babies couldn’t care less if they’re wearing the newest designer threads. All they care about is if it’s clean and dry. It makes me laugh how obsessed we are to have mini-me’s running around. Guitars & skulls for boys and animal print & rhinestones for girls. I’m going to sound like the biggest hypocrite because I can’t help myself when it comes to leopard print…but everything in moderation.
For wanting to keep her a baby as long as possible, I didn’t start off that way. In the beginning, I admit that I didn’t even want her room to look like a nursery. My vision was of a bright and modern kid’s room with an eclectic mix of colors and accents. Her room is just what I wanted. But whenever I see the quintessential nursery with soft pastel colors and perfectly swathed cradle, it makes me want to redecorate. So, will I look back at her photos years from now and wish I hadn’t dressed her in zebra leggings with a hot pink shirt instead of opting for a more classic look of a white dress with tiny rosebuds on it? Who knows! But what I do know is that she looks too adorable for words in whatever she’s wearing, so I’m sure I won’t have any regrets.
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.
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!
“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.
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!
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.
Our baby is barely 6 months old and it’s already established that Daddy is “The Jester” and Mummy is “The Guillotine of Fun.” Daddy swoops in and is all about laughs and getting smiles while Mummy is all about cutting fun in half and making sure baby’s needs are met. It’s just not fair. I knew before the baby even joined us that Daddy would be the favorite. I was a Daddy’s girl too, so on one hand it makes me happy that she’ll have a close bond with her father (and extra pleased that she won’t end up a stripper with daddy issues) but on the other hand I don’t want to be the bad cop all the time, unless doughnuts are involved.
Case in point: there we were, a happy family of 3 sitting down to dinner. Baby was next to me in her highchair: bib on and ready to chow down. I had my plate and her bowl of mush. One bite for her, half of one for me. It wasn’t quite working for her. I was too slow. So Daddy shoveled his food in and took over. Next thing I knew he was making airplanes noises and her face was covered in said mush. She was smiling and loving every minute of it. “Boring ol’ Mummy just sits there and spoons it in, but this guy is grrreat.” I could hear her thinking. But he had barely given her any food and it was almost bath time. After a couple more minutes, I took the bowl back and got the job done before his antics threw off our entire schedule.
I guess if I have to let Daddy win one then it should be this. I’m lucky enough to get to stay home with our daughter all day making her squeal with delight whenever I please. He gets a couple hours a day tops, so letting him be “The Jester” is fine by me. He still makes me chuckle–not an easy thing to do– so I know he’s qualified for the job.