Liza, Henry is a douchebag.

Ever since my husband and I overheard our niece belting out Fergie’s “My Humps” in the middle of the grocery store, we have made a concerted effort to expose her to some more three year old appropriate music.  As much as it pains me to hear “Six Little Ducks” over and over, it’s far better than her learning the words to all, or hell…ANY, of the songs on Top 40 radio.  Just like I’m sure our niece doesn’t realize “Ring Around the Rosie” is actually about the Black Plague, we never realized how inappropriate 90% of the music we listen to is for a three year old (and this is in no way an admission that I belt out Fergie…I put the blame for that squarely on her mother’s shoulders). We bought a set of three kid’s CDs, which, at first glance, seem like they could keep her entertained for hours.  They each have 18 songs on them.  Yeah… but it turns out most kids songs are like 30 seconds.  MOST, but not all.  Not the world’s most OBNOXIOUS kids song ever.  Ladies and gents, I present to you “There’s a Hole in the Bucket”, a song that I’m sure we never realized was so absolutely ridiculous when we were three.  However, as an adult, I’m appalled at the message it is sending to young girls!

(Boys)
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

(Girls)
So fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So fix it dear Henry, dear Henry, fix it.

With what should I fix it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I fix it, dear Liza, with what?

With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
With straw, dear Henry, dear Henry, with straw.

But the straw is too long, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The straw is too long, dear Liza, too long.

So cut it dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So cut it dear Henry, dear Henry, cut it!

With what should I cut it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I cut it, dear Liza, with what?

Use the hatchet, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the hatchet, dear Henry, the hatchet.

But the hatchet’s too dull, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The hatchet’s too dull, dear Liza, too dull.

So, sharpen it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So sharpen it dear Henry, dear Henry, sharpen it!

With what should I sharpen it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I sharpen, dear Liza, with what?

Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the stone, dear Henry, dear Henry, the stone.

But the stone is too dry, dear Liza, dear Liza,
The stone is too dry, dear Liza, too dry.

So wet it, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
So wet it dear Henry, dear Henry, wet it.

With what should I wet it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I wet it, dear Liza, with what?

With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
With water, dear Henry, dear Henry, water.

With what should I carry it, dear Liza, dear Liza,
With what should I carry it dear Liza, with what?

Use the bucket dear Henry, dear Henry, dear Henry,
Use the bucket, dear Henry, dear Henry, the bucket!

There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, dear Liza,
There’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza, a hole.

Okay, Liza…my dear.  We need to have a little talk.  Henry is a worthless piece of shit who can’t do anything for himself.  You are enabling his stupidity and laziness by putting up with his endless whining and complaining.  Ditch him now, while you are still young, before he knocks you up and then makes you get two jobs to support the babies and his World of Warcraft addiction.  If the boy can’t fix a bucket without you, that doesn’t bode well for his ability to provide you with a loving, stable and healthy relationship.  Break the cycle!

26 weeks 1 day

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Going…going…gone

There comes a time in every pregnant lady’s miraculous journey through growing a fetus that the region below the belly button becomes an invisible waste land, not to be seen again without the help of a mirror for months.  I am sad to report that as of this morning’s shower, I have reached that point.

It happened so suddenly.  The last time I groomed down there, a couple days ago, I was still able to see enough to navigate if I craned my head in the right direction and put my leg on just the right spot of the bathtub’s edge.  As of this morning, no matter how hard I tried, I could no longer see past the swollen bump.  I went ahead with the blind technique and managed not to cut off anything important, but I’m afraid even this will have to stop soon.  I’m sure the bigger the bump gets the harder it will be to stretch my arms around it.  I will soon have to go au naturale.  I know there are other options out there, like a professional wax, but I have never had a stranger pour hot wax on my lady parts and tear out the hair with little strips of cloth while I scream from the horror – and I don’t intend to start now….when I can’t even do shots of tequila to dull the pain.

25 weeks 4 days

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You can call me Stretch

He’s GROWING! Wanna know how I know? No. No stretchmarks – yet. (Please God, spare me my tummy! My boobs are already shot. Give me a chance to have that banging hot, flat stomach I’ve always fantasized about! I promise I will cherish a no stretchmark midsection and give it the attention I never did in my pre-fetus sharing days. Mommies can have sexy stomachs, right? I mean, hell…Kelly Rippa shrinks 50 % after each child. If she has any more, she’s going to float off to Canada the first time she lets one rip.) Anyway…. for the last week my stomach has had a mild sunburn, except that my stomach hasn’t seen the sun in…. I don’t even know how long. It’s a light shade of pink, itchy, turns white where I touch it. It’s stretching out!

And my belly button, which I swore would never pop out (severe innie), is getting dangerously close to looking like a turkey thermometer when the bird is done. It’s not quite there yet, but the ring around my belly button is very clearly skin that was once inside of it. It’s softer and a yellowish-brown. I have ring around the button! I’ve also noticed it’s becoming increasingly difficult to bend over without feeling like something is jabbing me in the gut.

Speaking of jabbing…with increased growth comes increased ass kicking from the inside! Actually, crotch kicking would describe it more accurately. He has really picked up the movements, but for the longest time the only place I could really feel those strong kicks/punches/headbuts (I have no idea what body part is inflicting the crotch kicks) was way down on what I could only envision is the top of my bladder. And I could only feel them on the inside, never from the outside. Although thinking about how one would go about feeling a crotch kick from the outside makes me think that I never really had the opportunity to walk around shoving my hand down my underwear whenever I felt him karate chop my bladder while out and about.

It was really bothering me that at nearly 25 weeks my husband hadn’t been able to feel him kick yet. I felt behind the curve. Like my baby was maybe not strong enough or not active enough. This, my friends, is a direct result of reading too many websites and message boards and hearing too many women say, “MY husband felt the baby kick and then do the tango inside of me at 20 weeks!” Ugh…must stop milestone comparisons. Now.

So this weekend, as I was Googling what could possibly be wrong with my son and all the reasons why my husband STILL had not felt him kick, I suddenly felt a very strong kick from the outside – just ABOVE my crotch. My husband, exhausted from a day of watching our niece, had passed out early. I ran to the bedroom, swung open the door, flipped on the lights and jumped in bed with him in a matter of seconds. I then shook him until one eye cracked open, grabbed his hand and shoved it down my pants. “He’s kicking! Hard! Can you feel him?!” His response…”Huh? What? What time is it? Oh….he’s kicking? Yeah…yeah…I can feel him.” Me- “YOU CAN?! YAAAAY! Is it cool? Are you excited?….Hey…HEY… are you awake? Did you really just feel him or did you just say that?” Him- “Uh…oh…yeah, yeah. I felt him.”

So I left him alone and the next morning he says to me, “Did you really come in here last night trying to get me to feel the baby kick, or did I just dream that?” He then tells me he can’t remember if he actually felt him kick. Damnit! I’m sure he did. He said he felt him twice at the exact same time I felt him. Ah well… I’m still excited. He’ll feel him and remember it eventually. Just another excuse to shove his hand down my pants unexpectedly ; )

25 weeks

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Anyone have some spare patience?

Okay.  It’s been a week.  Only a week, people!  I am at my wits end.  I love her to pieces, I swear to God I do.  I just can’t hear her say “Aunt Jill” one more time!  This is how the dialog usually progresses -
Her – “Aunt Jill!”
Me – “Yes, honey?”
(enter random question)
5 minutes later
Her – “Aunt Jillllll!”
Me- “YES, honey?”
(enter request for 3rd cup of chocolate milk)
10 minutes later
Her – “Aunt JILLLLL!”
Me – “WHAT….sweetie?”
(enter request to join her in a game of dress my naked Barbies)
15 minutes later
Her- “Aunt Jiiiiiiillllllll!”
Me – “WHAT???!!!!”
(enter request to wipe her butt)

When she is just around my husband she is completely self sufficient, but when I’m around she wants me by her side constantly and to do everything with her.  I know…I know…I’m terrible for feeling this way.  She’s been through a lot.  She feels comfortable with me.  It all makes perfect sense when you are thinking rationally.  But…I just want to be left alone for 5 minutes!

My husband and I are pretty much taking turns at this point watching her since we are on opposite work schedules.  I swear, she waits until my watch to poop so that I can wipe her butt.  It’s not fair!  I’m trying to teach her how to be a big girl and wipe her own ass.  I even bought her special wipes.  All I can say is thank GOD this is not the first trimester.  I’d be cleaning her poopy butt and the vomit down her back at the same time.   And yes, I know I have plenty of butt wipes ahead of me.  That doesn’t mean I have to be comfortable with it now. OH!  And she has peed in her jammies TWICE on my watch.  She gets to the stool that is in front of the toilet, stands on it, but somehow can’t quite hold the pee for the two additional seconds it would take to drop her drawers and put her butt on the seat.  All I hear from the bathroom is, “Aunt Jiiiiillllll!……. I pottied in my jammies!” and she’s smiling when I come in, like that shit is funny!  It’s not funny.  I have told her this repeatedly.  She still laughs.

This whole thing is really starting to freak me out.  Am I going to be a terrible mother?  I mean, we should still be in the honeymoon phase with her.  I’m losing it after only one week!  I have no patience.  I need some…fast.  Is it something that comes after birth, like the ability to live off of 2 hours of sleep a night?  Is it a side effect of the pain you experience when your vagina rips in half?  Or is it more like an acquired talent….like…. parallel parking?

I work part time at a small children’s store, a “specialty” store they like to call it.  It’s a cake gig.  I get a sweet discount, but I’ve never absolutely LOVED it…until now.  I have never looked forward to going to work so much in my life.  This has really opened my eyes to the fact that I don’t think I can be a stay at home mom like I was originally planning.  Maybe it will be different when it’s my own kid, or when I’ve had time to grow into the whole toddler phase…or maybe not.  It’s definitely something to think about.

And at this store I constantly see parents come in, demonstrating the most extreme patience I have ever witnessed with their children.  To the point that I want to shake them (the parents…not the kids…never shake a baby) and tell them, “YOU ARE THE PARENT!  YOU ARE THE BOSS!”  For example, this middle aged couple came in with a maybe 4 year old boy the other day.  I asked if I could help them with anything and they said they were just there to pick out a  placemat for little Johnny.  They then proceeded to follow little Johnny around the store for 45 frickin minutes “trying to make him decide”.

Parents – “Johnny, which placemat do  you want?  You just have to point at one”
(Johnny ignores parents because tearing down the toys on the endcap is far more entertaining than picking out a stupid ass placemat)
Parents – “Okay, you can play for a few more minutes and then pick one out…okay?”
(Johnny has moved on to the ball bin, God help me)
Parents – “Johnny, do you like the blue one or the red one?  Just point, sweetie…that’s all you have to do.  We want to get you a place mat you really like.”
(Does Johnny give a shit about the placemat?  I think not)

I am so serious when I say this went on for 45 minutes.  I timed them. FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!! IT’S A PLACEMAT!  I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I would have chosen the placemat for little Johnny after 5 minutes and been about my merry way.  If he doesn’t like the damn placemat…tough shit.  He can eat on top of a garbage bag for all I care.  I just don’t understand parents like that.  Who the hell has that kind of time?  And what a disservice you are doing to your child!  I really, really don’t think it’s in my nature to ever be that… uh… I guess you would call it patient, or maybe more accurately…  ridiculously accommodating to anyone’s offspring, including my own.  Does that make me terrible?  I hope not.

However, I do hope I can strengthen my patience muscle a little more over the course of the next few weeks.  I may never follow my niece or my kids around McDonald’s for hours asking which Happy Meal toy they would like, but I get that I could be a little more understanding that kids ask questions, need help, like to play with you, etc.

23 weeks 4 days

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