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Baby Stuff
Category

  • Sex and Death On a Sunday Afternoon

    I am pretty sure I just became public enemy #1 in The Munch’s pre-school.  The things she may tell her little friends come Monday morning are guaranteed to get me crucified.  It all started on a Sunday afternoon. The day seemed peaceful until The Munch started asking me questions about life and death.

    Munch: Mamma, are you going to die?

    Toni: Yes I am….

    Munch: BUT NO!! I don’t want you to die!

    Toni: I have to die Munch.  It is a part of life.

    Munch: But I will be so sad!!! I DON’T WANT YOU TO GO AWAY EVER!

    Toni: Well, I probably won’t die until I am old.

    Munch: Are you old now?

    Toni: I am young at heart.

    Munch: When will you be old?

    Toni: When you are all grown up.

    Munch: Then you will be old and die?

    Toni: Yeah…

    Munch: NO! I want you to stay with me forever!

    Toni: Well, my heart will stay with you forever.

    About an hour later…

    Munch: Do all boys have a penis?

    Toni: Yes Munch, all boys have penises.

    Munch: Not every boy right? Just some boys?

    Toni: Nope. All boys have penises.

    Munch: But girls don’t have penises?

    Toni: No, girls have vaginas.

    Munch: But what are vaginas for?

    Toni:  Vaginas are for making babies.  That is where the baby comes out of when it is born.

    Munch: It does? I thought I came out of your back!

    Toni:  You thought you came out of my back?

    Munch: I sure did!  So does that mean little teeny tiny babies have to crawl into vaginas so they can grow in the mommy’s tummy and then come out the vagina and be born?

    Toni: Kinda.

    Munch: But I didn’t crawl into your vagina.  I don’t remember that at all.

    Toni:  Well you sort of did.

    Munch: Wait, so how did I get in your tummy?

    Toni:  Ummm… so daddies have little tadpoles that live inside their penis.  They are really small.  And when the tadpoles swim inside the mommy, a baby gets made.

    Munch: But how do the tadpoles get inside the mommy?

    Munch: Uhhhhh, the daddies put their penis in the mommy’s vagina, and the tadpoles swim out…

    Munch: That is so funny!!!!!!

    Toni: I know!

    Munch: So is that how my cousin Calvin was made? Did his daddy put his penis in his mommy’s vagina so the tadpoles could swim up inside his mommy’s tummy?

    Toni: That sure did happen!

    Munch: Did Elliot’s mommy and daddy to that too?

    Toni:  Yes.

    Munch: And Ryhs?

    Toni: Everyone who was ever born, that is what happened.

    Munch: But how do the tadpoles make the baby inside the mommy?

    Toni:  The tadpoles are actually called sperm.

    Munch: SPERM!?

    Toni:  Yes.

    Munch: I never heard that word before.  That word is so funny!!!

    Toni:  It is hilarious actually.

    Munch: So what does the sperm do?

    Toni:  Inside the mommy, she has a special baby egg which lives inside her baby sack.  So the sperm has to swim inside the baby sack, and then it meets the egg.  The egg and the sperm join together to form a little teeny tiny tiny tiny baby.

    Munch: A baby that is this big?

    Toni:  Exactly.  And that teeny tiny baby lives in the mommy’s baby sack until it is ready to be born.

    Munch: And then the baby is born and eats from the mommy’s nanas.

    Toni:  Yup! That is pretty much it.

    Munch: That is so silly mom.

    Toni:  It sure is.

    Yeah I could have lied to her about this stuff.  It is not like I have a huge moral problem with lying.  I lie to Munch all the time about toy stores being closed, or that the chocolate bar I don’t feel like sharing is made of dog poop.  There are all sorts of reasons that we lie to each other that feel legitimate in the moment.  Most often people lie because they don’t want to deal with the other person’s reaction to the truth.  It is not that we want to conceal things, as much as we don’t want to deal with how people respond.

    I think that is exactly why I decided to be honest. I felt like Munch wouldn’t be asking if she couldn’t handle it – so I wasn’t afraid of being upfront. Dealing with mortality is a huge part of existence, and the more you are aware of it, the more you honor the life we are given.  Of course one can feel paralyzed by the thought of death, but we all have those moments.  The important lesson is to appreciate life even though it may all seem futile because of our inevitable and ultimate demise.  Even though I know The Munch doesn’t want to conceptualize me dying, I also felt it was meaningful to face the reality of it.

    There is a certain irony that the penis conversation came up this same day -pun intended! Pontificating on the penis turned into an explanation of sex and baby making because of the questions Munch was asking.  Maybe I could have avoided it, but hey, if we are going to look into the barrel of death, we might as well stare into the tunnel of life.

    (Pretty sure that if Munch talks about all this at school to her little friends there is going to be a public lynching… Guess what Timmy, not only is your mom gonna die, but your dad put his penis in her vagina so his sperm could become one with her egg… )

    sex-and-death-on-a-sunday-blog-(i)

     

  • Maybe My Kid Should Start Smoking

    So this whole weaning thing has been wayyyyyyyyy dramatic today.  I knew this was going to be the case, which was why I have avoided it for so long.  I feel as if I am seriously detoxing The Munch.  Like she has been addicted to my tit juice and now she is in a state of total withdrawal.

    When kids breastfeed oxytocin is released, which is considered the bonding hormone, or the “love” chemicals of our brain.  So literally your baby gets high as fuck on love.  No wonder The Munch is so attached to the process! It is like nursing reboots her operating system and she is shot up with the love drug.

    So taking that away from her is somewhat traumatizing.  Not only for the ritual that she has become accustomed to, but also because The Munch’s body chemistry is used to that love boost.  So to take that away from her is this serious crash to her eco system.  Beyond the fact that it makes her feel comforted, The Munch is having to adjust to a life of total sobriety.

    Munch spent most of the morning asking for to do “nana” and I kept trying to distract her with cake, lollipops, and letting her watch Mickey Mouse Club House.  I was letting her indulge in every decadence I usually keep her away from, but by the time it was 2pm she had 60 grams of sugar surging through her veins and her eyes were bleeding from staring at the computer screen for 2 hours.

    It was exactly naptime, which is the key time she would usually breastfeed to fall asleep, and that is where everything fell apart.

    Today was the second full day without “nana” and I endured one of the hardest parenting moments of my life.  Unlike if a guy were crying in my face because he wanted to suck on my boobs, I actually cared about Munch was going through.  Obviously breastfeeding a toddler is not just about nutrition or their immune systems, but there is a huge emotional component as well.  She wept as if she were in a genuine state of mourning.  The expression on her face was so tormented I couldn’t help but cry too.  There was something so pure and primal about her distress.  The Munch was in a genuine state of suffering, and I felt like nothing could console her.  She was grieving that she had to leave behind this very important part of her existence.  I tried to rationalize with Munch, but I was useless through my tears as I watched this creature I love sob with such passion.  So I held her and let her weep thinking that if she were every going to move forward, it would only be through confronting her pain completely.

    Munch: “Please Mamma, please!!! I want to do nana! PLEASE!”

    Toni: “Munch, Mamma’s nanas don’t work anymore.  They only work for 3 years, and now that you are 3, they don’t work!”

    Munch: “But please Mamma! Just one side!! Please!!!!!!!!!”

    Toni: “Munch, I can’t.  The nana gnomes came on your birthday and took my nanas away, and now they don’t work anymore.  The nana gnomes brought them to the new babies being born so they can have nana.”

    Munch: “But Mamma please!! I really want to do nana!! Please Mamma PLEASE!”

    Toni: “But listen Munch, the nana gnomes have planed a really big surprise for you. To celebrate the end of nana.  Tomorrow there are going to be fireworks in the sky just for you!  The are like giant fairies that explode in the sky!! And it is all for you! Because they are so happy that you don’t do nana anymore!”

    Munch: “But Mamma I really really really want to do nana! Please! And I want you to wear a dress.”

    Toni: “You want me to wear a dress?”

    Munch: “A pink dress and tights. And I really want to do nana!!” PLEASE MAMMA PLEASE!!

    This went on for a while.  Finally, after I thought my heart was going to crumble, The Munch decided she would eat some cake instead.  So I let her have her 3rd piece of the day, and then strapped her to my back to take a walk so she could sleep.  As she slept my friend Gita and I saw a bald eagle.

    Gita: “Maybe it is a sign that you are doing the right thing with Munch.”

    Toni: “Maybe it is a sign that America is becoming extinct since tomorrow is the 4th!”

    The afternoon with Munch was peaceful.  I am hoping that our moment was her final lamentation of what was, and she has moved on.  That she had fully face her sorrow in order to truly let go.  Of course Munch will probably be in her 20s and still think that fireworks are for the celebration of her no longer doing nana, but I am thinking that is okay.

    I wish I could have gotten my hands on some Kiddy Klonopin for The Munch, or maybe I should have gotten her into smoking to make this transition easier.

    weaning-blog-(i)

  • The Mental Anguish and Internal Suffering That is a Birthday Party

    The Munch had a family birthday party this Sunday, and I think it kind of melted her mind.  She has known for months that her birthday is July 2nd and has been preparing for her party ever since the idea got planted into her brain.  But I think she was mostly excited about the cake.  There was a lot of talk about cake.  And an excessively passionate dedication to eating said cake.  Followed by an extreme need to make sure some cake was saved for tomorrow.

    Although I think The Munch enjoyed herself, the whole event also seemed emotionally exhausting.  Any time there is anticipation for something grand, there is a depression attached that is as stealthy as a firefly trying to rob you at night.

    Before her party The Munch was in a state of anxiety and stress as she waited for whatever was in store, and then after her party there was this malaise and melancholy for all that had been.

    It reminded me of all the New Years Eves, Valentines Days, Birthdays, Christmases of my past, and how so many of them were punctured by confused emotions and existential anguish.  How nothing is ever what you expected to be, and even if it is really lovely, the fantasy of what we conjure will always taint what is.  That it is impossible to truly find pleasure in anything you anticipate.

    Or maybe I have my period so my hormones are fuming to the point where I feel like peeling out of my own skin to torture all beings I come across with my bloody rage, and I am just projecting.

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    July 1, 2013 • 2 years old, Adventures, Baby Brain, Behavior, Musings • Views: 2507

  • Maybe Metaphors Are Lost On You?

    Reading and writing is good and stuff.  It important.  I care much reading nice.

    I spend a shit ton of my life writing and reading, so of course, theoretically I want The Munch to share these passions.  But reading children’s books is as boring as sitting on the toilet without your phone, and I desperately fear the day Munch starts writing about me… because boy am I in for it.

    But of course I have to prioritize The Munch’s education over my own selfish needs of wanting to avoid crappy kids books, and my desperate attempts to censor my child from exposing me like I have her.   Ahhhhh parenting.  The sacrifices we make!So I read The Munch books everyday, and then I read them again and again until she memorizes them and feels somewhat in control of her existence.

    Of course not all kid-books are torturous.  There are classics like Madeline, Pippi Longstockings, Peter Rabbit, and The Runaway Bunny.  Even though some of my favorites have demented values and a slightly skewed moral compass, I still appreciate the tangible effort and artistry that is put into the illustrations.

    But what drives me crazy about most modern kid-books is the computer-generated art that goes along with it.  If the book is beautiful, and someone took the time to hand draw each page as if it mattered, then I can truly honor it.  But when its some shitty story about some shitty talking peanut with shitty ass pictures I pretty much want to throw up in my hands.

    I crave some sort of stimulation when reading to The Munch, so when the stories and art blow cock I want to blow my brains out.

    So the other day I was searching through my shelves and saw a book called “I Haiku you” that was a gift from her babysitter.  I figured that would at least be somewhat intellectually titillating.  But even though I found the book to be quite poetic, I realized that toddlers don’t really understand metaphor.

    Toni: “your rainbow colors

    come out to play when it pours-

    chase the gray away”

    Munch: “But I can’t see it chase the gray away!”

    Toni: “Well, it’s not exactly chasing the gray away.  Its just that when the kids draw a rainbow it makes the rainy day seem less gray.”

    Munch: “Oh.”

    Toni: “Here, I will read another…

    what are the chances

    maybe one in a million?

    what luck I found you

    Munch: “But I can’t see one in a million!”

    Toni: “Munch you can’t take this so literally, one in a million is an expression and she is talking about the 4 leaf clover she found.”

    Munch: “But what are the chances? What are they?”

    Toni: “It’s also an expression.”

    Munch: “But I can’t see what are the chances?”

    Okay, fine. So maybe I get why kid-books usually try and keep shit simple.

    “Mamma I can’t see love letters in the tummy!!!!!”

    metaphor-blog-(i)

  • Maybe Being High is Really Fun?

    Call me old-fashion, but I don’t let my 2-year old do drugs.  Even though I am well aware that drugs can be amusing, I am pretty sure it is frowned upon to let your kids indulge in mind-altering substances.

    Because I am such a square, so far my child’s life has been a sober one.

    I try to minimize her exposure to temptations.  I force The Munch to subsist on kale and quinoa , so she doesn’t get a lot of treats or yummies with sugar.  The most wild I get is letting her indulge in a granola bar.  I know.  Shit be getting crazy up in here!

    But every one in a while The Munch gets offered sweets by other people, and when those opportunities come she is on it like brown on brown rice.  Her sexy baby sitter brought her a chocolate the other day and Munch was so excited her eyes almost ruptured out of her face.

    She ate the chocolate with such delight and savored it for almost half an hour.  Taking tiny little caterpillar sized bites so as not to rush the experience.  When she was done, The Munch was high as fuck.  She was talking fast, running around, getting grand ideas about the future, wanting to start a band with me….  It reminded me a lot of my party days of the past.

    I really do think sugar is a type of drug, and just like drugs when it becomes an addiction it’s problematic. But I am not villainizing drugs or sugar – just the way it is overused and abused by humans.  People often turn to substances as a way of avoidance, and an unhealthy dependency can form.  But watching Munch made me remember that like drugs, sugar in moderation is fun as fuck.

    The Munch was as happy as a fish in the rain.  It was like her life was suddenly in Technicolor and she was the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

    maybe-drugs-are-fun-blog-(i)

     

  • Can’t I Just Be A Big Baby?

    Although kids are cute and all, they can also be as irritating as an over used fuck hole.  Everyone is always telling me to “appreciate every moment, they grow up so fast!” Yeah yeah yeah… Even though I know this to be true, and the years may be short with your child – the days are long.

    But I don’t blame kids for being annoying.  Children are in a constant state of growth, and that is exhausting.  They are having to learn new things daily, and are expected to adapt that knowledge while more and more input is flooding their tiny, still developing brains. It’s hard enough for me to learn someone’s name.

    I think one of the hardest things about being a toddler is the transition from being an infant into a child.  The Munch has actual memories of being a baby.  She recalls me holding her all the time, and having everything done for her.  But now she is expected to “be a big girl” and do things on her own.

    On the one hand I am sure being capable of new things is empowering for The Munch. That she enjoys her new found freedom of being self-sufficient.  But at the same time, being a baby kicks ass.  If I could live my life as one big baby you better believe I would.

    I feel like The Munch is nostalgic for those times and it manifests with this one constant request that she makes every day of my life:

    Munch: “Carry me Mamma.”

    Toni: “Munch, you are too heavy.  You’re a big girl now.  You can walk.”

    Munch: “NO CARRY ME!!!!!!”

    Toni: “Dude, it is like 700 degrees out.  If I carry you my arms are going to melt off.”

    Munch: “But Mamma, please carry me! I LIKE TO BE CARRIED!”

    Well I do too kid… I do too.

    carry-me-blog-(i2)

     

  • My Daughter The Dictator

    My kid is one bossy bitc….uhhhhh person.  I think she was a dictator in her past life… and by past life I mean this one.

    The Munch has an opinion on just about everything.  She has to choose her outfit every day, and gods forbid I try to slip on Minnie Mouse underpants when she wants Daisy Duck.  The Munch even tries to command what I should wear and whether or not I can roll up my sleeves.

    Maybe you are thinking that she is just really into fashion but getting dressed is just the first activity of the day.  It goes on from there into every facet of our existence.

    Munch: “Mamma, are you going to eat some oatmeal like me?”

    Toni: “No Munch I am fine for now. I am going to have some water first.”

    Munch: “No Mamma, have some oatmeal.”

    Toni: “Munch I am okay. I am just thirsty right now.”

    Munch: “NO MAMMA HAVE SOME OATMEAL!! HAVE A BITE!!”

    Toni: “Okay okay…” (So I pretend to take a bite and kind of fake her out… or so I think)

    Munch: “Are you eating it?”

    Toni: “Yes!”

    Munch: “You are chewing it all up?”

    Toni: “Yes Munch.” (I am still pretending to be eating the oatmeal)

    Munch: “OPEN YOUR MOUTH! LET ME SEE!!!!”

    Sometimes I take The Munch for a bike ride where she sits in this carrier I drag behind me.  As I am sweating like a whore in church trying to get up the hill, towing my princess in her chariot, The Munch starts shouting orders and conducting how I ride.

    Munch: “Mamma, go faster up the hill.  Faster.  But don’t stand up! Sit back down!! Put your bum back on the seat okay? Sit down but go faster.  Now Mamma, go slower down the hill.”

    The other day my brother came over and was chilly.  I offered to get him a sweatshirt, but the Munch wouldn’t let me give him one.

    Munch: “NO MAMMA NO!! THAT IS YOUR SWEATSHIRT!!”

    Toni: “But your uncle Laszlo is cold and he wants to borrow it.  Do you want him to be cold?”

    Munch: “YES!!! I do want him to be cold!”

    There are times when we will be sitting and cuddling, and The Munch will start orchestrating exactly how I position my body and hold her.

    Munch: “No Mamma, don’t cross your leg.  Put your foot here.  Don’t let your head be floppy! Put it on the pillow. But not that pillow, that’s my pillow.  And hold me this way! Don’t hold my legs. Now tickle my back!”

    Although having someone try to choreograph your every move is exhausting, I also respect The Munch’s leadership skills.  Maybe she is prepping to be a politician, or CEO one of these days?  But a politician who isn’t corrupt and greedy (but can totally have sex scandals) or a CEO for an organic-free range-fair trade-sustainable-eco aware-non toxic company of course.

    (My lady in her chariot)

    my-daughter-dictator-blog-(i)

     

     

     

  • Maybe I Don’t Want To Play Doctor With You

    You know how kids play pretend right?  Well even though I don’t do that any more (except every time I get on Facebook and pretend my life is perfect), when I spend time with The Munch it often involves me entering into her world of imagination.  She gives me her dolls or stuffed animals and makes me talk for them, as I become a character in her very elaborate vision.

    Let me just get this out there before you go much further.  Full disclaimer.  The mind of a two year old is pretty demented place to enter into.

    The Munch is into role-playing situations that have happened to her.  So if she and I had a conversation about patience, and I tell her how she can’t cry and demand to have things “right now” all the time, she will then make her baby cry and be told she has to be patient.

    Okay, that seems pretty benign. Internalizing life lessons by recreating them under circumstances she has control over.  I was fine with this, and a willing participant.

    But yesterday things got kind of surreal.  The Munch was having me be her bunny, who she said was sick and needed its eyes fixed.  Alright.  She did at one point have pink eye, so I figured this material was inspired by that memory.  The Munch was telling Bunny its eyes had yellow stuff and needed to be cleaned. So far, pretty accurate.

    While looking for something to wipe the bunny’s eyes, The Munch found a thermometer.  I am not sure how she knew what one was, considering I hadn’t used one on her for over a year, but she did.

    Munch: “I am just going to take your temperature Bunny.  So turn around so I can put it in your bum.”

    Okay, so that was how I took her temperature, but again, this was a long time ago! I mean I guess children have wayyyy better memories than we think they do.

    Toni: “Okay Munch, but you have to be gentle when taking Bunny’s temperature.”

    She looked at me, and at first was gently placing the thermometer on Bunny’s bum.  But then she started maniacally laughing and sodomizing poor Bunny!

    Toni: “Munch that is not gentle!’

    But she didn’t care and kept laughing! And that is the story of when The Much anally raped a bunny.

    anal-rape-of-bunny-blog-(i)

  • Finding Femininity

    “Mamma, can I paint my nails?” was not a question I expected my two-year old would ask me.  Not that I have anything against nail polish, but since I never paint my nails I wondered where The Munch had been exposed to this practice.  But then I remembered how her sexy babysitter has red toes, and then realized of course The Munch wants her feet to look sassy like hers.

    The Munch is often around women.  She observes how they behave, and identifies herself as a female like them.  When I spend time with my friends and Munch, she sees herself as one of the girls.  You know, a couple of gals hanging out, just one happens to be slightly bossier than the rest and infinitely more dramatic considering The Munch is ready to cry without any shame under any circumstance.  Actually, come to think of it she fits right in.

    Munch is beginning to notice elements of femininity and wanting to apply them to her own being. But part of her fitting into this world of feminine culture means that she is enacting behavior that is way beyond her years.  For example since a few of my friends are pregnant, The Munch looks at that as an experience she should be having too.

    Munch: “Mamma, I have a baby in my tummy.”

    Toni: “You do?”

    Munch: “Yeah, it’s a teeny tiny baby.  Do you want to feel it?”

    Toni: “Sure.”

    Munch: “In my tummy, my baby has her paci, and her bottle, and her toys, and her teddy bear, and a lollipop in case she gets hungry.  Can you feel the toys in there?”

    Toni: “I sure can Munch.”

    Simone De Beauvoir talked about how we are born male or female, which determines our biology, but masculine and feminine traits are purely a socialized phenomenon.  She believed there was nothing inherently different about baby boys or baby girls, and that gender is enforced through conditioning.

    I love Simone De Beauvoir and even named my dog Mona after her, but now that I have a daughter I feel conflicted by her hypothesis.

    I don’t see myself as intentionally conditioning my daughter to have feminine traits.  I am not even sure I consider myself to be all that feminine.  It is not like I go around wearing pink talking about my period all day. I just sometimes where pink and talk about my period on the days it’s happening.  Is my womaness a genuine part of my personality, or just something I picked up as a child from other chicks who picked it up from other broads who picked it up from other skirts?

    Is this something that I should be stopping?  There is nothing overt I am doing to make Munch interested girly shit.  These are decisions she is making on her own volition.  I never pushed baby dolls in her face and demanded she play with them.  Those were the toys that she naturally gravitated towards. Maybe that is because she sees me mothering her, and in turn wants some to mother- because I am her example.

    How can I break this cycle of conditioning femininity when much of this influence is a consequence of my simply existing, and allowing her to observe other women?  Femininity isn’t something you find under a rock, but discover through being around other females you adore.  The young emulate adults the admire, and even if I am the biggest “tom boy” in the world, there will still be traits she picks up from other broads she respects.

    Kind of like The Munch being really excited that her “poe nails” are painted red just like her babysitter’s.

    finding-feminnity-blog-(i)

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