5-8 months

  • The Munch is Sick!!!!!

    I know babies get colds. My rational mind tells me this is not a big deal. The world is filled with germs, and at times, they will invade my baby’s body like a Tasmanian Devil in heat. This is totally normal, and there is nothing to worry about… do not freak out.

    BUT I AM TOTALLY FREAKING OUT!!! Her misery is infecting my heart like the Bubonic plague. I cannot help but feel so bad for her. Okay Toni, calm down, babies get colds…. babies get colds… babies get colds…

    So these are her symptoms. She has a cough AND a runny nose. Okay… when I see it written down, it doesn’t seem so bad… but they way it’s effecting her spirit is what tortures me. Every time she coughs it chokes her, which makes her eyes water, and then her snot gets runnier. And when her nose runs, she can’t breath out of it, so I try to wipe it, which makes her cry, and her nose run more! Oh the vicious cycle!

    I would give up Jersey Shore for the rest of my life if it meant The Munch could feel better right this instance! I don’t want to wait it out! I can’t be patient. I just want her to be her to munch around and be her Munchee self!

    So I get this great idea to get her in the shower to help work the 45 pounds of snot that has nested in her face. (Of course there are those things you can use that supposedly suck the snot out of their nose, but when I tried it, it felt like a piece of my brain came out, so I have a feeling she won’t like that). After the bathroom was nice and steamy, I jumped in the shower with her to let the water massage her back and hopefully give her some relief.

    At first, she is a little confused by the whole shower concept. She kept trying to look at where the water was coming from, of course getting water in her face. Surprisingly her self-inflicted moments of drowning were not making her mad, but she was totally perplexed by the water coming out of the wall. To help her settle, I positioned her so she couldn’t get her face under the water, but the stream was still on her back. Once she got comfortable, she seemed to feel a little better! She started making little noises, and breathing out of her nose! And then you know what she does the second she had a moment of relief??

    She buried her face in my chest and motor-boats my boobs! Ahhhhhhh The Munch.

    But we are not out of the woods yet! She just sneezed and lost 5 pounds out her nose, and her coughs make her gag! Any suggestions??

    February 11, 2011 • 1st time for everything, 5-8 months, baby body, Parenting • Views: 1856

  • Baby Pilates

    Designer baby clothes are for anorexic babies. Every once in a while, my mom will splurge and get The Munch clothes from Petite Bateaux. Even the name sounds pretentious I know, but the clothes are cute enough for her to be in Star Magazine in the “who wore it best section.” She did (in case you weren’t sure).

    Point is, the clothes that she gets have to be at least 6 months older then she really is in order for me to squeeze her chubalicous legs into them! What is that!? There are a pair of jeans she got that are too skinny for her thighs!

    The absurdity of this made me think of a baby doing exercises to fit into her designer jeans… and so I had to make a video about it…

    Enjoy Baby Pilates!

    February 10, 2011 • 5-8 months, baby body, Musings • Views: 1885

  • Baby as the Perfect Excuse

    I used to have a hard time saying “no.” The thought of knowingly disappointing someone was super difficult for me. Granted, this propensity got me into many a situation I wish I didn’t have to file in my memory banks… like the time I helped my friend put medicine on her grandmother’s infected boil, but it was easier for me to just go with it then let someone down.

    In the same vain, I was always overbooking myself. Having to be two places at the same time. Rushing from one commitment to the next. Beating myself up for being late. Feeling bad if I just wanted some time to myself to recuperate. It was like I was operating on hyper drive. Every minute of everyday was pretty much accounted for by personal or professional obligations.

    Now that I have a baby all that has changed.

    I am not saying I purposefully use my baby as an excuse, but she has without a doubt become the perfect excuse.

    For instance, the idea of being “on time” has become totally absurd. How can I say what time I will get anywhere when I don’t know when she will wake up from her nap, or if she has shit in her pants, or if she will want to eat, or if she will want to puke up what she ate and then shit her pants only to get hungry and want to eat again. I cannot predict that stuff. I can only say, “How about we plan for Thursday afternoon. Sometime between 2 and 5.”

    Or lets say I am somewhere and I want to leave. All I have to say is “the baby” and everyone is like “Yes, yes Toni. Of course. The baby.” Mind you “the baby” doesn’t not have to be prefaced by anything, I just have to say the “the baby” and it is reason enough. Same for not being able to go to something “Oh, I am sorry, I can’t. The baby.” And that is totally acceptable.

    So maybe having a baby hasn’t solved my life long problem of getting myself into situations like hosting an intervention at my house, but at least for now it is helped me to say “I can’t.”

    “Give my five minutes to put my make up on… oh wait… no… I just shit my pants”

    February 9, 2011 • 5-8 months, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 1773

  • If You Are A Man… Read No Further.

    I don’t have to tell you that there are some major differences between men and women when it comes to making a baby.

    A man’s contribution:
    He has an orgasm.

    A Woman’s contribution:
    She bleeds out of her vagina once a month for 30 years!
    She bakes the baby in her belly while her body goes through morning sickness, gaining the weight equivalent to strapping a Pit-bull to you, and if she is lucky, a nice bout of hemorrhoids.
    She pushes a freakin’; human out of her vag with a head the size of a cantaloupe when previously there has been nothing to rival the banana.
    She feeds that piranha of a baby with liquid that comes out of her nipples… yeah, those things that men are sensitive about being rubbed by their t-shirts too much.

    I got to thinking about all this because I am getting my first P-Rod since the baby. How do I know this? Well, it is not just my delightful mood, but also the lovely cramping sensation that currently entices me to throw my computer at the next face I see.

    I have to admit I am quite intimidated by the fact that my monthly moon is cycling back into my life. I mean… it has been a while. So I text messaged my cousin who also had a baby to see if she had already gone through this momentous occasion and what to expect. This is an actual transcription:

    Me: Hey! Have you gotten ur P-Rod Yet?
    Cousin: I got it September when he was 7 months old. It was huge; I thought my vagina had murdered someone.
    Me: Oh Dear
    Cousin: Expect a gruesome crime scene in your vag

    So my friends, I have a lot to look forward to. So while I sit and wait for the vengeance of my vag, check out this video I did a few years ago about Tampons and Vagina’s and the health of your uterus. Because if you are gonna plug up your poon, it is good info to know!

    February 8, 2011 • 5-8 months, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind • Views: 1686

  • Why It’s Okay To Talk To Your Baby Like a Dog

    You know that voice you use to talk to your pets right? It is usually high pitched, coated with sweetness, and veiled with adoration. It is your own little voice that you composed, and is reserved for those moments when you are communicating with your animal. Even the burliest man, with the most intimidating muscles, probably still softens his tone, irregardless of who he is in front of. It is like second nature.

    Interestingly, I find we talk to babies in a very similar way. Hence why we call them “baby voices.” (Yes, I do agree I am quite observant). Before I had a baby I didn’t picture myself using a “baby voice.” I thought that would be degrading. I would use my big girl voice.

    But you know why you talk to your baby in a baby voice? Because like your dog/cat/komodo dragon, that is how they know you are talking to them.

    Imagine what it is like for a baby to hear adults “blah blah blah” all day in their boring adult tone of voice. I bet they tune most of it out. There is not melody to it. But when you use your “baby voice” it distinguishes your voice, and the baby knows you are talking to them! The musicality seduces their little ears to pay attention.

    I think babies like to be talked to in baby voices. Of course I can’t interview her to prove this theory, but they way she smiles makes me think I am on to something.

    February 7, 2011 • 5-8 months, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 2167

  • I Can’t Just Look at You All Day

    There are days where she refused to be satisfied unless I am looking at her. If I divert my attention for one moment to do something important like look at Facebook, her grunts of discontent grate my soul until I succumb, and look at her again. It is not like she is even doing anything either. She isn’t about to do a head spin, or advanced mathematics. She is just lying there. The best she has to offer me are some flailing arms and an expression of excitement so charming I am convinced she inherited it from me.

    But then what? Okay… I look at you. It makes you happy, but I can’t just stare at you all day.

    “Why not? You used to stare at me all day when we first met? Why not now?” (She is a very advanced infant and already speaks in complete sentences. Albeit telepathically).

    And she is right! Spending my day gazing at her was enough for me. What has changed?

    For one, she is awake a hell of a lot more hours then she used to be. So there was an actual time factor to consider.

    For two, I am getting used to her. It is kind of like falling in love. You know how when you first fall in love, you do things like watch them sleep… or text message passionate messages you labor over with the intentionality of a calligraphist. But as they become a part of your life, an expected pattern, those little tokens turn into jumping the turnstile. You don’t put in the same effort, because you don’t think they are going anywhere. It doesn’t mean you love them any less, you are just less consumed as the novelty that kept you in rapture transforms into the security of a blanket.

    So what do I do about this? As much as I want to observe her every moment as I watch her grown and develop like film in solution, I also sometimes want to do other things?

    The way I am trying to deal with this is to make sure I give her specific time where I am 100% present. If she wants me to look at her. Okay. If she wants me to help her stand, done. If she wants to bounce her legs and blow bubbles with her spit. I applaud her. If I give her time when she is asking for it, I find she is more likely to give me time when I ask for it.

    And you want to know what? Half the time she is self-entertaining I just watch how cute she is.

    February 6, 2011 • 5-8 months, baby brain, Mommy Mind, Parenting • Views: 1720

  • Babies Have No Free Will

    As Americans, freedom is as important Krispy Kreme doughnuts. It is the thread of our national fabric. A concept worth fighting for, killing for, conquering other people and obliterating their freedoms for, setting up puppet regimes for… Freedom is a political platform. A buzzword to spice up the soup of rhetoric, the Byriani of debate. We elect presidents because they promise us more freedom… like the freedom to watch Bridalplasty and have drive thru gun shops.

    The ironic thing about this is that we begin our lives with virtually no free will. As a baby, we are complete subordinates to the whims of parents.

    “Oh you want to dress me up like a Zebra. Fine. What can I do about it? You think its funny to put dumb hats on me. That’s cool. You want to stuff me in this S&M contraption, buckle me into a moving vehicle, only to end up at the grocery store. Great. My favorite place. Woopdie freakin’ doo.”

    My baby has no control over her day, what she wears, when she eats, how long she has to sit around with shit in her pants. She is at my mercy. Her only protests are a cry, or grunt, and sometimes I don’t even understand what it is what she wants. I have been known to try to stuff a boob in her mouth when poo is seeping down her leg.

    “What are you dumb Mom? Wrong end bitch!”

    Maybe it is this dormant memory that makes freedom such an issue for our country. Maybe that is why the concept of a monarchy is so threatening to our collective tissue. Maybe the first settlers of America had really shitty parents?

    February 5, 2011 • 5-8 months, Mommy Mind, Musings • Views: 2813

  • Hair Pulling and Backwards Logic

    I have long hair. I get the temptation that might ignite to pull it. It is understandable. Can I really blame my baby for pulling the shit out of my hair every time it dangles in front of her face? No. It is kind of like wearing fuck-me pumps, a mini skirt, and a halter-top when walking by a construction site. Is it right that the guys whistle and make outrageous comments? No. Are you asking for it? In theory absolutely not! You should be able to dress however you want and not be harassed. But in practicality, it is to be expected?

    So the feminist in me. The freedom fighter in me. The wanna be revolutionary in me says “I should be able to have long hair if I want! Why should I be oppressed by my baby’s tiny grip? I can’t allow her fist of fury to subjugate my personal liberty to maintain my personal preference of hair length!”

    But this is the problem; you would think a baby isn’t a physical threat to a grown adult right? I mean it is a baby! A pint sized human that can’t always figure out the difference between her mouth and her cheek. I should be able to conquer this measly adversary. I am the one who knows how to swallow my own drool after all.

    But yet, she prevails. Her little fingers of fury will outsmart me every time. Why don’t I just put my hair up you may ask? Well… I do. And do you know what this clandestine creature does? She wraps her coral colored arm around my neck, almost in a tender way, so I let my guard down, and then she grabs the most sensitive hairs right at the nape, and pulls with the vigor of Viagra.

    Braids? Forget about it. Like two ropes for her to trapeze on. I have not found one hairstyle that will keep me safe from the torturous methods she must have learnt form the Chinese.

    So one day, as she pulled my hair, I yelled “Ow! My hair!” Not that loud mind you… and it wasn’t even that passionate. It was just the first time I had ever yelled. And do you know how she reacted? Her little mouth transformed into the prefect upside town crescent moon, tears coated her sea colored eyes, and she cried a volcanic eruption of tears.

    “Oh Dear!” I had to laugh and hug her. Within minutes she had calmed down, tugging away on the locks I lovingly sacrificed. Even though she was the one that hurt me, it hurt her more to know I was upset! So if the next time you see me I have a shaved head… just tell me it was a good move to bring back the Sinead O’Conner back.

    February 4, 2011 • 5-8 months, baby brain, Mommy Body, Mommy Mind, Parenting • Views: 1722

  • Farts: A Humanitarian Cause

    My baby laughs at her farts. She knows that farts are funny. Not all farts mind you. My farts happen to startle her. But her farts, she finds hilarious. She doesn’t even need an audience to witness her accomplishment. In the morning when she thinks I am still sleeping she will let one rip and giggle to herself.

    What is it about our own farts that are so funny? Is it simply the sensation of air coming out of our assholes? Is it the noise? Is it the possibility that we may shit our pants? Living on the edge of unknown disaster? But she shits her pants all the time and doesn’t give a care. No. There is something deeper. Something more profound.

    Maybe it is that farts remind us of the absurdity of life. That we are imperfect beings no matter how we try to mask that fact with manners and social conventions. That farting is a part of what makes us human, what makes us vulnerable, even though we have conquered the planet with our nuclear technology. Maybe dropping a bomb in our pants while smirking to ourselves is the one thing that all humans have in common? Farting unites us in the simple fact that we are all organic beings who go through life making funny noises and smells, and all are one day going to die. Our mortality hidden in each SBD we try to blame on the dog.

    So what if we got all the men (and I guess women) together who are at war. The people of Egypt, the Middle East, The USA, Israel, Palestine, Africa… everyone who is killing or terrorizing each other. Lets get them all in a room and say this.

    Me: Hey, do you find your farts funny?

    The Warring People: Why yes. Yes. That is quite true. I do happen to find my farts quite amusing.

    Me: You know what? So does the guy next to you. So do all the people you are killing. They think their farts are funny too. Don’t you realize what this means? Can’t you see the people you are trying to destroy are just human beings who also enjoy their own stench? Doesn’t it make sense that we all embrace this ultimate similarity and work together to make sure the world is safe for our children to find joy in their own flatulence? (I would use that world because hey, this is a world meeting after all and I have to look smart).

    I mean, if my baby gets the joke why can’t the leaders of the world?

    (The Munch saying “Pull my finger!”)

    February 3, 2011 • 5-8 months, baby body, baby brain, Mommy Mind, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 1864