Housewife Fluffy, Day 1

Dear Diary,

The BHE returned to work today, so it is my first official day of temporary stay-at-home-momdome. I have become very attached to the BHE's constant presence, so contemplating this day over the last 2 weeks often reduced me to tears. Who is going to refill my water glass? Who will hold the baby while I pee? Who will pick up my cell phone for me when I drop it and can't bend down to get it because there is a person attached to my boob? Also, I just like having him around. It's beneficial to have one parent at home who is not subject to the post-partem anxiety, hormones, weeping, panic, and general instability.

Anyway, today has been going better than I expected. I discovered the trick to getting things done (like going to the bathroom, showering, and eating breakfast). Putting the baby down. I know, not rocket science. But one of the other of us has been holding this kid nonstop for 2 weeks straight. Partly because he likes it, partly because he is freaking cute, partly because I feel guilty when I put him down, etc. etc. But this morning I put him in his crib while I took a shower and he didn't scream or call social services or anything. Granted, the phone was out of his reach. Anyway, then I brought up some laundry to fold, THEN since he was being so agreeable, I went out and got a massage! Just kidding.

Oh, and he shit on me while I was on the phone with my sister. Then when I took him up to change him (and change myself as well) he peed all over the nursery wall. That is the second time so far he has crapped in my general direction. The last time, he was peacefully snoozing on my chest and I guess his diaper had slipped out of place a little because suddenly his ass exploded and there was poo running down my pants. INSIDE my pants. Yes, my baby crapped my pants for me.

Can you believe he would do such a thing?



Love,
Fluffy

They make them cute for a reason...

And that reason is so that you don't leave them on someone's doorstep after a night like last night. And note to self: DON'T EVER EAT BEANS AGAIN. At least, not while breastfeeding.

Here is some cute, just because.



Love,
Fluffy

Ass Explosions

Dear Diary,

So this morning while I was changing Yertle (after a rather large poop) he shot a mighty stream of poo all over the wall of the nursery like a firehose. Seriously, it shot like 3 feet. It. Was. So. Gross. I don't want to get into what our dogs did with this bounty, but let's just say that in future I will be closing the door to the nursery during diaper changes.

Also, did I mention that I was only in the delivery room for 3 hours before he was born? And that it only took 8 minutes to push him out? Who knew I was so awesome? Not me. Well, I'm sure the pitocin helped with the speedy delivery. There was fetal distress, cord around neck, heartrate dropping into 50s with my contractions. A terrifying experience at times. I will write it all up at some point. But I just wanted to explain the "Fast Eddie" nickname. It's not because he's a hustler or anything. Not yet, anyway.

Love,
Fluffy

Quick Update

Dear Diary,

We are doing great, though neither the BHE or I seem to be able to remember our son's name. The BHE keeps calling him Edward by mistake, and I am fond of Yertle (as in, The Turtle). There is also Mad Man, Eddie J, and Boobie Monster. Some day I hope to remember that we named him Edwin and that we obsessed for months and months choosing that name and address him appropriately. Until then, I think he kind of looks like Yertle, don't you?





Matchy matchy!

We took him to the pediatrician yesterday, where he crapped all over the nurse, after also peeing all over her as well. She remarked that in her 14 years on the job, it is rare that a baby gets her with exploding crap, and that Edwin sure is fast. Yes, that's our Fast Eddie. You gotta wake up pretty early to avoid being crapped on.

Either way, we'll keep him.

Love,

Fluffy

And now we are three.

Edwin Jones Windover

a.k.a "Fast Eddie"

September 16th, 6:28 a.m.

5 lbs. 15 oz.

19.5 inches long

100% cute

Love,

The Windovers

38 Week Freak Out

Dear Diary,

Yesterday I decided to pack my bag for the hospital. I thought hey, this will be fun. I bought a robe and cute slippers at target, along with fancy toiletries (including some lip balm because oh my god, anything you read about what to bring to the hospital makes you think that if you don't have lip balm you might as well just THROW IN THE TOWEL NOW because no way are you getting through labor without it). I was thinking that the BHE and I could pick out a going-home outfit for the baby together. Um, total freakout ensued.

It went something like this:

Me: Oh my god, we have no clothes for the baby.
BHE: Um, we have an entire dresser full of clothes. Also, this pile and this bag. Oh and look, this bag.
Me: But I don't understand what to put him in.
BHE: What's to understand? You put him in clothes.
Me: But what kind of clothes? Pants? Sleeper? Onesie? Smoking jacket? Wait, he has no pants. Our baby has no pants. I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DRESS MY BABY! TERRIBLE MOTHER! SOCIAL SERVICES! AAAAAAA!!!!!
BHE: I really think he'll be OK. You could wrap him up in one of my t-shirts and he'd be fine.
ME: Are you kidding? What if your mother saw that? I have no business having a baby.
BHE: Good grief.

This is how it's been going sometimes at our house. The BHE and I will be happily watching tv, joking around, marvelling at the site of our baby's foot sliding under my ribs, etc. Then out of nowhere I will completely freak out about some aspect of baby care for which I do not have written instructions. Which is... every aspect. Folks, I am a recipe follower. And even then sometimes I fuck up. (Baking borders on traumatic for me, and often ends with me in tears.) So this is another reason I hope my pregnancy doesn't drag on: Less obsessing, more doing. When you're busy feeding, burping, changing, swaddling, cuddling and being exhausted, I imagine you don't have the luxury to stop and freak out that you're doing it wrong. Right?

Don't even get me started on the bathing.

Love,
Fluffy

Friday Fill-In

1. I enjoy eating french fries.

2. When I will go into labor is something I wonder about often lately.

3. In your heart, you knew Sarah Palin would have an annoying voice.

4. Take charm, add a little crazy and you end up with moi.

5. Life has gifted me with this big dopey lab, who we like to call "a Pete".


6. Taking a nap with a Pete (see above) is an instant vacation.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to watching bad network tv (which may or may not include Swingtown), tomorrow my plans include possibly lugging myself to Hampden Fest, and Sunday, I want to practice being a mother with my cat. Kidding. He really doesn't tolerate diaper changes.

Love,
Fluffy

I will crush you.

Dear Diary,

Is it me, or have we all kind of been ignoring the elephant in the room? Wait, make that the two elephants in the room: Meghan and Bridget McCain.



Forgive me for saying so, but these girls are fat. Especially when you look at them next to Cindy McCain. I'm sensing there are some complex mother-daughter issues going on here, no? And hey, if Cindy McCain were my mother, I'd probably want to get real fat so that I could sit on her and crush her as well.



Love,
Fluffy

Any day now, right?

Dear Diary,

What we have here is a regulation size baby, now that I'm 37 weeks.



And according to the baby doctor, I've been busy effacing. 30%! I have the feeling this baby will hold out until the bitter end, but I have been gently encouraging him to consider arriving sooner, so that I can be done with all the pregnancy. I've been telling him about all the things he can enjoy on the outside, like:

- his totally awesome room, that is not a craphole like the rest of the house
- Ninja Warrior
- his delightful, indulgent parents
- the bbq joint in our neighborhood (true, he won't be able to indulge for quite some time but he's welcome to have a whiff of ribs whenever we order them)
- 2 large and affectionate dogs (not sure if this one is a big incentive)
- more room to stretch out (seriously dude, it's getting a little tight in there)
- cuddles
- boobies
- Paddington Bear

I've tried to stay away from mentioning the more unpleasant realities of life on the outside, like rude fat people, the christian right, and household chores. Don't want to scare him.

In other news, I have no other news because pregnancy is taking up my entire body and my entire life. Aaaaaaaa!

Love,
Fluffy

More Later

Dear Diary,

I mean to write a decent post, I really do. But I'm tired and huge so for now let me just say that Rudolph Guiliani is a dick.

Love,
Fluffy

P.S.: For much more eloquent political commentary, please see Kate.