How to Be More Like LeVar Burton

I thought I would take a minute to continue my list of necessary baby crap, even though no one asked and no one really cares.  Since the first post, I've been thinking of a few other things that helped us out in the first year of parenthood- though I don't remember much of it.  I do know that I am alive today to write this post, so I must have done something right.  So you better take my advice.

Target Brand Up and Up Diapers:  These are just the best, hands down.  If you don't agree, you're doing it wrong.  I have some disturbing news for you- all that goes into diapers is pee and poop.  Sometimes you find toys or whole, uneaten vegetables in there, but that's a story for another day.  You want to do this diaper thing as cheaply as possible, but without giving your baby chemical burns.  And don't be conned by the vast left wing cloth diaper conspiracy.  Disposable diapers are 100% biodegradable, and comprise 70% of the diet of the baby Panda.  If you use cloth diapers, baby Pandas will starve, you heartless bastard.  But I digress.  Target diapers get the job done in the cheapest way possible- forget the $48 for 12 diapers you would spend for Pampers.  PLUS, the brand name diapers try to lure your kids in with adorable characters printed on them that appear or disappear when they pee- like Oh, once you pee enough in this diaper, tiny tears appear on Elmo's cheeks.  Sick I tell you, just sick.

Baby Carrier:  The easiest way to spend some time denying that you are 100% responsible for another human life is to store said human life in a baby carrier.  I personally have the Beco Butterfly 2, which enabled me to keep my child completely safe and comfortable, while at the same time taking a solid hour long time-out from her existence.  You will have two hands free, be able to walk around unimpeded, and not feel like your biceps are going to explode.  Your baby loves this- they feel secure, and as long and you remembered to snap each of the 9,000 buckles, they probably are.  Just remember- remove the baby before using the Slip and Slide or sitting on the subway (see below).



Pacifiers:  You need 5,000 pacifiers.  One of every brand on the market.  Big round ones, fruit shaped ones, ones with stuffed animals attached to them.  DO NOT ever find yourself without one, even for a second.  When you go to do laundry (I recommend attempting laundry once a month, maximum) you should find three to five pacifiers shoved into the pockets of ever pair of pants you own.  You need them in the center console of your car, those little pockets on the front of your suitcase, the medicine cabinet, and shoved between the mattress and box spring of your bed.  My kid never even really took a pacifier, and I still find them shoved everywhere- nearly three years later.  Going to shake your couch out for change?  First of all, that's pathetic- get a damn job.  Second of all, 20 to 25 pacifiers better fall out of that thing.

The Boppy:  Plenty of people told me that the Boppy wasn't really worth the price, even though I insisted on owning one.  As usual, I was right.  I mean, how many possible uses can there be for a donut pillow?  Turns out, about a million.  Here are some of my favorite uses:
1. Sit on it like a hemorrhoid pillow after delivery (if you have to ask why, just take a minute and think.)
2.  Put it around your waist and balance your dinner plate on it so you can eat on the couch
3.  If you're Andre the Giant, I bet it makes a great neck pillow for travel.
4.  When company comes over after the baby is born, put it around your massive, sloppy gut to detract attention from just how massive and sloppy that gut is.
5.  When you're trying to nap on the couch at 9 am, put it over your eyes like the blind Star Trek/Reading Rainbow guy to block out the cheerful sunlight that is mocking you in your misery.

You need at least two covers for the Boppy, in case you (or the baby) vomit on it at any point.

I think I will leave you with these four things for today.  As always, be sure to check that any products you are going to use haven't been recalled- and use your best judgement.  That rusty bear trap that your Uncle Earl made into a bassinet?  Probably not 100% safe.  That pacifier that you found on the manhole cover behind Denny's?  Make sure you run it through the dishwasher.  Maybe twice, just to be safe.

Having a Baby? Things You Should Register For/Adopt From the Pound

Lately, people have been asking me for my suggestions for new baby must-haves.  (Really, this is a lie. No one has asked me jack sh*t.  But just go with it- it makes me feel useful.)  I decided to put together a list of a few of my faves for anyone out there looking for things to put on their registry.  Here they are, in no particular order:

Car Seat:  If you don't know that you need a car seat, you have some serious problems- call CPS right now and file a preemptive report on yourself.  But here's the thing you don't know- those little infant seats are a massive ripoff.  Unless you have a mini-baby, they will last you about 7 months, tops.  What about the kind that go up to 30 pounds you ask?  Show me a 30 pound kid that can fit into one of those things and I will show you a baby with kettle bells in their onesie.  You still need one of these, because they really make life easier. But for heaven's sake, buy the cheapest one you can find and hope for the best.

Miracle Blanket: This thing is genius.  It's basically a piece of fabric with wings and a pocket- and it will hypnotize your kid.  You wrap the wings under their arms, stick their legs in the pocket, google "how to use miracle blanket", unwrap, repeat, scream" WTF!!!" and bam, you're done!  This thing immobilizes your baby while simultaneously knocking them out- basically the same thing that a fifth of tequila did to your college boyfriend.

Bottle Sterilizer: You need one of these because they make them, and for no other reason.  No one knows what the point is, and no one sterilizes bottles anymore.  We're not in ye olden times when the tap water had cholera in it.  But still, make sure you get one, or your kid will die.

Dog Poop Bags:  These have more uses than I can even name.  Poop, vomit, poop stained clothes, actual dog poop, half eaten chicken nuggets you find under the car seat cover, etc.  They come on a handy dandy little roll, and you need 15 hidden in various locations throughout your home and car.  If there is actual poop in them and you don't have access to trash cans, tie the offending bag to the roof rack for the drive home and hope it flies off on the interstate.  That's a great trick I learned from my husband.

Generic Baby Formula: Look, if you're going to be all successful at breastfeeding, congratulations.  If you're going to be a hot mess of failure like I was, prepare yourself with the cheapest possible form of infant nutrition: generic baby formula.  My pediatrician was the first to clue me into this eighth wonder of the world- but come to think of it, she DID lose her medical license shortly thereafter.  Anyway, the stuff is cheap and it's good.  My kid is entirely constructed of the stuff, and she's pretty damn awesome. I know, I know, breast is best.  But BJs brand "$20 for three years worth" is clearly second best.  It's probably just powdered Quick, but if it's good enough to cut cocaine with, it's good enough for me.

Black Lab:  I don't know why it has to be black, but that's why I have, so it's clearly the best.  You need a dog that is so obsessed with food that you will never have to clean ANYTHING up.  My beloved lab follows my kid everywhere, and eats whatever falls from her.  And I mean whatever.  That dog thinks that spit up is a delicacy- by the time you get the paper towel and the cleaning spray, there is no evidence that there ever was any spit up.  Old Cheerios that fall out of the cracks in the recliner?  Gone.  Stepped-on goldfish carcasses?  Gone.  Regurgitated broccoli?  No more.  There is nothing that dog won't eat.  Warning: the first time you find dog hair hanging out of your baby's mouth, YOU won't eat for a week. Hey, that's one way to lose the baby weight.

That's all I can come up with for now- maybe I'll add things later on as I start to realize that I am having a baby in SIX WEEKS and have done absolutely nothing- except try to convince myself that Hermione Healy is a REALLY GREAT name.  Until then... don't forget your vaccinations!  I suggest making sure your Rabies series is complete before even considering parenthood- don't take any risks with either the mangy stray dog you're about to adopt OR the mangy child that will one day lunge for your jugular when you change the channel from Nick Jr.  You can never be too prepared.

Smells Like School Spirit- and Mildew

To say that this sums up my life would be the UNDERSTATEMENT of the decade.  Seriously.  I know everyone says "Oh yeah, me too!" but seriously.  I see all of you out there, showered, driving around to run errands, houses decorated, cooking food.  I do NONE of those things.  A "real" day for me consists of getting out of sweatpants long enough to wander to my husband's office to beg him to order lunch AND dinner because it's 10 am so it's clearly too late to go to the grocery store.  His office is 100 yards away, but it takes me 45 minutes to get there.  As soon as I get home, I strip off the jeans and hooded sweatshirt (too formal) and go right for my "uniform" of school sweatpants and a school t-shirt.  Because as long as you have school spirit, you can't be underdressed.  Right?  Right????

Sometimes I look at the clock and it's noon- and Meredith is wearing pants (pajama pants were peed on) slippers, pajama top, princess dress, Mardi Gras beads and a boa.  You know- you've seen the pictures.  And that's when I think "Geez, what in the hell have I accomplished today???"  The answer is:  Looked at 40 pictures of Kate Middleton from some charity event on another continent, researched those girdle things you wear to try to make your stomach go back to normal after a baby, cry, ate Fun Dip, cried again, spent 45 minutes looking for a roll of scotch tape, googled "scotch tape" to figure out if it's from Scotland, called husband 56 times to beg for Dunks coffee, put laundry in the washer that I will remember six days later and have to rewash 40 times to get the mildew smell out, walked around checking for offensive smell of unknown origin- sprayed liberally with Lysol and hope it goes away, and finally, passed out on the couch.  Usually I wake up four or five hours later.  Sometimes Meredith is still there, other times I have to spend a hour trying to figure out where she is.  Usually she's just rooting around under the kitchen sink, looking for some Raid to huff.

But at least I clean, right?  No.  At least I cook, right?  No.  At least I do laundry, right?  No.  I don't clean unless you call and say you're coming over.  I eat in a dining hall, and I pay for a laundry service that washes, folds and irons our clothes (only $45 a month, so BEST DEAL EVER).  I do shop, but I make Tim drive me, pay, and unload the car.  Come on, I'm pregnant!  I shouldn't be walking, driving, bathing, calling in food orders or lifting anything of any size!

You know what I bet is really going to help this problem?  Having ANOTHER baby.  I'm sure that with twice as many kids, I'll be twice as productive, right?  Hahahaha-  I cannot even imagine what in the hell is about to go down. God help me.

The Tot Offensive

When you have a parenting day as bad as the one I just had, there is only one real thing you can do- hide in another room and cry.  I should have started the day hiding- maybe then things would have gone better.  But no, I had to TRY.  Mistake number one.  Mistake number 2: Thinking “Oh, look at my little girl in her little dress!  Isn’t she so cute!” NO!  NO is the answer to that question.   She might be cute at other times, but today she was a seething mess of whining, hitting, spilling, peeing and more whining.  She alternated smacking me in the face with making tiny cute presents for me and delivering them to me in the sweetest way- getting me to let my guard down before launching another offensive.  If you think you can’t be outwitted, outlasted or outplayed by a two year old, you are just plain wrong.  If you can do it, be my guest and call up Jeff Probst. If Survivor: Toddler Island was a real show, I would be the first one gone and the first one indicted. 

And so I am left to hobble around like a pregnant Marg Helgenberger with worse hair and try to understand the gory crime scene before me. From my safe perch on the recliner, I can see:

An inside-out tutu

A feather boa draped over an overturned keyboard

Four different single shoes, no pairs

A wet towel- unknown fluid

A cup shoved so hard under the couch that it’s bent into an oval (possible source of fluid on towel)

No less than 4 strands of mardi gras beads (probably will be used to try to strangle me later)

A brochure on “cooking healthy with toddlers” from the grocery store (oh, is this a guide comparing the different brands of chicken nuggets?)

A pair of binoculars shoved under the edge of the rug

Four knee hockey sticks (note to self: find an old pair of shinguards and WEAR them)

A face-down Elmo- head wrapped in a baby wipe

That’s really just the start of the post mortem on today.  I could go on.  I didn’t list the things that were thrown at my head, or discuss the part of the day where I was laying on the couch while “WAKE UP MOMMY” was screamed into a microphone an inch from my ear.  The worst part?  It’s only 6:24.  And my tot is SLEEPING.  Like NAPPING.  AT 6 mother@#^$@ 24.   Though I wish I could declare victory, she is just laying in wait and recharging- the second offensive begins the moment she wakes up and continues until roughly midnight.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.  And by "once more" I mean every day for the rest of my life.  Pass the coffee.  Actually, better make it heroin if you have some.

Fresh Fish

*to be read in Morgan Freeman’s voice*

When I saw that I had a missed call from Al Cowlings, I should have known that Meredith was plotting something.  Unfortunately, my instinct was correct.  Yes, after nearly three years of life, my child has figured out how to open the baby gate.  To some people, I’m sure this would be no big deal.  But for me, this is the equivalent of discovering she has a prison pen pal.

After all, why shouldn’t she?  I’ve managed to keep her imprisoned for most of her life- it was only a matter of time before she managed to escape.  I thought our four foot high metal walk-through gates might hold her off a little longer- they are unclimbable- they have a button at the top that has to be simultaneously pushed in and lifted.  90% of adults that have come to our house can’t get through them (you know who you are- hang your head in shame).  But alas, it was inevitable.  She could only spend so much time running her sippy cup over the bars and singing “Nobody knows, the trouble I’ve seen…” before it would occur to her to watch how we open it and imitate.  Then she just needed to wait to be tall enough and heavy enough to make it happen.

So in 2103, Meredith Healy escaped from Living Room Prison.  All they found of her was a pair of Dora PJs, a light blue crayon, and an old rock hammer, damn near worn down to the nub.  I used to think it would take 600 years to tunnel through the carpet with it.  Old Meredith did it in less than three.  That’s all it takes really- pressure, and time.  And REALLY wanting a juice box.

But what of her exploits thus far as a free woman?  Well aside from boat restoration in Zihuatanejo, she has fed the dog seven times in one day, flooded the bathroom sink, made a bowling alley out of the plastic recycling, and carved MEREDITH WAS HERE over the doorway.  All while wearing pink glitter dress shoes.  

Hallelujah for the Un-Drunk

I’ve thought about this post since before I even thought about writing a blog.  I’ve dismissed it so many times, because it’s really not all that funny.  And funny is what the people want, right?  Oh well, the people will have to suck it up and wait for the next post. 

Today is one of the most significant days in my entire life- and yet it passed completely unacknowledged in any way.  No cake, no gifts, no fanfare.  No one even aware of the date other than me.  I did manage to get fajitas, but it’s not all that hard to get fajitas on a Sunday.   While they were tasty fajitas, the margarita was what I was really after.  There was a time when the margarita would have been the sole purpose of the trip- but no more- and not for the last five years.

Some people reading this who knew me a while ago probably remember me as a pretty heavy drinker.  Not usually an ugly drinker, but a heavy drinker nonetheless.  Not one to let any major event go un-drunk.  Drinking was something that I loved, until it was something that I hated.  Something that rotted me from the inside out and ruined almost everything about me as a person.  Something that caused me to suffer silently, when I was always surrounded by people.  Something that had to stop.

On February 10, 2008, I decided that drinking and I were breaking up.  Not because anyone forced me into rehab or because I crashed my car into a ditch or anything like that.  But because Chardonnay was a really shitty companion.  And so it passed unceremoniously out of my life. I stopped drinking that day, without any celebration or high fives. As the song says, “It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah.”  But it’s a hallelujah no less. 

I remember counting those early days, thinking about how many weeks it had been and then how many months- obsessing about every day not unlike when you’re newly pregnant and feel like there is a HUGE difference between being SIX weeks pregnant and SEVEN weeks pregnant.  Like there should be a ticker tape parade at the changing of the weeks.  And then a year went by, and then two.  I don’t even remember three and four, mainly from baby-induced insomnia/hysteria.  Now here I am at five- just weeks away from delivering another round of madness that will likely glaze my eyes over for the next few years.  I know it’s just a matter of time until it’s ten.

Now that I’ve broken up with Chardonnay, I am back to being the painfully introverted dork that I once was- but at least I’m here.  At least I haven’t been arrested, or disowned, or laughed at (to my face, at least.)  I’m just here-  un-drunk, fat, and happy.  

CSI: Toddler

Somewhere in this picture is my child.  She was rendered unconscious by a spree of wholesale destruction, the likes of which were previously unknown to human kind.  Cue David Caruso in Ray Bans, staring quizzically into the distance.

One of the Sexiest Things Ever. Oh Wait, Just Kidding.

I had to sleep sitting up last night, because if I laid flat, stomach acid would creep up into my throat.  This tends to happen when a not-so-tiny human is encroaching on your chest cavity. After I had woken up and couldn’t get back to sleep, I did the only interesting thing you can do at 3 am without getting out of bed- read Twitter on my phone.  And that’s where I stumbled upon this little gem:

Channing Tatum Talks Jenna Dewan-Tatum's Pregnancy: "One of the Sexiest Things Ever" ‪http://eonli.ne/X8V4FV

ha. ha ha. ha ha ha. HA. HA HA HA!!! 

Now look, I don’t deny that Jenna Dewan is quite sexy- especially in an endless parade of yoga pants and sporting a tiny little baby bump.  She is photographed daily, each time leaving yoga or Pilates and always looking amazing.  So it’s not all that hard to imagine that her husband finds her quite sexy.  She is obviously a very healthy person who enjoys taking care of herself and isn’t eating too many buttered pop tarts.  Though let’s not bash Jessica Simpson- she got FOUR MILLION dollars for her pregnancy weight gain.  Her momma didn’t raise no fool.    

Now in my 31^st week of pregnancy, I can say that there ARE actually a few times when I have felt sexy lately.  First of all, I do roll around in bed and moan a lot.  Actually, I moan EVERY time I roll over in bed.  A few weeks ago, I looked in the mirror and thought “Wow- I might actually be glowing!”  But then I realized I just had grease from Five Guys french fries on my forehead.    True, I look less like Demi Moore these days and more like Michael Moore.  But isn’t that just part of the deal?

Luckily, there are so many amazing things about pregnancy that it’s not hard to forget about the sciatica, the female pattern baldness, and the tiny foot on your bladder. All in all, I wouldn’t trade my pregnancy experiences for the world- they are rare and precious.  Who the hell cares that I am not the least bit sexy?  I know I don’t.   These women in Hollywood basically get paid to look good- I don’t get paid for jack sh*t.  Though I don’t know, maybe Five Guys needs a new mascot- I’ll call them and check...

One day soon, (though probably never, let’s be honest) we’ll stop characterizing people by how “sexy” they are.  But until that day, let’s just take a quick second to pay homage to the dad to be- Channing Tatum.  In the words of one quite eloquent commenter on the E! story: HIS THANG IS SO BIG DIES!!!!  Translation: God bless the internet.