Do you see what I see?

Said the tired mom to the peaceful internet.
Do you see what I see?
Way up on this shelf, peaceful internet?
Do you see what I see?

A monkey, a monkey
Whose banana shivers when pulled
Let us bring him a jacket for his banana
Let us bring him a jacket for his banana

IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN AND I THINK YOU DO.

True Story.

So many things to tell, so little time to write them. Because of the baby wanting to be taken care of like a little baby. Not the eating.

Okay, maybe the eating. 

Enjoy your turkey and your family.

Not in that order.

Okay, maybe in that order.

J to the K.

About the last part.

For realsies.

Smooches,
-t

I'm basically MacGyver. Or MacGruber. One of those.

Um, guys?

I'm basically the best mother in the world.

Or worst.

Like the other kids at school REALLY knew it was a boob ice pack?!

Come on!

MAYBE someone will take care of their lunch bag after school and put their freezer pack back in the freezer so mama doesn't have to improvise!

Day 44

This is the message I just sent to my dear internet bestie and soul sister, Lauren:

put baby in her swing and she fell asleep…i actually did dishes, straightened up the house and put in a load of laundry and am now here and i just know she's going to wake up any minute and why am i typing this to you when i should be writing something on my woefully neglected blog? cut and paste! efficient!

I don't know how some people do this taking care of a newborn thing and still do other things (like Internetting and washing themselves). This is only like the third time I've opened my laptop without being called to duty within 3 minutes. I haven't even finished (started!) my post to the kid on her 13th birthday (I'M A HORRIBLE MOTHER). I need a shower. I need new clothes (I've actually lost about 30 pounds from my pre-pregnancy weight?!). I don't remember what I look like with my hair down. It needs to be washed. My to-do list is a mile long and has things like "mail something" because I still can't remember shit even when I go to write it on my to-do list. I also don't remember to check my to-do list...so there's that.

I have mastered the art of one handed typing (mastered is a term I use lightly - just ask my sister) and I am considering suing Apple for inventing a device (shut up, this is America - we sue people for stuff like this) that allows a sleep deprived mother shop on the Internet while nursing at 3:30 in the morning (last night I bought a pair of tall boots, 2 nursing tanks, and a partridge in a pear tree).

As for the baby...well she's a baby.  A baby that cries. A big ole crybaby. Waaaah. GROW UP ALREADY. Don't you think I'm tired too, kid? JUST KIDDING! I LOVE YOU!  I've yet to watch an episode of The Real Housewives of Wherever without someone crying through the whole thing (usually the baby, sometimes it's me). The prolonged crying is mostly from gas...because once you meet her need (a boob! wet diaper! tired!) she stops crying and gives you a look that says "it's about damn time!" or sometimes she says it in her Mr. T voice (long story).

I've been really careful with my diet (bwahaha?) so I KNOW it's not what I'm eating (okay, maybe a little)...but she's still getting formula. We had to supplement her with formula from day one because her blood sugar was so low (17!) and we had a hard time getting it back up (remember she had a five second NICU stay). Then she had jaundice and wasn't gaining weight so we had to continue to supplement and then mama's body got used to it and wasn't producing enough milk. We've gone through almost the entire line of Enfamil products...the doctor's last recommendation was Nutramigen...which...hello expensive! And it's hard to find the original formula that comes ready to use (except from Enfamil and on Amazon...another 3 a.m. find). I could go through a litany (A FREAKING LITANY) of the reactions she had to the various formulas but I won't because OMGshe'sgoingtowakeupanysecond - shhhhh! Aaaaah! MUST. TYPE. MORE. QUIETLY.

I jinxed myself.

More soon.

I hope.

13

Dear Kid,

Okay, so I'm cheating a little bit and writing this a few (um...12) days after your 13th (THIRTEENTH!) birthday but things have been a little cray-cray around here lately for some reason.

You've really blossomed this year - physically (!) and emotionally. I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm a little scared. Mostly for the boys that will have to meet your father.

You love being a big sister...even though you still have your jealous moments (it's normal and you're allowed!), anybody that sees you with her can tell that you absolutely adore her. You are still a little nervous when she cries and you want nothing to do with spit up or poo diapers, but she loves playing with you (and laughing your jokes - obviously because she has a highly developed sense of humor and finds you incredibly funny).

And speaking of humor...yours has become much more mature. Now instead of joking about farts, we joke about boobs and balls...which is clearly a sign that you are getting older.

You started 7th grade and I cried only a little bit (um, try a lot) that day...you were so sure of yourself and didn't need anybody to go in with you to find your homeroom (you left your Gramma in the dust!) and begged us to let you walk home by yourself (not happening, girlfriend). You definitely want more freedom and that's something I struggle with a lot because of my own anxiety but I'M TRYING, okay?

When I think of your future I see nothing but roses and sunshine and possibly one night in jail. Only because you did something like freeing laboratory animals...or possibly intimidating a boy who was interested in your little sister...not like, stealing or anything...but, um, let's try to avoid that, shall we?

You'll always be my baby (you promised) and I love you to the moon and back times infinity times two plus one.

Always,
Mama