I posted this on my other, family-friendly blog and then didn't post it here. Oops! Speaking of- I'm considering discontinuing this blog :(. The content on my other one is exactly the same and it's turning into busy work to double post. Would y'all follow me to my other blog or no? What if I say pretty please???
Anyway, here's Friday's post:
So apparently this here blogosphere is all about alliteration. Which, I can totally appreciate. Meal-Planning Mondays, Wordless Wednesdays, ad nauseum. They should, really, by the way, have a day of the week that starts with "B" or "C" so that I could start having a Beer Bursday or Cocktail Consday. I no longer carry fetuses in my belly so I can now drink!
ADD rant now complete, I will officially be starting Fatness Fridays!!! Yaaaay! I said I was going to be tracking my weight loss and I haven't really been on top of that so now you get a special day of the week. To date, here is my progress:
Pounds lost: 37
Pounds lost this week: .8 (sad...)
Pounds to go: 17
I'm sort of half-assing a weight watchers plan. Me and the points-counting don't so much get along although damn, if it doesn't work. My goal this past week of getting in 30 minutes of activity was way-layed by mother nature and snow. My lack of motivation only played a small role in this failure. I swear...
So for this week I will track every point of every bite and I will get in that stinkin physical activity, come rain or shine.
In other news:
I have pimped out some of your blogs (see sidebar). If you don't want to be broadcast to the masses (ahem- my parents and in-laws) then shoot me a note and I'll remove you. Ditto if you want to be added, mmkay?
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Have Some Poop With Your Pellet
Stay with me here. I promise this is going somewhere.
In a former life I was a therapist.
Before that I was a "behavior modification interventionist" (and yes, I just made up that title. Because I can suckas). I utilized conditioning principles to shape the behavior of at-risk teens in residential programs.
And before that I was a debaucherous college student studying psychology and Skinner (who you may recall had the famous Skinner boxes- rat pulls lever, food pellet emerges).
I have to say my experience gave me a boost of confidence in this whole parenting gig. I know how to make people behave "appropriately" after years of fucked upedness, I know how to make a mammal with a pea-sized brain pull a lever, so bring on the human blank slate! I will mold you into homosapien epitomes of well-behavedness! (That's right- Not only do I make up job titles, I also make up words like a wizard!)
And then the babies were born and I learned they weren't going to play by the rules. Either that or my college GPA should have been MUCH lower because man, I didn't understand this whole behavior-shaping thing so well after all. Hmmm....
Last night I realized that one of the following was taking place:
a. I don't get behavior reinforcement principles (and I should never go back to being a therapist.)
b. The babies keep changing the rules on me, in which case- SHENANIGANS!
or
c. I have inadvertently created screaming, asshole babies
This last one got me thinking about those ole Skinner boxes and my college friend and fellow psychology major, Kim. Kim actually took an Animal Behavior course and used a Skinner Box with a rat. I visited her once while she was in Lab for this course. (Does anyone remember those days of yore when you would go to "Lab?" Man, I'm getting all nostalgic here. Where is my Southpaw beer?)
Anyhoo, I'm sitting there with Kim and her rat is NOT following the program. Instead of pulling the lever to get a food pellet, he keeps sidling up backwards to the pellet dish and sticking his hairy bottom into it. So, he's sitting with his giant rat's ass in a food bowl waiting for a food pellet to show up in it. I'm not sure if he thought he was pooping it out or if this was how it would magically appear. Kim was going bonkers saying, "I don't know how he started doing this!!!" She had unwittingly trained her rat to do this crazy behavior instead of the kosher lever-pulling mandated by the Psychology Gods.
So sometimes what you THINK you're doing is not what you're actually doing in the world of parenting. Sometimes you think that by giving your screaming child candy to stop the tantrum you were the one in control, when in fact- your kid was shaping YOUR behavior and you just whoopsed yourself into another tantrum on your next grocery run. And maybe that's what is happening here. Of course I recognize that there are confounding variables in this whole scenario- development, temperment, genetic code....And I hang onto the idea that all of this is normal and what's "supposed" to happen. Because frankly, I can't deal with the notion that my babes may have a case of the hairy bottom pellets. Damn.
In a former life I was a therapist.
Before that I was a "behavior modification interventionist" (and yes, I just made up that title. Because I can suckas). I utilized conditioning principles to shape the behavior of at-risk teens in residential programs.
And before that I was a debaucherous college student studying psychology and Skinner (who you may recall had the famous Skinner boxes- rat pulls lever, food pellet emerges).
I have to say my experience gave me a boost of confidence in this whole parenting gig. I know how to make people behave "appropriately" after years of fucked upedness, I know how to make a mammal with a pea-sized brain pull a lever, so bring on the human blank slate! I will mold you into homosapien epitomes of well-behavedness! (That's right- Not only do I make up job titles, I also make up words like a wizard!)
And then the babies were born and I learned they weren't going to play by the rules. Either that or my college GPA should have been MUCH lower because man, I didn't understand this whole behavior-shaping thing so well after all. Hmmm....
Last night I realized that one of the following was taking place:
a. I don't get behavior reinforcement principles (and I should never go back to being a therapist.)
b. The babies keep changing the rules on me, in which case- SHENANIGANS!
or
c. I have inadvertently created screaming, asshole babies
This last one got me thinking about those ole Skinner boxes and my college friend and fellow psychology major, Kim. Kim actually took an Animal Behavior course and used a Skinner Box with a rat. I visited her once while she was in Lab for this course. (Does anyone remember those days of yore when you would go to "Lab?" Man, I'm getting all nostalgic here. Where is my Southpaw beer?)
Anyhoo, I'm sitting there with Kim and her rat is NOT following the program. Instead of pulling the lever to get a food pellet, he keeps sidling up backwards to the pellet dish and sticking his hairy bottom into it. So, he's sitting with his giant rat's ass in a food bowl waiting for a food pellet to show up in it. I'm not sure if he thought he was pooping it out or if this was how it would magically appear. Kim was going bonkers saying, "I don't know how he started doing this!!!" She had unwittingly trained her rat to do this crazy behavior instead of the kosher lever-pulling mandated by the Psychology Gods.
So sometimes what you THINK you're doing is not what you're actually doing in the world of parenting. Sometimes you think that by giving your screaming child candy to stop the tantrum you were the one in control, when in fact- your kid was shaping YOUR behavior and you just whoopsed yourself into another tantrum on your next grocery run. And maybe that's what is happening here. Of course I recognize that there are confounding variables in this whole scenario- development, temperment, genetic code....And I hang onto the idea that all of this is normal and what's "supposed" to happen. Because frankly, I can't deal with the notion that my babes may have a case of the hairy bottom pellets. Damn.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Blog? What Blog?
Wowsa. It's been a long time since I updated this mother. It should really come as no surprise seeing as how every to-do list seems to just get longer and longer. In fact, I have turned into that mother who waltzes around in pajamas all day and can't even manage to get the dishwasher loaded. This is a distinct change from a month ago. I do not parent with any kind of finesse. It's all about survival.
Why the change, you might ask? I attribute it to the following 2 factors:
1. Acid Reflux
2. Colic (you bastard mother clucker)
This makes it so that our babes here like to be held ALL.THE.TIME. And screaming is a common soundtrack of this household. We call it "The Monster." As in, "Uh oh. Here comes the monster!"
Now I say to you-
One baby wanting to be held all the time = nuisance.
Two babies wanting to be held all the time = impossible
This is a truth, universally acknowledged. Or if it isn't, it should be.
So I basically spend most of the day on the couch where I can hold 2 babies at once or feed a baby while consoling another. Oh, and our babes have decided they like to nap at different times during the day leaving very little grown-up time. When I do get it, I basically run around the house and try to straighten up so that we don't look like we live in a hoarder's dumping ground and babies can get clean clothes. A shower is a luxury. This leaves very little time for the ole bloggity blog. OH, and I have a Thank You note list about a mile long qualifying me as the shittiest, least classiest friend alive.
So, here's a month's update of our super exciting lives:
* Finn is now in Size 1 diapers and has outgrown his newborn clothes
* Cassidy outgrew her preemie clothes and is filling out the newbs quite nicely
* Finn officially has Acid Reflux and it makes him kind of an asshole. If he's not sleeping or eating, he's screaming into his bottle or my breast, or just plain screaming
* Cassidy has decided that being held after eating is a must and will cry if she doesn't get it. Is this the baby equivalent of being held after sex?
* Finn has turned into quite the chunk at 9 lbs, 5 oz. Cassidy's holding strong at the 10th percentile at 7 lbs, 13 oz.
* The babies are breastfeeding! They latch on every time now. It's just a matter of whether they get enough. I supplement a lot but whatevs.
* Cassidy got taken off oxygen. Halle-fuckin-lujah
* The babes have decided they don't so much like the pacifiers anymore. This makes my life way suckier (no pun intended). Trust.
* The babies smile. Like, real, honest-to-goodness, non-gassy smiles
And in the grown-up camp:
* I have lost 34 pounds so far and have 20 to go! I've actually seen the scale tell me I have 18 to go but if I so much as look at salt, I gain 2 pounds.
* Our car was hit by a stop sign-running soccer mom a couple weeks ago and we went from being a one-car family to a no-car family. We have since gotten a Honda Pilot and love it! But this whole car accident, car shopping business really was a time- and energy-suck.
* I have stopped obsessing about my milk production. FINALLY! This has been one serious benefit of breastfeeding. If I can't measure it, I can't obsess. This has lead to a whole laissez-faire attitude about formula supplementation in general.
* We are interviewing nannies. We posted an ad on care.com and got 60 responses in a just a few days. So we narrowed it down to a top 10 and have been doing phone interviews to start.
And that's the shiz around here. Sorry for the wham-bam style of this blog. Trust me, I would have loved to sit down, type out some internet poetry, and then slam my laptop closed, and slap my knee with a satisfied, "Done!" Alas, life and acid reflux have other plans...
And now here are some pictures of the babes for your viewing pleasure!
Sleeping Cassidy
Sleeping Finn
2 Babes (they're so stinkin cute. I can't get over it)
Finn With Attitude. I think he's saying, "Put down the effing camera and feed me!"
Cassidy rocks the tummy time while Finn watches, fascinated and horrified.
And the obligatory 2 month picture. Finn slept through it but Cassidy tried to strike a pose. Which, it turns out, is really hard when you can't control your body.
And, finally, proof that my babies do more than scream:
Why the change, you might ask? I attribute it to the following 2 factors:
1. Acid Reflux
2. Colic (you bastard mother clucker)
This makes it so that our babes here like to be held ALL.THE.TIME. And screaming is a common soundtrack of this household. We call it "The Monster." As in, "Uh oh. Here comes the monster!"
Now I say to you-
One baby wanting to be held all the time = nuisance.
Two babies wanting to be held all the time = impossible
This is a truth, universally acknowledged. Or if it isn't, it should be.
So I basically spend most of the day on the couch where I can hold 2 babies at once or feed a baby while consoling another. Oh, and our babes have decided they like to nap at different times during the day leaving very little grown-up time. When I do get it, I basically run around the house and try to straighten up so that we don't look like we live in a hoarder's dumping ground and babies can get clean clothes. A shower is a luxury. This leaves very little time for the ole bloggity blog. OH, and I have a Thank You note list about a mile long qualifying me as the shittiest, least classiest friend alive.
So, here's a month's update of our super exciting lives:
* Finn is now in Size 1 diapers and has outgrown his newborn clothes
* Cassidy outgrew her preemie clothes and is filling out the newbs quite nicely
* Finn officially has Acid Reflux and it makes him kind of an asshole. If he's not sleeping or eating, he's screaming into his bottle or my breast, or just plain screaming
* Cassidy has decided that being held after eating is a must and will cry if she doesn't get it. Is this the baby equivalent of being held after sex?
* Finn has turned into quite the chunk at 9 lbs, 5 oz. Cassidy's holding strong at the 10th percentile at 7 lbs, 13 oz.
* The babies are breastfeeding! They latch on every time now. It's just a matter of whether they get enough. I supplement a lot but whatevs.
* Cassidy got taken off oxygen. Halle-fuckin-lujah
* The babes have decided they don't so much like the pacifiers anymore. This makes my life way suckier (no pun intended). Trust.
* The babies smile. Like, real, honest-to-goodness, non-gassy smiles
And in the grown-up camp:
* I have lost 34 pounds so far and have 20 to go! I've actually seen the scale tell me I have 18 to go but if I so much as look at salt, I gain 2 pounds.
* Our car was hit by a stop sign-running soccer mom a couple weeks ago and we went from being a one-car family to a no-car family. We have since gotten a Honda Pilot and love it! But this whole car accident, car shopping business really was a time- and energy-suck.
* I have stopped obsessing about my milk production. FINALLY! This has been one serious benefit of breastfeeding. If I can't measure it, I can't obsess. This has lead to a whole laissez-faire attitude about formula supplementation in general.
* We are interviewing nannies. We posted an ad on care.com and got 60 responses in a just a few days. So we narrowed it down to a top 10 and have been doing phone interviews to start.
And that's the shiz around here. Sorry for the wham-bam style of this blog. Trust me, I would have loved to sit down, type out some internet poetry, and then slam my laptop closed, and slap my knee with a satisfied, "Done!" Alas, life and acid reflux have other plans...
And now here are some pictures of the babes for your viewing pleasure!
Sleeping Cassidy
Sleeping Finn
2 Babes (they're so stinkin cute. I can't get over it)
Finn With Attitude. I think he's saying, "Put down the effing camera and feed me!"
Cassidy rocks the tummy time while Finn watches, fascinated and horrified.
And the obligatory 2 month picture. Finn slept through it but Cassidy tried to strike a pose. Which, it turns out, is really hard when you can't control your body.
And, finally, proof that my babies do more than scream:
Friday, February 19, 2010
Beat This Threesome!
No you dirty pervs, I don't mean threesome as in the fanciful "menage et." I'm talking about the holy grail of breastfeeding. Tandem Baby! Yeeeee haaaaaa!
So I've been thinking about giving up the bpa-free baby feeder (the bosom, my friends, the bosom- stay with me here). Trying to breastfeed was sucking my will to live. It looked a little like this:
11:45- Try to coax a baby to be au natural. Crying, screaming, clawing, and wiggling often commenced. Sometimes we'd get an alternate scenario where said baby would clamp its mouth shut in protest and refuse to open or fake being asleep and do nothing despite all singing, tickling, and comedy routines performed by yours truly.
11:55- Give up with Baby #1. Move on to Baby #2.
12:00- Change Baby #2 and repeat 11:45 while trying to ignore Baby #1 screaming & hollering for milk.
And that's NOTHING compared to a "successful" feed. Try feeding one baby for a sufficient amount of time while Baby #2 screams. Then you stop with Baby #1 and Baby #2 starts acting the fool because he or she didn't get enough milk and needs a bottle to supplement.
When one of my kiddos wants to do it natural style, they can be latched on for up to an hour. ONE. HOUR.
Oh yeah, and when all this is over, I have to pump. We're looking at a ridiculous amount of time here. Whereas, I could simultaneously pump and tandem bottle feed and be done in 30 minutes.
So, I was done....almost. I was *this* close to giving it up and exclusively pumping. But I kept hearing that my supply would tank with pumping in a few weeks or months and I hadn't quite gotten over the picture of breastfeeding them in my head. So I made a few half-hearted attempts here and there and realized that my babies had all of a sudden developed the ability to breastfeed. Not always. But I could get them on at least once a day.
So, I started getting crafty. I started outsmarting my little babies. I would bottle feed one early and then try to get the other to breastfeed. And this started to work. (Of course, it was still taking forever and a day to do all this but I was feeling like HELLO! I AM DOING THIS).
And today I was so confident that I was like, "What the hell. Let's give this tandem feeding a shot." So, I gathered up my boppies and couch throw pillows, put a movie on, and stuck those babies on as best I could. And they ate, suckas! They may not have had the perfect latches (it's a little hard to follow protocol without bonking a baby in the head with your elbow), but they ate for 40 minutes, fell off on their own, and proceeded to sleep like the dead for an hour and half. And then we did it again 3 hours later.
I'd say, overall, we were pretty satisfied with ourselves. Go team!
So I've been thinking about giving up the bpa-free baby feeder (the bosom, my friends, the bosom- stay with me here). Trying to breastfeed was sucking my will to live. It looked a little like this:
11:45- Try to coax a baby to be au natural. Crying, screaming, clawing, and wiggling often commenced. Sometimes we'd get an alternate scenario where said baby would clamp its mouth shut in protest and refuse to open or fake being asleep and do nothing despite all singing, tickling, and comedy routines performed by yours truly.
11:55- Give up with Baby #1. Move on to Baby #2.
12:00- Change Baby #2 and repeat 11:45 while trying to ignore Baby #1 screaming & hollering for milk.
And that's NOTHING compared to a "successful" feed. Try feeding one baby for a sufficient amount of time while Baby #2 screams. Then you stop with Baby #1 and Baby #2 starts acting the fool because he or she didn't get enough milk and needs a bottle to supplement.
When one of my kiddos wants to do it natural style, they can be latched on for up to an hour. ONE. HOUR.
Oh yeah, and when all this is over, I have to pump. We're looking at a ridiculous amount of time here. Whereas, I could simultaneously pump and tandem bottle feed and be done in 30 minutes.
So, I was done....almost. I was *this* close to giving it up and exclusively pumping. But I kept hearing that my supply would tank with pumping in a few weeks or months and I hadn't quite gotten over the picture of breastfeeding them in my head. So I made a few half-hearted attempts here and there and realized that my babies had all of a sudden developed the ability to breastfeed. Not always. But I could get them on at least once a day.
So, I started getting crafty. I started outsmarting my little babies. I would bottle feed one early and then try to get the other to breastfeed. And this started to work. (Of course, it was still taking forever and a day to do all this but I was feeling like HELLO! I AM DOING THIS).
And today I was so confident that I was like, "What the hell. Let's give this tandem feeding a shot." So, I gathered up my boppies and couch throw pillows, put a movie on, and stuck those babies on as best I could. And they ate, suckas! They may not have had the perfect latches (it's a little hard to follow protocol without bonking a baby in the head with your elbow), but they ate for 40 minutes, fell off on their own, and proceeded to sleep like the dead for an hour and half. And then we did it again 3 hours later.
I'd say, overall, we were pretty satisfied with ourselves. Go team!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Tweener
So I braved the second scariest shopping expedition a woman can take yesterday.
JEANS SHOPPING
This, of course, is second only to swimsuit shopping.
For the last 6 weeks I've been wearing my fat maternity jeans. I still can't fit into my skinny maternity jeans (HORRIFYING). Let me ammend that statement. I can squeeze myself into them but they look painted on. And after looking at some of my belly pictures you can see where I wore them LONG past their prime. I figure B may never have sex with me again at this point, why add to the ammunition?
Anyhoo, said chunky monkey maternity jeans are more than a little loose on me. I'm constantly having to pull them up since they're always trying to make a great escape off my body. And when you're carrying two little bambinos around, the last thing you want to do is trip over your pant leg.
So, I needed new jeans. Stat. Of course, I didn't want to spend much since I hope to be too small for them in a few weeks. Target hoooo!!!!
Finding jeans that fit in Target, it turns out, is a lot like finding a man. You're looking for the RIGHT FIT and there sure is a lot of junk to sort through. And in my case, I wasn't even sure what I needed since I hadn't dressed my body in months.
So Target's jeans fall into the following categories:
TEEN- These jeans were horribly skinny and I felt like I was shopping in the children's section. Even looking at their largest size felt like I was looking at doll clothes. And most of their selection fell into this category. PASS.
WOMEN- (Mom Jeans). Nuff said. Do you want bright shiny brass buttons on your ass cheeks? DONE! Because nothing says "Hot Mama" like some glittery band geek buttons shimmering off your buttocks.
PLUS SIZE- Okay, I spent a while contemplating getting jeans in this area, remembering Stacey & Clinton's motto, "Don't pay attention to size!" only to realize that their smallest jeans looked like my too-big maternity jeans. PASS
MATERNITY- I landed back in the maternity department and was seriously considering getting some when I had to remind myself that I'M NOT PREGNANT ANYMORE. Buying maternity jeans seemed like a backslide. Not to mention these suckers looked a lot like the teen jeans. WTF?
So, I'm a tweener. I fall in between. Lucky for me I was able to find 1 pair. One. No glittery buttons. No skinny leg. No elastic waist band. Now I just have to hem these mo-fos because they were built for an amazon.
And with the end of my shopping tale, I will regale you with pictures of my little nuggety nuggets. 6 WEEKS OLD! AND we're finally full-term. Halle-effing-lujah. I can't believe how big they're getting. Finn is now 7 lbs 1 oz. Cassidy is 6 lbs 1 oz.
JEANS SHOPPING
This, of course, is second only to swimsuit shopping.
For the last 6 weeks I've been wearing my fat maternity jeans. I still can't fit into my skinny maternity jeans (HORRIFYING). Let me ammend that statement. I can squeeze myself into them but they look painted on. And after looking at some of my belly pictures you can see where I wore them LONG past their prime. I figure B may never have sex with me again at this point, why add to the ammunition?
Anyhoo, said chunky monkey maternity jeans are more than a little loose on me. I'm constantly having to pull them up since they're always trying to make a great escape off my body. And when you're carrying two little bambinos around, the last thing you want to do is trip over your pant leg.
So, I needed new jeans. Stat. Of course, I didn't want to spend much since I hope to be too small for them in a few weeks. Target hoooo!!!!
Finding jeans that fit in Target, it turns out, is a lot like finding a man. You're looking for the RIGHT FIT and there sure is a lot of junk to sort through. And in my case, I wasn't even sure what I needed since I hadn't dressed my body in months.
So Target's jeans fall into the following categories:
TEEN- These jeans were horribly skinny and I felt like I was shopping in the children's section. Even looking at their largest size felt like I was looking at doll clothes. And most of their selection fell into this category. PASS.
WOMEN- (Mom Jeans). Nuff said. Do you want bright shiny brass buttons on your ass cheeks? DONE! Because nothing says "Hot Mama" like some glittery band geek buttons shimmering off your buttocks.
PLUS SIZE- Okay, I spent a while contemplating getting jeans in this area, remembering Stacey & Clinton's motto, "Don't pay attention to size!" only to realize that their smallest jeans looked like my too-big maternity jeans. PASS
MATERNITY- I landed back in the maternity department and was seriously considering getting some when I had to remind myself that I'M NOT PREGNANT ANYMORE. Buying maternity jeans seemed like a backslide. Not to mention these suckers looked a lot like the teen jeans. WTF?
So, I'm a tweener. I fall in between. Lucky for me I was able to find 1 pair. One. No glittery buttons. No skinny leg. No elastic waist band. Now I just have to hem these mo-fos because they were built for an amazon.
And with the end of my shopping tale, I will regale you with pictures of my little nuggety nuggets. 6 WEEKS OLD! AND we're finally full-term. Halle-effing-lujah. I can't believe how big they're getting. Finn is now 7 lbs 1 oz. Cassidy is 6 lbs 1 oz.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Does this baby make me look fat?
So after much deliberation about the direction I would take on this blog, I've decided to talk about one of my favorite subjects- MEEEEEEEEEE!
Don't worry your pretty little heads. I will continue to provide diaper updates and keep you apprised of how many boogers Cassidy shnockered out her nose today (8) and how many massive poos Finn spewed out of his diaper (2). And chances are, I will likely talk about my boobs....a lot...because well, they sort of take up my life when I'm not cleaning up boogers and poops.
So, I've got this mirror. Apparently, it's a magic mirror. Because when I look at myself in it I'm like, "Dayum! I am sooo hawt!!!" And then I see a picture of myself or catch my reflection in a window unexpectedly and I'm like, "What the...??? Who put the padded sumo suit on me?!"
So, we're going to have some chatting and confession time about my body and its new...er...shape and size.
I'm home. A lot. By myself with babies. A lot. Alone with chocolate cake.
And this means I can eat entire said chocolate cake and nobody is the wiser. Except maybe Brendan. I don't think he believed my story about the wildabeast who came to the door and wouldn't leave until I gave him cake. But c'est la vie! Truth be told, being home alone means you really can eat non-stop without anybody knowing your secret shame. Finn & Cassidy are silent conspirators, so I know I'm safe there.
So due to the following reasons, I will be tracking my weight and weight-loss endeavors for your reading pleasure:
1. I always want to know how much people weigh. I'm kind of a voyeur like that. I also like to look in people's windows. (Although I SWEAR I just want to know how they decorated or what their house looks like). So if people are like me, they might want to know how big my rear end is and whether or not it's getting smaller or bigger.
2. I always like to hear about people's weight-loss- whether it be successes or failures. Oh, and I'm interested in REAL stories. To clarify- If you lost all your pregnancy weight in 1 week and were prancing around in your size 4s, I do NOT want to know about it as I will disown you from my life.
3. I need to be accountable to somebody for my weight. Why not the internetz??? Hell, I tracked my stratospheric weight gain, why not the painfully arduous task of losing it? And I get to negotiate the hellfire gauntlet that is losing weight while still trying to produce enough breastmilk to feed 2 human beings...Hm....Tricky...
So, here are the cold, hard facts:
Grand total of pregnancy poundage- 54? - I didn't get weighed the last couple days so it is likely more :0
Pounds lost thus far by sheer luck and mother nature reclaiming her bucket of water: 30
Pounds to go: 24- le sigh... And this doesn't count the 10 pounds I gained before we got pregnant. But I'm not thinking about those 10 right now...
So join me on my journey! Feel free to share your own weight-loss struggles & successes (unless of course you're that stick-bug wearing size 4s referenced above).
Don't worry your pretty little heads. I will continue to provide diaper updates and keep you apprised of how many boogers Cassidy shnockered out her nose today (8) and how many massive poos Finn spewed out of his diaper (2). And chances are, I will likely talk about my boobs....a lot...because well, they sort of take up my life when I'm not cleaning up boogers and poops.
So, I've got this mirror. Apparently, it's a magic mirror. Because when I look at myself in it I'm like, "Dayum! I am sooo hawt!!!" And then I see a picture of myself or catch my reflection in a window unexpectedly and I'm like, "What the...??? Who put the padded sumo suit on me?!"
So, we're going to have some chatting and confession time about my body and its new...er...shape and size.
I'm home. A lot. By myself with babies. A lot. Alone with chocolate cake.
And this means I can eat entire said chocolate cake and nobody is the wiser. Except maybe Brendan. I don't think he believed my story about the wildabeast who came to the door and wouldn't leave until I gave him cake. But c'est la vie! Truth be told, being home alone means you really can eat non-stop without anybody knowing your secret shame. Finn & Cassidy are silent conspirators, so I know I'm safe there.
So due to the following reasons, I will be tracking my weight and weight-loss endeavors for your reading pleasure:
1. I always want to know how much people weigh. I'm kind of a voyeur like that. I also like to look in people's windows. (Although I SWEAR I just want to know how they decorated or what their house looks like). So if people are like me, they might want to know how big my rear end is and whether or not it's getting smaller or bigger.
2. I always like to hear about people's weight-loss- whether it be successes or failures. Oh, and I'm interested in REAL stories. To clarify- If you lost all your pregnancy weight in 1 week and were prancing around in your size 4s, I do NOT want to know about it as I will disown you from my life.
3. I need to be accountable to somebody for my weight. Why not the internetz??? Hell, I tracked my stratospheric weight gain, why not the painfully arduous task of losing it? And I get to negotiate the hellfire gauntlet that is losing weight while still trying to produce enough breastmilk to feed 2 human beings...Hm....Tricky...
So, here are the cold, hard facts:
Grand total of pregnancy poundage- 54? - I didn't get weighed the last couple days so it is likely more :0
Pounds lost thus far by sheer luck and mother nature reclaiming her bucket of water: 30
Pounds to go: 24- le sigh... And this doesn't count the 10 pounds I gained before we got pregnant. But I'm not thinking about those 10 right now...
So join me on my journey! Feel free to share your own weight-loss struggles & successes (unless of course you're that stick-bug wearing size 4s referenced above).
Monday, February 1, 2010
Paging Doctor Lamesauce
My super swank blog has officially crossed over into the realm of "Lame Mommy Blog." I have a confession: I loved pregnancy blogs- especially SAIF blogs but once the little ones were born I was like- "Um....booring!" Yeah, now that's me. I have to look at my unwashed reflection every morning and come to terms with how lame I've become.
Babies make you boring.
So far, here's what I can come up with to talk about:
1. My breasts- their size, the crazy green squiggly veins all over them, and Hello? Their size!!!
2. In a related topic to #1- Breast pumping, breast milk, milk neuroses, and my complete failure to breastfeed my young.
3. My baby's ginormous boogers
4. My post-baby body. Hello? Huge Ta Tas! Oh yeah, and other super-sized bodily changes.
5. I guess I could also talk about the fruit of my loins, but I'm kind of self-involved like that. ME! ME! ME! When I was first training to be a psychotherapist I would always interrupt my clients with an "enough about you, let's talk about me!"
But here are some pictures of my tiny nuggets anyway. ONE MONTH OLD. Jesus...
Here's Finn with his grandpa. Please note the baby mullet. Male pattern baldness in the front, party in the back. Awesome.
And here's Cassidy living it up.
Babies make you boring.
So far, here's what I can come up with to talk about:
1. My breasts- their size, the crazy green squiggly veins all over them, and Hello? Their size!!!
2. In a related topic to #1- Breast pumping, breast milk, milk neuroses, and my complete failure to breastfeed my young.
3. My baby's ginormous boogers
4. My post-baby body. Hello? Huge Ta Tas! Oh yeah, and other super-sized bodily changes.
5. I guess I could also talk about the fruit of my loins, but I'm kind of self-involved like that. ME! ME! ME! When I was first training to be a psychotherapist I would always interrupt my clients with an "enough about you, let's talk about me!"
But here are some pictures of my tiny nuggets anyway. ONE MONTH OLD. Jesus...
Here's Finn with his grandpa. Please note the baby mullet. Male pattern baldness in the front, party in the back. Awesome.
And here's Cassidy living it up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)