Is Topless Monday a Thing?

I would like to preface this story by saying that Beau wakes up every three hours during the night. He's been doing this for six months. Needless to say, I am tired. And quite possibly delusional.

I went to a new chiropractor today. My back was giving me trouble and I was hoping for a quick adjustment. Harper was at preschool but Violet and Beau were with me.

"Well, should we get started?" The doc asked. 

"Sure!" I said. "Just let me get them situated."

I handed Violet her 98 My Little Ponies. I gave Beau--who was sitting in his carrier--a bottle, then I took off my shoes, my jacket and my shirt. I folded them, laid them on the ground and stood up. 

Then I paused. This didn't seem right.

I was standing there in my high-waisted leggings pulled up well past my belly button. I had about five inches of muffin top between the top of my pants and the bottom of my nursing bra. If you're not familiar with a nursing bra, it's similar to a sports bra but grandma-ier. And I had nursing pads sticking out of each side of the bra. (Nursing pads are essentially maxi pads for boobs so I don't drench my shirt every time a kid cries in public.) Which probably looked like I had stuffed my bra to the untrained eye. 

It had been two years since I'd been to a chiropractor, but I'm pretty sure I didn't need to take my shirt off. I wracked my brain to come up with a reason for taking off my shirt. Nothing. I eventually looked at the doc. 

"Um. We don't. You don't need to-," he started. 

"I didn't need to take my shirt off, did I?" I asked. 

"Nope," he said. "Nope," he said again. 

I put my shirt back on. 

I have another appointment on Wednesday. I'm making a mental note to keep all my clothes on for that one. 

Sick Days Are A Sonofa

Since having Beau, people have asked what it's like having three kids. I usually tell them it's a lot like having two kids except there are more car seats.

I have since learned that this is mostly true, unless one of those kids is sick. Then it's like having 98 kids.

Sweet Violet recently had a strep throat-like virus. It made her not so sweet. Harper described her as this:

I have no idea what that actually means, but I understand the sentiment. And man was she grumpy. She had a fever, her throat hurt, she was hungry and tired. She screamed out in pain every time she tried to swallow something. Most of the day consisted of her asking for something to eat. Taking a bite. Crying uncontrollably. Declaring she no longer likes the food she just took a bite of, and asking for something else, which started the cycle over.

At one point she asked for a gummy vitamin. She put it in her mouth, it hurt, she took it back out. But instead of proclaiming her hatred for it, she held it in her hand, unable to eat it but unwilling to throw it away.

Naturally it ended up here:

By day three of the virus, her mouth hurt so bad she had stopped talking and resorted to non-verbal cues to let us know what she was thinking.

When Nick came home from work, he innocently suggested she take a drink of her medicine. She walked over and punched him in the eye.

We decided to try a different approach to get her to take it. We set it on the table, and told her when she was ready to feel better, she could come take her medicine.

Her scrawny behind walked to the bathroom and pulled the solid wood step stool from there to the kitchen counter. The she walked over to the table, grabbed the cup of medicine, walked back to the counter, climbed up the stool and poured it down the sink.

She made eye contact with us the whole time she was pouring.

Getting her to nap in her bed while sick was proving near impossible, but she deemed the baby cradle and the floor suitable alternatives.

Her sleep was often interrupted, which means my sleep was often interrupted. In my sleep-deprived state, I didn't ask questions when Harper told me her new role at preschool.

"The class voted me Class Boss," she said on the way to school.

"That's awesome honey," I replied, half in a fog.

When we got to her class, I was signing Harper in at the clipboard when I mentioned her new role to the teacher.

"So Harper tells me she's Class Boss," I said to her.

She stared back blankly. Then she blinked and stared again.

"The class didn't vote her Class Boss?" I said, finally listening to my words. Why in God's name would a group of four-year-olds vote someone boss, I thought.

"They voted her Weather Checker," her teacher said.

"And that consists of..." I asked for clarification. I wondered how Harper jumped from "Weather Checker" to "Class Boss" in her head.

"It consists of going to the window, checking the weather and telling the class," she said.

I've got nothing. Maybe Harper has a future in resume writing. #ladyboss

Luckily Beau was a good sport while I tended to Violet's every need. Here he is happily swinging:

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And here he is patiently waiting to be held:

As I'm writing this, Violet is no longer sick and no one else seems to have caught it. But just to get back at her for acting like a crazy person, I'm not going to tell her about her dress...

Oh Boy, Oh Beau

This is one-week-old Beau. He's already tired of my kisses.

So I had a baby boy.

I was pretty sure it was going to be a boy because I wanted to fight everyone almost my entire pregnancy. I chalked it up to testosterone coursing through my veins.

I hoped after he was born, my hormones would go back to normal. But just in case they didn't, I did what any "normal" person would do and decided to encapsulate my placenta.

About a week before the baby came, I thought I should raise the subject with my father-in-law. He and my mother-in-law were staying with us while we waited for baby to arrive.

"So, I'm planning on keeping my placenta and having it turned into pills," I casually said one day in the kitchen. David was sitting in his favorite spot at our kitchenette reading the news. He's an open-minded man, but he's also in his 70s and set in his ways. Placenta consumption was outside his realm of comfort, I think.

"Is it done by a shaman?" was his only question.

"Nope, there's no shaman," I said. "But they do need to know if we would rather them prepare the placenta here in the kitchen or do it at their lab--."

"I think the lab is best, " he said quickly. I agreed. We avoided talking about placentas for the rest of the visit.

Luckily, having a boy provided plenty of other opportunities for awkward moments. Most of them came at Beau's one-week check up. I had some questions that I wasn't exactly sure how to ask the pediatrician. So I just went for it:

"Is his scrotum supposed to look like that?" I said.

"Like what?" she said.

I searched for the right words...
"Like it's 80. Like it's 80 years old," I said for clarification. The pediatrician looked at me. I looked back at her. I think she was trying to gauge if I was serious. I was.

"It's fine," she said.

"Ok good. That's what I figured, I just wanted to make sure," I said to save face.

Then she gave me directions on how to best care for the circumcision. After the "scrotum incident" I didn't want to look like an idiot again, so I think I over compensated.

"Ok cool. I think I know what to do. I'm pretty familiar..." I trailed off. Where was I going with this? Familiar with what? Penises? That sounds creepy.

"I'm mean, not too familiar. Not more familiar than the average woman, I would guess. Moderately familiar," I stopped talking.

"Ok, let's get his diaper back on," she said. "And we'll see you at his two-week appointment."

Against my better judgement, I made one last effort to connect with the doc.

"I can't believe his diaper was off for so long and neither one of us got R. Kelly'd," I joked.

At this point she gave me what I like to call, "Kanye Face." If you don't know what that is, here's a picture of Kanye looking completely unimpressed.

Photo cred: popdust.com

She had to know the reference I was making. She and I were about the same age, so we both should remember when he was in the news. Though maybe she didn't watch the news back then. After all, she would've been preparing to be a doctor. I was just preparing for my future as an unemployed journalist; I had plenty of time to watch the news.

Or maybe the joke just wasn't funny. I'll try it again at his next appointment just to be sure.

(Note: I'm sorry Beau. I promise to delete this blog post before you start school.)

What Not to Say to a Pregnant Lady

While it's not ok to comment on a pregnant woman's size, it IS ok to laugh at her jokes about her size. 

I think we all know that it's not ok to ask a woman if she is pregnant. Unless you are in the delivery room while the actual baby is being born, you should not ask. But that's only the start of the list. Here's some helpful alternatives to common pregnancy questions.

Inappropriate comment:
"You must be having a boy. They say boys steal your beauty."

Why this is not ok:
Because it's not. Even my four-year-old would know this is not ok to say.

Possible alternative:
"Hey, girl. You look great today." Lie, just lie. And if you're not comfortable with lying, offer to do her laundry while she takes a nap.


Inappropriate comment:
"How dilated are you?"-said by the grocery store cashier.

Why this is not ok:
If I'm just trying to buy a few groceries, please don't ask me about the size of my cervix.

Possible alternative:
Would you like paper or plastic?


Inappropriate comment:
"When were you due, yesterday?"-said to my neighbor who was five months pregnant.

Why this is not ok:
It implies she is bigger than she should be.

Possible Alternative:
"You look good. Want me to do your laundry for you?"


Inappropriate comment:
"Are you sure it's not twins?"

Why it's not ok:
I'm pretty sure if it were twins they would have told me at one of the 942 doctor's appointments I've gone to since I got pregnant. You basically just called me fat.

Possible alternative:
"Why don't you get off your feet while I do your laundry?"


Inappropriate comment:
"That explains why you've been nine months pregnant for the last four months." -My dumbass said this to my neighbor after she give birth to a toddler-sized newborn.

Why it's not ok:
Because there are literally a million other things to say to someone who has just had a baby.

Possible alternative:
Congrats. She's perfect. Way to go, Momma. Want me to do your laundry?

Regarding Having A Third Kid:

Inappropriate comment:
"You know they say two is company, three's a crowd."

Why it's not ok:
I'm already pregnant with our third. If I came to you beforehand and asked your thoughts on having three kids, that would've been a perfect time for this statement. Now it's a bit late.

Possible alternative:
"If your hands are full those first few months, let me know and I'll come over and do your laundry."


Inappropriate comment:
"You're going to want to kill yourself those first few weeks." -This has actually been said to me by two different people.

Why it's not ok:
This is in no way helpful or insightful.

Possible alternative:
"If you need someone to drink wine with after the baby comes, I'm your girl."


Honorable Mention Inappropriate comment:
"You must be trying for a boy."
(Most people do not consider this inappropriate, but for some reason it bothers me. If you tell me YOU hope I have a boy or you think I'm having a boy, it doesn't bother me at all. Confusing, I know. I blame the hormones.)

Why it's not ok:
It implies that having two girls is somehow incomplete. If you must know, we're not trying for a boy. We're just trying for not an asshole.

Possible alternative:
Congrats.

If you see something on this list that looks vaguely familiar, don't worry, we all fall victim to clumsy mouth sometimes. When in doubt, ask yourself this question: Is what I'm about to say a helpful statement? If not, just stick with "Congrats."

Day in the Life

Sometimes I feel like my days are busy, but I can't quite figure out with what. One morning, I decided to jot down notes:

I'm lying on the floor of the living room. This is where most of our playing takes place. Harper is running around singing something and Violet is sitting by my head, trying to force feed me pre-chewed pretzel sticks. I'm clenching my mouth shut and shaking my head vigorously, which is mostly working but occasionally she jabs me in the face with the pretzel.

At this point Harper decides to do what I can only describe as a wrestling-style elbow drop. If you don't know what that is, here's the most accurate portrayal I could find:

Photo credit: Wrestling Amino

Reflexively, I sit strait up and gasp for air. Violet sees this as her perfect opportunity to jam her sawed off shotgun of a pretzel stick into my mouth. Anyone who's had the back of their throat pierced by a jagged pretzel rod feels my pain.

The girls seem pleased with themselves. It's 9 a.m.

"Who wants to watch Daniel Tiger?" I'm not above using TV so I can drink coffee in peace.

Well, mostly in peace.

"Please don't pour your water on the floor," I tell Harper.

"Why? Because it will bring ants?" she asks.

"No, because it's supposed to stay in your cup."

"So ants don't like water?"

"I'm not sure. They probably like water. Everything likes water."

"So the water will bring ants?"

"Yes."

Defeated again.

Violet turns and waves to me. "Hi," she says. She has a low voice for a one year old and I love it. She gets out of her chair and totters over to me for a hug. She's my little cuddler and I can't get enough.

As I'm cherishing my sweet hug, a slimy, mushy piece of chewed up orange falls out of her mouth, inside the collar of my shirt, and slides down my back. This is when I discovered I react exactly the same to an orange sliding down my back as I do to a great white shark brushing up against my leg in the ocean.

For the record (mom), a shark has never brushed up against my leg in the ocean. It was likely seaweed. Though it felt like a shark and the fear was very real.

"Ouch! Ouch! My eye is burning!" Harper yells and runs toward me with one eye squeezed shut.

"Ok, let's rinse it out. What'd you do?" I asked.

"I squeezed my orange in it."

"Why?"

"I thought it would burn and it does," said my little scientist.

"Well, don't squeeze any in your sister's, she still has two good eyes."

Interspersed throughout the morning are Violet's silent tantrums. I'm not sure if she's a non-conformist or if she just never learned how to properly throw a tantrum. But for some reason when she doesn't want to do something she silently lies on the ground and ignores everyone around her. It's an interesting technique.

Here, Violet doesn't want to eat breakfast:

Here, Violet doesn't want to put her shoes on before going outside:

I'm not sure what this one was about:

And finally, Violet doesn't want to get out of the bath. Even after it's been drained:

I stopped taking notes around noon.

COSTUME WEEK DAY 3: "Watch Me (Whip/Nae Nae)" Music Video Stars

DAY 3: "Watch Me" Music Video Stars
Total cost for all four costumes: $9.39
Total time for all four costume: 25 minutes

Silento (Singer/Rapper)

• Red polo shirt (already owned)
• Jeans (already owned)
• Red headphones ($5, Five Below)

Steps

1. Get dressed

Tutu Girl

• Pink, yellow and blue tutus. I got two of each color so it would be fuller ($1 each, Dollar Tree)
• Shirt (already owned)
• Jean jacket. The little girl in the video wears a white one, but blue was all we had, so I went with blue. (already owned)

Steps

1. Get Dressed

Watch me whiiiiiip.

Watch me nae nae.

Red Dress

• Red dress or large red shirt (already owned)
• Black leg warmers or black boots (already owned)
• Yellow felt (39c, Michaels)

Steps

1. Trace and cut out "W" on yellow felt.
2. Glue to red shirt with fabric glue or hot glue gun.
3. Get dressed.

Now watch me superman.

Old Lady

• Yellow cardigan set (already owned)
• Black pants (already owned)
• Purse (already owned)

Steps

1. Get dressed.
2. Look WASPy :)

COSTUME WEEK DAY 2: Insurance Family

DAY 2: Insurance Family

Total cost for all four costumes: $28

Total time for all four costumes: 40 minutes

Mayhem (Allstate)

• Dumbells ($3.49 each, Target)
• Headband (already owned)
• Name tag (letters 2.99, Michaels)
• Bandage (already owned)
• Suit (already owned)

Steps

1. Make name tag
2. If you have a suit you're fine with ruining, ripping it at the shoulder seam would make an even better costume. 
3. Add bandage and dirt to face

Aflac

• White shirt (already owned)
• Orange pants ($4.50, Target. They're also turned inside out because they had hearts on them)
• Orange foam board (99c, Michaels)
• Elastic (already owned)
• Name tag (letters already owned)
• White feather boa (optional)

Steps

1. Trace a duck foot shape onto the foam board and cut an "x" in the heel large enough to fit over the foot.

   

   
   

2. Draw and cut out the duck bill from the foam board. Leave the center attached.
3. Poke two holes in the center of the duck bill and thread elastic through to make a mask.

   

   
   

4. Make name tag.

Geico Gecko

• Green shirt and pants or onesie
• Tan, green and black felt (39c each, Michaels)
• Black foam board (99c, Michaels)
• Headband (already owned)
• Name tag (letters already owned)

Steps

1. Make name tag
2. Draw and cut out tan felt tummy. 

   

   
   

3. Glue on shirt with fabric glue or hot glue gun.
4. Draw and cut out eye shape from black foam board. Include a tab at the bottom for glueing onto the headband.

   

   
   

5. Cover the eye shape, except for the tab, with green felt using a hot glue gun. 

   

   
   

6. Cut out eye balls from black felt and glue on. 

   

   
   

7. Glue tab to head band using hot glue gun.

We had to give her a lollipop so she wouldn't cry during photos. 

Flo (Progressive)

• White shirt (already owned)
• White pants (already owned)
• White apron ($5.99, Michaels)
• Blue letters ($3.99, Michaels)
• Black letters (already owned)
• Red lipstick (optional)

Steps

1. Add "Progressive" to apron
2. Add "Flo" to apron
3. Make "I Heart Insurance" pin