Embracing the frump

I tried the bouncy seat in the bathroom again today. It worked for about twenty seconds. And I don't think it was the shower noise the first time; we have a white noise machine set to "rain" in her bedroom, and it doesn't seem to help at all.

Also, she woke up two hours early today. Two months ago, I would have rolled my eyes at present-day self, all, "Girl, please. You need to suck. it. up." But I've reverted to pansyhood, and when the child started wailing at 6:30, my stomach and heart curled into a ball together and dropped twelve feet down to my toes, and I seriously contemplated running away with the circus.

But we got through it. The child survived. I put her back to bed after she was done eating, and then I accidentally slept way past the time I'd intended to get her up. So much for starting naptime boot camp today.

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I made dinner tonight. And by "dinner" I mean three separate courses, not something slopped together in a pan that incorporates enough of the major food groups that we won't all get scurvy. This is a major victory these days.

If you like a good pork roast, you'll like it even better if you wrap it in bacon. It sounds vile, wrapping a pig in his friend and eating them together, but I'm heartless and cruel, and the only way this would be better is if cheese could somehow be incorporated.

I also made some gravy. As I was pouring it into the serving bowl, the pot went flying out of my hand, landed on the counter, and sent the serving bowl and most of the gravy halfway across the kitchen. It went everywhere: walls, floors, cabinets, stove, my pants. I didn't cry because of the cleanup. I cried because it was really good gravy. It had bacon in it. And my nasty floor got almost all of it.

So James and I each got half a tablespoon of gravy with our dinners, which was hardly even enough to taste.

But my kitchen floor is clean for the first time in two months.

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I have a few favorites who are pregnant and suffering from heartburn. I already hand out unsolicited advice like it's the best candy ever (and wrapped in real gold foil), and I'm trying to stop. So instead of sending a bunch of notes, I'll just passively put it here: Altoids. I had ridiculous heartburn with Grace; between her giant butt and my freakishly short torso, my stomach started squeaking around 2 weeks gestation.

My mother-in-law suggested Altoids, and I thought she was nuts, but I tried it anyway to make her happy. And they WORKED. I started keeping them by our bed and going to sleep with three of them in my mouth (I know, but I was willing to choke to death and/or lose all my teeth if it meant some relief).

You see this, Altoids? I'm doing advertising to all three people reading this. Now pay me.

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I was posting a comment on my brother-in-law's blog the other day, and my word verification was "dinglyma". I desperately need a definition for this awesome new word. And not something stupid and silly. My creative juices are running dry, and this word is just too much wonderful to not be real. So help me make it real. I have a dream!

While we're at it, help me make a new word for "blog" so I can stop typing it. I hate "blog". I hate looking at it. I hate reading it. I hate saying it, hearing, thinking it. It hurts my tongue and throat to squeeze it out. When I make that noise that mimics vomiting, it sounds just like "blog" without the "g".

"Diary", "journal", and all the other approximations I can think of are equally bad for different reasons.

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I love the ads here; my favorites are the adult diapers ads. I blame my rant about scented diapers the other day. I should click on the ad. Grace will be in adult diapers next week. Maybe I can get a deal.

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My haircut is turning into a mullet. Back in October when I got it, it was hip and fresh-looking, short and flirty. Now it's turning frumpy and mullety.

At first there was much chagrine. Ten years ago, if you'd told me I'd have a kid and a mullet, I'd have looked at you like you'd grown six heads out your nipples. But now, I think a mullet could be kind of fun. I don't ever go anywhere. I'm not looking for dates. But I DO like to make people laugh. I plan to dig up some old oversized t-shirts and leggings to complete the look. Wish me luck.

(no, I'm not kidding)

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So. I did something really stupid. I jumped into a debate about public breast feeding on a forum. I'm not even going to tell you here what side I'm on because I don't want to ever do that again. But people get really INSANE about public breast feeding. People on both sides! You'd think one side was advocating puppy murders and the other kitten drowning for the way they talk at each other.

But quitting would have been conceding defeat, so I stuck with it and shook with rage at one woman's wildly inaccurate characterizations of me and other people who fall into the same camp. Let this be a warning to you all. Never again. Never again.

(this is why I NEVER EVER NEVER EVER talk about politics or religion here; I'm very opinionated about both, and I AVOID AVOID AVOID because I tend to get a little frothy around the mouth; also, I'm a coward)