My son is an animal masher. You see, he’s very enthusiastic about animals, cats in particular. If he sees one I will hear “MEOW! Mama,” for the next hour or so. He may even have a full blown tantrum when the cat runs away. Lucky cat, I have to stick around and I have front row seats.

We currently do not have a cat nor do I want one. We already have an old bitey dog that I’m not that good with. She doesn’t really like me. In fact, she doesn’t like anyone but my husband. I thought I was an animal person. Turns out, not so much. I don’t need a cat that scratches or bites me too. Now, all you cat ladies out there, calm down. I’m not going to go out and kick a cat or anything, I’m just better with people and even that is questionable at times. Hell, I married a vegan and my son is vegetarian. We don’t even buy Procter & Gamble products because of the animal testing. See, I’d like to be an animal person, in theory, but I find them delicious and they don’t like me. This could be related. Still, I stand firm, no way are we getting a @#$%! cat.

Another bout of the ear piecing “Meow, mama!” as my son finally catches up with one of the braver, friendlier cats in the neighborhood (and there are a lot of them). The look on his face as he squats down is over the moon adoration. The joy in his piercing squeals (about an inch from the cat’s face) is so obvious I can’t help but smile. I smile, but deep down I’m thinking “(Insert swear of choice)! We have to get a cat and a litter box!” and my smile tightens around the edges. I fight to keep smiling, for Dorian and to calm down the cat that now understands just how scary a gigantic over excited toddler can be. I wrestle the cat free from his iron grasp (before it is hugged to death) and it bolts away.

If I ever do break down and get him a cat, I’ll have to get it from the pound. I’m just going to walk in there, slap down some cash and say, “Today I’m the kitty governor and I’m here to grant a pardon. I want to take home the next cat about to be put down.” It’s the only way I can really justify handing a cat over to my Lenny-Tell-Me-About-The-Rabbits boy. He cries when animals get hurt, bawls his eyes out when they eat each other on animal planet. Yet he feels just fine smack/petting grandpa’s cat while explaining (in his very best and loudest outdoor voice) how much he loves it though. Endearing, amusing, and disturbing all at once, like a lot of moments in parenting, I’m finding.

So, for now we are cat free. I let Dorian chase the cats around the park and around the complex as much as they’ll let him. Sometimes he catches them. Sometimes I bring the torture indoors. I put the dog outside (probably happy for the toddler break) and let these two very persistent cats in our neighborhood in to explore and dart away from Dorian’s merry abuse. I pay them for their services in a bit of tuna or milk. They eat and wander until Dori tires of chasing them then I sneak ‘em back out when he isn’t looking. They get a good and easy meal and a little rough lovin, my son gets his cat fix, and I’ve solved the problem without adding more poop to my life. Any parent will tell you, that is a good day.

Living with my 18 month old son is like living with a frat boy. Imagine a love child between Will Ferrell, John Belushi, and Chris Farley. That’s my boy. He staggers around naked yelling words I can’t understand, laughing and dancing and throwing and breaking things. His things are everywhere and he never helps clean up. He wakes me up screaming or ready to party at 2 in the morning, then he passes out and I have to carry him back to bed. He strip down naked and then finds it necessary to bend over in my face every ten seconds. That’s just lovely, by the way. He shoves his hand in his pants or his fingers in his nose, releases gas with great gusto and glee, and every now and then he throws up or pees in the corner. Those of you living with more than one child must feel like you have a whole frat house.

Go Deltas!

 

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What color is your bra?
As a new mother (is 16 months still new? It sure feels like it) I am pretty much lucky to have enough time to put one on. I can’t stop to look at the color.

Do you straighten your hair everyday?
Remember that friends where Monica goes to the bahamas and looks like Diana Ross on a bender? That’s what I looked like on my honeymoon. Ugliest newlywed EVER.

Do you worry about the size of your boobs?
No, I worry about the location.

Whats your favorite girly magazine?
Bust- Feminism, recipes and just enough F U.

Would you kill for chocolate?
I’d kill for sleep and hot food. Wouldn’t any mother

Jeans or skirts?
I gotta say that I love my jeans. Usually because I have a nasty habit of tucking my skirt into my undies. Lately I’m just happy not to have vomit or peanut butter and jelly on my clothing.

Do you wear clothes/shoes/jewelry that's uncomfortable?
I’m female. Do they make any other kind for me?

Did you ever spend all day/night getting pretty for a guy?
I’ve spent the last 31 years getting pretty for a guy. And I got knocked up for my efforts. It isn’t worth it ladies. Keep your unibrow and sleep in!

Did you ever cry during a romantic movie?
Since the baby, I cry at flipping dog food commercials.

Would you leave the house without makeup on?
This is weird but I sleep in makeup in case of a fire. I know, I said it was weird. I try to always have my makeup on. Trying to keep the romance alive, ya know. My sister called and asked what I was doing one day. When I told her I was putting on my makeup she asked where I was going. I said, “Nowhere, just trying to keep the romance alive.” It was right then that my husband chose to yell loudly, “Thanks for flushing!” Seems I went pee and forgot. So much for keeping the romance alive. It’s easier to just be ugly.

Do you consider making out "unladylike"?
No way. Unless you’re making out at the table I’m sitting at. That’s a little awkward.

On the scale of 1-10 how fun is shopping?
Depends on what you’re buying. Somehow, I don’t think shopping for a casket has that shopper’s high feeling with it.

Are you spoiled?
I am. My husband and son are very good to me. Of course, I bake for those monkeys so they better be good to me.

Do you think lipgloss is the best?:
No, I think coffee and eyeliner are way better. Two things I’m taking with me to the grave. I’ve asked my best friend to sprinkle some of my ashes on holy ground, the very first Starbucks. He promised to put me into a venti cup (making sure to note I’d gained weight) and scatter me about.

Do you freak out if you miss your favorite show?
I’m a mom. My television viewing is limited to Blue’s Clues (how hot is Steve, by the way), Sesame Street and Teletubbies. What the f**k are those things? I can’t look away.

How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?
An hour. I’m counting the time it takes to find BOTH of his shoes and the inevitable return for some forgotten item.

Do you wear sweatpants/pajama pants to school?
It’s been a long time since I had to worry about school clothes. God, I am so not looking forward to doing the whole school years with the kiddo. There is just so much crap you have to deal with. At least it starts out with finger painting and paste eating before it all goes to hell.

Accessories make the outfit: true or false:
True. As a new mother, I never go anywhere without food in my hair and maybe some vomit on my jacket.

Do you like to hang out or go to special occasions?
Please, I am the queen bee of the bitchy brunch. Me and my boys shut the place down.

Do you like skater guys?
Do you remember when life was that simple? Do you like skater guys? Now I tackle questions like: How do I save enough for his college? Am I giving him all the love and attention he needs? If Blue can talk now, why doesn’t she just tell us what she wants? Why in the hell are we still searching for clues?

Is pink truly the best color in the entire universe?
Only black is slimming.

Have you ever dressed unlike yourself to impress a guy?
As a female I’m gonna have to say yes.

Do you often wish there was something you could change?
The amount of my rent would be nice.

Gold or silver?
Gold will pay for my son’s college faster but I prefer silver. Community college it is!

Do you dress up too much for holidays?
I don’t get to dress up anymore. I’m too busy chasing the kiddo down and getting him ready.

Do you like to wear dresses?
No sir, I do not. I did love my wedding dress though and wore it around the house when my husband wasn’t home for like a month after the wedding. It makes cleaning a lot more fun. Just imagine the looks you’ll get doing laundry in your wedding dress. Of course, mostly because they think you waited too long.

Do you write a lot of mushy love poems?
No and I hate, hate, HATE when people think you care about reading theirs.

On a scale of 1-10 how much do guys confuse you?
10. Now gay guys this hag knows. Straight men, not a clue. No wonder so many of my boyfriends turned out gay.

In the past 24 hours have you hung out with a guy?
Yep. In fact, I spend nearly every minute of those 24 hours with a wee little man I adore. Lucky me! Unless he’s teething.

Dorian spotted the pincher bug on the dining room floor before I could get Jeff to relocate it. His mouth gaped open in a wide grin and he dropped to all fours and crawled up to it. What is it about boys and bugs? We had to keep pulling him back so he didn't get pinched (uh, do they even really do that? I need to look that up) and so he wouldn't smash the poor guy. This is odd behavior for me. Had I been alone I would have screamed like a teenage girl in a slasher flick and scrambled away to find something to bludgeon the thing to death with. Dorian followed close behind the pincher bug all the way into the kitchen. He was pretty much free to go. Once Dorian spotted it Jeff couldn't really touch the pincher bug without Dorian wanting to. Jeff said, "Bye-bye bug" as it made a hasty retreat from Dori under the cabinets. When it disappeared Dorian let out a howl and started to cry. He covered his face and put his head on the ground crying a pretty good sounding "bug" over and over again. It was fantastic. When the brave little pincher bug darted out from the safety toward the dog bowl Dorian was on him and happy again. Well, until he went under the dishwasher. Then we went back to inconsolable sobbing. It really was one of those adorable moments that help you through the teething.Still, as cute as it was, I couldn't help wondering where that pincher bug was all night long. I am so not looking forward to the coming years of boyhood. He'll be excitedly bringing me bugs any day now. And I will have to try and stay calm as he handles the spider he found. If you don't know me, I am terrified of spiders, big and small. Hell, I freak out when a lady bug lands on me and lingers too long. I'm very much so the wait in the car kinda gal when it comes to nature. Even more so when it comes to creepy crawly stuff. Seriously, I freeze when I see a spider. Unless I see it on me and then I go into what looks like dancing, running and a seizure until I'm sure it's off me. Then I twitch and jump for about two hours afterward.

Someone read my last blog and asked me if I just let Dorian scream in my face and do nothing. I answered," No, I don't just let him scream at me and do nothing. Sometimes I choke him.  I'm kidding. Really..." I don't think she believed me.   It isn't as bad as I made it sound. He is teething, the two year molars, the ones people smirked and warned me about when I was crying over the front teeth. They are here and worse than any uninvited relative. His whole little mouth is swollen looking. The teething causes him to produce more saliva than normal and this makes his poop very acidic. if you don't catch it right away, and no matter how hard I try I never seem to, it will scorch his bottom. He has a horrible diaper rash and a full remodel going on in his mouth. He isn't comfortable even when he sleeps so he has been on full tilt grouch mode. But he still laughs. He still dances. Hell sometimes he wails while he plays. I understand why he's doing it but it doesn't make it any easier on the ears. He's loud and miserable and this is just a stage. It will give way to something way worse that will make me wish for these times. This is the thing about parenthood they don't tell you. Nothing ever gets easier, it just changes. I heard a comedian (name I can't remember) that said being married was like having a really bad job but you really like your co-workers. I think that describes parenthood, too.

A few days into the recovery of my surgery, Jeff broke his hand. He ran to the pharmacy to pick up my pain pills and decided to ride his new skateboard from the car to the the front door. Simple enough. My manchild husband has done it a million times....except this time he hits something and eats it. He took a week and a half off to stay home and help me recover. This has now been bumped up to two. With Jeff in the cast helping with child and home while I'm healing this has not exactly been the "curled up in bed with coffee, something sweet, a favorite book and earplugs" kinda recovery I had dreamed of. It never is though, right? Come rain or snow or cold or surgery, mom is always on duty.  Now that I'm a parent and (even worse) older, the thing I most want to do is curl up somewhere quiet with a book and coffee, like I used to. When Jeff and I do have a spare moment the thing we most want to do with each other is sadly not dirty at all. We'd most like to sit somewhere quiet and do nothing. Just stare ahead blankly and not hear that horrible screeching sound our son likes to make when he's happy, sad, or just plain awake. In fact, he makes this horrible noise so much that I don't even notice it right away sometimes. I'm so used to how loud he is that it's sorta become the soundtrack to my life. Sometimes it just fades away into the background like a buzzing noise. I know that sounds awful. I feel like an awful mother even writing it. In my defense though, you have not heard the noise. If you have heard it, I'm sure you can find it in your heart to forgive me. Dorian is teething. He has a bad diaper rash because of this. He believes this trumps gallbladder removal and a broken hand. I guess if I had a rash on my bits I might think so too. That's all for now...... I hope.

I read a quote once and while I'm not sure who wrote it or the exact wording, it was something like this: "Now and then there is a person born that is so unlucky, accidents happen to them that started out happening to someone else." This might as well be our family motto.

On Saturday we rushed off to celebrate our anniversary at a beautiful hotel room overlooking the ocean. The first sign that things were not going to go well would be the outbreak of hives. We're eating our Chinese food we have gotten from the same place a million times and I happen to glance over at my husband and nearly jump out of my skin. His entire face and neck are covered in pretty serious looking blotches and welts that weren't there a minute ago. This was the first time we thought we'd be going to the Emergency Room. The hives calmed down after 30 minutes or so and we STILL have no idea what caused them. Then I ended up vomiting and crying from the gallbladder pain. Poor Jeff stayed up and watched over me, this is the second time we thought we'd be going to the Emergency Room.

Eventually Jeff got me to bed and thought the evening would quite down. He went to the bathroom real quick and by the time he came out he noticed water dripping and then pouring from the ceiling which appeared to be about to cave in. Now Jeff is trying to pack up all of our belongings and drag my unconscious behind out of the room before the one above us comes falling down on our heads. This is all around two in the morning by the way.

You'd think that would be the end of it, right? Not so much. Our new room was great until the fire alarm in it went on and off for the next two hours. He finally ripped it from the ceiling and wrapped it in blankets. After we left the hotel from hell and had breakfast, we picked up the car from the valet and Jeff drove us to the beach..... with the parking brake on. Now he needs new breaks. Like he said, of course it happens now, what with all the extra cash we have left over from Christmas and all. Oh, my laptop was dropped down a flight of stairs

Considering we ended up pregnant the last time we celebrated our anniversary at that hotel, I'm feeling pretty lucky. 

When my husband's new co-worker, Jay, asked me what year we were celebrating I drew a blank. I would like to say I was thinking are you counting from when we moved in together or how long we've been married? There's a big difference in years there. I can't tell you how many, but it's big enough to remember that much at least. I was busted and glad that my husband was not there when I decided to surprise him with vegan chicken drumsticks from this fantastic Vietnamese place he loves (AuLac) and to let Dorian say hi to his Dad. I finally manage to stutter out, "Two years...three...no two.... no three. He's one, so three?" I glance over at Dave (Jeff's Boss) who throws his hands up and says, Don't look at me?"   Look, the point is, I was bringing delicious food, a favorite of my husband of three whole years (or so I am told) and it is the thought that counts. Now, maybe if this was the first time I had forgotten our anniversary it would have been okay. I have forgotten before, folks. I forgot our first one. Jeff handed me a present and I opened it and thanked him. He asked if I knew what it was for. I said no mainly because I'm an idiot and who demands to know reasons for gifts before opening and appreciating them? He informed me it was our one year anniversary present. Good god was I mortified. I was that guy! I had no card, no gift, no fucking clue. I was THAT fucking guy. And, it seems I still am. My husband has requested that I remember that I am that guy right now the next time he wakes up to find he is that now that guy and give him a break. So, the next time I bitch about him here, feel free to remind me that I woke up to the Kitchen Aide Mixer of my dreams, roses tucked in the highchair and a card joking about how my husband was a jerk and never did anything right but was looking forward to the hotel room he'd booked that we stayed at on our first anniversary. See, do you see how fucking that guy I am right now and where all things anniversary are concerned?   Also, my husband was my hero on my birthday. He took the baby and let me sleep in. When I did wake up, he walked into the bedroom with a life size cut out of Orlando Bloom. He had to walk through the entire complex carrying that. He claims the car ride home was worse. Orlando stands and keeps watch in the corner of my room even now. It's sexy and creepy all at the same time.   So, Happy Anniversary to my wonderful husband of three years and doomed to the fires of hell living in sin for six years before that. And thank you to my 15 month old son for making sure we did not get any sleep well beyond the wee hours of  the morning. And not in a good way. Sleep, damn you, sleep!!!!!!   P.S.       Happy Birthday to my dear best friend, my pseudo husband.....

We’re teething. For you childless people this is code for: We haven’t slept in weeks, he spends more time crying than not and we each walk by the front door and just for a second, just a second, think of getting in the car and driving far, far away from that horrible sound, leaving our mate to raise him alone. Between the gallstones, the jungle flu we seem to keep passing back and forth and caring for a one year old, I’m tired. I’m sooooooooooooooooo very tired. I welcome the idea of the surgery for more than just the pain relief. I need a break. Why in the world did they make getting teeth so painful….for EVERYONE?

I used to wake up Monday mornings to a screeching alarm clock with a grumbled four letter word and a chip on my shoulder. I would haul my fat, tired ass out of bed to get ready for my crappy office job, resenting the ungodly hour, resenting that I was not some trust fund baby so rich that people felt compelled to give me things for free. Instead, I'd wake up with the same white trash heritage I went to sleep with. At least I overcame it, right? I clawed my way from the bottom all the way to the lower middle.
Now, if I sleep, I wake to a beautiful smile from my little baby boy. I am the dreaded stay at home mom. Sure, as an office monkey, I wasn't exactly a career woman, just working to pay for rent, going out to dinner with my sister and my gays, and some quality time with my wonderful husband. But now, I am pinching pennies so that every morning I can look into his face and say, "GOOD MORNING!" and have him blink, rub his eyes with hands and then give me that big toothy grin worth all the disposable income in the world.
I've been thinking about my life and how every phase of it, I seem to be a new person altogether. As a child, I was a victim and a hostage to a white trash alcoholic/addict mother. In my teens, early twenties, I was a survivor. I was angry and I was mean and I was good at it. I loved being bitter and jaded, hell, I still do. I felt justified, righteous even, unleashing on some poor jerk I thought wronged me. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of jack asses in the world that deserve it and some days I am still looking for a fight. Every now and then I am still itching to punch someone in the throat.
I have been told motherhood has mellowed me. I say nay, nay to that. I have merely entered into the next phase of my life, mama bear. Let some psycho step between me and my son, we'll see how mellow I've become. And just let me take a minute to really give a nod to all the mothers that have lifted cars off their children and shown amazing stamina when their children are in danger. Mother's can move mountains (and molehills) for their children. They can change a diaper in the trunk of the car, find lost shoes and socks, manage a household and change the world all on three hours of sleep. My love to all the mama bears out there.