Posts Tagged ‘
baby barf ’
Friday, October 7th, 2011
Refusing To Eat
It’s amazing the yin and yang of motherhood. This Sunday, while Phil was on day 9 of his epic LA journey (that I thought would never end), my two closest mom friends took me to brunch. Sans babies. It was heaven. We actually went to a nice place, complete with linen tablecloths. I didn’t find myself grabbing for the ketchup before Fia flung it across the room; the water and ice remained on the table; we didn’t pull out crayons as an act of desperation. And the conversation. Oh my god, the conversation. We actually spoke in complete sentences. I realized I still really do know the English language.
After that, I treated myself to a prenatal massage. I had no qualms about leaving Fia with the sitter for the majority of the day. I needed the break. Between Phil’s absence, the impending move to LA and subletting our Brooklyn apartment, the pregnancy and my freelance work, I could easily justify the R & R.
In short, Sunday was glorious.
That’s what awoke me at 5:15 Monday morning. WTF? Fia sleeps until 6:30. Except Monday she decided to throw me a fast one. The rest of the day consisted of dodging curve balls (I know nothing about baseball, so pardon if my puns are messed up).
By that evening, I was so spent I just camped out on the couch with Sesame Street. I couldn’t deal.
I put her in her high chair with food and waited for the clock to hit 6:30—that’s when we begin the bedtime routine. She sat there, not touching anything.
I asked her (from the couch) to please eat. Instead, she took a gob of peanut butter and wiped it in her hair. Then did this devilish “heh heh heh” laugh. I kid you not, it kinda freaked me out. Maybe she is possessed? Do I need a priest? Maybe I was so tired my imagination was running wild. I took her out and gave her a bath.
She loves the bath. This night, she hated it. Screamed the whole time. And did that devil laugh. Good god. She threw water everywhere. I got done as quickly as I could, changed into comfy sweats myself, then gave her the bottle. She drank all of it, and I had a glimpse of optimism that I would soon be off the clock, in my comfy clothes, relaxing. I pulled her to my shoulders to hug her goodnight as I always do.
Are you f–king kidding me? I look at her and myself. We were covered in barf. What amazes me is how calm I am outwardly. I think I just go into my own possessed trance mode. Inside though, I wanted to cry. And scream. And maybe break something. Instead, I put us both in the shower, with our clothes on, peeling them off and washing off the barf. Neither of us enjoyed the experience. I got us both into our pajamas, said good night and she went down.
I sat on the couch thinking about what a difference a day makes. Sometimes it’s too my benefit. Other times like this, when the massage/brunch/relaxation go out the window at the speed of lightning, it’s to my detriment. It just amazes me how fast moods and scenarios can change with a toddler. I guess that’s life and it’s nothing I don’t already know. It’s just more magnified now, since it’s not all about me. In the end the ebbs and flows even out, right? They must. I hope so.
Suffice it to say, Phil came home on a red-eye later this week. I don’t know who was happier to see him: me or Fi. It makes me realize that gaps he fills in. We trade off mornings getting up with her. And he takes over at 6 pm and gets her fed and ready for bed. I’ll be relieved in a few short weeks when we’re all in LA together and this solo parenting thing becomes a rarity. I don’t know how the single moms out there do it, or the military moms, or anyone who parents alone. But I know one thing: I bow deeply to them.
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Wednesday, August 24th, 2011
Fia at camp-- post barf
It’s not everyday I get to walk down the streets of Soho smelling like baby barf. In fact, I’m not even in Soho very often. But as luck would have it, the one day I decided to take Fia into the fashionable hip area of New York City, she let loose.
My friend Courtney and I were taking the babes to a mom-tot camp. I recently got a car, so we decided to drive. Being pregnant and hot in the subways isn’t real appealing.
As I pulled into the parking garage, I heard the gurgling sound. And then smelled it. Phil had given her both milk and yogurt that morning. Fetid. It was everywhere.
The parking attendant dudes were amazing. They gave me paper towels, cleaning supplies, the works. In a scenario like this you find out quickly how good—or useless—your mom friends are. Courtney got right in there and helped me with the mess as her son Teddy slept blissfully in the car seat next to Fia’s. How he didn’t wake up from the stench is beyond me.
Poor Fi was crying at first but then got her happy face on. Especially when I took her in the grubby parking lot bathroom and tried to give her a sink shower. She thought it was bath time.
“No, don’t touch the faucet,” I yelled as I dangled her over the dirty sink. “No, not the paper towels either.” I was trying to hold her away from me as I cleaned her. It was a good core and arm workout. The floor was covered with water and dirt and her vomit. It was just a royal mess. (I did mop up the mess after.)
Of course it was one of those times when I didn’t bring a full back up outfit. I had a kimono-top, but that was it. Poor baby had her first experience in Soho looking more homeless than high fashion.
But now I get the badge of barf honor and know even more how imperative friends and family are. It takes a village—especially with vomit.
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Friday, June 3rd, 2011
Mama and Baby on Beach
I was so adamant about not having children, I debated getting my tubes tied at 30. My mother begged me not to. (Obviously I listened.) Still, it is with great irony that I find myself an “official” mommy blogger.
Pre-Fia, I’d cross the street to avoid the little Petri dishes. Diapers? Disgusting. Playgrounds? I’d rather have the plague.
My neighborhood didn’t help matters. I live in Park Slope, Brooklyn–perhaps the biggest breeder neighborhood in New York City. A place where wee little inmates run the asylum. We’re featured in articles and blogs—one equates Park Slope to a battle zone between “the ballers” and “the breeders”. For those without children, you can’t overstate the annoyances: strollers on every inch of the sidewalk, oblivious parents who bombard quiet coffee shops with their babies, intimate restaurants that quickly become cacophonies of chaos when toddlers are unleashed.
No, my husband and I certainly didn’t move here six years ago to procreate. The reason we moved here is it sits right on beautiful Prospect Park and we’re runners (or were before we had Fi and P90X).
But then, through various events, we changed our minds. We decided to give up birth control and “see” what happened. At 39, I figured my ovaries were toast anyway. Off to Mexico we went where tequila poured free, and boom, Ms Fi was on her way.
Throughout my pregnancy I spent many a therapy session worrying that I’d love my cat Wayne Sanchez more than my daughter. Thank god nature does its job well. Wayne still gets spooned every night, but it’s Fia who rocks my world. And the fact that I love—not loathe—babies is nothing short of a miracle.
So now I’ve been given this platform on Parents to basically write whatever I want about my life with Fi. A golden ticket covered with baby barf.
I hope to bring an honest perspective to my blog that’s not indulgent, irritating or precious. I hope I don’t bore you. And that you’ll come back and visit. Lots.
I find it a privilege to be a parent and an honor to write about it. And thank god. Because if I hated it, or loved my cat more than my daughter, then I’d probably be in the loony bin. And who wants to write from there?
FOR A YEAR, I BLOGGED IN CONJUNCTION WITH THE SHOW I WAS HOSTING, CALLED MY FIRST BABY. HERE ARE MY PAST BLOGS THAT SPAN MY FIRST YEAR WITH FI.
What it Means to be a MOM–the feelings of early motherhood
The Fog Will Clear–How early motherhood does get easier
Baby’s Not-So-Cute-Milestone: Diaper Rash–a traumatic event, followed by another involving a red bum and a lot of cornstarch
Living in the Moment--how having a baby gives you a chance to indulge. And play. Especially if you’re a Type-A person.
Not A Vacation--did I really say in the previous post that having a baby allows you to indulge? Play? Feel like you’re on vacation? Was I on drugs?
Have Baby, Will Travel--tricks for traveling with baby/helpful advice and tips
Navigating the Minefield of Milestones–the good and bad of baby milestones
Travel Fiasco–My Scattered Self–a shit show, for lack of a better word, at LaGuardia. I must be losing it.
Picky Eaters–great advice from my pediatrician for picky eaters and avoiding the terrible two’s
Fia Turns One--the emotional journey leading up to your baby’s first birthday
What Travel Does For Me…and Fi–my first babyless vacation. And why I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Return From My Baby-less Vacation–I find out things weren’t so smooth while I was away. But I don’t feel guilty.
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babies, baby barf, being a mom, blogging, Brooklyn, mom, motherhood, new mom, parenthood, parenting, park slope, pregnancy | Categories:
A Fi Grows in Brooklyn, Fearless Feisty Mama, Must Read