UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015
Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.
So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.
Raise your hand: Don’t you love posts of questions and little content? Aug 13, 2007
There’s this fantastic thing about blogging. (And why I’ll never stop, you silly, I might just need to go to a corner and think really hard about my content from time to time. Or! I know! Post long run-on sentences and questions. Always with the questions, this one is…) It’s the feedback you people give even when it’s ... say ... one, no two, o’clock in the morning.
Here, let’s make it all official like with bullets. BULLETS!
- Baby O seems to have developed a natural order to his sleeping at night. He craves, as in screams his head off if we don’t abide, going to bed at about 7-ish. He sleeps pretty well until one o’clock for a bottle. Usually (shooting myself in the foot now and knocking on every piece of wood in the house) goes back to sleep, eats again at 4ish and then 7ish again. This is annoying for a twleve week old, who, I know I know, is only just today turning two months old from his due date. Got it. But still? At two months? And twelve pounds? To get up twice? This ain’t right is it. Or is it? My memory is failing me.
- What is your feeling on icons for profile pictures? I’m not afraid to show you who I am so if we met on the playground you could run up to me and say, “OHMAHGAH, I LOVE your website! I’m a HUGE fan of yours! I’ve been reading since, like, last week! Please sign my bra.” But still, I tend to use this cute lil’ icon for my profile shots and thought some feedback might be in order. Annoying? Cute? Who-cares-where-is-my-damn-coffee-already?
- Sites that make tasteful use of the f-bomb, yes or no?
- I only make tasteful use of the f-bomb. (This is a subliminal suggestion. Not so much a question.)
- Have you commented on the “I love my son more than my daughter” post? Because if you have, I luff you. I big-puppy-dog-lick love you.
- How many licks DOES it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop tootsie roll?
The world may never know.
And, finally, not really a question. Just because I can:
Isn’t he cute?
Everything new is old again Aug 11, 2007
Sometimes I think I should just quit blogging. Not because I suck (for some reason you said I don’t) or because it sucks or because it sucks too much time out of my life (which has been a recent theme, by the way) but because I don’t think I have any new words to add. Like this? Is exactly what I wanted to say. And this? Ya. And THIS? I couldn’t say this any better. Well, obviously you don’t need my faith speech when you can go read THIS one. What’s a f’in24 hour recap when there’s actual poetry being written out there? GO READ THEM NOW. I’m off to pour another red and probably not write another damn thing.
This weekend, I mean.
Twenty-four: A multi-media experience Aug 11, 2007
Synopsis: 24 hours to live it,
4 hours to gather in to a post, approximately 8 minutes to enjoy.
A day in the life of a Flinger: Twenty-Four Hours.
Honest Parenting Aug 09, 2007
I’m writing this as one child is in the swing and the other repeats, “I’m hungray I’m hungaray” to the TV. I just wanted to preface this because, as you know, I am by no means the best mother in the world and you should take absolutely-f’in-everything I say with a grain of salt. ‘mmMK?
I’ve been pretty open about how difficult my transition to motherhood was. I had a hard time connecting with LB. She was colicky, she screamed 6 to 8 hours a day and slept, if we were lucky, 2 hours at a time for nine months. It wasn’t the image I had in mind and was even a little bitter at other moms for not telling me how shitty being a mom was. They would say things like, “I love my child so much I would die for him.” I thought, “I’m already dead and if I’m not, kill me now. This blows.” I would lie in the bathroom on the floor and cry because my marriage, the person I loved going in to this whole deal, the one I wanted to make babies with, was sucking the life out of me. The baby ruined my marriage. My life would never be good again, this baby sucked.
That’s how my story went for about five months.
Then things got better. I started to understand why parents would glow about their kids. I loved her. I actually DID love her! It was a long time before I cried happy tears and said I loved my life but it happened. And then I got all sappy because she was my daughter and I couldn’t imagine loving another child as much as I loved her.
Until I had Baby O.
I mentioned that I connected with him so much earlier. I felt that I understood him even as he was still growing legs and arms. I already looked forward to meeting him when, during my first pregnancy, I had no concept of what was coming. To me, my first pregnancy was a “condition”. My second pregnancy, I was growing a person. I grew a real human and I understood what that meant and the toothless grins and even sleepless nights that awaited me. I was thrilled with the expectations, even if I wasn’t thrilled of how my body felt.
Once I had Baby O and I was allowed to hold him in the NICU, I connected to him on a much deeper level much earlier. We did kangaroo care every day in the hospital and I continued it for weeks after we got home. I didn’t mind getting up with him. He was alive! He was here! He was breathing on his own! I was just to thankful he could wake me up and I could see he was breathing that I didn’t care how tired I was. I was in love. I was giddy and in love from the moment I met him. It was the fairytale I heard other mothers speak of that I never understood before. I realized I was literally, as Anne Lamott once said in Operating Instruction, “Fucked unto the lord” should anything ever happen to him.
Weeks have gone by and there’s been a natural progression in the family. Mr. Flinger tends to care for LB when he’s home and I take Baby O. We each bathe our designated child. We each read to our designated child. We each tend to rush to our designated child’s aid when he/she needs us. It’s not that we love one over the other, it’s that, maybe, we connected with one when he/she was a baby and we still feel the pull of that connection?
I know what this would sound like if it wasn’t me who was trying to (not eloquently enough) say it. It would sound like I love my son more. And I don’t. Of course I don’t. I just feel a deeper connection with him right now. LB tires me. She challenges me. She’s hard. She’s busy. I get so frustrated with her that I sometimes grit my teeth and ask my friends if they’d like another toddler. Baby O smiles more than she did as a baby. He snuggles me while LB never was a snuggler. He cuddles in to my body and relaxes like I’m the only thing in the world he needs to be at peace. LB never did that, even as an infant. She’s fiery, independent, and spunky. She’s too much like me. Baby O is his father. He sits back and watches. He’s relaxed. He grins and listens. And I fell in love with my husband for a reason. I fell in love with him because I needed that balance, I needed the relaxed, happy, easy-going contradiction to my A-D-D self. We compliment each other nicely.
So I find myself wondering how long sparks are going to fly between LB and myself. How long will I favor one over the other even as I fight to not do so. I wonder if we’re destined to live up to the “mama’s boy” and “daddy’s little girl” stereotypes. It saddens me, honestly, that I already lost the connection when LB was a newborn that Mr. Flinger was able to make. I made up for it by connecting with my son but will I forever lose that chance with my daughter? She’s still young. There is still time for us to have mommy and daughter outings and make a connection. I know we will go through transitions and phases and sometimes I will be the one she needs to talk to about tampons and boys. But I also never want her to lose that connection with her Dad. I want her to go to him, too.
I just wish she wouldn’t push my buttons so much. Or I wish I knew how to not let her.
Feel free to tell me you connected to one child more than the other. That it’s not insane or bad to feel a little tension at times, even in phases, with each child. That this comes and goes and eventually Baby O will be running after Daddy to play catch and LB and I will be sitting at the book store reading together sipping our tea. Because that’s what’s going to happen, right? It will play out that way, right? Because one day Baby O will be two. And when that day comes, LB will be almost five. I can beat you money I’ll re-read this entry and laugh.
Randomness Aug 06, 2007
The BoyChild will not let me set him down. What-so-ever. At all. Nada. Zilch. No-go. W.T.F. This means I have about thirty-two minutes at the end of the day when Mr. Flinger gets here to do bills, clean, make dinner, eat dinner, pee, shower, and workout. Oh! And type! And write thank you cards! And give myself a pedicure because OY. Did I mention Oy? OY.
This too shall pass. I know I know. And if I was really obnoxious and deeply troubling I might say something totally gross like, “I just enjoy this time because one day he’ll be fighting me off and I’ll miss the days of carrying him around in the sling every goddamn minute of the day.”
In other news, I took a pregnancy test. YES! That’s right! Internet, I made it an entire ELEVEN WEEKS before peeing on another pregnancy stick. It’s an addiction. Did I tell you I had this almost uncontrollable urge to pee on one during the third trimester? You know, AS THE BABY IS MOVING? There really should be a support group.
It was negative. Duh.
Doesn’t explain the hormones and boobs.
Or other things.
Tonight after a bath and a story (O loves Harry Potter but we’re only on page 132 so don’t tell us who wins) I laid him down and did a rain dance to the gods of “my child has some insane sensor on him that detects a surface other than mom” and it worked. He was asleep. Or is. Or, wait…
We didn’t turn on the monitor.
Ignorance is bliss.
This is what summer is supposed to be like Aug 05, 2007
And why I haven’t done your web design yet. Because SOME OTHER PEOPLE made me drink this weekend. And somehow there was photographic evidence. With my camera. (Which explains why there are 192 photos in the set. Drunk photography is almost as fantastic as drunk blogging.) Or, maybe, it’s “192 reasons I start the South Beach Diet Monday.” Because? I didn’t hold the camera the whole time. And I’m in some of them. And, well. Until I look like my icon, I should really cut back on the poke cake.
And now you will insert a big long mushy paragraph about how wonderful it is to move to a new home and find people you can enjoy, your kids can grow up together, and they understand your daily ups and downs and never call CPS when you tell them you’d like to drug your child. In fact, they laugh, which is exactly the proper response and why you love them all the more.
And so many more you may just have a hangover from looking through them all.
Show of hands Aug 02, 2007
Anyone gone poop with their baby in the sling? Anyone? Anyone? No? Just me then?
Blind Date Aug 02, 2007
I have a blind date this morning. What’s that? You thought blind dates ended when you got married? Apparently they don’t. instead, they just turn in to blind PLAYDATES instead of blind MANDATES. Apparently there’s this thing that moms do that is such a compulsive behavior, they can’t help themselves. “You know, I know a mom with a toddler and a newborn who also likes walks on the beach and sunsets! You’d just love her! You’re perfect for each other.” And off they go to invite you both to their house for lunch. There is some awkwardness as you glance in the mirror realizing you badly need to cover your gray hair and your muffin-top is a wee bit accentuated in that pair of pre-pregnancy capris but then you remind yourself this is not a date. It’s a playdate, for godsakes. And isn’t it kosher to wear spitup and dark circles to a playdate?
But it’s still hard to suppress those pre-married feelings. Will she like me? Will she be cool? Why didn’t I shave my legs? And why isn’t it OK to drink at playdates? It would make the whole thing so much less painful.
Wish me luck. If nothing else, it’ll be blog material.
P.S. I’ve been dying to get my fitness posts going but I’ve been enthralled with reading every single member application and finding out that YOU PEOPLE ARE COOL. Why do you not tell me just how cool you are until I promise to show you my flabby uterus? Seriously, I heart you all and I’m so glad you signed up. I’ve been so busy writing to you one at a time that I haven’t put up those posts but they’re coming. Oh, the flab posts, they are coming.