Tuesday, January 31, 2006

I need a hug...

I just do.

Crappy day.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Milky Mama

So I've been back to work for 2 weeks now. I have an office, so when I need to pump I just shut the door. However, it looks a little funny because nobody else in my office closes their doors! PLUS I don't have a lock, so I wedge a door stopper under the door.

I wasn't sure how to let my co-workers know exactly what I was doing in my office with the doors closed, so I figured I'd just wait until someone asked. And sure enough, today as I was coming back from storing my freshly pumped milk in the fridge, the girl across the hall stopped me.

"Hey, can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want because it's a personal question."

Of course I was like, "sure, ask away!"

"Do you have to pump during the day?"

I started laughing and said "Yep, that's what I'm doing when my door is closed!"

She started laughing too and said, "We were on suicide watch for you! We thought you were just really depressed because you had to come back to work and leave the baby at home!"

I was DYING.

Glad THAT'S cleared up.

Friday, January 27, 2006

And on a side note...

The funniest thing I've heard all week:

The supervisors at my company were previously called Business Unit Leaders (BULs). This week my boss decided that they should be called Business Unit Managers.

I work for a bunch of BUMs.


But... uh... isn't that his job?

I'm not a particulary religious person, as most of you know. I'm agnostic, which is just a funny word for indecisive. But this is just plain silly. It's one thing to be an atheist, but it's another thing completely when you're an atheist that sues a priest for telling people about Jesus. Whether or not you believe in Jesus as the son of God, or just believe that he was a man that existed, or don't believe that he existed at all, I don't think it's nice to stomp all over what other people believe, as long as they're nice people. Faith gives a lot of people hope. Sure it causes some people to act like assholes, but people who don't believe in any god can act like assholes too.

Joe Strummer is my god today...

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Blogging about Work

So a year ago tomorrow I had my second interview for my job. I left that interview feeling excited about possibly working for the company that I do and excited about possibly leaving my job at Target, because if I would have had to work there one more day I would have taken that bulls eye a little TOO seriously. A few days after my interview I got an offer letter from my company and (obviously) accepted.

I know you shouldn’t blog about work, but I’m past caring about my job. Any excitement I had about working here went out the window months ago, when I witnessed my first firing. Since then I’ve felt like I’ve been walking on eggshells, and now that I’m back from maternity leave, it’s even worse. I’m in a constant state of annoyance and/or boredom. I don’t do what I got hired to do, which is to be a “web content writer.” I don’t even work on the website anymore. I write lame ass letters to “strategically” market to companies that never get mailed out and propose ways to organize our email listing that never get implemented. I retrieve and distribute the mail every other day. I sit in meetings that are about the same boring, repetitive ass shit several hours a day. I find myself not caring if I have a job or not. I’m just a glorified mail girl, after all.

I resigned myself to the fact last summer that my job will never be fulfilling and the company that I work for will never get its shit straight. I’m still here however, because it’s EASY. I’m well paid for the small amount of lame work that I do. Not SUPER well paid, but well paid for working in a small Western Pennsylvanian town. And I have benefits for my daughter. Plus a whole 2 weeks of vacation this year and nine paid holidays.

So what am I bitching about? My dad spent 36 years working on the railroad. He was outside every day, all day, in the heat of summer or the cold of winter. Rain or shine. He was jumping off trains to switch the tracks and broke his ankle once on the same day that my mom found out she was pregnant with me. You can still very clearly see the scar on his ankle and that was almost 30 years ago. Did he like his job? Maybe, maybe not. But he never bitched about it. My mom worked in a nursing home for 20 years. She hurt her back numerous times from lifting people in and out of their beds. She had to stick her finger up people’s asses to give them enemas. She had to deal with people backstabbing her all the time and RNs acting like she was a piece of shit because she didn’t have a nursing degree. Did she LIKE her job? Was it what she always wanted to do? No. Not at all. But she did it, and she did it well.

Can I really bitch that I sit in front of a computer all day that has unrestricted internet access? That I never have to endanger myself by jumping off of a moving train or do something as disgusting as digging the poop out of an Alzheimer patients butt? I have no fucking right to complain. At all. I left a job where I dealt with rude people all day and had to lift 27 inch TVs into peoples cars. At 5’5 and 140 pounds (when I worked there, not now) that was no easy feat. I hurt my back AND my knee working at Target. I had condescending bosses who pissed me off because I knew that I had more education under my belt than they would ever have. And the worst part about that was dealing with people who treated me like a piece of shit because they assumed that I was uneducated and stupid just because I worked in retail.

Today I’m feeling like I’d rather be back there. Because despite all of the bullshit, all of those bosses are gone now, and I had a job that actually DID like, if you were to take out the “dealing with the public” and “working on the weekends” part. I was an essential part of the company. My department couldn’t function without me. I had a leadership position and I learned how to make people respect AND like me at the same time. I worked hard and kept myself busy always. Everything was clearly spelled out for me and although a lot of my job was mindless bullshit, it made my day go fast. Plus I had friends that I could joke around with there. I’m lacking ALL of those things here.

Do I WANT to go back there? No, not at all. The truth is that I need to find something that I’m going to feel good about doing. Something that utilizes the many things that I’m good at and gives me purpose. I have no purpose now.

The point is that I do want my daughter to someday look at me, the way I look at my parents, and know that I worked hard so that she could have all the things that she wanted.

I’ll get there eventually. I’ve pinpointed the problem, and the next step is rectifying it.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

20 Things That Change After You Have A Baby

Someone posted this on the discussion board that I frequent, so I thought I’d add to it.

1. You look at your baby in the mirror instead of yourself.
This is true. Every day I show her our reflection in the mirror, and I just stare at her little face and she stares at mine.

2. You finally stop to smell the roses, because your baby is in your arms.
Well, if you could smell her farts, you’d want to smell the roses too.

3. Where you once believed you were fearless, you now find yourself afraid.
More like terrified. I don’t know how many times a night I wake up and check to see if she’s breathing.

4. You're less self-involved and more self-motivated.
I used to want to buy myself stuff all the time, and now it’s all about her.

5. The sacrifices you thought you made to have a child no longer seem like sacrifices.
Avoiding smoky bars seemed like such a bummer when I first got pregnant, now you really have to drag me away from her to get me to one!

6. You respect your body ... finally. (Hooray for baby-making!)
Although I don’t like what my body looks like at the moment, I’m proud of what it did. I’m proud of all the pain I went through (12 hours of intense unmedicated labor before my second epidural kicked in) in order to bring her into the world.

7. You have stronger opinions and are stronger willed.
I don’t know if my opinions could possibly BE any stronger, but I’m definitely stronger willed.

8. You respect your parents and love them in a new way. (Hooray for grandparents!)
When I think about the fact that my mom once held me in her arms, enraptured by my sleepy face and full of love, it amazes me. To know what kind of love your parents felt for you when you were a baby is amazing, and it does make you love them in a new way.

9. You find that your baby's pain feels much worse than your own.
I took her to get her first set of vaccinations last week and I cried harder and longer than she did.

10. You believe once again in the things you believed in as a child. (Hooray for the tooth fairy!)
Well, I haven’t gotten there yet but I can’t wait until we can watch Sesame Street together.

11. You lose touch with the people in your life that you should have banished years ago.
It’s sad, but true. I don’t know so much about the “banished years ago” part, but you most definitely lose touch with people.

12. Your heart breaks much more easily.
Oh lord. If you knew how many times a day my eyes well up with tears, you’d be amazed. I cried today because a woman I don’t even know from my baby discussion board said her baby fell off the couch on to his face. He was fine, but it still just killed me.

13. You think of your baby 234,836,178,976 times a day. In fact, you're so busy with this that you forget everything else.
Work? More like, “Time away from the baby.”

14. Every day is a surprise.
True. You never know if she’s going to poop, sleep, cry, be happy, laugh, etc. She changes every day.

15. Bodily functions are no longer repulsive. In fact, they please you. (Hooray for poop!)
Well, I don’t know about “hooray for poop,” but I do know that when she poops, she’s happier, and that makes me happy.

16. You think before you speak.

17. You become a morning person. (Hooray for watching the sun rise!)
I’ve always been a morning person, but my baby loves sleeping in. There’s been days that she’s slept until almost noon. Lazy kid. She needs to get a job.

18. If you have a son, you no longer curse men. (Hooray for all men!)
Hey, who ever said I cursed men?

19. If you have a daughter, you hope she won't endure your same heartaches.
Actually, I hope I don’t give her the same insecurities my mom gave me (like when my mom tells me my ass is big… I KNOW mom, I just had a fucking baby).

20. Your love becomes limitless, a superhuman power.
Damn straight.

Monday, January 23, 2006

Black and Gold FEVER

Lyric says "Here we go!" as she waves her Terrible Burp Cloth.

Friday, January 20, 2006

Sleep Nazi

That’s what I’ve become. Lyric and I share the bed. Before we moved, for probably the past month, Ryan has been sleeping on the couch. Somehow I turned into the princess that had the pea under her mattress. We’ve had our queen sized bed since we first lived together. We got it for free from a friend of my mother. Needless to say, it’s fairly worn out, what with all the stone cold drunk passed out nights and more recently, all the baby making. I like to nurse Lyric in bed, it’s how she falls asleep, and the old bed just wasn’t up to par. It was already on a slant, and with Ryan laying on one side, it was like he was just weighing his side down and Lyric and I were ready just to roll right into him. I was afraid she’d roll over on to her face. So we tried the air mattress. That worked for one night, and the next night I had to relocate Lyric and myself to the couch. Since then, Ryan has slept on the couch.

I feel bad about it. I know he hates being kicked out of the bed, and personally, I miss sleeping with my husband. I miss a lot of intimacy with my husband these days, but that’s to be expected with a small infant in the house. As Dooce would say, we have yet to “reconvene the procedure.” I’m a little scared for that moment to come, but that’s a post for another day.

Moving didn’t help our situation either. Ryan’s parents have a tiny full sized bed at their house. It’s older than dirt. We tried to sleep in it the other night, and as I was lying there nursing Lyric, Ryan plopped down on the bed and as he did so, it managed to sink Lyric down enough to break her latch on my boob. I know you ladies who have breastfed know what it’s like when your baby pulls off your nipple hard. It’s not a nice feeling.

So Ryan went back to the couch. However, Ryan is 6’4. The couch at his mom’s house is a loveseat. So it just doesn’t work. Our couch, which is now in storage, is a good 7 feet long and wide enough for 2 adults to comfortably sleep on side by side. It too is old and worn out and I know one of these days we’ll get a new couch and it will never be the same.

Anyway, Ryan has been bugging me about moving Lyric to the co-sleeper so she can start to learn to sleep on her own, and I’ve been afraid of doing that. But last night she slept through the entire night. I was the one who woke up and was like, “hey, why haven’t you made me switch sides yet?” My left boob had soaked my AC/DC shirt, so I had to rouse her a little to wake up and eat. Then I was like, “HOLY SHIT!” You slept almost a good 6 hours without waking up!”

*begin whine* But I don’t waaaant to moooove her to her co-sleeeeeperrrrrr! I want my snuggly baby beside me AND my husband! Why can’t I just have a brand new king sized bed??? Oh, because I don’t have two fucking thousand dollars to buy one.

Don’t you get a tax credit for having a kid? How much is that exactly???

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Babysitting the Babysitter (aka Grandpa)

Today my dad is watching Lyric as Ryan completes the rest of our moving. We successfully managed to get ourselves into his mom’s house last night, but because we traded in the truck for the minivan, we have no way to haul furniture to our storage unit. So we have to depend on the people we know with trucks to do that. At any rate, the move is nearly complete and that makes me happy. And I barely had to lift a finger. I love my husband.

Anyway, my dad is watching my daughter. For the first time without my mother there. This makes me nervous for various reasons. Sure, my dad has fathered 5 children successfully. Each of us have grown up to be big, strong, healthy adults. But we’re going on 25 years since my dad has taken care of a baby. He’s pretty set in his ways. For instance, before Lyric was born I went to the State Police to have them install my car seat in my van. My dad thought that this was ridiculous. I asked him why and he told me that he thought car seats were dangerous. The actual words out of his mouth were, “I’d feel safer holding a baby in the car.” Uncomfortable pause. “Not while I was driving, of course!” Oh, of course! But if it’s just you and the baby in the car, then WHO IS HOLDING THE BABY? Not to mention the LAW!


My dad IS 70 years old though. So it’s to be expected. The other day I had to give him a lesson on how to change a modern diaper. He was trying to peel open the velcro tabs because he thought they should be sticky. All of my siblings and I wore cloth diapers, so I’m sure it was confusing.

He also tends to make Lyric cry by rubbing his moustache on her head and laying her on her stomach across his lap. He claims she likes it, and then of course I have to ask the obvious, “then why is she crying?” Every single time I pick her up from my mom’s house her head smells like my dad’s aftershave. It’s unnerving when your baby girl smells like an old man.

This morning I called my dad to tell him to go ahead and take a container of breastmilk out of the freezer that I had put there the other day. “Ok. Should I put it in the microwave?” I almost fainted at the prospect of my dad killing my protective antibodies by nuking them. Or possibly burning Lyric’s esophagus with red hot boob juice.

Oh well. I lived, right? My mom went back to work and my dad was laid off, much like me and Ryan right now. And my dad took care of me. He used to curl my hair every day before school.

He’s the reason I’m so vain! I just figured it out.

Ok, time to call him to see if my daughter is still alive. Later I’ll be smelling her head and knowing my dad was there. And THAT is comforting.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

Behind Closed Office Doors

Being at work means that I have to pump a few times a day. If you have no idea what I’m talking about and think that maybe I ride a bike to work that tends to get flat tires, let me clarify for you: I have to pump milk from my BOOBS.

I work in a very open office environment. Nobody closes their office doors. Ever. So it’s a little awkward for me to close my office door so I can whip my boobies out a few times a day. Add to that the fact that there’s no lock on the door and you have one very nervous lactating mama. Although the first person to burst through my office door would probably get the shock of their life. It’s not every day you get to see a human milking themselves.

I had so many fears and reservations about breastfeeding. I thought it would be weird. It’s not. I thought it wouldn’t work. It did. But I won’t lie. It didn’t come easy. I’ve always been the person who tries to make things as easy as possible for myself, because let’s just face it, I’m lazy. So naturally, breastfeeding doesn’t seem like something I would do. Especially since I’m so prissy and shy. But it became so important to me that I knew I couldn’t give up. Even in the early days when I was sleep deprived and she was crying and I was like, “Really? You’re hungry AGAIN?” But I didn’t want to give up. So, totally out of character for me, I kept plugging away. And now? I’m so glad I didn’t quit. Lyric is fat and sassy and I love our time together. Yesterday when I fed her at my mom’s house she grunted and practically stuck my whole boob in her mouth after head butting it in excitement. That in itself is endearing. She prefers my boobs over the bottles she gets all day! How wonderful! I never thought that breastfeeding would be so bonding, but it really is.

So closing my office door a few times a day isn’t that big of a deal. And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them exactly what I’m doing… then I’ll be like, “aren’t you glad you asked?”

Monday, January 16, 2006

Slave to the Grind

Today is my first day back to work. As much as I thought I would have welcomed it, I’m sitting here, bored as usual after catching up with my email. All I can think about is Lyric and if she is being good for my mom today as Ryan packs up our house.

It’s been a busy few weeks. We’re moving. We’re actually only moving a whopping 3 miles away, into Ryan’s mom’s house. Most of our stuff is going into storage. The bright side? Ryan’s parents are not living at their house right now, which is another long story. At any rate, they’re working on selling it once they find a place for his grandma, who lives in the basement apartment. So we’ll be sharing the space with grandma, and only until we finally close on a house. Still working on that.

So needless to say, I have my mind on other much more important things, mainly my child. But I’m looking forward to catching up on everyone’s blogs. That’s the one good thing about my day.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Tight Knit Bloggers

Both Aimee and ESC surprised me with some lovely knitted gifts for my dear daughter. And she looks damn cute in them:

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The sweater from Aimee. Note that my child is completely passed out here. Drunk again.

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And the hat from ESC. Lyric is disfiguring her face by smooshing it into her dad’s chest. She’s good at that.

Thanks guys!

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

Super Pooper

Ryan and I have been properly initiated in the bonds of parenthood. Here’s how.

I put Lyric down in her bouncer for about 5 minutes the other day to switch laundry around. She started fussing a little bit so I picked her up and noticed that her bum was damp. Being Ms. Mommy, I said to her, “oh no, someone has pee pee pants!” and proceeded to get her diaper changing pad and a diaper out.

Upon removing her pants, I realized that I wasn’t, in fact, dealing with pee pee. No sir. I was dealing with poopies. Poopies of the disastrous variety. As I peeled her pants I saw the chunky mustardy goo oozing from within her onesie. But I had no idea of what was beneath. I jokingly called out to Ryan, “I got a poopie one here, I might need some backup!” Backup indeed. Because as I unsnapped her onesie, I saw the frightening mess that was beneath. The poop had somehow exploded from her ass and projectiled to the front of her diaper, where it had burst out the top and all over her fat little belly. It was in her belly button. It was around her back. And the kicker? We had to somehow pull her onesie up over her head to get it off.

Ryan came running at the sound of terror in my voice. How had this happened? Where had we gone wrong with the diaper? What had we done to deserve this? I was almost hyperventilating through my insane laughter. We headed directly to the shower, where Ryan carefully tried to wipe some of the mess from her belly and peel her onesie off without getting poop on her face. Unfortunately we got a little on her head, but hey, we’re inexperienced. We started up the shower and Ryan held her out while I hosed her off. All the while she’s just looking at us with this bewildered expression on her face, like “what the fuck are you guys doing to me?”

We dried her off, re-diapered and clothed her, and all was well. Crisis over. The only thing I need to know is how the hell do you get baby poop stains out? And why does it stain so badly? It’s poop for cryin’ out loud! Poop!