Confessions of a New Mom
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Having only had a baby for 2 months, I haven't had the opportunity to screw things up too badly (yet). But, as Matthew says, we've had "consistently declining standards" as the days go by. I thought he was exaggerating, until last night.
I think I was the most ticked off kid in the neighborhood that the fireworks had been postponed because of a freakish rain storm. I'd been sitting around the house all day, waiting to "do something" and that was the something that I wanted to do, go watch the fireworks. We live in a prime location as we can walk to where they shoot off the fireworks in less than 10 minutes. Not having to fight traffic and being close to a bathroom are two top reasons to go see the fireworks when they are shot off in your neighborhood.
We didn't let the rain deter our plans for steaks and a pint of Ben & Jerrys, but that was where the fun ended. Whether it was the thunder and lightening or the idiots who wouldn't let said thunder and lightening deter them from shooting off their roadside stand bought fireworks that kept Marin up till 1 a.m. we'll never know. But, when he finally crashed, so did we. It was my night to watch him (dang it). After only 5 hours sleep, he was up screaming. Nice. I drag myself out of bed to feed and diaper him and it is over an hour before I get him back down.
As I ease him back into his nest, I hear the dog flop her ears. Lexi doesn't bark to get your attention, as barking is strictly prohibited in this house and greyhounds don't bark much anyway; she flops. You know, when a dog is wet and shakes from head to toe to get the water off and the flopping sound that their ears make? Well, Lexi does this to get your attention even when she is dry. This usually means one of two things: I'm hungry or I need to pee. Unfortunately, today it was both. I fixed her food, fed her and sent her out. Instead of getting down to business and using the bathroom, she decides that early morning is the best time to get in a workout and starts running like a crazed fool in the backyard. If I would have been dressed, I would have went outside to pulverize her. But since I was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and underwear, I was reduced to a hissing yell at her through the barely cracked backdoor. She knew I couldn't come out there and get her, so she just stands there looking at me. "Get your ass in here or I'm coming out there," I threaten. It was only 6 a.m. and I didn't want to wake the neighbors with the sounds of me beating my dog, but she didn't know I wasn't willing to take the risk, so she finally relents and plops down exhausted on her dog bed. And she immediately falls back asleep. Bitch.
I sneak back into our room, hoping against hope that Marin is still asleep. Matthew, who had said he was getting up early to go fly his planes, is out cold, hanging halfway off the bed with his arm extended in the general direction of his alarm clock which went off at 6 a.m. when I was at the backdoor having it out with the dog. It is now 6:30. I figure he has decided to sleep in instead.
I decide to take one more peek at Marin before I get back into bed myself and see that his right shoulder is covered in spit up. So is one corner of his mattress. He on the other hand, is fast asleep. I stand there looking over my vomit encrusted angel with a dilemma running through my head. Should I wake him and risk him not going back to sleep? Or should I enter into the world of bad mothers who let their children sleep in puke?
My pondering must have disturbed Matthew because at 7 a.m. he bolts upright in bed and asked an obvious question, "Did I sleep through my alarm?" Nope, you got up and turned it off. You didn't sleep through it. I was glad that he was awake because now I had someone to ask for advice about the spit up situation. Matthew hesitates for just a second before saying, "Nah, let him sleep." Happy in the fact that our standards were content to decline together, I sank peacefully back into bed.
I think I was the most ticked off kid in the neighborhood that the fireworks had been postponed because of a freakish rain storm. I'd been sitting around the house all day, waiting to "do something" and that was the something that I wanted to do, go watch the fireworks. We live in a prime location as we can walk to where they shoot off the fireworks in less than 10 minutes. Not having to fight traffic and being close to a bathroom are two top reasons to go see the fireworks when they are shot off in your neighborhood.
We didn't let the rain deter our plans for steaks and a pint of Ben & Jerrys, but that was where the fun ended. Whether it was the thunder and lightening or the idiots who wouldn't let said thunder and lightening deter them from shooting off their roadside stand bought fireworks that kept Marin up till 1 a.m. we'll never know. But, when he finally crashed, so did we. It was my night to watch him (dang it). After only 5 hours sleep, he was up screaming. Nice. I drag myself out of bed to feed and diaper him and it is over an hour before I get him back down.
As I ease him back into his nest, I hear the dog flop her ears. Lexi doesn't bark to get your attention, as barking is strictly prohibited in this house and greyhounds don't bark much anyway; she flops. You know, when a dog is wet and shakes from head to toe to get the water off and the flopping sound that their ears make? Well, Lexi does this to get your attention even when she is dry. This usually means one of two things: I'm hungry or I need to pee. Unfortunately, today it was both. I fixed her food, fed her and sent her out. Instead of getting down to business and using the bathroom, she decides that early morning is the best time to get in a workout and starts running like a crazed fool in the backyard. If I would have been dressed, I would have went outside to pulverize her. But since I was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and underwear, I was reduced to a hissing yell at her through the barely cracked backdoor. She knew I couldn't come out there and get her, so she just stands there looking at me. "Get your ass in here or I'm coming out there," I threaten. It was only 6 a.m. and I didn't want to wake the neighbors with the sounds of me beating my dog, but she didn't know I wasn't willing to take the risk, so she finally relents and plops down exhausted on her dog bed. And she immediately falls back asleep. Bitch.
I sneak back into our room, hoping against hope that Marin is still asleep. Matthew, who had said he was getting up early to go fly his planes, is out cold, hanging halfway off the bed with his arm extended in the general direction of his alarm clock which went off at 6 a.m. when I was at the backdoor having it out with the dog. It is now 6:30. I figure he has decided to sleep in instead.
I decide to take one more peek at Marin before I get back into bed myself and see that his right shoulder is covered in spit up. So is one corner of his mattress. He on the other hand, is fast asleep. I stand there looking over my vomit encrusted angel with a dilemma running through my head. Should I wake him and risk him not going back to sleep? Or should I enter into the world of bad mothers who let their children sleep in puke?
My pondering must have disturbed Matthew because at 7 a.m. he bolts upright in bed and asked an obvious question, "Did I sleep through my alarm?" Nope, you got up and turned it off. You didn't sleep through it. I was glad that he was awake because now I had someone to ask for advice about the spit up situation. Matthew hesitates for just a second before saying, "Nah, let him sleep." Happy in the fact that our standards were content to decline together, I sank peacefully back into bed.
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