Baby Love

Most people usually feel very strongly about Valentine’s Day – you either love it or you hate it. You either declare it a manufactured Hallmark holiday and go on a chocolate martini binge with your best girlfriends, or you casually mark up your favorite pieces of jewelry in the latest Tiffany’s catalog and place it in your lover’s underwear drawer next to the cinnamon-flavored lube.

Yep, your feelings about Valentine’s Day are pretty cut and dry – until you become a parent.

Now, I’m one of those rare people who was always ambivalent about this particular “holiday.” On the one hand, it’s just plain cheesy. It does reek of Hallmark. And on top of that, it always seems to screw up my birthday, which is just four days later.

On the other hand, it totally sucks when everyone at work is getting a cube-full of candy and roses, talking about dinner at Skies and dessert ala Victoria’s Secret, while you sit in a barren cube, starving to death in threadbare underwear you wouldn’t be caught dead in.

So, I was pretty happy if my lover, and eventually my husband, managed to find a middle ground … let’s say a card, home-cooked dinner, and a brand-new bottle of cinnamon lube.

How did this all change when I became a parent? Well, I used to have just one Valentine. Now, I have three. And because I’m so damn busy nursing and potty training and scrubbing away puke and poop and – this week – fighting off the flu, I’ve forgotten all about the stupid made-up holiday. (Hmmm … can you see which way I’m going here?)

Yes, motherhood almost made me take a side – the Valentine’s Grinch! But then, I took a “mommy” time out, grabbed some scrap paper, crayons and water paints (Sophia’s recent Christmas gifts) and went over to the cheesy side after all!

I wrote Daddy a silly little poem from Sophia and Augustus. Then, I decided to write up a little something for Soph and Gus from me. It’s “10 Things I Love About You.” It’s more than plain cheesy. It totally reeks of Hallmark. Hell, it reeks of sappy, untattooed baby books. But if feels so mother-loving … good.

10 Things I Love About Sophia

1. I love the twin dimples just above your shoulder blades.

2. I love how you grunt in frustration when I do something annoying – like tie your shoe or make you pick up your books – and you go along with it anyway.

3. I love your laugh – especially when you scrunch up your entire face and snort.

4. I love how you repeat every word you say twice, particularly the word “milk” when you clearly mean “water.”

5. I love it when you say, “come, come” when you want to be held.

6. I love your crazy squat dance (and, one day, your quads will love it, too).

7. I love it when you “read” to yourself and yell out “noisies!”

8. I love it when you’re all wrapped up in your purple hippo towel smiling and shivering after your “baf.”

9. I love the look in your eyes when you’ve accomplished your latest feat (such as learning the letter H).

10. I love it when you say, “I-You!” (translation: I love you) right before Daddy puts you to bed.

10 Things I Love About Gus

1. I love it when your left dimple appears, because it only appears when your over-the-top happy.

2. I love that you’re the last thing I see before I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up.

3. I love it when you growl at my nipple if something is obstructing it.

4. I love that you’ve smiled from day one, even in your dreams.

5. I love how the teddy bear face on your onesie is so stretched out that his smile reaches around your tummy and to your back.

6. I love that you always want to sit up to see the world.

7. I love that your favorite place to sleep is on my chest.

8. I love that terrible little pout your lips make just before you’re about to cry.

9. I love your curly eyelashes.

10. I love the smell of your sweet milk breath when you yawn.

Diary of a Truly Desperate Housewife

Dear Diary,

Just watched Desperate Housewives for the very first time (a rerun). Realized that these beotches – even the burnt-out one with the four kids – need a lesson in real desperation. What’s so desperate about Prada-wearing, anorexic girls leisurely ironing their husbands’ shirts and/or screwing their plumbers and pool boys? Over here on Rockhill Road, I’m scrubbing puke off the threadbare T-shirt I wear to hide my still-big belly and, well, not likely to screw anyone anytime soon.

So, in the spirit of DHs, here’s the lowdown on a day in the life of a real, albeit temporary, desperate housewife.

Saturday 5 February
138 lbs. (and not budging, despite breastfeeding a 15-lb two-month old, giving up ice cream and making it to the gym once a week), babies 2, coffee units 3, ounces of breast milk pumped 5, diaper units 21, rooms cleaned 3 (major feat), outfit changes 4

2:30 a.m.
Am awoken by V. hungry Gus. A Gus, incidentally, who has suddenly regressed from sleeping peacefully through the night for two weeks straight, to waking up at least once, if not twice, a night! Back is throbbing in horrifying pain (rebelling against doing elliptical trainer, scrubbing kitchen floors, dusting, bathing both babies and breastfeeding from day before).

4:30 a.m.
Can’t sleep. Back is still wreck. Have spent last two hours reading Nickel and Dimed. Is great book by hilarious female journalist who goes undercover working minimum-wage jobs. Is trying to find out if possible to make it on shit pay. It isn’t.

4: 35 a.m.
Mmmmmmmm … worrying about working poor and am getting very sleeeeeee …

7:30 a.m.
Wake up to Soph fake crying (much more annoying than real crying). Back is still V. wrecked. Limp to Soph’s room, grab her and toss her into Mommy and Daddy’s bed for cuddle time. Gus puts up with cuddle time for about 45 seconds before demanding food. Stumble downstairs to nurse Gus. Hear Soph already yelling, “Shapes, shapes! Tee-fee, tee-fee!” (See “Crack for Babies” post for more info.)

8:30 a.m.
In shower for first time in three days. Am amazed, once again, to discover excessive state of hairiness. (See “Mommy, what’s a Kegel?” for more info.)

12:00 p.m.
Is lunchtime. Am scarfing leftover, ice-cold gnocchi with one hand and shoveling veggie burger, green beans, cottage cheese, graham crackers, “nana sauce” and ramen noodles with a roasted red pepper/buttermilk sauce into Soph’s mouth with other hand. Am marveling over creativity and palatability of ramen/red pepper combo … GAAH!

12:15 p.m.
Was Soph throwing ramen/red pepper combo in Mommy’s left eye.

1:00 p.m.
Am in bathroom practicing pottying. Soph is fully clothed, as cardboard flyer on potty seat advises. Am also helping Soph practice brushing her “teef.” (Shhhh …. don’t tell germaphobe Daddy.)

3:15 p.m.
Both kiddos now miraculously asleep. Am scrubbing bedroom floor. Am marveling at gigantic girth of dustbunnies under bed … GAAH!

3:16 p.m.
Tripped over bucket and spilled dirty water down the entire hallway.

3:17 p.m.
Mop-water spillage incident wakes Soph.

4:15 p.m.
Spill is dry and Daddy finally home. Now Mommy and Soph can actually go outside and enjoy the unusually warm weather for a few minutes … ARGH!

4:16 p.m.
Gus has just woken up – starving – from nap.

4:45 p.m.
Am walking with 18-month-old down sidewalk. Strange quaking of sidewalk … GAAH!

4:46 p.m.
Discover that nursing bra strap has been down for entire block.

5:15 p.m.
Am carrying suddenly possessed child into house kicking and screaming at top of lungs. Child V. out of control, throwing self on floor, convulsing, thrashing, etc. Hurls self against door screaming, “Outside, outside,” which is soon followed by forlorn wailing of the old-standby, “Shaaaapes! Shaaaaapes!”

6:45 p.m.
Am deciding which screaming child to console first. Daddy just left for evening.

7:45 p.m.
Am deciding which hungry child to feed first. Somehow manage to breastfeed and bottle feed simultaneously.

8:15 p.m.
Soph now asleep. Gus now wide awake. Am working hard at cultivating enriching Mommy/baby bonding time, but Gus only interested in sucking hand.

8:16 p.m.
Am nursing Gus as incessant hand sucking leads Mommy to believe he must be hungry.

8:45 p.m.
Am nursing Gus as incessant hand sucking leads Mommy to believe he must be hungry.

9:15 p.m.
Am nursing Gus as incessant hand sucking leads Mommy to believe he must be hungry.

9:45 p.m.
Am upstairs on computer beginning to work on blog with one hand and patting Gus with other. Gus still fussy and doing the hand-sucking … GAH!

9:46 p.m.
Am covered in baby vomit.

9:47 p.m.
Am naked from waist up attempting to change Gus out of vomit-soaked outfit … GAH!

9:48 p.m.
Am covered in baby poop.

11:15 p.m.
Am finally in bed. Back is starting to throb all over again. Consider attempting to try to stay up and wait for Daddy to get home so can get lucky in manner of sultry Desperate Housewives vixens, but am overcome by sudden sleeeeeee …