Classifieds
Posted
April 30, 2008 at
8:33 pm by
Maureen
Under the For Sale section:
FREE TO GOOD HOME: Baby. Eight Months. Cute. Likes: pulling on dog tails, picking outlet covers off electrical sockets, waking every two hours at night, twenty minute naps, screaming in public, practicing a new whining technique that involves a high-pitched squeal/ear-drum-shattering dolphin noise, throwing entire body down on the ground when a bottle is not supplied fast enough, shaking head back and forth in a disagreeable fashion. Dislikes: sleeping, behaving, not screaming, not being held, being tickled, singing and other humans.
Under the Wanted section:
WANTED: Baby from last week. Baby who cuddled, laughed, played and generally did not scream whenever not being held. Baby who slept twelve hours at night and took two hour-and-a-half naps. Baby who was described by a stranger at Target as having a “sweet disposition.” May have also been called “a happy little guy.”
Ugh.
Can you tell I’m in the middle of four-teeth-coming-in-all-at-once-because-God-hates-me hell?
Tags: cranky babies, cranky baby, imperfect parents, Parenting, poor sleeping, selling baby, tantrums, teething
Parental Bootcamp
Posted
April 21, 2008 at
8:20 pm by
Maureen
It’s been eight and a half months since my son was born. And I’m just now starting to get the hang of this whole parenting thing. The sleepless nights, sleep-walking days, endless baby food crusted everywhere and purse filled with baby bottles are now starting to become just another part of the routine, like brushing my teeth and putting in my contacts. But it seriously has taken over eight months to somewhat figure these things out. Seems like quite a large learning curve, huh?
When I was pregnant, I read all the requisite books on everything that was happening to my body, what would happen in labor, the right kind of crib to buy, the safest carseat, etc. While all those things are important, I wish I would’ve been WAY more informed on what it was like to actually have a new baby. A pre-natal program for soon-to-be-first-time-parents. Like bootcamp.
It wouldn’t even have to be that in-depth. Just a few, well-chosen seminars to help new parents learn the essential survival skills and build self-esteem. A kind of Outward Bound for expecting couples.
How do these classes sound?
One-Handed Eating 102: Learn to consume any food of your choosing using only one of your hands, as the other will be occupied by a screaming newborn.
Self-Restraint 306: Discover techniques to resist impulse purchases made while watching infomercials and the Home Shopping Channel at 3am while nursing your baby.
Flashcards 101: In this class, you will make notecards of important information such as your name, address, phone number, age and husband’s name to be used when your brain is in total meltdown mode because you’ve had four-and-a-half hours of sleep over two weeks.
Snapping 908A: Discover the secret of “snaps”–fifteen second zone-out “naps.” Learn how to utilize them while doing almost anything including showering, peeing and paying bills.
Speed-Packing 203: At the end of this class, you’ll be able to pack four bottles, a light-up keychain toy, a baggie of cheerios, your wallet, cell phone, diapers, wipes, diaper cream, antibacterial hand lotion and pacifier into a tiny handbag. Prerequisite: Preparing To Leave the House 105
Any takers?
Tags: bootcamp, classes for new parents, first time parents, new baby, newborn, parental bootcamp, Parenting, preparing for a baby Safety First. Or Second. Or After Mommy Checks Her Email.
Posted
April 10, 2008 at
7:40 pm by
Maureen
On Sunday, my son started crawling. He’d been trying for weeks now, doing the rocking on all fours and swimming motions until he’d get frustrated and start to cry. So, we were thrilled when he finally figured it out; the neurons in his brain all zapped at the same time and he scooted around.
Scratch that.
I was thrilled. My husband? Not so much.
After the initial, “Oh my god, he learned something new” feeling wore off, my husband turned into our house’s President of Homeland Security. Suddenly, EVERYTHING became a death-trap/potential injury. The remote control: dangerous electrical-shorting device. The coffee table: sharply-edged apparatus. Curtains: material which can be used in a noose-like manner. And so on.
While I see his point and understand the importance of child-proofing our place, I guess I’m just a lot more laid-back since I’m the oldest of four siblings and have pretty much seen it all. He, in turn, is the youngest of four siblings and doesn’t have the memory of his sister inserting a penny into an electrical socket the way I do. (And she turned out normal. Well, I not normal, per se, but she is physically fine.)
Like tonight, when I went to answer the door and came back to find my son sucking on the dog’s bone. My husband was ready to call the ER while I shrugged it off.
I’ve tried to tell him this is just the beginning; just wait until he starts walking. But the mere mention of toddling nearly sent my husband to the store to buy bubble wrap to encase our furniture, the television and the cats.
So, enjoy your lives ladies and gents. I’ll be here. At home. Trying to prevent my husband from turning my child into The Baby In The Plastic Bubble.
Tags: baby proofing, babyproofing, crawling, developmental milestones, Parenting, parenting styles, safety, toddler Welcome to Hell.
Posted
April 1, 2008 at
7:31 pm by
Maureen
Dear Friend Who Just Had Her First Baby:
Welcome to parenthood! It’s a bitch, but I already warned you about that one, didn’t I?
Oh, that’s right…you didn’t listen.
You refused to believe my prognostications about stocking up on coffee, wine and Valium to get through the first six weeks.
You were convinced you’d be a “natural” mom and your child would be an “angel baby.” Well, after our conversation last night discussing why your baby wouldn’t stop “fucking crying” (your words), let me be the first to say, “TOLD. YOU. SO.”
Seven weeks ago, you brushed off any suggestions or tips I so eagerly offered. You waved your hand when I shared my coping mechanisms for quieting a child with colic. I believe your eyes may have even rolled your eyes when I told you about the wonders of a swaddle blanket, white noise machine and swing.
I offered you a canteen of water before you even set foot in the desert, which you refused. Now, gasping for breath and dying of thirst, you beg me for a drop to drink.
I wasn’t sure if it would come to this. Especially when your child was two days old and you said, “He just loves to sleep! He only woke up once to eat last night!”
I began to secretly question my experience as a mother: “Did I just end up with a really crabby kid? Why isn’t her child screaming his head off like mine did for eight weeks straight?”
Then, last night. Your phone call.
Your baby finally woke out of his “newborn daze” and announced his presence to the world with two solid hours of crying.
Welcome to hell. Look around, get used to the surroundings. You’re going to be here for awhile. It’s OK though, you’ll have lots of company. It’s like a sorority. A sorority of pain.
Just because I’m nice, I’ll give you one last tip: Hit up the local liquor store and join their wine club. We earned so many points during our son’s first few months, we’re now platinum members and receive a gift certificate every month. (Which really, really helps once you move into Teething Hell.)
Sincerely,
Your Friend Who Actually Knows A Few Things
Tags: alcohol, alcohol as a coping mechanism, babies, colic, new parents, newborn, swaddle blankets, swaddling My Dilemma: Drinking Buddies vs. Parental Posse
Posted
March 26, 2008 at
7:20 pm by
Maureen
So, I’d like to clear a few things up.
To My Friends Who Do Not Have Their Own Spawn: I have a child, remember?
To My Friends Who Have Their Own Spawn: It’s OK to have a child AND a social life, remember?
Sadly, these clarifications are sorely lacking in my own social circles.
My husband and I are at the weird age where some but not all of our friends have kids. We have the friends who have kids and have since year #1 of their marriage. I call them the Parental Posse. You know the kind–get married, get pregnant right away, forget all semblance of their twenties and/or fun and/or a life outside of their kids. The kind of friends who suddenly re-materialized once we had our own Blessed Event. These are the friends who only want to do things like go to the park or a baseball game. Which I’m all for–if there’s beer and a babysitter. But no, these friends can only participate in activities involving their own little miracles. And can’t ever meet you for dinner because they “Can’t find a babysitter” or “Little Susie has the flu” or “I’m attached to my child at the hip and can’t possibly function with other adults on a level not involving discussions about my child’s bodily functions.” (OK, the last one was mine.)
We also have plenty of the polar opposite: friends who are either single or married but have no desire to have children, at least not anytime soon. Our Drinking Buddies. These are the kinds of friends who ask us what we’re doing AFTER the bars close. As in, 2:00am. What our plans are. And snicker at how we’ve “changed” when I gently remind them that children don’t understand they need to sleep in on Saturdays when Mommy has a real bad red wine hangover. These are the friends who suggested we take Ryan, as in our eight-month old Demon Child, to a movie starting at 9pm on a Friday night. Want to know which movie? “No Country For Old Men.” Although Ryan is a huge fan of Cormack McCarthy’s books, “The Road” being his favorite, I think the other moviegoers would’ve chased me out with torches.
So, we can’t win. We are proud that we are able to make it out to a bar and people either snicker when we leave at midnight or they clutch their own children tightly, roll their eyes and whisper about how we’re trying to reclaim our youth. And I’m fine with that. It’s a balancing act and I’m thrilled I’ve been able to stay on the tightrope so far.
Tags: bars, children, drinking, friends, friends once you have children, going out, hangovers, Parenting, social life after children Why No Gloria Steinem Barbie?
Posted
March 19, 2008 at
8:42 pm by
Maureen
While surfing on the internet the other day, I came across this and this. They’re shirts for little girls which proudly state: “President, Not Princess” and “Doctor, Not Diva.”
Let me start off by saying a loud, resounding, “YES!”
What a brilliant shirt. What a brilliant message.
I may have a son, but I have what feels like 6,789 nieces. Finding gifts for them for Christmas, birthdays or whatever presents somewhat of a challenge since I refuse to purchase anything with the words “Diva,” “Princess,” “Lil’ Darling,” or “Drama Queen.” Yesterday I saw a pair of sweatpants which said “Bootylicious” across the butt. They were size 18 months. I also refuse to buy anything even remotely related to those Bratz dolls which resemble child prositutes.
Now, I’m not someone who generally reads too much into things. I’m pretty selective about the battles I choose and arguing with people about the fashion choices for gradeschoolers isn’t something I generally engage. I mean, I could go on and on about how difficult it is to find a basic pair of jeans for a little girl that don’t have beads, sequins or ribbons attached to them. Or, I could ramble on about the messages of Disney movies (i.e. Sleeping Beauty snoozing away until the perfect man rescues her and the Little Mermaid giving up her voice to have a chance to meet some good-looking dude) and I could prognosticate about the horrors of Barbies, but truth be told, I wouldn’t forbid my daughter to play with or watch any of those things. I think, tempered with the wisdom of an informed parent, Cinderella and her posse and even evil Barbie, are probably OK.
The hardest issue for me to swallow is the almost complete lack of an opposing viewpoint. Where are the cartoons where the princess rebuffs the handsome prince and opens her own 401K and starts a small business? Or, the Barney songs about, “First you get a college degree/Then you work for awhile/Only then, my friend, can you even think about getting married/”
Someday, if I have a daughter, you can bet your ass I’ll be dressing her in those shirts. If I don’t have one, I’ll at least be drilling into my son’s head that he should want to end up with a “Doctor” rather than a “Diva.”
Tags: bratz dolls, disney movies, feminism, girls, girls clothing, Parenting, raising a girl I’m Serious About The Scrunchies
Posted
March 12, 2008 at
6:50 pm by
Maureen
-
I will not wear jeans that have a zipper longer than six inches and/or are tapered and end right at the ankle. Those qualify as Mom Jeans. (However, this does not mean you should dress like Britney Spears. Find the happy medium, people.)
-
I will not wear any kind of crocheted or appliquéd vest.
-
I will not wear plain white tennis shoes. (especially coupled with Mom Jeans)
-
I will not cut all my hair off while pregnant in preparation for the Blessed Event. Many women’s rationale is that they’ll need a simple hairstyle so as to avoid baby-food-crusted strands. What they don’t know? Is baby-food-crusted strands are much more attractive than that pseudo-mullet.
-
I will wear a bikini. Yes, it will be uncomfortable. However, we should all wear the stretch-marks and saggy skin as what they are: the battle scars of a war-weary general.
-
I will resist the urge to continually whip out pictures of my children. Yes, they’re cute. But trust me: NO ONE wants to see five million pictures of your child with farm animals at a pumpkin patch.
-
I will not feel guilty when leaving my spouse with the child(ren). You had to be pregnant and give birth, remember? I think a few hours of Dora and that weird show with the sock puppets is nothing compared to the dignity-erasing horrors of labor and delivery.
-
I will make an effort to remain educated and watch the news and read the newspaper and keep up on world news. The fact that Susie went poo-poo in the potty is not a current event.
-
I will not wear a scrunchy. I don’t care if it’s while working out or gardening or soaking in the tub. There is no asterisk for scrunchy-wearing. It’s a deal-breaker.
-
I will not care about being a “hip” mom. I’ll just try to make it through the day without falling asleep standing up
The Exorcism of Fisher Price
Posted
March 3, 2008 at
11:34 pm by
Maureen
To: Readers of the Imperfect Parent blog
From: Maureen
Re: Exorcism
Dear All:
Can anyone recommend a good exorcist? I, myself, have no connections to those who can communicate with the demonic world, but maybe one of you does.
Please. It’s urgent. The power of Christ compels you.
Looks innocuous, right?
Keychain says: “I will destroy you.”
The dark spiritual activity started a few months ago. Ryan likes to play with a toy keychain which makes car and siren noises. The fact that the car sounds like a dying baby seal and the siren a clown horn is irrelevant.
It was annoying enough when my son decided to press the clown horn every fifteen minutes during a five-hour car ride to visit my in-laws. Now the keychain simply goes off by itself. Usually around 3:30am or when I’m in a room alone.
I’ll be reading my new US Weekly, laughing at photos of Lindsay Lohan and her “water bottle,” happy for a few quiet moments after my son is asleep and my husband is taking out the dog, when I hear what sounds like Bozo the clown playing the trumpet.
I’ve logically checked to see if the toy has batteries I could remove. It does not. It seems to be powered via an internal motor or something. Or maybe it runs on lead paint. Or maybe it is fueled by the hatred of damned souls.
I immediately suspected the “TV people,” and avoided all television static. It didn’t work.
So, either the toy itself is posessed, in which case we should give it to our neighbor who left dog crap on our front door, or our house has a ghost who likes to drive us nuts. Either theory is fine, but I’m hoping we have a ghost since I’d like to train it to do helpful tasks like fetch me beer, find the remote, clean up my son’s diaper explosions and hand me bon-bons while I’m watchin’ my stories. Or maybe I could teach Captain Howdy to be entertaining, like Beetlejuice, and it could amuse our drunk friends at parties by forcing them to dance to calypso music.
If it is posessed, I know I can’t just throw it away or hack it into tiny little pieces without it re-appearing on my bed five minutes later.
So what’s a parent to do?
Tags: children, Parenting, parenting humor, poltergeist, toy exoricsm, toys
Your Kids Annoy Me
Posted
February 27, 2008 at
7:35 pm by
Maureen
So, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t really like kids all that much.
OK, scratch that.
I don’t like YOUR kids that much.
I happen to really like my own. Just not yours.
I happen to think my own child is perfectly hilarious when he farts loudly in public. I think it’s cute when he regurgitates sweet potato puree down the front of his miniature Cubs jersey. I make others stare at him while I try to get him to make, “This face he made the other night that was so funny…Kevin, jump up and down again and see if he’ll do it…I swear, it was so funny.”
I do not think it’s endearing when anyone else’s kid does it. In fact? It’s pretty annoying. Actually? Your kid is bothering me. Please take it out to the car and give it a spanking.
When I was pregnant, I had lunch with a childless friend of mine. A toddler at the table next to us began throwing a temper tantrum, complete with screaming and throwing of toys. My friend rolled her eyes then caught my eye. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
I responded that she shouldn’t be apologetic; I found the child hideously annoying and just because I was having a child myself didn’t mean I suddenly became tolerant of children misbehaving in public. (I should also add I wouldn’t have been nearly as annoyed had the parents properly responded by whispering death threats through clenched teeth while yanking the kid out of the restaurant instead of laughing merrily and continuing to eat their sushi.)
As a parent, I think my child is just the bees’ knees. I might even think your kid is cute, too.
As an adult, I’d like to enjoy my lunch without the child next to me screaming, “Fie truck! Fie truck! Gimme fie truck!”
I have to tolerate my own kid throwing tantrums. I shouldn’t have to listen to yours. Now, I’ll do my part by hustling my kid out of any public place when screaming begins and refusing to submit to “Parent Brain,” a condition in which the second after a child is born the parents become blissfully unaware of any social disturbances little Joey is causing.
In short?
I love my kid. I just don’t have to love yours.
And that’s all which is required of a parent, no?
Tags: baby, childless couples, discipline, misbehaving kids, Parenting, parenting humor, restaurant, temper tantrum, tempertantrum, toddlers
Entire Blog