baby – Saranity Now!

Recently, someone called me a celebrity. Like in a non-joking way, because of my book.

And while I was flattered, I felt the need to correct her.

Now, I’m not one of those people who can’t take a compliment. If you tell me my hair looks nice, I’ll thank you (even though 90 percent of the time, it’s dirty. #momlife). Tell me you like my shirt, I’ll thank you and tell you where I got it (likely answer? Amazon. Let me send you a link!).

But a celebrity?

Another author I know (okay, that part sounds famous) said that only one percent of authors are able to make a real living off of their book royalties. Which is the most discouraging number I’ve ever heard, but we beat on, boats against the current–wait, I’m stealing that from an ACTUAL famous author.

(And I did once spend four hours as the number one bestselling humor author in Australia. #famous)

Admittedly, authors steal a lot too. (Sorry friends who have recognized bits of themselves in my work! Love you!)

Hopefully I’ll make it to that elusive one percent someday, but so far, I haven’t seen a cent in royalties. Because if you get an advance, you don’t see another penny until your book “earns out,” meaning makes that amount of money back. And if your book sells at auction like mine did… well, you’ll be waiting a few months at best.

With that said, sales have been solid and I’m happy with them. And I’m EXTREMELY excited for my next book, She’s Up to No Good, which is coming out August 1.

But a celebrity?

My alarm goes off at 5:55 on school days. Notice I didn’t say I wake up at 5:55, because I’m often already awake from one child or the other. Jacob will run in at 5:30 under the guise of a bad dream (aka woke up and wants me to tuck him back in), and if Max hears him, we’re all up.

I shower at night now because a morning shower is NOT guaranteed with two little ones.

Did you hear that? It was the sound of my mother retching. Sorry mom.

We then race around to make breakfast while getting dressed, taking the dog out, and keeping two tiny humans alive while they run amok and dive bomb off of anything they can climb. I drink my coffee (which I make at home) over ice because iced coffee won’t burn a child when they inevitably run into or dive bomb off of me. (And I’m basic. Deal with it.)

Breakfast is a scarfed bowl of cereal at the counter while I get everyone’s lunches into the correct bags. I messed up and gave the kids the wrong lunches two weeks ago. I’m now supervised heavily in this role lest I mess up again. (One mistake all year. And I’ll never be trustworthy again.)

Then I wrestle the tiny humans into clothes. Jacob will only wear short sleeves and his outfit HAS to match his brother’s. If Max doesn’t have the same shirt, SOMETIMES Jacob will settle for one that’s the same color and material. SOMETIMES.

Assuming I succeed, I take Jacob to school and the husband takes Max. We have not left on time yet. We’re 110 days into the school year and we are 0/110. That’s a wordle score I definitely wouldn’t post.

After drop off, I drive like a demon (or an angry groundhog, as Jacob would say. We showed him that scene of the movie on Groundhog Day and now he tells me not to drive angry) to make it to school (where I do the walk of shame, teacher-mom style, daily. I arrive late, in sunglasses, with my coffee from home. My principal is amazing and knows I’m frequently late from drop off so I promised never to walk in with Starbucks and to do my best to get here. That promise I’ve kept!). And I have the speed camera tickets to prove it.

I spend the next seven and a half hours being, as one of my students put it the other day, the mask police. We used to spend our days telling kids to put their phones away. Now it’s “cover your nose. Pull your mask up. I shouldn’t see nostrils. Eat that in the hall. Keep your mask on. Why is only your chin covered? Turn to page–no, don’t pull your mask down to sneeze!” etc.

For the record, yes, I hate masking too. But my kids aren’t old enough to be vaccinated, so it’s the only thing I can do to keep them safe from me for now.

Then, when the day is over, I race back home, eat a quick snack, and, if I’m fast enough, do a VERY SHORT workout before the kids arrive home.

Then I’m on mom duty for the rest of the day. Breaks do not exist. If I use the bathroom, they will find me. They get 30 minutes to an hour of tv so that I can make their lunches for the next day and pull together dinner, which is futile because they’ll wind up eating dinosaur nuggets no matter what I make. And yes, they must be shaped like dinosaurs or they will not be consumed.

Then it’s an hour of bath time and getting them ready for bed.

Whew! I’m done.

No, wait, I’m not. Then it’s time to write.

Because I’m not exhausted by 8pm or anything.

I give myself an hour and a half to write/edit, then finally hop in the shower (without washing my hair. I told you it’s dirty!) and MAYBE watch 20 minutes of tv with the hubs while I drink a glass of well-earned wine before bed.

I may be living the beginning of the dream with my publishing career, but I feel as far from a celebrity as it’s possible to get. Instead, I’m a tired mom working multiple jobs and feeling like I can’t possibly juggle another ball, all while people keep tossing me more balls. And as Keegan, my high school journalism teacher, will tell you, I’m the only Rampage alum whom he failed to teach to juggle.

But to answer what I’m sure are your only two questions after reading all of this: YES, I’m working on book three, and I wash my hair on weekends.

Mom Life

I’m back! With a baby! And a book deal!

October 7, 2020October 7, 2020 Sara Confino

Hey all!

So I know I haven’t posted in… way too long. But I’m here to fix that.

And in case you don’t already follow me on social media, I have a LOT of news.

Last summer, I wrote a new book. Which sounds like such a humble brag. Like what did you do over your summer vacation, Mrs. Confino? Oh, I wrote a novel. NBD.

Of course, that was back in the before times—you know, when the world was still functioning. I also got pregnant in the before times too.

Then the pandemic hit and two wonderful things happened along with all of the horrors that this absolute nightmare of a year dumps upon us daily.

Number one, my goddess of an agent (who was also pregnant and due nine days before me) sold my book.

Then, just days later, she and I both went into labor and had our babies on the same day, a couple hours apart, though on opposite coasts.

So I’m now the proud mother of baby Max and the even prouder owner of a two-book deal with Lake Union Publishing.

That’s right. They loved my book so much that they outbid two other houses and offered to take the next UNWRITTEN book as well.

Which is insane.

Especially because I now have to write a second book while teaching online and wearing a baby in a pandemic with a deadline of next summer.

No pressure or anything.

So what does it feel like when your lifelong dream comes true?

Honestly, I have no freaking idea yet. It still doesn’t feel real even with book advance money sitting in a bank account. Granted, that money doesn’t feel real either because I’m far too superstitious to spend any of it before I see how the book does. So instead I’m basically just crouching over it like an egg to see if it hatches. Which also speaks to my overwhelming sense of imposter syndrome because there’s a tiny, little, itty bitty fine print clause in my contract stating that if I can’t produce a high enough quality book for the second one, I have to give half of the money back. After taxes.

Again, no pressure.

But having that second baby in a pandemic, while full time momming AND full time teaching has also been so all consuming that I haven’t had time to feel feelings about the book yet.

Because teaching while caring for a baby is hard on a level that I never dreamed of before. Like being a working mom on its own is insanely hard. There’s the guilt of leaving your baby. And the even stronger guilt of KIND OF, SORT OF, JUST A LITTLE BIT not minding that you get a break from being a 24/7 mom and get to be something else for eight hours a day.

And teachers get to experience both worlds—I’ve had a few full-time moms tell me that I don’t understand how hard it is for them, and to an extent they’re right, especially because my husband is also a teacher and is home while I am over the summer. But I AM a full-time mom two months of the year in a normal year. And I know from my summers that that is also insanely hard.

This year, however, I don’t even know what I am. Except tired. Oh god, I’m so tired.

We made the gut wrenching decision to send Jacob back to preschool. Which he’s hating. But he needs the socialization after nearly five months of hard quarantine because of the new baby and his doctor was unequivocal about that. I feel like the world’s worst mom daily though because he’s having separation anxiety both because of the pandemic and because he knows Max is staying with me all day and he doesn’t understand why he can’t too.

Additionally, I’m not back out in the world. I JUST started grocery shopping instead of using Instacart, but I did wait until after Max was three months old just in case. I’m terrified of them sending us back to school. But I’m sending Jacob in, at three, in a mask, and hoping for the best.

World’s. Worst. Mom.

I keep joking that I’m providing free birth control to the kids in my online classes because they’re seeing how much trouble I’m having juggling everything. Max is a really good baby and most days he goes to sleep in his Ergobaby and I can just teach at my standing desk with him. And my mom comes to help a couple hours most days. But some days he screams for a significant portion of my class. A kid the other day asked if I could mute my baby.

Literally what teaching looks like. On a good day. Side note: if you’re on Zoom all day, get a ring light. You can thank me when it comes. I do NOT look this good in real life!

He was kidding, but I was close to crying. Because there are some days when Max’s naps coincide perfectly with my classes and I feel like I’ve got this mostly under control. And there are other days when I feel like I’m managing none of it at all.

But there are extreme highs as well. I’m such a psycho about Max’s head after Jacob needing a helmet that he is literally only on his back to sleep. Our pediatrician said he has the roundest head she’s seen on a four month old since Back to Sleep started. That was quite the win!

And Jacob, despite the hiccups with school, is so sweet with him. He comes in every morning, peers in Max’s crib and says, “Hey buddy. Nice outfit!”

And the book IS becoming more and more real every day. I somehow made my way through my edits this summer with a newborn and we’re now at the copy editing stage. Granted, sometimes my editor emails me with a request for something and I have to Google what it is (some things don’t change) because this is all new to me, but what a great reason to use Google instead of for anxiety-relief!

I’ll wrap this up because I’ve rambled enough, but I’m still here and I promise to be better about keeping at the blog—even when I’m trying to find time to write book #2 of this contract!

Mom Life

Walking, ER visits, and liquid dinners: the mommy milestones

October 10, 2018 Sara Confino

Hey guys! We’re going to completely ignore the time jump here and pretend I’ve been blogging regularly all along, okay?

Awesome.

So we had some great milestones and one crappy milestone in the last couple of weeks.

I’ll start with the good.

Jacob is 18 months old! How did THAT happen? He’s walking, he’s running, he’s climbing, he’s dancing, he’s destroying entire cities, the works. And even more exciting, he graduated from physical therapy!

I could lie and say that working on my book (I have a new agent and I adore her–she’s had fantastic insight and I DID work my butt off over the summer on it to transform the manuscript into something I’m truly proud of) was why I stopped blogging, but the real reason was Jacob wasn’t walking yet. And that felt like a huge red flag that I just didn’t want to put out there on top of all of our other gross motor issues.

He started walking at 15.5 months, which technically isn’t even late; anything before 18 months is considered normal. But social media is absolutely soul crushing when you feel like your child isn’t achieving a milestone and everyone you’ve ever known is posting videos of their babies, who are months younger than your babies, walking, running marathons, and speedskating in the Olympics at 11 months old.

I did a lot of soul searching while I worried if Jacob would ever walk. On a rational level, I knew he would because you don’t see people crawling down the aisle at the supermarket. But I realized what an insensitive jerk I had frequently been to other new parents. I honestly never meant to be (except to Karen* from fifth grade. I still hate you Karen.), but because I walked at nine months, I assumed that any baby who didn’t walk that early was behind.

*Karen is not her real name. But I can’t print her real name because then she’ll know how much I hate her.

So as we crawled further and further past Jacob’s first birthday without any independent footsteps, I mentally kicked myself for asking my hair stylist (I adore her–she’s no Karen!) if her nine-month-old twins were walking yet. It doesn’t seem like it would be a loaded question–until you have a kid, at which point it feels judgmental and like it’s pointing out a flaw. Sorry, Christy, I’m a monster.

Our physical therapist also pointed out that Jacob’s feet were overpronating and therefore still not normal, so it felt like there would never be an end to our days of physical therapy. That was really hard, and I started making Hubby take Jacob to his appointments largely because I couldn’t handle the emotional toll of being told the next thing that was going to be an issue.

But then, one day, as we tried to coax him to take a couple of steps between us, Jacob did it! Those couple of steps spread to across the room by the end of the day. And soon enough, he was walking everywhere. And now? God help you if you try to pick him up when he wants to be walking (as he made clear when I took him to TJ Maxx and let him get down from the cart to walk around. When it was time to leave, I definitely looked like I was abducting him as I carried him out of the store, screaming bloody murder and thrashing like a dying fish.

So hearing that he was finally caught up on all of his motor skills felt like the untying of a heavy stone around my neck. Or like a really drastic haircut (seriously, I have a LOT of hair. It’s heavy. There’s a reason I love my stylist!) when your head feels lighter and all of that neck tension just melts away.

Of course, we’ve also had less happy milestones like our first SUPER FUN emergency room visit because Jacob banged his forehead on the ONLY table in our entire house that wasn’t covered in protective foam. We literally had ten inches of unprotected furniture in the house and that one span of table edge acted as a siren, luring Jacob’s perfect, unblemished forehead to crash upon it.

I was peeing at the time (ah the life of a mother, when the bathroom feels like a refreshing break) and heard Hubby screaming for me at the top of his lungs.

When I scream like that, it means there’s a spider. But Hubby is the spider-killer, so I didn’t know what to expect. I did NOT expect to see the two of them looking like the pig-blood scene in Carrie, but thankfully Jacob did not begin using his blood-soaked powers to destroy the entire town.

I surprised myself by staying calm, throwing snacks in my bag (it was close to dinner time), grabbing shoes for Jacob and myself, and hustling us all off to the closest emergency room, only 83 percent sure that the ER was going to call Child Protective Services on us for allowing this to happen to our child.

After some frantic texting to my brother (the ER doctor), my best friend (the ER mom veteran), and my parents (the jackasses who made jokes when my poor baby was bleeding from the head–not you mom, you were fine. It was dad!), we opted to let the ER doctor glue his wound closed instead of calling for a plastic surgeon. It was pretty superficial with very clean lines and, worst case scenario, he could be Harry Potter for Halloween.

The ER staff couldn’t have been sweeter. Not only did they NOT report us to CPS, they reassured us that this happens to their own children as well, and the doctor and nurse sang to Jacob as they glued his forehead (he was screaming because they had to swaddle him in a papoose to keep him still. Neither Jacob nor I enjoyed that part of the experience as I huddled in the corner weeping as soon as I no longer had to be the responsible adult), and we were back home an hour and a half after the incident.

Where I put the baby to bed, then poured myself a GIGANTIC glass of wine and called it dinner. But when I texted a friend a picture of my dinner, he replied with a picture of his own liquid dinner. He has four kids. So apparently it doesn’t get easier and there’s a reason that the Olney Safeway has such a large wine selection.

Cheers to all of you other parents! We kept our kids alive to ram their heads into a table another day!

Mom Life

The baby is supposed to eat what I eat–what food group is coffee in?

April 17, 2018 Sara Confino

At Jacob’s one year doctor’s appointment, his pediatrician told us we can throw out all of the pureed baby food and give Jacob table food exclusively.

“He should eat what you eat,” she said, smiling.

Crap.

I can’t admit to the pediatrician that I survive on the super healthy mom diet of coffee, a protein bar (breakfast), more coffee, a handful of almonds (snack), coffee, a salad or a yogurt (lunch), some random junk food scavenged from the English office or stolen from another teacher’s candy drawer (I’m the worst. I’ll literally walk in while he’s teaching, take candy out of his drawer, laugh at the kids when they ask for some, and walk back out) when I’m starving sixth period that I then spend the rest of the day feeling guilty about, Diet Coke (not every day–but when we’re going through a sleep regression, I’m allowed to do whatever I need to in order to survive), a handful of crackers (snack), and then chicken and veggies (dinner).

In fact, looking over my daily diet, I’m shocked that I don’t have scurvy. When did I last eat a piece of fruit? I didn’t even eat a purple donut, so Homer Simpson’s logic that purple is a fruit doesn’t apply.

That is NOT a balanced diet for a baby toddler (he’s not quite a toddler yet. I can’t call him that. But he IS a baby toddler).

So as I see it, I’ve got two options. I can either adopt a balanced diet for myself and then feed him bite-sized pieces of what I eat, or I can keep doing what I’m doing and feed HIM a balanced diet.

In a perfect world, I’d go with option A, but I’m working full time, tired, and trying to keep weight off without having time to exercise. Judge me if you will, but until the scurvy sets in, I’m sticking with what works.

(Actually, I put low sugar craisins in my salad for today. That counts as fruit right? If purple is a fruit, red is definitely a fruit!)

So I need to figure out what to feed Jacob. His favorite foods so far: grilled cheese, french toast, veggie straws (which, despite clever marketing, are not healthy. They’re slightly less unhealthy potato chips. They’re basically Baked Lays, but yummy), and freeze-dried yogurt drops.

He’ll eat almost anything if it’s pureed–the only things he won’t touch with a ten-foot pole are beets (tried a baby food mix that had beets in it and he gagged on it, spit it right out, then looked at me distrustfully and wouldn’t let me feel him again until I made him grilled cheese two meals in a row. I can’t blame him. Beets are pretty gross) and mangoes.

Whole foods, however, are providing slightly more challenging. Both because he’s not always a fan of textures (he’ll put something in his mouth, decide he’s not into it, and pull it right back out) and because he’s discovered he has a favorite game. I’m calling it “Hungry, Hungry Doggies.”

Both schnauzers began camping out under his high chair shortly after we began using it. At first, they laid next to it, hoping for thrown Cheerios. Then Jacob started dropping toys and sippy cups on their heads, so now they take shelter under him. But when he throws food, two dog heads pop out and scrabble for it, like it’s a marble in the board game. And he laughs hysterically.

Meaning that his food has become their food. (Of course, he’s also gone after their food now. I’ve pulled three pieces of dog food out of his mouth before he could swallow them so far. Mangoes he won’t touch, but kibble? Delicious.)

In other words, it has now become a challenge to get healthy food in him because the only four dishes that he won’t throw to the dogs are grilled cheese, french toast, veggie straws, and freeze-dried yogurt drops.

So I went to the experts: my mom friends. “Help meeeeee,” I begged. “How do I get Jacob to eat healthy foods?”

And I got a plethora of things to try, most of which Jacob summarily rejected because all babies are different and Jacob is smart enough to know that if he throws enough green beans to the dogs, I’ll eventually cave and make him something yummy.

One of my mom friends also tagged me in some Instagram posts from moms who do “kid food-spiration.” (Yes, that’s a thing. The internet has officially gone too far and I think society has been destroyed.) And I was like, oh cool, I’ll follow these pages and get great ideas about what to feed Jacob.

But the more I’m seeing, the more convinced I am that these moms all live in Brooklyn and appear on HGTV shows with multi-million dollar budgets without any discernible source of income. Because no, I’m not making vegan quinoa, tofu and avocado “deconstructed tacos” with gluten-free, homemade bean chips and chickpea and sunflower butter cookies for dessert, all packed in an eco-friendly, BPA free, recycled lunch tin with compartments specifically for their non-GMO, locally sourced, organic pomegranate seeds.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?

Dude, I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Pepperidge Farm cinnamon raisin swirl bread every day from K-12 for lunch and turned out fine. Granted, I didn’t grow up to have the healthiest eating habits, and I’m hearing that peanut butter is banned from most elementary schools now because of food allergies so that probably won’t be an option for Jacob, but still. I never brought anything green for lunch and I’m pretty sure no one ever called social services on my mom.

With that said, Jacob seems to be a fan of broccoli. I found “broccoli tots” at the grocery store, which he loves (like tater tots, but broccoli instead of potato). We’re still using some of the food packets to supplement his fruit and veggie intake on days when the dogs get a feast. And considering his doctor mentioned that we can give him chicken nuggets (he hasn’t had that particularly delicacy yet), I think we’re doing okay, despite the lack of organic, locally sourced kale and quinoa.

Of course, now that I’ve admitted to my terrible eating habits, I’m making myself feel guilty about the example that I’m setting and am thinking I should start bringing an apple to school to avoid the sixth period candy run. It’s probably a good idea to model healthy eating habits.

And to avoid scurvy. I don’t even know exactly what that is, but if it’s a disease that pirates got, I’m thinking it’s not pretty.

Mom Life

Jacob is a year old already–here’s what I’ve learned this year

April 5, 2018April 5, 2018 Sara Confino

I must have blinked sometime recently (blinking counts as sleep when you’re a parent, right?) because, suddenly, my little baby is a year old.

How did THAT happen?

I swear I was pregnant like last week and he was born yesterday, wasn’t he?

My best friend (and mommy guru, oracle of all things motherhood) told me when I felt like I was drowning in the early days of maternity leave that, when you have kids, “the days are long, but the years are short.” Boy, is that accurate!

So what have I learned this year?

I’m not going to list everything because I’d be writing that list until he was two, then need to start the list of things I learned in that year. But there are some big ones worth mentioning.

One of the first things I learned: I don’t know that I could be a stay-at-home mom. Maybe when kids are a little older, but those first couple months when the hubby went back to work before summer started were ROUGH. Don’t get me wrong: being a working mom is ridiculously hard. I miss Jacob all day and wish I were with him, but if I were home with him all day every day with no breaks, I think I’d go insane and start writing “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” on the walls.

stay at home mom crazy

With that said, I have TERRIBLE SAHM FOMO (Stay-at-home mom fear of missing out). I 100 percent WISH I had the means to be a stay at home mom and I’m DESPERATELY looking forward to my summer home with him. DESPERATELY. I absolutely NEVER want to go back to work when it’s time. But I also recognize that having some adult time is good for me. (Granted, I’m not sure teaching in a high school counts as “adult time,” but I’ll take what I can get.)

However, I also could never afford to be a stay-at-home mom either. So maybe some of this is my brain tricking me so I don’t spend all day crying. But in one sense I’m a better mom to Jacob when I’m absolutely dying to see him at the end of the work day. (Like literally. When they spring a meeting on me at the end of the day, I will cut someone to get home to my baby!)

I could, however, be a stay-at-home dog mom quite happily. But I’d be able to go to the gym, go shopping, shower, pee with the door closed, etc with just dogs. Despite what I thought prior to having a child, babies are a different ballgame altogether.

I learned to try to sweat the small stuff less. I know that everything feels catastrophic in the moment, but the reality is, we’ll get through whatever it is. Whether it’s the baby not gaining enough weight or a flat head or physical therapy or whatever pain in the ass is coming next. Is it going to suck at the time? Yes. But we’ll figure it out and come through on the other side.

I learned that I can’t be perfect. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up and stop trying, but it’s okay if people see the flaws. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to hide all of my imperfections from everyone, but that stupid helmet taught me that I can’t do that anymore because I’m no longer just me. I’m a mom. So there are going to be times when I get to school with scrambled egg in my hair (happened yesterday) or spit-up on my shirt (thank god we’re past that phase!) or other general less than perfectisms. And that’s okay. And if anyone judges me for that, they’ll understand when they have kids. Or not. Who cares?

The cool thing is that I DO care a little less about that now. I laughed about the hair eggs and asked if the kid who pointed them out was hungry. And on a serious note, I have to admit that the responses that I got when I posted about Jacob’s helmet helped me realize that, despite what you see on social media, no one’s life is perfect. Everyone has all kinds of crap, most more serious than mine, that they’re dealing with. They’re not all broadcasting theirs in a blog, but I’m not broadcasting ALL of mine either. (Yes, dear reader, I keep secrets from you. #sorrynotsorry.)

I’ve learned that being a mom is one of the hardest things in the world. I was NOT sympathetic enough to my friends with kids before Jacob was born. Like oh my god, this is HARD. I’m feeling a lot of delayed-reaction guilt that I made my best friend drop everything and come to the Jersey shore for my bachelorette party when she had a four month old and an almost three year old at home. She fell asleep pumping at the kitchen table after we went out one night. Now that I’ve been there and get it, I can’t believe she loves me enough to have dropped everything for me that weekend and I can’t believe I was a big enough jerk to ask her to. I also have NO idea how people do this with two or more kids. How does that even work? I’m exhausted just THINKING about a second baby!

I’ve learned that planning doesn’t work. I’m a big planner. And prior to pregnancy, those plans were beautifully executed because I was good at planning. Babies, however, are plan kryptonite. Breakfast yesterday? I planned to be on time for work with food-free hair, but I was late with hair eggs instead. If I plan to go somewhere, I can virtually guarantee that Jacob will poop right when I’m about to leave, or refuse to eat, or find some new way to prevent that from happening. But I keep making those plans, beating on, boats against the current, borne ceaselessly into the hands of a plan-destroying baby (toddler? I guess he’s not TECHNICALLY a baby anymore. BRB crying forever).

I’ve learned nothing is THAT gross. Okay, maybe that’s not technically true, as lots of things are REALLY FREAKING GROSS when you have a baby. But you deal with it. My mother loves to tell the story (no really, she LOVES to tell this story. Like in front of my friends, boss, cashier at TJ Maxx, you name it) of the time she took me to the grocery store in a primitive 1980s baby carrier and I pooped down her shirt and she didn’t even notice until she went to put me back in the car. As Forrest Gump and the shirts say, it happens. And you clean it up and you deal with it. And if you make fake gagging noises when you’re cleaning something super gross, Jacob will laugh hysterically. (My brother and sister-in-law were horrified when we were trying to get Jacob to smile for a picture with his new cousin and we started gagging at him. It worked though!)

I’ve learned that I need to find time for myself. There are three main components to keeping Sara happy and sane. Reading, writing, and exercise. All three of which are INSANELY difficult to find time to do when you’re a new mom. The exercise part was fine when it was warm out because I would take long walks with Jacob, but once it got cold out, that got much harder. I can’t work out at night because I’ll never sleep if I do it that close to bedtime (I’m the world’s worst insomniac). Mornings are out because I already have to get up an hour earlier this year than I did pre-baby to get him ready and I’m not yet getting enough sleep at night to get up at 4am to work out. So I am HEAVILY (no pun intended when I’m not exercising) anticipating the return of warm weather.

Reading wasn’t that hard to reinstate because I just added in 20 minutes at bedtime. I love my Kindle because it tells me how long it’ll take me to read the chapter that I’m on, but it gets hard when I’m reading something that I love because I’m always like, well, I could read ONE more chapter. And then suddenly it’s midnight and I want to die. But that’s only happened a couple of times so far because the desire to sleep still wins out most nights.

Writing has been a challenge, but that’s why I started this blog. I also just signed with a new agent for my new book and she seems awesome, so I need to start revisions ASAP. That’s going to be tricky because I don’t work well in short chunks of time. I work best when I have a couple of solid weeks of time to sit down and focus. But it’s important enough to me that I’ll find a way.

And finally, I’ve learned that motherhood is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Jacob more than I ever thought possible and I’ve learned that THAT makes all of the rest of it worth it.

Mom Life

Pinterest is making me feel like a terrible mom

March 22, 2018March 22, 2018 Sara Confino

It’s no secret that I love the internet. Google is my BFF. Siri and I fight sometimes (she pronounces my last name as Con-FIN-o, not Con-FEEN-o. Like she should really have a feature where you pronounce something for her and she learns it. It’s not rocket science.), and I don’t currently have Alexa running my house, but I do love me some internet.

Except Pinterest. Screw Pinterest.

I’ll admit, I’ve never truly understood the appeal of Pinterest. To me, it’s vaguely like the idea of Tumblr (which is NOT a real blog. This is a blog. It has writing AND stolen pictures. Not just reposted pictures. Just reposting pictures without the writing does NOT make you a blogger!). You just post other people’s stuff to save it for later. That’s never done much for me.

Granted, it was helpful when planning my wedding–only because after I had a nightmare dress experience at the first store my mother and I went to, my mother looked at my Pinterest, saw that I’d pinned the same dress three separate times, and called around for a store that carried it. She found one, we went in, I tried it on, we bought it, the end. (I also watch zero reality tv*, so I had no desire to cry and be like, “Oh my god, I’m saying yes to the dress!” Gag.)

*I fully intend to hate watch the hell out of the Jersey Shore reboot.

So why do I hate Pinterest after it found me my wedding dress?

Easy. It’s the Disney movie of motherhood. Yes, I love Disney movies. But realistic expectations of men are not their forte. Like if a dude comes up to you and starts dancing with you without your consent and tells you he met you in a dream so he already knows you in real life, that’s creepy AF. I’m sorry, but no one is battling Ursala when he doesn’t even know your real name. Nope. And don’t even get me started on all of those princes kissing unconscious princesses. But in a Disney movie? Oh my god, it’s so ROMANTIC! No, I’m not being sarcastic there. I don’t care how date rapey Prince Phillip is on paper, in Sleeping Beauty he’s awesome!

And that’s how Pinterest is. You look at all these motherhood posts and you’re like “Wow, motherhood is SO dreamy.” I’m almost a year in. Motherhood is not dreamy. It’s far from dreamy. In fact, what’s a dream? Who sleeps anymore? What?

Pinterest is fine when you’re setting up your nursery (you know, pre-baby. When you have time to do cutesy stuff). But once that little guy or gal is born? Especially if you’re working full time, who has time for all of that?

Which brings me to the real problem with Pinterest (only took me 450 words to get there… oops): I am a surprisingly low maintenance mom. I know, I know, no one who knows me would ever put the word “LOW” in front of maintenance when describing me as a person. But as a mom, I’m pretty laid back.

But Jacob is turning one in another week and a half. Which means I have to plan a birthday party.

And all of these Pinterest moms are making me want to tear my hair out.

The original plan was to invite close family and a couple of friends who have kids (because why would friends WITHOUT kids want to go to a one year old’s birthday party? I certainly didn’t pre-kids!), get a couple balloons and a cake from Costco, make a small smash cake for Jacob and call it a day. No fuss, no muss, no problem.

Apparently that’s not an acceptable solution for anyone involved. Costco cakes, which incidentally, were good enough for my high school and college graduation parties, as well as my engagement party, my father’s 60th birthday party, etc, are apparently not good enough for Jacob’s first birthday because everyone I told that plan to said, “You’re really not going to make the cake yourself?”

Some background: I am an AWESOME baker. It’s probably the only reason I have friends at school as I am also snarky beyond belief. And in my younger and more vulnerable years, I used to decorate cakes. My grandma used to make all of our birthday cakes as kids and I eventually started “helping,” then ACTUALLY helping, then started making my own.

The last time I cared enough to do that was 15 years ago though. So I turned to Pinterest. And somehow, in the last 15 years, cake decorating went from “cut a monkey head shape out of a sheet cake” to spending eight hours sculpting the perfect cake and using fondant at home. I’m not doing that. A) Fondant is gross, as I learned from wedding cake testing and B) WHAT MOM HAS TIME FOR ALL THAT?

The problem is, now that I’ve seen all of these fantastical Pinterest creations, I feel like my cute little monkey cake plan will be pathetic and everyone will think I’m a bad mom. And my old cake decorating books from the 90s were no help at all because THIS was what passed for a monkey cake back then.

That’d be a bigger fail than those “1” penis cookies that made the rounds a few years ago. (Side note, we went to a friend’s daughter’s first birthday party about a month ago. And the hubby pulls me aside, points in the corner and whispers, “Why do they have a dick balloon?” I looked and it was supposed to be a pink “1,” but it would have fit in beautifully at a bachelorette party… we may not be emotionally mature enough to be parents after this many years of teaching high school!)

So I’m compromising. I ordered a monkey-shaped cake pan. I’ll decorate that, make a banana-shaped smash cake for Jacob, and call it a day.

My sanity is more important than looking like a perfect Pinterest mom.

motherhood sanity

Programming note: I’ll be in California for spring break next week, so I probably won’t have a new post for you until the week after that. See you then!

Mom Life

Baby’s first flight will be 5 1/2 hours long. This should be interesting

March 15, 2018March 15, 2018 Sara Confino

My brother and his wife had a baby in December. But because they live in LA and we’re in DC, I have yet to meet my only nephew. This tragedy is finally going to be remedied in a week and a half.

Which brings me to today’s post: flying with an infant.

Jacob will be one week shy of a year when we make the trip. And I don’t do things by halves, so instead of trying a nice, two-hour flight to Florida, we’re diving right in and doing five-and-a-half hours for our first trip.

We’re also teachers, so we’re poor and therefore are bringing him as a “lap infant.” Pray for us.

pray for mojo.gif

I feel like the lap infant plan would have been easy a couple of months ago. But right now, all Jacob wants is to crawl, stand, and cruise. So five-and-a-half hours of holding a squirming baby who wants to do anything BUT sit on a lap is going to be an experience. (Maybe you shouldn’t pray for us, maybe you should pray for whoever has to sit next to us…)

So as the research queen, here’s what I’ve discovered so far.

Bring your own car seat. In my Googling, I’ve seen all kinds of horror stories about people reserving a car seat from the rental car company, only to find that they were out of them that day. Or the car seat in question was covered in puke. Or was rusty. Or broken. Or any number of other unsafe factors that meant people had to then leave one spouse at the rental car place while the other drove to the nearest Buy Buy Baby or Target to buy a new car seat. Nope. That bulky Britax is coming with us!
Airlines will actually let you use your car seat on the plane without buying a seat if your flight isn’t full. And with just under two weeks to go, our flights aren’t full (I’m sure I just jinxed myself…keep your fingers crossed for me). So we’re planning to haul our car seat through the airport. Yes, that sounds like the biggest pain in the ass ever, but we bought a wheelie cart thing that it attaches to and you can apparently safely put the baby in the seat and use that as a makeshift stroller, so we can check the stroller before security at least.
It’s actually cheaper to Amazon Prime a Pack N Play to my brother before we go than it is to bring our own. While airlines let you check a stroller and a car seat for free, the Pack N Play would run us $25 each way and they’re $47 on Amazon right now, without having to shlep it through the airport. No brainer there.
Get an Airbnb with a kitchen and washer/dryer instead of staying at a hotel. The closest, non-shady hotel to my brother was $180 a night. We found an Airbnb for $124 and is walking distance to restaurants, shops and the beach. While I’ve never stayed in an Airbnb before (and think it’s a little creepy when it’s someone’s regular house), I’ve got to say, the washer and dryer are crucial when traveling with a little one. What do you do if there’s a poop disaster otherwise?
Everyone I know drugs their kids on the regular. Every single parent that I talked to who has flown with a one year old has told me to give him Benadryl. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Which I guess makes sense. My parents were slipping me Benadryls to travel as late as three years ago when my mom and I flew to LA for my sister-in-law’s bridal shower. But in my case, it wasn’t because I’m squirmy, it’s because I get more motion sick than anyone else on the planet. And if I’m sleeping, I’m not puking.
TEST THE BENADRYL THING FIRST. Oh my god, apparently on like 25 percent of kids, it doesn’t knock them out, it makes them insane. And the last thing I need for five-and-a-half hours on a plane is a raging Hulk baby climbing all over everyone and everything on the plane. (Hulk baby mad! Hulk baby crawl!) Urban legend? Maybe. But not worth the risk. Plus, testing the Benadryl beforehand gives mommy time to pack.

To be honest though, I’m not sure how I feel about the Benadryl thing. Like I’m sure it’s fine. Dr. Adam says it can’t hurt. His pediatrician gave us the green light (although she also warned us to test it before we go to avoid Baby Hulk). And my parents did it to me for YEARS and I’m (mostly) normal. But the box says not to give it to children under two. And I spend so much time and energy making sure that nothing non-organic touches my child’s lips, am I really going to dope him up for ease on a flight?

Yes. Yes, I am. But I’ll still feel mom guilt about it.

And HOPEFULLY if he conks out for most of the flight, he’ll stay up a little later once we get there and adjust better to the time change.

Who am I kidding? He’s waking us up at 4am every morning when we’re in LA and I know it.

With that said, I’m actually really excited for this trip–and not just because I get to squeeze my adorable little nephew finally! We’re planning to take Jacob to Disneyland, which yes, he’ll be too young to remember, but I still want to see his face when he sees real-life Mickey and Winnie-the-Pooh.

Wish me luck! And to all of you parents who have done a long flight with a little one before, what am I missing? What advice do you have?

Mom Life

The only thing better than Dr. Google? Having a doctor for a brother

March 8, 2018 Sara Confino

I hate going to the doctor.

You wouldn’t think I’d feel that way considering how many doctors I have in my family, but I think that my hesitancy to go to a doctor actually stems from that. My mother’s brother was our go-to phone call as kids when something was wrong, and he can be kind of a jerk. I remember asking him about a rash I had one time (it turns out I’m allergic to sunshine. Seriously. If I spend more than three days on the beach, I get bumps on my fingers and a rash on my legs. Dr. Google, however, told me the correct combination of vitamins to help me stay in the sun longer.) and he said amputation was the only answer.

As a teacher, it drives me up a wall when people who have never done my job try to tell me how to do my job. So I’m fully aware that my tendency to self-diagnose via Google is the single most annoying thing on the planet to doctors. I decided a few weeks ago that Rosie, my oldest dog, had a mast cell tumor based on Dr. Google, rushed her to the vet, crying hysterically, only to be told that it was a “waxy comedone,” aka, a “schnauzer bump.” (To be fair, my vet is awesome and DID agree that the bump seemed suspicious until she did a fine needle aspiration and looked at the cells under a microscope. That or she thinks I’m completely psychotic and was humoring me. There’s a distinct possibility that that was the case.)

And the fact that I correctly diagnosed Jacob’s torticollis using the internet when our pediatrician thought he was fine both makes me extra convinced that I’m good at using Dr. Google and makes me extra annoying to doctors. So I always feel like a doctor is not going to understand how good I am at Googling and not believe me when I tell them what the problem is. Yes, I could just describe my symptoms and let them figure it out, but my doctor is NOT House, MD. And I don’t feel like getting poked and prodded when I already know what medicine I need.

But now I have my own personal family doctor because my brother is one. When I was younger, the idea of my brother as a doctor terrified me. Partially because he’s my kid brother, but partially because he went out to observe at my other doctor uncle’s hospital when he was sixteen, saw a surgery, then claimed he could take my gallbladder out through my belly button and chased me through my parents’ house with an X-acto knife trying to prove it. My parents thought this was cute. I did not.

With that said, my brother has become my knight in shining armor since having a baby of my own because I can run my Dr. Google ideas by him to determine if a visit to the pediatrician is necessary or not. This works well because A) no matter how much I annoy him, he’s my brother and he can’t get away from me, and B) I know he loves his nephew to pieces and therefore is giving me the best possible advice. (Although when I called him about a lump in my hand, only 30% convinced I had hand cancer, he told me it was a ganglion cyst and to slam a book on my hand as hard as I could to get rid of it. I’m not sure he loves me as much as he loves Jacob*.)

*BUT when I had an adverse reaction to the motion sickness patch while in Greece two summers ago and my vision got too blurry to even use my phone to Google what was wrong with me, he took my call at 4am his time, told me what was happening, why I was having the reaction, and what to do for it. So in the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, he’s a pretty awesome brother/doctor.

Meaning that when Jacob was taking less of his bottle than usual last week, then threw up, that felt too dire for Google and I called my brother.

“Sounds like a stomach bug,” he told me. “Rest and Pedialyte and keep an eye on how much he’s peeing.”

When that answer didn’t satisfy me, he asked, “What are you afraid of here?”

“That he’s sick,” I said.

“And?”

“That’s all.”

He sighed. “Babies get sick. It sucks for a few days, then they get better. He’ll be fine.”

“Can he throw up in his sleep and choke on it and die?”

No,” he said. “Babies are good at being sick. He’s fine, you’re fine, have a glass of wine and chill.”

See why this is better than Google or going to the doctor? Jacob’s pediatrician is nice and all, but she’s not going to prescribe a glass of wine when I’m freaking out.

Of course, I called him back the next day to tell him his diagnosis was wrong because Jacob hadn’t thrown up again, but was still refusing his bottle and fussy and I thought he was teething. And Dr. Google told me that teething can sometimes make a baby throw up even though pediatricians always say it’s a stomach bug.

“Okay, then he’s teething,” he said. I could hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.

Then, a day later, when Jacob was still refusing his bottle, we went to the pediatrician, who told us it was either a virus, teething, or constipation. Which was a pretty broad spectrum of issues, but at least she ruled out an ear infection, strep, and a bowel obstruction (none of which I thought he had).

That afternoon, Jacob woke up from his nap with an insanely runny nose and we had our answer. I still think he’s teething too, but based on the sore throat that I woke up with the next morning (yes, he sneezed on my face again. Thanks, kid.), I felt confident that I had solved the medical mystery of why Jacob wasn’t taking his bottle.

With a little help from my brother and Dr. Google. Thanks guys!

Mom Life

I’m not like a regular dog mom, I’m a cool dog mom

February 15, 2018February 15, 2018 Sara Confino

A long time ago in a condo not that far away, I became a mommy.

No, I don’t mean Jacob–we bought our house before we had him. I mean Rosie.

Okay, technically, Rosie is a schnauzer, not my biological child. But she’s still my baby. And she DOES look more like my dad than my actual human baby does, so I think that counts.

The schnauzer resemblance is strong in my family

I know there are a lot of people (including my mother–just remember mom, you’re still Rosie’s favorite person, even though you forget all about her the second you see Jacob. She loves her grandma unconditionally) who get irrationally irritated when I say my dogs are my babies, but there’s a logic behind this argument.

thanks-for-being-a-mom-to-me-and-a-grandmother-to-my-dog--46285

My parents met in college and got married at 24. They had me five years later.

At 24, I was a hot mess. To be fair though, most of my generation was similarly messy, and of those people I know who got married around 24 years old, almost none of them are still together now. And oh my god, if I had married my college boyfriend–let’s not even go there. I’m gagging just thinking about it.

when-i-was-young-i-wanted-to-be-married-by-25-and-have-children-by-28-lets-all-laugh-together-48cde

So by the time I got to the age where my parents’ generation was having babies, I was not exactly ready to have a baby. But I WAS ready to love a tiny creature unconditionally, and the first time I saw Rosie, I knew it was her.

I think that’s the reason so many girls in their 20s get dogs. They’re not ready to settle down and have a baby yet, but those maternal instincts are starting to kick in.

favorite family member dog

And I have to say, in a lot of ways, having a dog is GREAT training for having a baby.

Why?

Well, I’m glad you asked that!*

*I’m aware you didn’t ask that. But you’re here now, so let’s just pretend you did.

#1 I already have baby gates. Yes, that’s the stage we’re at right now, and yes, I forgot that I had them until we started cleaning out our basement because we’re getting it finished to create a playroom, but that just saved me about $60. Thanks past Sara and my un-potty-trained dogs!

i-look-forward-to-the-day-i-no-longer-have-to-hurdle-a-baby-gate-to-go-to-the-bathroom-4ccee

#2 I am now fully prepared to clean up poop, vomit, pee, and any other bodily fluid that can come out of a baby or small animal. In fact, dogs are grosser than babies when it comes to bodily emissions because I have yet to see Jacob eat something, throw it up, eat it again, then poop it out and try to eat it again. So when Jacob was a newborn and turned to face me then spit up Exorcist-style down the side of my head, I wasn’t even that grossed out.

And an added bonus? The dogs aren’t picky about whose puke they eat, so when Jacob pukes on the floor, I don’t even need to clean!

dog eats poop

#3 I am totally used to being woken up in the middle of the night. My dogs, as much as I adore them, are not so good at letting me sleep. They’re both bed hogs (Hubby argues they shouldn’t be allowed to sleep in our bed, but Rosie has been sharing my bed longer than he has, so that one is non-negotiable), and it’s truly amazing how much space two small dogs can take up in a king-sized bed. It’s like they ate the Alice in Wonderland growth drug before they get in bed at night and turn from miniature schnauzers into sprawled out woolly mammoths.

Sleeping-With-Pets

But between Rosie, who jumps down in the middle of the night (when I toss and turn too much, it offends her), then barks repeatedly to announce that she would like a formal invitation to rejoin us on the bed, and Sandy, who perceives every imaginary noise outside as an imminent threat to our immediate safety that must be dealt with in the loudest possible manner (although you can literally walk into our house and get all the way upstairs before she notices you most days), I was used to waking up multiple times in the night long before Jacob was born.

bark in the middle of the night

#4 I understand non-verbal communications. I am now fluent in schnauzer, which, at least in our house, is freakily similar to baby. Jacob may be spending too much time around the dogs because he definitely copies their growling from when they play tug-of-war with a toy and happily yells along with them when they bark at the mailman.

But I can differentiate between a bark that means Milo, the dog from across the street, is peeing on our lawn or a bark that means the deer are in our backyard again. I can tell when they’re barking because their water bowl is empty or because Sandy is misbehaving and Rosie is telling on her (it happens). And I can tell when the squirrel that torments Sandy by coming right up to the window and shaking his tail at her is back at it.

Which means that interpreting different baby cries isn’t that hard. Especially since he seems to be speaking schnauzer instead of English. Oops.

can-you-distinguish-your-babys-cries-well-does-he-smell-like-poop-oh-yes-thats-the-i-crapped-my-pants-cry-c905b

#5 I can say no. Dogs beg all the time, meaning that I’m going to be a pro when Jacob is a toddler and wants something that he can’t have.*

*I’m lying. I never say no to the dogs. I’m the worst. I share all of my food with them. I’m why they’re fat. My vet totally judges me and the husband wants to kill me when we’re eating chicken and they start demanding their share, which they know I’ll give them. Jacob will tell me he wants a pony next year and I’ll be like, “Okay honey, here you go!”

spoiled dog

#6 I know how to put someone else’s needs first. Okay this one is true. Whether it was learning to leap out of bed in the middle of the night when one of the dogs started puking or accidentally breaking an iPhone screen when another dog went after Rosie, becoming a dog mommy first helped me learn the kind of selfless behavior that you need to care for a tiny human. And while I’m sure that mommy instinct kicks in just as strongly even if you’ve never felt anything like that before, I’m glad I got years to practice before Jacob came along.

puppies-babies-are-truly-one-in-the-same-for-all-moms-just-more-work-patience-and-love-to-be-doled-out-each-time-you-add-one-to-the-family-da698

And Jacob gets the benefit of growing up with two older sisters who love him even when he doesn’t fling handfuls of Cheerios onto the floor for them.

Everyone wins.

Mom Life

I’m literally Googling baby poop. What happened to my life?

January 25, 2018January 24, 2018 Sara Confino

I know that I’m a total stereotype for being a Jewish mama who worries about everything, but I feel like the fact that I have a diagnosed anxiety disorder gives me a bit of an excuse.

Either way, there is a whole spectrum of issues that I never anticipated worrying about prior to beginning the parenthood journey.

Like baby poop.

poop machine

If anyone in the NSA is monitoring my internet search history (or Facebook. I see you Facebook app, spying on everything I do!), they’re really going to think I’m obsessed with poop because now that we’re done with the baby helmet, I think poop queries make up 85 percent of my search history. The other 15 percent are comprised of Queen Elizabeth trivia (because I’m fact checking The Crown as we watch it), baby food recipes, the weather for possible snow days, and how little sleep you can survive on before you start creating underground fight clubs and making soap.

In the beginning, his poop was unconcerning. Jacob was kind enough to cry when he needed to poop, so when he stopped crying and got all happy, we knew he had a squishy tush. This typically occurred when I was in the shower. When my husband went back to work after Jacob was born (He really is the best baby. He made his arrival at the beginning of April, ensuring that I had the maximum amount of leave time. I was able to take off all of fourth quarter at school and then got the summer too), I’d feed Jacob and then plop him in his bouncer seat in the doorway to the master bathroom so I could see him while I showered.*

*Our master bathroom is freakishly narrow. Apparently our house was built with Slender Man in mind. Navigating it while pregnant was… interesting.

On good days, he’d fall asleep and I’d actually get to put on makeup and get dressed after I showered.

mom shower makeup

Most days, however, he’d cry a little bit when I got in the shower, then get happy and chatty. Which I dreaded. Because it meant he’d pooped. And not like a tiny, cute amount of baby poop. I’m talking like elephants would stop and point and be like, “Wow, that’s a lot of poop even for us!” Remember the scene in Jurassic Park? It was like that but with a baby in a diaper on top.

jurassic park poop

And the happier he got, the more poop it meant there was. My little guy somehow managed to have poop-splosions so enormous that what came out of his diaper could fill the entire bouncer seat. And there he’d sit, happy as a pig in–you get where I’m going–wiggling all around as the poop slopped down onto the carpet.

We may have lied a little when we had our carpets professionally cleaned a couple months ago and told the guy that the dogs had accidents in our bedroom. While that’s true in some spots, we definitely had baby spots in other places!

baby poop

If you told me I’d miss those days, I’d have called you a liar.

But now that we’re on solid food, which my little chunky monkey loves, the poop isn’t flowing as freely. So I find myself Googling baby constipation remedies. Which was kind of embarrassing when I accidentally left that on my screen at school and then projected my screen for the kids to see an assignment.*

MjAxMi00NTMwYTQ5MmJjYjcwMWRl

*I’m totally lying. Not about doing that, but about feeling embarrassed. That’s one of the downsides and/or perks of motherhood that I’ve discovered. I no longer have shame. I’m too tired to feel shame. We’re doing baby swim classes with Jacob and while I was always the one who was like, “Why do old ladies walk around the locker room naked? Why? Why?” Now, I’m like, eh, I’m holding a baby while trying to get dressed. What do I care if someone sees a boob?

naked locker room

So after massive amounts of Googling about the consistency of his poop (it’s not usually the rabbit pellets, it’s more of a poopy wedge), possible culprits and possible remedies, we tried everything. Prunes, prune juice, tummy massages, bicycling his legs, putting him back in that bouncer seat while I shower, taking him out in the backyard (hey, it works for the dogs!), coffee, etc. No dice.

Which means that the most likely problem is that he needs more water in his diet.

Cool. We’re working on sippy cups. I bought 17 different kinds (actual number, not hyperbole). Which my husband keeps trying to drink from, then proclaims too difficult and throws over his shoulder into a growing heap of rejected sippy cups.

thor another gif

Which brings us to our next problem: teething. Jacob’s four front bottom teeth are all in. His four front bottom teeth, however, are all poised to come in at the same time. Literally. You can see all four just below the gums, but they’re taking their sweet time making an actual appearance.

And those lovely sub-dermal chompers are making it hurt for him to drink be it from a bottle, a sippy cup, a straw, a stream etc. He seemed perfectly happy to drink pool water at his baby swim class last weekend, but I draw the line at water that has a measurable urine content in it. Literally though, he looked like one of those whales inhaling water. Not okay!

putting_the_pee_in_pool

So short of sitting on him and squirting water into his mouth (which a. makes me think of that Shel Silverstein poem where the babysitter thinks she’s supposed to sit upon the baby and b. will probably make future water drinking rather traumatic), I’m at a loss until those teeth come in.

-that-moment-at-300-am-you-dont-know-if-your-baby-is-teething-or-needs-an-exorcism-4c219

Note to self: Google how to make baby teeth come in faster!

Tag: baby

I got called a celebrity. In reality, I am held together by iced coffee and dry shampoo.

I’m back! With a baby! And a book deal!

The baby is supposed to eat what I eat–what food group is coffee in?

Jacob is a year old already–here’s what I’ve learned this year

Pinterest is making me feel like a terrible mom

Baby’s first flight will be 5 1/2 hours long. This should be interesting

The only thing better than Dr. Google? Having a doctor for a brother

I’m not like a regular dog mom, I’m a cool dog mom

*I’m aware you didn’t ask that. But you’re here now, so let’s just pretend you did.

I’m literally Googling baby poop. What happened to my life?

*Our master bathroom is freakishly narrow. Apparently our house was built with Slender Man in mind. Navigating it while pregnant was… interesting.

Share this:

Share this:

*Karen is not her real name. But I can’t print her real name because then she’ll know how much I hate her.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

*I’m aware you didn’t ask that. But you’re here now, so let’s just pretend you did.

Share this:

*Our master bathroom is freakishly narrow. Apparently our house was built with Slender Man in mind. Navigating it while pregnant was… interesting.

Share this: