Gabby will not take a bottle (and I’m thinking now that’s she’s already six months old and NEVER has taken ONE bottle, she probably never will.) Nor, will she take a pacifier. She’s like “If it aint Mamma’s Tit… SCREW IT!” However, she started doing this thing with her hand when she’s hungry that Tony and I think is one of the cutest things in the history of cute things.
It’s her silent shout out to Ma’Boobs.
You’re probably thinking… “eh, I’ve seen babies do cuter things that that” But trust me… NO, you haven’t!
I mean, come on! LOOK! She PRETENDS like she’s sucking on the palm of her hand to make me feel guilty for not giving her The Tit! Look at her eyes, she’s all “Man, I sure would like some tittymilk right now, but mom’s too busy to sit down, unsnap the bra and whip it out again, so, I’ll just sit here and pretend to suck on the palm of my wittle hands and make sucking noises while pretending to suck on the palm of my hand.”
If you don’t think that’s the cutest thing ever, then you can go…
uh…
SCREW IT!
Wa Wa Wa
I have a confession.
I watched the Happy Days Reunion show last night.
And I loved it. Because I loved Happy Days.
Oh! The memories!
PINKY TUSCADARO! Leather Tuscadaro! The FONZ! Mr and Mrs.C. POTSIE WEBBER (He was almost always my pretend husband when I’d play barbies, I would rotate between him, and The Doc from The Love Boat… ok, and sometimes Gopher)!!!
However, as great as it was to watch the memories, it was sad to see how old everyone is. Made me all freaked out about how close I am to dying because… ‘LOOK HOW OLD JOANIE IS!’
I’m also slightly pissed off at the fact I can NOT stop telling people to “SIT ON IT!”
I interrupt my “bill paying online session” to bring you this important message
Normally, my farts don’t stink. Seriously. I make beautifully pure farts.
But today is not like most days, because today I had an egg sandwich for lunch.
Like…woah.
Half way there, baby
Today, my daughter is 6 months old.
Where did the time go? And why is it passing so quickly?
I wish it would slow down. I look at my boys, and I am painfully aware that I’ll blink my eyes and that beautiful baby girl you see there, resting her head on her favorite “pillow”, will be growing “pillows” of her own, and talking about boys she likes and going to the mall with her friends and how she wants to dye her hair and pierce her nose.
I remember when I found out that the baby I was carrying inside of me was a little girl. I was scared. I honestly did not believe I could bond with a girl. I feared I wouldn’t connect with her the same way I did with my sons. I didn’t think she’d like me very much, Silly as that sounds. I’d have nightmares of her fussing when I’d hold her and screaming for daddy to rescue her from me.
I was so wrong. She adores me. And I adore her.
There is a powerful love between the two of us and I look forward to watching it grow and develop over the coming years.
Six months have already passed, and the love and pride I feel towards her is so heart-stirring, I can only imagine what the future holds.
(p.s. I resisted the very great urge inside of my soul to turn this post into one big fart joke, because, me and my daughter have become quite the farters in crime. However, I resisted and went with pure cheese instead. You should be proud)
123
Test…
Testicles
A post about ice. (How’s THAT for a title?)
Choose your battles.
That’s one of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever recieved in the parenting department. It has saved me from many power struggles that simply weren’t worth the aggravation.
However, today I am choosing a battle. A battle that some might not believe is worth fighting, but I am willing to fight to the death…
HEAR YE HEAR YE ,THE NEXT CHILD OF MINE WHO SWITCHES THE ICE MAKER ON MY BRAND NEW FRIDGE TO “CUBED” ICE WILL BE BANNED FROM USING THE ICE MAKER FOR AS LONG AS THEY LIVE IN THIS HOUSE.
That’s right. I’m willing to fight over ice. Because ice is important. Because crushed ice is much less likely to cause you to lose a tooth and teeth mean a lot to me.
So, back off the switched marked “cubed” or there will be hell to pay.
Does that make me “rebellious?”
Guess what I’m getting ready to do right now!
I am getting ready to go to church.
And not just any church. I’m going to my Dad’s church!
And, I’m going to wear JEANS. And a TSHIRT. To MY DAD’S CHURCH.
The church that preaches wimmins shouldn’t wear jeans and t-shirts, but dresses and headcoverings.
The “brothers” and “sisters” are going to be p-i-s-s-e-d.
But I can not lie… I miss the “bacon”
While some wimmins are getting dressed up everyday to go to work, to accomplish great things, to bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan, I’m in my ugly kitchen with no make up on, tittymilk puke all up on the shirt I had on the day before, stanky breath, unshaved pits & legs, taking pictures with ma’baby girl.
And you know what?
I’m totally ok with that.
A short story by a stay at home mom forced to live on a budget because she had to quit her job to stay home to take care of her Unexpected Joy.
And yes, I called people to brag about it and now I’m posting about it and yes, I think this means I’ve “officially” turned into my mother. But It’s all good, because I gots mad cash left over to spend on socks and underwear for my man.
Don’t be jealous, ok?
OH OH! I miss HIGHLIGHTING SCRIPTURES WITH MY PINK HIGHLIGHTER!!
The past few months, I’ve thought about going back to church. I decided to put together a list of the things I miss about church and the things I do NOT miss about it.
Things I miss:
-Worship. I miss singing songs of praise and worship. I miss closing my eyes and feeling the presence of God in my heart, mind and soul through the music. I miss how the lyrics of God’s love for me would make me cry and how it felt as though those tears were cleansing my heart of hurt and pain.
I do NOT miss the one woman who just HAD to draw attention to herself by singing “harmony”, not realizing she couldn’t sing for shit and she was just ruining the beauty of the song. I do NOT miss the upbeat songs and how they encouraged “sister eva” to bust out the tambourine and start skipping down the isles, grabbing everyone in her path, starting a “let’s get jiggy with Jesus” train full of self proclaimed “jesus freaks” getting their “dance on” in the church isles. (And for the record, when Eva grabbed MY arm for ME to join “the train” I put my finger in her face, shook it back and forth and said “NO!”)
-Scriptures. I miss hearing the pastor read passages in the bible that speak of God’s love for me, of how he sent his son, Jesus, to die for my sins, so that I could have forgiveness and eternal life.
I do NOT miss hearing about hell and how I’ll burn there if I don’t obey the scriptures. I do NOT miss how, on occasion, the pastor would put HIS spin on the scripture and how I couldn’t stand up and call him out on it, and how I’d have to sit there quietly pissed off.
-I miss getting a cup of coffee and a cookie after the service and chatting with people about their week.
I do NOT miss getting a call from “sister Evelyn” telling me it was MY turn to serve coffee and then going on and on and on about how we all have a gift and a talent and we should use those gifts and talents for the Lord and how HER calling was that of serving coffee to her brothers and sister in Christ.
As you can see, this list went from deep and spiritual to childish and bitter in less than 30 seconds. I guess it’s like this. I want to go back to church because I miss the connection I feel with God when I’m there, but, for the most part, I can’t stand the PEOPLE who go there, so I am letting “people” keep me from feeling close to God again.
And that is kind of dumb.