The Leaning Tower of Onesies

When I was a whopping three months pregnant, I had a complete breakdown over onesies. Obviously the Prozac they had me on was not working too well. My poor mother had to bear the brunt of the breakdown. I called her and cried that I had no onesies.  Of course I did not have any onesies. I had practically nothing for a baby yet and I did not even know if it was a boy or a girl. Regardless, I totally lost it. This baby needed onesies! So the next Saturday I picked my mom up and off to the baby consignment store we went. We dug through rack after rack, from newborn to 18 months and pulled out every white, yellow and green onesie we could find that had no stains and still buttoned at the crotch, which added up to probably 45 cute little onesies. Looking back now, I know my mom wanted to tell me to put 30 of them back. Who needs 45 onesies? This baby did! Or so I had convinced myself anyway. As I approached the cashier with my stack of onesies, the woman behind the counter asked “Oh are you having multiples?” First of all, let’s remember that I am a whopping 12 weeks pregnant and not even close to showing except for the beer gut I had developed prior to this pregnancy. Second of all, let’s remember that my Prozac was NOT working. Multiples?! Multiples?! I took a deep breath and parted the leaning tower of onesies so I could look this completely ignorant woman in the eyes. Before I could spew word vomit all over the baby booties and cloth diapers, my mom, ever so calmly replied.  “No, this is her first”. She smiled that sweet mom smile that says “Aren’t you sweet for taking notice to what we a purchasing. What great customer service!” and at the same time saying “Shut the hell up! She is going to rip your face off”. The cashier, who may not have been able to tell the difference between a six pack of Coors Light and a 12 week fetus, caught on to my mom’s smile and very quickly started making small talk about what great use I would get out of all of these onesies. In the following 18 months after Bradee was born, we used approximately 15 onesies….the 15 that my mom knew I needed all along. 

Is that a Jheri curl in your purse?

My son has my hair. It is thick and grows very fast. For the first nine months of his life, I spent entirely too much time trying to get his hair to lay down to no avail. No matter how much product I used (I tried gel, hairspray, lotion, Vaseline, spit….) it stood straight up on end like he had stuck his finger in a light socket. Gravity finally took hold of his little blonde locks and they started to lay down. Then someone asked me when I was going to get his first haircut… They obviously had no sense of the hours I spent trying to get it to lay down, why the hell would I cut it off just for it to stick straight up again?! Shortly after I was out with my little hairy money shopping and a young couple commented on how cute my daughter was…..excuse me? Okay, okay, I admit it! His hair would have been adorable on a little girl and it was not that I did not want to cut it…I just could not fathom the just struck by lightning do that he had been sporting for so long. So we took him. You would think a first time mom would have thought about bringing something to keep his first cut lock of hair in…but oh no, not mom of the year here. The looks on the faces of the other patrons in the salon were pure horror when I pulled out my cigarette pack, took off the outer plastic and stuck the hair in it. I then proceed to seal the plastic package with my lighter at the top, just like any logical person who has ever needed a quick place to stash pot before, purely to bring out the gasps. Okay maybe that was a little over the top, but the gasps were well worth it. Chris thought I was ridiculous. One, for keeping the hair and two, for storing it that way. So after we left I pulled my wanna-be drug sample out of my purse along with my handy dandy Coach pill case, which just so happened to include three bite sized pill bottles. I put the hair in one and put it away. This was approximately 6 years, 10 months and 16 days ago….and that little pill bottle with the first lock of the most unruly hair in the world still sits in my purse. Now Chris just thinks it is gross….I told him he better bury me with it. .

The Peepee Teepee...Seriously?

Hi everyone! Tifini here to discuss what I think is the most ridiculous invention on earth. Have you ever seen the pee-pee teepee? It is this little cloth teepee, that you are supposed to put on your baby boy’s wee-wee, in an effort to keep the golden fountain from spraying all over the place when changing a diaper. This is the most ridiculous thing I think I have ever seen. My sister and I were laughing about it the other day and she says, it has to be a man that invented this. It kind of was, but was really a combination of a mother and a father. Every time she changed her little boy’s diaper he peed. So instead of getting faster at changing the diaper, simply flipping the diaper over his penis, or using a washcloth, she sent her husband to the store to find something to mitigate. Are you surprised that he didn’t find anything? So he started making tissue teepee and his wife decided to sow something up. Now we have pee-pee teepees. What happens when your little boy’s bladder gets bigger and those pelvic muscles get stronger? I can imagine the teepee flying over my head followed by a spray to the face. Can’t you just see it in slow motion?

The pee-pee teepee tops the list of the most ridiculous baby items ever invented. I might even start a weekly post on just this topic. The humor I can find in baby bangs, the iPotty and the baby butt fan is limitless. 

Circum-what?

By the time I was eight months pregnant, I looked like I was about 25 months pregnant. I was freaking huge. Carbs were my best friend and the only thing that got me through morning sickness for over 20 weeks of this pregnancy…and it showed. I was used to older women cooing over my belly, some even assuming it was okay to feel me up. What is that anyway? Why do complete strangers think it is okay to put their hands all of our pregnant bellies just because there is a baby in there? Anyway, I was at Hobby Lobby trying to finish up the last of the nursery decorations. By decorations I mean I took circle stickers and threw them on the walls….I am not Martha Stewart. I didn’t even paint. In fact the most decorative items in this poor child’s nursery were shelves that were hand painted with these cute little animals on them. It’s a good thing my sister is super crafty or my child would have thought I put exactly zero effort into his room. So here I am trying to decide between green and yellow stickers and an older woman is all of a sudden feeling me up. I immediately prepare myself with answers to her questions- it’s a boy, I am due April 5^th, yes that means we had a fun Fourth of July, his name will be Bradee, I know I am huge….etc….and then she pops off with “You are not going to circumcise that child are you?” Wait, what?! Did she really just ask me that? I guess I had not really thought about it. I just assumed we would circumcise him. That’s normal isn’t it? I kind of stuttered my way through my response which eventually sounded like a “yes we are”. She looked horrified! Seriously? She decides to tell me all about the foreskin and how inhumane it is. All I could think was why is this lady thinking about my son’s penis and why does she care so much? I don’t know how long she talked, it felt like hours, but she eventually asked me if I was okay. I must have grown pale when she told me exactly how the procedure would happen. By the time the conversation was over- er, by the time she was done talking AT me, she had me half convinced I was going to be the worst mother in the world if I forced my child to go through this procedure. So I went home, I asked Chris what he thought and he was like, yeah, we are doing it. I read up on it and decided yes, for sure we are doing it. Here is Cosmo’s take on it- I trust Cosmo with my sex life, my diet, my makeup and my sense of fashion, so why not with my son’s penis?

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/a32417/sex-talk-realness-circumcision/

I hate Tom Brady

Who would have thought that Super Bowl XLII would have been the deciding factor for my child’s name? Let me give you some history here. When I was 12 years old, I became an aunt to Ashlee. Six months later I became an aunt again to Jesee. Five years after that I became an aunt to Brylee. Five years after that I became an aunt to Kodee. Are you seeing a pattern here? I can give all of the credit, or blame, to my mother Judee. You see when my oldest sister had her daughter, she chose to name her after our mother. Then my middle sister had three boys and followed suite. So when I got pregnant, did I really have a choice? I was happy to name my child after my mother. In fact, we had chosen a girl name already, Hailee. So when the technician said “It’s a boy!” I responded with profanities. Yep. Mom of the year right here. We now had only 20 weeks to figure it out. I assumed the hospital would not allow us to take home a John Doe. I thought I had Chris talked in to the name Weslee, but then he wanted to throw his middle name Thomas in there somewhere, preferably as the first name, with the agreement that the child could be addressed by the middle name with the double “e”. Thomas Weslee rolled off my tongue about as smoothly as chewing on glass. It actually made my tongue cramp up just trying to say it. I could have bought stock in baby name books trying to find something that could end in a double “e” without sounding too feminine. I can’t remember if I dreamed it or if maybe God just wanted me to shut up about a name, but somehow I came up with Bradee. Yes! Bradee! And Chris liked it too! But I could not talk him into Bradee Thomas. It just had to be Thomas Bradee. I conceded. I barely had enough energy to pee much less fight with him over a name anymore. We went to some friends’ house for the Super Bowl where I was equally unhappy about my lack of beer consumption and what looked like a beer belly all at the same time. And then it hit me. Like it literally hit me in the face. A Tom Brady jersey was thrown at me. OMG! I am naming my child Tom Brady….For a family who will outright disown you for not being a Denver Broncos fan, this will never be okay. Not only am I naming my child after my mother and not my father (who I am named after), but my entire family may never speak to me again. It was decided on that cold day in February, my son would not be Tom Brady. He would be Bradee Thomas. Chris came around to the idea as soon as the Patriots lost the game. No child of his would be called Tom Brady either. We are incredibly thankful that our son will never been teased for having flat balls.