Dramamine Queen

I love trying on new perfumes. I have a real bit of ocd about smelling good. For a long time I would have a minimum of two showers a day, not because I had done anything to work up a sweat. I was never one for cheap perfume, other girls poured on Flirt and Taboo and for a while all the Calvin Klein scents. My first scent was Fahrenheit, a mens scent. I had spent months trying on scents eventually asking for Fahrenheit. Woodsy scents are still my favorite for fall and winter.

I am still looking for my “signature scent” so I try on a different perfume whenever I can. Except sometimes it backfires.

This week it backfired.
I tried on a perfume and it stank. S-T-A-N-K. The perfume settled on me and all I could smell was powder and plastic. It smelled like I remember my grandparent’s bathroom smelling..sweet, sour and old.
Im sure it smells fine on the right person but not me!

My ass is gone. It migrated to my hips apparently.
I have jeans that I can pull off without unzipping. Because you need an ass to keep pants up.
My profile is a hot mess of lumps in the wrong spots that I do not spend much time looking at because I had a baby and I have lost all the baby weight but my body is has morphed. I could work out when she is asleep but that is my time to check out the internets, make out with my husband or lay flat on my back and try to stretch enough that my body doesnt pop like a too tight guitar string. Working out is on my list of to-do’s but it is buried somewhere under shave my legs and buy new underwear.

Once in a state of sleep deprivation Jonathan put cat food in the coffee grinder(it was in a similar bag and sort of looks like coffee beans..sort of) luckily he didnt grind it and actually make coffee because Im fairly sure we would have at least had one sip. Knowing me I wouldve had a few before I figured out why it tasted weird.

I once made a pbj sandwich and at about half thinking it tasted off before I realised it was because Id made it with garlic butter. Mmmmm.

How do those mommy Bloggers do it? Seriously how do they cook amazing meals, craft stuff, grow gardens, clean, play with their kids, and write books all about it?
Because I have a 1 year old and can maybe get 1/3rd of one of those things done during the day and usually that is sweeping the floors because the wee lady would be covered in dog and cat hair if I didn’t.
I joke about making micro fibre coveralls for her because even with the sweeping the hair and dust and crumbs still seem to cover my floors.
Cannot even believe she is 1 already, totally cliche thing to say I know, but honestly time flies.
This time last year she was a spit up machine and I gave up caring if my clothes were clean, my sister lent me her vibrating baby seat so I could have a shower each day which was the only thing that made me feel like a human being and not the sleep deprived milk machine I actually was.
I am still sleep deprived but not nearly as much as I was or maybe Im just used to it now, and I no longer smell like a bachelors fridge so thats cool. Showers are daily.

Sometimes I get frustrated because I would really like to have a spotless house or time to cook incredible meals everyday or any of those things that seem to make for nice instagrams. But really? It is not a big deal. I’d rather go cat hunting with my daughter (cat is one of her words so on walks we try to find cats and point them out, were not actually hunting!) or make up lots of songs or do any of the zillion things that make her laugh like I am th funniest person in the world.
My sink full of pans can soak a little longer, because I get the feeling time isnt going to be slowing down anytime soon.
Anyways Im not a mommy blogger, just a mommy who happens to have a badly neglected blog.

Whoa last post I was 30 weeks pregnant. Now I have an 8 week old…crazy! I now have a daughter who is currently passed out on my lap and I’m bent sideways typing this on the sofa that now has a permanent dent in it from where my ass has spent so much time on it in the last 8 weeks. Her birth was the opposite of what I had planned. I laboured at home for 3 days, 3 days I spent pacing and rocking and ohhing and breathing deep. 3 days that I repeatedly had my midwives tell me that there was no change in my dilation. Sure my cervix got all thinned out but the damn thing would not open. Then we went to the hospital. I got an epidural because I had to lay on my back, seriously laying on your back is the worst idea ever when in labour, whoever thinks this is a good way to give birth probably also likes being burnt with cigarettes for fun. Evil. The epidural was pretty good, I swear that shit got me high. I was all ” I love everyone here, omg I want a milkshake!” long story short, baby was in distress and there was meconium in my water(this grossed the hubs out more than anything he was all “poop water came out your vag.” ewww) so c-section it was. Which was good because she had a short cord wrapped around her leg twice and was so wedged up in my womb they had to vacuum her out.

C-sections are not fun. Although I healed quickly and I’m told my scar looks great and I could wear a bikini(HAHAHAHAHAHA!!)next summer. I’m also now 6lbs away from my pre baby weight, which is ten lbs from my wedding weight, which is about 20 from my goal weight.

We really lucked out and after the first week or so she started sleeping 4-5 hours through the night. Since she was gaining like an ounce a day they were all “let her sleep” so we did and then I felt bad telling all my friends how we were sleeping for 4 hours getting up for an hour and then sleeping another 3-4 hours. Breastfeeding also came easily. It never hurt, my nipples only needed cream that first week, I quickly became that woman who can walk around with a baby on her boob.

I forgot to mention that she was born on 10.10.10. How cool is that? I kept joking that I wanted that as her birthday and he universe was all “Sure thing but, it’s going to be a bit of a ride getting her here.”

I  am now 30 weeks pregnant. I’m in some sort of limbo that allows me to think that 10 weeks is a very long time but at the same time think it is incredibly short.

I am going to try to savor these last few weeks with Jonathan and myself.  I will be 38 weeks then or roughly the size of a small villa.

We haven’t set up the nursery yet. I have started feeling those twinges of nesting slowly seeping into my blood. I keep thinking “Remember to ask the midwife what sort of snacks she likes and if she likes tea or coffee.” because that is obviously very, very important. 

I had my first baby shower and I did not slap my mother in public. Sure my sister and I exhausted our eyes with all the rolling they did and I’m sure we ground our teeth down just a little bit more.  I, on behalf of the baby, received many lovely things from a group of even lovelier ladies.  We ate food and chatted, no games were played and no one told me any horrible birth stories. 

I watch my stomach do little waves all day. So far the baby seems to only wake up once during the night, around 3am when I get up to pee there is movement but the rest of the night is calm and relaxing. I hope this is a sign of things to come. I know my sister was kept awake all night during her last trimester and once born my niece continued her all night parties. 

I have to start buying things like baby detergent and diapers. Since were cloth diapering I want to have at least 7 covers and 80 prefolds.  I’m constantly trolling the internet for deals.  I have what seems like an endless list of items that we need.

I feel so underprepared and in 4 weeks time I want to feel over prepared, something that I have never experianced in my life but this one time I need to for the sake of my sanity. Because I know that the actual tiny human being that depends on me and Jonathan for EVERYTHING part is something I can only imagine being prepared for but, having a place for that tiny human to be comfortable in where everything is set up to make life even the tiniest bit easier will be a gift.

I only work with 4 other women. The women’s washroom only has 3 stalls.

This means that if all the stalls are in use it is pretty easy to figure out who is in the washroom. I am one of those people who can poop in a public washroom that is full of strangers, but if there is even one other stall being occupied in my office washroom I cannot even pee. Even worse there is a woman who I think might have some sort of stomach problem and when you walk in there and she’s in there you know it, but then she won’t leave until you’ve left so you are stuck at an impasse. A pooping impasse. Do I just go knowing that she already obviously has? Or is she waiting for me to clear out so she can finish? I don’ t know, Emily Post didn’t tell me what the proper etiquette is in these situations.

Then there is the middle stall. I always use the last stall and if someone comes in and goes into the middle stall when the stall on the other end is empty it drives me batty. Because THAT is common sense, a vacant stall between people going is just polite.

Maybe it is because I have worked so hard to even get over using a public washroom that I have such hang ups. Seriously, growing up I could only pee in a completely empty public washroom. And the few times that I attended events that only had portapotties or outhouses…well I would just hold it. Do you know how hard it is to only use the washroom once a day while at Girl Guide camp? I only used the washroom at camp once a day when we went swimming because the life guard house(ha you thought I went in the water!) had a proper washroom so instead of swimming with the other girls I would use the washroom. I still couldn’t poop though. I remember my parents picking me up and me demanding they took me somewhere I could finally poop. A week of camp food lodged up in my colon was not fun.

Then I started working 9 to 5 and all was good until the one day that I had to go. I had obviously ingested something that my stomach did not like and clenching my butt cheeks was not going to work until I got home, the cramping and pain it was causing was worse than the embarrassment of someone knowing that I pooped in the washroom. So I went. Somehow the world did not end. I did not come out of the washroom to face a crowd of laughing, pointing co-workers. No one sent me an email telling me that I stunk the whole office up.

It was a relief in more ways than one.

The thermostat said 27C, I took the dog out for a walk and realised it was several degrees cooler outside. My house is holding the humidity and heat and its not nice. Especially since I am a walking furnace these days.  Jonathan doesn’t seem to feel it at all. He is wearing jeans and a shirt, I am in cotton capri pj pants and a cotton and tank top which I have rolled up under my boobs. I am covered in a film of sweat. Gross.

I turned on the a/c. We didnt pay several thousand dollars just to be sweltering in our home!

Oh Hi.

Ok if anyone actually reads this here is an update to bring you up to speed.

I’m 6 months pregnant. There’s a baby kicking me as I type this. I suspect this will continue in some form for the next 20 years. We had the bathroom renovated. Showers are now glorious and I squeegee the walls after every use.

Um yeah that is about it. See not much was missed!

We also went to Montreal for a few days. 

While there I almost pooped my pants on the street after my fancy birthday meal. It was truly one of my finer moments. I have no clue what happened, I felt ok and then suddenly I did not. Suddenly a wave of clammy gross washed over me and my stomach did something. I am still not sure what but I suspect that it liquefied every morsel of food I had ate in the last 24 hours and shot gunned it to my colon. I had to run into a Subway sandwiches and ask to use the washroom. Calling it explosive diarrhea would be calling a hurricane  a spring shower.

On one hand I was mortified that I was in a Subway bathroom that had no fan and the chances of someone standing or eating just on the other side of the door were very high(luckily there was neither). On the other hand I was thankful that I had the good sense not to pretend that it was just gas and try to walk it off or take a cab back to the hotel AND that it was not food poisoning. It could have been so much worse.

After I defiled the Subway bathroom(I flushed several times and used lots of scented soap to sort of clear the air.)  we went back to the hotel where I watched a Toddlers and Tiaras marathon. Over all it was a classy night.

I’m not dead. Pinky swear.

The gloom of the last post has lifted and all is well, when that feeling lifted I knew I would be ok, even if it came back I knew it would only be for a brief visit.

Did you know that marshmallows go bad. Not just stale. There is even a best before date, which I guess if I had looked at the bag in my cupboard I might have seen but I didn’t look I just squeezed and thought “Not stale!” even though they have been in my cupboard for probably close to two years. I had been inspired to make rice krispie squares(I know, I’m a true gourmand!) because the cereal was on sale and company was coming over so they could help eat them! Perfect! I went out and grabbed a box of the multi-grain honey ones and looked up the recipe and got to melting my butter. I added the bag of marshmallows and they started melting. All was good.

Then they started caramelizing and smelling weird. Even though the heat was on low they started getting these brown streaks in them and then I realised that they weren’t really melting into the smooth marshmallowy goo that they should have been and were instead becomeing a mass ball of clumpy, grainy, brown streaked gloop.

That is when I thought “What the fuck? Do marshmallows go bad?” and sure enough the best before date on the bag was last May.

Lesson learned.