Tag Archives: parenting

pregnant woman wearing white dress

Parenting Tips: 10 Helpful Tips For First Time Moms

Parenting tips are much discussed on the Internet. That’s not going to stop me from weighing in with my own, bishes. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think there is going to be a huge boom in babies in 2021.

You know it’s true. There are only so many series you can binge. Boredom then sets in. And, need another activity to break of the monotony of quarantine. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

I don’t want to give you more toddler tips and issues. Or, info about how to survive being a SAHWM (it’s a real thing.) I want to talk about things I wish I had known. When I was pregnant preparing for the birth of Peej. About what I had wished I knew in those first months after we brought her home from the hospital. So without ado, here are my top 10 parenting tips for first time moms.

woman in gray tank top

Parenting Peej: A Complain-y Word Vomit Post

Another installment of Parenting Peej: In other words, it’s a Monday.

I feel like death warmed over today. Metaphorically, of course. I got up at 5am (after staying up late binging Harry Potter movies) to have a little quiet time to get some work done. You know, before the demon known as my 2yo arose from her slumber chamber.

I have an assignment that was due today, figured I’d knock it out early.

As per my post about being a SAHWM, nothing went to plan.

Parenthood is… something else. I love my kid, but damn she’s hard these days. The tantrums she throws are sermount to the force of Mt. Vesuvius blowing it’s top. You do not want to be in the path of that. But, then she smiles at you, plants a little kiss on your cheek, gently takes your hand and pats it… and, you cannot stay frustrated. She’s so damn deceptively cute.

Her cognitive synapses are in the process of growing at such an exponential rate that it’s fascinating to watch her learn new concepts and ideas. She counts to five, she can say most of the alphabet and recognizes A, B, C, and (oddly) O. Peej knows her primary colors and can point out orange and green, too. We’ve taught her to fist bump, high five, boop, high 10 up top AND down low, and do jazz hands. Her dancing skills are unparalleled. She’s a curious, smart, sweet kid.

With the cognitive synapses thing comes chaos. She’s fucking adorable, but actually, at times, Peej reminds me of the debbil.

Flip the switch. (Enjoy that rabbit hole.)

I am not kidding.

The debbil days get me down. Today was one of those.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It has been raining the last 3 days in Chicago. Peej is cranky, as this means that she’s stuck inside. I don’t blame her, I’m cranky, too. At least yesterday there were breaks in the weather when British Ex Husband could take her out to stomp in puddles at the non-crowded park.

There is a park near the beach where -past noon- people do not social distance appropriately. There are stupid moms with no masks that let their germ ridden crotchfruit play on the closed playground. Then those non-masked moms let their crotchfruit run up to little 2 year olds, (who are being socially distanced appropriately by their masked parents,) to wipe their gross germs all over that little 2 year old.

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iPhone Cords Are Not Binkies

Today I am using a writing prompt to help me with my entry. I’ve been suffering through a sinus headache all day, so my creative juices are a little muddled. Here is the prompt I am using: A parent is trying to explain something to their child, who just isn’t getting it. Thank you to Reedsy for the prompt.

Parenting is full of stress and peril. It is a serious miracle that parents of children do not expire from having stress heart attacks on a daily basis. Babies get into EVERYTHING.

How do you explain the concept of electrocution to a toddler? Like parents don’t have a million and twelve things to worry about already – are the eating enough, getting good sleep, are they sick, are they hitting their development markers? Now we have to worry about toddlers sucking on iPhone chargers?

It’s not like you can use the illustration of Ben Franklin, the key, and the kite — their brilliant little baby brains aren’t yet sophisticated to understand analogies. Or, complicated historical facts. My child is literally obsessed with cords. If there is a cord in your room, she will find it and pull on it and try to suck on it. But, she has a particular fondness for the iPhone charger cord. So what do you do? You say “NO!” and take the iPhone charger away.

My phone is constantly under 50%. Don’t judge me. I have a toddler.

As a parent, it feels like you spend half your time saying “NO!” and taking something away. NO, don’t suck on the iPhone charger! NO, don’t bash the dog on the head with your toy! NO, don’t put that dishwasher pod in in your mouth! NO, don’t eat Crayons! NO, NO, NO! I am longing for the day when I can start teaching consequences… that give answers to the WHY of the NO! …Like, you could be electrocuted; the dog is old and you could hurt him; the pod could poison you; Crayons will give you a tummy ache.

I am not there yet. She just looks at me with those big blue eyes and tilts her head back and WAILS when I say no… like I am the meanest Mommie in the world. Of course she goes running to Dada anytime she sees him… Dada is nice and plays iPad games with her and flies her around the house like an airplane. Mama is the one who exhaustedly says NO! and makes her eat food she doesn’t want to eat and go to bed when she really wants to stay up and watch Sesame Street.

I think she might understand consequences a little bit. I mean, she is exceptionally bright. She already knows 30 words (most 18 month olds have between 5 and 20.) And, she can complete mechanical tasks and follow basic directions like putting toys away, using a spoon to feed herself, and brushing her hair/teeth. It’s also possible that she understands NO! means “do not do that.” And, she tests those boundaries. Constantly.

For example, a few months ago, she was in her high chair eating goldfish crackers. She kept dropping them on the floor to feed the dog. I said to her, “Penelope, do not drop goldfish on the floor for Max.” She stopped for a moment and turned, picked up one single goldfish cracker, and held it out over the tray of her high chair, then dropped it on the floor, while staring me in the eyes.

Like I said, she’s exceptionally bright.

99% of the time I think she doesn’t understand the concept of “if you do this, then that will happen.” She’s still shocked when she bashes the dog (I can’t watch them 24/7) and he snarls at her. She’s mortally wounded and offended by those snarls. She was just trying to play with him, why did the snarl happen?

Honest to god, parenting is the hardest job I have ever had. (And, I used to be a professional fire-eater and a telemarketer… not at the same time, but you get my point.) Exhausting, full of fright… but, also full of joy. Peej is lucky we love her more than anything on the face of the planet. That a day full of “NO!” can be mitigated by a snuggle and a kiss and a smiley face saying “Mama.”

Still, I look forward to the day when my daughter understands that no means NO! And, can consistently follow directions. That will be a good day. Until then, hide all the iPhone chargers!

Back to the iPhone chargers. I know that babies explore everything with their mouths. Which terrifies me. Because the things I have pried out of her mouth are scary. Two days ago, a screw must have fallen out of the bottom of our couch, neither British Husband or I noticed this… but, Peej did. Luckily for me, I saw her pick something up and put it in her mouth. And, I dove towards her, fingers outreached to pry whatever was in her mouth out of her mouth, and discovered a sharp, pointy screw.

Terrifying. Especially considering that she swallowed a button battery in September and had to be rushed to the ER for a surgical procedure to remove the button battery from her stomach. That remote control had a child lock on it, that shouldn’t have happened. Why are things which are supposed to be child-proof are actually adult-proof, and children can get into them easily?

I end as I start, parenting is full of stress and terror. It’s a good thing these babies of ours are cute AF. =)

Marital Frustrations

No this is not a post about sex.

As I have stated in a previous post, my once happy marriage is in trouble, we are currently considering divorce as a viable resolution to our union. At the same time, we are also trying to fix our problems with ourselves and resolve our problems with each other, so our marriage may be repaired. Obviously the latter is preferable to the former… cause we have a kid. (Were it just us, we’d have bailed by this point.)

One of my main frustrations with British Husband is that he lacks accountability. He seems to be unable to see how he has participated in or made decisions or neglected responsibilities that have helped lead us to the precarious point we are currently in. He is unorganized and forgetful. It is annoying and it affects *every aspect* of our daily life… and, because I am the one with a good memory, who makes lists, and stays on top of stuff… I end up feeling like I have to either nag him or parent him (possibly both.)

He is my husband, not my child. I shouldn’t have to either nag or parent him… except when I stop, that’s when stuff falls to shit. Let me tell you a story to illustrate this:

It starts with a car. A 2012 Hyundai Accent. Which has been driven into the ground and is a piece of shit. This is British Husband’s car. It was once “our” car (and, when it was it was in much better condition and regularly maintained.) It is dilapidated and sad, at some point in LA someone sideswiped it and knocked the driver side mirror off, which is now held on with spit, a prayer, and a lot of duct tape. It is a white car, but looks gray, as British Husband probably hasn’t washed it since 2017, god only knows when the last time the oil was changed or the tires were checked. It’s a death trap. I won’t even let Penelope ride in it, it is such a junker of a car.

This is not us, but I wish I could wake up looking that dewy and annoyed with a full face of make up…

When we made the decision to move back to Chicago from LA, British Husband and I agreed that we would sell this trash heap and put the money towards paying down some of our debt. Because Chicago is a city where you really don’t need a car that much, and we had my new Subaru for hauling around Peej and her associated stuff, so we didn’t need Frank Underwood (yes, that’s the Hyundai’s name) anymore.

This, aside from driving the moving truck across country with the dog, is the SINGLE task I place onto British Husband’s plate in association with moving: Sell Frank Underwood.

He postpones this until the week before we are to move, saying he can’t consider selling the car when he still needs it to get back and forth to work, despite me saying that he could drive my car -or if I needed my car I could take him to and from work. Just get Frank gone, I say… no, no, no- that will not do.

So a week before we are to move, when my Mom and I are up to our fannies in alligators trying to pack up my house, while my Dad sits and watches TV and Peej – British Husband says to me “Where’s the title for Frank Underwood?”

Um. You’re a grownup, I’ve explained to you multiple times where we keep important documents. Go fucking look, you dumb head.

But, being politic, and not wanting to fight in front of the baby (my Dad is very sensitive, haha) I go to where I keep the important documents and hand him the folder and say “It’s in here, look for it.”

Only he cannot find the title. I tell him to look in his car (’cause he is the kind of person who would put the title to his car IN HIS CAR.) It’s not in there. So I look… through our papers, his papers, my papers, through boxes and cupboards which don’t even have papers in them. No title. It’s lost. Fuckballs.