The End of Porter

  There's this Jeff Foxworthy joke, where he and his brother are kids and they're wrestlin' and they break their Daddy's Jack Daniels Elvis decanter. The punchline is, "This is why we can't have nice things!" My mom collects stuff like that, she's got her John Wayne collectors plate and such, so it was a running joke in our house while I was growing up.

So, a few Christmases ago, my mom gives me this statue of Porter Wagoner. He's the guy who made Dolly Parton who she is today, he gave her her big break, and is an amazing singer in his own right. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bq1kEph-wvs

It was on Matt's desk, and yesterday I found the destroyed base with one little foot, a little purple boot on it, the microphone hanging by a wire, with Porter's hand still grasping it firmly. The rest of the body is MIA. Moxie strikes again. I don't know how or when, but she managed to completely destroy it.

You can probably guess my reaction.

"This is why we can't have nice things!"

RIP Porter. Again. You guarded my kitchen nicely. Hopefully, I'll find the rest of your remains today and can give you a proper burial.

You can't catch me...

I just had one of those perfect mommy moments.
She was in her room, playing with Cash
and I heard her sneak into the kitchen.
She grabbed a bag of bread off the counter
and was tearing into it when I popped in there and commanded, "back away from the bread."
So she takes off running.
Instead of her normal steady run,
she's just frantically trying to get away from me, zigging and zagging all over the place,
all the while trying to chew through this plastic bag.
She got over to the couch and she throws the bread bag down
and lands right on top of it, as if it were a land mine,
protecting it from me

But I got it

I'm still bigger than she is

Shat.

I've been a Mom for about 2 months now, and I've been shat on four times. No one told me to check and make sure that the diaper was properly unfurled around her butt or the poop would come streaming out of it like Don Imus' podcast. Twice. No one told me that when she was having diarrhea, I would take off the old diaper and poop would come flying out of her butt and land all over the changing pad, the table, my stomach and the floor, and certainly no one told me that she could puff her stomach up and make the diaper loose and poop would come spilling out of the top of it.

Most importantly though, no one told me that each time, I'd be standing there covered in poop, and she'd laugh at me, so like her mother in love with toilet humor, and I'd start laughing too.

Where, I wonder, has my temper gone? Why do I not explode at this disgusting little quirk? Good to know parenthood really does change you.

That Kid's Got Moxie.

 

World, meet Moxie. March 19th, at 11:37PM, my little 9lb9oz girl made her debut. Cadence Moxie Henry has arrived.

maternity leave...

At my job, I'm the only employee. I work in an office by myself, and I've come to love it that way. If I needed a day off to go explore the Greenbelt, or catch a good SXSW day show, or have an extended lunch break with someone, I had the complete freedom to do so.

Of course, my refusal to set hours meant my boss refused to do so either. So, we've had many a row where we'll come out at 10pm and just expect me to stay working as long as he feels like it. But, I've got a sweet position and I don't push the issues any further than I need to let off a little steam.

So, taking all that into consideration, when I got pregnant, I sat down and talked to my boss. There were four albums to get designed, then I could go on maternity leave for a month, then I could start slowly, basically just doing the sales and promotions.

So, after three months of hell, designer issues, color issues, Mac issues, and personality and taste conflicts, I finally get all four albums done, they get off to the printer and are ready today, exactly one day before my deadline.

I'm officially on maternity leave.

Except, I'm not. My boss called me at least 4 times yesterday with pet projects, things that could not only wait a year, but surely could wait a month. Duplicating a jacket design that he's had since 1975, for his personal wear. Finding some autographed contracts and framing them. Apparently, the man is worried "that I'll get bored just sitting around all day, and if i need something to do...." Today, I get more phone calls, wondering if I can write press releases for albums that have already come out, and can I mail off several packages, and while I'm at it...

No. I can't.

It just cracks me up that he would think that I, she of the feet so swollen I almost cried when I saw my friend Kate's adorable heels, would get bored. Today marked the first day in years that I haven't had some pressing issue to take care of. Nothing needs my personal attention. I don't have anything waiting on me, the clock isn't staring at me, daring me to procrastinate just a little longer. I have been trying to keep my hands busy, so I set out to make a sling for my wee one. Yes, I'm babywearing. And if I may say so myself, it turned out lovely. I've included a picture. As for the rest of my time, I am a woman of leisure. I am free.

Bored? My ass!

baby watch 2008

Well, I'm doing this update on both blogs, since there are so many people to cover...

As of right now...no baby. I had dilated to 3cm, and my doctor and I were thinking it would be any day now. That sent me into a nesting fury and Matt and I spent the entire weekend rearranging furniture, doing all of our last minute shopping, sanitizing every surface of the house and pigging out when we were done. I've been shoving down the spicy food with wild abandon, trying to make her come out of her hidey-hole. I went to an awesome Rock Band party, in hopes the noise and activity would draw her out. I figured if nothing else, some nice conversation would be enticing. Plus, I'm having to say "goodbye" to everyone for a while.

So, now I'm at the worst spot. Everything is done, and I'm just waiting. I voted. I got all caught up at work. I'm just sitting here now, waiting for the slightest twinge or cramp in my belly. It's maddening.

I went to my cousin's aunt's house (that sounds weird...) and was playing with her new babies. She had twin boys a few months back. Now, what I loved, besides their supreme cuteness, was the fact that both of them, combined, at birth weighed as much as my baby did a week ago. Two months later, they've hit 9lbs each, so I was holding a baby last night, that was the size of the one in me. Pretty awesome experience.

Then, in the midst of conversation, I said a beautiful sentence. "I alaways love to feed my family that way..." We had been talking about sitting down to dinner, and this seemingly innocuous statement fell out of my mouth. I realized, that the word family had taken on a different meaning to me. No longer was it my mom and sisters and dad and cousins. My family is under my room now. The man who feeds me and gets me ice water and fetches every little thing my immobile ass desires. The daughter at the party in my tummy, waiting to come out and take over the house. The other daughter, in El Paso, sitting on pins and needles, going crazy with anticipation, waiting for her little sister to make her big debut. Suddenly, so much seems so trivial and small.

I made a lot of mistakes in my life, searching for something that I thought I could easily create. I thought if I was funny and charming, and laughed the most, and had cool friends, and listened to the newest bands, I'd fill the huge gap I had in me. And while those things are important, and they're me, and I love that that is what makes up me, I didn't realize the happiness to be found in creating your own family.

Ok, sap time is over. The news is this...I go to the doctor on Thursday to see where I'm at. If I haven't had this child on my own, she's going to induce me on the 14th. So, at this point, we're locked in a standoff of Branch Davidian proportions, except hopefully the ATF won't burn my vagina down. I will of course, keep you guys all posted on the status.

That baby was gorgeous!

So, just had my last sonogram today. I'm a month exactly from my due date, and this kid weighs eight pounds and six ounces. That's EIGHT pounds and SIX ounces. This kid needs a salad.

In any case, we're having a huge baby, and it's happening sooner than expected. In two weeks, I'll hit 38 weeks, then she wants to induce me, most likely. Yay! Baby will be here soon.

In other news, the sweet potato feet. My feet have swelled up to the size of sweet potatoes, and kind of look like them too. I'm undergoing my "pee in a jug for 24 hours and bring it in" preclampisia test, but most likely it's nothing.

I'll keep you all updated!

An Obsession With Fur

World, meet Sid. Sid is my Valentine's Day present from Baby Daddy. Now, some of you out there actually know Baby Daddy. He's not exactly the "get my girl a stuffed animal for V-Day" kind of guy. So what prompted this sweetness? Pregnancy, of course.

It's a proven fact that pregnant women are slightly nuts. We can get away with it, our hormones are raging and we're uncomfortable for nine months. My insanity has manifested itself in a need to cuddle. Not with a baby, or with Baby Daddy, or with strangers at the fabric store. I yearn to cuddle an orangutan. Now, it didn't start out as an orangutan. It started out as just a need to hold a furry animal. I really wanted a big furry hug. It was so bad, I was on the couch sobbing because there was nothing available. Yes, I actually priced out tickets to a monkey retreat in China. We went to the store and found this furry, blue blanket and I would sit on the couch and wrap up in it, and be somewhat sated.

Then, I found my savior. 'Orangutan Island.' This show is the greatest thing in the history of television. Greater than 'Twin Peaks.' Greater than 'Top Chef.' Greater than the 1984 Apple ad. It follows the lives of dozens of orangutans living on a rescue island in Borneo.

Now, I sit on the couch on Friday nights, wrapped up in my furry, blue blanket, watching 'Orangutan Island' crying my eyes out with joy.

And now, I can do it 24/7. I've already started rocking him!

Her Crib!

 
We got the crib all set up this weekend. It's too freaking cute. Oh, and yes, that is under the sea creatures, monkey and bananas and robots. I told you this would be a diverse child.

Oddly Appropriate Intrusive Action, Australia...

First, the news story:

http://www.news.com.au/adelaidenow/story/0,22606,23196087-911,00.html

Parents who children are on the path as sociopaths in Australia are soon to find themselves with a bit more free time to take care of the problem. For their children's multiple indiscretions, they will be required to sign parenting agreements to spend more face-to-face time with their kids, send them to treatment programs and attend parenting classes. Failure to comply could result in TV's and stereos being taken away.

So, at first, I wanted to cry outrage that the government would step in and take such drastic steps. Then, the more I thought about it, the more I applaud these actions. Parents who refuse to take the steps necessary to reign in their unruly children are being held accountable, thus effectively putting an end to that parenting cry "I just can't do anything with that kid."

No longer will parents be allowed to sit and watch Dr. Phil takes care of other people's problems for them, while they ignore the problems at home.

Television is interesting. It shows the drama of other people, thus allowing the viewer to lose themselves in these worlds, at the expense of losing touch with their own world. Some might argue that television created this problem in the first place, broadcasting violent images, or distracting parents that should be paying attention to their own kids. But, I do know that this big of a punishment will probably spur a lot more parents into action.

But to avoid this in the first place, limit TV time to begin with. Sure, a few shows a day won't hurt a kid. I watched plenty of television as a child, as still harbored a love for reading and being outside. But, families who come home from school and work, plop down in front of the tube and keep it on until bedtime will never fully realize the problems they are creating in their own homes.

So, let me know what you think of this new Australian law. I'm interested to hear what others have to say about it.

Tag!

So, Baby Daddy and I had a pretty crappy day and treated ourselves to Chinese to cheer us up. Afterwards, I don't know if I got jazzed from the sesames or what, but I had a burst of energy like you would not believe. So, I sat down and wrote out and addresses every single thank-you card that I had to write. Oh! What a good feeling to get that done. It hasn't even been two weeks, and I was already terrified that I was bordering on the obscenely rude.

After that, I still had some in me, so I attacked Baby Stuff Mountain. I won. I pulled out every single onesie, blanket, cap, pair of socks, swimsuit, sleeper, hat, and plushie and removed the tag and get them into her laundry basket so that everything will be freshly washed when she gets here. Everything...and I do mean everything...had a gigantic tag on it! Naturally, they must all be removed and garments thoroughly searched for the remaining little bits of plastic. We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure out a better way to package socks? I'm not going to even start on the number of things that were taped together. I'll bet the petroleum wasted could have paid for my kid's college fund one day.

I got the bathroom stuff into the bathroom. I got the feeding stuff into the kitchen. I got the toys into her toybox. I'm on fire!

Except, I still don't have any room to put half this stuff, but at least now the rest of it is in a very organized pile.

You know, the first sign that you're becoming your mother is cleaning like her. Now, my mother keeps a house so clean, you could operate on her floors. She lives in fear that she'll die, and when the paramedics come, they'll find.....A DIRTY DISH IN THE SINK!!! Oh Lordy, no! So, she developed the completely rational habit of picking up every dish she sees and washing it. Even if you have food on it. Just made a drink? The fullness of the glass and the freshness of the ice can only mean that it's near to rotting and she must get it into the sink immediately.

So, as much as I generally hate to do the dishes, I've been thinking about attacking them next. Note, I said thinking. I may be nesting, but I'm not stupid. As long as I can keep Matt convinced that the sight and smell of them will make me throw up, I think I'll just leave them stacked neatly in his corner. After all, "I'm carrying your child, you have to do the dishes!!"

Shopping Fun

So, a well-meaning friend said to me in parting..."Next time we see you, you'll probably have a baby with you..."

An innocent enough remark, coming from a woman who merely stated it as a 'welcome to the club' type thing. Yet, it was enough to send me into a panic. I've got roughly 45 days left, and at that moment I was crushed under the avalanche of things left to do. My hands started spasming. So, I did what any rational, self-sufficient gal in my position would do. I cried for a few hours, then I went shopping.

Now, I've already had my shower, and was overwhelmed at the amount of giving my friends did. My heart was as full as my car was, and yes, I cried over that as well. It really meant a lot. But, I still didn't have everything I needed, and as my friend Charles is always so quick to point out, "Kate...you could have this child any minute now. I mean, you could have it by the end of this week." So yeah...I ventured out.

In one day, we acquired a kick-ass glider. I found that one on Craigslist, and even though the woman should be shot for charging that much for a used glider, it's worth it. It's got a custom hand-made cushion, in colors that won't make me throw up. It has this delightful creak, that reminds you you're doing important business in the glider. It matches the rug we bought. It's perfect.

After that, it was over to Target, aka, the mega-store I can shop at and be reasonably assured that their products aren't made by 6-year old children, and that their cashiers can afford to go to the doctor if they have, oh say, cancer. We bought the place out. We're now set for the first three months of this kid's life.

Except we still need to go pick up the crib. Oh, and the breast pump. It never ends.

But, I will say, the best piece of advice that I've neglected so far, is the parenting websites and magazines lists of essential items for baby. A wipe warmer? Crib bedding that costs $800? Shoes that the kid will wear one time that are $45? No. Thank you for the suggestion, but no.

I'm quite happy with the basics. Well...the rose-covered ballet slippers and the robot onesies might be a bit much but hey, shopping for kids is so much fun!!!

TMI Warning

An interesting side effect of pregnancy? I've lost the ability to wipe my own ass. Not the knowledge necessary, of course, but I've simply become to large for the task.

I've been experiencing the problem for a while. I can't turn my head to check the other lanes while driving. I can't bend over, because this belly doesn't fold the way I need it to. I grunt and struggle to get my shoes on. I take back every nasty thing I ever said about the way Crocs look and wear a pair that I stole from my mom.

I have gotten used to a nine-point turn over every time I need to switch sides while lying in bed.

But nothing has prepared me for the events that just unfolded in my bathroom. It started out like every other BM. I went fine. I was even a little relieved that some of my constipation seemed to be gone. Then, I went to wipe. It's at this time that I realize that I can't bring myself into position. Front-to-back, Back-to-front, I just can't reach. Either way, I can kind of half get in there.

It's starting to get disgusting. I'll spare you the goriest of details. Suffice to stand, it took some clever acrobatics and an amazing amount of willpower to get it done.

By this point in time, I've figured out that all women who have already had a child are lying bitches. They talk about how happy an experience it is, and they leave you to find this kind of stuff out on your own. There's no solidarity among us. It's a dog eat dog world, and I think I've finally identified that little gleam in an other woman's eye when she finds out I'm pregnant. It's pure trickery.

First Rule of Fight Club...

...don't have fight club in Mommy's belly. Please.

So, I've been getting these great little flutters from the baby. Sort of like gas, but it's adorable, because, you know...it's your unborn child and everything. All were greeted with the appropriate response, I grab Matt's hand and we gaze into each other's eyes, swooning with delight at the active little person we've managed to create.

Which brings us to this morning. I wake up at 4:30am, getting the crap beaten out of me from the inside. I'm not seriously begging for this to be a boy, because I'm not sure I can handle a girl child that is holding in that much aggression.

That was nearly 8 hours ago. It hasn't stopped. You know how when your neighbor is doing construction, and it's loud and you want it to stop, and finally it does and right around the time you get comfy again, after ten minutes of perfect silence, they start the saw back up? That's how this feels.

I get it. You're cute. You're alive and happy to be swimming around in my belly. But, if Mommy doesn't get some sleep soon, it won't be pretty for any of us.

Besides that, everything is going super! Pregnancy really is a joy, and all jokes aside, I'm not sure if I would take back this ass kicking for anything. In two more weeks, we get to find out if it is indeed a masculine child, like all the kind strangers at HEB keep insisting, or if it's a girl. I'll keep you guys posted!

(First published: December 20, 2007)

The Best Part

the best part of being pregnant so far? Besides the guilt-free indulging in McNuggets, SpaghettiO's, 5 solid meals a day, popcorn, etc, etc, etc, it's the happy wash. I'll be walking along, not really thinking about anything, and then I'll feel this warm glow coming from the inside. Man, I know this sounds lame, but the sun comes out from behind a cloud and I get this huge smile on my face. I feel loved, I feel loving, I feel that everything is going to be okay in the world.

You see, I'm a worrier. I worry about, well, pretty much everything. I worry that I'll never be able to afford a house on a social worker's salary. I worry that I won't be a good social worker. I worry that my kid and I won't get along. I worry that my kid is going to be into 50-Cent. I worry that someone will buy my kid a Bratz doll and I will have to be the mean mom and throw it away and it will scar them for life. I worry that I won't be able to afford a prom dress. I worry that we'll still be at war and that my child will get drafted, and he'll return as a triangular flag. I worry that civilized society will have completely and totally broken down, and that life will resemble Bradbury's "Fahrenheit 451." That one I really worry about.

So, when I'm walking along and someone sets off the happy wash, it's even better if I've been deeply eembedded in Operation WorryNow all day. Because for a few minutes, the world is a safe and lovely place, where people are kind. Kids are only interested in furthering their education and the pursuit of music, poetry, photography. For a minute, I can go back to my PollyAnna roots, and remember that we'll always have enough. That I'll always be enough for my kids, and that they'll never forget where they came from.

It's at that moment that I can say with complete and total plausibility that life is really, really swell.

(First published: October 6, 2007)

My Heart Is Now Spoken For...

...I've been feeling this horrible pain in my stomach lately. Love's lost or past regrets? Neither. My jeans. While I'm not exactly at that stage in the pregnancy where I've got the big belly, I'm just at the 'my pants are a wee bit too tight mode.' Unbuttoning them in the car was always an option, but when I gave up whatever dignity I had and did it in class today, I decided enough was enough.

I went to the store, not knowing what to expect. I'd seen maternity jeans, but had never put them on. I have a pair at home, that were passed down from my sister. They are designed so that the whole thing goes up and over your belly with a cotton panel and drawstring to keep the whole thing in place. In three more months, these jeans will be what I wear night and day, but for the moment, I need something a little different.

So, I grab the first pair, and begin the examination. The wash is downright fashionable without being too trendy, the pockets look about right, I like the cut of the leg, and the 4-inch wide elastic waistband is both intriguing and ingeniously colored so as not to be noticable.

I grab a pair in my current size, and in the next size up. Hey, who know how large this Czech ass will become? I go off to the dressing room, to meet my destiny.

Oh, what joyous events unfolded. I slip ever so slowly into the pair in my current size. They fit beautifully. Better than beautifully. Jeans have never made me feel so lovely, not even my ridiculously expensive Lucky's or Seven for all Mankind's. I do some squats to test their stretchiness. I do some high-kicks. I could a couple of Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks to an imaginary attacker. At this point, satisfied my jeans will move ever which way, I stop because it's just depressing to see myself doing roundhouse kicks and not-so-high kicks, especially after this weekend's marathon "Making the Team" where really, really skinny women try to become Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders. (By the way, did anyone see the girl, who not only thought Condoleeza Rice was a man, and called her Condoleeza Jones, she said she didn't know who she wanted for the next pres, cause she was so happy with our current one? Yikes!) I could squeeze a family of four in there, and still look stylish. The elastic waistband sits ever so comfortably right underneath the "bump and beer" I have, the pooch I have that's equal parts baby and the many, many, many lagers, hefeweizens and ales I consumed before I knew this seamonkey was coming. I can stretch out the ass, stretch out the belly, I'm golden. Just in case, I try on the next size up. Luckily for me and everyone here, I'm swimming in them, no way would they ever fit.

I grab a few new shirts to go with, some actual maternity tees, that look like everything else in the world, except they say 'Mom-To-Be' on the label and some organic stretch mark cream and belly oil, and I'm off to the races.

Who knew that an elastic waistband, could make one woman so happy? So my advice to you, go get some maternity jeans, even if you aren't pregnant. If they increase the happini like I think they will, well then, Mister, I'll have created Utopia.

(First published: October 1, 2007)

September Update

Ok, so at this point, I'm coming up on 3 months preggo, and I still don't have an exact due date. Extremely scientific resources have indicated that it might be March 18th, and since this, according to St. Bede, was the day the world was created, I'll take it. They never hatch on their due dates to begin with.

So I'm approaching this milestone, the blessed end of the first trimester, and I've noticed that a lot of people are commenting on the 'changes your body will go through.' Very Disney, and nowhere near accurate. You wake up one day and you are PREGNANT. It's very disalarming.

Here are some changes I've noticed.

1. Instantly, I feel ten years older. I'm surrounded by children at school all day. Sure, they're only a few years younger than me, at most, but they just feel so, well, child-like. I just want to mother them all.

2. I realized that if anything besides Trivial Pursuit was going to make me competitive, it's motherhood. Holy crap. I find myself judging other's kids, their baby accessories, their parenting styles. Likewise, I am now in admiration of "the perfect kid," but I realized that I am much harsher on other moms than I thought I would be.

3. Suddenly, I'm a big fan of milk. And pickles. And Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Oreo Cakesters, Helene's Applesauce Bread, cookies of any sort, and peaches. And don't get me started on the birthday cake craving.

4. My concentration is nil.

5. We've picked the girl's name. The whole name. Not that we know it's a girl, but just to be ready. This is information that I would like to call everyone in the world and impress them with. I'm not. I'm kind of tossing the first name out there, but I'm guarding the middle name with my life.

6. I have the overwhelming urge to become as self-sustaining as possible. I want to garden, so that my child can have homemade baby food with Mommy's fresh asparagus. I bought a sewing machine, so that all my kid's Halloween costumes and blankets and prom dresses can spring out of Mommy's bare hands. It's kind of sick, actually.

7. And the biggie. Time. Time used to be this ever expanding thing, I never really cared about. I had plenty of it, I could waste a day or two of it. Now, (with the exception of nausea so horrid I'm suddenly a big fan of the couch) I feel as though every wasted day was an affront to humanity. I FEEL every day. It's as if I'm suddenly budgeting time and realizing how little of it one actually gets. I can stay in the present, but I feel the future weighing down pretty heavily. Odd.

So, there you have it. Expect more news as it happens, but I'm saving the updates for the bigger moments.

(First published: September 13, 2007)

Happy Birthday To Me

So...every year on my birthday, I do an introspective blog, mostly to help myself mark down where I was and what I was doing with my life at that time. Last year, I was just returned from Japan, and was about to start another semester of school.

The past year has been crazy. I've changed in a million ways, been on a million adventures, shared a million laughs, and I think I've hit the quarter-century mark with quite the bang.

This birthday finds me in a different spot. Last week, I found out I was pregnant. Yes, I'm going to be someone's mom, sometime near the end of February.

So drink a beer in my honor, because, of course, I can't. But I will say, this is the best birthday gift I've ever received.

(First published: July 30, 2007)