I had a weekend fueled entirely by hormones. I mean there were tears, shouting, frustrations, drill sergant orders being barked and hell knows what else flying around here.
You would have thought I was pregnant all over again.
Except, that I wasn’t ordering donuts to cure my hormonal rage. So based on that I’m pretty sure I’m not expecting. I’m willing to completely ignore the fact that’s not a very scientific conclusion.
Now I’m wondering what it must be like to be a guy. Like here I am looking like a psychotic mass murderer freaking out asking myself how it is that Maurice is always so calm and collected about stuff that upsets him. How does he do it? How does he take the hormones out and actually make sense of stuff?! Why was I not born a dude you guys?! WHY?! If I didn’t love being a woman so much, I’d feel totally robbed right about now.
It’s one of life’s greatest mysteries I guess. Mother nature decided that if all hell is going to break loose, it’s the chicks that are going to run around screaming, crying and pointing fingers and the guys are going to decide that someone actually has to start making sense and go all G.I. Joe on it’s ass. It must be really simple being a guy. Guy’s get to say stuff like Well just fix it then. - It’s really not that complicated. – Why are you taking this so personally? – Put down the cake. And my personal favorite Use duck tape.
So that’s it. The next time something upsets me, I’m going to use duck tape. I’ll just break in, tape them to a chair and feel totally better about the problem being fixed. Wait….this is getting all hormonal again isn’t it? See?! I can’t even use duck tape without it getting all dramatic. I’m pretty sure this is why I was put in charge of birthing the babies, the hormones make me more than qualified.
So now that this weekend has allowed me to deal with everything from today to 6 years back, I feel a lot better. Who knew that stuff was still bugging me anyway? What a revelation. I’m just sort of hoping that Maurice doesn’t foot me a bill for our little therapy sessions. I have a feeling he charges at least £100 pound an hour.
Crap.
Have I told you how much I love you lately Maurice?! Ah hem…*bats eyes*
Don’t you dread it? The day the letter comes through the post or that phone call happens that says it’s time to make an appointment to see your gynecologist.
I mean there’s so much freakin’ drama involved.
All you ladies know the drama I’m talking about, I know you do. Because I don’t care how much YOU don’t care, I know you care. Just flat out tell me this isn’t how it goes down. You know this is how it goes down.
It’s two hours before your appointment time and you are running around like you’re prepping for a marathon. Your man is like what’s up? What’s all the panic about? You’re like I have an appointment with the gynecologist this morning. He’s all….Ah, what time is that? You’re like in like two hours. He’s suddenly got that dumbstruck look on his face that he always gets when he doesn’t actually understand what the hell you just said. He says Um, why are you rushing around then? You give that long blink, the one that telepathically says to him I totally don’t have time for this, but now I HAVE to explain. Like I said, I have a GY-NE-COL-OGIST APPOINTMENT. Now he’s like…Yeah, and? There is now a need for that deep breath you take before you give the fastest, most detailed explanation possible to make him understand that he clearly does not understand.
I have to take a shower, shave, buff, lotion, make sure my lady bits are presentable, drag out that one pair of underwear that makes my ass look hot, wear those jeans that make my legs look skinny, but not the ones that ride up my butt crack cos I need room in my lady bits today and then do my hair and make up which is so going to take me at least half an hour. So clearly I need to be rushing around because that’s going to take a while.
After like putting all this shit together in his head, your man is like whoa time out. He’s just realised, he’s never actually met your gynecologist and umm, the shirt that you’ve laid out on the bed to wear is that one shirt that makes your boobs look smokin’ and actually you haven’t worn that shirt for him in like a year. So now your man is like
SHIT.
And you’re like
Um, NO.
Except that you are over explaining how much you are NOT attracted your gynecologist in any way shape or form and your guy is thinking that must be one of those times when you’re saying stuff you actually don’t mean again. Which is really fucking annoying actually because to be fair, when you want him to link stuff together he never does, but when you are being upfront he is totally making shit up. So you’re like this is not like when I say I don’t really want much for my birthday and you actually listen and get me something crappy and then I sulk for a month because I didn’t really mean what I said. Jeezus.
So while you are in the shower attempting to recall your best topiary skills on your lady region, your man is outside the shower with this concerned tone in his voice asking you so what does he actually do to you during these exams? Now you totally need to reassure him that there is nothing at all perverted about these appointments, so you’re like well I have to take off everything on the bottom half of me and like he gets out these ENORMOUS salad tongs and actually that jelly they use is freaking cold and then he shoves…Now you realise your man is walking out hearing the words enormous salad tongs because honestly, he’s still recovering from the whole you had a baby down there experience. I mean he just got the sexy back about your entire lady region and you’ve just gone and killed it all over again. Plus with all this having to explain shit to him while you preformed artistic miracles on your whoo-ha you’ve just cut yourself twice. Awesome. Soap stings on cuts doesn’t it? Who the hell said you didn’t sing in the shower?
Now you scramble to get the rest of yourself looking good, while your man is lurking around the house popping in and out of the bedroom imagining that the ugly man doctor is actually not ugly at all and is totally going to swoon you during your mysterious lady check up shit. While all you can think about is making sure everything looks porn-tastic, with class (obviously) and seriously babe, I am not going to run off with the gynecologist, omg. By the time you are walking out the door, you think crap, it will have to do I’m gonna be late. Your man thinks
SHIT.
By the time you finally get there, with two coffee stains down your top and a beating red puffed out face from running, you stroll into the waiting room with like one or two other ladies who are now judging you but who also conveniently look perfectly groomed. Once you are actually called in, you take that massive deep breath before you lay down on the bed of doom and Que the stirrups of death.
You either have a doctor that makes you realise why you left your ex all those years ago because he too couldn’t stop making jokes at inappropriate moments, or a doctor with the world’s best poker face ever who makes this whole experience entirely uncomfortable by NOT talking.
Spread eagle and you’re sporting two shaving cuts, one patch of hair in the corner you missed shaving that you will notice later, an uneven trim because your man was distracting you in the shower with his you are not going to run off with the super sexy man doctor are you fantasies and you smell like a mix of pheromones, soap, lotion and is that perfume? Of course you didn’t actually put perfume down there, that was a total accident. Uh huh, riiiight.
But you know what? It doesn’t actually matter. Because that jerkwad didn’t even notice all the effort you put into making your lady bits perfect. There was no Wow, great job! or even a single Whooo nice…out of that doctors mouth. Nope not a mutter of is that giorgio armani I smell?
One worried man, hours of stress, two cuts, a soap sting that hurt for ten fucking minutes and you’re not even the reason this jerk loves his job.
Being a Mother certainly comes with it’s share of perks and quirks. You know, like permanently living amongst finding cheerios in the most obscure places and getting to spend half an hour wedging a doll’s head back into place. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t want to do that? We never, ever seem to get a mental break either, because even when there is peace in the air we are spending our time trying to figure out why and wondering what the kids are plotting against us next. I’ve also noticed our absolute amazing ability to sniff out danger within a 5 mile radius. I mean, I could probably map out at least 4 hazards in a padded room with a kid wrapped in bubble wrap. Yeah, I’m that good. Though this might sound like a fantastic ability in theory, trust me it’s enough to drive a person to near insanity sometimes.
So here, once again, I am holding a little tiny baby in my arms and instead of getting to be the super naive Mom I was the first time round, I’m starting to count down the days until the little guy will start to crawl. Because I know this little tiny baby thing is all a front….he’ll be crawling before I know it. This all translates to Honey we got rid of all the stair gates and baby safety stuff since we had a toddler so uhhhh our life savings is going into baby proofing the house hmmkay?! I don’t want him to start crawling yet, nor do I really want to drive myself completely insane going over the safety hazards in and around my house, but I pretty much don’t have a choice in this. I’m a Mom. I’m already eyeing up every loose cable, cord, edge to bump himself on, areas he could possibly jump off of, fall into, fall out of and is that a gap I see? You name it I’ve discovered it and wondering how much time I have left before I have to remedy it. (which is approximately 5 months if he’s early, 8 if he really loves me)
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking honestly lady, you have 5 entire months at least, calm down. Do you know what 5 months is in Mom time? It’s like 15 minutes, so I really need to start looking into what sort of safety precautions we need now so that I don’t end up with high blood pressure. But all this got me thinking, have I missed anything? Is there any sort of safety measure I haven’t thought of? Did I learn anything from the other kids? So I had a browse on the UK government’s recommendations of Your child’s safety in the home. There was enough information there to basically make me consider moving to a one floor house, kitted out in cotton wool and packing peanuts, but Maurice said no. Also, it’s a no go for the baby to have a custom made padded suit and a helmet. I mean it’s like he doesn’t even care you guys.
There’s a lot of good, general and mostly sensible advice there. I mean advice like Do not let toddlers carry babies down the staircase- which I’m fairly sure only happens because the toddler was quicker than us, right? Getting stair gates to make sure the little guys don’t suddenly learn to climb stairs when we’re not looking (which they so do), getting sharp corners covered and plugging light sockets with safety caps, not leaving children unattended on a high surface, you get the picture. Pretty much all the stuff your Mother would freak out over when she’s visiting and most of what I had thought of myself already. But there’s also good advice for fire prevention and keeping children safe during a flood, which I had never even considered, thank you for that worry. I think it’s time to check my home insurance policy, you know just in case. On the bright side, if there is a flood I’ll know just what to do other than flip out.
Well, I guess they never said this whole parent thing was easy right? We knew what we were getting into when we signed up for the job. Keeping the kids safe and happy is just part of the gig and as much as it drives me nuts walking around the house sniffing out potential danger I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll get back to my list now and triple check a few other possible scenarios so that we are prepared. Like what safety precautions are needed in an alien invasion? Thoughts?
Being a Mom, there is just nothing like breastfeeding to me. After having that choice taken from me with my first child, watching her starve on just my milk and being ordered to put that poor baby on formula, I made it my personal mission to crack breastfeeding when my second child came along. And I almost got it, at least half way although the poor little guy still ended up topped up on formula. However we enjoyed breastfeeding together until just before his first birthday which was more than I could have asked. When the third baby came along, call it destiny or just Mars aligning with Venus or something but that time we did it. Full time breastfeeding without formula for a solid year. I was in such heaven I cried knowing she was surviving on just my milk and it felt like some sort of achievement minus a trophy. Ah hem, I did ask for a trophy and let me just mention I never got it. Whatever.
So here I am, fourth time round and so far the breastfeeding has been going absolutely wonderful, even though recently I had to top him up with formula since he wasn’t putting the weight on he should be. But honestly it’s not much more than just the odd bottle or two and I couldn’t be more proud of myself and him. I’m not knocking bottle feeding at all, but when you have the choice to make yourself I believe it’s a whole lot different than when it’s taken away from you. For me, breastfeeding has been one of the many very special bonding moments with my children that I have been so grateful to have had with them.
But you know what isn’t special? Sitting in ”the chair” with 400 pillows around me, sweating like a pig while my little one breastfeeds for who knows how long this time with me attempting to do something clever with all those pillows so I can read my book and drink while I feed him. Umm, they really haven’t made Bluetooth Breastfeeding with a Hands Free set yet. We evolve far too slow for my liking. So when Boppy approached me and asked if I wanted to review one of their breastfeeding support pillows I was like Bring. It. On. Anything to replace my 400 pillows next to ”the chair” would be a welcomed substitute.
When it arrived, in the most enormous box I might add, I was eager to try it straight away since I pretty much breastfeed like all day. I was expecting, just a horseshoe shaped limp pillow, with the whole wow factor being in the shape. But what I got was a really solid horseshoe shaped pillow that easily moulds around me and baby absolutely perfectly. The pillow was much bigger than I was expecting, and yet not so big that you end up sweating anyway with it around you. The middle can fold in a bit, almost like hinge, making it very easy to pull open and mould around you. Jared fits lovely and snug in it, with his head supported at the perfect height for feeding and guess what?
I am handsfree feeding you guys! Whooo!!
Actually, I’m feeding him right now as I type this post out! How cool is that? The other really great thing is that you can get slip covers for it, making it far more hygenic and of course fun since you can pick a cute design. I got sent a really girly one, so I’m in the market for a more boyish cover. Having a look on their packaging too, it’s not just exclusively a pillow for breastfeeding, it also works as a great support to the baby when learning to sit up, or to lie him in from birth. Jared is loving sitting in it on his own to see everything that’s going on and on my lap facing me for some chatty time. Being a penny savvy Mom, I like the multifunction feature of using it for different purposes. It makes me feel like I get more for my money.
The downside? It’s not exactly travel size, so this isn’t a pillow that you’re going to be needing on the go. I mean, it comes in a great plastic carry case for those family holiday get togethers, but really it’s not a go outside the house sort of pillow. But for the time you are indoors, it’s fast going to be a must have to make breastfeeding more comfortable. Since Boppy is just launching here in the UK, I have no idea what the UK price will be for, so I can’t tell you if I feel it’s value for money. In the states it’s currently retailing at Target for $34.99 with a slipcover. Value for money in my opinion, is going to be based on how long you plan on breastfeeding. Since I plan to feed him for a year, it would be money very well spent ( if it was a similar price to the US) to make feeding far more comfy for both the little one and me. The other issue with this pillow is that I can see in certain chairs or sitting positions, it could be a little fidely finding a comfy position for you and baby. However, I’ve only really encountered this once so far with most of the other times getting into a comfortable position very quickly and easily.
On the whole, I personally would part with my hard earned cash to buy such a pillow now after having actually seen one in use. It’s probably not something I would have considered a must have before seeing one if I’m totally honest. But now using it every day since it’s arrival, it has been a godsend! My Step-Mom has also confirmed that it’s on the shopping list of many new Mom’s in the States already, with lots of baby shower gift lists sporting a Boppy. Word of mouth has made the Boppy really popular there and I can see why. I predict it won’t be long before the Boppy Mania sets in the UK.
Here’s a cute little game Boppy have put together in honor of their UK launch and I hope you have fun playing it! FYI, getting to the part where you get your Mother in Law to clean for you is awesome. However if you score higher than me, we’re not allowed to discuss that. So if you are expecting, or know something that’s expecting, I would recommend checking out Boppy especially if you plan to breastfeed for a while. Either that or you can stick to your 400 pillows sweating like a pig waiting for the Bluetooth Handsfree breastfeeding set to be invented. I’m working on it.
Here in the UK there’s an ad on television and every time I see it I end up laughing hysterically because something like this would totally happen to me. The ad is for WKD, the ever popular let’s get smashed out of our heads drink.
