What Not To Wear, New Baby Edition

I used to love the television show, “What Not To Wear.” It was a show where they would give unsuspecting fashion challenged people a makeover. I thought the hosts of the show, Stacy and Clinton, were so cool, and so witty, and so stylish. Frequently when a guest was a mom and dressed in comfortable but not very stylish clothes, Stacy and Clinton would talk to them about their clothing choices, and say things like, “Having kids is no excuse. It doesn’t take any longer to put on pants with buttons than sweat pants.”

Or, “It’s just as much effort to pick out a cute blouse as a t-shirt, so go for the blouse! You have no excuse.”

And the moms would come away from their week of shopping in New York and look so chic, and so much better than when they left, and there was not an oversized t-shirt or yoga pant in sight.

At the time I always thought, “Stacy and Clinton are so right. It doesn’t take any longer to put on nice clothes. If I ever become a mom, I’m not going to dress in sweatpants all the time.”

Now ten years removed from watching the show and in a totally different life position, I discovered something. Stacy and Clinton have no idea what they are talking about.

As it turns out, those precious seconds it takes to button up actual pants, they matter. Do you know how much trouble a high energy 3 year old can get into in 6 seconds? Today I left the fully clothed munchkin in the living room, walked to the changing table with the baby, and looked out the window to see that the munchkin had walked out of the house and was running around the yard, naked. In 6 seconds he stripped naked and ran out of the house. This is why I like to wear pants that don’t require buttoning or a belt. Oh man, I don’t even want to think about how far he could get if I had to button my pants and buckle a belt!

In addition, when Stacy and Clinton sent these newly made-over ladies home with admonitions to steer clear of baggy cotton t-shirts, they weren’t considering the laundry situation. Baby is quite the spitter, and today has gone through 5 onesies, 2 bibs, and 2 tiny pairs of baby pants. I tend to be collateral damage to all this spitting, and am currently on my fourth shirt in 7 hours. Now, if I had been following Stacy and Clinton’s guidelines, the laundry situation would be quite complicated, with the buttons, delicate wash cycles, dry-clean-only tags, and lay-flat-to-dry directions. Thankfully, yoga pants and t-shirts have no special cleaning instructions, so I’m really not too perturbed at all the wardrobe changes I have to go through in a day. But it does mean Clinton and Stacy were very wrong: picking nice clothes does take more effort, especially if they get dirty every 45 minutes.

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Baby girl is such a sweetheart, I do not mind her messiness. Photo credit: Huisman Photography

The sleep talking hubs does not seem to mind the current state of my wardrobe. Actually, since we brought baby home the hubs has not been “the sleep talking hubs,” as he has not done much sleep talking. I think he is just too tired, and I am probably tired enough that even if he has talked I slept right through it. But last night he did talk some.

I was lying in bed when I felt the hubs jump in his sleep. As if he were gently scolding someone, he said, “No, no, no!”

I asked who he was talking to, and he said, “Oh, no one.”

I was so tired I let it go at that, and went back to sleep.

I am not sure what the hubs was saying, “No,” to, but I do know what I would say no to: anyone, even Clinton or Stacy, who tried to pry my comfiest yoga pants away from me.

Pants with elastic waistbands FOREVER!

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Planes, Trains, and Vehicles for the Elderly

Recently the munchkin and I flew down to see my parents for the holidays. The munchkin does very well on planes, especially now that he is old enough to have his own seat. On our second flight of the day he happened to be seated right next to a lady who was obviously very nervous about the flight. I tried to keep him busy and distracted and not bothering her, since flying was already obviously not something she enjoyed. The munchkin did a great job during the flight, and his seat-mate seemed to calm down and be less distressed about flying.

And then we began the descent. As the plane nose dropped the munchkin threw his little fists in the air and yelled, “WE’RE GOING DOWN!”

At this outburst the passenger next to us became very agitated and began making the sign of the cross on herself; I assume she was praying something along the lines of that if we were in fact to go down that an excited toddler who would not stop kicking the seat in front of him would not be the last thing she saw. I hope she is able to fly again.

Shortly before we left for this eventful trip the asleep hubs was apparently also concerned with transportation. The hubs had a cold so he had gone to bed early while I was still up reading. All of the sudden he jumped in his sleep and started talking.

Hubs: The older people need the vehicle…or should they not?

Me: Hmm? What do you mean?

Hubs: Well, it just doesn’t make any sense. It’s a vehicle for older people.

Me: Oh, really? That’s different.

Hubs: Yeah, just not a good idea.

Me: Yeah, can you tell me about it?

Hubs: It isn’t important, I don’t think I need to tell you. It’s about the elderly.

Me: You said that, but I’m curious about it.

Hubs: I don’t want to tell you about it. I already told you that.

Me: You can’t tell me anything?

Hubs: Stop asking about it. Please stop!

Me: Ok, that’s fine.

Then he huffed and rolled over angrily, never waking up. I was sorry to upset him in his sleep, but I also couldn’t help giggling about how silly the conversation was. I guess both of my boys have very serious transportation concerns!

Seat Lock

When I married the hubs, there was the normal blending of family traditions and idiosyncrasies. One thing his family does that I was not familiar with is “seat lock.” Seat lock is when a person leaves a place where they are sitting, if they yell, “seat lock,” then they get to sit there when they come back. If, say, they don’t know about seat lock because they’ve only been on three dates with a member of the family, they lose their comfortable spot on the couch and have to sit on the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t take me too long to figure out the rules, so I can now defend my comfy chair at family events.

Our little dog is the queen of “seat lock.” Mainly because she only has a few places she likes to sit, and she has made those places so covered with dog hair that no one would want to sit there unless armed with a jumbo lint roller.

The dog lounging in her favorite spot on the couch.

The dog lounging in her favorite spot on the couch.

I think it’s normal to be attached to a particular place, and claim it as your own. This last week I even talked to the hubs about this in my sleep. That’s right, I am the one sleep talking this time.

Apparently, the hubs woke up in the middle of the night to me yelling. He said that our conversation went like this:

Me: It’s my spot…. MY SPOTTTTT!!!!

Hubs: You’re ok, honey, just go back to sleep.

Me: You’re not listening to me. This is my spot!

Hubs: Yes, honey, you’re sleep talking. 

Me: It’s my spot, my spot, my spot!!!

I asked him what he did after all of this commotion, and he said, “I rolled over and went back to sleep as you continued to repeat ‘my spot,’ over and over…. There was no winning.”

Well, ok then. I guess he knew that I would definitely call “seat lock” on this spot that I apparently cared about so much!

Strike Four, You’re Out!

I have many fine qualities, but natural athletic ability is not chief among them. Actually, it is not really among them at all. When God was gifting me, athletic ability was left standing on the wall like a loser while various other things were chosen… much like I was left standing on the wall when my peers chose teams for softball in gym class. I am just not skilled. I was so bad that in gym class the teacher used to feel bad and “miscount” strikes when we played softball and give me four chances to swing. I was so bad that the kids didn’t even bother to move in, because the odds of me connecting ball and bat were practically zero. I was so bad that the pitcher (who I had a crush on) used to scoot way up and just sort of loft the ball at me, encouraging me to hit it. And I really haven’t gotten much better in the decade and a half since then.

My lack of athletic ability (and obvious emotional scars from softball failures) does not mean that I do not like to play with balls with the dog and the munchkin.

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The munchkin loves balls so much that I made his play pen into a ball-pit. It’s awesome. I’m not sure who loves it more, him or me.

The dog prefers tennis balls. She keeps a secret stash of them behind the television cabinet.

The dog prefers tennis balls. She keeps a secret stash of them behind the television cabinet.

Unlike me, the hubs is good at sports. Right now he is on a golf kick, and he’s out swinging the club constantly. I think that getting out for a few holes must have been on his mind last night. I was sleeping soundly when I jumped awake because the hubs sat up and smacked my shoulder.

Me: What?!? What’s wrong?!?

Hubs: What on earth!?! Don’t you know about the foursome?

Me: Umm, no…

Hubs: Yeah, well I’m not playing without it, and you’re just… it’s just…

Me: What are you talking about?

Hubs: Oh, you don’t even know, do you! We need a foursome for nine holes.

Me: That’s fine, Buddy. Let’s not worry about it.

Hubs: You know what you are? An embarrassment. Yep, this is just horrible.

Surprisingly, I was not offended, because, when it comes to sports, this is nothing I didn’t already know…that, and I’m doing better at not getting upset when the hubs sleep talks

Me: Ok, I’m going back to sleep.

Hubs: Well, it’s just… I mean, GAH!

And then he threw his hands up in exasperation, sank back down, and did not say anything else.

Poor, asleep hubs. Thankfully, when he’s awake he normally has a foursome willing to play and can golf to his heart’s content. Now if only we could round up enough players for some friendly softball – I get four strikes, right?

Pass the Coffee

As you might have noticed, the blogging has been sporadic. Actually, to be more accurate, the blogging has been non-existent. I fully, and freely admit that it is not my fault – I blame the munchkin. Having a baby has been like having all of the responsibilities you had before the baby, and then adding in an incredibly needy cat to the mix. Not a whole lot of time for blogging…or sleeping.

photo(5)photo(1) photo(3)photo(4)photo photo(2)  Yesterday was the munchkin’s half birthday. I have been a parent for 6 whole months. Even after 6 months, I still have no idea what I’m doing. However I have learned one thing about parenting: if you aren’t tired, you’re probably doing it wrong.

Cliff Hanger

I drive quite a distance to get to work and wile away the hours listening to books on CD that I get from the library. My favorite to listen to are mysteries. The librarians probably wondered over my eclectic checkout bag this morning: murder mysteries and the acclaimed Baby Learns Numbers with Elmo.

A few weeks ago I was listening to a murder mystery as I made the long trek to work. We were on the last disk, and I thought I knew who murdered the dashing young poet. Then, the hotel burned down and the character I thought was the killer died in the fire! I was thinking, “Oh man, plot twist!”

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Wow, what a nail biter!

Then the nice sounding British man reading the book on CD said, “Qwill wondered if Jamison really had been the murderer. Now he would never know for sure. (dramatic music) This concludes the reading of the book. All rights reserved.”

And then the disk ended! That was it! Who knows who the murderer was? I don’t! Good grief, talk about a cliff hanger…forever… For crying out loud.

Sometimes the hubs leaves me without all of the answers when he talks in his sleep, too. For example, a week and a half ago I was laying in bed making a mental grocery list when the hubs started talking in his sleep.

Hubs: Nah, that can’t be.

Me: Hmmm, what is it buddy?

Hubs: Just not right.

Me: Yeah, what isn’t right?

Hubs: What? No, not for you.

Me: Oh? What’s not for me?… Hubs? Why can’t I know?

But he did not say anything else.

I am not sure what wasn’t right, and I suppose I will never know. Life is filled with cliff hangers!

Elusive Dreams

The munchkin has interrupted our sleep schedules. All of us seem to be sleeping at different times than we use to. photo-19

And in different places, too. photo-13 (2)

Sometimes we even have to share our pillow.photo-14 (2)That is ok, though. Having the munchkin here is worth changing up the sleep schedule.

This past week I walked into the bedroom after changing the munchkin. The hubs suddenly sat up.

Hubs: Everything alright?

Me: Yes, I was just changing him.

Hubs: Ok, I see. Are you going to bed now?

Me: Yes.

He was sounding a little funny, so I was not sure if he was awake or not.

Me: Are you really awake?

Hubs: I… I’m not sure exactly. I don’t think so.

Me: Oh, ok. Probably not then. Why don’t you lay back down?

Hubs: Yeah, probably should.

Then he lay back down and did not say anything else. I asked him about it later and he had no idea what I was talking about – he was definitely asleep the whole time.

At least some things will never change, even with the munchkin being here – no matter how little sleep he gets the hubs will still talk through it!

Confessions

People frequently ask me if the hubs ever confesses things in his sleep. Or if I try to ask him questions to find out the truth while he is sleeping. The answer is “no.” To both questions. If the hubs has something to tell me, he does. And if I wanted to know the truth I simply have to ask him while we are both awake.

The munchkin has nothing to confess: he can sleep like a baby.

The munchkin has nothing to confess: he can sleep like a baby.

Isn’t it interesting that so many people think that I should utilize the hubs’ sleep talking to find out his secrets? I suppose we all want to know things about other people, to know their secrets, and to confess our own. One well timed question and anyone will share their secrets. In fact, I have some things to confess right now:

My least favorite chore is mopping. It always has been. Therefore, I do not own a mop. I clean my floors by other means, just never mopping.

I still, in my deepest heart, think that the three kings in “We Three Kings” are from a place called “Orientare.”

I sing Cindy Lauper songs to the munchkin. A lot. His favorite is “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

It bothers me a lot when people say “alot.” It is two words. If you type it as one word, I judge you a lot.

I always said that I would never talk to my child in “baby talk,” because I thought that it would stunt their verbal skills. I talk to the munchkin in baby talk all day long. I talk so much like a baby that I now talk to the dog like a baby. The other day I answered the phone with baby talk. It’s getting a little out of control.

When I walk the dog in the evening and a dog a street or two over starts barking, I let our dog bark back for awhile. I do this just in case the Twilight Bark is a real thing, and she is helping to save some lost puppies.

I also must confess that I occasionally sleep talk. In fact, according to the hubs, I talked in my sleep this past week. He said I mumbled, “Slerfenskots frozen people…”

And he said, “What, hon?”

“Slerfenskots frozen peopsernf.”

I have no idea what I was talking about, but the hubs has confessed that it was quite funny to have the sleep-talking tables turned.

Introducing the Munchkin

So, I haven’t posted about the hubs’ sleep talking in awhile. We have been just a little busy, with Christmas and school and work and, you know, having a baby and all of that.

Rory Wynalda 68

Rory Wynalda 66We are all adjusting quite well. I actually don’t think that the dog has even acknowledged that the munchkin is here: she just ignores him. However, the hubs has been sleep talking less, perhaps because he is sleeping less due to the baby.

We have the munchkin sleeping in his bassinet in our room right now; it works well for feeding and changing him at night. It kind of bothers me, however, that the hubs does not wake up when the baby does. At all. He could be screaming his tiny lungs out and the hubs does not even turn over. I find this to be especially irksome because I wake up when the baby even has the slightest turn of his cute little head, or sighs loudly, or gives a little squeak in his sleep.

Honestly, though, we are both sleeping decently well, as the munchkin is a pretty good sleeper. For a baby, at least. However, this past week he had a couple days where he was not sleeping quite as well. So, I set up the white noise machine to try to help him fall asleep more quickly. The first night I was going to use it, the hubs had already gone to sleep while I fed the munchkin and got him ready for bed. I went into the bedroom and turned on the white noise machine, and it began to “whir” softly.

I got the munchkin settled in his bassinet, when suddenly the hubs sat up.

Hubs: What is that?!?

I figured he was sleep talking so I just ignored him while I climbed in bed.

Hubs: Hon… do you hear that?

I just stared at him, thankful he was talking now and not later in the night and waking me up.

Hubs: What is it? Something’s wrong!

Me: Are you awake?

Hubs: Yes, I’m awake! Don’t you hear that loud machine? Is something turned on?

Me: Umm, do you mean the white noise machine? Did the white noise machine actually wake you up?!?

Hubs: Oh, is that what it is? I was really concerned.

Then he rolled over and went right back to sleep. And several hours later when the baby woke up wailing, many decibels louder than the white noise machine, the hubs did not even stir. Now that’s talent.

Curl up and Dye

The dog does not have picky taste buds. She will eat really anything that is put in her bowl. This I do not understand, as rawhide does not appeal to me at all.

Yummy!

Yummy!

The hubs has a more discerning palate. For one thing, he does not like peanut butter. Since I think peanut butter is the nectar of the gods, we would probably not be together if I had known this about him before falling for his many charms. The dog loves peanut butter, too, so I have not told her about the hubs’ aversion to it. I don’t want the knowledge to harm their relationship.

This past week, the hubs started talking about terrible tasting things in his sleep. I was fast asleep when he started yelling in his sleep, and did not fully wake up until he was almost done with the diatribe.

Hubs: This dye job is terrible!

Me: Hmm…

Hubs: The dye job! It… it just TASTES AWFUL!

Me: Uhhuh…

Hubs: I just don’t know why they can’t get it right. I mean, it’s not that hard. But, man. This one really is terrible.

Me: Yeah…

Then he rolled back over and I went back to sleep, feeling badly for the poor hubs that his dye job tasted so terrible. Hopefully it at least tasted better to him than peanut butter does!