I am allowed to call my baby fat Just like i’m allowed to call him a turd and a brat… but when other people called him fat I got highly offended. It’s like when you’re complaining about your mom, and the person you’re talking to says “yeah, your mom is crazy”- you immediately go on the defensive. That’s someone you love they’re talking about.
I can not count the number of times I heard “oh he’s so big!”, or women gasping when I told them his age because they just couldn’t believe he wasn’t older because of his size.
There are a few comments that make my blood absolutely boil:
“He’s gonna be a linebacker when he grows up!”– seriously? just because he’s fat now, doesn’t mean he’s going to grow up and smash people for a living. The saying about babies losing a lot of their chub once they become mobile is completely true- Holden has a neck now and a lot less rolls.
“He sure doesn’t miss a meal does he??” – no.. he doesn’t, because that would be child neglect now wouldn’t it? Moron.
Old people are some of the worst offenders. They’ve lost all sense of what’s okay to say to complete strangers, the part of their brain that tells them when things are inappropriate doesn’t work anymore.
My least favorite old-fogie comment?
“What is your mommy feeding you?”– I’m feeding him ho-hos, candy bars and donuts, duh! Isn’t that what babies are SUPPOSED to eat???
Seriously, I knew Holden was chubby.. I was and am the one lugging his fat ass around- but did I do anything to help him get fatter? No. That’s just the way he was. And personally, I found it pretty adorable. I’d rather have a fat baby (and I don’t mean the ridiculously morbid obese kind of fat baby that you see on Maury Povich) than a baby that gets classified as “failure to thrive.”
My Dad (who can now be considered a senior citizen at the ripe old age of 60.. or is it 61? either way) came over to visit last week and lets this one roll:
“He’s really growing into his head”– Say WHAT? He called my kid a fat head! The honest truth of it is, while Holden’s body was in the 100th percentile.. his head was in the 75th.. so technically his head was growing into his body. I knew what my Dad meant though: Holden isn’t as fat as he used to be. He just decided to use a backhanded compliment to convey his opinion.
The Grandparent comments/advice i’ll save for another post… because I could go ON AND ON about that ridiculousness.
I swear though, if ONE more person tells me they have ‘decided’ that Holden will grow up and play football because of his size, I might seriously snap and cut them.
After much deliberation (and a lot of depression.. and an episode of Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style) I have come to terms with the fact that I will never fit back into my size 2 jeans. Birthing hips just won’t allow it.
My quest for jeans that fit since that determination has sadly come up short. Shopping in the juniors section as a 24 year old mother just feels weird to me… and all of the jeans come with embellished pockets, torn up legs and all kinds of other crazy crap that i’d never be caught dead in.
The brand of jeans I used to wear just isn’t going to cut it anymore. If I find a pair that fit my hips, they are FAR too loose in the leg area and too long in the crotch giving me the appearance that I have poop in my pants, and that’s not exactly the look i’m going for.
So off I ventured to the ‘grown up’ section of the store, or as they like to call it ‘misses.’
I don’t have the money, and can’t IMAGINE spending 70 dollars on a pair of cute designer jeans (no matter how great they make my ass look), so what am I left with?
The dreaded MOM JEANS.
You know what i’m talking about.. high-waisted, long-assed, ankle biting, tummy pooch creating unflattering jeans that your mom used to wear with white ankle socks and dirty tennis shoes. The kind you would never be caught dead in, not even for a Halloween costume because they literally make your body look that terrible.
I honestly can’t believe these still exist, or that ANYONE would still wear them… but if you go to Wal-Mart you will see hoardes of women in all of their Mom-Jeans wearing glory, parading around without a care in the world.
Mom-Jeans to me are a sign of giving up. They are what you wear when you no longer care about what you look like (or comfort for that matter, I can’t imagine the intense cameltoe those things cause), or how many people are staring at you and giggling at how ridiculously unattractive your body looks.
They’re what you wear when you get to your mid 30’s and suddenly believe that.. well.. you’re just never going to look like how you did in your 20’s, a mom is all you are.. so SCREW IT.
It’s not true ladies!! There ARE jeans out there to fit your post-baby body.
I would rather wear a pair of jeans that gave me the WORST muffin-top you’ve ever seen than resort to wearing Mom-Jeans. Even THINKING about how long and flat my ass would look in a pair of those hideous monstrosities makes me squirm.
I have sworn to myself that I will NEVER give up style just because i’m feeling discouraged that my body is different after having a baby and slip into a pair of cringe-inducing Mom-Jeans. I will never LOOK like a ‘mom’, even though I am one.
I will strive to look like a MILF, even when Holden is old enough to be embarrassed by how young I look and the fact that all his friends think i’m hot (ohhh I hope to still be attractive when he’s that old).
Needless to say, I gave up my scavenger hunt in the ‘misses’ section and retreated back to juniors and bought the least offensive pair I could find.
And they make my ass look great.
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I understand why onesies are so popular- they make it so your kid doesn’t have to wear pants.. and who wants to wear pants all the time anyways?
it’s perfectly acceptable for warm weather, but once cold weather hits, and you’re layering all kinds of things over onesies (shirts, pants), they start to turn into kryptonite.
Why you may ask?
Think of it this way…
You’re trying to get your kid changed quickly because they pissed through their clothes (as babies often do), but because they’re wearing a onesie… you’re late.
You have to remove pants, unsnap onesie, pull onesie off, put new diaper on, put new onesie on, snap up new onesie, put pants back on.
To shorten: pain in the ass.
If baby was just wearing a t-shirt, the most damage they’d do (hopefully.. depending on how much your kid pisses) is peeing through their pants. So just remove pants, change diaper, put new pants on- DONE!
Then comes the gravity-defying baby-poop blowout. We’ve all been there.
For some reason or another, your kid lets loose the A-bomb of poop– diarrhea (or for Holden, just incredibly loose, dark green magma-like crap). You don’t realize it’s happened until you go to pick your (now) fussy baby up and realize your hand is incredibly warm. Pull it away, and it’s covered in soggy death-poop. Turn baby around- and it’s ALL the way up their back, down their legs… everywhere. This is where you try to hold back the dry-heave but fail miserably.
Pulling a onesie soaked in diarrhea over your baby’s head is probably the least fun thing you could ever do. Getting them to hold still (or if they’re young enough, sit up without breaking their little baby neck) so the liquid-crap doesn’t get in their hair, mouth, and all over you is NOT an easy manuevre to accomplish.
Allow me to give you a visual:
Appetizing isn’t it?? See the onesie covered in the good-stuff there in the background?
It took two people to get that thing off of him without giving him a poo-helmet. And the onesie STICKS to them.. like when you wear a t-shirt in the pool and get that suction effect.. it’s exactly like that.
I have not had that happen since I put the BAN on onesies in my house. Any time he’s had a blowout since then, it’s luckily at most seeped down his leg- which is still disgusting but not as devestating as wearing a poop-filled sack, AKA, a onesie.
The onesie just seems to spread the doo around within itself because they are a tad snug fitting (or maybe because my baby was pretty fat).
It’s not just the poop that bothers me.. it’s all those damn snaps.
When Holden was younger, I got it into my head that the full-bodied rompers were OH EM GEE, CUTEST THINGS EVER!!!!! and he had probably 10 of them.
You can call me a glutton for punishment, because that’s exactly what those were. They made diaper changing a MUCH longer process than normal. Damn those snaps! I was constantly snapping them up wrong- putting his crotch where his ankle should be.. or getting them all the way snapped up and realizing I was JUST one off. Trust me, after the 50th time.. it becomes the bane of your existence.
And just to further the obnoxiousness, Holden had incredibly chunky legs.. so instead of looking like regular pants, they ended up looking like leggings. Great, my kid is David Bowie (and not the COOL David Bowie like in Labrynth).
I have just found that t-shirts are a breath of fresh air. I’m all for working smarter and not harder, and pulling on a t-shirt instead of going through the pains of pulling and snapping and unsnapping is no longer for me.
That, and putting a 1 year old boy in a bodysuit just seems wrong to me. I don’t want him hosting ‘Sweating to the Oldies’ when he grows up.
Holden was a formula fed baby, but for the first 7 weeks of his life.. I pumped. 5 times or so a day, for 30 minutes at a time. It was hell.
Time consuming, uncomfortable, and basically fruitless.
I’m not saying that pumping is bad, maybe my boobs are just broken. No matter how much I pumped, the most I ever got was 3 ounces at a time, and by the time Holden was a month or so old.. he was eating that much or more at every bottle, and the more I pumped the less I got.. so I had to give him half a bottle of formula, and half a bottle of boob milk (and only once a day, ALL that work for 3 oz a day if I was lucky by the end). Twice the hassle, twice the mess. Add in the reflux, and you had a screaming child while I was sitting there helpless with my boob being sucked into a pump.. only causing me to become highly frustrated with the whole situation (and I was told crying babies helped the milk flow… not true).
Let me clarify, I used a MANUAL pump. Which basically means I was trying to suck the milk out of my boobs by hand. Even if you get the good brand (which I had, a Medela), they just aren’t as effective as the electric pumps. Add in the fact that they are incredibly messy. The entire time I was pumping, I would try to situate my boob to get the best flow.. the best suction, causing my hard-earned milk to splatter and drip everywhere while make farting sounds. Super embarrassing when your husband is sitting right next to you wondering what the deal is, and why the hell it sounds like your boob is queefing.
To me, electric pumps are terrifying. They reminded me way too much of cow-milkers, especially the double-suction pumps… not to mention the lofty price.. but I suppose if you’re really looking to give your baby breast milk (because we ALL hear that ‘breast is best’), but don’t want a kid nibbling at your nip- it’s the only way to go.
You can be hands free while extracting the good stuff (and MUCH more of it compared to a hand-pump), what more can you ask for?
If you don’t want to BUY an electric pump.. you can always rent a used one from the hospital if they offer it, and you don’t mind using a pump that’s sucked the milk from Lord-knows how many other womens’ ta-tas’
But hey, they’re sterilized!
The moral of the story is,
Extracting boobie-juice with a hand pump is like masturbating with a vibrator sans batteries: Your hand gets tired before you make any progress, leaving everyone tired, frustrated and unfulfilled. Literally.
How to Convince Your Fam to Watch ANYTHING you want on Netflix! goo.gl/fb/H6iZrR
We're just... uh.... wrestling.... 😂😂😂 pic.twitter.com/dpAIyM88c8
When you think your kid is done telling a story and you're finally free but they immediately start telling another pic.twitter.com/zM5gtwNCnj
I-Spy on road trips DOES. NOT. WORK. Here's my "traveling with kids in cars" survival guide holdinholden.com/2017/08/road…
Roads trips with Kids–Here’s what you REALLY need goo.gl/fb/yj96Mw
@selfmademummy I'd explode if I tried
"Motherhood-- the days are long but the years are short" Wrong. The days are long but the SLEEP is short.
If you enjoy working hard to prep a delicious meal only to be told "I'm definitely going to hate that" before it's served, you'll love kids.
it's what I like to call "Resting Mom Face" pic.twitter.com/DmFPcSIZjR