Thursday, January 26, 2012

X-Mom Adventures: X-Mom vs The Puke Dragon

The clock strikes 1:00 am…

I hear The Baby working hard at her favorite pastime, yelling in the middle of the night. She’s so good at it she can do it in her sleep. Literally. The Hubs and I take turns fumbling to her room only to find her yelling, with her eyes still closed, fast asleep. Sometimes she’s on all fours, still asleep. Why does she do it? **Big shrug** Maybe she dropped her ice cream in Dreamland or maybe they told her she was too short for the Cloud Ride. I haven’t the slightest. All I know is that fifty pats on the back later she’s still eating cotton candy while we’re left outside the gate deliriously trying to claw our ways back in.

So, you can see I wasn’t in a rush to witness, yet again, this little trick of hers. Anyway, while patting her I noticed her PJ’s were wet and because she had been battling a cold I figured it was, for a lack of “pretty” words, snot. As I picked her up I realized it was in her hair, too. I rushed in our room to dump her on The Hubs so I could get something to clean her up with. He questioned my snot hypothesis. I’m like, duh, of course that’s what it is. After all, I’ve personally seen this kid produce enough mucus to make Mucinex giddy. I scoffed to myself. Men. They know nothing. As I’m racing back to her room (why I don’t know because I think it would prove hard to clean someone up from another room) he threw his own idea in the mix. “I think she threw up.”

My brain skidded to a stop, but my feet were still speeding along. So, I just went with it. I flicked on the light in her room and sure enough there was a stain in her crib the size of a dinner plate. And the bumper pad sported a matching one. Foul ball! How you throw up and to the left is beyond me. While I’m strategizing my head and scratching a plan—yes, I meant to type that—I hear Hubs yell, “She’s throwing up!” I raced back to our room, grabbed her towel, and hurdled across the bed.

Me: “Hold her over.”
Him: “I can’t, she’s throwing up.”
Me wishing I had a catcher’s mask and frantically shoving the towel under her mouth: “Well, hold her over.”
Him frantically moving her away from the towel: “She’s throwing up.”
Me: “Put her over the towel before she throws up on you.”
Him strapping on his Daddy Armor: “It’s okay, she can throw up on daddy.”
Me rolling my eyes so frigging hard they plopped in the towel and thinking, “What-the-hell-ever”: “You are NOT going to let her throw up on you.”

Needless to say, majority of it landed on him. Let me tell you, The Baby gave it a good fight, too. It was her first time, she decided she didn’t like it, was determined she wasn’t going to do it again, and she was gagging herself trying not to. But, four pukes later she lay exhausted across daddy’s chest clad in nothing but her diaper and a blanket. They stayed this way the entire night (aww…) while I kept a close watch in case back-up was needed. The damage? Her crib sheet, bumper pad, The Hubs, 3 towels, her hair, and 2 sets of PJ’s (one set wasn’t even on her body at the time).

The arena goes crazy. Yay! Daddy slayed the Puke Dragon! He was proud, I was proud he was proud, and The Baby was back to yelling in the middle of the night.

Two days later…

The Hubs hadn’t anticipated one thing. The Puke Dragon had a wife. Not appreciating the death of her husband she attacked mine with a vengeance so violent, Hubs was left sprawled across the bed sweating and begging for mercy. But, X-Mom was waiting with a secret weapon… Lysol. Done and done. I didn’t catch it and so far The Kid appears to be in the clear.

Hmph. Who’s your slayer now?

Friday, January 13, 2012

X-Mom Adventures: X-Mom vs The Baby

July 21, 2011 6:30 am...

Persistent dull backache + 9 months pregnant = Labor. This is what I knew. I headed to the doctor with The Kid and Mom in tow. Mom wasn’t accustomed to driving in “the city” and didn’t feel “comfortable” driving me. But, apparently her comfort level was okey-dokey with me (in case you didn’t catch it the first time, I was in LABOR!) driving.  No words.

Why didn’t I wait for Hubs?  Well…he was like 30 minutes away and the nurse wanted me to come immediately. Still not convinced are you? Okay, okay. Here’s the deal. I was nervous that he would be too nervous to drive. So, Option A: Ride with Mom breaking every 5 seconds AND driving like a turtle stuck in Laffy Taffy because she was scared. Option B: Ride with Hubs driving like Ricky Bobby from Talladega Nights and scaring the hell out of me. Honestly, I would have rather taken my chances with The Kid, who was 8 at the time. But, I went with Option C:  Grabbed my X-Mom gear and floored it.

The pain stopped as soon as I parked the car and I just knew they were going to send me home. A quick check from the nurse confirmed I was still in labor and baby was ready, so I bounced over to the hospital next door. The anesthesiologist strolled in with his supplies and I was like, “Stick me, baby. Stick me good!”

So, let’s recap. (1) I drove myself (2) Contractions were next to nothing (3) Epidural was locked and loaded. Me: 3, Labor: 0. I was kicking Labor’s b-u-t-t.

Time ticked off the clock and I kept smiling and dilating. Labor was on the ropes. Yeah, buddy. Give me that heavyweight title because The Champ is here! Woot, woot!

I was Party Rocking in the ring and getting ready for the Big Push when I saw something pink out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see what it was and, bam! The Baby sucker punched me right in the kisser with her hot pink gloves. What happened, you ask?

Okay.  I started feeling this very, very intense pressure that was fast approaching the threshold of pain. Yes, even with the epidural. I’m crying and the two nurses are puzzled. Not only can’t they figure out why I’m in pain, but they don’t know “what” they’re feeling when they check me. The doctor breezes in and thinks The Baby's head is on top of the umbilical cord. He whisks in an ultrasound machine to confirm his suspicions and kiss my grits…The Baby is breech!  So, "what" they were feeling was her tush, which hadn't been there a few hours before.

They pumped up the epidural juice and wheeled me towards the operating room all in one swoop. While the surgeon and nurses were happily bantering over my exposed guts, I was left wondering what in the H-E-double-hockey-sticks happened.

When I retell the story people often ask why they didn’t try and turn The Baby. Um, no clue. Everything happened so fast and before I knew it I was spread out on the operating table like a starfish. And I didn’t think it was wise to argue with the guy holding the scalpel and my uterus.  

And the intense pressure/pain?  Now, that's the icing on the cupcake.  That was the moment The Baby pumped her brakes.  She decided she didn't want to be squeezed through the tunnel.  So, she ignored Nature's GPS and executed a U-turn.  At freaking 9 centimeters. Yup.  She came into this world kicking ass with her own set of rules. And I’ve got the scars to prove it. She's lightening fast and throws a wicked left jab.  She’s the baddest, droolingest, diaper-wearingest, mamma-jamma you’ve ever seen.

But, I’ve got my gloves up and my chin strap extra tight.

Baby? Bring it.

Friday, January 6, 2012


Some of you may/may not know that I've completed my first novel and it's waiting patiently to begin the next phase of its life...finding an agent.  I've already pitched to two who expressed interest, but the trail kind of faded.  But, plenty of more shopping days to go.  Anyway, I realized I've never posted any of my "work" on this site.  Below is a blurb for my novel titled Troubletini.

Monroe Ryan, a self-proclaimed fashion planner--and shoe junkie!--thought a typical girls' weekend in Vegas with her best friend, would be, well...typical. A few weeks later a Nevada state marriage license stating she is Mrs. Aaron Davis proves how wrong she was. Unfortunately, all she can remember is downing a truckload of cocktails and...actually, that's pretty much it. Declaring her drunken love to a complete stranger was definitely not part of the plan.

Tracking down Mr. Davis becomes Monroe's mission. But, the GPS leads her to Nick, the sexy stranger with eyegasmic eyes who rescued her earlier that day, and not Aaron. Shocked and confused she can't help but wonder what went wrong.  An awkward night of pills and wine nixes her odds of getting any answers. Not to mention her chance of offering an explanation to Nick, even if it was so stretchy it would make a pair of Spanx cringe.

As she struggles to find answers she convinces herself to keep Nick in the dark for as long as it takes to find Aaron. If she can keep the intense sparks between them at a simmer--and if his eyes would stop flirting with hers--she may be able to keep her crumbling plan stable for a little longer. What Monroe doesn't know is that Nick plays more of a role in her plan then she thinks. And when an unexpected hitch adds another flavor to her cocktail of trouble she wonders if the truth itself is a little tipsy.