Archives for January 2013

This is motherhood.

Even though the title of this blog is “Mommy Lost In Translation,” I don’t really consider it a “Mommy Blog.” I don’t even really consider myself a “Blogger.” I just need an outlet sometimes and I’ve always been an oversharer. Is that a word?

Anyway, I don’t really consider myself a “Mommy Blogger” because I never talk about cloth diapering or extended breast feeding, or breast feeding at all, or parenting methods, or homeschooling. Not that I don’t care about any of those things, I just don’t take the time here to talk about them on here. I actually care about a lot of “mothering topics” like: I really think people need to get those bumpers off their cribs because they serve no purpose what-so-ever and are instead linked to accidents and deaths. (SERIOUSLY, you guys, get that shit off your cribs. Cuteness is NOT WORTH YOUR CHILD’S LIFE. DON’T BE A DUMB ASS.) I also wish people would stop posting pictures of their kid placed incorrectly in a car seat so I could stop judging them (CHEST CLIPS SHOULD BE AT THEIR CHEST NOT ON THEIR TUMMY, STRAPS SHOULD BE TIGHT, REAR FACE AS LONG AS POSSIBLE AND FOR GOD’S SAKE DON’T PUT YOUR KID IN A CAR SEAT WITH A WINTER COAT ON) but whatever. This MIGHT be why I don’t talk about these types of things, because they sound attack-y and offensive and I’m really not that way and would rather keep things light hearted and fun and not controversial.

Moving on, I guess I do talk about my child a lot, probably more than I talk about anything else, so maybe that DOES make me a “Mommy Blogger”. I don’t know. Anyway, let me get to my point- which is going to be a post about my kid.

A week or so ago, I wrote a post about my 3 year old having diarrhea all over our house. Brace yourselves- this is going to be another post about excrement, so if you don’t want to read about it (and I’m guessing a lot of you don’t) go ahead and click away now and come back another day. But, judging from the way that things are going lately, I really can’t promise you that you won’t encounter the same topic again.

I seriously tried NOT to write another post about poop. No, really. I did. It’s just that these things KEEP HAPPENING. So whatever, I’m just going to go ahead and share them.

Last weekend, I caught Bella dumping a bottle of anti bacterial hand sanitizer in her hair in the living room. Her head was soaked, it was dripping down her face. So I took her to the bathroom and ran a bath. I placed her in the water and she started playing with her toys, and just as I was about to scrub her head, she released a special surprise in the bath water. So I had to pull her out, set her on the potty, drain the water, and scrub the tub. After cleaning everything up, I ran the water again because she still had had sanitizer in her hair. I put her back in the water and she started playing with her toys again, and just as I was starting to wash her hair again, guess what happened? No, seriously. I really want you to guess. Okay, okay. She released a second surprise into the tub. OH HAPPY DAY.

This time I removed her from the tub and took her to another bathroom and made her take a shower.

Tonight we went to the grocery store. I finished my shopping and as we were waiting in the checkout line she did something horrible while sitting in the shopping cart. She pooped her pants- and she wasn’t wearing a diaper because I THOUGHT we were pretty much potty trained. I was wrong, apparently. So, off we went to the car where I had to strip her down in the back seat and wipe her down with baby wipes and put her in another outfit I had stored in the trunk. I would have done all of this in the bathroom of the grocery store but I didn’t have the wipes or the change of clothes on me and I didn’t want to cart her out to the car in 34 degree weather to get these items only to return to the store bathroom and then turn around and go back to the car.

So that was my night. I threw out the pants because I just didn’t want to try and salvage them and I didn’t want to make the drive home with poop pants in my car.

On the way home I stopped at Steak N Shake to get cheese fries and a milk shake because I freaking deserve it. That salad I had in my fridge at home waiting for me simply wasn’t going to cut it.

Stress eating for the win.

How was your night? I hope you didn’t have poop pants in YOUR car.

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My back up plan was to become a country music star. That’s over.

I think this is important and you should, too:

I have never really listened to myself sing. I don’t sing. I hardly even sing along to songs that are playing on the radio. Sometimes I do, when the music is turned up loud enough that I can’t hear myself. When it’s turned up really loud, I think I sound pretty good because all I can hear is the artist on the recording.

WELL. I just got curious – after a glass of red wine- about what I actually sound like. So I recorded myself. I put on my head phones and plugged myself in to my iPod and cranked up the volume. I sang my little heart out while my lap top recorded me. I just listened to it and let me tell you something:

It was AWFUL. Like, truly, unbelievably horrible. Like, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY BAD.

I am so ashamed.

My dreams of being Miranda Lambert are over.

Don’t even ask. I am not uploading this video to YouTube. I already deleted it. It was THAT BAD. No one will hear this voice. Not ever.

Well. Maybe after more red wine.

NO. NOT EVER. NOT EVER, EVER, EVER. I DON’T CARE HOW MUCH WINE THERE IS.

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So that was my morning.

Hello there.

It’s 11 PM on a Sunday. I have been up since 5 AM. This, of course, is because of my child. Why else would I get up at 5 AM on a Sunday? Occasionally she wakes up that early on a weekend (or a weekday, or a holiday, it doesn’t really matter) just for the hell of it. She busts into our bedroom and declares that she is “SO HUNGRY” or that she wants to watch the “WION KING!” I would have gladly traded one of those mornings for this morning. This morning she quietly slunk into our room and whispered at my husband until he woke up. I didn’t hear any of that. I awoke as he sat up in bed, turned on the light, shook me awake and said; “You daughter is covered in poop.”

I sat up wearily, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and glanced at Bella, her little eyes peeking over the side of our bed innocently. I didn’t have to lean over any further to take a look at her and see if my husband was right. At that point I had been hit by the overwhelming stench that filled not only our bedroom, but as I would come to find out, the WHOLE ENTIRE HOUSE. It never fails to amaze me that SOMETHING SO SMALL can create things THAT SMELL SO BAD.

Jesus shuffled our feces covered child into the bathroom, put on a pair of latex gloves that he uses to dice jalapenos and started peeling off her wet clothes before placing her in the shower. I set off to survey the damage to the rest of the house. Something that I’ve learned about situations like this is that you can’t just assume that when your child wanders into your room at 5 A.M covered in diarrhea that that will be the end of it. Oh no. Oh no you cannot. As I walked the hallway from our bedroom to hers, I discovered little splatters all along the wood floor. Enter mop. When I arrived in her room, I found it all over her sheets, blankets, pillow and even on her lovey, Oosey.  Enter washer and dryer. I thought at that point I was done, but then I happened to walk through the living room and noticed that our little angel must have taken a pit stop on the way from her room to ours. I have to say that the damage to the couch was a great deal worse than what I found in her bed, which kind of confuses me. At that point I took to stripping all the cushions and threw them in the wash with the sheets and blankets.

45 minutes later, we had Bella washed, dried and in a new pair of pjs. The washer was running, her bed had new sheets, and the  entire house had been sprayed with air freshener. Surprisingly, Bella was willing to go back to sleep, I guess she was exhausted from the whole experience. Jesus and I, however, DESPERATELY wanted to go back to sleep but could not. We had already done an entire day’s worth of chores in 45 minutes, plus we were both completely traumatized.

At least it was another experience to knock off our check list:

Child waking up in the middle of the night with a bloody nose: CHECK

Child waking up in the middle of the night covered in vomit: CHECK

Child waking up in the middle of the night covered in MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF DIARRHEA: CHECK CHECK CHECK.

I suppose I am operating under the assumption that these things will only happen once throughout her entire childhood. So I can continue to mark them off a check list one by one, and if she happens to do one a second time I can say; “Hey wait, no!!! We already did this one!” And then the universe will be like; “Oh you are so right, my bad!” And then time will reverse itself and I will never have to experience a single one of these events more than once. Right? RIGHT?

A girl can dream, can’t she?

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