Pooches and Pussy Cozies

Mother Nature doesn't play fair but you can make the most of your postpartum hair loss.

Satan Sent Me Spam (or My DVD Player Just Hates Me

Satan's work or Dora the Explorer's?

You're Not In The Boom Boom Room Anymore

Has your bedroom lost its sexy since baby moved in? You're not alone.

I Nominate Myself For The Worst Mommy Blogger Ever

Not your typical mommy blogger.

My Doctor Made Me More Depressed

Talking about depression is difficult, especially when you're talking to idiots.

November 30, 2011

WTF Wednesday: Someone's Asking For Trouble

It's 9:30 AM, snowing, the mercury is at -9 C (15.8 F), and the front door has been wide open since my husband left for work this morning.


I'm more worried about crazy people in the house than how chilly it is.

WTF? (or not, I like to think others share these fears)

I walked around the main floor, Em in my arms, holding M's hand, calling "Helloooooooo?"

WTF? As if a psychopath in your home to do you harm would just say, "Hey, how's it going?"

M didn't miss a beat and asked me why I was worried. In my most reassuring tone, I told her I wasn't worried but she was like "Yeah, right." I wasn't too freaked out because K had only been gone a couple of hours and I saw no fresh footprints in the snow, so figured no one had come inside. Oh yeah, and this isn't the first time hubby's left the front door wide open.

WTF? Is he trying to invite a home invasion or did he just forget his brain on the nightstand?

I think it's yet another way my husband is secretly trying to kill me. He should at least have the sense to raise the spousal life insurance policy if he's gonna do things like that (I know he hasn't because we reviewed the docs from his employer two nights ago)! And maybe send the kids to his mom's first? What  have they ever done to him?

Does your other half do things like this or is mine super special?

November 29, 2011

100 Google Friend Connect Followers!

The 100th person to click the "follow" button is Sarah from It's a Vol! Thank you Sarah and the 99 others!!! You rock! I honestly never thought the blog would grow this quickly in a few short months. 

Naked Mommy Diaries details for those who care:
Thanks for reading, following and commenting. I LOVE hearing from everyone - what made you laugh, what you would've done, and what you've experienced.

Cheers, Nudists!

November 28, 2011

Advice For Tired Parents: Nugget #1

Get rid of all your drawstring tops and hoodies: Inevitably, when you're changing baby's diaper, a string will dangle in baby's dirty diaper and in the ensuing struggle to hold her down, clean her up and wrestle a new diaper on, you will forget about the contaminated drawstring. This event will remain inconsequential until a few hours later when the poo-lace finds it way into your coffee cup and you bleary-eyed sip it anyways. As if that weren't enough, when you put your cup down, the string will drip coffee all over the place.

Forget Timbits, diaper bits are free!
Has this ever happened to you?

November 25, 2011

Something I'll Never Wear Again Now That I Have Kids

Girls' Trip to Vegas for Our Dirty Thirty - Pussy Theme
The tanks had Hello Kitty on the front AND we wore cat ears
Is there anything in your closet you hope your kids NEVER find?

November 23, 2011

There's The Story And Then There's The Message (Safe Havens)

I find the news depressing most of the time, but some stories make me sick to my stomach, like the update on the woman, Meredith Borowiec, who put her newborn son in a dumpster last year. As if abandonment of her baby weren't bad enough, she is now being charged for second degree murder of two babies she had in 2008 and 2009. Thankfully the son she put in the dumpster was rescued and survived. I was horrified by what the woman had done, but rashly tweeted the story. Why? I don't know. Misery loves company? It's not like anyone can help the babies now. Shortly after my tweet went out, I realized my action was inappropriate because I didn't have a message to go along with the story.

To many, WTF?! is enough of a message to accompany a shocking story, but when tragedies like this occur, I feel the media has a responsibility to step up and include helpful information in the hopes that repeat tragedies can be avoided. By doing a quick "where to drop off unwanted babies" search, I learned that in the U.S.A. (and many other countries), there are locations called safe havens that will accept babies. Incidentally, it is true that you can drop your baby off at a hospital, but baby must be brought inside and given to hospital staff. I didn't read anything specific about church doorsteps, though a church or any public place, really, would give the baby a chance for survival. For the mother to be protected by law, however, she must leave her unwanted baby in a safe haven as defined by law.

A Safe Haven in the U.S.
In Canada, a mom could face jail-time for  abandoning her baby.
Unfortunately, in Canada, we do not have Safe Haven legislation. Would it have made a difference in Borowiec's case? Perhaps. According to today's follow-up story on CTV, Seeking A Safe Haven Law, "Safe haven programs in the United States have saved more than 2800 infants since the legislation was passed." In Alberta, where the crimes took place, "Edmonton's Covenant Health Group is pushing the province to adopt the law." 

How You Can Help (alternate title: What the media fails to share with the public)

Please join the Facebook group, Passing a Safe Haven Law in Canada and sign the online petition at: http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/safehavencanada/ 

Resources for Americans

The United States has Safe Haven Laws in all of the 50 states. More information is available on the Baby Drop Off website. Depending where you live, babies can be dropped off within 72 hours of birth or until the age of three in Hawaii, if the site is correct.

The message is more important than the story! Be the best messenger you can be! (Of course this doesn't apply to random ridiculousness for entertainment purposes only.)

Are you an engaged citizen? How do you take action when something upsets you?

November 22, 2011

Satan Sent Me Spam (or My DVD Player Just Hates Me)

Last night I spent all evening trying to determine the source of the following cryptic message on my DVD player:

WTF, right?
Although there was no 'To' or 'From' accompanying the message, my first assumption was that I must have unwittingly done something terrible to get onto Satan's mailing list. I do inappropriate things - try to market pussy cozies, swear in front of my kids, stay on the toilet extra long to get a moment's peace - but nothing (lately) that warrants a confession. Then again, I'm not a Catholic, so what do I know? Despite my lack of knowledge and feelings of guilt, I decided that if the message was in fact from the Devil, it was spam. I use bad language on occasion, but I'm not badass.

Who else could have sent a message to my DVD player? God is capable of such a stunt, but from what I've heard, he isn't that high tech and prefers burning bushes. Plus, I'm pretty sure the man upstairs has better things to do than play pranks on bored housewives.

In the end, the most reasonable explanation is that my DVD player hates me and is using its limited screen size the best way it can to tell me off. Why would it hate me?
  1. Previously put to work once or twice a week to play A-grade movies (Cannes Film Festival winners and the like), it was banished to the basement when we got a Bose system. 
  2. It was resurrected and put in the playroom where it is regularly harassed by M and her friends. They throw things at it, bang on it, press all its buttons and shove the door closed.
  3. It is left on all the time and doesn't get a break.
  4. It is forced to play kids' shows and kids' shows only and is thereby subjected to:
    • Elmo's high pitch chatter (I swear he's a Chipmunk in a Muppet's clothing);
    • Caillou's pathetic but maddening whining (like parents don't listen to enough kid-bitching in a day);
    • Dora the Explorer's incessant repetition (Big Blue Bridge, Shiny Shimmer Shack and Racing River x 1,000. Don't the map sequences drive you bonkers?);
    • Madeline's friend's funny accents (I'm confused. They are living in Paris, but the characters don't sound French.); and
    • The Wiggles' insanity (Need I say more? Middle-aged men trying to be cool singing and dancing to the worst songs ever.)
    After sleeping on it, I now see that my explanation - my DVD player hates me - is completely egocentric. My DVD player is simply trying to tell me it's in Elmo-Caillou-Dora-Madeline-Wiggles Hell.

    Which kids' shows would be playing nonstop in your personal version of Hell?

    November 20, 2011

    I've Been Liebstered! Again!

    Last week, TWO awesome bloggers gave me a Liebster Award:

    • Insomniaisms: Jill writes about what's on her mind, what she's doing, what she loves and what pisses her off. It's great but be warned about potty mouth. ; )
    • Stress And Health Online: Kristen provides a lot of interesting information about stress and health. It affects all of us, be sure to read up on how you can take better care of yourself.

    The Liebster (German for friend or love) Award spotlights up-and-coming bloggers with less than 200 followers. Now it's time for me to pass the torch.


    Upon receiving the Liebster Award, you must do the following:
    1. Show your thanks to the blogger(s) who gave you the award by linking back to them.

    2. Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog.
    3. Post the award on your blog.
    4. Bask in the love from the most supportive people on the Internet – other writers.
    5. And best of all – have fun!


    The Adventures of Not Supermom Candid, honest and funny. Her kids are called The Minor Details.

    And Then There Were Three I found Overmom on The Mommyhood Chronicles' blog hop (Saturday's Top 5 Laughs). She's amazing at toddlerese. Check it out! 

    Life With A Parasite Julia always makes me laugh! We have a similar sense of humour, but she's a far better writer. 

    My Family And My Thoughts Lori is blogging about life one day at a time though it appears she's taken a hiatus from blog writing at the moment. Hopefully she will resume soon! 

    Our Girls Keep Us Moving A fellow mom of two girls (about the same age as mine too!), Heather's posts are sometimes similar to mine... but without foul language. Lots of cute pictures too.

    I hope you enjoy these blogs as much as I do! 
    To see who I picked the first time around, please click here.

    November 19, 2011

    Random Ridiculousness


    The week has just flown by! We did some Christmas decorating, picked up seasonal books and videos at the library (I'm hoping the idea of Santa will encourage good behaviour), and now, with snow on the ground and more coming down, it certainly looks like Christmas! I've never put the tree or lights up this early before, but with a toddler, everything takes longer, so I'm glad we got a head start.

    Once again, I've linked up with The Mommyhood Chronicles for Saturday's Top Five Laughs:

    1. Lately, every time the doorbell rings and I say, "Guess who it is?", M says, "Santa's at the door!" She's visibly disappointed when Santa isn't there, so I've been pumping her up before K gets home. She plays along, jumping and clapping while shouting "Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Daddy's home!" then three seconds later returns to the playroom and ignores him. 
    2. My husband's new favorite saying when the kids are giving us grief, is "One day closer to 18."
    3. K and the girls were watching Dora's Christmas video while I was making dinner last night. All of a sudden, K exclaimed, "Dora has no boobs!" I was like, WTF? and reprimanded him, "That's 'cause she's like four years old or something, Honey. Of course she wouldn't have boobs!" He didn't bother to explain that Dora had time-travelled into the future and therefore should have boobs. He just let me think he was an idiot until the next day when I watched the video again with M. I felt so bad when I knew what he was talking about. He just figured grown-up Dora would be voluptuous like the Disney Princesses, can you blame him?
    4. A while back, M walked in while I was changing my pad and asked what I was doing. Thrown off guard, the best explanation I could come up with was, "Mommy's changing her diaper." It must have happened before we went somewhere, because she often asks, "Did you put your diaper on, Mommy?" when I'm getting ready to go out.
    5. Remember last week when M asked, "What happened?" After that, I had to explain that boys have penises and girls have vaginas. It's a recurring topic of conversation these days. My husband, being a smartass, added "Some girls have penises too." M immediately asked, "Does Mommy have a penis? Does Em have a penis? Noooo, Em has a 'gina." I told her the proper name, then she said, "Vagy? Em has a vagy, Mommy has a vagy too." I give up. Vagy it is. It sounds cuter anyways - just like how dogs are doggies to little kids.
    What made you laugh this week?

    November 18, 2011

    The Little Artist

    Future Pixar Artist or Vandal

    November 16, 2011

    WTF Wednesday: Woman Reprimanded By Judge For Breastfeeding In Court

    I just read an article on Circle of Moms (thanks to Lucy from A Little Lucidity for tweeting it) about a mom who was reprimanded by the judge for breastfeeding her five month old baby in court. I was shocked by the headline and read the article immediately. Even more shocking than the judge's words were some of the readers' comments. Would you believe a few moms thought the mother in question should have brought a bottle with her? In the breastfeeding mom's defense, I have prepared the following statements:

    • Many babies will not drink formula. If this is the case, the bottle would have to contain expressed (pumped) breast milk.
    • It takes a considerable amount of time to pump enough milk for one feeding. Most five month old babies require five to six ounces of milk per feeding. The average amount pumped in one session (15-20 minutes) is half an ounce to two ounces (Source: Kellymom.com) Since the baby was too sick for daycare, it is unlikely his mother had the chance to pump a few times in preparation for the court date. 
    • Even if you have a supply of pumped milk in the freezer, it is for naught if your child refuses a bottle. Many babies will not take a bottle. My husband and I tried everything we read and everything people recommended (get Dad to give the bottle when Mom isn't home, give bottle when baby is sleepy, etc.) to get our girls to take a bottle to no avail. Before the girls were on solids, if I wanted to go out for more than two hours, baby had to come with me. I was literally attached at the boob. 
    • Babies that take a bottle from another caregiver will not usually take a bottle from Mom.
    • When baby is sick, he wants to nurse more often and you should nurse more often because baby needs the antibodies from your milk to get well.
    • When baby is feeling out of sorts (as would be likely in a strange environment like a courtroom), he wants to nurse for comfort. 
    • Even if there was a nursing room at the courthouse (and I'm almost certain there is not), the mother could not leave while awaiting her turn, so her options were: a) feed her baby, or b) ignore her baby's cries. The latter would have been unkind to the baby to say the least and extremely disruptive to the courtroom.
    What is offensive about this? Image source: www.couturebabyshop.com

    I understand that people of my parent's generation might be narrow-minded when it comes to breastfeeding, but where is the support from Gen X, Gen Y and later generations' mothers? If a mom chooses not to breastfeed, that is her choice, but she shouldn't be put down another mom for doing what is natural. Breasts are not just for ogling, grabbing, and titty f@#king, they have a biological function called making milk for baby (yes, that's what my Biology textbook says). Mamas have been nursing babies for centuries and will continue to for many more. Get over it.

    UPDATE: My faith in humanity has been restored by the poll results on the KCTV5 story page. At the time of posting, 84% of respondents felt the judge was "a Neanderthal."

    Has anyone ever made you feel uncomfortable about nursing your baby in public?

    Razing Rapunzel

    Oh the things you can learn while grocery shopping! This evening, a cashier at Superstore took pity on me and my bald baby and enlightened me with ancient secrets on raising a Rapunzel.

    The first step is to shave your baby's head. When the hair starts growing back in, shave baby's head again. If you're brave, you can cut your baby's eyelashes off too. According to this mother-of-a-hairy-she-beast, her baby's eyelashes are several inches long and her baby's hair is down to her waist, all at the tender age of 14 months. Based on the amount of hair all over the cashier's exposed skin, I have no doubt her child would have been blessed (?) with an abundance of hair no matter what. I'm such a cow, the whole time she was talking, I was thinking, "Thank God that level of hairiness doesn't run in our family. I'd always be getting something waxed and the waxing bills would put us in the poorhouse."

    Did I pop Em in the high chair, grab the clippers and start buzzing away when we got home? Not a chance. I know, after several mistakes in life, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. It doesn't take a genius to realize that there's no way in hell head shaving makes more hair grow. What's the first thing smart balding men do? They shave their heads to hide their receding hairlines. (If they aren't smart, they humiliate themselves and their associates with the notorious comb-over.) If shaving one's head made more hair grow back, they'd have a full head of hair after a few shaves. This clearly doesn't happen. Instead, more and more falls out and what's left turns grey or white.

    I could go on and on about how men deserve to go bald because women are stuck with menstruating, carrying and birthing babies and so on, but that tangent would undermine the main message which is: spare what little hair your baby has, trust that her hair will grow in its own sweet time, and appreciate the fact that you're saving money on haircuts! My oldest got her first haircut at six months of age and since she won't sit still for me, has to be taken to the kiddy salon every few months. At $20 a visit, hair upkeep isn't cheap. My youngest will likely not need a haircut until she's two. Helloooo slush fund! The salon savings are going into a slush fund for wine, or wine slushies. It's about time the kids starting compensating me for my postpartum hair loss. Thank you, Em, for being a bald baby!

    Ok, so she isn't completely bald!
    What do you think about the baby head-shaving tradition?

    November 13, 2011

    I Want A Twisted Sister Wife For Christmas

    Are you too much for one man to handle but don't want another man? Are you craving feminine companionship and support in a completely straight way? Are you wondering how you're gonna stay sane looking after the kids day after day on your own while your hubby's at work? If you answered yes to all three questions, I have a solution for you. Be my partner in crime, a modern Sister Wife, a woman with whom I'll share everything except my husband. Not any sister wife will do however, I want a Twisted Sister Wife for Christmas, only a Twisted Sister Wife will do (sing to the tune of "I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas")! Someone dark and twisty like Mer or Cristina on Grey's Anatomy would be perfect, but less neurotic, please, I hate that shit.

    Meredith and Cristina, The Twisted Sisters

    I am:
    • a night owl. If the kids wake up at 1 AM, they're mine; at 5 AM, they're yours.
    • a firm but fair disciplinarian most of the time. Corporal punishment is not used in my house unless my PMS is really bad (I'm totally joking, please don't contact the police or social services. The worst my kids get is a time out.).
    • outdoorsy and physically active. I would love someone to take turns watching the kidlets so I can bike, hike, ski or snowshoe. But honestly, if it's really cold outside, I'll probably just stay in and go on Facebook.
    • not a good housekeeper. My definition of cleaning extends to loading the dishwasher and no further. These hands are too sensitive to wash pots and pans, scrub toilets or perform other such menial labour. Since I'm pretty sure I was a Princess in a past life (or several), the only way I'll change is if I do umpteen past-life regression sessions and find my serf self from the Dark Ages. Why anyone would want to find her is beyond me. 
    • a good cook and baker. What I lack on the cleaning front, I make up for with Double Zero pizza crust, amazing ribs and lasagna, chewy chocolate chip cookies, tantalizing salad dressings and marinades and so on.
    • capable of loading the washing machine and dryer, half-decent at folding clothes, but terrible at ironing and lacking the desire to improve my skills with such a temperamental gadget. You know what I mean - first, it's melting your pants; next, rusty water is staining your white blouse; later, it isn't getting creases out because it's not hot enough and you have to go over and over the same spot with no results. No thank you, that's one part of hell I need not visit.
    • a germ-phobe so I will spray Lysol when needed but need someone else to deal with the big messes. They must be cleaned up before my husband comes home, otherwise he might use the offending items to try and kill me.
    • musical. I love to sing and am half-decent on the piano. Expect to hear songs for every activity known to (wo)man. The sooner you learn them, the better. Someone has to keep the songs clean. I improvise when I can't remember the words which leads into the next point...
    • blunt and drop f-bombs like nobody's business. The silver lining is that I am not passive-aggressive so disagreements are settled quickly and put behind me, and our kids will master the use of special four-letter words at an early age and be so bored of using them by the time they go to school, they will use their sharp wits to insult people instead.
    I am seeking a Twisted Sister Wife with the following qualities:
    • great twisted sense of humour
    • morning person
    • neat freak
    • ironing pro
    • able to stay calm during Rocky Horror Diaper Shows or other disgustingness
    • tolerant of sarcasm and swearing but headstrong enough to reprimand me when I overdo it around the kids
    • must love children (but not in a Michael Jackson sort of way).
    If you think we would make a good match, please respond below with examples of your Twisted Sister Wife attributes.

    November 12, 2011

    Saturday's Top Five Laughs


    I've linked up with The Mommyhood Chronicles for Saturday's Top Five Laughs. Here they are in no particular order:
    1. My eight month old, Em, can't decide what's more fun - blowing bubbles with her snot (she has a cold) or blowing raspberries. Sometimes we get the joy of witnessing both at the same time. Hilarious but messy. Thank goodness I'm prepared with Kleenex boxes in every room!
    2. When I asked M, my two year old, what we should get Daddy for his birthday, she said, "A bunny rabbit.... or how 'bout a kitty cat? Kitty cats are funny. Or shoes. Daddy likes shoes." I'll know who to blame if I get a furball on my birthday.
    3. My kidless friends think I have a lot of free time because I don't have a full-time job. What a joke that is! If they had a full 24 hours in my life, or any mom's life for that matter, they would understand why I'm too tired to go out at night. You can't clock out at 5:00, you're on call all night long.
    4. I've never been one to name my cars, but lately, my car is known as The Rolling Garbage Can. With a name that good, why clean the car?
    5. M was on the potty when my husband got out of the shower. She looked at his penis and gravely asked, "What happened?"
    What's the funniest thing your kid's said or done lately?

    November 11, 2011

    Photo Friday: Group Hug

    My blogger friend, Gayle, from A Beautiful Mess Inside, made this and posted it on Facebook with the message "Group hug, ladies". I loved it so much I had to share.

    These ladies are wonderful. Please visit them when you get the chance.

    November 8, 2011

    My Doctor Made Me More Depressed

    Image Source: http://www.depressiontreatmenthelp101.com
    After being housebound for a month due to whacked sleep schedules and exotic illnesses, I had an epic meltdown complete with profanity, tears and throwing things against the wall. Since that behaviour was over the top, even for me, I decided that enough was enough and it was time to seek professional help. By that I mean, Google my symptoms on the internet. When I finally got to a reputable site and did the recommended postpartum depression (PPD) checklist, I didn't score an ambiguous 4 out of 10, I literally had every symptom. Guess that's how I am; go big or go home. Since I'd been feeling crummy for several months and suspected PPD, it didn't come as a surprise. I just didn't know what to do next. Ok, that's not entirely true; I knew what I was supposed to do (get more sleep, exercise, blah blah blah) but couldn't motivate myself to do any of the those things (shocking since I used to walk 6 km/day and hike every weekend), so the next step was to talk to my doctor.

    With all the stigma about mental illness, it is hard to come out of the closet and admit you have a problem. Some people I spoke to, close friends and a counselor for Postpartum Support International (PSI), were very compassionate; others were rude or insensitive. I'm particularly upset with my doctor because she's supposed to be a professional (though in all fairness, she isn't a mental health professional) but she wasn't the only one who had an insensitive, inappropriate response to my cry for help:
    1. My husband: "I didn't realize you were so helpless. If you had a broken leg, I could understand, but I just don't get it." Ouch! He really isn't an ass, he tried to help in his own way - he got me a new (used) mountain bike so I'd enjoy biking more - but didn't support me by watching the kids so I could get out of the house. Two days after my meltdown, he didn't come home until 9 pm and the next day, as soon as the baby was down for a nap, he took M to the park for the afternoon so I was stuck at home from 11 am to 5 pm. It was all just a massive misunderstanding. He interpreted my bitchiness (yes, that's the technical term) as "Get the f#$k out of here!" rather than "I need to get the f#$k out of here!" Since then, we've talked several times since and he's been a huge help to me. Communication is so important when you're dealing with something you can't deal with on your own.
    2. Bimbo Front Desk Girl at My Doctor's Office (by phone): I finally got up the guts to make a doctor's appointment the Monday after the Meltdown. The receptionist started out all brisk and cheery. I wanted to tell her where to shove her "It's a great day at ____ Medical! How can I help you?" but didn't get the chance because she put me on hold. When she came back on the line, she proceeded to book me in sounding all chipper until I told her the reason for my visit: "Feeling depressed." There was awkward silence <Press play for ominous music now: Doom doom doom doom (or dum dum dum dum in the case of the stupid cow)> and then she said, "Oh........ kay, well, see you Tuesday at 2:30." Good save, beeyotch. Could you have made it any more obvious you think I'm a nutcase?
    3. Bimbo Front Desk Girl at My Doctor's Office (in person): When the fateful appointment day arrives, I wake Em up early from her nap to chuck her in the carseat, try not to cuss at M too much as she dawdles in the doorway refusing to put her shoes on, and we make it to the Doctor's office right on time. I shouldn't have rushed. The Doctor is "a little behind" according to Bimbo.  I would really like to know what planet she's from as "a little" turned out to be one hour and 20 minutes! Bimbo actually looked annoyed with me when I asked her, "How much longer?" after desperately entertaining my kids for 45 minutes, a huge challenge when you don't have toys or books (forgot everything in the mad rush out the door). She then peeked at my file and said, "You're just here for....... ohhhhhhhhh........ right....." and peered curiously at me like I was a criminally insane patient awaiting a lobotomy. I had to chuckle when the rest of the waiting room went to inquire about their appointments and she got reamed out by two people. It was karma: if you shit on someone, someone will shit on you.
    4. My Doctor: Finally it was my turn. My doctor started out all professional; she asked me all the questions she was supposed to ask, but while I was sitting there crying my heart out, she took a call on her cell phone! I'm certain it wasn't work-related as the words "dinner" and "reservation" came up. When she had finished filling her social calendar, she returned and wrote me a prescription for antidepressants. I asked if they would interfere with breastfeeding and was assured that the one she'd given me was ok. Since I wanted to know what I was getting myself into, I did some internet research as soon as I got home and found that the drug she'd selected was contraindicated for breastfeeding. She should have prescribed a different drug but was likely too preoccupied to give me the right one. I haven't called to complain and haven't started the meds. I wonder what the Universe has in store for her! I'm betting her dinner date was terrible. That would be more than fair for jeopardizing my baby's health and well-being.
    Now that I think of it, a good third of the people I've spoken to about PPD were jerks. It's no wonder so many people suffering from depression either don't seek help or don't get better. Regardless what others think, I plan to fight this bitch with all I've got. Stay tuned for my game plan! It's been in effect for three weeks and already I'm feeling less dark and twisty.

    Have you or are you suffering from PPD? What are your coping strategies?

    November 6, 2011

    Gratitude List Part 2

    I'm thankful that:

    Source: http://www.averagebutnot.com
    1. My clothes aren't fitting right because it means I'm losing weight. I am only five pounds away from pre-babies weight!
    2. I have a little pooch for baby to rest on when I can't find the nursing pillow. The damn pillow always manages to run away when I'm not looking. I swear it has little legs that retract like a turtle's.
    3. My hands are so dry, cracked and bleeding from washing them so much - I do not have OCD, I do not have OCD, I do not have OCD. - that I do not have to wash the toilets, potties or kids' bums.
    4. Em will only be getting 18 more teeth. If the first two teeth were any indication, the total number of hours of sleep lost to teething will be: [(7 hours x 1 night) + (6 hours x 1 night) + (3 hours x 1 night)] x 20 = 320 hours or 13 and a third days. That's not even two weeks of my life. Doing the math makes me feel so much better!
    5. I can no longer drink coffee (the smallest amount of caffeine will keep Em up all day) because being uncaffeinated is a plausible excuse for my forgetfulness and flakiness.
    6. M has ringworm as opposed to pinworms. The latter makes me shudder. I don't think any amount of Lysol or bleach would ever make me feel clean again if my kids had pinworms <throwing up in my mouth>. The infected kid would have to be quarantined and taken care of by a home nurse and then we would have to sell the house. Would we have to include a pinworm disclosure in the paperwork? 
    7. I am not participating in NaBloPoMo (a blog writing event that requires you to post an entry every single day for the month of November). I already post almost daily, but will not waste my time or yours writing crappy, obligatory posts about things no one cares about.
    8. Valium is available only by prescription otherwise I'd be hooked on it. Housewives in the 1950s made it sound like a wonder drug!
    9. I've lost enough hair to make a hundred and one Pussy Cozies. The revenue will be going towards toques. If you'd like to help keep Naked Mommy's balding head from freezing in the Canadian sub-zero winter temperatures, please purchase a Pussy Cozy today. You keep me warm and I'll keep you warm.
    10. The extra hour of sleep last night. Sleep is a hot commodity when you're a parent; it is better than any drink or drug but comes at a cost fixed by tiny, fickle humans. You can never get enough so even one "free" hour is a gift. If you squandered your gift, you are suffering from severe sleep deprivation. As one of my best bxtches says, overtired equals crazy.

    For what do you give thanks today?

    If you enjoyed this list, click here to read Part 1.

    Circle of Moms Top 25 Canadian Bloggers

    My name is in the running for a spot in the Circle of Moms Top 25 Canadian Bloggers. Voting ends in 12 days and you can vote once a day. Could you pretty please vote pour moi when you get a moment? There's no money involved with the prize, but it would really make my day!!! Thank you so much!!!!!!

    November 4, 2011

    You're Not In The Boom Boom Room Anymore

    Deciding to co-sleep with baby is a major decision that will affect your family as well as your bedroom. You must consider how your bedroom will metamorphose when you introduce a tiny, erratic sleeper. Not only will the look of your room change - burp cloths here, a crib and change table there, glider rocker in the corner - but the room's personality and function will change. Its sex appeal will evaporate leaving a castrated version of your kinky love nest. Quicker than you can say, "Not in front of the baby, Honey," your former Boom Boom* Room, where baby was made, will be converted into a room for baby's rest and pleasure alone.

    Ten Ways You Can Tell You're Not In The Boom Boom Room Anymore
    1. There is a Fisher Price aquarium and Sleep Sheep on your nightstand because baby won't sleep without either. All night, every night, you have nightmares about being swallowed by a whale like Jonah.
    2. The video camera by the crib is for the video baby monitor. If you make it to bed while baby is still sleeping in her crib, be sure to turn the monitor off. Otherwise, you might make a late-night appearance on your neighbour's monitor. In pajamas without makeup on, no biggie; caught naked and "in the act", could make for embarrassing moments in the driveway.
    3. The nightstand's naughty drawer contents have been usurped by random baby items - breast pump, nipple cream, soothers, burp cloths, and baby books, socks and toys.
    4. Instead of f#$%ing in your room, you are always saying "f@#$!" because you're either bumping into furniture in the dark or stepping on toys with sharp edges. Gather up the evil toys and report them to the people who recall shit.
    5. Lingerie has been relegated to the bottom drawer (or another room if you're lucky enough to have a time and place to wear it).
    6. Your pre-baby boudoir shots have been tucked away where they won't taunt you or your baby daddy. I was that thin? She used to wear that?
    7. There is a bucket of urine and excrement in your room. Call it a diaper pail if it makes you feel better, but it won't change the truth. It could be worse. If your husband is like mine, the diapers are not even contained.
    8. The sheets don't match and are dirty even though you change them a few times a week. 
    9. The wet spot smells suspiciously like shit.
    10. In the Boom Boom Room days, wet spot protocol would dictate you and your lover cuddle on the dry side of the bed, but with Junior monopolizing the middle 60% of the bed and sleeping soundly, you put a towel over the wet spot (even though point #9 applies) and stay on your side.
    Has your room lost its sexy since baby moved in? Do you have a preferred Boom Boom place other than your room?

    *Shame on you if you didn't catch the reference to "Boom Boom" by Paul Lekakis. The chorus is unforgettable: Boom, boom, boom. Let's go back to my room so we can do it all night and you can make me feel right. Here's the video if you need a refresher:

    November 2, 2011

    Help Me! My Kids Have Put Me Under House Arrest!

    If you are reading this message, it means the monsters haven't cut off the internet yet, my last link with the outside world. They've taken away almost everything else I cherish: my free time, sanity, private bathroom breaks, baths, play dates, and time outside the home.

    M and Em have imposed Homebody Rule and devised several means to enforce it:
    • They keep getting sick on purpose so we can continue to have exclusive parties for three. They excel in picking up exotic ailments such as scarlet fever, chickenpox and ringworm to guarantee a long-term quarantine. Who wants to come over when a kid's just had scarlet fever? (If you just raised your hand, you can be my new best friend. I'm losing friends because I never see anyone.)
    • Em has decided she's too good to sleep in the car or stroller, only her posh crib with organic mattress will do. 
    • The little divas have mastered the ability to stagger their sleep times. By alternating nap times, it is next to impossible to meet anyone for play dates or go out period. Our going-out time is limited to two one-hour time slots. They know as well as I do that it is too much work to get ready to go out for such a short period of time so it is unlikely we will go out more than once, if at all, and if we do, we won't get far. 
    • If I attempt to stay out past one of the girls' naptimes, she will shriek and howl like a banshee, make conversation and rational thought impossible, and be a total pain in the ass until it's clear we are headed straight home. Their flawless tactic works better than any house arrest ankle bracelet.
    As if being stuck at home weren't enough, my responsibilities are many and my rights are few:
    • The girls must be fed what they want, when they want and as much as they want. I can eat, but not when I want or as much as I want.
    • The girls must be changed/taken to the potty every two hours. I can go to the washroom every four or five hours, but must keep the door open and be chaperoned.
    • The girls must be bathed every day. I cannot take a bath ever, but a 5-minute shower every other day is permitted.
    • The girls' clothes must be changed after every meal. I can change out of my pajamas after lunch if, and only if, we are going out. Otherwise there are much better uses of my time such as cleaning the girls' bedrooms and playroom, putting on dancing music, setting up craft/play dough stations, etc.
    Is Homebody Rule in effect in your home? If so, how do you deal with it without losing your mind?


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