Surprise, Surprise

I’ve officially decided to surprise my soulmate/baby daddy to a mini vacation and a birthday festivity this year.

Idk why, but it always feels so good to do things for others without expecting anything in return. The tricky part? Figuring something out that won’t be too hard so that we can bring Baby Amazon along.

For Lover Amazon’s birthday, I’d love to bring him somewhere where he can go Axe Throwing. My boss was telling me about this yesterday, and it clicked that it would be an awesome treat for him to do!

Unfortunately, baby Amazon won’t be able to throw an axe, but I’m sure by that time, he’ll be at an age where he’s gonna start throwing all his toys and pacifier around anyway. Ha!

Lover Amazon has just done so much for me, ever since day 1 of him knowing me. And since this year is the big 4-0 for him, a special treat is in order. I think the next best thing for him would be me getting pregnant again and having a girl, but we’ll save that for later!

The struggle with all of this is, is finances. We’re trying to save for our own place, and I can’t help but feel like a frugal penny pinching Mama about wanting to spend money on pretty much anything. But, I must remind myself, that we’re at a perfect opportunity to actually take a mini vacation because we don’t have our own place yet! Once we do, it’ll be hard to budget in a trip, as utility and rent bills will take priority.

Ok, so I may have just talked myself out of feeling bad. Good riddance!!

All Hail the Microwave Sterilizer

You know what I love? Like really love? Our microwave sterilizer.

Seriously. I love this thing so much, that if it was a human and I met it while I was still single, I would date it. We would go out to dinners, try new desserts, skip in the park, braid each others hair- did I mention it would have long hair?

Anyway, I really love it. I mean the whole process is so great. I therapeutically wash out Baby Amazon’s bottles with its millions of pieces parts; pour 6oz of water into the bottom of the sterilizer; stick in all the bottles and it’s millions of pieces parts; stick it in the microwave for 4 minutes and BAM!! Good as new and clean as a whistle.

I don’t know why, but motherhood makes you enjoy even the most mundane tasks. Cleaning bottles, washing clothes, doing the dishes….is it because we know that little eyes will be watching us? Learning from our every move?

But I digress. That microwave sterilizer is my mommyhood’s best friend. It’s really a life saver and something that every mom needs and should totally have.

When I first gave birth out of my ha-ha to Baby Amazon, we had to use a 2-in-1 bottle warmer/sanitizer to clean the bottles. One. At. A. Time. Honestly, it was worst torture then giving birth. Seriously. I’m not even kidding. I would have rather gave birth 20 times over than deal with sanitizing those damn things 1 at a time.

So mom’s do yourself a favor, and get yourself – or your pregnant sister cousin friend girlfriend wife mother WHOEVER, a damn microwave sterilizer and bask in the glory of simple-things-freedom.

(P.S. don’t get me started on our 2 tiered drying rack for the bottles. I might tear up a little bit, it’s just THAT great.)

He Who Looks Like Dada

Baby Amazon looks nothing like me. Which is weird, because I’m pretty sure I pushed him out of my apparently very elastic vagina. Yup, actually I completely recall my stomach getting bigger and bigger and bigger and, you get the point. So, I know he’s mine.

Okay, so maybe he has my eye shape. But that. Is. It. Actually, he looks so much like Lover Amazon (aka: my boyfriend) that he looks even MORE like his great grandfather. In fact, I’m 70% sure I gave birth to his reincarnated great grandpa. So apparently my vagina is not only elastic, but also a time & space continuum apparatus.

But seriously, I do know that’s I gave birth to my son. So can’t he just look a little bit like me? I mean c’mon, he is literally the miniature version of Lover Amazon. I guess that maybe, hopefully, possibly, the next child will look like me.

Back to Work

Yesterday I experienced freedom. And by that I mean going back to work. It’s a new job, new position, new industry/field entirely and I la la la loved it. But you know what I didn’t love? THE MOM GUILT!!!

Baby Amazon was in great hands and being well taken care of but, it felt terrible to be away from him. Part of me was tempted to physically sew and stitch my child on to me all human caterpillar-esque, but my morals and for legal reasons I did not do that. Plus, it’d be painful for the both of us and I’m sure he wouldn’t want to literally be attached to me after swimming in my uterus for 9 months.

On the plus side, it’s a part time position and only 10 hours a week maximum of having to be there. I’ll get the opportunity to work more from home after my 3 month probationary period, so that’s a major plus. I’m glad to go back tomorrow, but I’m not glad to be leaving my baby.

Man, motherhood makes you really torn. You tear your vagina during the birth, and then it’s your heart for the rest of eternity. He’s worth it though.

Cheerios and Kitty Liter

You know what my son’s shit smells like? Kitty Liter. It also smells like overly buttered popcorn too. Not to mention that one time it smelt like chicken salad. Straight up chicken salad. You should have seen my face, I became both very hungry and intriguingly confused. Oh and his pee? They smell like Cheerios to me.

Parenthood changes you. A lot. Before kids, the thought of getting peed on or wiping shit under someone’s ballsack wasn’t very uh, you know, wanted or appealing…. at all.

Now? Well, now there’s nothing like opening up a diaper to see one healthy bowel movement and cheering for joy. All of the sudden you find yourself saying “good job, buddy!!”, as if it’s the first time your kid ever won an award. But hey, that’s what it feels like. And when they’re this little, nothing brings more happiness then knowing your child is healthy.

When my eggo was still prego with Baby Amazon, I discovered something on Pinterest called “the Poop Wheel”. Coolest. Thing. Ever. It’s like a color wheel for your kid’s literal shit. It’s been a fantastic guide for me and something that I think all parents should utilize.

I’m sure there will come a day when his poops end up smeared on a wall or appear on a taken off diaper on the floor, but until that time comes, I’ll continue to be smitten by all his weird smelling poops and Cheerio pees.

How I Won’t Treat My Son

The past few weeks have been absolutely Fucked. Emphasis on the fucked part. I won’t go into too much detail now, but let’s just say, I won’t be calling my parents “my parents” any longer.

If there’s one thing I learned about being a parent, it’s that you love your kid unconditionally & that when push comes to shove, you’ll always choose your children first. Unfortunately for the people who gave birth to me, that’s not the case. They’ll often choose each other- even when the other person did something so terrible and illegal. Talk about some Bonnie & Clyde shit, eh? But I digress.

The real reason of this post is to list the things I won’t do to my son. All of which was done to me. And so it begins….

Dear Baby Amazon,

As your mother, I want you to know that I love you so very much. I’ve wanted you for as long as I can remember. With recent events that have occurred, it made me realize a plethora of things- including how not to treat you:

1) I won’t ever hold things over your head. Things I gift to you are gifts, favors I do for you are favors, and things I choose to do for you are things I chose to do for you, and I won’t ever expect something in return and hold it over your head.

2) I won’t ever hold your personal belongings hostage. If there’s ever a time when your grown up and need to live with me, know that I won’t ever try to keep your things after you leave. I won’t go through them, I won’t touch them, and I won’t throw them out. This includes if your away at college, or just need a place to store things too.

3) I won’t ever dismiss your feelings. It’s okay to feel how you feel. I won’t order you to not feel a certain way or make you feel bad about how your feeling. I’ll encourage you to express them and not suppress them.

4) I won’t do and give everything to you while your still young. You’ll understand this more when your older during a time of need. I won’t buy you certain things or pressure you into being a first-time home buyer at a young age. There’s some things I would love to do for you, but it means more when your at an older age when you really need it the most.

5) You’ll always have a place to stay. And I won’t ever throw it in your face after it’s all said and done. I won’t constantly remind you of it while your staying with me either.

6) I won’t 1up you on everything. Everyone has their own experiences, and although I will share mine, I won’t make it seem like I’m trying to 1up you or play victim on everything.

7) I will respect your privacy. I won’t ever record your phone calls, install cameras inside the house, read through your texts and emails (unless my Mommy Instinct tells me something), and eavesdrop on phone calls. I won’t just walk into your room without knocking or come to your house or apartment without asking/invited.

Love Always, –Your Mommy

The “Mom-Cut”

Long before the days of diaper changes and tiger-like stretch marks was a young Amazon woman (AKA: me) who swore up and down that she would never succumb to the pressures of the “Mom-Cut”, therefore having locks of long Rapunzelly flowing hair forever and ever.

Whelp, that dream died quickly. Actually, that dream burned a slow, painful sizzling death on a scalding plate of burning hot fajitas. After 2 months of having Baby Amazon pull and rip out strands of my precious hair, I suddenly understood the temptation of the dreaded “Mom-Cut”. In fact, I understood is SO well that I practically begged my Lover Amazon (AKA: my boyfriend/soon-to-be fiancé/future husband/baby daddy) to find a pair of scissors and freaking chop it off for me!

It actually took quite a bit of convincing (and by that I mean 10 seconds worth) from Lover Amazon to talk me into letting a professional hairstylist do the hair cutting for me. Apparently cutting hair isn’t the same thing as cutting up slices of smoked seasoned brisket at his work. Who knew.

So, the next morning, I picked up my handy dandy cell phone, checked out Google reviews for the best nearby salon, and gave them a ring. To my surprise, it was an old friend from college that had answered. Luckily, she had availability and took credit card as well. Double score. I was getting closer and closer to the Mom-Cut and couldn’t have been happier. Not to mention, I knew she was a rockstar at cutting hair, so I didn’t have to worry about explaining why I wanted an asymmetrical long bob to someone who isn’t so up to date about modern haircut fashion. After all, I still have to be kind of stylish as a mom, right?

3 hours later, I walked out of the salon feeling brand new. It was great being able to spend time catching up with my friend all while being able to see my sweet Baby Amazon being taken care of by Lover Amazon behind me while I watched in the mirror. Never underestimate the power of being pampered while having no mom guilt because your baby is being well taken care of.

So what did I learn from this experience? Never let your hair grow farther than your shoulder blade (or in my case/hairstyle, your shoulder blades AND your collar bone) when you have a baby…..or else your bound to be half bald by month 3.

The Switch to Formula

I can already see the pitchforks and blazes of firey torches coming my way from the Land of Hardcore Breastfeeding Advocates. But, yes, I switched full-time to formula. Similac Pro-Advance to be exact.

Ouchhh…. I think a pitchfork just flew in my direction and stabbed me in the back. Or at least that’s what the guilt from switching to formula just feels like. In fact, the mom guilt was real. Very real. At least for the first 20 minutes of last night.

There I was, sobbing into the arms of my Lover Amazon (AKA: my boyfriend/soon-to-be fiancé/future husband/baby daddy), whimpering about how I failed our Baby Amazon (AKA: our 11 week old son) and in turn, myself. How could I give up giving Baby Amazon the healthiest substance he could possibly be getting? The easiest answer? Is that he ultimately wasn’t….because in the course of 3 full days, I produced a total of 7 and a half ounces; less than what he eats in 1 feeding.

I’ve been exclusively breast-pumping since pretty much Day 2, when my colostrum was barely coming out at the hospital. Baby Amazon was starving, and his little goat cry was stabbing us in the heart with a pain far worst than any pitchfork attack from a hardcore breastfeeding advocate could be. His latch sucked and I too became really frustrated. It was pretty much that moment (more like that whole day) when I realized that breastfeeding just wasn’t for me.

The nurse on duty, who I will forever refer to in my head as the Godess of Feed, presented us 2 options…the first was to try, and boy, did I try; to pump colostrum with a hospital grade breastpump (which, by the way, I don’t reccomend unless you want to get yourself and your partner AND the nurse even more frustrated trying to syringe the colostrum out of the pump parts and bottle. Not fun). The second option? To give the baby formula. After all, the whole ward could hear his heart shattering goat cry from a mile away…..for the past hour.

Now, let me make this clear. We took the parenting classes, and we took the breastfeeding courses- both of which made out formula to be the hell-sent-baby-poison that you should never ever ever give your baby under any circumstances at all!!

Well, we didn’t listen. A few seconds after finishing the 2oz baby poison, Baby Amazon was fast asleep. From that moment on, we continued to give him formula. That is, until my breast milk came in.

Once my tig ol’ bitties were leaking that sweet, creamy goodness- the breast pump came out and the pumping began. Man, do they underestimate how much work that is. But as fate would have it, the day my milk came in was the same day our Pediatrician told us that we needed to feed him formula for the next 3 days to help fight off his jaundice.

As quickly as my elation from my milk coming in began, is how quick it ended. I just couldn’t win. 3 days later, Baby Amazon’s “Homer Simpson-esque” skin tone was gone and it was clear that the formula had helped. Could the teachings we learned in our classes be wrong!?

Well they were. Because as it later turned out, I couldn’t produce enough milk for my son even if I tried, and oh, I tried alright. I tried pumping more, drinking more, eating more diverse healthy foods, tried beer, tried flaxseeds, tried brewer’s yeast- I tried, tried, tried my lily white ass off until I couldn’t try no more. Which leads me to now.

If I hadn’t decided to switch from supplementing with formula to just exclusively formula (with the unconditional love and support from Lover Amazon), our little Baby Amazon would still be unleashing a goat cry that’d still be heard miles away from that same maternity/birthing ward.

I realized that I rather have my baby well fed then well starving.It feels good to know that he’s getting all the nutrition he needs and doesn’t have to deal with a stressed out Mama Amazon who can’t produce enough. So mamas, do what’s best for your little ones. At the end of the day, it’s just their full little tummies that matter.