Well, I Guess There Isn't Any Doubt About What Color to Paint the Nursery

Introducing Baby Nudger, coming October 9th, 2009

This Just In: Babies Still Don't Like Lemons

But Critter still loves eating 'em anyway.

Being Poor Sure Can Give You a Rich Imagination

Everyone who knows me knows that I'm no Stephen Hawking at math. I'm not much better at logistical thinking. So when I decided to be a Stay-At-Home-Mom my brain didn't process the fact that David and I would be going to a double-income family of two to a one-income family of three.

The closest I came to thinking about our new income tax bracket was one night out at dinner with friends when I was about 6 months preggo with Critter. I was discussing my career move with the guy next to me while he lovingly nursed his scotch and I swirled the ice in my tea. "Boy," he murmured. "This sure will cut into your fluid assets." Since he was clearly beginning to enjoy his buzz, I assumed he was refering to my ability to drink half a bottle of wine a night. "Yeah," I responded, more on point than I knew at the time "it sure will suck for a while."

Fast forward a year and find me sitting on the sofa researching vacation places for this summer. "Look" I squealed one night to Husband, waving the laptop in his face, "we could leave Critter with a sitter and go on this cruise! It leaves right from here, so we wouldn't even have to buy plane tickets!" I'm nothing if not a cutter-of-costs. (Yeah, right.)

Husband looked at me like I'd suddenly started speaking ancient Greek. His fingers paused over their furious punching of the calculator, and a couple on envelopes slipped from his other hand. "WHAT?! Are you kidding me?!"

I was confused by his incredulous tone. "A cruise." I pronounced each word carefully. "It leaves from the port here. We should go."

He pinched his nose and rolled his eyes. Picking up his dropped paperwork he informed me that we don't have any money. "Oh, but it's only 499.99 per person" I told him. "Really cheap as cruises go."

He looked me full in the face. "Uh, huh. But we don't have 499.99 a person." He explained. He turned the calculator around so that I could see it. "We don't have 4.99 a person. See these pieces of paper? They are bills. We must pay them if we wish to continue living here." He had taken on my patronizing tone, and I must say, I didn't care for it.

"Fine." I grouched, disappointed as my dreams of relaxing on a deck watching the ocean swoosh by swirled into one of me sweating buckets on the neighborhood pool chairs while swatting at mosquitoes. I picked up an interior design magazine I'd been flipping through earlier in the day.

"If we can't go on a relaxing vacation, I'll just re-do the bedroom like this one in this picture." I told him. "If we can't relax in a 5 star resort, at least we can have a beautiful bedroom." I was immediately lost in visions of 3000 thread count sheets and cedar closet hangers.

David's deep breathing broke me from my reprieve. I turned to look at him just in time to see him getting shorter. "Anne." The patronizing I'm-speaking-to-a-kindergardener tone was back. "Redecorating costs money. We. don't. have. any."

I nodded at him, finally comprehending that we, like so many others, are strapped for cash right now. "Ok." I agreed, smiling at him encouragingly. "For my birthday then."

"Holy SH%$!" He yelled, jumping up, and stomping into the kitchen, where he poured himself a big glass of his own favorite liquid asset. He downed half the glass and returned to the couch. "Darling. Sweetheart. Love of my Life." He picked up my hands and held them while looking deep into my eyes. "We are poor. You don't have an income, Critter costs more than a Kennedy, and Nudger will be here in a few months. If you're lucky, I'll get you a pack of gum for your birthday. Do you understand? We can't go on a cruise, redecorate the bedroom, or get you that diamond upgrade for a long, long time. K? Maybe we'll go somewhere next year, but not this one."

"Oh, alright." I sighed, resigned. I returned to surfing the web while he calculated those bill thingys. "You know" I said to him after a few minutes of silence, "my toes really need a pedicure."

When I received no response I looked over at him. Unfortunately I'll never know what he thought about the state of my toenails, as his head had exploded. On the plus side, now that he has no head, he also doesn't have any eyes to see me sneaking in the Gap Baby shopping bags...

Get Your Finger Out of Your Nose and Pay Attention

My friend Christina is having another giveaway! Just head on over to her blog and see how you can save your children from "the biting snail up there"!

Mama's Most Wanted List

Critter Smith, born in September, seemed like the world's best baby. He started sleeping through the night when he was only a few weeks old and he rarely ever cried.



"He was the quietest baby," a neighbor recalls. "Never heard a peep from him."



His Abuela remembers that "He always woke with a smile. Just the sweetest personality ever."



No one knew that something sinister was lurking underneath that rosy cheeked exterior. However, strange occurances began around the time Critter reached the 4 month mark. At first, no one thought any thing of it. But, as coins continuously seemed to disappear from nightstands and scraps of paper seemed to magically fly from the floor, friends and family began to become suspicious.



His mother, ever the supporter of her Crittopotamus, refused to listen to the whispers. "You just misplace things!" she'd snap at Mr. Critter's Daddy when he mentioned the disappearances.



By 6 months, chapsticks and cell phones were missing from purses. Pens were gone from shirt pockets. The Bumpasses even began sniffing around for lost liver snaps. Still, Critter's Mama would hear no ill talk of her sweet baby boy. "Everyone around me's going crazy" she'd muse. "I don't know why they gang up on Critter so."



Last Thursday, Critter's Mama could deny the accusations no longer when she found this shoved deep in his Chipmunk Cheek.



Alas, Critter had graduated from Petty Larceny to Grand Theft Diamond.



He served the maximum allowable sentence of 2 hours in the (play) Pen while his Mama baby proofed the home.

Ya Got Any Weddin' Dresses With Nursin' Flaps?

My sister-in-law is getting married 3 weeks after Nudger's due date, and I am to be a bridesmaid. SIL, faced with the complex task of dressing 7 maids in various stages of reproduction, gave us the option of wearing the dress style of our choice in the color of hers. Bless her.

I went to a local bridal salon to check out different styles and to see if they carried my first style of choice so that I could try it on before I get too rotund. Since bridal salons are never open in the evening, when my sitters are home, I had to take Critter with me.

Upon entering the store, a haughty woman in a severe black dress swooped down on us. She gave my clean, stroller-contained, and SLEEPING baby the stink eye. "Can I help you?" she sniffed, glaring down at Critter like a plague carrying sewer rat.

Immediately ticked that she was treating my sweet, SLEEPING baby like a sticky, screaming terror, I decided on the spot to have a little fun to relieve my stress.

Discreetly I slipped off my wedding rings and responded to her inquiry with my most back-woods-redneck voice. "Yeah, I'm a-lookin' for a weddin' dress. Cheap one." I stuck my hand on my hip, poking my expanding belly over the stroller canopy. "I'm thinkin' I should look at the umpire dresses."

The woman paled, no doubt calculating her commission going down the tubes. "Um... Let me get a consultant..." She looked around her in an apparent attempt to find someone else to pawn me off on. Seeing that there was no one near by to save her she turned back to me in defeat. "Right this way." She gave me her sewer-rat look and stalked toward the back of the store. I followed, making carefully sure to whack the stroller wheel against the counter as I passed it.

Reaching the dressing rooms, I noisily plopped myself on one of the cushy waiting benches. I shoved out my tummy as far as it would go and patted it. "Now, I'm due with Cornbread here in November, and we're shootin' to have the weddin' in October, so I'm gonna need a stretchy dress. Hey, do you know how to keep your turkey-timer from poking thru the material?" Mrs. Horrified pretended not to hear me. "Please wait right here," she instructed. As she walked around the store pulling dresses she kept looking over her shoulder at me as though she expected me to be shoving things into the stroller basket or wiping my nose on the veils.

She returned a few minutes later with 200 pounds of tulle and satin over her arms. I raised my eyebrows at her and snapped my cheek in Ultra Redneck fashion. I patted my belly buddy again. "Do ya really think white is the best option? I mean, I don't think it'll fool anyone." Mrs. Open-Minded glared at me. "All of these dresses can be ordered in cream."

"I was really hopin' for red or green. Ya know, Christmassy and all that since it's late October and nearin' to the holidays." I tapped my foot impatiently. "And I need to hurry here. I gotta go meet my friend to borrow some nursin' bras." As Mrs. Helpful turned to put down the white meringue I could see her roll her eyes. "We don't have red wedding dresses." She huffed. "If you want a colored dress, I suggest you order a bridesmaid dress."

Tiring of my game, I decided to let her off the hook. "You got any of them with nursin' flaps?" At her inevitably witchy response of "no" I stood up and started toward the door. Unable to resist one last jibe I called to her over my shoulder. "Ya know, you should really get a play space in here. Like a ball pit or a train table. Somethin' for the young uns to do while their mama's shop."

***********

Now, I understand that there are some places where one should not bring their children. Bars, adult movie stores, antique china shops...I get that some places are simply not child appropriate. And I see that wedding dress stores, filled with expensive white fabric, could definitely be on the No Rugrats list. I don't take Critter to movies with anything other than a G rating, restaurants that don't have crayons at the hostess stand or ball pits in the sound proof room, wedding ceremonies (even if he's invited) or book club, just to name a few.

But he was ASLEEP. In a stroller. He's not old enough to eat jelly sandwiches, so his hands aren't sticky; he's not old enough to walk, so he can't play hide-and-seek in the dress racks; and he's not old enough to talk, so he's not screaming "Mama, Mama, listen to me sing Barney for the 2 billionth time!"

Was the Wedding Witch justified in treating me poorly because I had an infant with me or was I justified in being a pain in her rear for it?