When your boobs are always on demand, it is easiest to have them as accessible as possible, at all times. I have become quite fond of maternity moo moos. They are basically dresses with easy access boob flaps. Some of the flaps on these are a little too generous in the accessibility department. We hosted my Mom and Dad for my Dad’s 75th. I was showing off the baby when I noticed my Mom laughing. I looked down and realized my dress boob flaps had been up for quite awhile. I told them that yes, they came for dinner, but they were welcome to stay for the show.

Last week I was in my backroom at my computer. My backroom is mainly made up of windows that look right into my neighbours backyards and houses. After completing what I was doing on the computer I looked down and I had one boob out. Like completely out. Enjoy neighbourssss! 

I missed Fedex one day and read that if I did not catch them the next day, they were going to take my package to a fucking random warehouse near the airport where I could retrieve it. There was no way I was going to let this happen. So the next day, when I was cozying onto the couch to nurse my little pickle into his nap, the doorbell rang. I jumped up and ran to the door to get to the package. After I signed for it and turned to go back into the house I caught a glance of myself in the mirror just inside the door. Yup, my boob was out. I literally answered the door with the baby half hanging off my tit. Godddd. You’re welcome other neighboursss and Fedex guyyyy!

I was invited to a team lunch my work colleagues were having. The baby was also invited. As I approached my team I kept repeating, do not talk about your placenta, do not talk about your placenta (I’ve been majorly oversharing since having a little one, as mentioned in a previous blog). It was very nice to catch up with everyone and I think I was holding appropriate, adult conversations (as appropriate as I can be) until someone asked me about the actual labour. And then I went over it and at the end, I heard it. I heard myself launch into a story about my placenta. (I found out several weeks after the baby was born I had a placental condition that seemed kind of serious, so I think we were lucky everything went as well as it did). But honestlyyyyy, I was talking about my placenta at a work picnicccc. I am out of control. I have a no placenta discussion rule now. It is off limits.

I was lying in bed talking to my partner the other day and my partner started to make silly faces and he was like wow, sorry, I am so used to hanging with the baby that I just automatically thought that to keep the conversation going I had to entertain you with weird faces and noises. Wow, I thought, I hope you are not doing this at work….Could you run those numbers on the quarterly sales? Response – Bleedle deedle phhhh chicka bootieeee, tongue sticking out, eyes wide.

My brain is still SOOO out to lunch. Last weekend I asked if my partner wanted to go to Star Wars, I mean Star Bars. Sorry I mean Buck Stars? Starbucks! Fuck you know what I am trying to say. Christ. 

I was telling my friend that I think my landlord thinks I am weird. At Christmas he noticed I had a menorah and he asked if I was Jewish (because he is). I said no, just a fan. Then he came in recently to look at something and I realized I had a baby book called Shabbat Shalom on the table. He must think I am so weird. 

I was talking to my friend who is also a Jewish fangirl as well and I told her we should raise the baby Jewish and just really try to hit all the major Jewish holidays. I said they should really create a calendar that lists all the major religious holidays and she agreed. When I got home I looked at my calendar on the fridge and realized every calendar has every major religious holiday on it. Every calendar ever. Omg my brainnnnn. I basically just invented the calendar and tried to sell it as my own idea. 

I ran into Ollie Quinn to pick up some sunglasses I had ordered. I ran in like 3 mins before they closed and I apologized profusely but it was the only time I could sneak away. I told her I was on my way to physio. The lady getting my sunglasses asks, do you find physio actually works? I need to do something for my back. I responded, rather loudly, this physio is for my vagina! I just had a 9lb baby. I need to get that area back into shape so that it doesn’t feel like my insides are sliding out. But sorry…yes… I do go to physio for my back too and yes, if you actually do the exercises, it does help. As I left I replayed me yelling IT’S FOR MY VAGINA over and over again and realized I was just not ready to be in public speaking to strangers at this point. 

I know I always said I was going to avoid children’s music like the plague, but holy fuck am I into Raffi these days. I once had Bananaphone stuck in my head for 3 days and I basically sang it every 5 minutes and drove everyone crazy (everyone = my partner). Anyways, for some reason The Wheels on the Bus really strikes a chord with our little one. He once had a meltdown in the car when I ran into a grocery store and the whole way home we yelled the wheels on the bus song to chill him out. The other day I was going through a Star Bars (haha) drive thru and just after ordering, my pickle started to lose it because instead of napping, he was watching me order a pure sugar drink. I drove up to the window and noticed it was closed, so I closed mine and started singing wheels on the bus at the top of my lungs. When the take out window opened, I pretended nothing was happening, put my window down and took my ice cold cup of sugar. As I started to drive away, I cranked the stereo only to notice a bunch of people sitting outside of the Starbucks. What was I cranking? Baby Beluga. As they looked up to see who was blaring Raffi, I feverishly tried to put my window up but I was like wow, this is my life now. Wow.

I was once driving home with a very cranky pickle and I had sung every fun, kids song I could think of so I moved onto Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill. Seemed to do the trick. 

I just went and said hi to the Mom neighbour that lives behind me and had a nice chat…UNTIL I DISCUSSED MY PLACENTA. Fuck.

Since having a baby, I have noticed there is a 10 minute black hole that occurs when trying to leave the house. I have, on occasion, given myself a whole half hour to leave the house and I still somehow end up in the Bermuda Triangle that is situated between my front door and the car and wind up leaving late. I have no idea how this happens but it is a thing. 

Keeping up with baby nails is a full time job. I will do his nails with our little electric trimmer thingie, turn my back for one second and he has Freddie Kreugered giant cuts onto his face. I sometimes wonder if instead of filing them, I am sharpening them into little baby nail shivs. I am sharpening them into little Edward Scissorhands. It’s exhausting. And every time he grabs at me, I feel a nail, take note of which one it is and then I will not rest until I have filed it down. Or I guess sharpened it adequately. Well if he ever gets into baby jail, he will have the shivs he needs to protect himself on the inside. In baby Gen Pop. 

Update from the last blog. Our new car? I now refer to it as the Suzuki…it’s a Subaru…