Today I saw my friend Suzanne and her uber adorable 3-year-old Ruby. Even Kevin liked Ruby, even before he decided he might like a kid if it sprang from my loins. Ruby's that cute.
While Ruby threw sticks down the slide at the park near my house, Suzanne gave me some of the mommy lowdown. For instance: Diaper bags--unnecessary! Any bag will do.
Excellent; good to know. I'll be picking a more fashionable one now. Thank you!
At some point, I mentioned how my plan was to have 7 to 10 onesies (what else does a newborn need?) for Lyric. And that we could go to the laundromat once a week.
Get this: Apparently, the little demon is going to require 3 to 5 changes of clothing a day! Per DAY! I didn't change that often when I was in high school. WTF? That's 21 to 35 outfits a week. Who the hell has time to feed, diaper, AND change the cothes of another human this many times each day. I'm still stunned.
And I'm really questioning the $80 a month diaper service I just signed up for...what's the point if the clothes get trashed anyway?
I can't believe no one mentioned this. So now I'm investigating portable washers for my kitchen that can't possibly accomodate one now that I bought a useless kitchen cart/island thing.
Sigh. And I don't even want to think about what the hell is going to be coming out of that kids bottom half that can eat through a diaper AND a diaper wrap AND ruin her outfit five times a day.
Oh, apparently it gets better.
Projective poop. That's right. I won't even say it again.
I could barely even bring myself to tell poor Kevin, who is skeeved out by, well, anything human-biology oriented. He does fine with the cats. And with sex. Separately of course. But projectile....jesus.
So I Google this phrase, because frankly, I now think Suzanne has some sort of devil child in Ruby, her projectile pooping offpsring.
And I get: many, many results. The first one was an excellent headline from Metro Dad: "If the Foo Shits, Wear it!"
Good work MetroDad! He also mentions something called Total Ass Explosion, but I had to stop reading before I ended up looking for someone to adopt my fetus.
And then, second in my Google results list, was this bulletin board entry:
I just wanted to remind everyone of this happening. I was changing Angele's diaper cuz she pooped. Wiped once, went to wipe again, and got the shot of my life!!! TALK ABOUT PROJECTILE POOP!!! IT WAS EVERYWHERE!! LOL!! IT WAS SOOO FUNNY!!! MY DH & I WERE BOTH LAUGHIN OUR BUTS OFF!! Angele, of course, just lied there like no big thing...SO, BEWARE OF YOUR LO DOING THIS!!! -- Popkissmama
Ok, first off, Popkissmama, can I tell you how much people HATE CAPITAL LETTERS. And also people who write LOL AFTER EVERY SENTENCE. Stop laughing outloud so much, it's obnoxious.
And let me add, Popkissmam, how I personally loathe the Mommy Blogger need to write DH (dear husband) instead of "husband" and LO (little one) instead of "baby. DH, frankly, is very passive-aggressive sounding. Seek therapy. And LO? Come on, "baby" is too long a word to be bothered with?
But most of all, Popkissmama, it was not funny. It was not LOL at all, in fact. Not even lol.
Again, I say, how could no one have told me about this? I'm still....christ, I can't believe I have only 40 days left to live in a house without fear of projectile shitting.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
How do you know when the fetus flips?
You just do. And it's the damnedest thing. I'm sure I would have been creeped out by such a thing a year ago. And yet, it was pretty awesome.
Saturday night, Lyric was relentlessly headbutting the inside of my belly 'til I was sure I was bruised on the inside. It went from funny to annoying to a little freaking weird. And it went for hours. I got a little worried she was stuck or something. (Stuck on what? Who knows...I'm can't see her interior design, but as we all know, things are awry in there, so for all I knew she had wrapped herself in her umbilical cord).
Into the wee hours, I rubbed my belly and begged her to stop hurting mommy. (It didn't hurt THAT bad, but it was frustratingly persistent). Eventually: sleep.
Come morning, I felt a hard ball in my lower left abdomen. Clearly (to me) it was her head. Except that for the last few months her head had been firmly on the upper right side of my midsection. She'd done a 180 AND a dive. A half-gainer, if you will. Now I can feel her little butt on the right and her little head on the left. And her little feet still give me little kicks all over. Very cool.
Saturday night, Lyric was relentlessly headbutting the inside of my belly 'til I was sure I was bruised on the inside. It went from funny to annoying to a little freaking weird. And it went for hours. I got a little worried she was stuck or something. (Stuck on what? Who knows...I'm can't see her interior design, but as we all know, things are awry in there, so for all I knew she had wrapped herself in her umbilical cord).
Into the wee hours, I rubbed my belly and begged her to stop hurting mommy. (It didn't hurt THAT bad, but it was frustratingly persistent). Eventually: sleep.
Come morning, I felt a hard ball in my lower left abdomen. Clearly (to me) it was her head. Except that for the last few months her head had been firmly on the upper right side of my midsection. She'd done a 180 AND a dive. A half-gainer, if you will. Now I can feel her little butt on the right and her little head on the left. And her little feet still give me little kicks all over. Very cool.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Crisis of (naming) conscience
The name of this blog pretty much gave away the fetus's name. Or did it? (bwah hahahahaa!)
I fell in the love with the name Lyric as soon as it came to me (a few days after she was conceived, I think. And the end of this post, I'll ask you what you think.)
Then, as the story goes, Kev and I were walking down Divis one Friday night, barhopping because I was pretty sure the many conception-oriented events of 4 weeks prior hadn't produced anything to negate my having a cocktail or five (The Improbable Conception).
As we passed The Independent (live music hall) a few blocks from our apartment, Kevin looked up and saw the marquee proclaiming:
Lyrics Born! Live!
Lyrics Born is a DJ we'd never heard of, but apparently is a Bay Area "local treasure who continues to raise the bar for underground MCs the world over."
Seeing "Lyrics Born!" on the marquee caused even me, the unsuperstitious half, to sprint to Walgreens for a pregnancy test (or three) and....ouila: Ladies & Gentleman, we have a fetus!
So we knew the name Lyric was the right one (and we returned the next day to steal a concert poster from the side of the building). And despite the many times I've had to annunciate her name to clarify it for people (I must be saying it with a weird Norcal/Midwest hybrid accent, or it's simply too out of context. "What? Lehr-ic? Oh...Leeeeer-ic. Wow, that's interesting."), I'm not too worried about her being tortured throughout her life.
It amused me that Kath has told her Chicago friends about the name. They stare blankly until she follows up with "She lives in California," and they say, "Ohhhhh. That makes sense then." Confidential to the cornhusking set: the No. 1 baby name in San Francisco is Emily, just like all the Red States. We're just fortunate enough to run into the occasional 4-year-old girl named "Hunter" (after Mr. S. Thompson...).
Anyway, I've considered the negative repercussions my little one might have to endure because of her name, and it comes down to this:
1) My own name couldn't be any more plain jane, yet I was harrassed with the ever-creative "harry karry fairy larry!" in 4th grade. Lyric's cohorts might demonstrate an advanced vocabulary with a "Ms. Watson! She's leeeering at meee!" (Good, Tyler, I hope she is. And by the way, your name is rather girly.) Others could go straight for the "Lyr-icky!" route. Either way, if kids want to bug you, they'll find a way, regardless of your name. But just let them try to out-verbal my daughter.
2) Lyric is A) a lovely sounding word with a very sweet, known meaning, B) the name of the one of the Greek muses, which clearly makes it cool AND classic, and C) the 400th most popular baby name in 2005. So we're not just make shit up over here, ok?
3) I was worried that the name Lyric was going to push her too firmly in the direction of music, when in fact, I want her to be an astronomer. Then I realized that if she thinks we want her to become a musician, she'll go be a scientist anyway. So I think we are safe. But will adults not take her name as seriously on a resume one day? I'm still tussling with that one, but I think it falls under Category 1: People will assume whatever they want if they feel like it.
So why all my hubbub about the name suddenly?
It's the middle name, Stiles, that has us stymied. It's the nickname of Kevin's great friend Steve: former snowboarder, skateboarder, musician extraordinaire, maker of concert tshirts for most Bay Area bands and beyond--and still just one hell of a sweet, down-to-earth, funny, smart guy. Here's the rub(s):
There's a Jewish tradition that says you don't name babies after living relatives. I'm not Jewish and Steve isn't a relative, but there's just something gnawing at me about sort of "replacing" Steve somehow. Hm.
I had thought Lyric was kind of girlie and liked that Stiles kind of "tom-boyed" it up a little. But we wonder if it's just too "boy." Kev said "I hear Stiles, I think of Steve, not a little girl." Hm.
Then there's the DJ angle. "Now, introducing the lyrical stylings of ...." See what I mean? Maybe it's just a connection to learning about Lyrics Born, but still, it rubs. And is the name just too far out there, just too much? Should it be tempered with a mainstreamier middle name, thus providing her something to go by when she's having her post-adolescent crisis and hating us for being "such hippies" when we named her? Hm.
Last night I remembered that one of my original favorite names was Kaitlyn, which is Irish, starts with a "K" like mum and dad, and is a derivative of Katherine, like my name is. Little Irish girls named Kaitlyn are damned cute, too. So last night I tossed "Lyric Kaitlyn" by the Y-chromosome-maker and he liked it a lot.
So, what do you think? (Full disclosure: It might not matter what you think since I probably won't decide till she arrives...but I'm curious anyway). Are we wussing out with "Lyric Kaitlyn?" Or is it awesome?
I fell in the love with the name Lyric as soon as it came to me (a few days after she was conceived, I think. And the end of this post, I'll ask you what you think.)
Then, as the story goes, Kev and I were walking down Divis one Friday night, barhopping because I was pretty sure the many conception-oriented events of 4 weeks prior hadn't produced anything to negate my having a cocktail or five (The Improbable Conception).
As we passed The Independent (live music hall) a few blocks from our apartment, Kevin looked up and saw the marquee proclaiming:
Lyrics Born! Live!
Lyrics Born is a DJ we'd never heard of, but apparently is a Bay Area "local treasure who continues to raise the bar for underground MCs the world over."
Seeing "Lyrics Born!" on the marquee caused even me, the unsuperstitious half, to sprint to Walgreens for a pregnancy test (or three) and....ouila: Ladies & Gentleman, we have a fetus!
So we knew the name Lyric was the right one (and we returned the next day to steal a concert poster from the side of the building). And despite the many times I've had to annunciate her name to clarify it for people (I must be saying it with a weird Norcal/Midwest hybrid accent, or it's simply too out of context. "What? Lehr-ic? Oh...Leeeeer-ic. Wow, that's interesting."), I'm not too worried about her being tortured throughout her life.
It amused me that Kath has told her Chicago friends about the name. They stare blankly until she follows up with "She lives in California," and they say, "Ohhhhh. That makes sense then." Confidential to the cornhusking set: the No. 1 baby name in San Francisco is Emily, just like all the Red States. We're just fortunate enough to run into the occasional 4-year-old girl named "Hunter" (after Mr. S. Thompson...).
Anyway, I've considered the negative repercussions my little one might have to endure because of her name, and it comes down to this:
1) My own name couldn't be any more plain jane, yet I was harrassed with the ever-creative "harry karry fairy larry!" in 4th grade. Lyric's cohorts might demonstrate an advanced vocabulary with a "Ms. Watson! She's leeeering at meee!" (Good, Tyler, I hope she is. And by the way, your name is rather girly.) Others could go straight for the "Lyr-icky!" route. Either way, if kids want to bug you, they'll find a way, regardless of your name. But just let them try to out-verbal my daughter.
2) Lyric is A) a lovely sounding word with a very sweet, known meaning, B) the name of the one of the Greek muses, which clearly makes it cool AND classic, and C) the 400th most popular baby name in 2005. So we're not just make shit up over here, ok?
3) I was worried that the name Lyric was going to push her too firmly in the direction of music, when in fact, I want her to be an astronomer. Then I realized that if she thinks we want her to become a musician, she'll go be a scientist anyway. So I think we are safe. But will adults not take her name as seriously on a resume one day? I'm still tussling with that one, but I think it falls under Category 1: People will assume whatever they want if they feel like it.
So why all my hubbub about the name suddenly?
It's the middle name, Stiles, that has us stymied. It's the nickname of Kevin's great friend Steve: former snowboarder, skateboarder, musician extraordinaire, maker of concert tshirts for most Bay Area bands and beyond--and still just one hell of a sweet, down-to-earth, funny, smart guy. Here's the rub(s):
There's a Jewish tradition that says you don't name babies after living relatives. I'm not Jewish and Steve isn't a relative, but there's just something gnawing at me about sort of "replacing" Steve somehow. Hm.
I had thought Lyric was kind of girlie and liked that Stiles kind of "tom-boyed" it up a little. But we wonder if it's just too "boy." Kev said "I hear Stiles, I think of Steve, not a little girl." Hm.
Then there's the DJ angle. "Now, introducing the lyrical stylings of ...." See what I mean? Maybe it's just a connection to learning about Lyrics Born, but still, it rubs. And is the name just too far out there, just too much? Should it be tempered with a mainstreamier middle name, thus providing her something to go by when she's having her post-adolescent crisis and hating us for being "such hippies" when we named her? Hm.
Last night I remembered that one of my original favorite names was Kaitlyn, which is Irish, starts with a "K" like mum and dad, and is a derivative of Katherine, like my name is. Little Irish girls named Kaitlyn are damned cute, too. So last night I tossed "Lyric Kaitlyn" by the Y-chromosome-maker and he liked it a lot.
So, what do you think? (Full disclosure: It might not matter what you think since I probably won't decide till she arrives...but I'm curious anyway). Are we wussing out with "Lyric Kaitlyn?" Or is it awesome?
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