Kemi, like “chemistry”

Random Musings of the Misunderstood

Tales from Motherland September 11, 2013

Filed under: motherhood,Natalie — Kemi @ 2:35 pm
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My friend Jeri (Hi, Jeri!) complimented my blog this morning, and linked to it on her Facebook account.  Gaaah!  It hasn’t been updated in three months!  Suddenly there’s so much pressure to write!  I’m not even going to shoot for funny (don’t you DARE stop reading!  Eyes back here, NOW!);  I just need words on the page.

 

There is so much to say, and I am too busy to say it.  That’s the irony of having a blog when you’re a mother:  there is always material, but you’re too _______________ to write about it.  (You’re welcome to fill in the blank with any of the following words (or choose one of your own!):  tired, irritated, overwhelmed, exhausted, angry, frazzled, tired, forgetful, hungry, distracted, lazy.

 

For example, I posted this on Facebook yesterday:

It never fails… when I don’t shower or get dressed in the morning, one of my kids will get sick at school and need to be picked up, and I’ll run into everyone I know.

It’s the mom walk of shame, and unfortunately, I walk it well.

 

What I did not share on Facebook, but that I don’t mind sharing with you, is that I swapped out my pajama bottoms for a pair of jeans, and tried to hid the fact that I was bra-less under a hoodie.  Double bonus points because it also covered up some mysterious stains on my pajama shirt.  (Mystery solved!  I have young kids!)  Yes, it was 80+ degrees outside, and I chose a hoodie and long pants because I didn’t want to put on my bra.  Oh, and because I haven’t done laundry in a week or four, and those were quite possibly the only clean clothes in my closet.

 

And then I ran into the mom of one of Hannah’s friends who was substituting at the school.  “Oh, Kemi!” she said, startled.  “Is that you?  I didn’t even recognize you.”  Bless her for saying that, although I suspect she was just being kind.  And then, when I told her how nice she looked, she said, “I rarely dress up, so when I have a reason to look pretty, I embrace it.”  I thought about hugging her, but I remembered the baby stains and the no bra thing and decided to smile, instead.  I was grateful that I had the foresight to chew a couple of mint Mentos on my way out the door, because I couldn’t remember if I had brushed my teeth or not.  My appearance is all smoke and mirrors, people.  (And spit up.  And deodorant.  And ponytails.  And hoodies.  God bless hoodies.)

 

See?  Material.  But then I spent the rest of my day managing the child who was too sick to stay at school, but not sick enough for computer games, fighting with his sister (who was truly, legitimately sick), chasing his little brother, and generally driving everyone in the house CRAZY because his mean mom wouldn’t give in and let him play the Wii all afternoon, and by the time all the kids were in bed, I was practically comatose.  (“Dinner” was peanut butter and jelly on leftover hot dog buns, for crying out loud.)

 

So much to write, but so little energy.

 

I could also talk about my sweet baby Natalie (Hi, Natalie!) who is now FOUR MONTHS OLD.

(Isn’t she cute?  We love her to pieces.  She is my chunky monkey.)

 

You might want to hear less about how much she poops (she has been alive for 131 days, and has had, AT MINIMUM, 110 blowouts that necessitated complete outfit changes… NOT EVEN KIDDING), but like I said above, it’s material.  I got her up this morning and changed her diaper, and the minute it was off, she released her bladder and peed all over the couch.  ALL OVER.  I was so shocked, all I could do was sit there and watch, her feet clasped in my left hand, as it dribbled out like a bubbling fountain and seeped into the microfiber cushions.  Clearly, I have become less of a “Morning Person”, and more of a “Never Quite Achieves Full Consciousness At Any Point in the Day Person”.  I’m afraid my reflexes are firing a little slow, lately.  And, because my daughter not only has incredible volume, but impeccable aim, she managed to get her pajamas wet.  Soaked, actually.  And they were tucked up behind her neck, so you do the math.  Geometry was never my strongest subject.

 

Then, not even an hour later, I left her on the *other* couch cushion  (you know, the one that wasn’t wet and didn’t smell like Amoxicillin pee…  thank you, ear infection!) while I dragged the middle kids out of bed and got them going.  Then one of the dogs threw up, so I let them outside, cleaned it up, and took an armful of clothes downstairs to put in the washer.  Two steps into the laundry room, my foot hit something soft and squishy and slippery.  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more disgusted when it turned out to be chunky dog vomit and not poop.  So washing the dog bed and blankets became Priority One for the day, until I went back upstairs and heard, “Mom?  Natalie’s stinky.  Bad-stinky.  BAD.”

 

Do I even need to spell it out?  Probably not, but I’m going to.  It was a veritable poo-splosion, bubbling over the top of her diaper and squeezing past the flimsy elastic leg guards.  It was everywhere, including the couch cushion.  The kids are so used to the Natalie-Blowout drill, they moved into position with military precision (and without a word from me).  Anthony grabbed a used towel to put under her, and then found a plastic grocery sack and held it open.  Hannah searched the clean laundry basket for a new outfit.  Sam grabbed the wipes and a clean diaper, and put them within my reach on the coffee table.  Five minutes and 40 wipes later, she was fresh and clean, but the couch needed some major attention.  All I could do was throw a towel on it and yell, “DON’T SIT THERE!  DON’T SIT DOWN!  KEEP OFF OF THE TOWEL!” any time anyone got within two feet of the couch.  Once the kids left for school, the cleaning frenzy began.

 

Let me just say, vinyl upholstery covers and those glittery plastic runners my grandma used on her carpet have never held so much appeal.

 

So THIS is why I am an infrequent updater.  So much to say, but so little time.  So little energy.  So much laundry.

SO. MUCH. LAUNDRY.

 

Auf wiedersehen, for now.  Until we meet again…  like maybe when Natalie is out of diapers.  (Ha!)

 

All in favor of officially naming the baby “Taco” (just in case), say “yum!” May 18, 2011

Filed under: kids,motherhood — Kemi @ 12:47 am
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At the risk of turning this into a pregnancy-only blog (is there even a risk for that, given how infrequently I post anymore?), I had the WEIRDEST dream last night.  Clearly, I’m in countdown mode, and I only need to bring up the bassinet and pack my hospital bag before I’m fully ready to bring this baby home.  If my delivery-filled dreams are any indication, this baby could come any MINUTE, even if I still have a month or so left on the “calendar”.  I am perfectly fine with this, by the way.  As far as I’m concerned, the earlier the delivery, the better.

 

(For those of you who wonder, I am exactly 33 weeks and 4 days, and have not gone past 38 weeks with any previous pregnancy.  While my “real” due date is July 1, my doctor is planning a mid-June delivery.)

 

So, I dreamed I had the baby, but for some reason, I had completely blocked all memories of delivery (doesn’t sound too bad, right?), so I wasn’t sure if my precious baby was a boy or a girl.  The hospital staff teased me mercilessly, and refused to tell me, insisting I’d find out as soon as I changed the next diaper.  The problem was (and really, except for the mystery-gender thing, it would have been no problem whatsoever), they kept taking the baby away to change it, so after my three-day stay, I still wasn’t sure whether I had a boy or a girl.

 

Then, once we got home, someone (Mom, was it you?) put the baby to sleep, and I figured, no big deal!  I’d have to get up to feed it during the night, and I’d find out when we both woke up whether I could call my baby Sam or Natalie.  Only, we both slept through the night (again, a miracle, if only I knew what to call my newborn!), and during the next day, the steady stream of visitors insisted on changing the baby’s diapers, and found it just as funny as the nurses did that I wasn’t sure of my own baby’s gender.  So, naturally, THEY wouldn’t tell me, either.

 

I woke up in a panic, and after Kenny finished laughing at my dream recap, I vowed to sneak a peek at my chart when I see my doctor next week.  Then I’ll have the double advantage of knowing for certain this baby’s gender (and keeping it to myself, thankyouverymuch)*, and getting revenge for the mockery.

 

What do you think?  Boy?  Girl?  (Thankfully, I haven’t had a hermaphrodite dream… yet.) (And Kenny doesn’t find that suggestion the least little bit funny.)  😀

 

 

*I won’t really peek.  Chill, Kenny.