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Thursday, June 25, 2009

RIP Michael Jackson.

Good lord. Michael Jackson died. Though, frankly, he died for me a long time ago... I'm guessing this isn't some sort of weird hoax...
Man, he used to be so cool. I wanted that red jacket so badly.

Flashbacks of the Fecal Kind

It's funny starting all over again. The late night feedings, the weird evolution of the poo (resulting in rolicking games of "Guess What Color the Poo is Now?"), trying to remember to take fifty-billion things along with us even on the "simplest" of outings... But it really is the diaper experience which really brings back some fond memories of the first time I went through all this.

I recall with particular fondness the 2am feeding and diaper change which resulted in my daughter projecting a glob of yellow poo at least two and a half feet onto the carpet before I was able to get the second diaper positioned in time. I am pretty proud to say I wasn't upset, so much as frantic to get the stain up before it set in. I have since adopted the Speedy Switch technique to avoid repeats.

Another highlight of my diaper career involved the time a little bit of said yellow poo snuck out of the "leak proof diaper" onto my daughter's onesie near the poppers at her crotch. I scrubbed at it with a wipe and was pretty pleased with the results. Even my overly paranoid first-time-mother eyes could not detect the slightest mark on her onesie. Then I lifted her bottom up to put the new diaper underneath her, only to then find that the majority of her poo had, in fact, evaded her diaper completely and oozed its way up her back, leaving a fabulously enormous poo stain right above her diaper. Shit. Literally.

Good times, good times...

Every one has a good poo story, be it their own or that of their offspring. Please feel free to share, it won't gross me out. I've become strangely ambivalent towards excrement. It's great how one's standards can drop...

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Quick Update.

My mum's in town, so blogging has taken even more of a backseat than when the baby arrived. It's now so far in the backseat, it's in the trunk. I figure you're all big boys and girls who are not so sad as to get your exclusive kicks here, so I'm not worried.

With way too much to do, too few hands with which to do it all, and breasts that spontaneously lactate for many, many reasons, I now tend to get a lot done looking like a freaking T-Rex with my forearms pressed against my boobs.

I got Rock Band 2. Pity the children who will have to hear my singing as well as my cursing my way through the drumming.

My new child is bent on getting into the Guinness Book of Records for being the fattest little tyke known to man. She looks like a short mafia don, what with the little baldish head and cheeks that put Winston Churchill to shame.

I saw my belly dance instructor perform a couple of days ago and it brought tears to my eyes because I miss dancing and feeling the beat. Then I look down and see the little pooch of a belly and realize I've GOT to get back to it. But with a more concealing outfit this time around...

I pumped just so I could have a little wine at a tasting in a wine store. I got slightly drunk. Hey, I'm a light weight AND they gave generous samples. I'm a cheap date.

Life is still damn good. Here's a music video to chill out to. Enjoy: