The Joey says "hi." She may look small, but she consumes an enormous amount of my time and attention.
Things have been good. Zeke is adjusting pretty well to having a baby in the house. I'm adjusting to having Jason back at work and taking care of two small children by myself during the week.
I've discovered that a second child is akin to looking at real estate - it's a "location, location, location" thing. Meaning I spend alot of time figuring out when and where I can stash the baby while attending to Zeke. Can I time Zeke's bath to coincide with Josie's need for a bottle, so I can sit and feed her while watching Zeke in the tub at the same time? Is her diaper changed and she's settling down in time for me to put her somewhere while I get Zeke up and dressed?
Turns out she's not a big fan of the swing, but seems to like the car seat OK. She used to like the bassinet, but lately not so much.
Sleeping in the carseat while Mama blogs.
Mostly she likes to sleep on me. Even at night. So I sit up in bed with her sleeping on my shoulder, and I catch a nap here and there when I can.
I'm kinda tired.
But that doesn't mean I'm not determined to get back to living life like a grown-up, non-pregnant person.
When my mom was here, among the many wonderful things she did to make my life easier -- other than the laundry, the dishes, take Zeke to the park, take Josie for a night or two so I could sleep, and generally just be great company -- was to give Jason and me a night of babysitting so we could go out on a date. So a week and a half after giving birth, I squeezed my ass into a pair of jeans and put on a nice jacket and my favorite pair of high-heeled boots and some lipstick, and we went out on the town. Dinner and a play at a local theater. Fun.
But I think I need some practice in the "going out and acting like a grownup at a place that doesn't serve kids' meals" department.
Because I googled the wrong address (I typed in 17th "Street" instead of "Avenue"), so instead of having a block and a half to walk in my high heels from the restaurant to the theater, it was 8 blocks, including up a big hill. And it's been a long time since I wore heels, and the boots were tighter than I remembered, so by the time I hobbled my way up the hill to the theater, my feet were in agony and I was sweating.
And the play was really funny and we had a great time, but it was really hot in the theater and of course the lightest thing I had on was a turtleneck, because that was one of the few shirts I owned that fit loosely enough for me to not look like I was stuffing my still poofy abdomen into a sausage casing.
And then walking back to the car was so painful that I finally stopped on a street corner in the middle of downtown Denver and made Jason help me take off my boots, because I was too stuffed into my jeans to bend over comfortably to get them off myself.
And then I walked the remaining 4 blocks to the parking deck in my socks. We passed a bunch of police chiefs in town for a big convention, and I just told myself that while I may look like a dork walking around the streets of Denver in my stocking feet, at least I'm not walking around wearing my convention badge/nametag outside of the convention itself. Losers.
And then when we got to the parking deck, we needed our ticket to even get access to the elevator after hours, but my purse is such a mess that I ended up sitting on the sidewalk, in my socks, with the contents of my purse dumped out on the ground, to try to find the ticket.
And once I found it, Jason needed to help me up because my jeans were so tight that I couldn't do it on my own.
Basically, I looked and acted like a drunken idiot, without the fun of actually being drunk. Meaning that next time, I either need to drink more to justify my ridiculous behavior, or I need to relearn how to go out in public and be cool.
I'll work on the latter, but don't hold your breath.
I've discovered that a second child is akin to looking at real estate - it's a "location, location, location" thing. Meaning I spend alot of time figuring out when and where I can stash the baby while attending to Zeke. Can I time Zeke's bath to coincide with Josie's need for a bottle, so I can sit and feed her while watching Zeke in the tub at the same time? Is her diaper changed and she's settling down in time for me to put her somewhere while I get Zeke up and dressed?
Turns out she's not a big fan of the swing, but seems to like the car seat OK. She used to like the bassinet, but lately not so much.
Sleeping in the carseat while Mama blogs.I'm kinda tired.
But that doesn't mean I'm not determined to get back to living life like a grown-up, non-pregnant person.
When my mom was here, among the many wonderful things she did to make my life easier -- other than the laundry, the dishes, take Zeke to the park, take Josie for a night or two so I could sleep, and generally just be great company -- was to give Jason and me a night of babysitting so we could go out on a date. So a week and a half after giving birth, I squeezed my ass into a pair of jeans and put on a nice jacket and my favorite pair of high-heeled boots and some lipstick, and we went out on the town. Dinner and a play at a local theater. Fun.
But I think I need some practice in the "going out and acting like a grownup at a place that doesn't serve kids' meals" department.
Because I googled the wrong address (I typed in 17th "Street" instead of "Avenue"), so instead of having a block and a half to walk in my high heels from the restaurant to the theater, it was 8 blocks, including up a big hill. And it's been a long time since I wore heels, and the boots were tighter than I remembered, so by the time I hobbled my way up the hill to the theater, my feet were in agony and I was sweating.
And the play was really funny and we had a great time, but it was really hot in the theater and of course the lightest thing I had on was a turtleneck, because that was one of the few shirts I owned that fit loosely enough for me to not look like I was stuffing my still poofy abdomen into a sausage casing.
And then walking back to the car was so painful that I finally stopped on a street corner in the middle of downtown Denver and made Jason help me take off my boots, because I was too stuffed into my jeans to bend over comfortably to get them off myself.
And then I walked the remaining 4 blocks to the parking deck in my socks. We passed a bunch of police chiefs in town for a big convention, and I just told myself that while I may look like a dork walking around the streets of Denver in my stocking feet, at least I'm not walking around wearing my convention badge/nametag outside of the convention itself. Losers.
And then when we got to the parking deck, we needed our ticket to even get access to the elevator after hours, but my purse is such a mess that I ended up sitting on the sidewalk, in my socks, with the contents of my purse dumped out on the ground, to try to find the ticket.
And once I found it, Jason needed to help me up because my jeans were so tight that I couldn't do it on my own.
Basically, I looked and acted like a drunken idiot, without the fun of actually being drunk. Meaning that next time, I either need to drink more to justify my ridiculous behavior, or I need to relearn how to go out in public and be cool.
I'll work on the latter, but don't hold your breath.
i once heard that it's good to laugh uncontrollably at least once a day. now that i have read this post: check that off for today.
ReplyDeletelaughing in that been-there kind of way.
Jen L.
Jen, so glad I could make you laugh. We started laughing about it pretty much as it was happening.
ReplyDelete