Wednesday, January 2, 2013

No Use Crying Over Spoiled Milk

I couldn't fall asleep last night. I have a monkey brain: it just runs and runs and runs and runs. No offense to monkeys. I realized when I was pregnant and ten paces beyond uncomfortable that crossword puzzles -- which I had never in my life done up until that point -- were the only way I could fall asleep. My theory is the puzzles occupy my brain, breaking down the monkey's defenses, so fatigue can prevail.

"You know who used to do crossword puzzles?" Rayne has asked me at least a dozen times. "My grandma."


I usually obsess over New York Magazine's crossword puzzles by Cathy Allis. But I'm all out. I've started downloading free crossword puzzles from Printable Puzzles by Puzzle Baron. Seriously. I don't know what else to say, as it sort of speaks for itself. I hit a new low last night when I "liked" the Puzzle Baron Facebook Page.

The point is that I didn't fall asleep until 12:30 am. Henry picked this morning to wake up at 4:30 am. I tried to ignore him, but he was obviously losing his shit (more on that later), so I got up to nurse.

Then I slept badly and intermittently between 5:30 and 7:30 am when it was time to get up and feed my monster sweet angel breakfast.


(Sidenote: Has "Amazeballs" jumped the shark? Be honest. I think having to ask the question is answer enough.)

By 10 am, I needed to get out of the apartment. I took Henry's favorite Fisher Price walking cart, bundled him up and strolled him to the playground, about a 15-minute walk from our apartment. It was cold this morning, but he was well bundled. (I was proud of myself, actually, because Henry is usually the least overly bundled child in all of Brooklyn. Bad mom!)

For about ten minutes, I was the best Moo Cow a kid could have. Henry ran around the playground with the ecstatic abandon of a newly freed prisoner.


Out of nowhere, he started screaming and crying. I picked him up. I put him down. I gave him Puffs, the Xanax of Snacks. I gave him a fruit packet. I put his gloves on. I took his gloves off. I put him on the swings. I put him on the slide. I picked him up. I put him down. I gave him Puffs. Again.

Nada. Niente. Nichts.

Defeated, I tried to put my screaming monkey back in the stroller. He arched his back and flailed until finally I just slipped his arms through the top two straps and left the third point of the "harness" unbuckled.

He fought and screamed the whole way home until he eventually slipped out of the seat into his BundleMe foot muff and was sort of dragging along the ground, held to the stroller only by his arms. A woman gave me a dirty look as I passed.

Whatever, lady. WHAT-EV-ER. Walk 15 minutes in my shoes on broken sidewalks with an umbrella stroller and a shrieking pre-toddler.

(Deep cleansing breath.)

At home, one rendition of Green Eggs and Ham swiftly calmed him down. ("Cah!" he exclaimed when we got to the page with the car.) Then we ate lunch. He was fine. Maybe he had just gotten cold? Maybe he was cranky from not sleeping? (I knew I was.)

Or maybe -- as I discovered when I went to make him his second bottle of the day -- I had fed him expired milk in the morning. Yeah, maybe that.

Ladies and gentlemen, it was a Category IV PoopSplosion like few I'd seen. And, unlike in the early days of PoopSplosions, when my sweet babe was a sweet, immovable slug, Henry is now a flailing, flipping over, flipping out little boy.

It was impossible to hold him still with one hand while getting wipes. He screeched and screamed, flailed and flipped, smearing shit all over himself, all over me, all over the changing table. I stripped him down and ran him at arms length, still kicking and grasping for me my boobs (let's be real), to the bathroom where I finally got him in a bath.

Once the water rose, he promptly did what he always does these days: lie down on his belly and drink the bathwater.


Well, it couldn't have been worse than rancid milk.

After the bath, I nursed him (because there was no milk) for about five minutes before he fell fast asleep. Bliss.

Oh yeah, and later, after his nap, while we were playing, I stepped into his Baby Jail, right onto a little piece of poop. (Yes, bare feet.) I guess I should investigate that further before plopping him back in there tomorrow, eh?

Happily behind bars in Baby Jail

Final score:
Winners -- Henry, Bath Toys, Nursing, Laundry
Losers -- Moo Cow's Sanity, Weaning, Onesie, Changing Pad Cover, Baby Jail

I had to ditch my terrible commenting system, but I didn't want to lose the comments, so here they are: