John P. Stamos and I are now at war.

Yesterday, I pulled a John C. Mayer on John P. Stamos.
(Read about pulling a John C. Mayer at http://www.mommywantsvodka.com)

We-hell...apparently John P. Stamos' publicists, or perhaps John P. Stamos himself, did not appreciate my efforts. Yesterday, a Google search of John P. Stamos had my blog at number 2. This was true even if you left out puctuation and searched John P Stamos, or even if you didn't capitalize and searched john p stamos. But today? Today, my blog is not even in the top five PAGES of a search of John P. Stamos.

In fact, Aunt Becky's blog www.mommywantsvodka.com shows up on page 3 just for mentioning my blog about John P. Stamos. Clearly, the army of John P. Stamos has layeth the smacketh down.

It isn't as if I besmirched the good name of John P. Stamos. John P. Stamos has had a lot of trouble with that recently and I just wouldn't do that to John P. Stamos. It was a cute recollection of my admiration of John P. Stamos and nothing more.

I didn't even go into how excited I am that John P. Stamos will be appearing on Glee this season, and how much I admire the vocal talent of John P. Stamos. I'd rather see John P. Stamos as a rival glee club director than a dentist, because I want to hear John P. Stamos sing at every possible opportunity.

I really thought John P. Stamos et al would have a better sense of humor about being John C. Mayer-ed. I mean, isn't my little blog about John P. Stamos better than those awful news stories about the couple who tried to blackmail John P. Stamos? (They went down, by the way. All allegations of John P. Stamos' misconduct are completely untrue.)
John P. Stamos, I have adored you for 22 years. Can't a girl get a little John P. Stamos love in return?

John P. Stamos and I go way back.

Who didn’t love John P. Stamos as Uncle Jesse on Full House?

That mullet. That smirk. Those eyelashes. **sigh**
My 4 year old heard just couldn’t handle it. John P. Stamos was my first “bad boy”, and let me tell you, I’ve been addicted ever since.

My first run-in with John P. Stamos was when I was 5. The Beach Boys would be appearing with John P. Stamos on drums after the Tribe double-header at Municiple Stadium, and my mom decided to take me. I had never heard anything so loud in my whole life. My mom kept assuring me that John P. Stamos was indeed there, but we were in the nosebleeds so the band looked like little ants running around a drum kit to me.

But my primary concern at the time was NOT John P. Stamos, if you can believe that. My primary concerns were A. Is the stadium gonna fall down??! It’s shaking, Mom. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna fall down. B. Are they gonna play Kokomo? What if they don’t play Kokomo? It’s pointless to even be here if they don’t play Kokomo, Mom.

Mom, who also was unconcerned with John P. Stamos, but who just wanted to see The Beach Boys, damn it, was probably seriously questioning her decision to bring a 5 year old along at this point. But they did eventually play Kokomo, featuring John P. Stamos on the drums, as the encore. How on earth did John P. Stamos get into The Beach Boys, anyway?

Fast forward to 13 years later. I was now 18 years old. My aunts took me on a graduation trip to New York City. As a surprise, they bought tickets to Cabaret at Studio 54, starring…you guessed it, none other than John P. Stamos!!! I was thrilled. John P. Stamos was in the role of The Emcee. Molly Ringwald played Sally Bowles. Who knew that broad could sing, eh?

We had tickets to a matinee, and our table was right on an aisle that led down from one of two sets of stairs off of the stage. After intermission, John P. Stamos came down our aisle into the audience, in character, looking for someone to dance with. All of the little old ladies shied away, blushing and looking bashful and flapping their hands at him as if to say “Oh, stop!”. I, however, practically stood on my chair. I put my arm up and yelled, “I’ll go!!!” And wouldn’t you know it, John P. Stamos grabbed my hand and said “You’ll do.” And proceeded to lead me up onto the stage. At Studio 54. During a Broadway Production. Holy. Crap.

So John P. Stamos led me in a lovely little slow dance, during which he teased me about my height, told me I smelled nice, and then decided it was himself who smelled nice after all. When I responded that yes, he smelled like coconuts, John P. Stamos grabbed his crotch and said “Thank You!” with his penis. Then it was time for me to go back to my seat. So John P. Stamos leaned forward, puckered his lips, and coyly tapped them with a finger to indicate that I was to kiss him. Well, I wasn’t going to deny John P. Stamos a kiss, so I smooched him and turned to head back to my seat. It was at this point that John P. Stamos smacked my ass.

Later on, my aunts and I stood outside the stage door in hopes of getting my program autographed. Molly Ringwald, that cunt, “doesn’t do” autographs, but John P. Stamos sure does. John P. Stamos is not above interacting with his adoring public. So I got John P. Stamos’ autograph, and my aunt took my picture with him. But she was really excited. And this was before everyone had digital cameras. So when I had the film developed, I was crushed to find that I had a picture of myself with John P. Stamos’ chin. I had it re-developed, because there is often more on the negative than the photo they actually print out, and I was able to get all the way up to his eyebrows on the second try. So I now have definitive proof that I met, and danced with, John P. Stamos.

John P. Stamos and Rebecca Romijn divorced shortly thereafter. You do the math.

Things I Wasn't Expecting

Please be advised that this may be Too Much Information for the 3 of you who read this. If you don't want to know weird and possibly gross things about me, turn back now before it's too late. Thank you.

So. There are a lot of things people tell you when you are pregnant. Advice, horror stories, etc. that good intentioned veteran mommies cram into your ear canals whether you want it or not. So there are a lot of things that I was expecting, and did my best to prepare for.

Some things I wasn't expecting?

Female pattern baldness. All the books say that while you're pregnant you shed very little, so once you have the baby you might shed a little more hair than usual. No big deal, right? Except what's going on on my head is not merely "a little more hair than usual". Oh no. It's great big handfuls of hair. It looks like a horror film when I shampoo it, the clumps that come out in my hands. I have to clean the drain screen 2 - 3 times per shower. My hair is noticably thinner at the temples and it bothers me. I tried cutting my long hair off, because it was so damaged it was tangling and breaking and generally contributing to the problem, but the shedding has not slowed. Even more irritating are the little teeny tiny hairs growing in to replace the lost ones, which are starting to stick out the sides of my temples, no matter how much I try to slick them down. I look like the Mad Hatter in the new Alice in Wonderland movie. Not cute.

My body is betraying me?! The other day I tried to stand up with the baby, but went right back into a sitting position on the couch. Crying and laughing at the same time, I tried to feel my stomach muscles to see why it felt like a balloon had popped in my abdomen. No pain, during or after, to indicate a hernia, and yet, that's the only way to explain what it felt like. It felt like someone poking my abdomen from the inside...HARD. It was really strange and I freaked out
for a little while.

One day last week I couldn't put any weight on my right hand (like when getting up from sitting on the floor) without terrible pain. No reason. It went away the next day. Same thing happened 2 days earlier with the second and third toe of my left foot.

And my hips, if I sit indian style for too long, now not only creak and pop, but also hurt and lock up. I had a caesarean! The baby didn't even go through there!! What the hell, man?

Speaking of ceasarean...I was totally not prepared for this scar. It's actually pretty little and cute considering that an entire human came through there, but still. It's not the appearance that bothers me. Oh no. It's the itching. Because the internal organs that were cut open and sewn back together itch too...and now that they've shrunk, they don't line up with the external scar anymore. It's really a very bizarre feeling, to have an itch on the inside. Also? Ingrown hairs, dude. In. Grown. Hairs.


The "Glow" is bullshit. You heard me. That glow everyone talks about pregnant women having is nothing more than god damned oily skin. There is nothing happy and glowing about oily skin. It sucks. And mine has not gone away yet. And for me, oily skin = zits. So here I am, new mom, walking around looking like I went through puberty about 5 minutes ago. Fantastic. She's not my little sister!!!

And finally...Mommy Brain. Another thing I thought was supposed to go away once the kid came out. Maybe it's hormonal, I don't know. But I have forgotten people's names who I am RELATED to. I have had to pause and think about it when asked my own birthday. This is stuff that happens to old people. I am not an old people.

Am I?

Don't call her Princess.

When I was a kid, I don't think my mom ever called me "Princess" as a pet name, or put me in "I'm a Princess" t-shirts or anything like that. I don't know if that's because it wasn't the trend at the time, or if she made a conscious decision not to...it was just the way it wasn't.

I think that the whole "Princess" trend is pretty new. I know there have always been people who called their spoiled little girls Princess as a pet name, but as far as being a marketable trend, I think it's new. And I have to say, I don't like it. People have given me princess clothing for Layla, and I rarely put her in it...maybe for bed or if I know she's going to get messy. I never take her out while wearing it. The idea makes me cringe.

Don't get me wrong. When little girls are playing pretend, or dress up, there is nothing wrong with pretending to be princesses. Because it's PRETEND. But to be CALLED princess, to be clothed in outfits that declare princess status, to me is going too far. That's when it stops being pretend and starts being disgusting.

My opinion is that pounding the princess mentality into their little heads just sets them up to have it as adults. The need to be "taken care of" (read: spoiled). The belief that being pretty is more important than anything else. The sense of entitlement.

I don't want that for my kid. I want her to be able and willing to take care of herself. I don't want her to have to rely on a Prince Charming to come along and do it for her. I don't want her to think that she isn't worth anything if her hair isn't perfect and she isn't wearing lip gloss. I don't want her to think that she deserves things she won't work for.

Am I being overly psycho about this?

4 months....

Layla is 4 months old today.

It's very weird...before I had her, 4 months was never a significant portion of time. I could look 4 months back and see that my life was pretty much the same. Work drink sleep eat repeat.

But so much has changed that 4 months feels like forever.

People talk about how much your life changes when you have children. Well, I have the same apartment, same car, same job, same friends, same cat. So most things aren't very different. I think it's more that how you feel about life changes when you have children.

I think about her every second. Everything she does is the cutest thing I've ever seen. I'm so much more paranoid about things now. For instance, thunderstorms never scared me and they don't seem to bother her, but I can't help but think "Oh my god what if the building is hit by lightning!" everytime it starts to storm out.

4 months ago she was just this teeny tiny little bundle that I was almost afraid to unwrap. She didn't do anything but nurse and sleep and poop. She has grown so much since February. She interacts, with coos and laughter. She is so expressive, she makes the best faces and between that and her body language she can pretty much tell you exactly what's going on in her head. I can see her learning...her face when she is curious and inspecting something is just amazing.

How could all of that happen in just 4 months?

How to go grocery shopping by yourself with a small baby.

We have a system. It's a good system as long as I dont need that many groceries.

First of all, it helps if you have a good baby. (Have I mentioned that Layla is damn near angelic? Oh, I have? Well let me say it again. She's awesome.)

This is because if your baby is crying in the grocery store, people will look at you like you must be pinching her. They will whisper in asides to one another. "That baby isn't happy. Why doesn't she do something?" and other such nonsense. They don't care that the child is neither too warm nor too cold, is dry, has already rejected a fresh bottle and 3 varieties of binky, and simply wants to go home. But you can't go home, because there's no food there, and this is where they keep the food.

So. Having a good baby is definitely a plus.

First things first I find a parking spot near the cart corral, so I can just snag one right there instead of carrying the car seat thru the lot. Why don't I use a stroller, you ask? Have you ever tried to push a stroller and a shopping cart at the same time? It's ridiculous.

The baby's carrier goes into the basket of the shopping cart. This is why my system is best if you only need so many groceries. I can't put the carrier on top of the seat thing, because although I'm fairly certain it would be safe, I'm less than 5 feet tall and I can't see her if she's way up there.

I shop the way my mom always shopped. It's force of habit. Through the produce, all the way around the outer edge of the store, then up and down the aisles. Items are strategically placed around the baby seat in such a way that they probably wont topple over onto her, but if they do for some reason, she wont get hurt or cold. Milk and ice cream actually goes under the head of the carrier, because they're big and cold and it just makes the most sense.

The tricky part is when we get home. I came up with a system that works pretty much like a relay race with a relay team of me. Luckily I live on the first floor.

Park in front of building. Baby into apartment. Leave her in the car seat in the living room.

Then, run the groceries from the car into the vestibule. Run back and lock the car. Open the security door and move all the groceries to the other side. Let the door shut, unlock apartment door. Move all the groceries from the hallway into the inside doorway of the apartment. Shut the door so the cat doesn't escape. Then move all the groceries from the doorway to the kitchen. Put anything that might melt or spoil away immediately.

Unhook the baby, change her, and give her a toy to lick (she's really into licking things right now.) Then put away the rest of the groceries while simultaneously warming up a welcome home snack baba for the baby and eating something yourself quick before you pass out because you didn't eat before you went to the store. Mostly because going to the store is such a pain that you waited until there was nothing in the house but seven week old oranges and a box of Uncle Ben's.

Some women do this with multiple small children. My mom, for example. I can't for the life of me figure out how.

I'm not allowed to eat.

Can anyone explain this phenomenon to me?

I know it's common.

I have a happy baby. She's sweet and good. She often amuses herself for upwards of an hour while I do things like wash bottles, do laundry, fold clothes, etc.

But the very SECOND I try to eat something, she immediately needs to be held, changed, burped, looked at, SOMETHING.

I don't get it.

I've tried eating in the other room, really fast, over the sink, with the water running, to try to make her think I'm washing dishes.

No good. She KNOWS.

I don't know how she does it. Whatever gene made my mom able to know I was making faces at my brother in a completely different part of the house must have skipped a generation and gone straight to her.

So I eat a lot of cereal. Minimal preparation time, and if I let the baby fuss for as long as it takes me to eat a bowl of cereal, (35 seconds,) that's not so bad.

If she sleeps in or takes a morning nap I sometimes get to have toaster waffles.

Heaven.

Mother's Day

Hope it was a good one for all the mommas out there.

I got to do this:



Ain't she sweet? Dig that teeny poodle skirt!

Many thanks to Debra at AlexaArt Photography for inviting me to be one of her Bombshell Pinups, and for letting me bring my little ladybug.

Also to Kevin for hanging out with Layla while I got my picture took.

How did this happen?

Soooo....I have a boyfriend now.

And, NO, it is not my daughter's father. I wouldn't take him back if you paid me.

Never, ever, ever, in a zillion years, did I think I'd be dating someone this quickly. But we've been friends for years...and it's not like Matt and I just broke up recently. So...yeah.

Most mind blowing thing so far? He changes diapers.

I don't ask him to. He just does it. He will also take the baby from me to give her a bottle or play with her. Holy crap, dude. Totally not his job, but he says he's happy to do it. Leaves me speechless every time.

Matt came by Sunday to see the baby for the first time in a month. It was awkward, but he was nice. (Although, for the record, he tried to get out of changing any more than one diaper. Really, dude? You're her FATHER.) I forbade him to talk to me about anything but the kiddo...if anything else had been discussed I'd have been forced to rip him a new one, which would have upset both of us and therefore, the baby. Bottom line? He fucked up hardcore, but it's over and done with. Moving on.

Layla was 3 months on the 2nd. We had photos done at Wally World, and they turned out really cute. I find myself annoyed, however, that I can't steal the photos from their online store like I can with Sears. Walmart printed words over my baby's face to prevent me from doing this. WTF? I shouldn't be so pissed - yes, I can totally steal the images from the Sears site but it costs twice as much to have pictures done there, and the girl at Sears was not nearly as patient with us.

Happy Cinco De Mayo, people. Last year I got drunk. This year I'm the only one taking care of a small baby, so I'm thinking that instead of tequila, I'll celebrate with Taco Bell on my way home.

Holy crap, I think I might be starting to grow up.

Yesterday a scary thing happened to me.

I was thinking to myself that I would like to get a tattoo in honor of my daughter, and I was thinking about what it would be and how it would look and how many hours I thought it would take, so I could figure out approximately how much it would cost.

And then, a part of my brain that must have lain dormant until now, piped up. It said: "Wouldn't it be a much better tribute to your daughter to take that money and put it away for her education?"

Hmm. You make a good point, Mom Brain. But Manda Brain still wants the tattoo.

Now I just have to figure out how much money I need to set aside for Layla before my overpowering guilt complex will relax enough to let me get it.

Growing up is hard, man.

It's Raining, It's Pouring

Today, as I was getting my ladybug ready to go out for the day, I sang her the above line. Then, without even realizing I knew the words, and without thinking about it, I sang the rest;
"The old man is snoring,
he got out of bed and bumped his head,
and didn't get up in the morning!"

Which is when I realized what a horrible song that is. That's a sad story on the 6 o'clock news, not fodder for a nursery rhyme!

"A rainy night ends in tragedy for one area man. Story at 6."

This week was my first week back to work. It hasn't been too bad, although I'd much rather be home with my little girl. I will say this; mommy brain is a killer.

First of all, I've completely forgotten how to do my job. It's really strange that I don't even remember what buttons to press to do certain functions anymore. Also, throughout the week I've forgotten to bring something important with me every day.
Monday it was my breast pump. (I went back for it.) Tuesday it was my phone charger. Wednesday it was a bottle with which to collect breastmilk when pumping. (Boy was that an adventure.) I can't even remember what I forgot yesterday, but it was something important.

Today I forgot to bring food.

Sigh.

Get Onto The Bus...

My little girl is 10 weeks old.

I can't believe how fast the time is going. I just want to slow everything down. And I can't believe how paranoid I am all of the sudden.

I will wake from a dead sleep and go over to her crib to put my hand on her chest, just to make sure she is still breathing. I'm also guilty of never letting her cry.

"It's good for 'em", people like to say to me. In what world? See here's the thing; she's a sweet baby. She doesn't cry all day and she never cries for no good reason. So if she is crying it's because she needs something. Sometimes that something is a snuggle. Who doesn't get a little teary eyed when all they want in the world is a snuggle and no one will give it to them? I think that's a perfectly good reason to cry.

I won't go into the whole birth story, but let me just say this; C-sections are horrifying. Oh. My. God. I wouldn't trade my baby for anything in the entire world, but I could have gone forever without knowing what it felt like to have my intestines in my lap.

Yuck.

Matt isn't around anymore. It's sad that that's the way things have to be, but he just couldn't seem to take care of himself, and I have more important things to take care of now. I can't imagine being away from my baby and not even calling to see how she is...but I guess that's just him. He's not who I thought he was a year ago when we made this little girl.

It's better that I didn't know. If I had, Layla Lenore wouldn't be here with me...and she makes me happier than anything ever has.

She giggles in her sleep. (She hasn't figured out how to do it when she's awake.)
When she smiles she squinches up one eye.
She coos at me when I sing to her.
She loves faces.
She rubs her nose when she's sleepy.
She's my world.

37 Weeks

17 days to go.

My doctor doesn't want me to go past my due date, and he officially put me on the schedule to be induced on February 1st. Planning my kid's birthday that way seems a little wrong, but at the same time, it's nice to know the end is near.

Besides, she still might surprise us. Scheduling an induction, from what I've observed, is like lighting a cigarette while you're waiting for the bus. It's the best way to get it to come before you're ready.

I told my doctor that since we decided on the 1st, I wanted to be out of the hospital by my birthday (the 6th) because I want cake. He laughed. I was dead serious. I want a whole peice of cake all to myself with lots and lots of ice dream. Maybe I'll have seconds. Just because I can.

I'm trying to be upbeat and not get too moody but it's really hard. At work I have to sit in pretty much the same position all night, and my legs tend to go numb after a while. Then when I get off and I can walk around, my hips and pelvis hurt so badly. I was originally going to work all the way through January but I just can't. I don't know how other people work up until they pop but bless them. There's no way. In that respect as well, I'm lucky that we've scheduled an induction. If I didn't have that date to go by, I would have no way of knowing how many weeks of leave I'm using up by starting it early, so that wouldn't be an option.

Bottom line - tomorrow is my last day of work. I was going to try to make it through the 22nd but after this week I give up.

I can either nest or work at this point...I can't do both. Besides, cleaning and organizing my apartment gives me way more opportunities for nap breaks.

Oh, and on the "things nobody ever told me" front...apparently once I start nursing my cat is going to follow me around even MORE than he does now?? I never even considered that. Ew.

4 weeks to go.

I am paranoid.

I am paranoid that I will go into labor at work and nobody will want to drive me to the hospital because they'll get points on their record and have to use part of their vacation time to cover their hours.

I am paranoid that I will push and push and push only to be told they have to do a c-section after all and they'll pull that sheet on front of my face and I'll be basically disconnected from the rest of my body, not knowing what's going on or what they are doing to my internal organs, waiting to hear my baby cry.

Other than that, everything is fine.

Aunt Becky is giving away stuff again. I like stuff, so I'm completing her questions below. Please excuse any poor language. Aunt Becky is a horrible influence.

1) Dave and I have a long-standing feud over cheese in a can. He thinks it’s food of The Gods while I think it’s probably Of The Devil. Your take?

Of the devil. Definitely of the devil. There is nothing even remotely appealing about that stuff.

2) Is there any way you can think of to make the elder Gosselins go away? I AM ALL EARS.

Ignore them. Stop buying the shitty magazines and for craps sake stop watching that show.

3) Who is your ridiculous “I can’t admit this to anyone in polite company lest I be banned from life” crush?

John Stamos. Except I do mention it. Frequently. I danced with him once, and he kissed me. Didn't I ever tell you that story?

4) If you could fuck it all and pursue your dream (assuming, of course, you were going to be GOOD at it), what would that dream be?

I would be a Broadway actor. The problem here is that I'm an okay singer and an okay dancer... but not GOOD. At least, not GOOD in the way you have to be to make a living out of that.

5) They say “living well is the best revenge.” I think they are wrong. Do you?

I don't know. I guess it depends on the sort of person you are dealing with. I have certain people I know who HATE it when I am doing well (Making more money than them, thinner than them, happier than them, etc.) and that always makes me smile. But if all else fails, there's always the story of the wife whose husband cheated on her, and in the divorce he got the house. So when she moved out, she hid sardines or something in the curtain rods, and after months and months of trying to get rid of the smell and failing, he signed the house back over to her and she lived happily ever after. Or something like that.

6) What is the most humiliation you’ve experienced in public that you’d be willing to admit to The Internet?

Ummm...well, you know, I twisted my ankle hopping off my bar stool once. And I puked in the street on St. Patrick's Day outside the busiest pub in town. And then I fell and scraped my face off and had to explain THAT at work the next day. Then there was the time I was arrested in my pajamas on my then-boyfriend's birthday and he spent the day trying to bail me out. That one was not booze related. It was cake related. I don't want to talk about it.

7) Are you honest with The Internet? Like, if I came over to your house tonight (heh)(I’m coming over, yo)(heh) would I be surprised at who I found?

I used to try to be all thought provoking and deep and crap. And then I realized that that just made me look like a flaming asshole. So now I try not to take myself too seriously, either in person or on the Internet. And, if you come over, could you bring guacamole?

8 ) If you could have one talent that you don’t currently possess, what would it be?

Hmmm. I would like to be able to play the drums. Theoretically, I COULD do this, but I have coordination problems, and drummers need to be able to get all their limbs to do different things at the same time. Me, not so much.

9) There’s not always room for Jello. Is there?

Not always, but usually. Unless it's the sugar free watermelon flavor. That stuff makes my tongue tingle unnaturally and I don't like it.

10) What’s your guiltiest of the guilty pleasures?

I kind of like Justin Timberlake's music. Sort of. A little bit. Also Eminem. I'm a horrible person.