Two Scoops

I've offered Dylan raisins for snacking several times, and he has not been a big fan. On the mornings when he has no oatmeal because I was too lazy to make it the night before, he gets to eat Eric's Dorset cereal. Eric says he always spits out the raisins. Similarly, when I try to get him to eat raisins as an afternoon snack, he grossly spits out the wet, partially masticated globs onto the area rug where it becomes camouflaged for days.

Last week in an attempt to make him stop fussing, I again offered him raisins. They were the PC Organics Jumbo Thompson Raisins, and they were truly enormous. Unlike their sticky SunMaid counterparts, these abominations were the size of the top joint of my pinky finger.

On this day, Dylan finally decided he liked raisins. He gobbled them down like a little glutton! Then he pointed at the now-empty little raisin box while making his trademark frantic grunting noise. I obliged by getting him another little box of raisins. He hoovered those down as well.

In total, he ate 8 boxes of raisins. That is a lot of raisins. It was probably a really bad idea to let him eat that many raisins, but I was sickly fascinated to see how many boxes of raisins he would actually consume. The answer was 8 boxes.

The next day, he pooped four times. Each of those four times he pooped not piles of raisins, but GRAPES! He must have been swallowing raisins mostly whole, and they reconstituted in his digestive tract to their original grape form.

It was every bit as gross as it sounds, diapers full of soft plump grapes nestled in a loose matrix of poo, some grapes flattened and stuck against his little buttocks. It kinds of creeps me out just talking about it.

I will end with a spontaneous haiku:
I saw you piled there
A grotesque perversion of
The circle of life

I'm An Awesome Jerk

We finally got our greedy paws on a Wii Fit!

To be honest, I wasn't that excited about Wii Fit. I didn't understand the hype. Why would anyone want to ruin a delightful passtime like videogaming by throwing in gross exercise? Isn't it enough that I wiggle my thumb and click buttons simultaneously?

But I'm so chunky I'm practically a rectangle. Starting in the new year, I have been trying to get my body to stop looking so blockish. I have been going to the gym every other day, and I have kept my eye out for a Wii Fit. I heard those stories about those people who lost 20lbs playing Wii Fit. I wanted to be one of those people.

Yesterday I went to visit my parents, and my mom and I went to the mall. While walking past Toys R' Us, I saw a little girl struggle by, hauling a slim box with a handle. I saw that it was a Wii Fit. So I punched that little girl in the mouth and ran off with her Wii Fit. I could hear her crying and screaming, but I made it to my car and drove away.

After dropping the game off at my parents' house, I called my mom on her cell phone and went back to the mall to pick up her and Dylan.

Okay no, that didn't happen. But I did dart into Toy R' Us and ask if they had any Wii Fits in stock. And when I saw that they did, I bought one. Yes!!!

I have been playing Wii Fit in almost every spare moment since then (I took a break this morning to dig up my turnip and sell it in Animal Crossing - good times). I love the Balance Games! I am awesome at them. By "awesome" I mean "way better than Eric".

Tonight I finally went to try the Soccer Balance Game. You have to shift your weight from side to side in order to hit soccer balls with your head while avoiding cleats and beheaded panda mascots. I recalled that Eric had proclaimed this game to be "difficult" and "tricky". His high score was 99. I started playing and it was indeed tricky. I found the hardest part was hitting the balls that came at you right near the middle (that's what she said). But after a couple of tries I was getting scores that were over three times higher than Eric's!

He came out to see how I was doing and was impressed and awed by my soccer ball hitting prowess. He encouraged me and cheered me on. But this was not enough for me.

Carol: "Do you want to try?"

Eric: "No it's okay. I'm going to call Chris, I have to talk to him about some work stuff."

Carol: "Come on, come try! Here, I'll set it up for you..."

Eric: "No, really. Maybe later."

Carol: "Come now! I want you to try and then be really bad so I feel even MORE awesome!"

Eric: "...that's why you want me to try?"

Carol: "HERE YOU GO, IT'S ALL READY!!"

And so Eric tried. And he did much better than his original high score of 99. But even so, his "Personal Best" didn't rank in the top ten.

Carol: "Oh boy. Eric, GOOD FOR YOU. A new 'Personal Best'. Gosh, too bad it's still not even as good as my worst score. HAHA!!!! LOSER!!!!"

I am a beautiful person.


*********
UPDATE:
*********
After writing this blog post, I went and kept playing the soccer game on the beginner level, and after a few tries I got a PERFECT SCORE! I hit every single soccer ball and avoided every cleat and panda head!! This results in a score of 555. I SO TOTALLY ROCK!!

Dylan is a Hungry Hungry Hippo

Earlier this week I woke up all groggy to the sound of Dylan complaining his head off from his room. It sounded something like "I have been lying here for a long time woman, when are you coming to get me?" So I got out of bed and allowed him to keep bitching while I went pee, brushed my teeth, and went to the kitchen to heat up his breakfast of organic oatmeal with apples, cinnamon, and ground chia seeds.

Sidebar: Remember Chia Pets (Ch-ch-ch-chia!)? Turns out the seeds that served as their nutrient source are like the most nutrient-rich whole food on the entire planet. Aztecs used to survive on chia seeds when they went on...big hunting camping trips? I can't remember the actual quote. But you can get them at health food stores and we sprinkle it on as much of Dylan's food as we can get away with.

So while I was in the kitchen I noticed that two cereal bowls were rinsed and sitting by the sink. Weird, cause why did Eric use two cereal bowls? Then I thought there was considerably less oatmeal in the container than I had expected. Weird, cause I thought I had just made that batch two days ago? Then after everything was heated up I filled a sippy cup with water and took everything out to set up on the table. And sitting on the table was a sippy cup all filled and ready to go. Weird, cause did Eric put that there? In preparation for me?

I went to get Dylan and he was in a good mood. We snuggled and said good morning to his favourite stuffed animals. Then I brought him out to the dining room and suddenly it occured to me that maybe Eric had already gotten up and fed him once this morning. Two cereal bowls, less oatmeal than expected in the container, and a prepared sippy cup! I called Eric and sure enough I was so zonked out that I had no idea he had gotten up with Dylan much earlier, fed him, changed him, played with him, and put him back down for a nap. Huh.

Anyway, that heated bowl of oatmeal went back in the fridge - I wasn't going to feed it to Dylan again but Eric can eat garbage out of a toilet and still not get sick, so he could have it the following morning. When I told him this, he got very excited because he lives for Dylan's delicious organic leftover scraps.

So the next morning, father and son woke up together and each had a big bowl of oatmeal with apples, cinnamon, and ground chia seeds. Eric was horrified at how filling Dylan's breakfast is. Ground chia seeds have a lot of insoluble fibre so they fill you up fast and keep you feeling full. And we load in as much as the oatmeal can hold without turning into sawdust paste. Eric felt almost uncomfortably full after eating that bowl of oatmeal. Dylan felt fine and still wanted to share my granola cereal.

That same day, as another example, Dylan and I had lunch.

I ate:
- 2 extra large scrambled eggs
- 1 piece of dry flax toast

I felt bloated afterwards.

Dylan ate:
- 2 extra large scrambled eggs
- 1 piece of dry flax toast
- 1/4 avocado
- 1 banana

He then tried to bully me into making him more eggs. When I refused, he lay on his stomach and dragged himself around the ground for exercise.

Who are the medical professionals out there? What are the chances Dylan has some kind of...I don't know thyroid problem? What controls appetite?

You can imagine how happy he makes my Chinese relatives.

Life Update

Dylan is sleeping and is due to wake up any minute. This is of course the best time to start an all-purpose update blog post. I'm practically inviting failure and there is a good chance you will never see this posted.

I Have No Husband
Well no, technically I still do. But ever since going back to work in the new year, Eric has been working some extreme hours. He goes to work at a normal time most mornings, but stays at the office until 2 or 3 in the morning. Then he stumbles home, catches a few hours of sleep, then gets up to feed Dylan so he at least still knows he has a father, then goes off to work again.

There is a medium-to-good chance that Eric is having an affair. It would not be surprising for Eric to be this bad at having an affair that he just claims he's working late until 2 or 3 every night, but is actually in the arms of his clandestine lover. I keep trying to catch him in a lie, but he is actually pretty consistent with his story. I don't blame him for staying consistent because he knows that if he is caught in an affair, his balls will be ripped off and liquified in a blender and then force-fed back to him. So you know. Let me know if you have any information. I'm too lazy to do anything about it.

Dylan is a Monster Tank
He is so big. My little wee baby is gone forever and in its place is a chunky block of muscle and chub. He still can't walk independently but he insists on holding onto our fingers and charging around everywhere. And he poops like an absolute machine!

And recently, he has made a hysterical game out of flipping over onto his stomach anytime you want to change his diaper. I know he thinks it's hilarious because he looks at me first and starts cackling like a wicked witch, then arches his back and rolls over onto his stomach. And then he looks at me again and continues to cackle. And when you try to flip him back over, he laughs and resists and kicks his feet like he's dancing.

It's all fine and good as long as it's a pee diaper. It's annoying because it takes forever to get the new diaper on him and the whole time I'm in fear of him spraying pee everywhere. But when it's a poo diaper, it's just disgusting. The potential is high for stinky poo to get everywhere. I've started to change him on the floor when it's a poo diaper and I push one of my legs across his torso to forcefully pin him down. As he gasps for air and moans in pain, I feel there must be a better way to do this. So you know. Let me know if you can think of anything. I'm too stupid now to innovate ideas.

I Love Shameful TV
Ever since Eric started working these late night, I have become increasingly dependent on trashy television. It all started on the season premiere of The Bachelor on a Monday night. Eric was working late and Dylan had gone down to sleep at his customary 7pm, and there was nothing for me to do after eating my dinner. So I turned on the TV and started flipping through channels. The Bachelor caught my eye as I was surfing. All the girls were filing out of a limo and introducing themselves to Jason Mesnick. I wanted to check out the group of desperate bimbos, so I started watching. I was all casual and saracastic about it, and I ended up watching the entire episode. I made fun of the trailer they tacked on at the end promising scandal and intrigue for the remainder of the season. I was not pathetic.

The following Monday, Eric was again working late, so I flipped on the TV and saw that The Bachelor was on. "Oh," methinks to myself. "Look at that. I may as well tune in to see what those wacky girls are up to."

By the third Monday, I was eagerly awaiting 8:00 and the two-hour extravaganza of awesomeness that is The Bachelor.

This week, I just sucked it up and dove into not only The Bachelor, but also all iterations of American Idol, and topped it off with an episode of "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" and then "Pregnant and Paralyzed" on TLC.

It's the beginning of 2009 and I am once again TV's bitch. So you know. Let me know if you are addicted to any other good trashy shows. I'm too strung out on these shows to look for new ones.

My Eyeball Was Injured
My left eye had been bothering me for a few months. If you hang out with me often, you will likely recall moments when I would put my hand up to my eye and complain of a stinging sensation, followed by a run to the washroom to take out my contact lens to clean it. I may have also asked Eric to blow in my eye.

I finally went to the eye doctor and he looked at my eyeball. Turns out something had gotten under my contact lens some time ago and scraped off a section of my cornea. I'm pretty sure it happened in Cuba. Possibly with sand. I had to stop wearing my contact lenses and wear glasses for a few days while it healed.

This story really isn't that interesting, I just really get annoyed with having to wear my glasses for such a long period of time. Glasses suck. So you know. Whatever.

And on that note, I will end with a spontaneous rhyming couplet:
If Eric cheats his balls I will destroy
And lack of sperm will not be due to soy

"IT WAS YOU!!"

Dylan has major gas today. I think he might be a little bit sick, because his head feels warmer than usual, his appetite is strangely small, and he's been gulping water at a shocking pace.

His farts smell like rotten eggs. Which, I know that's what farts are supposed to smell like. Everyone says that farts smell like eggs, eggs smell like farts...I used to make egg salad in Kingston while Gloria was in class and when she got back she'd know I had been making egg salad because it smelled like I had held a large choir practice in the apartment but instead of practising songs, everyone had farted and left. But Dylan's farts today really DID smell like rotten eggs, like I detected distinct notes of poached egg white. And he hadn't eaten any poached egg white at all, in fact, he had spat out all of his delicious kale, onion, and cherry tomato omelette which I ended up eating, including the ABC pieces he spat out.

Sidebar: I have never eaten so much ABC food as I have in the past 4 or 5 months since Dylan started solids. I'm like a dog. A really flabby, non-hairy dog with stretchmarks.

He farted all throughout the day, the same flavour each time. Late in the afternoon, I heaved him into my arms and went down to the parking garage to get something from the car. And he FARTED IN THE ELEVATOR. It was completely gross. I was so scared someone would be waiting for the elevator down in P2 and think that I had made that smell. Do I blame the baby? It seemed not only cruel, but also not very believable. If it were me, I would not believe that a small innocent baby would be able to make a smell so potent. I don't think I've smelled anything like that since my first trimester when my poo was backed up and came out extra fermented.

Luckily, there was no one down there, and we went to the car and got what we needed. Dylan thought that being taken down to the cold parking garage in his pyjamas was a hoot. He started giggling once we were in the parking area and was happily pointing at everything. Totally cute.

Of course, we were lucky to get the SAME ELEVATOR going back up. And when I walked inside, the fart was STILL THERE. So not only was Dylan's fart thick and potent, it had longevity. It smelled as though the atmosphere in the elevator were a vacuum and the fart had been perfectly preserved.

But here's the thing: I don't think Dylan knows he's the one making these farts. A little later, I was feeding him his dinner. We were sitting there at the dining room table, and he was feeding himself pieces of curry tofu and he let one rip. It burst out in a thick cloud of stench.

I turned to give him a strained look. And found that he was giving me a strained look. That's right, he was looking at me as though I had just farted. And then he lifted his little arm and pointed a finger at me. I started shaking my head vehemently, "NO baby, NO! It was you! IT WAS YOU!!!" And he started shaking his head, and continued to point!

So either my 10-month-old baby can't tell when he's farting or he knows how to fart and then blame it on his mother. I really hope he doesn't do this in public.

Uncle Luke is literal; awesome

We spent the weekend at Niagara Falls with Luke and Cathy. Luke and Cathy are beyond fantastic with Dylan, and I'm not just writing that because I know that Cathy reads my blog (hi Cathy). Dylan promptly loses his mind from excitement every time he sees them and not surprisingly - they have endless patience and attention for him, and we see them every week so he probably thinks we're related to them. Like maybe they're his other parents.

Cathy is a high school teacher and overachiever. The downside of this is that she enjoys being correct way too much, but the upside is that she is excellent at turning most interactions into learning opportunities for Dylan. Luke works at a nuclear power plant and is extremely smart. He also loves technology and is kind of a dork in that cool successful way.

There was a nice Christmas tree still up in the lobby of the hotel, and while I dumped my child off with Cathy and Luke to go poke around in the gift shop, they took him to see the Christmas tree.

This was the easy-to-understand lesson that Cathy gave:

Cathy: Look Dylan! Look at the tree. This is an acorn. A-CORN.

Dylan: (pointing) Da.

Cathy: What's this Dylan? It's a cranberry. CRAN-BERRY.

Dylan: (pointing) Da.

Then Luke joined in to impart some knowledge of his own:

Luke: Hey Dylan, look at this (points to LED Christmas light). LIGHT E-MITT-ING DI-ODE.

Cathy: Okay, lesson's over.

Oh no.

Happy Holidays everybody!! It's the day after New Year. Our Christmas celebrations went off normal - lots of family and not enough sleep. Dylan was spoiled completely rotten and now we're trying to find places in the condo for all his prezzies.

Earlier this week our halfie environmentalist accountant friend Rob came from Ottawa to visit with his new wife Amanda. Amanda is great because she openly talks about poo and other bodily secretions, as well as all gooey things related to pregnancy and childbirth. They are the most excited out of anyone I've ever known to procreate. She's been charting her cycles "for fun" and playing with her vag goo for a few weeks lately to try to learn when and how her body responds when it is ovulating. We talked about these things over dinner, as well as a few VERY revealing private stories regarding stomach flu and all that comes with it. Suffice it to say, Rob loves Amanda very very much and has proved it beyond any shred of real or imagined doubt. Good on ya, Rob.

In return, I had very few stories to offer up. All my "scandalous" and "embarrassing" stories had already been told and rehashed several times. There's only so many times that Eric can puke in my mouth. I felt very inadequate. I mentioned how I once popped Eric's freak-occurance butt-zit. But Amanda had popped a zit Rob had on the underside of his thigh, so it was almost the same thing. Sad times for attention-hungry Carol.

That night, my body decided to give me some more ammunition. It wanted to help me out and get me back in the game. We were up late playing board games before Rob and Amanda left, and it took us a little while to get to bed. By the time we fell asleep we were completely exhausted and slept the sleep of the nearly dead. In my dreams, I did many things including going to Costco with my mother and playing with Dylan. Several times, I dreamt I went to the kitchen to pee in the dishwasher. During one of those dream trips, I peed for a long time. There was a lot of pee going into that dishwasher, I couldn't stop.

I woke up and I had wet the bed.

I PEED THE BED.

My pants were hot and sopping wet, clinging to my ass. The sheets were soaked. I, a grown woman, a mother of one, a practitioner of good personal hygiene, had lost control of my bladder and released its contents in my sleep.

I woke Eric up and he changed the sheets while I got in the shower to clean off my peed-on body.

It's so embarrassing. Happy New Year everyone.

Dylan and the Reverse Gay Poo Boner

On Saturday, Dylan ate a ton of food, as per usual. For breakfast he ate some apple cinnamon oatmeal and plain yogurt with 10% milk fat. For lunch he ate an omelette with kale and green onions and a bowl of blueberries and strawberries. And for dinner he ate 1/4 pound of dijon baked salmon, a head of broccoli, a kiwi fruit, 8 blackberries, and a bit of egg from a shrimp dish my mom made.

He then proceeded not to poo for nearly 24 hours. Eric and I were becoming a little concerned because we knew how much stuff was backed up in there. Luckily, around dinnertime last night as I was preparing Dylan's repast of yet more salmon, this time with green beans and peppers, Eric galloped past the kitchen on his way to Dylan's room with the baby held aloft triumphantly in his arms proclaiming happily, "He made a stinky! He made a stinky!!"

A few seconds ticked by, and then Eric called out to me excitedly, "Carol! You have to come see this poo!!" So I dropped what I was doing and ran over. I love looking at poo.

Dylan was lying on the change table gumming a teething toy. Eric pointed at Dylan's diaper which had not yet been taken off. And there, rising majestically out of his butt was a great protruberance. It tented his diaper. It looked like a boner. Except it was made of poo. And it was from the butt...and was coming out of it instead of going in. I immediately christened it the Reverse Gay Poo Boner.

I'm pretty sure this means Dylan needs more fluids.

Glutton in Training - A Short Diatribe

Dylan eats like a starving animal. I know that babies go through growth spurts and maybe 10 months is just one of those times. But I think it's ridiculous.

Yesterday for lunch he ate:

- an omelette made from 1 organic egg, a big handful of organic kale, 1 organic cremini mushroom and 1 stalk of organic green onion
- 1/2 a supermarket 1/2-pint container of organic raspberries
- 1 organic kiwi fruit
- 1/4 organic avocado

But since we were at a restaurant, his eyes wandered over to our food, so he also ate:

- the squishy inside of 1 wedge of a giant green-onion-sesame-seed-fried-cake thing
- 3 pieces of very spicy beef brisket

This sort of eating is a regular occurance. When we go to dim sum restaurants, you can see his mouth watering as the food comes to the table, and then he shrieks like he's frantic we're not going to give him any, and then he hoovers it down like a tortured prisoner. At dim sum, he likes to eat:

- the beefy insides of the beef noodle roll
- steamed BBQ pork buns - the whole thing, including the BBQ pork
- steamed chicken and mushroom buns - the whole thing including the chicken and mushroom
- panfried turnip cakes
- steamed beefy balls
- siu mai (steamed pork and shrimp dumplings)
- bean curd rolls with mushrooms and other vegetarian stuff inside
- chicken and shitake mushrooms in a rice hot pot
- congee, any kind

He also loves all berries and fruit. Thank god his digestive system has improved, and he breaks down his food more before he poops it out. For the longest time, blueberries were his favourite fruit, but the poo came out smelling like delicious blueberry muffins. It was horrible, I can't stand the smell of real blueberry muffins anymore. I also can't stand the smell of blueberry or mixed berry yogurt. It's all poo to me.

I look into the future of this child and I see obesity. Obesity and joy.

I have this zit

We have a wedding to go to in Ottawa this Saturday and I have this really bad zit. I am not 14 years old. I am way older than that (28) and I haven't had a bad zit for years and years. What is this??

It's in a really bad place, on the left side of my face (as in, on the same side as my personal left hand, which is opposite from the left side of my face as seen by you), about a centimetre diagonally above the corner of my mouth. It started a few days ago as a hard and painful underground bump. I poked it a bit and massaged it curiously and hoped it would go away. But over the past few days it has been surfacing and becoming red and swollen. I had Eric touch it yesterday and he exclaimed in surprise at the heat of the pink zit bump. It is still not a full-fledged zit, but more like a small pointy mountainous mosquito bite. I am afraid that by Saturday it will have matured into a mighty whitehead, and I will have to pop it. And then the skin will be broken and will not look right even with concealer and make-up, because the surface will be all scraggy. Plus I will have to keep on RE-popping it, because it will continue to refill itself with pus and blood and fluid.

It reminds me of this time I had a huge underground zit for about two months on the left side of my face near the top of my cheekbone. This is a really long story, and just thinking of it makes me so excited I get exhausted, so suffice it to say, it eventually erupted into a mighty whitehead which I popped every night for four nights. It was a veritable zit-shaped cornucopia of pus. It kept on refilling, and each subsequent night yielded greater and greater volumes of pus and blood. Finally, on the last fateful night of the life of this zit, I did the usual pop, and gobs of pus ran out, followed by rivulets of blood. I collected all this waste on a piece of tissue and clambered up onto our bed to show Eric, who reacted with dutiful horror and disgust. Then I went back to the bathroom to continue playing with the zit for awhile, mainly to continue squeezing blood out of it until I got bored. I placed a finger on either side of the still prevalent lump, and pushed inward and downward. What I'm about to tell you will sound like an exaggeration. Admittedly, I sometimes exaggerate on the blog for shock effect, but - and I can't stress this enough - this is not one of those times. This is 100% accurate with no embellishments.

Okay.

So I placed a finger on either side of the still prevalent lump and pushed inward and downward. And a large hole about the size of the tip of a medium ball-point pen opened up at the apex of the zit lump, and a semi-solid substance ERUPTED from this hole in almost the exact manner of silly string. It wasn't gooey drippy pus. It wasn't blood. It was white, and it came out in a strip, like Play-Doh squeezed out of the spaghetti maker. Recall, this zit was at the top of my left cheekbone. This column of pus shot out perpendicular to my person and then fell with the natural force of gravity down against my face. It hung down a FULL INCH. It was completely disgusting and completely beautiful. If you don't believe me, you can verify my story with Eric because, of course, the next thing I did was clamber back up onto the bed to show him. He couldn't believe his eyes. He still talks about it to this day.

After much oh-my-godding and holy-christing I wiped it off and squeezed a few more times to clear it out completely. And suddenly, the lump was entirely and utterly deflated. It lay totally flat. This underground hard lumpy tumour of a zit that had been with me for over two months was just gone. It was hands down the most incredible zit experience of my life.

I do have another hard lump in a place similar to the insane zit, and it has been there since before Dylan was born. I told Eric about it the other day and he does not believe me. But I am not lying, this lump has been in my face since before I gave birth. If you want to feel it, I will let you. I've been waiting for it to erupt the same way, but as each month passes I am disappointed. I feel that insane zit was truly a once-in-a-lifetime zit.

But this painful, hot, red bump on my face right now, I don't know what will happen with it. But I'm not happy. I think I'll go to the washroom now and play with it a bit.

Carol and Carols

I'm getting anal for Christmas. Whoa wait, let me clarify. I am not getting penetrated in the butt by an erect penis as a holiday gift (Eric: "Boo"). What I mean is that I am starting to get excitedly anxious about the holiday season, and am worried that I won't get anything done in time and will have to battle through the crush of holiday shoppers with my screaming child in order to buy thoughtful and appropriate gifts for everyone on my list. As a result, I have an Excel spreadsheet all typed out with the people for whom I must purchase gifts, and the possible gift ideas listed in the column next to their names. And I am planning on ticking those gifts off the list a few at a time over the next two weeks. I am on an uber efficient holiday shopping spree!

As a result of this, I have also moved up the annual playing of holiday music. I keep checking radio stations in the car to see if anyone is playing holiday music yet (they're not), and yesterday I searched for "Christmas" in my iTunes and created a playlist of all the songs that came out of that search and re-synched my iPod and put it back on the iPod docking station. And today, I decided it was time to start brainwashing Dylan with Christmas music. So instead of the usual mix of Disney songs and girly pop music I make him listen to, I put on the Christmas playlist and sat down with him to play with his toys.

The first song that came on was "Where are You Christmas" by Faith Hill. Slow, moving, beautiful music with cheesy stupid lyrics. I love this song! Christmas was off to a great start!

Then came another favourite, "All I Want for Christmas Is You", by Mariah Carey. I so can't get enough of this song. It makes me want to dance! So that's what I did, I picked up Dylan and we boogied all over the condo. Good times were had by all.

Then "Santa Baby" by Madonna. Hmm, I thought to myself. This song is pretty skanky. But you can't deny "Santa Baby", after all it's a classic.

Then came Britney's "Santa Can You Hear Me". I had a cringe moment; I didn't want Dylan listening to this. And then I had an introspective moment. I have never been a huge Britney fan, but I can't deny that her past music is catchy. While I have always turned my nose up at the low quality of her offerings, I am now at a point where I feel I can admit that she was culturally one of the voices of my generation. She is approximately my age, and her music managed to permeate most of the years of my youth when I felt that the world was at my feet and I would be young and awesome forever. My friend Jordan even wrote a shout-out to her in his graduating blurb of our yearbook. When I hear her warbling nasal voice, I am sent hurtling back into that bubble in my life: full of doubt and confidence, full of fear and hope. Secure and happy and clueless. And while it's true that Britney has been a complete mess for a few years, she's looking pretty hot again now, and has that "surprisingly candid" interview with MTV so...maybe she's okay again? Anyway, I decided to let go of my prejudices and to embrace this song, and so Dylan and I danced as Brit implored Santa for a man, promising that this was her only wish this year.

Then came a really stuffy operatic version of "Still Still Still" by the Cambridge Singers. Yeah, I have totally dorky music.

And then, unfortunately, Mr Garrison's voice came on the speakers:
I heard there is no Christmas in the silly Middle East
No trees, no snow, no Santa Claus, they have different religious beliefs
They believe in Muhammad, and not in our holiday
And so every December I go to the Middle East and say...

"Hey there Mr. Muslim Merry fucking Christmas
Put down that book the Koran, and hear some holiday wishes.
In case you haven't noticed it's Jesus's birthday.
So get off your heathen Muslim ass and fucking celebrate!"

Too late I remembered my extensive collection of South Park holiday songs. I snuck a glance at Dylan and he was looking at me curiously. I decided that not to react would be the best thing, so I pretended to play with a plastic giraffe. Unfortunately, by the time Mr Garrison got to this part:
"Hey there Mr. Shintoist Merry fucking Christmas
God is going to kick your ass you infidelic pagan scum"
Dylan had decided he liked the song and was bopping to the beat and waving his arms. My baby could be a racist.

Of course right after this, we got "Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo":
Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo
Small and brown he comes from you
Sit on the toilet here he comes
Squeeze him 'tween your festive buns

A present from down below
Spreading joy with a "Howdy-Ho!"
He's seen the love inside of you
`Cause he's a piece of poo

And it didn't end there. We also sat through "Lonely Jew on Christmas", "Swiss Colony Beef Log", and "The Most Offensive Song Ever" which is about how Mary can suck all the dick she wants and still be a virgin. Luckily, Kenny sings most of the worst parts so it's mumbled. But I think Dylan could tell it was very dirty.

I will end with a haiku to Santa Claus:
Santa are you there?
Keep Dylan from Children's Aid
I'll get new music

Cheeeeeeeeeeeeese

I've been thinking: it's time I wrote a blog post about cheese that is not of the dick variety. I love cheese but not all cheese and, this is important, not all cheese in all ways.

Here for your perusal is a brief list of my cheese preferences:

1. I like Black Diamond marble cheese, but never ever Cracker Barrel. It is too creamy.
   
2. I don't like Black Diamond marble cheese if it has come to room temperature
3. I like Black Diamond mild cheddar, but never medium or old, and again never ever Cracker Barrel. Ditto goes for the temperature point above.
4. I don't like cream cheese. I will not eat it on bagels, in spreads, in cold dips, or rolled with smoked salmon.
5. I like cream cheese in hot crab/lobster dip
   
6. I like cream cheese in cheesecakes
7. I don't like Japanese cheesecakes
8. I like mozzarella on pizza, lasagna, panini, and most baked casserole dishes.
9. I do not like mozzarella cold or eaten on its own.
10. I like mozzarella cold if it is buffalo mozzarella and served in a caprese salad.
11. I no longer like cheese in my subs.
12. I don't like cheese in my salads.
13. I don't mind some cheese in my salad at St. Louis Wings.
14. I like real cheese melted on nachos.
15. I hate liquid squirtable/dippable cheese on nachos.
16. I don't like Parmesan cheese on top of pasta.
17. I like Parmesan cheese in pesto.
18. I do not like Parmesan cheese (or any other kind of cheese) in tomato sauces
    
19. I am starting to like Parmigiano Reggiano cheese, but mostly baked inconspicuously into lasagna, preferably mixed with mozzarella and breadcrumbs.
20. I don't like fettucine alfredo.
21. I have historically not liked feta, but I am starting to work on it. I like feta on some gourmet pizzas. I have also not historically liked feta in my Greek salad, but am starting to get it on the side so I can try it. I do not like spanikopita.
22. I don't like goat cheese, and don't expect I ever will. It tastes like goat.
23. I don't like swiss cheeses like Emmental or Gruyere. I also don't like Jarlsberg, though I'm not sure if that's swiss or not. It follows that I don't like cheese fondue or quiche. Both really gross me out.
24. I don't like cottage cheese.
25. I like ricotta in pasta.
    
26. I like brie and Camembert - a lot.
27. I don't like brie and Camembert from a supermarket. I call these varieties Supermarket Brie and Supermarket Camembert. My fancy soft cheeses must be unpasteurized and/or come from a fancy cheese shop, and be either from Quebec or France. It must be strong but not so strong that it is bitter. I eat these spread thinly on good french bread, like fancy butter.
28. I don't mind Supermarket Brie or Supermarket Camembert, if it is served with flavourful crackers that mask the plastic supermarket flavour. I eat these spread mediumly on said crackers.
    
29. It is likely that I also do not mind Supermarket Brie and Supermarket Camembert if it is covered with a bunch of flavourful stuff and then baked. This theory has not yet been tested.
30. I tentatively and cautiously like blue cheese. But definitely not all blue cheese. I like St Agur blue cheese, and this must be spread very lightly. I do not like the Danish Rosenborg cheese from the supermarket. I call this Stinky Supermarket Blue. I liked a blue cheese from an oyster restaurant downtown called Starfish (the restaurant, not the cheese). This leads me to believe that I may also like other varieties of blue cheese.
    
31. I love love love Morbier cheese from France. It has a thin streak of black ash across the middle. It smells like the feet of angels. It is earthy and a little nutty and I love love love it.

AND FINALLY:
As of last night, I am obsessed with Tete de Moine cheese. This is the main reason for this post. Tete de Moine cheese (or Monk's Head cheese) is made in Switzerland, and is a noble and generous gift from the cheese gods who live in their heavenly Mount Cheesympus. To serve it, you scrape at it on an angle with a tool called a "girolle", and it forms a flowery buttery bundle of delicious awesomeness. You can then gobble it up plain, or dollop some jelly into the curling folds of the luscious cone.

I sampled this cheese at the Gourmet Wine and Cheese Show last night. It was the night reserved for insider people; it turns out one of my Mommy Friends has mad hook-ups and got us all in for free. Together, we experienced this cheese and it changed my life forever. I can't wait to get out to a fancy cheese shop, because I am SO going to get me some Monk Heady goodness! If you come over to visit over the holidays, I will share it with you.Haiku Finale:
Mother cow and sheep
Creamy cheese flows forth from teat
Not literally

Motherhood is neat

I've been trying to train Dylan to sleep good. I put him down in his crib while he's still awake, and I tuck him in, make sure he's warm, make sure he's not too warm, make sure there are no plastic bags in the immediate vicinity, and then I walk away. If I've timed it just right, he will quietly put himself to sleep and nap for 1-2 hours. If I've mistimed it a little, and he still has some energy, he'll lie in bed and talk to himself for a few minutes, then put himself to sleep. If he's been a little overexcited, he'll yell and bitch for about 20 seconds while I put him down, and then realize he's tired and figure "Meh, it's not worth the hassle of throwing a tantrum", and put himself to sleep shortly after. But if I've done something really unfortunate, like go out to the mall and force him to stay awake and stimulated for way longer than I should have, he will NOT go to sleep. Not for anything, not for anyone. And he will just continue to get more and more tired, and he will be miserable, and I will be miserable, and by the time Eric gets home, we're both pissed and miserable, and then he has to deal with TWO bitchy treats. Haha.

To avoid this, I have resorted to getting Dylan to sleep using any means necessary. I don't mean that I drug his blueberries, but I will take him into our bedroom and snuggle, massage, and sing him to sleep in our bed. And I will hold him and nap with him in order to keep him asleep. It's usually pretty uncomfortable, but it's also extremely priceless and wonderful. I love snuggling my little baby and hearing his little baby breaths and being able to kiss him as much as I want while he's unconscious. Yes, I'm a sappy sappy mommy.

As he got a little bigger, he started to roll onto his side to sleep, especially when he was overexhausted. When he's in bed with us, he almost always rolls toward one of us, and reaches out with his little hands to hold onto us while he sleeps. It's really freaking adorable.

A couple weeks ago, this last scenario took place. He was overtired and very unhappy. He wanted to sleep, but he didn't want to sleep. So I brought him into bed with me, and snuggled and shushed him, and eventually he rolled towards me, reaching out with his chubby little paws to hold onto my hair and my face. We fell awesomely asleep like that and napped for about a half an hour.

I was awoken by a strange prodding sensation...in my nose. It took me a couple seconds to realize what was happening, but yes I woke up to Dylan gently picking my nose with his fingers. I'm excited to tell this story at his wedding, too. I need to start keeping a list.

Cuban Gaycation

At the end of October, Eric and I went to Cuba for our gay friends' wedding. Wikkid trip. We were a group of about 17 people, and here's the best part: we left Dylan at home with my parents. The uninterrupted sleep! The alcohol at all hours!! The sheer bliss!!!

For serious though, we missed him like like crazy mofos.

But this trip was amazing. One of he gays is still complaining that the weather wasn't consistently hot as hell enough but as far as I'm concerned, it was a fantastic trip.

Here are two short highlights:

You Don't Want Carol as Your Officiant
Gay David is my oldest friend in the entire world (with the exception of my imaginary friend Ah Cho who, at the age of five, could drive a car and take me to the supermarket). When he asked me to officiate this ceremony, I was honoured and delighted to accept. I spent hours creating a short but sweet personal ceremony that spoke to the love between my oldest friend and the love of his life, and also to the close friendships between those of us who had made the journey to witness this beautiful union. I cried while writing it, I cried while rehearsing it, and I cried while previewing it to David for approval. Then I screwed it up.

Here's what I SHOULD have said:
"Neil, I've known David since we were six years old. And I have never seen him as happy as he is when he's with you."

Here's what I ACTUALLY said:
"Neil, I've known David since we were six years old. And I have never semen as happy as he is when he's with you."

I rock. It's even on video, because of course Eric filmed the whole thing.

Carol is a Bad Wife
Eric had a great time on this trip. He drank many cervesas and partied with Grant's friend "Ron" every day. On our second night, most of us went to the discoteca for some dancing good times. Eric tore up the dancefloor! I think that since having a son, he has felt the pressure to be a good example, and one of the things he wants for Dylan is to be an outgoing fun-loving guy. As a result, he is putting in a lot of effort to let loose and be an outgoing fun-loving guy himself. So he bounced and bopped on that dancefloor like it was going out of style. And he had a revelation: Eric LOVES to dance in a discoteca. He couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun! And he couldn't wait to go back.

Two nights later, people were discussing what to do in the evening.

Eric: "LET'S GO TO THE DISCOTECA!!"

So we agreed, it would be a discoteca night. But as is typical of my friends, lameness and tiredness set in early that day, and by the time it was one hour till the discoteca opened more than half the group were in their rooms. And the people who were left were fading fast. Well, Eric and I were anyway. But Eric had a plan! He disappeared for about 20 minutes and came back with a Red Bull and three enormous shots of vodka. After downing two of the shots and most of the can of Red Bull, he was READY TO GO!! He was jittery and bouncing up and down in the seat next to me. I did not have the energy for this.

Carol: "Hey Eric?"

Eric: "DISCOTECA!!!"

Carol: "Hey babe? Eric?"

Eric: "DISCOTECA!!!"

Carol: "You know, if we go back to the room, there's a discoteca in my pants...you can, you know. Dance in there."

Eric: "Ooooh!!!"

Everyone else: "Don't do it Eric."

Carol: *nudge nudge*

Eric: "Yeah, okay!!! DISCOTECA IN THE PANTS!!!"

So we left. You can probably imagine what happened next. We were walking back to the room.

Eric: "YEAH!! DISCOTECA IN YOUR PANTS!!!"

Carol: "Yeah, no. The discoteca's closed. We're going to sleep."

Eric: "...Dammit."

The best part is that the exact same thing happened the following night. This time I let him believe the discoteca in my pants was open all the way until we got into bed. He reached over and sexily started to hug and kiss me.

Eric: "Mmmm, yeah it's time for discoteca..."

Carol: "Hmm. No, there's no discoteca tonight. I'm really tired, we're going to sleep."

Eric: "DAMMIT!! You promised me!! YOU PROMISED ME DISCOTECA!!!!"

Carol: "Shhhshhhshhh...get the light."

Hahahahahaaahahahahahaaaa...yeah, I'm awesome. And Eric is still bitter.

So many potential posts, so little motivation - UNTIL NOW! / Penile Adhesiony Goodness

I haven't blogged in ages. I'm fairly certain that no one is even checking this anymore and if they do check it, it's only to link to ThePeach's blog. I know this because my friends say the following:

"Are you ever going to update your blog again or should I just delete my shortcut to your blog and link directly to ThePeach? It seems a waste of a mouseclick to have to go to yours first."

In a jealous fit of resentfulness, I went over to ThePeach's blog this evening while eating a panzerotto. I almost choked on a sausage, her blog is SO FUNNY! God, it's so damn good. It made me think of all the times funny things happened to me (not nearly as funny as hers, don't get your hopes up), and I thought wistfully to myself "That would make a great blog post" and then proceeded to do nothing about it.

I could make smug excuses and say that with a nearly-9-month-old baby, one has no time to blog. But the truth is that I passed World of Goo on the Wii in 3 days AND went back and redid some of the levels to get "OCD" status, all while Dylan napped. (Actually, once I played World of Goo while he stood at the couch next to me and tried to fit a tv remote in his mouth and as a side victory managed to get the back panel off and the batteries out before I noticed).

So here I am. I am determined to start blogging again. I am unsure as to how I ought to proceed. Should I make one enormous attempt at a monster update? Or should I start blogging smaller stories a little every day? We shall see.

Tonight I will blog one very important story. It is the heartwarming story of the little penis that could, and one day I hope that someone will read this at my son's wedding. I am confident that someone will be me.


We circumcized Dylan's penis. Turns out circumcision is a really controversial topic in the world of babies, second perhaps only to vaccination (which I'm not going to touch with a ten-foot pole in this blog - it could literally start a jihad).

The decision to snip or not to snip was left entirely to the boy's father. I have no penis of my own, and while I certainly have an opinion as to what I personally like to see in a man's pants, this would never (ever) be an applicable scenario in the case of my son. Eric decided we should snip. The reason was simple: Eric is snipped, and he wanted his son and him to have matching dongs. I can understand this reasoning, as my mother used to buy her and me matching pyjamas. And so we snipped Dylan's wee foreskin off when he was two days old. It was simply the most traumatizing thing in the entire world - for me. Dylan apparently slept through the entire thing and peed all over the pediatrician. I didn't even watch it, I just sat in my hospital room and imagined it happening and it was enough to have me in tears. I should probably also add that I was a post-partum emotional mess, which may have been a contributing factor.

Anyway, the following week I refused to change any diapers until the thing was healed. It broke my heart to see the tiny little dressing on the tiny little penis I had worked so hard to make. In no time at all, it healed and there before us was the cutest little tiny mushroom-headed penis in the whole wide world. Everyone was happy.

But then a couple months ago, Eric and I started noticing that the mushroom head was no longer so mushroomy...it was more...like a torpedo. Greatly alarmed, we made our pediatrician check it out at his next appointment. After a quick inspection, she confirmed our worst fears: Dylan had penile adhesions.

PENILE ADHESIONS.

Seriously, people. Do you remember who ELSE had penile adhesions?! Yes, this guy. The letters "OMFG" do not even begin to describe my horror. The doctor expressed regret that this had come to pass, and told us to wait until Dylan's first birthday; if it hadn't cleared itself up by then, we would have to go see a pediatric urologist who would probably have to CUT IT OPEN again.

I was so sad for my little monkey. We had screwed up his penis. When I got home, I consulted the most reliable source of information available to me - the internet. The internet told me that when this happens, there is usually nothing you can do. And it told me what I SHOULD HAVE DONE in the first place to prevent it from happening. Eff you, internet!! You suck!!!!

Unwilling to sit around until February and do nothing, I started to tug at his reattached foreskin at every diaper change. Dylan did not like this. Sometimes he reached down with his little hand and cupped his genitals protectively against my prying fingers. But he's just a baby, I easily swiped his hand away and kept on prodding. We also pulled on it in the bath, with the theory that the warm water would soften the adhesions. And then! Last week, after a particularly long soak in the tub, we bundled him up in his hooded towel and put him in his crib to be dressed. I pulled at the skin a little and slowly, reluctantly, the skin started to peel back.

Dylan: "AUGH! What are you doing?!!"

I pulled, and the skin kept coming away. I called out excitedly to Eric, and showed him.

Dylan: "GET AWAY FROM ME!! OH MY GOD!!"

Eric: "Maybe you should stop now."

But as with large pus-filled zits and big crusty scabs, I couldn't stop. I kept on peeling, all the way around his little torpedo until *boing*, his mushroom head popped back out!! It was red and raw and looked really really painful.

Dylan: "AHHH MAHHHH GAAAAAD!!! AHHHHHHHHH!!!! FAAAAAAAAAAACKK!!! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!"

Carol: "YES!!! YESSSS!!!!!"

And I did a dance of joy that looked a lot like a chicken having a seizure. Then I left the room while Eric dealt with the horrible-looking baby penis.

I'm so happy!! Things aren't great right now. Dylan whimpers and panics at every diaper change, because I always pull the skin back to keep it from sticking. This exposes his raw penis wound to the open air and he totally hates it. Poor thing is also teething again, so he's got unbearable pain in his mouth as well as in his peepee (there's a gay joke in there somewhere). But I don't care about his pain, because this means no pediatric urologist, and no second penis-chopping procedure!

I will end with a spontaneous haiku:

Your penis is good
Mommy kept on touching it
Oh yeah. That sounds wrong.

Oh Eric.

A couple weeks ago, Eric and I were getting into bed. We decided on big spoon/little spoon designations, and snuggled in.

Carol: Mmmmm comfy comfy.

Eric: Yeah, comfy comfy.

Carol: I love you, Eric.

Eric: I love you too, you skinny bitch.

Carol: ........

Eric: Carol?

Carol: .........

Eric: Honey?

Carol: What did you just call me?

Eric: Umm...skinny bitch?

Carol: Why did you call me that?

Eric: Uhh...I thought I'd try it out. I hear you call your friends skinny bitches. Just this past weekend, you called Patti a skinny bitch at her wedding, so I thought....you know. I thought I'd try it out. Was it not good?

Carol: Husbands cannot call their wives skinny bitches. It doesn't work that way.

Eric: Oh. But I think you're losing weight, and I just wanted to say -

Carol: Yeah. But don't do it again, okay?

Eric: Oh. Okay.

We still got it

Eric and I went to bed late last night. We were both extremely exhausted, me from staying up late on Friday night making spraying penis cakes for a gay wedding shower, and him from staying up with me to consult on the spraying penis cakes. We got into bed and groaned in exhausted unison.

Carol: Oh god, I am sooo tired.

Eric: Meeee too.

Carol: I don't think I have been this tired since Dylan was just born.

Eric: Yeah, I want to sleep for a very long time, I hope Dylan doesn't want to eat tonight.

Carol: Yeah.

Pause

Carol: You wanna do it?

Pause

Eric: Yeah okay.

Pause

Carol: I call bottom.

Eric: I call not doing anything.

No one moves.
5 minutes later.

Carol: Maybe we don't do it.

Eric: Okay.

Dada Is So Inappropriate

Dylan has been teething for about 3 and a half months. It blows because he's basically been soaking every adorable overpriced outfit with drool for that entire time, with nary a tooth to be seen. But a couple weeks ago, Eric put his finger in Dylan's mouth and felt two little pearly whites poking their way through his gums! So cute!!

Dylan loves to snatch at people's fingers and hands and haul them into his mouth for gum-relieving gnawage. This was cute when he only had gums, and all that would happen was that saliva would run down your hand and pool on the floor beneath you. That, and I would bark you with your finger ensconced in my son's pie-hole and demand to know whether you had washed your hands with soap for 15 seconds.

But now that he has these two little teethies, it's a whole new ball game. Those cute little lower incisors are effing sharp!! They're like tiny thin jagged blades, thrusting up just enough to pierce the skin and release small rivulets of blood.

The other day, Eric was playing with Dylan. Dylan had snatched up his Dada's hand and was having a grand time cannibalizing a juicy finger.

Eric: Ow!! Oww oww!! Aww, little guy. You know what would be really bad right now? Putting a penis in his mouth.

Carol: .......

I will end with a haiku that expresses my feelings regarding this story:

Oh my effing god
Please don't call Child Services
He sucks only boobs

Good Mother

Last night we were at the gym with our friend Chris Robb. In between half-hearted attempts to eliminate my sagging wrinkled paunch, we talked about the gathering to come the following night at our condo. We are holding a How I Met Your Mother tv marathon night, and most people are excited because we have episodes that no one has seen as a result of our filthy downloading. Chris was pumped about the wild tv-watching times to be had, and we shared this conversation:

Chris: "I could bring margarita mix!"

Carol: "We have some margarita mix in the freezer."

Chris: "I see. Well I could bring the tequila!"

Carol: "Hmm, I'm pretty sure we have tequila too."

Chris: "I see. Well then I will come and drink your margaritas and tequila!"

I got home and checked our ridiculously well-stocked liquor cabinet (I have no idea how we got such a well-stocked liquor cabinet. My theory is that the bottles are having babies.) and it turned out we did not have a a single drop of tequila in there. So this morning I loaded Dylan into his stroller and off we went across the street to Bayview Village.

Bayview Village on a weekday is a positive mecca for two distinct types of people: mommies with babies, and the elderly. However, no members of either population tend to frequent the LCBO. I picked up a large bottle of tequila and grabbed two bottles of wine while I was at it. At the checkout, the cashier looked at me, looked at my booze, then at my baby, then at my booze, then at my baby, then at my booze, then at me.

Carol: "Yeah, we're gonna get shmammered."

And that, my friends, is what it means to be a good mother.

Happy Anniversary! To Us!

Hellooooooo Blogosphere!!

So wow, my last post was just over six months ago. Huh. Well when you put it that way, I can understand why people have been writing this blog off as dead.

All I can say is that I pushed out a new human, tearing my vagina in the process (about an inch - "not too bad" according to the nurse. Eff you, nurse!!), and have since been occupied as the primary careprovider for said new human. It is difficult to get up the energy and motivation to blog! Rest assured though, I have thought of you many times. Like the time I was sleeping in my own bed and was awoken by the sound of the baby taking a giant crap over the monitor. And like the time he crapped all the way up his back to his shoulders, and all the way out one leg down his calf and then put his hands in it while I was trying to clean him up. And like the time he vomitted in my mouth. And like the time I had sex with Eric for the first time since the birth, but only did it because it was his birthday and I had forgotten to get him a present, but then realized after I put out that I had promised to let him get laser hair removal on his butt, but it was too late cause I had already let him do it. You can now consider youselves caught up!

But wait, formal introductions: Readers, meet Dylan Luke Johnston. He is a boy. He is cute as hell. He was not named after Beverly Hills 90210. It was an unfortunate coincidence.

But today! Today is an important day, and seems to be an appropriate day to blog. For today is our 3-year anniversary! Later I will be dropping Dylan off at my parents' place, and Eric and I will be going to a seafood restaurant to get shitfaced on oysters.

I am taking this opportunity to change the name of the blog. I feel that three years of marriage in which a baby has been manufactured no longer qualifies as a "Newlywed" stage. "In the Life of Newlyweds" will henceforth be known as "Keeping Up With The Johnstons". Geddit? Geddit??? As in you check the blog to "keep up" with events in our lives!! Clever, yes? Bwafwafwafwafwa!!

And that's all for now! It's a lame post, but it's just the beginning! The beginning of a new beginning of great things to come.

I will end with a pair of haikus that summarize the last 5 months:

"Push", the doctor said
Thus my genitals were torn
Eric says it's fine

"Wahh", wee Dylan cries
Nectar spurts forth from my breasts
Poo, my baby, poo