Happy New Year!

Happy New Year's Eve! Being the perpetual pessimist, I often scoff at the new year. The thought of starting over, of staring at a blank page and having to begin writing a new chapter is daunting and overwhelming. And, in true Virgo fashion, I hate change. I like wearing sweat pants and feeling comfortable in the old year.

For the first time, however, I realize what a difference a year can actually make. I was knocked up for a good portion of 2013, which made me fat and boring. Yet as much as I complain about the mundane existence of my preggo self, I got to feel the little one move inside me. Even when she beat the crap out of me, it was still pretty cool. I got to eat ice cream without guilt and say things like "whatever...I'm pregnant." I was able to paint and decorate a nursery and dream about what kind of person my daughter would be. I bought a thousand books that I loved as child and reread them. My husband didn't even complain when I bought the complete Roald Dahl collection and did a giant belly happy dance in the middle of Costco at the thought of reading the BFG to baby Greene. To his credit, the husband didn't even pretend he wasn't married to me.

I pulled a total me and thought that my water breaking was a false alarm. I drove myself to the hospital like a crazy lady because I didn't want to be told that I was overreacting. I get to have that story forever and laugh every time I think of what a spectacle I made while trying not to bother anybody prematurely.

I endured the agony of labor and the joy of an epidural. I finally got my husband to admit that I am way more badass than he ever thought. I had my insides removed and rearranged during my C-section and through a euphoric, totally legal drug induced fog I saw my daughter for the first time. And it's true what they say, folks. Even though that baby is going to kill me, I was in love with her from the second I saw her. Sure, we've had to have some heart to heart talks and we are still trying to find some common ground (and by we, I'm pretty sure it's just me) but what else do you expect from two Virgo girls born 31 years and one day apart.

It might be the sleep deprivation or the champagne anticipation talking, but even though 2013 was pretty good, the unknown of 2014 is looking really sweet.

Cheers!

Baby Terror Tactics

I am currently writing this with one bleary eye open, typing fast and furious in fear that I may be discovered taking a moment for myself. I have hidden myself away in a bunker far from the ever watchful eye of the baby terrorist. If you are reading this, then you must have noticed my weak attempt at a distress signal. I was too tired to manage a full SOS - I think I stopped somewhere around S before I fell asleep while still awake. It's possible. I can hear the little one jumping away in her jumparoo. I think I have about five minutes to get this blog post out to the world before the terror tactics resume.

Never mind. The husband found me, and these days I'm not sure which baby is needier.

The little one turned four months old yesterday and she took that as a signal to exert her independence more than ever. She has never been a cuddly baby. She is pretty much the smartest baby that ever lived and that, my sweets, is a terrifying thing. It's like she can see right through me, and there is nothing scarier than a 13 pound terrorist that's got you all figured out. What the world sees as precious cooing I believe is her communicating with the mother ship, telling them the surest and fastest way to destroy me.

She began with being the cutest baby in all the world, lulling me into a false sense of security. She was all smiles and giggles, batting her pretty long eyelashes at all to see and giving that gummy smile that can melt even the hardest of hearts. She had me right where she wanted me. Silly mommy never saw the impending doom.

You see, Osama Bin Baby has decided that naps are for well, babies. And she is no baby. She will stay awake at the expense of everyone's sanity, including hers. I make myself crazy trying to soothe the cranky pants that she becomes as a result of her stubborn resolve to never sleep again ever for as long as she lives. I dance, I sing, I stand on my head (literally! At least the baby is helping me sharpen up my yoga practice.), I bounce her, I rock her, I read to her, I put on Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and resign myself to having the Hot Diggity Dog song stuck in my head forever. I walk with her, I drive with her, I even try to rhyme with her.

And then I had reached my limit. She was having a fit and falling in it, and I thought to myself, "You know, sometimes a girl just has to have a good cry." So I put her in her crib and sat just outside her door listening to her scream like I was the worst mom in the history of mommy hood. As she yelled obscenities in baby language, I dissolved into a puddle of tears worrying that I may just very well be the biggest failure ever.

And what do you do when you start to feel like a failure? You demand that your husband take that baby out of the house and you pour yourself a stiff drink. So that's just what I did and suddenly, the line between failure and success became blurred just enough that I didn't even mind that the terrorist did, once again, win.

Osama Bin Baby

Oh Un-holy Night

I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas yesterday! The hubs and I were giddy on Christmas Eve. Santa had brought Thumbalina her very own Fisher Price Rainforest Jumparoo and we just knew she was going to love it. We got her down to sleep around 9pm and proceeded to put on our elf outfits, pour ourselves a drink, and began assembling her shiny new toy. We were so excited that we didn't even mind when Thumbalina woke up at 10pm.

We scratched our heads in confusion when she woke up again at 11.

We laughed it off as too much Santa anticipation when she awoke yet again at midnight.

Nothing was funny when she cried at 1am.

I may have had homicidal thoughts as the hubs slept through her screeching at 2am.

I most definitely wanted to kill him when he rolled over and continued snoring as I fed her at 3am.

I furiously scratched Thumbalina's name off of the nice list and rewrote her name in capital letters on the naughty list at 4am.

At 5am I almost started crying right along with her.

And finally, at 6am I karate chopped my husband and furiously whispered that if he didn't take the little one downstairs and let me sleep, he would most definitely NOT be getting the awesome Thermos I bought him for Christmas. I sure showed him.

Finally, I got two hours of much needed sleep, woke up feeling like perhaps I had hit the eggnog a little too hard the night before, grumbled like the Grinch as I rolled out of bed, did a double take at my bed head in the mirror and reminded myself that maybe we shouldn't record Thumbalina's first Christmas.

As I stumbled down the stairs to start the little one's very first Christmas day, my husband wisely met me at the bottom with a steaming cup of hot, caffeinated, life giving coffee. My sleep deprived fog began to disappear and, as all mothers must do at some point, I forgot about the baby terror tactics the little one had used last night to break me and enjoyed our very first Christmas as a family of three.

Christmas Morning - Before & After
What I want the world to see, and what actually happened.

Merry & Bright? Oh, yeah right.

Yesterday began like any other day. Thumbalina woke up at 4, then again at 5, and one more time for good measure at 6. She then fell asleep into a slumber so serene I spent a few moments pondering the same question I find myself asking every morning around this time. What the heck is in my breast milk at 6am that isn't in there at 4? For crying out loud, why can't she fall into this deep a sleep while it's still dark outside and the thought of coffee hasn't even entered my mind? Then I spent exactly one second thinking that perhaps I too, would go back to sleep - which is when I was hit with an epiphany. If I were to fall asleep, that's when she would decided to wake up. That sneaky little turkey. So naturally, as long as I get the day started she will remain asleep. That is messed up, little one. Well played.

So there I was, hyped up on coffee at the crack of dawn, making bad decisions that sound like good ones at the time. You know the kind - the overly ambitious ones that used to be made at 2am over strong cocktails. I thought, hey! It's the day before Christmas Eve, so what better time than now to become Super Mom and get all of my errands done before half of the city has had its coffee. I was shaking and sweating with the anticipation of all that would be accomplished. Now all I have to do is vacuum the floors, fold the laundry, empty the dishwasher, take out the garbage and wait for the little bug to wake up. Nothing to it.

Of course she decided to become a lady of leisure that morning and slept in. 

With my coffee buzz quickly wearing off, I finally managed to strap her into her car seat and run my designated errands. When I finished, I felt quite accomplished and decided that this would be the time to text my husband and brag about how awesome I am and how doesn't he think that since I am so amazing my talents would be better served staying home and never going back to my day job again. Alas, this text was never to be sent because what did Super Mom do? Somehow lost her cell phone in a caffeine induced frenzy. Thumbalina and I spent the next hour retracing our steps trying to find my lifeline to the rest of the world. 

I said 5,000 desperate prayers to St. Anthony and, I'm sorry to say, by the last prayer I used some prime choice curse words to express my feelings to the lovely patron saint of lost things. I am pretty sure I actually did this out loud in the Target shopping center, so I looked like an angry religious zealot with a side of coffee crazed mom and a dash of verge of meltdown baby. And then, when all hope was lost, the heavens opened and the choir of angels began singing because there, underneath the SUV of another frazzled mother lay my cell phone. 

So I apologized profusely to St. Anthony and feeling a burst of newly renewed energy, I rushed home to make eggnog cupcakes just in time for the holidays! 

Okay. Those eggnog cupcakes just about killed me. First of all, in my day, baking used to be synonymous with day drinking. I looked longingly at the margarita mix and then cast a sidelong glance at the little one. With a gigantic sigh and just a little too much responsibility, I resentfully resigned myself to carrot juice instead. I rushed around the kitchen measuring a thousand cups of powdered sugar and whipping my egg whites into glossy peaks. Hold on - just what the heck is a glossy peak? I hope they meant frothy mess because that is exactly what it was. Thumbalina hung out in her Bumbo seat watching my every move and yelling at me periodically. She even chucked her Sophie the Giraffe at me, much to the pooch's chagrin. The pooch loves that toy and I know it broke her heart to see such a delicious chew toy being flung about in such a careless manner. Despite being caked with frosting and trying to alternate mixing flour and eggnog into a batter, the little one took no pity on this baking challenged woman and demanded to be fed. And so, because I fancy myself Super Mom, I turned myself into Stretch Armstrong and reached my boob across the kitchen to feed that squawking child of mine. The whole time I was hoping that the mailman would not pick that moment to deliver one of my many online shopping packages to our doorstep, for oh what a Christmas sight he would behold - although it would serve him right, the cheeky trickster. He never delivers the mail at the same time everyday and I spend all day anxiously awaiting the mail. It is, sadly, the highlight of my day - but I digress.

I finally got those cupcakes baked and now it was time for the frosting. Turns out I am no good at frosting those delicious little pastries, but what they lack in aesthetics they make up for in taste. They are delicious and it only took me an entire day to bake them!

I'm sure that at this point you are sick of reading my ramblings and are thinking "c'mon, get to the point! Give us that eggnog cupcake recipe!" So here it is. May your Christmas Eve be filled with love, joy, and just enough booze to take the edge off!

This is what they are supposed to look like:

Photo courtesy of Taste of Home magazine

And, this is what mine looked like. Definitely won't be winning any Cupcake Wars any time soon!

She's back. With Things to Say.

Well. For a girl who likes to talk as much as I do, especially about myself, I have taken quite the hiatus. Of course, I do have an excuse, one of the "I was with child" variety. This excuse comes in handy for a person such as myself. You know the kind, the ne'er do well, I'll do it tomorrow, ah screw it type. But the fact of the matter remains, I was with child and that made me one hundred percent, no beating around the bush, ridiculously and utterly booooring. Cocktails anyone? Nope, I'm pregnant. Designated driver? Screw you, I'm pregnant. Want to come hang out, eat and watch tv? Since I'm pregnant I will do that in solitude in the privacy of my own home, thank you very much. And therefore, rather than bore you with the completely mundane stories of swollen boobs and an overwhelming desire for Honey Nut Cheerios, I took a break from the blog.

But I'm baaaack, with lots and lots of things to say. Mostly about myself, of course, but I have decided that I am now going treat this blog as an act of public service. You lucky ducks. I am going to tell you the things no one discusses publicly about early parenthood. Don't get me wrong, it's lovely - in a pull out your hair, why am I still fat, sweet Jesus this kid is going to kill me kind of way. I don't mean to offend anyone, but the truth isn't always pretty, my sweets.

Too often we are inundated with Facebook newsfeeds and Instagram shots of smiling babies and skinny mommies with perfect hair and makeup. Posing with their perfect husbands. In their super clean house with their Norman Rockwell painting puppy. I, of course, am totally guilty of that which I disdain. "Look at me!!" my pictures scream. "My baby is totes adorbs and my husband and I get tons of sleep and we are happy happy happy!"

No one has to know that less than 1 shutter click before, my super sweet baby was screaming like a banshee while I frantically struggled to free my five hundred pound boob from my super sexy nursing bra while my husband wrung his hands in complete helplessness asking "what can I do?" What can you do?! There's nothing you can do! This tiny human is going to take all of us down with her! Even the perfect pooch decided to seek refuge in the garage rather than succumb to the mania occurring in her living room. (Which, Coco likes to remind us, was peaceful, serene, and baby free 9 months ago. No judgment.)

Did I mention that this picture was the first time I even attempted hair and makeup in like a week? And it only took me about five hours to pull it all together!

Then, just like that, the screaming subsides, the pooch cautiously ventures out of the garage, and for one beautiful moment we find ourselves in the eye of the storm and click! We get that perfect picture, post it on Facebook, and laugh diabolically. Muahahaha! Those Greenes sure have a charmed life.

I hope you find this funny and relatable.
Don't get me wrong, I am blessed in ways that I couldn't have even imagined possible. But that won't stop me from dishing the dirt.

And talking about myself.

Aren't we so perfect?!
photo courtesy of Audrey Marie Photography