Emergency preparedness

I am newly, blissfully addicted to Pinterest. It gives a person the distinct sense of having accomplished something when, in fact, all she has done is lain in bed so her kid will stay asleep.

Pinterest has given me some anxiety. I fear I will fail to thrive as a mother and human being if I do not purchase a sewing machine and a laminator. I am now aware it is possible to fashion upwards of twenty different homemade wreaths for even the most mediocre holidays. And I am more keenly attuned every moment to the impending apocalypse. We need food storage. Survival training.

And all I do is watch my kid sleep.

But sometimes a person realizes she may be unduly complicating things. In fact, the ability to complicate simple things may not only describe a pastime, but a defining personality trait.

Think with me on this. Is there anything I need in a 72 hour kit besides a jar of peanut butter, a bottle of gatorade, and a small firearm.

I eagerly await your input.

My identity

This morning, I woke up in the bed where I co-sleep with my exclusively breastfed child, changed his hemp cloth diaper, and set about my primary objective for the day, which is cleaning my carpet with this non-toxic, homemade method. I ran out of salt, so I went to our locally-sourcing natural foods market, traipsed around with my kid in a sling while wearing vibram fivefingers, and took home my salt, plus some chocolate almond milk, for a treat, in my reusable canvas bags.

But I'm no hippie.

In college, I was frequently teased for being a fake hippie, because I was. I listened to phish CDs I bought at barnes and noble, rather than bootlegged myself on tour, in the Toyota previa I purchased, rather than a vintage VW bus. I ate vegetarian food I bought at target and Costco. I wore Birkenstocks purchased via amazon and had shipped to my air-conditioned house.

It has been a life of conflict and hypocrisy.

This is why I am grateful for the green mommy movement. Never before have my interests in Eco- and health-friendly lifestyle choices been so beautifully blended with my uptight and neurotic personality. Now I can keep orderly and extensive boards of recipes, DIY projects, and unschooling ideas on Pinterest. I can follow vegan cooking blogs on my google reader and read then on my iPhone while I'm nursing. It's AWESOME.

I am not alone.

Relatedly, if obliquely, I have had a few observant friends mention the obsolescence of my blog title. Touché, I am indeed no longer childless (though I have also not been a housewife for four years and nobody noticed; perhaps therein lies a commentary on female identity perception in the US). However, I am contemplating new options. The blog does need a new name. A couple that now spring to mind are:

1. Amy's breastaurant: all-you-can-eat, open 24/7

2. No Regrets: Trading a life of ease, luxury, and lunch dates for a life of domestic servitude without a moment's regret

As you can see, I'm having trouble coming up with something I find as punchy as Childless Housewife, but I'll keep working on it.

The more things change

The more they still have a fat head and a concerned look on their face.

First photo taken 6/11/11, second photo taken 8/9/11.

Baby's firsts

I think The Kid had his first successful rollover yesterday. I did not capture the event, as I was not excited about it. Mobility=hassle. I've seen parents of toddlers. They're busy trying to keep their kids from killing themselves.

There have been a couple other firsts, however, about which I was thrilled. The first was his first playdate. He is going to have to learn to love hanging out with other kids so I can hang out with their moms.
I think they enjoyed it, too. They seemed to share some perspective. Like they were looking at life from the same angle, if you will.

Both boys are robust. However my child is only two weeks older than the other boy and looked substantially bigger to me. This is not surprising. He weighs 17 lbs 5 oz. Now I know why he kept hollering for more food in utero. He had plans for those calories.

The other first is that this morning, I discovered baby's first dreadlock. It is small, but unmistakable.
This was acquired in the night. A person has to be serious about their tossing and turning to dread their barely-existing hair while they are asleep.

I am here to verify the tossing and turning.

He does sleep occasionally. Here is proof:

I still prefer him awake, though. The kid knows how to party.

That is all. Forgive the lack of funny stories or flowery prose. We're a little tired around here. Tired, but good. Actually, great. We are all just great.

The Kid is a good idea.

Should've named him Winston

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:
I suppose all we can hope is that his command of language is sufficient to obscure the effects of his whiskey habit.

He isn't always grumpily impersonating world leaders of the twentieth century, though. Here. He smiles.

More cute photos by Kat Audette here. (If you want more crappy iPhone photos, you'll have to keep checking here.) She is a talented and delightful person; if you need photos taken in SLC, I'd recommend her!

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Housewife

The above photograph is of Kate Winslet starring in her role as Clementine is the surrealistic film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. One fun motif in the film is Clementine's frequently-changing technicolor hair.

The above picture is of Muriel, the Disney princess more readily identified by her bright red hair than the fact that her lower body is piscene. She is a cartoon.

What do these characters have in common? The same thing they share with me: surrealistic, cartoonish, unnaturally red hair.

The above photo is of me yesterday. I bought henna because, based on my consultation of the internet, I thought it would be good for my hair and might infuse it with a reddish cast. It sounded like good, clean, herbal fun.

I should have known to take herbs seriously after the cohosh incident.

The instructions indicated that the henna could be left on the hair for 2-4 hours, which affirmed my belief that it must not be too potent (otherwise, they would give a more specific timeframe, I assumed).

Thankfully, the box also provided some assurance. "The hair may appear to be a very bright color at first, but will fade to a natural shade of red in 3-4 days."

I hope they're serious, but I'm trying to be cheerful. See?


In other news, in trying to avoid an allergic reaction to latex, I forewent the gloves included in the henna kit and gave myself an oompa loompa hand. My hand has faded now to an almost-normal shade, so hope springs eternal for my hair. The baby is included in the shot for contrast as well as to make this post more enjoyable for my mother.

Counting my blessings

Babies make the best faces before they have muscle control. It's awesome.

I have many blessings to be thankful for. Too many to name or even conceptualize. I am probably not aware of 99% of them.

But there is one of which I am keenly aware. I AM NO LONGER PREGNANT.

I may not have slept more than three consecutive hours in six weeks, I may have needed bonus stitches in my sitting parts three weeks postpartum, I may have a case of mystery eczema that might preclude eating dairy (mixed blessing, I know), I may not be able to wear non-maternity pants for another several months, I may be insuranceless when my Medicaid runs out in two weeks, I may be unable to return any of the phone calls from loving friends wanting to check in because any minute a squalling baby may demand milk from its original source, but I DON'T CARE. Because I, my lovelies, am not pregnant.

There is no bliss to match the bliss of not being pregnant anymore. Some women feel lovely and fecund and mysterious when they are pregnant, but for me it was just a series of new kinds of pain and discomfort, compounding one another's effects over a forty week span and ending in pain that defies description. So I'm happy it's over. Real happy!

In other news, Forrest and I had our six week postpartum visit yesterday. He weighed in at an impressive 12 lb, 4 oz, meaning his weight has increased by 50% while mine has decreased by 25%. When our midwife announced Forrest's weight, I looked surprised and she, gesturing to the visible fruits of lactation, said, "Well, he is feeding at one of the seven wonders of the world!"

My boobs rival Giza's pyramids. Literally and figuratively.

Life is good. I'm not pregnant, I have a sleepy, hungry little nursling, and spring is springing just as I am regaining hope of eventual mobility. Things are looking up around here.

Visitors welcome :) I only work 6 hours a week!