Saturday, October 31, 2009

Everybody loves a little Wookie. . . .

Happy Halloween from Chewbacca!

Friday, October 30, 2009

Another Mama confession

Another reason I am such a good Mama.

I love my Baby Einstein Exersaucer.

Oh, not because it is teaching him words and colors and letters and sounds. And not because it helps his balance and coordination. And not even because it is bilingual and he will learn the proper Spanish word for 'cat' and 'lion'.

It's because when I put him in it he plays by himself. Without me.

Which means I can read all the blogs that I have been missing. See, it really is all about me.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Better Late than Never

This past weekend, the Hubs, Bjorn and I went to Texas to visit two of our college roomies. (His roomie married my roomie. Isn't that cute?!)

Since they have a 16 month old, they have all the requisite baby toys for Bjorn, which they gladly pulled out of storage and scattered across the living room. It was baby playtime heaven.

My college roomie (AKA Mama Idalou) told me repeatedly not to worry, as she had wiped down all her boy's toys, so everything should be clean and sanitized for Bjorn to play with. I just laughed, as I knew everything would be alright. She is a nurse, an almost OCD germaphobe and a very clean person.

No big deal. Plus, I don't mind germs. God made dirt. Dirt don't hurt.

Everything was great at Mama and Daddy Idalou's, and now we are back home in Arizona. Where, suddenly I took a good, long, hard look at Bjorn's toys.

The plastic keys that get thrown across rooms, and onto restaurant tables and floors. The alphabet blocks that roll around the floor in his play area and are found sometimes in Dog's mouth. The soft and squishy animals that find their way directly into his (Bjorn's, and yes, sometimes Dog's) mouth and are chewed on sometimes for hours.

Oh yeah, and those soft, squishy animals? My cheesy baby throws up on them. Repeatedly. I wipe 'em off quickly (if I catch it in time) with whatever is close by - a burp cloth, a Kleenex, a blanket. Just something to get off the goo.

But washing them? Hmmm. . . don't think I have ever done that.

And did I mention that all of these toys were used ones from my cousin?

Yeah, I never bothered to clean them when she gave them to me. Since she is a health professional also, and a very clean germaphobe, and because I am the opposite of a germaphobe (does that make me a germaholic?!), I just didn't think about things like that.

I do now.

This morning, while Bjorn was napping, I took every single toy he has and washed them. Thoroughly. The plastic ones soaked in very hot water with a little bit of soap, and then were scrubbed to an inch of their lives. The squishy ones were also scrubbed with the coarsest sponge I could find and laid to air dry. I did not "sanitize" as told me to do, as I don't like to use bleach on my clothes, so I really don't like to use it on my child's chewing toys. Really hot water and scrubbing works for me.

Now, instead of feeling like a failure of a Mama for letting my baby chew on (gasp) uncleaned (double gasp) used toys, I feel like a Super Mama. One who cares about and loves her baby so much that she will spend an hour of her free time while baby is napping to scrub his disgusting, cheese-covered toys.

Yes, I did just pat myself on the back for doing something now that should have been done 5 months ago. At least I did it! And c'mon, really - there are much worse things I could have done. And I came right here and confessed it to all you Mama's.

What's your Shameful Mama Moment?

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

The one that has nothing to do with my baby boy. . . .

As you may have noticed, most (ok, ok. . . all) of my posts are about my life as a Mama. Whether it be pooping, sleeping or the gradual downhill slide of my social life outside of MommyHood, everything revolves around Bjorn.

So this is the post that has nothing to do with babies. Here goes. . . .

Phoenix is considered to be in 'the West'. As in, horses and buggies, dysentery and all those other things that you tried to avoid when playing Oregon Trail.

Tombstone is in Arizona, about three hours east of Phoenix. It's a real place, but unfortunately, Val Kilmer and Kurt Russell cannot be found there. I know. I looked.

Recently a law was passed allowing gun owners to carry their gun into a bar. Sound like a good idea? I didn't think so either, but I don't think open-carrying (legally wearing your gun in plain sight in places such as grocery stores where it can scare the crap out of little ol' gals who just moved here from Texas) is a good idea either. But no one asked me.

So, since I live in the Wild Wild West, you would think that nothing would surprise me.

Then I opened my door this evening to this:

Welcome to Phoenix!

Friday, October 23, 2009

Where the Buffalo Roam

Ok, friends, I am taking a brief hiatus from blog writing, as Daddy, Bjorn and I are ON VACATION!!

Which essentially means that Daddy and Bjorn are on vacation and Mama gets to worry about how to pack/carry/travel with four days worth of diapers, toys and clothes. Good thing we are headed towards a home filled with just those things. Thank God all our friends decided to have babies at the same time!

So here's to good ol' Lubbock, where the stars at night are big and bright. Deep in the heart of Texas. . . . . . .

Barring any major hafta-write-about events, I will be back Monday. See you then!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Motherhood is. . . . .

For weeks I have seen blog contests offering FREE STUFF if only the blog could be a snapshot writing of what being a Mother is all about.

I've had nothing. I could only think the cliched stuff: Motherhood is fun. Exciting. New. Exhausting.

Then, yesterday, I realized exactly what Motherhood really is. (Of course, there are no blog contests right now. Feel free to give me free stuff anyways. )

Motherhood is being inconvenienced. And not minding (much).

Motherhood is knowing that you need to go to the bathroom really really bad, but if you don't rock your baby for at least two more minutes, there is no way he is going to go to sleep.

Motherhood is wanting nothing more than a hot bath, a steamy novel and an entire bottle of red wine, but knowing that the night will consist of baby bathtime, Goodnight Moon and what seems like an entire gallon of spit-up on your only clean shirt.

Motherhood is knowing that a mere 10 minutes separate this whiny little crying from get-out-of-my-way-we-have-to-leave SCREAMING so the Target run, Kohl's shopping and grocery list will have to wait.

Motherhood is wanting to wear that gorgeous new top, but knowing that Murphy's law exists not only for buttered bread, but for baby throw-up.

Motherhood is taking more pictures than your computer can handle, and not being in a single one.

Motherhood is buying shoes that will be outgrown in less than two months, but silently ogling the killer heels for 40% off.

Motherhood is wanting nothing more than an evening alone, with no crying and no needy hands, only to find the silence lonely, and just a little bit sad.

Motherhood is, at the end of the day, knowing that while I may never win the Nobel Peace Prize and there's a good chance my face will never achieve worldwide fame, I have done a good thing today and raised a happy child.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Another How To lesson:

How To:

Get your 4 month old to leave you alone long enough that you and the Hubs can eat dinner. At the same time.

That's right. Plop him in his La-Z-Boy and give him (not one, not two, not even three, but four, count 'em - four) toys to play with. That should hold him.

For a minute.

How to Get a Baby To Sleep

**If you are one of my loyal readers, then you know that this is a re-post. I am not too lazy to write another post today. I am not too tired (yawn!) to put forth any creative thought into what is happening in our lives. I am entering this re-post into a contest to be the next 'Scary Mommy'. And there ain't nothing scarier than this Mama singing these songs! **

Every new Mama knows that music can soothe the savage beast. Or the little monster, as he is called our house.

Bjorn is no different than most.

What is different are the three songs that seem to calm him down.

I don't know how Daddy and I figured out these songs, but they work, so dammit, that is what we are going to use.

The first: 99 bottles of Milk on the Wall. Yes, milk on the wall. He can sing about beer when he is in high school. For now, it's all about the milk. I think it is the repetition of the song that he likes so much, for when I sing this to him, no matter how tired he is, he starts to sing along in his garbled baby speech. Maybe because he can follow along, and knows what will happen next. He will take one down, pass it around, and have 98 bottles of milk on the wall. . . .

The second song is courtesy of Daddy (otherwise known as the Baby Whisperer): Sitting on the Dock of the Bay. Whether it's the calming images of ships sailin' in and sailin' away again, or watchin' the tide roll away, it almost always works. Even when Mama tries to sing it in the proper key. Which is next to impossible for someone who inherited a love for, but not a talent for, music.

The third is quite possibly the oddest song anyone has ever sang to their baby. And I apologize immensely to Bjorn for subjecting him to this song, but for some reason, over the last five years or so, whenever I need a song to sing, this is the only one that ever pops to mind: Mmmmm Mmmmm Mmmmm by the Crash Test Dummies. Yes, that's right. Mmmmm Mmmm Mmmmm.

Except I change up the lyrics.

My latest is:

"O-n-c-e there was a boy who
Loved his Mama so much
That he never ever left her
And w-h-e-n
She got real old
He let
Her live with him at his house.
He couldn't quite explain it
He wanted to take care . . . of her!"

Just planting the seed early. Albeit with the worst song ever, but still. Planting the seed.

**Just checking, but . . . you can't get the song out of your head either, now, can you??**

Friday, October 16, 2009

Glimpses. . . .

When I was a child, my parents wouldn't put me down for naps.

I would put myself down for them.

See, when I got tired of playing or reading or whatever it was that I was doing as a little chitlin', I would go into my room and lay myself down. Put myself to sleep.

I still do that.

I can be in the middle of a party having a great time, and then - BAM! - I will get tired and will have to leave. When I get tired I want to leave NOW. I don't stay awake just because everyone else is; I'm tired and want to go to bed. So I will.

In college I would find a couch and crash until my DD was ready to leave. Now I just grab the Hubs and say 'It's time to go. Now.' Then I go home and put myself to sleep.

I think that while we can, of course, change, that we ultimately stay who we are as children.

As a child, I was a people-pleaser who liked to snuggle and loved reading so much that I opened my own 'library'. I loved sports and couldn't go a day without some kind of physical activity. I was a little shy, but warmed up really quickly.

Today, all of those things still fit.

I look at my son, and at four months I sometimes think that I can see who he will be at ten. And fourteen. And twenty-five.

No matter how late he goes down at night, he always wakes up early. With a smile on his face. While Mama needs a strong cup of coffee and a bagel, please, Bjorn needs nothing more than to be awake. He sleeps hard and is eager to wake up and start the day.

He smiles at everything and rarely cries for more than 5 minutes at a time.

When he laughs and squirms when tickled, I can see him at nine, wrestling with his Daddy on the living room rug.

When he lifts his head and turns around to smile at me, I can see him at fifteen, walking up to the plate, baseball bat in hand, searching the stands for my cheering face.

When he ducks his head, smiling shyly behind his hands, I can see him at twenty-four, telling me about this great girl he met, the one he thinks might be "it".

I don't know what life has in store for him. I don't know if he will always smile so readily and laugh so whole-heartedly. I don't know if he will always love to be read to, or if he will always love to be outdoors.

But I do know that I can't wait to be there for it all. It's going to be one helluva fun ride.

Quick Takes Friday

* We are jetting off next weekend for our 3rd anniversary and headed to the good ol' city of Lubbock. While you may not think that is a romantic trip, I am super-excited about seeing a Texas Tech football game live! It has been waaay too long. And now Bjorn gets to experience his first College Football game, too!

* Because we are jetting off to the South (Flat) Plains of Texas, we need to bring warmer clothes than we are used to here in the Valley of the Sun. But, as it turns out, stores in Phoenix don't stock winter jackets for babies yet. After all, it is still expected to be 100 degrees here on Saturday.. . . . and yesterday we hit 96. Did someone forget to tell Mother Nature it's fall?!

* This morning Bjorn began playing in his Baby Einstein Exersaucer. Actually playing, not just trying to stop himself from falling over. Why is that exciting?? Because now Mama can read the paper and write a little diddy on here while he is in the room. I don't need to wait for him to take a nap to get a little peace. Oh yeah, and it's also making me bilingual. Plata. Leo. Vaca. Perro.

* Bjorn is now officially a Catholic! Bjorn Francis is his Baptismal name. Although we had initially chose Arnold for his baptismal saint name, Daddy thought that maybe the Patron Saint of Brewers was not the best choice after all for such a special event. So we chose Francis - after my dad, my great-uncle (a Franciscan priest) and Daddy's grandpa.

* Our Ped told us that the average baby cries 3 hours a day. Yesterday, Bjorn cried for a combined total of 15 minutes. I know I shouldn't be thinking this, never mind actually writing it, but I have the best-behaved baby evah! I'm knocking on wood as we speak. But seriously - 15 minutes?? (And, yes, I did count the minutes. Because he just never cried yesterday!) How awesome is that?!

* I start working again in two months, so we are starting to look at day cares and such. Tomorrow I am going to the grand opening of a very prestigious "developmental learning" center. Not to be confused with a daycare. Totally different, apparently. My dreams of Bjorn going to Stanford (after playing football for Texas Tech, of course!) may come true only from the help of this developmental learning facility. And the DVD's "My Baby Can Read".

* I need to buy Bjorn a baby computer. He is sitting on my lap and thinks its hilarious to type along wtih Mama. Maybe he will be a computer programmer like his Grandpa. He sure seems to love the computer!!

Friday, October 9, 2009

Now accepting all packages. . . . .

Recently I have heard of this phenomenon of Mommy Bloggers getting sent free stuff. And all they have to do is write a review on their blog.

So, where is all my free s*&t?!?

I am a Mommy Blogger. I have at least two followers who are not family members. I love free stuff. And most importantly, I am very opinionated.

Hear that, Big Bad Baby Companies? I'll tell it like it is - which means readers will believe me. I won't sugar-coat. I won't lie. So, if you think your baby product can stand up to my sarcasm, send it to me. I triple dog dare you!

(Note to BBBC - items especially needed to test are: High chair, Diapers, Jammies, Pacifiers, Toys, Big Wheel. I am willing to accept any and all products and you are guaranteed to get a review here. Not a good one. Just a review.)

To show you just how opinionated I truly am, here are some "free" product reviews. I say they are free because no one sent me free merchandise, so if I liked your product, you're getting a loving freebie out of me. If I didn't like your product, well - who really cares? It's not like you wasted money sending it to me!

Chicco Cortina Travel System: Let me just put it this way. I **heart** my stroller. Love it with a capital L-O-V-E. The base permanently sits in the car, and the car seat just pops in and out of the base. No seat belt changing, no fuss, no muss. The car seat then plops right into the stroller for use. I can usually get every errand done without even waking Bjorn. Most importantly - the stroller itself can be opened and closed using one hand, holding a coffee, a set of keys, an over sized diaper bag and while on the phone with my mom. And I never once dropped a single bit of that deliciously sinful white chocolate mocha. That makes for one perfect stroller system!

Belly Band: This is probably the worst thing I have spent my money on. Check back to my blog post waaay back when. I said it best then, but if you're too lazy to read my old blog, just know this: I hate uncomfortable undies.

Boppy: The Boppy is wonderful. Learning how to breastfeed is no picnic (well, it might have felt like one to Bjorn after ten months of amniotic fluid!), so having the 'perfect' pillow really did help to learn the proper height and positioning. That being said. . . it really is just a pillow. I leave my Boppy in the living room, so when feeding in Bjorn's room or our room, I use a regular pillow. And - gasp!- it works just as well. I do recommend it, but only because breastfeeding can be such a pain that anything that helps even a little bit should be used.

There you have it. My opinions. And they are good opinions, too - better than most. So, come on Big Bad Baby Companies - send me your products. I promise I'll at least try to be nice.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Letter to the Top

Dear Hospital:

What a joy it was to have my first born baby at your hospital!

What impressed me the most was the superb customer service. It only took less than 20hours for Billing to find my room and request payment. And I was still going to be there for 2 1/2 more days! She was really on top of things.

Of course, I was still hooked up to a catheter and multiple IV's, so I couldn't reach my checkbook just then. But, always thinking of the customer first, Billing was thoughtful enough to call my room multiple times a day, always just as I was finally drifting off to sleep. As well as calling, Billing also stopped by twice more, until finally she reached a time when my husband, who was not completely doped up and confused by pregnancy hormones and the best drugs your hospital could buy, was there.

And we were such special customers to you that Billing didn't want to let us go! She told us that although she couldn't show us an itemized bill (or even a bill at all), we couldn't leave until we paid a significant deposit. She made it sound like a business transaction, but I know the truth. You liked me so much that you didn't want me to leave!

I also would like to extend a thank you for the superb price you gave us for the room. Although I would have been able to find a much better price on websites such as and, I understand that not everyone has my eye for bargains. I also understand that $22,973 is a steal for that room - especially considering that the uncomfortable armchair folds out into an even more uncomfortable bed for my husband. A two-for-one deal!

Once again, thank you for the excellent customer service. There is no need for good-byes here, though, as I'm sure I'll be hearing from Billing again soon. She just can't get enough of us!

Sincerely, Preggo

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

4 months

I'm exhausted. Bjorn has not let me sleep more than two hours in a row for the last. . . well, let's just say, I've stopped counting. It's too depressing. It's been a long time since I have slept through a night. Even five hours through the night.

But he had his 4 month visit today, and I want to share all the stats and details before I forget. Because my sleep time is in direct correlation to my forgetfulness, and as one lessens, the other rises.

So, here, with no fanfare and no attempt at humor what-so-ever (and I'm not making any promises about correct grammar, either), here are the tidbits of info about our bouncing baby boy:

*When we are playing 'How big is Bjorn', he can now answer (if he was able to do anything beyond coo and spit up), 'Bjorn is 26 inches tall'. Yup. Over 2 feet. In the 75th percentile of height. Obviously he got this trait not from his 5 foot Mama but from his 6 foot Daddy.

*Weighing in at 15.7 pounds, you would think he would be considered what mothers so affectionately deem "hefty" (but bullies call "fat"). He's not. While he was in the 75th percentile for weight the last few appointments, he is now in the 50-60% range. Which is when the Ped says "If you're thinking he's too skinny, he's not. He's just tall for his age." Ummm. . . no. Wasn't thinking that at all, actually. I was thinking his Thunder Thighs and Moobs are pretty cute on a baby!

*His head circumference is 42. I don't know what that means, but they acted like it was normal. Yay!

*The spit up problem we are having (15 burp cloths in one week! Spitting up every 10 minutes! Cheese curds everywhere!) are actually not a problem at all. Some babies are more puke-y than others and we got ourselves a pukey baby. He's still gaining weight well and he's still generally of a happy sort, so unless it becomes markedly worse, we are to just change shirts three times a day, and up the amount of laundry. Sigh. Yay. Daddy has now officially changed Bjorn's nickname to Queso. Because he's always throwing up cheese.

*When told that Bjorn was waking up every hour-ish during the night, Ped nodded his head and said "Yeah, they will do that at this age." To which I wanted to bring Bjorn to his house for a couple of nights and see if he had any better suggestions after that. He suggests letting Bjorn cry it out for five minutes. And then stand at the doorway and say "Sssssshhh" for another five minutes, and if he's still crying, than to rub his back for another five minutes before finally picking him up if he's still not soothed. That makes 15 minutes of being awake when I could just pick him up, soothe him and have him back asleep in less than 2. Big difference at 4 o'clock in the morning. But, it's all for the greater good, right? Sacrifice now for the sake of the long-term?

Sigh. . . I'm never going to sleep again, am I?

*The sleeping-on-his-tummy thing was not an issue for the Ped. He stressed that we should always always always put him down on his back, but if he flips over on his own, then that is fine. He has good neck control and strength.

*Without even asking, the Ped suggested we wait until 6 months to start solids. Yay!!! I have heard that adding solids is a big pain, and they don't need it until 6 months anyways, so I wanted to wait. It was nice to have the Ped back me up on this - although he did tell Daddy that that didn't mean he couldn't give him little bites of stuff every once in a while. He even laughed and said it was a good idea to let Bjorn lick ice cream from his spoon. New experiences and all that!

*Bjorn had four shots - 3 needles in his legs and one liquid "shot". He screamed like hell, of course, but that's to be expected. There we were, one happy family, laughing and playing and the next thing he knows - BAM! BAM! BAM! - three needles in the leg, one after another. I'd cry, too! We went home, gave him some Baby Jager (Tylenol) and watched hockey all evening, which made Bjorn very happy. He loves his Phoenix Coyotes!

His 4 month appointment in a nutshell. That's all folks!

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

If all Moms rally together, maybe we can make this happen!

I think every place should have a drive-thru.

Even Target.

Imagine this:
You pull up to the Target drive-thru and hand the cashier your grocery list and four coupons (Bounty paper towels, Ritz crackerfuls, Lysol 4-in-1 cleaner and Scooby-doo Fruit Snacks). The casheir then hands you their "Menu" for the day - AKA: all the items that are on clearance or located on their $1 aisle. After checking off appropriate items, the cashier is back in less than 15 minutes with all items from your list. All while you sat in the car playing with your happy baby, all in less time than it would have taken you just to set up the stroller and calm your child's crying.

Man, life would be good.

Instead, the only places that have drive-thrus are ones that I don't use. I can't remember the last time I went through a drive-thru that was not Sonic or Dairy Queen (and, BTW, the Tagalong and Thin Mint Blizzards are sooooo worth it!). And at Sonic I only get a large water, extra ice. It's a sickness, I know, but I love Sonic ice! I just can't eat fast food, so I don't get to take advantage of a drive thru.

And I always have a list, so why can't I just drive to Target - or JCPenney's or Kohl's or Hobby Lobby - and have someone else do the hard part for me?

I went grocery shopping today and realized that taking a child into the store is costing the store, but saving me, money. Because when he starts wailing, I leave. Even if I'm not done yet. Instead of shopping from one end of the store to the other (the normal, smart way to shop), I shop - and write my lists - in order of 'most necessary' to 'least'. That way if he starts crying half way through, I have what I need most.

I also save money because I can't fit him and all my groceries in the cart. He can't sit up by himself yet, so I have to take Bjorn in his car seat. And he has to be put smack dab in the middle of the car. Leaving room for about 10 cans, a few fruits and a loaf of bread.

And, although they have created these handy-dandy carts that carry a car seat on the front part, I can't use it.

Why not, you ask?

Because I'm 5 feet tall. And I can't see over it.

And that is why I need a drive thru. A drive thru grocery store, Target and fabric store. Or a personal assistant - preferably as an intern, because I can't afford to pay for one.

Any takers??

What I really meant to say was. . .

I could KISS Pearl for sending me this link about SAHM's. You're the best. And you're right. . . . **FIST PUMP**

What I'm really trying to say but Carolyn puts it so much better. . .

Sunday, October 4, 2009

If I only had a brain. . . .

I have lost my mind.

Well, not really lost, because I know exactly where I put it.

It is with Bjorn.

Everywhere I go, half my mind is on him. If I leave him at home with Daddy while I go shopping or (once) get a pedicure, every other thought is on him. What he's doing. If he is hungry and I need to go home or if he's crying and Daddy needs a break. I can only half-concentrate on what color nail polish would look best now that I can finally see my toesies (bright green with a flower on top).

Good thing that ain't rocket science.

But it's beginning to be a problem. Because even when Bjorn is with me, he still has half my mind. And I'm starting to think I might not have been playing with a full deck of cards to begin with and I can't afford to lose anymore.

I used to be able to drive my stick shift truck in Houston traffic while talking on the phone, eating a taco and checking my makeup in the mirror. I was that talented. Now I can't even find my wallet when the grocery store checkout lady asks me how old Bjorn is. Twice I have started to walk away when I realize that I haven't even paid yet.

I no longer answer my phone if I am trying to get something done - even something as innocuous as folding laundry. I can't concentrate on laundry and a conversation all at the same time. It's too much for my half a brain to handle.

People ask questions and I no longer hear them because Bjorn is half smiling and oh- isn't it just so cute? And then I get all caught up in making sure he is happy and not crying and not spitting up that I don't even realize I never answered the question in the first place.

Oh my god, I have become one of those moms. One of those moms whose child has become their life. One of those moms who can't have a conversation unless it revolves around children, children's activities or children's books. One of those moms who spend their whole lives doing everything for their child only to disocover one day that they have forgotten how to do anything for themselves.

That's it. I'm taking tomorrow off.

I think I'll get a pedicure.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Hair, hair, everywhere

When I first got pregnant, I found out that all the books are wrong. Pregnancy is not 9 months, but 40 weeks. (Do the math, it comes out to about 9 1/2 to 10 months.) And it does not have three trimesters, but four.

Yes, four.

Most people consider the 6 weeks postpartum as your fourth "trimester", being as it is still all about baby. And your body needs at least that long to recover.

I consider the fourth trimester to last until my body stops doing all those after-pregnancy things I read about in all those Mommy blogs. (Except milk-producing, of course. That lasts long after the fourth trimester is done.)

And, to me, my fourth trimester is officially complete. Why? Because I'm losing my hair.

I first read about this phenomenon here. But being as I think that nothing bad that happens to other people could ever possibly happen to me, I ignored the possibility that my one great asset would (literally) be going down the drain.

I contemplated taking a picture of my shower drain to share here, just to show you how much hair is being lost. But I thought better of it, as I would like to keep you as readers. And friends. My husband, on the other hand? He married me - he is stuck with looking at it until one of us cleans it up.

But, seriously, it's alot. I counted the strands one day (not because I have nothing else to do, but because I was oddly fascinated and curious), and in the shower alone, I lost more than 50 strands of hair. Not to mention all that are falling off from Bjorn's pulling, ponytail wearing and otherwise just living life. That's alot of freakin' hair to lose.

Nerdily math-wise, if you asume that I lose 50 strands of hair in the shower and 50 from all those other various life moments, that is 100 a day. That's 700 a week. 2800 strands of hair a month. 2800! How many strands of hair are actually on the human head? (And, while we're at it: How much wood can a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?)

I started with a great big head of thick, curly hair - the kind that looks fantastic in Houston humidity because it is as big as Texas itself. Now? It might be the size of Ohio. Or maybe Idaho. But it's no longer Texas Big Hair.

And from what I have read from other Mommies blogs (Because I still refuse to read any "Your baby should be developing like this. . . " and "Be scared if your baby does this. . . " books, blogs are the only way I get any information.), losing your hair is pretty much the last remnant of pregnancy. This is the last thing your body does to remind you that you used to be glowing and growing, but are now just a little dull - and possibly balding.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Live, on Thursday morning, It's New York City!

Hello New York and all my other tri-state readers!

If you're here because this guy thinks this is a blog promoting Uma Thurman's new movie, Motherhood, you will be very disappointed. This is not. This is just little ol' me, writing about my little ol' life like millions of other Mommies across the world.

If you're one of my two loyal readers (shout out!!) than you are looking at the computer screen very confused, thinking "Wha-wha-what?!"

Because that is exactly how I looked this morning.

So I'll start at the beginning. The beginning of this blog.

This blog started waaaaaay back in September 2008 when I found out I was pregnant with my first baby. I first created it as a way to get the excitement out, and wound up using it to share my usually unpredictable, sometimes humiliating and always hilarious pregnancy experience with friends and family out of state.

It was originally titled "Bun in the Toaster", as I didn't feel quite right putting my bun in the oven. I'm not a good cook, you see, and things that go in my oven end up burnt. Even if it's boxed, instant brownies. I am that good at cooking. I felt my bun would be safer in a toaster, where the contents are automatically popped out, thus eliminating any burning worries.

Being as Daddy-to-be and I did not find out the sex of our baby before he was born, and I did not want to refer to our baby as "It", I named our baby Bjorn. To me, it was the perfect non-gender-specific name. Fun to say. Fun to spell. A little different. And He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named had already been taken, so, Bjorn it was.

A few months after Bjorn was born, after much pushing and prodding from friends, I changed the name of the blog again - this time, to the Bjorn Identity. I still didn't want to write Bjorn's real name in my blog postings, and besides, everyone already knew him as Bjorn. On here, he was going to stay that way. The Bjorn Identity idea came from my bother-in-law - a guy chock full of one-liners. For Christmas, his gift to Bjorn was addressed to "My Unbjorn Kin". Seriously, this guy is funny.

So, that is how this blog came about.

I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I am not Uma Thurman's alter ego. I am not promoting a movie (although for the number of times I've mentioned it here, maybe I should be getting some royalties!). I am not a fake blogger.

From what I could gather about Ms. Thurman's new movie, there are some distinct differences that should make you realize that her blog and mine (while using the same odd uncommon title) are absolutely not one and the same.

First off, I am a real person and her Mommy is a character. But you probably don't believe me just from that, so. . . .

I don't live in New York. Or anywhere in the Tri-state area. I visited once, and loved it, but that was 10 years and a lifetime ago. I live in the 'burbs of Phoenix, which is just about as far away from the Big Apple as you can get. We walk the streets in flip flops and sundresses, not Gucci and Manolo's. And we only walk from October - April, because it's just too flippin' hot to go outside here in the summer.

I don't have two kids. I have one - Bjorn. A beautiful, happy, handful of a baby boy who is just now 4 months old. My blog has nothing about toddlers (and I think her fictitious blog does) because I do not have a toddler. Check back in two years, and then and only then will you read about my toddler.

I started this blog as a pregnancy blog. If you ever watched the Miracle of Life in third grade like I did, then you know that pregnancies usually end in a baby, which usually makes the Preggo a mother. Which then turned this blog into a Mommy blog. It did not start as a Mommy blog.

And, finally in my list of reasons why this is not that blog. . . don't you think Hollywood would be able to figure out how to change the blog background to something cool? I've tried messing with it, and since I'm completely computer-illiterate, I have left it pretty much the same as it was since it first started. Wouldn't Hollywood try to jazz it up at least a little?

I'm flattered that this guy thinks I'm a fake blogger. That means he thinks I am good enough to be writing for Hollywood. But I'm not.


But there's always hope.