cranky pixels

Happy Fun Baby’s mouth continues to be invaded by what can only be described as teeth. Don’t get me wrong: they’re cute. There’s something inherently endearing about a big, wide-mouthed, three-toothed grin.

But the teething process is obviously painful, and my usually cheerful and pleasant baby has been replaced by a cranky, temperamental, wailing creature who doesn’t want to be put down, ever. I can only assume this is a temporary change.

Today is incrementally better. Ellison is playing “catch that tail” with the cat, who apparently was not consulted beforehand and has serious reservations about the suitability of this game.

We actually got somee sleep last night, which was a novel change. I don’t do well with fractured sleep. Pre-baby, I used to require 8-10 hours a night in order to feel rested; now I’m lucky if I get 6 or 7, and those are broken into bite-sized sections. It’s bad enough when everything is going well and he only wakes up once to nurse. When he’s sick or teething or having a growth spurt or conspiring against me or whatever, it’s hell. But a nice sort of hell! Not the sort that means I need to get a job! ::paranoid::

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I just saw a kid on Blue’s Clues who looked and sounded exactly like Kyle’s cousin Kyle on South Park. I feel bad for that kid, because people like me will find him inexplicably amusing.

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Our shirts from GoodStorm finally came! We’re using them for shirts for the business, and we’re really pleased with how everything turned out. Behold:

Check out the CouldBe Studios storefront if you want one yourself. Which you totally do.

I also have shirts and whatnot that you can get through Zazzle. Click the Swag link at the top of the page if you want to check those out.

/gratuitous pimping

technorati tags:couldbe, shirts, goodstorm, zazzle

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Yesterday sucked. I mean it really, really sucked. On a suckage scale of 1-10? A firm 15.8. A suckfest. A veritable suck-trove. I could go on.

The worst part was when Not So, upon coming home and finding his wife laying hopelessly on the bed in the middle of the day, suggested that since I was so unhappy at home maybe I should put the kid in daycare and get a job. He meant it like “You were happier when you were working, and I want you to be happy again.” I heard: “You are a failure as a wife and mother and should let a trained professional raise your child while you go back into the workforce, where at least you will be making some money.”

Torrential weeping ensued.

See, as it turns out, I want to be a good mom. I really, really want to be a good mom. Maybe that’s why I’m so stressed out by it – I’m putting so much energy into my kid and my new role as a housewife (even though that part = not my favorite) that I’m constantly running on fumes. But I still have things like school and the new business and my blogs, things that I have to do and I want to do, things that I like and that fulfill me on a while different level.

Obviously the current modus operandi isn’t sustainable. It doesn’t have to be: we will childproof and buy baby gates and unpack, so the house won’t seem like such an obstacle course, and we will get the office set up so we can concentrate on getting the business running instead of, you know, getting the office running. We will get the housework thing figured out. We will get our finances in better order so there isn’t so much anxiety at the end of every pay period. And the baby will eventually stop teething and start sleeping at night again, no matter how unlikely that seems right now (and did I mention I haven’t had a night with fewer than five wake-ups in almost a week? That might have something to do with it).

I don’t want a job. I want to stay home with my kid. I want to build a business with my husband. I want to keep my 3.9 and have more than 5000 page views per day on my blogs and keep my floors clean and fit into my pre-baby clothes. And I feel like all that is right on the horizon, that if I just work really hard and slog through the hard parts (of which this is one) then I’ll get there.

I feel less desolate today, and somewhat more motivated (although still very, very tired…did I mention the sleep and how I’m not getting it? Because, sleep. I miss you, sleep. We could have had something. Why did you give up on us?).

Also, it isn’t fair, my going all vaporish and needy. I don’t want Not So to feel like he has to take up my slack. My, that sounded dirty. (Speaking of which…that’s another thing we haven’t had lately. Maybe I just need to get laid. See? I am solution-oriented!)

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Obviously the kid’s inherited my technical prowess. There he was, happily watching Wonder Pets, when suddenly the sound went dead. I turned around to find the remote in his mouth and the TV screen blank. “What did you do?” I asked, laughing.

I took back the remote. I pressed some buttons. I pressed more buttons. I turned things off and on. The picture? It is not. I have no earthly idea what he could have done. There’s no static on the screen – just black. I can get a picture from the DVD player and the XBox just fine, but it’s as though the cable does not exist.

I am not laughing now.

I know, I know – bad to have the TV on anyway, needs non-electronic stimuli, blessing in disguise, blah blah blah. Look: YOU try wrangling an energetic, needy toddler (I can call him that now that he’s walking, right?) by yourself all day in a barely-childproofed house while trying to do school, start a business, and keep up with the chores. Especially when for some unfathomable reason your depression – which can’t even rightly be called PPD at this point, as you are eight and a half months past a time at which this might have garnered sympathy – has returned with a vengeance, leaving you alternately numbly miserable and unaccountably furious, to the point that you may have scolded the baby for crying yesterday morning when he would not stop wailing for long enough for you to get just one cup of coffee for christ’s sake, kid, two minutes is all I ask, can’t you just chill out for that long? And yes, electronic babysitter = bad while one-on-one interaction = good. Cite me some studies, please, I’m begging to know all they myriad ways I’m setting my child up for failure because I let him watch TV all day.

But that’s not the point at all, because now there is no TV, and the baby, he is not entertained. And I have so. much. stuff. to. do.

::cue despair::

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Rar. Zookoda is incurring my wrath today. I was trying to log in to find out why I haven’t gotten my newsletter lately (I’m my only subscriber – hello, me!) but it turns out I am a dumbass and never changed from the automatically generated default password. Which I don’t remember. A word of advice: when the frustrated customer presses the “I forgot my password!” link, it would behoove you to actually send the e-mail with the requested information. Is that too much to ask?

As is often the case when presented with momentary irritation, I’m flirting with the idea of taking my business elsewhere. Does anyone have any recommendations for rss to e-mail newsletter services? Ideally I’d like to be able to customize the e-mail template and frequency (which is why I prefer not to use Feedburner, although their e-mails are fine, really). C’mon, internets: don’t let me down.

technorati tags:zookoda, feed, feedburner, rss, e-mail

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I was pushing the stroller past a wall of windows when I caught sight of my reflection. It was startling: I look like a mom. Not in the whole “Hey, look at that, I have a baby!” sense, but as in “Wow, when did I completely lose all sense of style and individuality?” There I was, hair all flyaway, no makeup, wearing a pale green v-neck with milk stains on the front, faded size 16 blue jeans (cuffed out of necessity rather than aesthetics), and white sneakers. Let me say this again: white sneakers.

Like everyone else who has not yet spent nine months straight in a uniform of sweats and oversized tee shirts, I had definite pre-baby ideas about what kind of mom I would be, and many of these ideas involved outfits. There would be the “going to the park” outfit (cute capris, butterfly-sleeve tee, headband), the “playgroup” outfit (v-neck shirt, dark-rinse jeans, strappy sandals), the fall “duck pond” outfit (knee-length boots, pencil skirt, soft brown sweater, possibly a hat of some sort). I would not succumb to the lure of schleppy, unflattering clothes. Not me.

The last known pre-pregnancy picture of me. Note the brand spanking new boots,
which I had been coveting for months and finally – finally! – was able to afford.
Note also: irony.

I was cute. I had good hair. I fit into my shoes. I mean, seriously. What pregnancy god did I piss off to gain a shoe size and be forced to get rid of my entire shoe collection? Because if I find that god, I intend to have some words.

Now I don’t wear outfits; I have uniforms. There’s the hot day uniform (pants rolled to the knees, flip flops, one of Not So’s wifebeaters). There’s the not-hot day uniform (jeans, tee shirt, sneakers). And there’s the not leaving the house so who cares uniform (sweats). The not leaving the house uniform is especially convenient because it can transition seamlessly from waking to sleeping with only minimal adjustment.

I hate that I look like a mom, but being a mom? Pretty kick ass. I wake up every morning to a smiling baby who can’t wait until I open my eyes and spend a half hour snuggling and singing the “Good morning!” song. I get to watch him staring wide-eyed at the world and then looking to me to explain it. I get open-mouthed baby kisses and raspberries and snuggles and bouncy baby dances. It’s no contest, really.

But I still wish the uniforms were more flattering.

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