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November 2, 2015

Recap: Dylan's First Halloween

After two years of failed Halloweens, after protesting his costume for weeks, being unable to walk past Halloween decorations without freezing in fear, and then waking up sick on October 30th, we did it. Dylan finally had his very first Halloween experience. YAY! Though it was looking iffy for a while. I mean, how was I supposed to get a screaming, crying child into a costume without having a screaming, crying child? 

But as it turned out, enticing Dylan into wearing his Batman costume was actually pretty easy once I figured out why he chose to dress up as Batman: the kid wanted to fight. “You want to fight me?” I asked, kind of hoping he’d say no. 
“YEAH!” he bolstered without hesitation. 
“Okay but you can only fight me if you’re Batman.” I offered, since I am in no way above bribery.* Voila! Dylan was ready to fight me party. 

Still, there was the whole Halloween d├ęcor issue. How would Dylan summon the courage to walk door to door if every passing cobweb petrified him into paralysis? Another easy solution: candy. After Dylan’s first house, he was a trick or treat feign. This Halloween I learned that my son will walk past Satan himself if there’s candy to be had. He nailed the whole script too: knock on the door, say “trick or treat,” and then “thank you!!!” ...Okay, so maybe the whole “thank you” bit wasn’t very consistent. Most of the time he’d turn to my husband and say, “Daddy, I want more.” But please forgive him, he’s merely 2…and in character. Batman is apparently quite the brute. 

Dylan was so proud of himself. He ran through the streets from one house to the next. He could’ve gone all night if we let him but you gotta stop somewhere. I couldn’t figure out the wherewithal of all this extra energy until the following day while collecting on candy tax examining his treats for razor blades, I noticed there were several pieces of candy with bite marks in them. Apparently Dylan ate waxy candy wrappers under the radar without choking or getting sick, atta-boy! He's practically a professional! 

It took two very boring and failed Halloweens to get here, but my little Batman is a Halloween fool. WORTH IT.

The day after, with no intention of sharing

*I’m actually right below it situated alongside of begging.

September 30, 2015

The Opposite of Pregnant Chick Envy

A reoccurring phenomenon takes place with each of my pregnancies: I become possessed. Somehow the positive, happy, relaxed and sharp lady that I normally am is replaced with a wretched woman that lacks patience, focus, energy, and enthusiasm. I’m just not myself. Though I’m trying…I really, truly am…but pregnancy isn’t for me. Sure, I’d like to enjoy these nine months of baby growing and bask in the miracle that is the creation of life; however, I can’t get past the swollen kankles and back pain to even acknowledge a so-called glow. And these ever-growing boobs? No thanks. 

Before I became pregnant with my second child, I suffered from pregnant-chick-envy. I saw the little protruding tummies and longed for a wee wittle baby of my own. My first born was growing up, his baby fat was melting into big-boyhood, and my ovaries yearned for the scent of newborn flesh. What a fool. You see, somehow, in between post-pregnancy with my first and pre-pregnancy with my second, I lost all memory of the shit show that takes place during these nine months. And okay, not all women have such disdain for the days of alcohol free, sushi free, weight gaining, gel-brained living, but I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t even know who I am anymore. It’s like… 

When I drove to a restaurant to pick-up my to-go order that I never placed. No, I swear I ordered it. Look, I’ll check my email for the confirmation that I don’t have. 

Going to Las Vegas (which a pregnant person has no business doing), and buying new shoes every two hours because each pair is SO uncomfortable, only to realize six pairs later that the shoes ain’t the problem- these swollen feet though…*

Cutting out my daily meditations because I can’t focus, sit still, or even stay awake long enough to mediate. Three words: Attention Deficit Disorder. 

Coming home from Hawaii at 1 in the morning to a house with no power because I forgot to pay the electricity bill…probably since I… 

Ignored the mail man’s note on my front door advising me to “COLLECT YOUR MAIL, MAILBOX FULL!!!” because uhm…I just don’t feel like it. How long has it been again? Oops. 

Inadvertently teaching my two year old the term “fucking idiot” because that’s what everyone on the road is now. My patience? Dead.

Passing my iPhone to Dylan so that he can watch 34,000 monster truck YouTube videos while I try to nap. Questionable (and lazy) parenting alert.

Arguing with my doctor about my weight gain and reminding her that I gained 57lbs last time and NO, I still don’t drink soda or juice. 

Looking at my blog and realizing I’ve only posted twice in September and it’s already the 29th. Pathetic. And reading blogs? Sorry Tamara, Echo, Jessica, Jennifer, Tawyna, Liv, Camille, Karen, Danielle, and so many more I can’t think of at the top of my head. I’m hopeless!** LIKE VANESSA!***

So while all the other pregnant women of the world indulge in the wonderment of baby growing, baby glowing, and all things special within these 9 months of expansion, I’ll be counting the days until I can serve an eviction notice upon my unborn child because quite frankly, I miss myself. But hey, at least I'm getting a little baby, right?

With the man that did this to me
*Once the swelling goes down, I'm left with 6 brand new pairs of shoes that are two sizes too big. But of course.
**This makes 3 posts, so I'm celebrating with pie. 
***Couldn't be more embarrassed I forgot Vanessa. Aw fuck.

September 28, 2015

The 30 Day Bright Mind Challenge: Results

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #BrightMind #CollectiveBias

As I mentioned in my last post, I turned my old dog into an experiment by switching up her daily diet in hopes of noticing a visible difference in her interest to play in her older age, since she's always been a big time tennis ball chaser and I don't want to see that change. This meant feeding her Purina Pro Plan Bright Mind dog food for thirty-days, which is specifically formulated with botanical oils geared at memory, attention, and trainability promotion for dogs over 7.

It's not easy watching your dog grow older. I forever see her as that puppy that was unexpectedly brought home and bit my nose.

But here is Schatzie after taking the thirty-day bright mind challenge, with no signs of slowing down:

The proof is in the pudding, Schatzie is an old dog performing the same tricks and bringing the same sass she always has into our family. And I'm happy to have Purina's support in keeping her youthful and sharp. 

Now if you Spend $10 on any Purina Pro Plan Dry Dog or Cat Food* at PetSmart between 8/31 and 10/4, you can save $10 on your next Purina Pro Plan Dry Food purchase, 14-lb. or more, on or before 11/1. Subject to availability. Transaction total is after discounts and before taxes.

September 15, 2015

Old Dog...Same Tricks

This shop has been compensated by Collective Bias, Inc. and its advertiser. All opinions are mine alone. #BrightMind #CollectiveBias

It’s been a year since I lost my 14 year old dog Liebchen and I still miss her every day. It’s not surprising how immersed our pets become in our lives and how important they are as members of our family. The only complaint I have about our pets is that they don’t live long enough. By 7 years old, a dog is already considered a senior. SEVEN! I feel lucky to have had Liebe for seven years beyond that senior point but I still would’ve done anything to extend her health, happiness, and life for as long as I could. 

Schatzie is another dog that has been in the family for the past 10+ years. My husband brought her home one day as a surprise gift (for himself) and she quickly became the sassiest, curious, and most rebellious dog we’ve ever had. The day after bringing her home, I was woken up to her biting my nose. She’s eaten cash from my purse, she’s escaped yards, and she’s led complete strangers back to our house following her adventures. But despite her very colorful personality, there is one skill that stands above the rest: tennis balls. 

Schatzie can’t let a tennis ball fly past her without running for it. She will drop anything and everything to pursue a dang ball. It’s the ultimate way to control her. But I worry that because dogs’ brains begin changing around age 7, with glucose metabolism production impacting their memory, awareness, and decision making, that the day Schatzie slows down will be the beginning of the end for her. So proper nutrition is key here and I’m so happy Purina has come up with a formula of enhanced botanical oils that promote memory, attention, and trainability. Not that Schatzie is trainable….she’s SERIOUSLY a rebel. So I decided to give the senior formula that is Purina Pro Plan Bright Mind a shot. Thirty-days to see results, they said. 

So I took Schatzie to her favorite store, PetSmart, to pick out her special food and began our transition into sharpening her senior mind.

So far she’s as lively as ever, running around like a freak and chasing Dylan and her ball with no signs of slowing down. We have another week until we hit the full thirty-day mark I can’t wait to share the full results!

August 31, 2015

Suffering from Crazy Pregnant Lady Syndrome

“But what if we both die and he never sees us again? He’s not going to understand what happened and he’s going to be so sad.” 

That’s me, going through the what-ifs with my husband as I mentally prepare for leaving my 2 year old behind on our upcoming (and random) trip to Hawaii. I should mention that I’ve never been anxiety prone, especially when it comes to flying, but here I am, soiled in hypothetical morbidity as my mind runs through all the things I must do to prepare for the unpreparable: my death. 

And then I start crying. Ugly, uncontrollable, baseless crying. I try to talk myself down: people fly all the time; whatever happens is going to happen regardless; if I’m meant to die and orphan my child then that’s just how it was supposed to be. More tears. All I see are flashing headlines announcing my demise through a flight number, running across CNN, as people that knew me offer a few words of shock while recalling that I was 5 months pregnant. Wait a minute…I see what’s going on. 

I’m fucking pregnant! And these hormones are a real piece of work, let me tell ya. “Do you want to stay home?” My husband asks in response to my anxiety. Somehow, even though the possibility of dying during my trip to Hawaii seems very real and threatening, I can’t allow it to take over...completely. “Absolutely not! But YOU HAVE to survive.” I demand, hormones and all. 

I begin calibrating his survival skills. I rank him quite high. If anyone survives, it’s definitely going to be him, I tell myself. “Just remember, don’t drink the sea water, it will dehydrate you and kill you. No matter what!” I instruct him, confident that he’ll somehow manage to stay afloat in an emergency raft when the airplane dives into the Pacific, hypothetically of course. And then I fall asleep. 

And as ridiculous as it is, and as nutso as it sounds to regular hormone regulated folk, I still feel obliged to leave a letter to Dylan in a sealed envelope on my fridge, along with a list of all my account passwords so that he has access to my digital footprint should I never return from my tropical vacation. Not just because I love him, but because pregnancy is a real motherfucker and right now she's driving this bus all the way to crazy town, Xanax free. And mommy loves you DingDing.