Like it does everything else,motherhood alters how you vacation.

This week we took Cadence to New Orleans. Not Sesame Place or Disneyworld but to the French Quarter. Right on Bourbon Street. Not because we wanted to give her an early introduction to debauchery—although I do believe I caught her checking out a busty blonde at the pool thinking —imagine the milk ducts in those! But so she could be part of my brother-in-laws’ wonderful N’awlins wedding! Something neither we, or she, would want to miss. Please learn from our baby vacation shoulda-known betters. Or at the very least laugh at them… Somebody has to.

Security Scandal

In my attempt to pack everything we could possibly need for 5 days in a hotel room with a 9 month old I was a bit absentminded. So much so that my suitcase got us flagged at security. Three agents rushed me and the baby—in Bjorn—to a side compartment, swabbed my hands and patted me down. We then stood and watched gloved security rip through our bags. When the agent found a colorful plastic snail toy, relief evident on her face, she said “well that’s what we’re looking for…” apparently the toy closely resembles an explosive in X-ray. Whoops… We decided to leave it in New Orleans.

Dada’s girl

No one will argue that Miss Cadilu loves her daddy. In fact, Dada is by far her favorite word and 1/3 of her vocabulary. So it should come as no surprise that when Daddy, who was Uncle Bryan’s best man, walked down the aisle she excitedly screamed “Daaaaaaaaa deeeee!” followed by her frantic clapping and mommy’s red face. Thankfully everyone “awed” and went on.

Pee-for-all

At home I get peed on once a week easily. Steve, however, never does. He actually likes to brag about it. Since Cadence has learned to stand there’s not much else she likes to do more. This makes diaper changes challenging. I’ve adapted though. We’ve got a system. She stands up, hands on my shoulders & swift as can be I change her soggy dipe. But 4 days in a hotel and little miss C is cranky on all accounts so even my super changing system was not cutting it. Daddy backup was required. 1.2.3 Quick! Daddy distracts. Pants off. Diaper off. Wipe. Dipe! Nope. Distraction fails, a struggle ensues. A little bit of yelling then silence. Huh? Cadence pees on Daddy & the hotel’s white bed spread. Steve & I are laughing so hard there’s nothing we can do besides watch a very proud little girl relieve herself. Not more than five minutes later the diaper is on and she’s passes out. It feels like I’m traveling with Guns N Roses.

Little Stinker

Finally we’re going home. We’re all NoLa’d out. We’re on board the plane. It’s not crowded at all. We’ve got an entire row to ourselves. This might be an easy flight home. My precious bundle of joy has fallen fast asleep before we even take off. Ahhhh.

Then my mommy Murphy’s Law kicks in. Eyes pop open, mouth agape right before it screws into her famous red-faced grimace. Oh no, that’s not..yup, it most certainly is. The telltale baby grunt confirms it. It’s poo poo face. For five straight minutes my little stinker lives up to her name. Frozen in a stance, wringing her hands until she’s done. Then a happy squeal of completion! Of course anyone within 15 rows of us know what has just happened. Quickly, before the plane takes off Steve & I change her and wrap the smelliest poop known to man up into a diaper bomb. Ok seatbelts on. Here we go. The flight attendants won’t dispose of it. And dear Lord does it stink! You’d think she was drinking all weekend in NoLa. So, as I type, I’m sitting here. Happy baby sleeping in my arms. An ecstatic Cookie Monster stares back at me from the dirty diaper stinking in the corner. And business men gagging for rows and rows. One thing I’ve learned from this vacation is that if I’m ever to survive motherhood I’ll have to roll with the punches. So to the disgusted businessmen I say (under my breath of course) shit happens. Sorry it happened on your flight.

**please note that I am fully aware that none of these events are catastrophic or my actual worst fears. Just funny & normal.

Till next time.

I wrote this originally for a friend’s website called MEMOIRY— it was a year ago this week that all of this happened and I wanted to share.

I never knew how desperately I wanted to be a mother until I almost wasn’t one.

First I was told there was no chance I could get pregnant. The doctor was so certain she told me, with morbid optimism, that I needn’t use birth control.

A crappy consolation prize in the scheme of things.

This of course, is how I got pregnant.

Five weeks pregnant, I rang in the New Year in the ER. I was there for my kidney but the attending physician feared an ectopic pregnancy. This year I felt sorrier for myself than for poor old Dick Clark.

Fifteen weeks pregnant, on a Friday night, while watching Kitchen Nightmares and gorging on Taco Bell I began hemorrhaging. 

We rushed to the hospital. I called my mom sobbing. I knew I was having a miscarriage.

This was nothing like what happens on TV.

I lay on a cold table. The sonogram tech is on her cell phone making plans for after work. My blood-soaked khaki maternity pants are crumpled in a ball on the chair. I can see mismatched socks on my feet. The blood made patterns on my socks that look like flowers. Because I’m over-dramatic I think they are flowers for my baby, who’s not going to make it.

The doctor came in and told me “your baby is going to die, we’re going to do a d & c.”

The baby had a heartbeat. I refused to let the doctors take her out of me until she no longer did.

The nurse wheeled me to labor and delivery. The poor confused girl stopped right in front of the nursery so I could look at the babies and said “don’t cry, this is a happy place—where babies are born.” My heart was broken.

I stayed in the hospital for s i x l o n g d a y s.

In that time the doctors and specialists couldn’t figure out why my baby had not passed. They prepared me every day that this could be the last day I was pregnant.

We called family and told them the news. I dreaded having to take down my posted-too-soon ultrasound images on Facebook. I cried at the thought of having to plan my sister’s baby shower.

I mourned my baby. I begged her to hold on. I made deals with God. I did crossword puzzles and ate candy brought by well-intentioned visitors.

Finally, when we said our goodbyes, had cried until our eyes were swollen and made an uneasy peace with the situation I told the nurse—through tears and sobs—that I was ready and they could take her out.

The nurse called the doctor. The doctor called the sonographer. The sonographer called the specialist. It was time. 

Someone, and oddly I can’t remember who, yelled. “Wait! Stop! The baby is doing great! You can go home!”

This isn’t exactly how it happened. It was drawn out and nerve wracking. Nobody shouted with exclamation points but this is how I remember it. In a moment everything changed.

This is just like on TV…

Six months later I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl.

Now I’m not super religious but I can say with 100 percent certainty that she is my little miracle baby.

I wanted to put this memory down on paper so when she’s 2 and won’t sleep at night,  or when she’s 9 and talks back at the dinner table, and when sneaks out of the house at 16 to meet a boy—I  can read it and put everything in perspective.

Thank you for allowing me a place to do that.

A few weeks I posted a blog called The Secret to Motherhood is…, where I ranted on about how none of my mommy friends would share the secrets to their success.

I want to retract that. The truth is that as I approach the 6 month mark of mommydom I realized that I’ve learned more than a few things from other moms. 

I want to pass on some of the tips that have actually made me feel like I have half-a-clue what I’m doing. I’m sorry if I can’t remember who shared what with me, but I’ll try my best to attribute correctly.

And new moms who have stumbled onto this post because, like me, they’re desperately Googling “How to not suck as a new mom,” here you go!

5. The baby books are not Gospel. 

-This one I actually learned from my mom who answered everything I said could go wrong with “Well, you turned out fine…” While that’s debatable, the truth is if you’re trying to parent right out of a book, instead of at least somewhat from within you’re definitely going to feel inadequate. I can’t imagine my mom checking off 3 kids worth of little boxes for 18 years.

4. Babies find everything more tolerable if you add sound effects.

-Danielle, author of The (Mis)adventures of a New Mommy blog, taught me this one. Now every diaper change, medicine administration or over-the-head onesie exchange Cadence gets is accompanied by some hybrid swooshing/sci-fi spaceship hovering noise.

3. A crying baby will not explode.

This comes from my friend Amy in Colorado. This is not to say you should desensitize yourself to your baby’s cry, or ignore them—but just to remember babies can’t talk or express themselves in any other way but to cry. I know this seems like common sense, but once I realized that some cries are just communications and not actual sobs of pain/hunger/horror or general “Mommy you’re doing something wrong” my blood pressure dropped a few points.

2. A teaspoon of dirt a day…

I’m not sure if this was advice from Alicia or Nicole but I’ve repeated it in my head, once a day for at least the last 3 months. I’m not, and I’m sure neither of them were, recommending to literally feed your baby a teaspoon of dirt a day, or ever. But as a new parent you constantly want to sanitize the Hell out of everything. It’s not possible—and I’ve come to think it’s not necessary. Every time Cadence drops something on the floor and picks it back up and shoves it directly into her cute little mouth I cringe and then remember this mantra. [Don’t believe me? Even the experts say the same. Check out “Germs and Babies,” from Whattoexpect.com

1. Nothing lasts forever.Good or bad.

This one is particularly poignant to me. I learned it from my sister, who is the calmest mother I have ever met. She explained to me one afternoon, after being up a dozen times in the night with her then 5 month old that getting up all night was a pain but she knew, from experience that it would only be a matter of time before she’d miss midnight feedings. and 3 a.m. feedings. and 6 a.m. feedings…

Babies will always eventually stop crying, go to sleep and stop being babies. Embrace all of these moments while you can because one day my baby won’t want me to feed her, soothe her to sleep or call her by the cute little nickname in front of her friends. 

Thanks to all the moms who’ve given me endless advice online and in person.

(Source: 5thingsfrommonth5)

Anybody who knows me will vouch that I have always been a Bona fide crazy cat lady. It’s a title I’ve come to embrace. I’m almost embarrassed to admit, until I had a human baby, my cat babies ruled my world—probably to an unhealthy degree.

When I was pregnant CeCe would lovingly lay her head on my belly and make cute little cat coos to the baby inside. In turn, the baby would, lovingly, and through my belly, kick CeCe in the head. They were bonding.

When Cadence was born the very first noise she made was not a cry, a cough or a scream. It was a meow.

[Now here you might be saying, “that’s not true, clearly she is making this up…” I feel compelled to say “I swear it’s true. Ask Steve! Ask the doctors!” Or take my word. The child meowed.]

We laughed about it. Chalked it up to a very funny coincidence.

Cadence continues to make cat noises—she’s starting to purr, which is a little strange but pretty much adorable. The more vocal she becomes, the more she tries to mimic everything she hears including the cats. This isn’t shocking.

The shocking/funny/strange part is the cats. These cats are nothing if not adaptable: READ: Ain’t no dummies. The know they’re not my babies anymore. They see that Cadence gets every drop of mommy’s attention (I’m also embarrassed to admit that I’ve referred to myself as mommy to the cats for more years than I can remember.) They’ve figured out what to do to turn the tables back in their favor.

They’ve begun making baby noises. Cries, coos, yells. Whatever they can manipulate their little feline vocal cords to do to sound human. Being a mama my first reaction is go to the noise, think about it later. The clever cats figure, well she’s up, she might as well feed us.

Now in the middle of the night when someone shrieks and I jolt straight up in bed, my heart pounding I have to take a minute to figure out if it’s cat, baby or my neighbor’s TV that nearly gave me a heart attack. It’s enough to make a gal feel crazy.

At this point I’m just glad we don’t have a parrot.

Either way this is mostly comical. Except when I trip on a cat at 4 a.m. or try to put Friskies in the baby’s bottle.

Although there is a little sibling rivalry right now, I know there will come a day when the cats and the kid will be in cahoots. And then I’m in trouble.

Sometimes, when she thinks nobody is looking CeCe will nuzzle close to Cadence and lay her head on the baby’s legs. Sometimes Cadence still kicks her in the head. They’re bonding.

I can’t wait until I have to tell Cadence that she can’t use the litter box.

Quick! Look innocent. Mommy’s coming.

(Source: catorbaby)

So far I imagine I’ve kept motherhood in this neat little box—as neat a box as you can keep babies in (figuratively, not literally)

Even this blog is my attempt at compartmentalizing and recording my progress as a mommy. This last week, however, we’ve been thrown curve ball after curve ball—not all bad—but not at all neat, little or boxy.

My reflections (in an attempt to compartmentalize…)

We got a tooth, TEETH. Not one, but two. Within days of each other. I not-so-quietly celebrated.

“Cadence is only 5 months and yet she has 2 teeth already! I know I know it is quite an accomplishment,” I imagine myself saying in the style of a woman whose child just won the Nobel Prize. My pride swelled at the latest mommy group meetup as other mothers obligatorily oohed and aah-ed. If I could I’d have worn a sash that said, “I made a person who has teeth!”I would have.

Teeth = Fuss. I didn’t know.

As the baby monkey gets older, and toothier she’s also becoming more stubborn, more whiny and more headstrong. In a word, more like her mother. This has thrown a wrench in my mother-of-the-year path.

She used to think me loading the dishwasher singing Barbara Streisand was pure genius. Now it’s hardly entertaining. She used to sit quietly with a toy while I washed crusted baby pears from behind my ear. She used to fall asleep after every bottle and stay asleep for 2 sometimes 3 hours. Distant memories…

I’m amazed how many of my friends make this whole motherhood thing look so easy. How do they do it? Like a secret society these chicks are tight-lipped. Even my own sister never let on just how hard it is to be a mother. Not long ago I posed the question on my Facebook to the many moms I’m friends with “How does any mother get anything done?” I had expected they’d spill the beans, let me in on the secret. I mean after all I am a mother now. I deserve to know. 

No dice.

I got a lot of “get a swing, use a bouncy seat, go to a gym with a daycare.”

These are not secrets ladies!! I want the real secrets. How do I get my house clean, my abs and butt tight, my hair washed and my legs shaved, my baby fed, washed and contented all before the sun goes down?

I asked the question to another mommy blogger, NYC Jenny. She gave me a reasonably honest answer. It went something like this. [It’s impossible to get anything done, and it just gets harder when they become mobile.] This is my paraphrasing but the gist of it is holy crap, it DOESN’T get easier?! Why didn’t anyone tell me that?

A seemingly unrelated side note: I’d be a downright terrible mom if I didn’t have an iPhone. I bet Steve Jobs would love to hear that.

The moral of my convoluted story is I’ve got a messy baby, I’ve got a messy house, I’ve haven’t shaved my legs in a dog’s age and my butt and abs are kinda soft and mushy. I did however make a person who has teeth, and that’s pretty cool.

If I do ever figure out the secret to easy, breezy motherhood I swear I won’t keep it from the rest of y’all.  

Baby teeth!

I’ve spent most of month 4 consumed with baby food and baby poop. Understandably so, when I introduced solid foods, cute little baby poop changed into not-so cute not-so baby poop.These are things you’d think I’d expect, but I didn’t. So, of course I’ll share.

10. Baby food: it pretty much looks exactly the same going in, as it does coming out.

9. It’s totally okay to give your child a fake mustache and beard with food. See: Prune-Manchu

8. Baby food = diapers that smell like Staten Island

7. The quickest way to get a big ol’ poop is to give the baby a bath, put her in her cutest, whitest outfit and be late for an event.

6. Recording “poo poo face” and texting it to all your friends and family isn’t as well received as you might expect.

5. Highchairs are meant to stay dirty.

4. Baby food is kinda tasty—and very low in calories.

3. Bibs are defenseless against a strong-willed baby

2. Letting baby feed you, even if it’s a well-intentioned lesson, is a bad idea.

1. A mouth full of mushy food pretty much guarantees a sneeze right into mommy’s mouth.

The “Prune Manchu”

Last week Steve told me that a dude he works with warned him, “mothers talk through their kids.”

“Oh yea? How so?” I asked.

“Yea, like, when John dresses the baby his wife says—to the baby—Aw, did you dress yourself? Daddy would never put mismatched clothes on you,” Steve explained.

Ah I got it, passive aggressive baby ventriloquism…

“Ha!” I laugh. “I’ve been doing that to you for years—just through the cats,” I told him.

Conversation over.

But it got me thinking. What if speaking through baby was a viable form of communication.

What if I said to Cadence (in Steve’s presence of course), “If Daddy doesn’t trim that wolfman beard there’s no chance you’re ever going to get a little brother.”

or

“Mommy would do anything to watch Biggest Loser tonight instead of cleaning up after dinner.”

My personal favorite is “Maybe Daddy will stop and get us some [insert any treat here] on his way home from work tonight…”

Forget me and my small potato requests, let’s think big.

Michelle Obama says to Malia and Sasha “Girls, wouldn’t it be nice if Daddy would fix the economy already.” (Obligatory cutesy smile included)

Ashlee Simpson says to little Bronx “If only Daddy got a haircut and stopped wearing eyeliner we could still be together.”

Angelina Jolie says to her gaggle of children across the dinner table “Oh look kiddies, Daddy’s ex-wife is pregnant. We’re sure glad Daddy NEVER talks to her anymore!”

Ha! The possibilities are endless.

I could go on forever.

But what about women who don’t have babies or young children to communicate through?

They can try the family pet, a Ouija board.
Or start a blog. ;)

Let the baby do the talking….

I think I’ve committed the cardinal sin of parenthood—I’ve started comparing my baby to other babies. I know it’s wrong. I know every baby is different. Every baby grows at her own pace. Does things when she is ready. I’ve said those very same things. But, I still can’t help but do the baby-compare…all new moms do it. I hope..

My nephew is 10 weeks older than Cadence and I’m pretty sure he’s a super star so everything he does I expect Cadence to do in exactly 10 weeks…or sooner.

Smiles, laughs, drools, rolls over, claps, sits up…damn overachiever!

I’m keeping a mental checklist in my head of what he did 10 weeks ago and silently check each off when she does it.

I’m going to give my daughter a complex before her first birthday.

It’s not just limited to my nephew though. I stalk other new moms’ Facebooks to see what their little babies are doing and at what age.

What?! It’s no big deal. They are easy calculations….

“So there’s a Christmas tree in the background—it had to at least be the month of December and she’s sitting up. She was born in July so she’s how old … ?”

Now I know there’s nothing wrong with wanting your child to reach milestones, and being cognizant of when those should be but I have to admit I am mildly ashamed of myself.

What if I become one of those awful mothers like on Toddlers and Tiaras who constantly push their kids to unnatural limits to be the best. What if I driver her to a Jesse Spano-type breakdown about grades and getting into college?  What if she completely rebels against everything and runs away and joins the circus?!

*breathe.

*breathe.

Ok. The circus isn’t that bad. And seriously, she’ll be the best damned clown that ever was!  She’s already got the nose honking down pat.

I told you my kid was talented…

I’ve decided to forgo the Top 10 things I’ve learned from month 4 of Parenthood. I believe this is where things may stop being so universal.  My little munchkin is developing quite the personality, and so in honor of her budding individuality I’ve decided to share some of my favorite/funny mommy moments ala month 4.

Daddy Dresses Me Funny…

One night I left Steve to put the baby to bed so that I could run a few must-do errands. I was gone for about an hour and a half. When I got home I had expected Cadence to be in bed and Steve flipping through the channels. Instead I came home to a screaming baby and a very frazzled daddy. A little hush and mommy magic got the baby to sleep but poor Steve looked like he was just caught in a night vision video with Paris Hilton. Poor daddy didn’t realize that the PJs we’ve outgrown were all in the bottom drawer. When Steve tried to change and dress our sleepy little sweetie he thought she had outgrown every pair of PJs she owned, right before his very eyes. After 4 wardrobe changes he finally put her in last night’s pajamas. Smart move Daddy! Needless to say, Cadence was aggravated to no end and was no longer sleepy or sweet. The next morning I went into her room to find pjs frantically flung everywhere. I had to laugh in spite of myself. These days old clothes are banished to a closet far from the dresser.

A Stinky Pinky

In a futile attempt to retain some me time I went for a manicure. Nothing special just a keep ‘em short and sweet type deal—mostly for the 35 minutes of alone time. As the manicurist began I settled into me-time mode. The woman offered me a nice cup of green tea and a magazine. This was going to be wonderful. As I focused on my magazine I heard the women clucking in an Asian dialect. I paid minor attention until the clucking got louder and closer. By the time I looked up 4 women stood over my manicurist’s desk with my hand in hers. I watched in absolute horror as I realized that this woman just scraped dried baby poop from my fingernail. Now, before anyone gets all high and mighty I will say 2 things. One, yes- I wash my hands a gazillion times a day, sometimes even more. Two - my fingernails are now as short as they could possibly be. Lesson learned. Shit happens?

We Put the P in Party

I spend a lot of time at my sister’s house. She has the most adorable son who is just 10 weeks older than Cadence. They will undoubtedly be best cousins. Last week my sister and I laid each baby down on a mat to play. One diaper change prompted another. I laid Cadence down to change her diaper beside her cousin. Stripped her down while she happily played with Nico (hair pulling, hand sucking and eye raking is all considered play still). My niece asked me a question, distracted I broke the cardinal rule of mommydom. I left her little tush exposed. Well, most certainly I got what I deserved. Cadence peed all over the place. On her clothes, on me, and on poor Nico’s mat. My sister ran to get me a towel and a clean sock — leaving Nico, who will not be upstaged, uncovered. By the time we were back he created his very own fountain and peed 5 feet into the air.

I think we miss them conspiring between a hair pull and an eye rake.

Lessons learned this month:

Too small clothes are not keepsakes.

Long nails & diapers don’t mix

And the under six month set can’t be trusted in certain situations. ;)

I know I said I’d give this blog a rightful home but I’m having a helluva time coming up with a name that isn’t already taken. I am open to suggestions.