I love my husband. Truly. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have married him.

When XBoy was born, he turned into the best father, contrary to both our fears, and I loved him even more.

Now that XBoy is at that age where he reacts with teen aged flair, like pulling faces; or stomping around the house; or saying, “blah blah blah” after he’s been lectured, Mr. DD’s patience with him has waned considerably.

I’ll admit, so has mine. A two or three year old is a true joy compared to a child who can use logic and lie and work a TV remote better than you.

But the first week we were home with ZGirl, Mr. DD rode XBoy around like a sway-backed pony.

“Do this! Do that!” and then if XBoy didn’t do it or didn’t do it fast enough, Mr. DD would yell some more including the phrase, “Do as I’ve asked  you to do!”

I don’t know about you, but an order is not a request, and I’ve said as much to Mr. DD.

XBoy was initially excited to spend some time home with ZGirl and I and said he wanted to help me with her. By Wednesday, he preferred to go to daycare. It was a shame because when I needed something, all I had to do was say, “XBoy, would you help me with something, please?” He’d ask what, and I would then ask him to do XYZ.

Granted, I had to make sure he wasn’t watching Nickelodeon or some other mind-numbing crap (if I could have them pull Barn Yard, I would in a heartbeat, followed closely by Sponge Bob), but most of the time he did it without complaint.

I have reminded Mr. DD over and over again that XBoy has an emotional sensitivity similar to myself, and that he knows that when he yells at me I shut him out completely. I can’t tell you how many times when we were dating that I would turn my back on him, walk out the door, and drive away during an argument. I’ll gladly have a discussion, even a heated discussion, but start raising your voice?

That’s when the little voice in my head starts its sing-song, “You’re a douchebag. You’re a douchebag.”

Also, Mr. DD gets so frustrated with XBoy that he threatens him with the most inane punishments, “If you don’t have your shoes on by the time I get mine on, I’m leaving you home,” or more recently, in an exchange with me where he thought I was undermining his authority with XBoy (after I had XBoy go to the bathroom and then tuck him in for the night, he made him get back out of bed ten minutes later and to try to pee again in which I responded, “He just went.”), he said, “Then I’ll get him up every half hour every night.”

Yeah, right.

Lastly, since ZGirl’s exclusively nursing right now, Mr. DD’s responsibilities are to get up with her at night, change her diaper, and keep her settled until I can get situated. Five minutes – tops – is all he needs to commit at two or three times a night, while it can take ZGirl 45 – 60 minutes to finally decide she’s done for three or four hours. Yet, I’m the first to hear her fussing, so I have to wake him, to which he grumbles in his sleep, “What?!”

Cue, “You’re a douchebag, you’re a douchebag…”

I repeat: I love Mr. DD, but right now, that only means I love a douchebag.


Heather asked:

….what scent would you use to cover up your smell? As in, what perfume do you wear?

I rarely wear perfume, especially since becoming pregnant as the smell was just too overwhelming. When I do, it’s for special occasions or if I’m feeling particularly “pretty”. The last bottle of perfume I bought was Glamorous by Ralph Lauren. I don’t know if it necessarily is me, but I wouldn’t know how to pick a good bottle of perfume.

Mr. DD has never bought me perfume. I tried for years to get him to try cologne, including the CK-One rage a decade (or so?) ago. No such luck. Now I just appreciate it when he takes a shower and uses deodorant.

I know a couple of women at work who wear so much perfume that I can taste it in the back of my throat long after they’ve vacated the office, and I swear my MIL bathes in Chanel No. 5. Coincidentally all of these women are older so it must be their olfactory senses that have aged and gone to shit.

Christine, who must be quite bored, asked several questions:

How many places have you lived?
Who is your favorite relative and why?
Did you like middle school?
Chocolate or chewy candy?

I grew up in Small Town. Moved to Lincoln. Moved to Wichita. Moved to Omaha. Moved to Wichita. Moved to Lincoln. Moved back to Town Bigger Than Small Town, which is my current location. The back-and-forth prior to that was when I was teaching dance and I was asked to help open a couple of new studios and train staff. My move to my current location was done when I realized I wanted to finish my degree.

My fave relative is my oldest sister. She was my Matron of Honor in my wedding. She’d be ZGirl’s Godmother if it wasn’t for the fact that I don’t want her to have to lie to the priest and say she would raise her to be a good Catholic, when my sister is basically an Atheist. It’s amazing we’re related because she’s whip-smart, ambitious and at nearly 55, could kick my ass in anything athletically related.

Hated middle school. Hated high school. Hated school. Period. Class reunions? I’d rather roll around on a bed of tacks and jump into the Dead Sea.

Chocolate, please. The only kind of chocolate I will refuse is chocolate cheese cake. Cheese  and cake  should never be used together to describe one dessert.

Katrina, who admits to being a bit hungry when she asked,

What is (are) your favorite junk food(s)? Favorite pop (soda, cola, whatev’s)? Favorite kinda cake?

Little Debbie’s Anythings. I may tell you that a lot of my pregnancy weight was water, but I must admit that some of it may have been attributed to Little Debbie’s Nutty Bars.

Not sure why, but while “pop” is the Midwestern term for carbonated drinks, the word annoys me so I say “soda”. And to answer the question, Pepsi. As for a favorite kind of cake? How could I even chose? I can only eliminate anything with coconut or “cheese” in it from the list of cakes I would eat quite happily.

Midori wants to know more about my world travels:

…if you could go anywhere in the world with anyone, where/who would it be?!

I would love to travel to all of the Mediterranean countries as I am fascinated by ancient art and architecture. I would prefer to go with Mr. DD but he would be the worst companion for that kind of trip as he has no interest in anything “cultural”. Maybe in 30 years, my children will accompany me.

Betty gets philosophical:

Which fruit will you buy after you weigh her? (referencing my obsession with ZGirl’s weight/growth)

The nectarines have been particularly tasty this summer. That or plums. And believe me, I just might sneak her onto a scale and take a pix with my phone. That is, if I could leave the confines of my home.

Erin, my lovely friend from the South, asks:

I want to know what your favorite book and/or movie of all time has been, and why?

That’s a tuffy, actually. I will watch Shawshank Redemption  every time it’s on TV. I love, love, love My Fair Lady, which has everything to do with Audrey Hepburn. As for books? I hate to admit that all my reading material is mostly on-line via blogs, but I would highly recommend the book from last year’s beach vacation, “Water for Elephants“.

Enat. Dear, dear Enat…my younger, cuter, funnier Snark Sister is looking for shopping tips:

…how about telling me more about your antique store finds. I am remodeling our bathroom and need inspiration for a funky vanity.

Antique shopping in Nebraska is really a hit or miss. It’s best done at farmstead auctions and not via some shop. I find it funny what some people will pay for certain items that my Mom and Dad call “junk”, usually because they are still using it. Like this chicken catcher. Or old cream cans, of which we have a dozen or more in the barn filled with my Dad’s canceled checks from 50, 60 years ago. Right now, I only have a few small things here and there: black art deco glass salt and pepper shakers; a 6 gallon crock in perfect condition; a plaster stringer shaped like a kitten…antiques are the only “knick-knacks” you will find in my home.

By the way, Enat, I’m totally picturing something like this or this, if it’s for the bathroom I’m thinking of.

Cat wants to know,

What is your favorite dance?

Rumba. I still dance by myself when the mood catches, just to see if I remember.

Beagle gets to round up the questions with this:

About your past and/or future clay endeavors! I think you hinted at an interest and or past experience pottery, no?

I have a BS in Art. Raise your hands if you knew that. While the college wasn’t necessarily known for its arts program, I was lucky to be exposed to several kinds of mediums, including clay and a little porcelain. I also learned a little about raku, a particular process of finishing pottery, and as you can see from Beagle’s etsy shop, a specialty of hers.

When Mr. DD and I built this house, we set aside an area in the basement for when (or if) I ever get back on a pottery wheel. The time for it is ever looming in the future, and at this point I don’t know if it’ll ever happen. A hobby for when I become an elderly and more crotchety woman.

OK, time to get this SOB published. It’s taken me two whole days to get thing pounded out. I wonder how long it’ll take for me to tell you about Mr. DD’s recent (and hopefully – temporary) case of assholiness…


Is it too soon to reach a level of New Baby Neuroticism that makes me want to go grocery shopping just so I can put the baby on a fruit scale to see if she’s gaining weight?

And with an ironic twist to the above sentence, what would you like to know about me that is completely non-baby related? I don’t want to end up jumping the shark, blogging style, by writing about All Baby, All the Time.

I do plan on writing soon about how I’ve called my husband a douchebag no less then a thousand times in my head this past week. However, in a coin toss between an extended blog post and a shower, the shower won. Be thankful your screen is not scratch and sniff.


Things here have been relatively par for the course now that ZGirl is home. What exactly does that entail?

  • Utter exhaustion because I can’t seem to make myself sleep when she does (like right now), which has led to no less then two mini, teary breakdowns.
  • Limited quality time with XBoy, who besides allowing a few pictures of the two of them together, are rarely seen in the same room.
  • Times where I’d like to jack Mr. DD over the head with a blunt object.
  • Panic attacks when I wake three hours after putting ZGirl down to sleep and realized she hasn’t woke yet.

To be fair, each of those times are tempered by the fact I actually did it – brought home a baby and I don’t think it’s just been a dream.

I stare at her and I see a lot of XBoy’s infant features. I also try to imagine our donor and what she may have looked like. ZGirl’s ears are not her father’s. They are more swirly, more like an exotic sea shell. Her toes are like mine, in how they taper in length, but they will be longer, more graceful. I’ve already heard that she looks like me, and I didn’t feel defensive about it like I thought I might. Instead I just smiled back and accepted the compliment.

Mr. DD returns to work next week and I now can appreciate the necessity of a sling or a wrap, but still am overwhelmed with the options. I’m a little freaked out that it’ll just be the two of us even though Mr. DD has been of restricted assistance anyway due to the decision to give breastfeeding (I prefer the term “nursing”) a try, which has been relatively painless. At night we are trying a split of responsibilities where he gets up when she fusses to change diapers and soothe. If she remains fussy and roots, I then get up to nurse.

The only downside to that is even with earplugs in, I hear her little barks before he does, which means I’m up before AND after he’s asleep. See third bullet item above for how I feel about that.

So now I’m going to see how Murphy’s Law will affect me and get this published and go lie down. You can presume that ZGirl woke within 10 minutes.

Um….never mind. She’s up now. Later.


Friday morning during rounds, OB stated as long as I felt up to it and ZGirl checked out OK, I could be discharged. While the accommodations at the hospital have been adequate, I just wanted to be home. I showered, changed into the clothes I wore to the hospital (bumming myself out in the process that they “fit” just as niftily then as they did a week before), and vegged out and watched House Hunters long enough to wonder why anyone would ever want to purchase a 900sq ft condo in New York for 1.9M when a 900sq ft house here in Nebraska could be scooped up for as little as $25,000 depending on whether or not there are any bonus amenities like traffic lights located within city limits.

I didn’t realize that my discharge orders wouldn’t be written until some time after 5:00 pm. At least I didn’t have to pay for Friday’s room since I technically was not part of the hospital’s census, which means my butt wasn’t in their bed at midnight. Word to the wise, people.

I changed ZGirl into the pink outfit, one of the two I had brought along, the other being green. And waited. During my wait, the nursery nurse managed to freak me out a bit by mentioning that ZGirl’s bilirubin was at such-and-such levels and that Pediatrician would let me know more. Her levels were fine, but she did have bit of a yellow face, which has since cleared up.

Mr. DD showed up with XBoy and the carseat and we loaded her into it and walked out to the nurse’s station, only to be shooed back into my room by the Carseat Nazi. She took one look at my Kiddopotamus insert supporting ZGirl so nicely and declared in her most saccharine and patronizing voice that the carseat had not been crash tested with that particular insert and then proceeded to scare the shit out of me with what could happen.

I tried to bluff my way through and explain that the insert had been tested while at the same time lifting ZGirl back out of the seat. “Well, I can ask Soandso…” “Don’t bother. I’ve already got ZGirl out of the seat. I’ll just remove it and get her back in so we can go.”

Then I put ZGirl back in, tightened the NASA designed straps, and asked Mr. DD for the extra blanket to put around her head to keep it fairly upright. “No, I’m sorry,” said Carseat Nazi, “but the blanket can be loosened in a car crash and smother her if it fell over her face. Instead we can give you a couple of rolled up receiving blankets to put on either side of her head…” How the fuck that was any safer then either the insert or blanket was beyond me.

“No. It’s fine. Let’s just get going.” Mr. DD recognized my tone and we give each other The Look behind Carseat Nazi’s back. The Look that says, “Please don’t bitch slap the nurse here in public” and helped me into the wheel chair, put the carseat on my lap and headed towards the unit’s exit.

Carseat Nazi chirped along merrily and she took over the pushing at such a slow pace I wanted to jump out of the chair and sprint ahead – c-section be damned. We reached the car at which point she noticed my kankles and started with the assvice about that as well. I think while she was in the middle of congratulations and wishing us the best that I shut the car door in her face, smiled and waved good-bye.

Since then, I verified that the insert has been tested and passed carseat safety testing. Mr. DD said I should send her the info, but I’m not wasting any more time thinking about the incident then I already have. It was an example of one of my rarer moments of where I’d rather just suck it up then try to have my way.

Just look at how mature I am! I turn 39*, have a baby, and act like a big girl – all within a couple of weeks!


* 39 years old or in the general vicinity.


It was basically a tie between Summer and Shlomit as to who guessed the closest on ZGirl’s stats.

Summer guessed 7lbs 13oz and 20 inches (or 3.54kg and 51cm for my non-imperilist friends), which made her guess off by just a half an inch.

Shlomit guessed 7lbs 11oz and 20 1/2 inches (or 3.49kg and 52cm), which made her guess off by only 2 ounces.

I have Summer’s address, so Shlomit, if you want to send me yours, I’ll try to pop something in the mail before the next Spring’s thaw.

Thanks everyone for their guesses, however I have to wonder if you were paying attention to how I made reference that ZGirl’s donor must have surely been a descendent of Amazon warriors. On the other hand, I was flattered by your petite guesses of 6 lbs because then I knew you hadn’t been stumbled across pictures of me in full bloat.

By the way, today I had the staples from my surgery removed and while at the OBs I made a quick jump on the scale. Just between you and me and the world wide web, I’ve lost almost 30 lbs. That’s not bragging. That’s incredulous…water weight, much?