Love this Picture of Greta

Taken at Megan and Justin Lohr's wedding in Pittsburgh this past weekend.

Holy $H!T

One of my favorite times of the day is the early morning hours when I can hear the girls waking up. Talking to themselves and each other is both sweet and comical. So when I heard Lucy saying over and over again, "no-no Greta...no-no", I giggled a little in my sleepy haze as to what Greta could be doing. And in true "good mommy" form, elbowed Norm in the ribs to go get the girls; mumbling something about it being his turn.
But a little extra shut-eye was not in my cards. No sooner had he rolled out of bed that I heard him yell, "BETHHHHH....GET IN HERE"! As I tried to untangle my feet from the sheets and stumble out of bed, I see Norm holding our sweet baby out, like a disease, crying for Mommy and covered in....POOP. Poop in her hair. Poop in her mouth. Poop all over her face and suckie. Poop EVERYWHERE! Norm, like a deer in headlights, looks to me for direction. "BATH TUB. BATH TUB. GO. BATH TUB", is all I can manage to utter. Its so disgusting...and the wafting smell of poop is starting to seep out of there room. As Norm races Greta (still at arms length) to the bathroom, I bravely step into their room to survey the damage! HOLY $H!T! No really...there is $H!T everywhere. The back story to my rude awakening is beginning to unfold in front of my eyes. As I lean over her bed I see a diaper cast aside and a huge poop with little Greta finger prints all over it. It appears that Greta (that little stinker), removed her poopie diaper and played with it. Smeared it in the crib walls, sheets, blankets, and suckies. She also tried to eat it. No wonder Lucy was yelling No-No! YUCK!
In the end, both Greta and crib survived no worse for wear. But life lesson taken from this poopscapade...always make sure Greta is wearing shorts or pants to bed!

Arnie Palmers

I fear I'm becoming, well, one of THEM! You know the type. The ones that drone on about the amazement's of their children and the endless joy their little munchkins bring them; giving new meaning to the phrase, "so sweet it gave me a toothache". Well, at the risk of alienating those followers who enjoy my "cup-half-empty" blathering, I will just come out and say it....I LOVE MY GIRLS! There...I've put it out there for all to see. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH IT HURTS!
This current state-of-mind is not my fault (for the record). I put the blame entirely on my obliging ObGyn who up'd my dosage of happy pills to the point where, apparently, I can't find anything wrong with my life. I disgust myself.
I want to puke at all the sentimental thoughts that run through my head when thinking about Lucy's pigtails or Greta's dancing. And what's worse, if I did puke on myself, I wouldn't even be upset about it. I'd probably just shrug it off with a smile and revel in those crazy mother-moments when you get puked on!
ARG!
What is wrong with me? I suppose I could chalk one up to, "time heals all wounds". But then I have to ask myself...was having Lucy and Greta really a wound? In a word....YES. (Can someone please remind me to delete this posting when they learn to read). Having a child is like a self-inflicted wound that, like anything else, takes time to heal. The wound is the loss of the person you once where. The freedom you once had. The body you once loved. But time heals and a different person emerges. One that doesn't take what little freedom she can find for granted. One that proudly shows-off those imperfect lumps and bumps as war wounds. Gotten in battle. Healed, but forever changed.
Life is full of lemons and I'm sure father-time will chuck a few more my way before years end. And don't fear, my blog will once again be filled with "glass-half-empty" Arnie Palmers! But today...today my cup runeth over!