I Heart My Little A-Holes (4 page)

Dear Medela,

So it’s been three months since I had my baby and here’s the shit that’s gone through my head in the past two minutes. Is it hot in here? Where did I leave my keys? Wait, no, where did I leave the baby? Who the hell turned down the temperature in here? Agggh, I am seriously going to kill my husband, like for realz this time. I can’t remember what my birthday is. Shit, is it hot in here? I think I might have just been sleeping standing up. OMG, did I just answer the door with my top off? Whatta we live in an F’ing igloo? It’s freezing in here.

In case you don’t get what I’m saying, I’m saying that my hormones are bouncing off the walls like they’re in an F’ing pinball machine that’s being played by a kid with ADHD and a roll full of quarters. My point is this.

This is pretty much what your Medela breast pump looks like online:

And here’s what it actually looks like when it arrives and you open it up:

And here’s how you put it together:

I remember opening mine up about a month before I had to go back to work, taking one look at all those tubes and doodads and valves, and breaking down into a pile of tears and snot. Thank God my husband was home to scrape me off the floor.

HUBBY: Let’s tackle this later, okay honey?

ME: (sobbing uncontrollably) Nooooo, she’s going to starve to death if I don’t start pumping RIGHT NOW.

So here’s my request. Can you pleeeeeeease start packaging the pumps assembled? Is it really that difficult? I mean I know that personally I will never forget how to put a breast pump together, but there are thousands of hormonal women who are going to open up their breast pumps for the first time tomorrow and they’re either going to give up on breastfeeding or they are going to murder someone. Maybe their husband. Maybe their baby. Maybe some poor unsuspecting soul who’s walking below their building when they chuck the whole damn breast pump over the balcony.

Yours truly,
Baby Sideburns

Before I had kids I had no F’ing idea how many times I would have to take them to the doctor’s office. I mean, you go to the doctor once a year, right? Well, twice. Once to your regular one, and once to the one with the stirrups. Giddy up.

But apparently babies need to go like 9,000 times a year. And that’s just for wellness checkups. Which they’re always F’ing well for. And then the second you get them home they’re like pulling at their ear or barfing up their spleen or some shit like that and you’re dragging them back to Flutopia because they caught something when they were there for their wellness checkup. It’s a vicious cycle.

Anyways, here are a few things I think about the pediatrician’s (holy crap is that a hard word to type) office:

1. Okay, so imagine yourself ordering a cup of coffee from the barista at Starbucks and they’re all nice to you and smiling and they hand you your coffee and then out of nowhere they stab you with a needle. That’s basically what it’s like to get shots when you’re a baby. Two nurses come in and they’re super sweet and smiling at you and wearing cute outfits with smiling bears or some shit like that and then since you have absolutely no F’ing clue what’s about to happen because you were just born, all of the sudden from out of nowhere they jab you with needles. In order to prepare the baby for what’s coming, I think it’d be so much better if the nurses would come in like total assholes and yelling and stuff and then jam needles into the baby’s limbs. “ROOOOOAAAARRR, we’re gonna stab you with BIG F’ing needles and it’s going to hurt like a bitch!!!” At least then the baby would be expecting something bad to happen.

2. If I didn’t love my pediatrician so much, I’d change doctor’s offices. Why? Because of this:

I call it the Ebola train table. Oh here’s a good idea. Let’s let every sick little rug rat who comes through here play with this thing and put their saliva fingers all over it so that my kid can come in next and chew-chew on it and catch the plague. Brilliant. All aboard the Hot Zone! We came here with a minor cold and we’re leaving with typhoid. Awesome.

3.

RECEPTIONIST: Northwest Pediatrics, how can I help you?

ME: Hi, my kid is coughing up a lung and I need to get him in to see Dr. Smarty Pants today.

RECEPTIONIST: She can see him at 1:30 PM.

ME: Do you have any other times? That’s like smack in the middle of his naptime.

RECEPTIONIST: Ummm, yes, she can see him at 1:32 PM.

ME: Thank you, that’s much better.

Not.

4. Holden, don’t touch the fish tank. Holden, don’t tap on the fish tank. Holden, don’t put your mouth on the fish tank. WTF? I know you’re a toddler but can’t you just stand there in the middle of the floor and not touch a thing and look at the fish from a distance for 18 minutes while we wait for your name to be called? I’m so glad I drove here like a bat out of hell to make our appointment time.

5.

NURSE: So the doctor will be in soon.

ME: So should I keep his clothes off?

NURSE: Yes, the doctor will be in soon.

ME: Define soon. Like four minutes?

NURSE: Soon.

ME: Thirty minutes? I just want to know if I should dress him so he’s not cold.

NURSE: The doctor will be in soon.

ME: Agggggh, ANSWER ME DAMN IT!!! I’m going to fucking kill you!!! When the hell is she going to be in here?!!!

NURSE: The doctor will be in…

ME: Don’t you dare say it.

NURSE: Soon.

6.

NURSE: We’re going to need a urine sample from your daughter.

ME: Okay, then you better just follow her around all day holding a cup under her naked hoo-ha because A. Getting her to pee on demand is impossible and B. She can’t even hit the toilet half the time and that cup’s like 1/10
^th
the size of the toilet bowl.

7.

DOCTOR: Sooo, is he saying any words yet?

ME: Yeah, lots. Honey, what does a cat say?

HOLDEN: (Blank stare)

ME: What does a cat say?

HOLDEN: (Blank stare)

ME: Who am I?

HOLDEN: (Blank stare)

ME: He says a lot. Really, I’m not lying.

DOCTOR: (writing something on the chart) Nooo, of course not.

8. So has he had any bowel movements or flatulance out of his anus that is located right behind his penis and scrotum? Nahhh, I know that’s not
really
what the doctor says but she’s always using anatomically correct lingo so that’s what it F’ing sounds like and I have to keep a straight face and not laugh at all and even say some of these words back to her pretending like I don’t usually use words like vajayjay and peeper and toot-monster.

9.

DOCTOR: Do you have any other concerns or questions about your baby?

ME: Uhhh, so my husband has a concern that I promised I’d ask you about.

DOCTOR: I think I know what you’re going to ask.

ME: Okay, what?

DOCTOR: No, you go ahead.

ME: No, you say it.

DOCTOR: No, you say it.

ME: No, you say it.

DOCTOR: No, you say it.

ME: Okay, let’s say it at the same time.

DOCTOR: 1, 2, 3, go.

ME: Is it normal that his penis is so small? Hey, you didn’t say it.

DOCTOR: It’s a rite of passage.

Of course, none of this conversation really happened this way. I mean my husband did insist that I ask if it’s normal for his dinky to be so dinky. So I did. In the most clumsy, foolish, bumbling way that I could because I’m not allowed to use words like dinky to the doctor. And then I died of embarrassment.

The End. Yes, there was a number 10, but like I said, I died. Plus, I’m lazy and the Bachelorette is about to start.

Every day people ask me why my blog is called Baby Sideburns. Well, not every day, but every week. Hmmm, no, maybe more like every month. Okay, so what is that, like twelve people? Hey twelve people who care, this story is for you.

Once upon a time there was a blog called Mommyhood Unplugged. isn’t that like the most boringest name you’ve ever heard? Plus it’s like ridiculously uncatchy. I’m allowed to say that because it was my blog. Then one day a friend of mine was nice enough to tell me that my blog was funny but the name of it sucked. And I was like okay, you’re right, but I’m totally uncreative so WTF should I name it? Well, I had just written the following post so she suggested I call it Baby Sideburns. Yes, someone else came up with the name. So Lauren Schifferdecker (isn’t that like the most fun last name to say?! I’m sitting here in Starbucks saying it over and over again and people are looking at me funny), this chapter is for you. You came up with the name Baby Sideburns. You F’ing rock. So here goes, the original post that inspired the name Baby Sideburns:

Every pregnant mom says the same thing—all I care about is that my baby is healthy. Ennhhh, wrong, I’m calling bullshit on this. You see, I’m preggers right now and there are lots of other things I worry about. Like will my baby have one of those giant red birthmarks smack in the middle of its face? Will it be born with teeth (yes, there are little vampire babies born with chompers)? And will it get my Sasquatch gene and be insanely hairy?

I was lucky the first time I gave birth because my firstborn is like this totally svelte, strawberry blonde girl who takes after her father 100%. Wait, no, 99%.

RANDOM STRANGER: She looks just like her daddy.

ME: Yeah, but she got my genitalia!

Of course, that always ended in uncomfortable silence so I stopped saying it. But I digress. Anyways, they always say the firstborn looks just like the daddy and the second one looks like the mommy so I am scared to death this baby inside me is going to come out looking like me. Not only will it be the sadly-neglected second child, IT will most likely look like Cousin It.