Embarrassing mommy moments

1. You forget to wear breast pads and your baby cries in public (or you think about your baby, etc.).

My graphics tablet is broken, so I had to do this the old school way: with the mouse part of the macbook. Yeah, not easy.

2. You are in the bathroom with your toddler and she announces to the world that you are doing a poo.

3. You’re heavily pregnant and at the shops when you get a bit gassy. And you can’t hold it in….

4. You’re on the bus and your toddler declares that “that guy is funny looking.”

5. You smell like baby vomit, but you’re so used to it that you don’t even notice. Until a someone points it out.

6. You forget that you wrapped a nappy in a towel to carry it back to the car after a morning at the beach. Then you take the towel load out of the washing machine and discover little gelatinous balls all over everything.

7. You keep smelling poop, but all nappy checks come up clean. You follow your nose and discover a poo nugget under the couch. How in the world did a poo nugget get under the couch????????

8. Your toddler has just started potty training and you’re at the shops.  You notice that she’s wet herself but you don’t know exactly when or where. There might be a puddle of piddle somewhere in the store, but you’re not really sure, and too embarrassed to go tell someone anyway.  So you hope there is no puddle, and if there is that no one slips in it, and go in search of the nearest bathroom.

9. You are teaching your toddler the proper names for body parts, and she likes to point males out and say “Mommy, that is a boy, he has a penis and testicles,” and for girls “mommy, that is a girl, she has a vagina.” Loudly. In public.

10. You are wearing a dress, or skirt when your child decides it’s time for hide and seek.  The only place to hide is under Mommy’s skirt.  She pulls it right up as she giggles madly and puts it over her head.

I know there are way more embarrassing mommy moments, so please do share….

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Flashback Friday: The Bra Incident

My very first flight to Australia when I was 17 years old, took a staggering 25 hours.  Yeah, 25 hours to get to Australia.  That’s what happens when you fly Canada 3000 from Vancouver to Sydney via Honolulu, Rarotonga, and Auckland.  But hey, I was paying for it myself, and it only cost me $600 return, so I didn’t really care.

My host family picked me up from the airport and when I got to their house, I had just enough time to shower away 25 hours worth of sweat and unpleasantness from so much travel before the party started.  They had another exchange student leaving the very next day and she was having a going away party.  She was in the room I’d be in, so I had the den/study for the night, which happened to be downstairs right near the kitchen and living room- the party area.

I made the rounds, meeting everyone, declaring my sobriety and making a bet with someone for $50 that I wouldn’t drink the entire time I was in Australia.  Ha!  That didn’t happen!

I must have needed to get something from my temporary room because I went in there for some reason or another.

My host brother Dean must have wanted something out of there too.  It was the study after all.

As I walked in, his face went bright red.  Someone else was in there too.  I can’t remember who 10.5 years later, but there was someone else there.  He looked guilty, but I wasn’t sure why (Maybe because I’d been flying for 25 hours was in a new time zone, and was pretty much a zombie by that stage).

Yeah, I had permed burgandy hair, so what?

I gave them a funny look and they quickly scrambled out of there.

I didn’t get boobs until I was 18 years old.  Yeah, 18.  When I was 17, I was 98 pounds, still flat chested and could buy bras in the tween section.  Doesn’t sound very exciting, but tween bras are awesome!  They are sparkly.  They are funky.  I’m pretty sure they have the awesomeness to make you feel better about having absolutely no boobs. They make you feel a little bit better about it.

One of my awesome sparkly funky tween bras was sitting at the top of my luggage.  Hmmm…Maybe my host brother and friend saw it and then got embarrassed when I came in?  I didn’t say anything.  My bras were awesome, I didn’t care who saw them!

It wasn’t until later that my host brother told me that he had actually picked up the awesome sparkly bra, held it up, and showed it to his friend.  I apparently walked in on it, but was too oblivious to notice him quickly dropping my bra back into the suitcase.  He thought I had seen him with the bra.

I wish adult I-actually-have-boobs-now bras were as awesome as tween bras.  I miss the tween bras.  Humph. But I do like having boobs….

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Smells like Christmas

I was going to blog about this

Some of Aaron’s relatives came over for Christmas breakfast and presents this morning.  I was going to blog about eating waffles with stewed strawberries, real maple syrup, and ice cream, plus cheesy eggs and bacon and cinnamon rolls for breakfast, opening a million presents, and not actually cooking the turkey I bought because it was 33 degrees (91.4 F) and we really didn’t want the oven on all day in that heat, but then something happened.  Something so funny that I had to blog about it instead.  Something I had to change someones name for in order to be given permission to actually blog about it.  I’m just going to refer to the relative in this story as “Alex” because without changing the spelling, Alex can be a girls, or a boys name.  Plus, the person in this story doesn’t want to be named due to possible death by embarrassment.

“I think Hannah’s nappy bucket needs changing.”  Alex said to Grandma.  I put Hannah’s dirty nappies in a small, sealed, garbage bag lined bucket, changing it when it gets full (which is pretty much every day, as I said, it’s small).  “It’s really smelly.”

Grandma opened the poo bucket, tied the garbage bag shut, and took it to the bin outside.  She re-lined the bucket and put the lid back on.

“It still smells, we really need to find out what that smell is.”  Alex said, as he/she sniffed around the house.

I went in Hannah’s room.  No smell in there.  I could definitely smell something in the hall area.  “It smells like sewerage or something.”  I said to Grandma.

Grandma went outside, sniffing as she walked.  “There’s nothing out here.”

She went out the back, fearing that maybe, just maybe, the pipes were leaking and  poo was coming up through the ground.  “Nothing out here.”

“Hannah, time to brush your teeth.”

“No!”  No is her favorite answer to everything.

“Too bad, come on.”  I picked her up and headed to the bathroom.

As we neared the door, the smell assaulted our nostrils.  “Grandma, I found the source of the smell!”  Aaron checked the toilet to see if someone had left a nasty surprise by accident.  Nothing there, only the smell.

“Who’s been in the bathroom?”  Grandma asked.  “Never mind, that’s not important, it doesn’t matter, it just matters that we found the smell.”  It was lingering.  Too bad the fan doesn’t work.

“But I smelled something before I used the bathroom.”  Alex said

“Yeah, but you’ve been farting all day.”  I told him/her.

“No I haven’t.”

“Um…yes you have, we heard you.  Plus, Grandma said the smell was really strong in your room, she just felt bad and didn’t want to tell you.”

“Oh.  Oh yeah, I did too.  Oh, sorry, I guess it was me.”

Maybe it was all the chocolate, cheese, cookies, cinnamon rolls, and eggs.  Whatever it was, it was bad.

 

The problem with swimming

Hannah: not your average baby

Hannah started swimming lessons last week (I would have posted about this last week, but I forgot to bring the camera, and no one likes a post without photos).  I knew she’d like them, she loves the bath, but I didn’t know that she’d LOVE them.  She had a smile plastered on her cute little pudgy face the entire time.  Some babies cried.  Not Hannah.  She giggled.  The instructor had us put our babies’ heads on our shoulders and walk backwards around the pool, simulating swimming for the little ones.

“Grab their legs and show them how to kick in the water” the instructor told us.  I didn’t have to.  Hannah decided kicking is what she does best, splashing me and anyone in my general vicinity while she was at it.  She struggled to free herself of me so she could swim on her own.  Cheeky monkey, you’re not ready for that yet!

In Washington, everything at the beach is grey.... In case you're wondering, this is me on my pony Snowman when I was about 14

I love swimming.  I always have.  Sure, I didn’t grow up near the beach, but somehow, I still love swimming.  To get to the ocean where I’m from involved a lengthy drive and camping.  Then when you got there, the water was so cold that you’d turn blue after swimming in it for a few minutes.  The sand was grey, the sky was grey, the water looked grey.  That’s Washington (State, NOT D.C.  There is a difference!).  But I didn’t care, I’d go swimming anyway.

I wore board shorts over my swimming suit when I took Hannah for her swimming lesson.  Not because I’m now a mom and have cellulite on my ass (although I have to admit, that is a factor).  Not because I have a very hungry butt that likes to devour my swimming suit at every opportunity (again, also a factor).  Not because they make bikini bottoms so small these days that they only seem to cover your bum-crack and nothing else.  Not because during pregnancy, the only place I got stretch marks was my butt.  Sure, these things were all factors, but I’d still don the bikini bottoms sans board shorts if it weren’t for the one problem I have with swimming:  I always forget to shave/wax/pluck/do something about my unfortunate bikini line.

I don’t want to be the one that’s running around on the beach or at the pool looking like I have a family of  big, black, angry spiders trying to escape from my nether regions.  Not only that, but when I do remember (or can be bothered) to shave first, I get those annoying little red bumps all over.  Which is worse, spiders coming out of your swimmers, or a million (ok, that’s an exaggeration) red bumps?  If I wax first (which takes much more effort and time.  Plus, where would I do it?  We live with Grandma now, so I can’t do it in the lounge room like I used to.  What if Grandma came in?  “Hey Grandma, oh yeah, that is my crotch hanging out, I’m just waxing.”  I could do it in my room, but what would I do whilst waxing?  There’s no working tv in there.  If you have to go through the discomfort (to put it lightly) of waxing, you need something to amuse yourself while you do it), then a couple of days later I get a million (ahem, exaggeration) ingrown hairs.  I suppose then I would look ok for the day of swimming (If I waxed the night before), but ingrowns (as well as the red bumps) are itchy.  I’d look good for a day, then I’d look like I have crabs.  Sometimes you just have to scratch.  Scratching makes it worse.  Then you have a million red lumps and/or ingrown hairs, long red scratch marks extending from your crotch, to halfway down your leg, inflammation, and everyone you are around at the time thinking that you must have crabs.  There’s always tweezing, that causes much less future problems, but it takes so long, and you know what?  I just can’t be bothered (and again, where would I do it?).

Bring on the boardies.  We’ll just pretend they’re to cover the cellulite.  Or the stretch marks.