The First Pedicure

A while back, my mom had the brilliant idea of painting Maddie’s toenails.

I was like, “Mom. Listen to yourself. Maddie’s insane. She’ll never sit still and will probably kick the crap out of your face in the process.”

“But her little fat toes would be so cute with some polish on them!”

“Mom. Not a good idea.”

So she didn’t do it…

Until today.

I just received this in a text message, with a caption that read “hahahahahaha!”…

Apparently this was her second attempt at painting Maddie’s toes this morning. The first time didn’t work out so well, as predicted, with red nail polish ending up all over my parents’ new bedspread. So Mom put Maddie in a high chair and distracted her with food and Yo Gabba Gabba. Those are the magic words for this child, I’m telling you.

I just can’t stop laughing.

Make her stop growing.

Before I had Madeline, I had 3 major fears:

  1. She’d be an ugly baby.
  2. I’d be blind to the ugly because I was her mom, but everyone else would see it and have the heebies and have to force themselves to say she was cute when they were really shuddering inside.  Remember that one episode of Seinfeld?
  3. She’d come out and — SURPRISE!! — be a boy and we’d have to deal with all the pink madness already taking over our home and the penis. I think little boys are awesome and sweet and adorable, but those mini ones sure scare me.

Well, she’s definitely a girl, but those first two? They happened.

I’m going to be honest and admit that she definitely looked like an alien for the first few months, but I truly think she’s grown out of that bug-eyed thing she had going on and is now quite a pretty little lady.

This was brought to my attention when I was looking through my cell phone picture messages. Whenever my parents or Justin watch Maddie while I’m at work, they always send me a picture of her. They’ve done this since she was a few months old and it’s often been what’s helped me through tough days of feeling like a horrible mother and other various sads. I really appreciate them doing that for me.

Well, here are a few of those photos. Some of them make me laugh because they’re just plain silly and others make my heart melt into a big puddle because of how fast time has gone by. My baby is growing up and WHAT THE HECK? Make it stop.

I Just May Be the One to Blame…

By now, you’ve all witnessed the horror that is The Angry Face:

angry face

While browsing through some old photos a few moments ago, I found one of me when I was three:

morgan angry face

(I swear that smudge on my nose is not a booger. Though, I really wouldn’t be surprised if it was… I was kind of a hot mess. LOOK AT THAT HAIR. Good gracious.)

Childlike joy and happiness is obviously overflowing in this gene pool.

More About Chesticles

A follow up to this drama-filled post I wrote back in January.

A note to the people on Facebook who pop on over here every once in a while, but don’t necessarily care to read about the status of my working boobs: Skip this one.

Once upon a time, I had a perfect pair. They were perky, full of life, and looked flipping amazing in every top I owned with little to no effort. You all know the whole bend-over-tuck-in-wiggle-push-up bit, right?  I NEVER HAD TO DO THAT. They were that cute.

Then along came this…

mrspriss_6 months pregnant_baby belly

…and with my transformation into that behemoth of a woman, my boobs became beastly. Gargantuan. Terrifying… yet, still strangely awesome in their own huge way.

THEN:

mrspriss_newborn_maddie_post partum

The arrival of Maddie brought them to incredible new lactating heights. And weights (probably about 5lbs each at this point, if I had to guess). That one you see there rivaled the size of my newborn.

I nursed Madeline for three months before I gave up (pumping at work became my own personal hell), and the downward spiral began. My boobs became a young 23 year old woman’s worst nightmare — small, saggy, lifeless and anything but cute.  My bra size seemed to decrease weekly, which was utterly depressing.  That wouldn’t have even be so bad if they would have just FIT into a bra without trying to wiggle out and say hi to everyone constantly.

Enter Summer, 2009. I lost all the baby weight! I was supposed to be able to wear tank tops and sun dresses and have hot, new mom cleavage!  Sorry, sister, not happening this year.

Quite frankly, I was pissed at life.  I know, I’m seeming a bit dramatic… but for someone who’s had her share of body-hating issues, seeing the one area I never had a problem with turn to complete crap was a little tough.

(Bipolar activity incoming…) Not all was lost though, miraculously! A month or two ago, I started noticing a positive change. I had a mom friend tell me this would happen, but I didn’t really believe her until it did.  They were actually starting to behave like good little girls. They weren’t flopping all over the place like they used to, and I could actually stand to look at them for more than two seconds without wanting to gouge my eyes out. They’re still far from what they used to be, but the good old 34C’s are back. That’s progress.

So here’s another bit of newish mom wisdom I’ve gained in a nutshell: They get big, they get bigger, they get HUGE and terrifying, then they look like crap for a while… but none of it lasts forever. They’ll be sort of cute again one day.