New Business

I'm back after much computer trouble. Actually, a few weeks ago I had pretty much decided to end this blog. We've gotten into the terrible twos six months early around here and I've become addicted to pogo.com. But, during a rare moment of peace and quiet, I decided I couldn't end the blog. I enjoy writing too much, and whenever I read any other blogs I feel a little tug at my finger tips to write something. So, I'm going to try to blog at least every other day. I'm also going to work on a little format changes, I feel like all I write about is Scooter, I mean she is pretty awesome and all, but I have a lot more that goes on in my life. I'm also going to be looking for guest bloggers, more on that to come!

Tap tap... is this thing on... again...

I know, I know, another huge lag in posting. Honestly, life has been sooooo busy. Ok, that's a lie. It hasn't been busy at all, I've just been spending my evenings playing Mahjong instead of blogging. But, because I know everyone is just dying to know what's been going on in my life, here's a little update.

• The hubs and I tackled a remodel of our laundry room. And because we're both blessed with the Murphy's Law gene, nothing went according to plan. But, I do finally have cabinets and a sink to go with my brand spanking new HE washer and dryer. So, I guess all that bleeding and bitching was worth it in the end.

• Everyone is having freaking babies! Seems like everyone got down to business last fall, because babies are popping out like the plastic gophers in that 1980s arcade game. I went to a baby shower over the weekend, which was totally awesome since I was Scooter-less and surrounded by adults. Oh, and I got to see what a house without children looked like. Sigh, I can only dream...

• I've started jogging again, and I H.A.T.E. it. Ok, I really don't hate it, I just hate this part, when you are reminded of how freaking out of shape you are and every step is like torture. I picked up a jogging stroller too, because there's nothing like jogging uphill, pushing 40 pounds worth of kid, stroller, and all the kid related junk moms are required to lug around. It's also amazing how you can drive on a road nearly every day, but never quite realize just how much of a grade that hill is that you swore was pretty flat when you're flying up it at 45 miles per hour.

• Gardening, and lots of it. The hubs and I put in a vegetable garden this summer since we finally removed a bunch of trees that may or may not have been just about ready to fall on our house. Note to self, do not cultivate in flip flops. That hole you thought was probably from a little mole was actually dug by a fist size hairy tarantula that probably isn't native to this region and may have friends. In a lighter note, we're going to be doing a lot of pickling!

• We also bought a tractor. I'm actually pretty syched about this. We do a little farming at our inlaws, and got a big ol' John Deere (circa 1968) to do more plowing and harvesting. We're currently keeping it parked in the front lawn, you know, cause we have to keep up appearances since our neighbors got chickens.

So yeah, that's about it. See, I told you I was lying when I said I was busy.

Warning: Offensive Language Ahead

Everyone remembers the first time they heard their parents cuss. And I don't mean "damn" or "hell," I mean f-bomb level stuff. For Scooter, I'm pretty sure she heard it within the first fifteen minutes of her life. See around this household, four (and some three, five, seven, and eight) letter words are used like MSG at a Chinese Buffet... they're in every-f*cking-thing. Sure, the hubs and I said we would cut it out when Scooter was born, but cut to 14 months later and I'm pretty sure my kid just said "ass" the other day at lunch.

Cussing is a hard, and I mean H.A.R.D., habit to break. I remember making a conscious decision in seventh grade to start spicing up my language, and I haven't looked back since. Example: I was in a meeting at work with the President and Vice President of Corporate World* along with pretty much the head of every division. When the President asked if my department could pull something off, my reply was "Does a bear shit in the woods?" Seriously, those words came out of my mouth, in a meeting, with the whole company. Thankfully, I was pretty chummy chummy with everyone and I already had a redneckish reputation around the office, but still, that would generally be considered inappropriate for most business meetings. Well, maybe not if you worked for someone like Larry the Cable Guy, but I do not, and my bosses don't wear cut off flannel shirts and dip Skoal Mint.

So, back to Scooter. I've tried really hard to cut it off, but so far I've only been able to eliminate the really bad words. I mean, when I get head butted in the nose by a tired toddler, a "Goddammit" is gonna fly. And it's not like I'm using it in my everyday conversations with her. I don't get her dressed and say "You are so f*cking cute!" Usually it's something like "Please don't eat those wipes, rip off your diaper, pee on the floor, and head butt me in the nose." Besides, if she picks something up, I have one of two options: a. Tell everyone she's trying to say something else, like "sit" or "duck." b. Blame the hubs.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Dress your kid like a ho... spin them round doe si doe!

A few weeks back, this bathing suit was all over the news. Parents all over grabbed their pitchforks and torches (or iPhones held up high with their screens on) and demanded Abercrombie & Fitch stop selling the item. They claimed child endangerment, child pornography, and everything in between. I know, I know, normally my posts have a humorous slant to them. But nothing makes me blow my top more than things like this. So if you're expecting the normal post, stop reading now.

First, Abercrombie & Fitch is a company operating in a capitalist economy (or so-so, but that's for another post and blog). The head baddie at A&F didn't just wake up one day and say, "Hey, you know what we should sell to corrupt our nation's youth? Push up bikinis for pre-teens. To the Bat Cave!" No, companies like A&F invest in things like market research before investing millions in a new product. The real shame here is that their research uncovered a market for an item like this. So on to point two...

Second, how about a little parenting here people? And no, I don't mean from your kids' teachers, coaches, or the cast of Glee. I mean from you, their parent. Instill in them values like charity, modesty, and kindness. Foster an open line of communication between you and your children. Lead by example. And for the love of all things holy, don't strive to be your kids' friend. Strive to be their parent. Do you think Patton was friends with his troops? No, he was their leader because that's what the circumstances called for, and they admired and respected him. Be your child's Patton.

Third, accept the fact that you can't shelter your children from everything. They will be exposed to things like peer pressure, body image issues, and that darn social ladder. But that's where a strong foundation of values and morals comes into play. So Betty Sue got the latest and greatest push up bra bikini and the boys can't wait to see her in it at the swim club. But guess what, your child Sally isn't in the least bit jealous, why? Because she values modesty and doesn't see her mom prancing around in a g-string at the beach.

At the end of the day, it doesn't matter whether you teach your kids values from a spiritual, cultural, or basic human perspective, all that matters is that you do it, and live every day of your life being a walking, talking, breathing example. And guess what, things like this teensy weensy bikini won't even be a blip on the radar.

Wait, I have a toddler???

Here's the thing about having children: they grow up, but you don't really notice it until it Chuck Norris roundhouse kicks you in the face. This happened to me this week, when I finally realized I have a toddler. I mean, there should really be some kind of warning sign that grows out of their heads on their first birthday that says "Warning: Wild Animals Do Bite." So, I've come up with some warning signs that your sweet baby has turned into a toddler. You might have a toddler if...

1. Going to the bathroom has become a spectator sport. You'd think with all eyes on you while you do your business that they would potty train themselves. I mean, this is the time when they are learning the most right?

2. Your life has turned into the Twilight series, but not in the romantic taboo vampire love sense. So far I've been bit in the face, boob, side, arm, knee, and (because Scooter has a foot fetish) countless times on the toes. I've yet to turn into a nocturnal blood sucker, so it's pretty safe to say Scooter is not a vampire, though she may be a cannibal.

3. You can recite Good Night Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, and Green Eggs and Ham by heart. The hubs told me last night I was saying "I do not like green eggs and ham, I do not like them Sam-I-am" in my sleep.

4. Buying shoes is more complicated than Rupaul's makeup routine. Why can't shoes be sized by the length of the foot? 4.5" would equal 4.5 size shoe. No, I have to measure the foot, multiply by 5, divide by 7, carry the one, add Scooter's birth year... wait what? Ellen is on?

5. There's a world beyond the front door. Scooter loves being outside... I mean L.O.V.E.S. it in the way stoners love Cheetos. Which is pretty great, except for when she sits at the front door pointing saying "THAT!" eight million times while I try to work. I'm seriously considering buying her one of those real grass potty patches for dogs.

6. You have master culinary skills in PB&J and grilled cheese. You also discover toddlers have no palette for marinated filet mignon with a side of grilled season potatoes and spring veggies.

7. You find yourself singing "Lalala, lalala, Elmo's World" in the toilet seat aisle of Home Depot. You also walk through the window aisle expecting to see Mr. Noodle in one of the displays.

8. All surfaces under three feet are a barren wastelands. But don't worry, whatever clutter that was on these surfaces will now be on the floor of your family room in the form of Toys R Us toy diarrhea.

9. You have about a 1.5 hour window to run errands in a day. Between naps and feeding times, there's that precious 1.5 hour window when you can actually leave the house. However, this is only if you've mastered the ninja skills required to strap a kid into a convertible carseat and pre-pack the diaper bag. Word of advice, do not rush getting out the door. It will only result in a deuce being flung across the room during the quick diaper change that you thought was only a wet diaper.

10. You actually start getting semi-coherent answers from your toddler. This is probably one of the greatest parts of having a toddler. Granted, Scooter can only say "yes" (which is far and above better than "no") and I'm pretty sure I could ask her "Do you want mama to sacrificially kill Dora and Boots?" and I would still get a yes. But still, it's a far improvement over desperately flinging every toy and sippy cup known to man at her to stop her crying.

How the Modern Homemaker takes out the trash...

I was taking the trash out yesterday when I stopped in my garage, looked at my pile of trash, and realized just out amazingly complicated taking the trash out is in my house. Let me walk you through a week in the life of a full trash bag.

1. Trash bag is full, but still remains in the can. The hubs and I continually push down on the full bag in an attempt to compact and use every available space in the bag. Inevitably we either a. rip a hole in the bag (Glad Force Flex, you are no match for me!) or b. we suffer through the God awful smell coming from the no longer closing lid. GAG!




2. After a gagging fit, the bag is removed from the can, set on the kitchen floor, and tied shut. Scooter then crawls over, puts her hands all over the bag, manages to find the open hole and grab a fist full of a. dirty diaper or b. raw meat. GAG!




3. Process is put on hold while whatever mess Scooter has gotten on her hands is wiped away, which is kinda like wrestling a greased up monkey.




4. The bag then makes the journey to the garage where it is set ON TOP of the the trash cans. Why? We will get to that in a minute. If the top of the trash cans are full, the bag is randomly thrown into the garage where it hits any number of unorganized items, knocking them over. Oh slitz!




5. Tuesday rolls around and the decision is made as to whether the hubs or I feel like taking the trash out. If we don't, then the bag hangs out for another week with it's other bag friends having martinis and making fun of the disorganized garage. If we do feel like taking the trash out, we move onto step six.




6. Our tractor is fired up and the bags are loaded into the front end loader. The tractor is backed out of the garage (yes, our tractor sits in the garage while our cars are parked outside) and makes the climb to the end of our 200 foot drive way (we.are.so.lazy.) Bag and all it's bag friends are dumped at the end of the driveway and the tractor is parked back into the garage.




7. The garbage fairies come and take our bag away to garbage land where they have a trash bag party.
   
   
   
   So why don't we use the cans? Because the hubs and I really can't handle processes longer than seven steps, and cans would mean we would have to add a seventh to bring the cans back into the garage, which just ain't happening. However, this process is an improvement over when I used to take our trash to my in-laws every week for pick up because the hubs and I were too cheap to pay for pickup ourselves.

Tap tap, is this thing on? Sorry for the lack of posts recently, life's been busier than a one legged man at a butt kicking contest.

So on with it. A few weeks ago I went to lunch with my dear friend Super Mommy. Scooter was with me being her usual cuteness self, casually stuffing a peanut butter sandwich in her mouth, when a lady comes up to bask in the aura of said cuteness. Then this woman said, quite possibly, one of the worst things you can ever say to a woman. She asked Super Mommy if she was the grandmother. OH NO SHE DI-IN'T! Ok, let me paint a little picture here. Yes, Super Mommy is older than me, but not by much and seriously looks about seven years younger then her real age. So we both laughed off the incident. Truthfully, I was still giggling on the way home, but also because I started thinking of all the things that have been said to me in the past that pissed me off and/or gave me a little chuckle. Here's a list...

1. You look like you're going to pop any minute! This one got so old during my pregnancy that at one point I said, "Yeah, all over your face." I know, so classy. This one goes right along with the "You must be carrying twins" gem.


2. Are you wearing that? Yeah hubs, I am. I'm bloated thanks to Aunt Flo and there's no way in hell I'm squeezing this fat ass into a pair of Spanx. If you tell me I'm pretty, you might climb your way out of the no nooky hole. Especially if you buy me a Hershey Bar.


3. Are you breastfeeding? Response: Sure am, want some? Inappropriateness breeds inappropriateness.


4. You look... different. Standard response from the hubs whenever I get my hair done. Joke's on you, I just spent $150.00 to look "different."


5. Here, let me demonstrate our product. I'm specifically talking about those annoying sales people at the mall hocking those nail buffing kits. First, don't touch me. Second, I'm pushing a toddler in a stroller. Do you really think I have time to do my nails? See, they're trimmed and clear of the poo I just got in them changing my toddler in the mall bathroom. That's about as close to a manicure as I'm getting lady.


6. Did you get me anything? Another gem from the hubs. Nope, I gave you 24 hours notice to put anything you wanted on the grocery list. Pepsi and chips means Pepsi and chips. It does not mean Pepsi, chips, Slim Jims, underwear, pork chops, Call of Duty, hot dogs, ice cream, Little Debbies, socks, motor oil, shotgun shells, deodorant, and those "watcha call it things you got me a few weeks ago that I really liked."

The Great Diaper Switch

Disclaimer: This letter is based on the "Dear Life Cereal" letter from Family Guy. Thank you Family Guy writers, there is no way I could ever be as funny as you.

Dear Luvs Diapers,

Where do you get off? Less bulk and absorbent? Who do you think you are? By now, you may have guessed I'm speaking ironically and have nothing but good things to say about what you do. Luvs Diapers, do not change a thing.

Signed,

The Modern Homemaker

Dictated but not read

Apparently two weeks ago the Army Corp of Engineers rerouted Niagara Falls into Scooter's diaper and didn't tell me. I found out when I got her up from her nap and noticed her crib had turned into a protected wetland. The egret flying down the hall should of been a clue as to what awaited me. So I went to Babies R Us. There was no way I was using the diapers I've pretty much used for the past year anymore. I won't say their name, but let's just say it rhymes with Schmuggies. So I'm walking toward the diaper aisle when I hear what sounds like a choir of angels. Suddenly from above I see the most beautiful golden light streaming down to a stack of purple boxes. There, in front of me, is 204 Luvs diapers for less than what I paid for 140 of Schmuggies. Hallelujah! When I left the store I must have looked like Lindsay Lohan stealing a necklace because I seriously thought I was getting away with something.

When I got home and schlapped one of these bad boys on Scooter, I started grabbing two of everything and loading the ark. There was no way these paper thin diapers were going to hold up to what Scooter had in store. Well, three hours later (because someone got side tracked with dinner, I know, bad mom) and a lot of moving and shaking on Scooter's end, her clothes were still dry. Plus she told me she likes the way they make her butt look. Not really, she's only one, has a vocabulary of three words, and doesn't even know she has a butt. So this household is officially converted, even though I still hate their creepy commercials.

Holy crap it's spring!

So somehow the change of seasons has snuck up on me once again. This might be due to the fact that I just got around to taking down my outside Christmas lights last weekend... oops. While I love to say goodbye to winter, I'm a bit unprepared for spring. I had big plans for this winter, and somehow none of them were accomplished because, and let's be honest here, my plans were the equivalent of ten pounds of poo, and my time was only a five pound bag. So spring, I'm officially pissed at you right now, and here's why.

1. You are officially the Charlie Sheen of all the seasons. One day you're seventy degrees and sunny and the next day you forget to drink your tiger blood and are twenty five below and icy. I refuse to bring my flip flops out until April because, seriously, if I did it before then you'd drop the mother of all snow bombs on me. Plus, I haven't painted my toes since mid-October and it's gonna take me until April to shape up those talons.


2. Spring signals the return of pollen. Now, I was blessed with the ultimate of all non-allergy genes. And while the hubs likes to think of himself as the perfect male specimen, he really got shafted when it comes to allergies. I mean, this guy can just think of a tree and start sneezing. So spring also signals the return of the "man allergies" which is kind of like the man cold, only it's accompanied by me constantly nagging him with the "Why don't you just go to the damn allergist?!"


3. I can no longer blame my super lame landscaping on the deadness of winter. Now I love to garden as much as the next guy, maybe more, but I have what's known as that-woman-can't-estimate-the-area-of-her-flower-bed disorder. Very very tragic and unfortunate, no cure either. It's not until I actually get outside and start to garden that I remember, "Crap, these things go all the way around the house and then some!" This is about the time that I blame Scooter for being fussy for why I couldn't get everything planted and mulched.


4. Finally, daylight savings time. I mean, who the hell thought up this little gem? And why the hell does it happen on the weekend? Everyone wouldn't be so pissed with it if it happened on a Friday at 4pm. And seriously, I didn't realize how many damn clocks were in my house until I had to turn them all forward. Ok, that's not true, most of them were never changed back in October.

So spring, there it is. I know you aren't all that bad, you're not as bad as that frigid bitch winter, I'll give you that. And you do bring some pretty great things along with you, like Cadbury Eggs. So for that, you'll get a pass.

My little shoplifter

Last week I decided to take Scooter to Macy's for a little shopping. She needed a first birthday and Easter dress, and really, I just needed to get out of the house. So away we went, I even took her big comfy stroller since this wasn't just going to be a one store shopping trip. Well, her big stroller can sometimes obstruct my view of her, especially when I'm distracted by all the cute spring outfits and trying to decide if $50.00 is too much to spend on one dress (it isn't by the way, not when it's the cutest Easter dress known to man). So, about fifteen minutes and seven new outfits later, I go to checkout. The lady rings me up and tells me my total. I turn to retrieve my wallet from one of the eighty seven bags required when taking a baby out only to see my sweet little Scooter with a stuffed duck in one hand and the price tag, ripped from the duck's ass, in the other, about to be inserted into her mouth. I grab the tag out of her hand, hand it to the sales lady, and say "Well, I guess we've bought this too."

Sigh, my sweet girl has turned into a little shoplifter. I must admit though, before we left I did take her through the purse department with a little glimmer of hope.

Mom Hair

As of 24 hours ago, I was one step away from wearing mom jeans. Since I found out I was pregnant in 2009, I slowly slipped into the mom style abyss. I'm not exactly a fashion and beauty connoisseur, but I put a fair amount of effort into my appearance when venturing into public. So, imagine my horror when I was viewing the family photo album with Scooter last weekend and, right before my eyes, I witnessed my progression into a complete and utter mess (not even a hot mess.) I mean, it was like an episode of What Not To Wear, but without the $5,000 consolation prize. Thinking back, I can honestly remember key points when I just stopped caring. Around three months pregnant, I stopped getting my hair done. Around seven months pregnant, I stopped wearing makeup. Then after Scooter was born, I pretty much stopped wearing jeans, non-sports bras, and any shirt that was not a tee or hooded sweatshirt.

I swiftly scheduled an appointment with my stylist. I was also motivated by the fact that the hubs wouldn't give me a direct answer when I asked if my appearance had been a little lacking. I mean, this is the guy who's idea of beauty is using shampoo instead of bar soap. So, two hours in the salon and a lot of gossip later, my hair no longer resembles an English Sheepdog. I've got my sexy bang and layers back and actually styled them this morning, even though I wasn't going anywhere. I've also taken the first steps to accomplishing my New Year's Resolution to get back in shape. Amazing what a little pampering a beauty can do!

Untold secrets of L&D

I know about 83 million people having babies in 2011, many of whom are first time parents. This combined with the fact that my little Scooter is a month shy of her first birthday got me reflecting on that fateful March day. Now, anyone who knows me will tell you I love being prepared. I mean prepared in a way that I have a basement stocked with canned food, I mapquest and GPS all directions, and layout my clothing the night before. Yeah, that kind of prepared. So naturally when I found out I was expecting I read all the books (I mean ALL the books), took all the classes, and spoke endlessly to my doctor about my pregnancy and delivery. Despite all this, nothing could really prepare me for the Labor & Delivery experience. So to all you to-be-parents out there, take note, here are the things no one will ever tell you.

1. Take your birth plan... and throw it out the window. I had a birth plan, it included natural labor progression, an epidural, and the wonderful moment of holding my daughter for the first time after she was born. In reality, I had to have a scheduled c-section, ended up having a terrible allergic reaction to the sedation and morphine, and didn't get to hold my daughter until five hours after she was born. But I wasn't upset, because the most important part of your birth plan is having the realistic expectation that it might not go quite as planned and remembering that in the end, the most important thing is that you and your baby are healthy. By the way, true story, the woman in the room next to me included handsome Greek gods feeding her grapes during her delivery in her birth plan. Don't know if it actually happened.
2. All modesty must be checked at the door. By the time you reach L&D, you will be so used to being poked and prodded after the last nine months worth of doctor's appointments that a group of nursing students staring at your lady bits will not bother you one bit. By the time I reached postpartum I wanted to get out of the hospital so bad that I agreed to let a nursing student remove my foley catheter (more on this in a bit) just so I could meet the mobility requirement for discharge.
3. You will get a foley catheter with all epidurals and spinals. In all reality, this was pretty great. I mean, I didn't even have to get out of bed to pee! So don't fear this, it might actually be the best part of delivery. You know, besides getting a baby out of the whole thing.
4. Your postpartum room will be busier than Grand Central Station, so don't expect to get any sleep. Nurses will be in and out all hours of the day and night. At one point I almost made my husband put up a "Do not disturb" sign. They'll be in to take vitals, make sure you're peeing, make sure you're eating, and make sure your baby is also doing all these things. The best part is when they come in to change your "dressing" and clean your lady bits. Oh yeah, that's right, you'll be surfing the crimson tsunami. Luckily, most nurses will let you take care of this part on your own. Also a word of advice, invest in overnight pads and granny panties. They'll be much more comfortable than the disposable undies and pads the size of Texas the hospital supplies.
5. Just because you're in the hospital doesn't mean you have to sport the oh so fashionable hospital gown. I felt so much better once I showered and changed into my own clothes. And your baby doesn't have to wear the weird kimono shirt things that do nothing but ride up their backs. Remember, this is your child, you can dress them any way you want. I recommend onsies with mitten hands, without your child will look like they just competed in a backroom cock fight.
6. Finally, here are some of the best parts of L&D: room service, overnight nursery stays (do not feel guilty about this!), free discharge gifts (i.e. diaper bags, formula, diapers, and wipes), and the cute little bundle of joy.

So, a parting word of advice. Go into the whole experience with a really good sense of humor. You have the next 18 years to worry, L&D is a piece of cake compared to that!

Simple Pleasures

When I opened my can of coffee this morning and got that first delicious sniff, I started thinking of some of the other simple pleasures in my life...

• The first shoots of daffodils peaking through the ground in March.
• The feeling of getting into a freshly made bed.
• The first day of having my Christmas decorations up.
• The first day of not having my Christmas decorations up.
• Harvesting vegetables and flowers grown in my own garden.
• Turning the clocks forward so I'm no longer waking up before the sun.
• Finding an unexpected card or magazine in the mail.
• Winning an item at auction.
• The smell of scented candles burning.
• The feeling of walking in public when you know you are looking smoking hot.
• The sound of my high heels on pavement.
• The smell of a campfire.
• The silent stillness after a snow fall.
• Finding my bread dough has risen (even though that's what's it suppose to do!)

When I become a parent, I will never [fill in blank]

Before and during my pregnancy, I had a whole list of things I said I would never do when I became a parent. To all those would be parents out there uttering "My child will never do that," just stop now. Seriously, just stop.

1. I will never put my child in baby clothes that look like pajamas. Before I had Scooter, I thought the jeans and sweater look was absolutely adorable on babies. That was until I found out how much it cost. Oh yeah, and your child will likely grow at the rate of Yellow Grooved Bamboo, so just save yourself some money and shop consignment.
2. I will never let my child "cry it out." I always thought this was an excuse for parents to ignore their children. That belief lasted about 5 months, at which point I looked like an extra from Michael Jackon's Thriller video, but without all the cool dance moves. See my previous post on Health Sleep Habits, Happy Child to see how this worked out for me.
3. I will never give my child formula. "Formula is poison - it will cause nipple confusion and will make your milk supply not come in right," so said the lactation consultants. Since craigslist didn't have a listing for a Wet Nurse and my child was on the brink of hospitalization due to jaundice and dehydration, I went with formula and was able to eventually switch to exclusive breastfeeding with no problem. Weird.
4. I will never do the spit on the Kleenex, Kleenex to child's face mom move. Yeah, this one has been broken multiple times. Sometimes you just gotta work with what you have.
5. I will never buy my child needless amounts of toys. There was once a time when I hated my family room carpet. Solution? Cover it with massive amounts of baby toys. Which, by the way, your child will bore of in about 22 seconds. They will find lids and remote controls much more entertaining. So save yourself some time and money and just invest in I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.
6. I will never let my child watch TV. Broken about six hours after Scooter was born. Look, babies are cute and funny and all, but sometimes mama just needs a cup of coffee and an episode of Ellen.
7. I will never compare my child. Every parent is guilty of comparing their child to others, then worrying obsessively that their child is some how developmentally delayed. I was guilty of this when a friend's baby the same age as Scooter starting crawling and standing up at 6 months and Scooter could barely sit independently. I worried until, at 8 months old, Scooter beat up a four year old. That's my girl.