Babies and Their Skinny Jeans

I've got myself a booty! Booty booty booty! I'd like to say that it is the direct result of three, count em', three pregnancies, but it could have been there before. Yep, I've probably had that thing a long while.

To counteract the super booty I'm sporting, I've started walking again. I was a regular walker year before last and had dropped a nice 20lbs right before getting knocked up with Sugarbaby. I'm back on the wagon people! The exercise wagon. Jack also helps. He needs the exercise since all he does is sit in the corner all day. He's like an emo kid. Sitting around moping with a little tear in his eye. He's plotting to steal my straight iron and use my lipstick to compose phony suicide notes on my mirror*. Unless I take him for a walk. Which I've been doing. A lot. A long way. Until my legs burned. And were sore the next day. And I whined a whole lot about my legs feeling like jello. All this so I can get back into my skinny jeans. But first I have to buy some cause I gave them all away in a fit of depression while I was 8 months pregnant.

Speaking of skinny jeans....I am absolutely amazed at the way Sugarbaby's jeans fit her. She is 9 months old wearing size 6-12 month clothes. She only has two pair of jeans, the rest are comfy yoga pants perfect for crawling. But both of those pair of jeans look like they were made to fit an adult. A very skinny adult. She can't sit upright in them. She can't crawl in them. She can't do anything. Much like a woman who has poured herself into some skintight pants two sizes too small. You know you've done it and comfortable it was not, huh?

So what's up with this? Am I just buying the wrong brand, should I go up another size and hope she doesn't glimpse the tag and get a complex. "Uh, excuse me mother. I am not even 12 months old. What are these size 18 month pants doing in my closet?"

Or has the trend to be rail thin extended into our youngest generation of women. The babies. Do the clothing designers want our darling daughters to have perky butts while they are still in diapers? Should I dress her up in her skinny jeans and try and find her a boyfriend? Am I just imagining all of this? Someone send me some links for some normal fitting baby girl jeans and I'll shower you with SugarBritches love.


*Jack is a dog. Dogs cannot commit suicide. Unless you count chasing cars. Cause that is suicide.

Animal Trapper Extraordinaire

Remember Jack? Remember how I lost Jack? He has been captured. After running wild in our hamlet for a good three days, I got fed up. He continually returned to our house, howling outside the door, but the moment you'd approach him, he bolted. I left food out, he ate it. But still, couldn't get 20 feet from him before he disappeared. The hubby and I had tried to flush him out of the thicket he was hiding in, but of course, that crafty little puppy outfoxed us. Finally I did the only logical thing and set a trap.

I put the dog kennel on the back patio. I had already been leaving food in it for him, in an effort to condition him to go in there without being suspicious. Notice my bait and the elaborate pulley system I rigged up. Fancy, huh?

I pulled the rope taut and held it with my sliding door in the hopes that once he was inside, I could just barely open the door and jerk the rope simultaneously.

One highly technical, no fail dog trap. I waited most of the morning, peeking out windows, with no luck. Early in the afternoon, just after the kids going down for naps, I saw his shadow through the drapes. I crept over to the door, watched him sniff the cage, the rope, all the while looking very nervous. He knew something was up, but hunger got the best of him. I stood very still with the rope in hand, let him eat for about two minutes then, WHAM! One fluid motion of door and rope and I had him!

End result: A very unhappy captured Jack.


Jack is improving somewhat. He has a better fitting collar. He laid down beside me last night and let me pet him for a good hour. He ate, drank, did his business on a leash. Maybe he has a future after all.

Or maybe I should save up for doggy therapy.

2009: In Which I Lost the Dog, Got a Hellacious Chimney Estimate, and Almost Gave the Baby Botulism

Really. Not kidding.

Lost the dog. Didn't have the dog two days. The dog either had mental issues or despised our family on sight. Although, I can't say I blame him. If I hadn't birthed these children and married this husband I might be tempted to run away as well.

Update: I caught the dog. A whole nother post in itself, pictures included, coming soon.

We had a sweep come and clean and inspect our chimney. Our wood stove had been starting to smell funny and the actual bricks in the chimney were seeping tar. I thought it was probably due for a good cleaning. It was and more. Evidently it has been leaking for years, eroding much of the mortar away, cracking the clay tiles on the interior,and so on and so on. We'll just say that it is going to cost well over a grand to fix all the little issues. Can't burn in my wood stove until then. Great.

As a mother, you know not to give honey to a baby under a year old. As a mother of three, sometimes you get distracted and give the baby a few bites of carrot you were cooking just to hold her off long enough until dinner. Then your husband comes in, and knowing your secret sweet carrot recipe, he hollers, "Are you giving her honey?!?!" Damn. Sure did. Spent two days scouring the internets for signs of infant botulism. Convinced myself she was showing symptoms. Bagged up said honey and a diaper of poo and visited the pedi's office. After getting a good laugh out of me wailing about poisoning my child, they assured me that it would be very evident if she had botulism and not to worry. Easy for them to say.

All in all, 2009? Not going so hot.

The Dog Done Up and Ran Off

So you want to know what I was doing at 6:30 this morning? Running through my backyard with a flashlight in Crocs (of all the footwear I had to be wearing these), pajamas, and no coat looking for the damn dog.

He had really improved last night. He ate. He drank. He looked at us without cowering in the corner. I put him on the leash this morning, took him out to do his business, he slipped out of his collar and hit the road. I yelled and asked him where he was headed and he slowed down for just a second to bark, "Timbuktu" over his shoulder. Hide nor hair has been seen of Jack since. That's fate for ya.

I've been really mad at myself for losing the dog, so I channelled my anger into cleaning. I wanted to channel it into some Xanax, but a la no insurance, no mood elevators. The hubby and I cleaned the garage room (again) and have a whole trailer full of trash to haul to the dump. Not very eco of us I suppose, but not much of it is recyclable, so whatever.

I'm also on a mission to get Sugarbaby sleeping in her own bed and falling asleep without me lying beside her for a gazillion hours. I got a baby monitor (so I don't constantly check on her) and a Sleep Sheep. I'll let you know how this is going later in the week. I'll also let you know if I have any hair left.

This Is Jack

Jack came home with us today. He is a 5 month old Malamute puppy. Before we put Jack in our truck, he was running, playing, acting like a normal dog. The second money exchanged hands and ownership transferred to us, Jack went into shock. Jack has stayed that way.

He won't walk. I've carried all 30+ pounds of him outside just to lay him back on the ground. He won't look at me. He won't move from whatever spot I've plopped his huge butt on. I gave him a bath and then a flea dip. Jack is still in the tub. He has no motivation to eat or drink. On the other hand, he is not the least bit resistant. You can pick him up, drag him, manhandle him any way you please and he won't so much as grunt.

Leave it to me to pick the crazy one.