Because we are categorically absolutely mother fucking in-freaking-sane, we’ve signed a contract to renovate our house. Now. While I’m home on leave with a 3+ week old, while Freebird is about to turn 2, while Hubby is up to his adorable neck in work chaos. Oh, yes! Great idea! Carve out the hill behind my house, build a structure, build a patio, and then, when it’s nice and cold, let’s.. knock the back wall out of the kitchen! Reduce us to eating out of a toaster oven, a microwave, and a crockpot! BOOYAH baby!

Imagine Hubby and I as those animated guys from the Guinness commercials. “I’ve had an idea! Let’s turn the back of our home into a demo zone RIGHT NOW!” “Brilliant!”

We must either be smoking something or drinking a WHOLE LOTTA stout.

In all seriousness, we knew our kitchen needed updating, and no matter what we thought about doing, it didn’t fit. Our kitchen, it is small. Maybe 12 x 12 feet.

Since Hubby went back to work today, I took both overnight feedings last night so he could get extra sleep. Here is what my house sounds like at 3am:

GRUNT GRUNT GRUNT whiiiiiine. Baba O’Riley wakes up for 3am feeding. Grunt grunt BUUUUUURP. Baba O’Riley takes first 2 ounces in .3 seconds. I consider whether I can turn his eating speed into a NASCAR career or similar speed-timed event.

MEOOOOOW MEOOOOOOW RWOOOOOOR MEOOOOOOW. Psycho cat who is on The Good Drugs is awake and yowling again. I coax him back into bed next to me so he’ll fall asleep and hush up already.

Clickity clack clickity clack. Gshlorp gshlorp gshlorp. CLANK clang CLANG clang. Gshlorp gshlorp. Logan the wonder pooch, who is on laxative AND prednisone, wakes up and taps his toenails over to the water dish for a drink that lasts about 3 and a half minutes straight. Added bonus: the dish is ceramic and keeps the water nice and cool, but his tags bounce of the side like he’s ringing handbells while he drinks. It’s like a trolley driving through the bedroom. A drinking trolley.

BUUUUUUUUUUURP. After being held upright for 5 minutes, Baba lets out a ginormous belch.

YAAAWN. That would be me.

MOMMMMMAAAA MOOOOOMMMMMMAAA. Freebird wakes up halfway, and Hubby gets up to resettle him. Soft reset - only requires re-nuk-ing (aka re-administration of pacifier), and no removal from the crib (which we call a “hard reset.")

WHINE! WHINE! thump thump SHRIIEK! Baba O’Riley strenuously objects to having his diaper changed. He HATES having his pants changed.

PBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBT. *grunt* PBBBBBBPPPLLRRRRRT. Baba O’Riley takes an enormous, stanky, explosive dump. He very much enjoys fouling a brand new diaper. He’s got mad skills. Sometimes I haven’t even walked back into our bedroom before his arse a-splodes in the pristine diaper he’s worn for less than 30 seconds.

Gulp Gulp Gulp Gulp Gulp. Baba finishes his bottle.

BRAAAAAAAAARP. Baba finishes his burping. Sometimes there’s a prize. Sometimes I have to change my pajamas from the magnitude of the prize.

ZZZzzzzzzz. Baba, Hubby, Psycho Cat, Logan and I all fall back asleep. Finally.

No, not me - Hubby. Hubby went back to work today, which is both good and bad. I remember from when I went back to work after Freebird was born, the first day is kind of a novelty. I can do whatever I want according to MY schedule, including going to the bathroom and eating? WOW.

The second day blew donkey arse, because I really, really missed my dude. I’m sure tomorrow will suck for Hubby, while today he’ll sit with his giant plastic container of jelly beans and 43,649 email messages and do his thing. Plus, it’s Columbus Day, so traffic is way lighter and his workload should be a bit less. I hope anyway.

Alas the beard did not survive in full-cheek formation (hur hur). It was uneven once Hubby trimmed and shaved for work, so he’s back to the chin beard and mustache. Still looks good to me though. 

I, however, am looking very very rough.  I haven’t blown my hair dry in weeks and never wear makeup. And I’m going to leave the house in pajamas to go to Whole Foods. Hawwwt. Woo.

Hubby has a beard, which you probably know from the “Dr. Hubby” picture . Hubby first grew a goatee when he was studying for final exams in his second or third year of law school, and didn’t shave for more than a week. Our roommate (aka Former Roommate Marc) had just broken up with his girlfriend, and to make him laugh I said, ‘Hey! Leave a goatee and we’ll see how funny it looks!’

Thing was, it looked good.

A few years later, when we went to Montana on vacation, Hubby didn’t shave all week, and grew in a chin beard to go with the goatee. And damn if that didn’t look good, too.

Hubby is blessed with a very young face, lucky man, and while it’s great for him, it’s awful to be mistaken for his older cousin (we don’t really look alike, and older?! I’m older by almost 7 weeks! Screw you woman at Ponderosa in Aurora IL!).

Now that Hubby has been home on paternity leave for 3 weeks, he hasn’t shaved except for Baba’s bris, and now he wants to see if he can grow a beard on his cheeks as well. At this point, Hubby just wants to cut down on shaving as much as possible so as to make his morning routine more streamlined and efficient.

So imagine my shock when Hubby said a moment ago, “I’m going to go shower, and trim my beard, and we’ll decide if I can keep the full beard.”

My reply: “I get Beard Vote?”

Hubby: “You absolutely get Beard Vote. You might even be able to veto me!”

Wow. I have Beard Veto Power. That is some serious deciding power right there. 

Dear CNN:

Since Britney’s custody is the top story AND you’re citing TMZ as the source, I’m officially going to pretend like you don’t exist. I’m not even linking to you. I’m not even going to acknowledge past this nice big FUCK YOU that you’re a news outlet since clearly you’re not even that anymore.

Instead I’m going to talk about something else.

Like good parenting.

We’re approaching the age of discipline with Freebird, and it’s been difficult. I think Hubby and I, both of us older/oldest children ourselves, lean toward overcompensating for Freebird’s loss of status as an only child now that Baba is just over 2 weeks old. There’s been mild measures of acting out, especially when one of us is with Baba and the other is with Freebird. But for the most part we’re learning to handle it, and learning how to discipline, and more importantly parent.

Now that’s clearly not as exciting as Britney losing custody of her children because she’s strung out on Tidy Bowl cleanser, but it’s a lot more representative of the rest of the parents of my age group who are all learning as we go to parent well, carefully, and respectfully.

Not that THAT is going to make the news or anything.

Sincerely and most certainly NOT LOVE,

Mórag