Joel: So how's the blog going?
Me: Ok.
Joel: Have you had a lot of visitors?
Me: Define a lot...
Joel: I don't know...a hundred? A thousand?
Me: Well...I go to it a lot.
Joel: Have you even told anybody about it yet?
Me: No. It's not done baking yet.
Can the internet love a child that they haven't known since 2 minutes after conception? Guess we'll find out.
When I got pregnant, I searched for my online-due-around-the-same-time-we-can-go-through-this-together buddy. I picked the mightiest of buddies...Mighty Girl Maggie over at Mighty Girl. She never knew it...but she was my support system through the whole pregnant-I'm-gonna-throw-up-now-oh-is-that-corn-on-the-cob-yum-yum-yum ordeal. Her sweetie Hank was born just a few days before my Miss Amelia...and just knowing that she got through labor alive was enough reassurance for me. Who knows...maybe one day Hank and Amelia will toddle off into the sunset together...although I'm not sure if Amelia has enough hair for him yet.
What can I say about Amelia? About motherhood? About how this baby has changed everything? Considering the fact that I discovered I was pregnant the same day that the hubby and I were supposed to sit down and finally do divorce papers...yeah...life changing might be an alright way of describing Amelia. It was like somebody out in the universe smacked both us in the face and said, "Grow the fuck up. Here's a baby! Ha ha. Now go work shit out." That morning plays back in my head like some kind of bad laugh track sitcom. I woke up, walked into the bathroom and peed on a stick...for no particular reason whatsoever. I wasn't late. I wasn't feeling weird. I just decided that TODAY IS A GOOD DAY TO PEE ON A STICK. Two pink lines appeared instantly. (CANNED LAUGHTER) I walked calmly into the living room, where Joel was sleeping on the couch (yeah we were at that stage of hating each other), I calmly stated, "Joel, please wake up. I'm pregnant." His response? "Very funny. You did an excellent job of drawing those lines perfectly straight...you're still not getting the dogs." (CANNED LAUGHTER)
And so it was...and suddenly a marriage that was teetering right on the brink was yanked back over the side by a fetus the size of a grain of rice. We're by no means perfect...and we still have the I-hate-you-no-I-hate-you-more-let's-get-a-divorce conversation every now and again. But we never do. We can't. We're just too damn perfect for each other. And besides...we both know that no one else will ever put up with our shit. But now we have some common ground...and a common enemy. The baby.
And now back to said baby. Amelia turns a year old today. A whole year. But how can that be? It was only yesterday that Joel and I brought her home, wrapped her up tight, put her in her Ikea crib, and asked each other at the exact same time, "What the hell do we do with her now?"
I don't really remember much of those first few hazy months...but I assume that we must have done something right because here she is...a whole year later...all limbs still firmly attached and 8-9-Yes-10 fingers and toes exactly where they should be. She's turned from this little wiggly bundle with an Academy Award range of scrunched up faces to this opinionated speedster on all fours. Sometimes I feel like I have two babies...the at home Amelia is BIG and LOUD and ALL OVER THE PLACE. But then there is the out in public Amelia...that's the teeny tiny small Amelia...the I'll-burst-into-tears-if-a-stranger-even-dares-look-at-me Amelia. So yes...Amelia is the shy kid...the only baby that will sit off to the side and just watch everyone else living it up...every now and then making a movement as if she wants to crawl off and chase after someone but immediately retreats. It absolutely breaks my heart...but she comes by it honestly...I'm the exact same way.
But I know she's tough...and we'll get through it together...or until I embarrass her by putting naked bathtub pictures of her on the internet. (COMING SOON!)
One year ago today, everything changed. 9 months of waiting + 16 hours of labor = a whole year of joy and tears and hope and baby giggles and more then I can ever say. I can't wait to see what the next year brings.
Here's looking back...and looking forward. Happy Birthday Amelia...Mama would tell you how much she loves you...but you hate it when I interrupt "Johnny and the Sprites." So I'll just tell the internet instead.
Goggle AdSense no longer thinks I'm all about pies. Now it thinks I'm some sort of puppy freak. And strangely enough...that I'm constipated. Oh how little you know me Google AdSense!
Take everything that you now know about Carl and think the exact opposite of it…and you've got Lenny. Lenny is our wallowing walrus. Our mindless manatee. Our Augustus Gloop. After getting married and moving 800 miles to the fiery pit of Florida, we settled in with Carl…who was very suddenly NOT A PUPPY anymore. Joel and I finally got jobs after sitting around like bums for 6 months (THANKS FOR THE WEDDING MONEY…WE SPENT IT ON RENT, PAPA JOHNS, & TANK TOPS FOR CARL! TAKE THAT SUCKERS!) and Carl was left alone all day. Now, looking back on the situation, Carl was probably having the time of his life while we were off being functional, showering, members of society. ("Finally the idiots have left for the day…time to partake in this finely aged merlot.") We, however, decided that he must be sooo lonely. The poor puppy must be lost without us. We completely ignored the red flags of Carl ignoring us when we came home and then acting like a sullen teenager whenever we had the audacity to try and play with him. We figured that he just needed a buddy.
So we went out and got Lenny. From a trailer. For $50 and a six pack of Natty Light. (OK maybe there wasn't any beer involved…but there might as well have been.) Now, I seriously consider my family to be the white trash of our neighborhood…but these people could blow us out of the water any day. Imagine driving into a ridiculously remote part of Florida (all the while telling your husband to keep the windows up because you are worried about gators jumping into the car), you finally arrive at one lone double wide that not only has a barbed wire fence but an entire society of yard gnomes and pink flamingos protected by not one, but 5 (FIVE!) cars up on blocks. You tell the husband that maybe this was a bad idea…but before he can reverse the hell out of there…the front door bangs open. And there stands someone who could either be a man or a very hairy woman. They start waving at you in a very enthusiastic way. You exchange dubious looks with your husband and start imagining the headlines after they find your body somewhere in the Everglades.
But we got out of the car and went on in…and had quite possibly the best time picking out a puppy ever. Granted, there were about 12 people inside of that trailer (each with a cigarette and a beer) and that's not including the handful of half naked babies (each with a pacifier and juice box). There was also NASCAR on the television (durr…really?) and a wall full of commemorative plates that celebrated everything from Dale Earnhardt to Princess Diana. But we were immediately presented with paper plates and told to go get on out back and get ourselves something to eat. (At this point I was wondering if I had somehow gotten us involved in some sort of puppy eating cult.) But no…there was a full scale barbeque in swing…and (totally alive) puppies running wild in the backyard.
So we ate, we held puppies and half naked babies, we laughed at some badly repeated Jeff Foxworthy jokes. And we finally picked out Lenny...the butterball of the litter.
I tell people this story because it so perfectly sums up Lenny. He's complete white trash. He's big and fat and slow. He's about as dumb as dirt…but he's the sweetest dog ever. He's always the first to run up to people and give a good "How ya'll doing? Got anything to eat?" Lenny makes you laugh even when you totally aren't in the mood…and before you know it…he has you laughing with him instead of at him. Lenny has a special way of making complete strangers feel right at home, liked from the very first minute, just like those strangers did for us that afternoon in the trailer. Now that's southern hospitality.
Of course Carl hates Lenny with a passion.
(And in case you were wondering...it was a woman who came out to meet us. Her name was Rita Joe...seriously. You can't make this stuff up.)
(And anyone who catches on to the names of "Carl" and "Lenny" and why they go together gets a special high five from me.)
Oh Carl. I've got to start with Carl because he is the original baby. I got Carl as a wedding present to myself…I really wasn’t planning on dropping close to A GRAND on a DOG…but there was WEDDING! STRESS! to account for…and getting a new puppy a month before you are getting married and moving 800 miles is an excellent idea. Really. Everyone should try it sometime.
Carl is a pure bred, all American, award winning champion blood line parentage, speaks 12 languages, slices, dices, and prepares his own dog food…pug. Or at least that was what the women who I gave CLOSE TO A THOUSAND DOLLARS to (FOR A DOG!!) was rambling about while Carl wagged his little curly tail at me and made me forget that I was getting married and moving 800 miles in a month.
Carl was definitely an impulse buy at the checkout lane…I handed over the money (MORE THAN MY MONTHLY RENT), nodded politely as the lady showed me pictures of Carl’s original mother and father, listened half heartedly as she mumbled something about him maybe needing some minor surgery for his nose, and got all the way out to my car before realizing…OH SHIT…I HAVE A PUPPY...THIS IS MY FIRST PET EVER. Where do I put the puppy while I’m driving? What sort of accoutrements does a puppy need? What do puppies eat? How am I going to hide this puppy in my apartment that DOES NOT ALLOW DOGS. Not even cute ones with funny old man names.
That day I had a nerve wracking drive to my local PetSmart…and an even worse shopping experience as I tried to wrestle another $600 worth of puppy supplies into one of those tiny hand baskets as I held a very squirmy puppy. Finally, Carl and I made it back to my apartment building…where I proceeded to zip him up in a backpack and tried to act normal as I strolled through the lobby, past the security guard who always smelled like bacon, and into the elevator. Phew. Until….SOMEONE ELSE GOT ONTO THE ELEVATOR. And all I could think is, “Relax, relax, relax, nobody knows you’ve got a puppy…it’s not like they are going to call the police and arrest you…but maybe they will if they find out you put a DOG in a BACKPACK.” I immediately turned to the woman who obviously was doing her best to ignore me and all of my sweating and said, “I totally don’t have a dog in this bag.”
Nice. Very smooth.
Fast forward to now. Carl is 3 years old and he did end up needing to have a nose job for nostrils that were just too dang small…I think he asked for a gastric bypass too because he is the most in shape pug I have ever met. (Don’t even ask what all of that cost.) (TWO MORTGAGE PAYMENTS.) Carl is our gay dog. He’s gay not only because he humps our other (boy) dog…but because he routinely makes cat sounds. Carl is our poet laureate. I’m fairly certain that Carl reads the New Yorker and Foreign Affairs Weekly while wearing a smoking jacket when we are at work all day. He’s far too sophisticated for us…he gives a very withering look whenever we try to pet him, “Ugh, did you wash your hands? I saw you touching that drooling, crying, hairless thing earlier. Disgusting.”
But the very best part about Carl is that when he thinks no one else is looking, he gives kisses to the baby, shares his toys with our other dog, and sometimes, just sometimes, he’ll curl up in your lap and let you pet him…but only for a minute…he has to meet up with some poodles to discuss the upcoming election.
Ever since this whole "let's make a blog!" idea started, I've been dreading this highly necessary post.
What in the world am I going to say? Or rather...what in the world am I going to say that doesn't come off as either a.) I am a complete loser, b.) I am a complete weirdo, c.) I am completely boring, or d.) a total job interview where I say things that sound like I am trying to be far more awesome then I actually am.
The truth of the matter is that I am fairly boring, I am a bit of a loser, I'm totally a weirdo, and this is sort of like a job interview because, damnit, I really want y'all to like me. (LIKE ME! ME! ME! ME!) Oh...that's another one...how do you come off as not sounding like a self involved princess who thinks the whole world should be continually refreshing in hopes that she posted something new?
So here it is. My name is Dana K. I'm 26 years old and I reside just north of hell...also known as Orlando, Florida. I'm married. I've got two completely squishable pugs. And I've got a highly squishable baby girl as well. (I should note that my husband is fairly squishable too...but I promised not to be too mean to him on here.) (So let's keep that last statement between us.) I work as a fake graphic designer (more about the fakeness of my job later) for a company that shall remain nameless. I'm quirky and tend to say things out lout that I really just mean to think.
I'm fashion impaired. I regularly judge the success of an outfit based on it's cleanliness. I have big, puffy, unruly hair that only seems to work in pigtails. (I'm afraid that I'm quickly becoming too old to wear the pigtails too...God forbid I become one of those thirty somethings who is trying to hold on to their twenties.) (Can a good rule be as soon as the baby has enough hair to make pigtails that I have to stop? Help me out here...) I wear Chuck Taylor tennies (yes, I call them tennies) on a daily basis...I even got married in them. People generally tend to underestimate my intelligence level because of the way I dress (and act)...but damnit I've got the learnin' and the smarts!
I'm completely Type A...I just hide it by acting like I am incredibly laid back about everything. I've got a giant list of neuroses...and not to give it all away just yet...they include a major fear of driving, ordering at restaurants, and throwing up. Oh and the hilarity ensues.
My hope is to entertain you (and myself a little too). I don't want to be a "mommy blog" (Is anyone calling those "malogs"? No? Just a suggestion. Think about it.) I don't want to be a money making machine blog. I just want to be a part of somebody's day. Maybe your day.
Can the dreaded "about me" post be done now? Thanks. Onward!
So here I am...new, sparkly, empty blog...and what am I doing? Obsessing over which shade of green to use.
Maybe a better idea would be to put something in this giant empty box...but noooo. I've got to figure out which shade of green will make my blog look fat. (Because...you know...nobody likes a skinny blog.)
Every time I finally focus on writing, (writing something BIG! AWESOME! PROFOUND!) something else always seems to happen...crying baby, yelping dogs, whining husband, oh-crap-I've-got-to-pee, I wonder if they are having a sale over at Oompa, I'm hungry, nothing to eat, must go to store...blah, blah, blog.
But all I can think of is...
Lime green? Hunter green? Pistachio green? Emerald green? Shit! Maybe it shouldn't be green at all.
And all I really need to be doing is type, type, typing away...and hey...look at that! Look at me type away on my new, sparkly, not so empty anymore blog! Well now that I've got the swing of things, I can really get down to some real...
Wah!
Yelp, bark, meow!
Honey!
And damnit...I'm still hungry.
Hello?
(Taps microphone.) Is this thing on?
Is there anybody out there?
(Silence.)
Uh...my name is...damnit that’s awful. I can’t have my first blog post be like some freaking blind date/job interview from hell! Pathetic.
(Crickets.)
Just talk amongst yourselves...I’ll have something interesting to say soon enough. Oh wait...that's right. Nobody is listening...yet.
