So we got Little No Name Dog on a Friday, and by the following Wednesday morning he still did not have a name. We debated. We toiled. We vacillated. And finally, we dubbed him Baxter Baeten.
But, alas! We had waited too long to name him, for his previous moniker “Little No Name Dog” had stuck! So now he is sometimes Baxter, sometimes Little No Name Dog, sometimes Little Dog…..it is all working itself out as time passes.
Anywhoo. May we proudly introduce, Baxter Baeten!
Baxter and Daddy
Max & Baxter Throwing Down (w/ Emerson watching from her baby cage)
It is ON LIKE DONKEY KONG!
Morning Nap w/ Momma
My husband loves me.
He let me get another dog.
Since Booda died in July, Max has been a pretty depressed and lonely dog, and I have been eager to get him a new canine companion. But it definitely had to be the right companion. Not just any dog would do. So every day I scanned the websites of all the local shelters looking for a dog that might fit the bill.
Last Friday the director of Perfect Paws Pet Rescue (a local no-kill rescue that fosters pets in people’s homes, and the same rescue where we found Max) arranged for me to meet four of her dogs. So Emerson, Max, and I packed up and went to meet the potential adoptees.
And this is what we came up with:
Adorably stupid looking, 12 pound, 4 month old, not quite potty trained, with ears that could be used for hang gliding – Little No Name Dog.
And the chaos ensues.
But, he and Max play BEAUTIFULLY together. They are running circles around the backyard as we speak.
Happy happy tails.
P.S. Name submissions are welcome and appreciated.
So I am officially operating in “Zombie Mode.”
Today Emerson turns 7 months old, and while she is doing a virtual cornucopia of adorable 7 month old baby-ish things (rolling over, sitting up, smiling & laughing, making raspberries), the one thing that she is not doing very well is sleeping.
For the past two weeks or so, we have been on the every exciting roller coaster ride known as TEETHING. And it has reeked ungodly satanic havoc on any semblance of a sleep schedule that may have previously existed. I do have to say, that despite her discomfort, Emerson has maintained a pretty amazingly cheery demeanor through this whole ordeal.
But the sleeping. OH MY GOD. The sleeping.
The thing about sleep is that, amazingly, the body does acclimate.
Emerson is 7 months old today, and that means, that as a breast feeding mother, it has been seven months since I have gotten more than 2-4 hours of sleep in a row. LET ME REPEAT MYSELF.
I HAVE NOT SLEPT FOR MORE THAN FOUR CONSECUTIVE HOURS…..IN SEVEN MONTHS.
I know…I should be dead. But somehow, woven into the miraculous evolution of motherhood, I, and millions of other women like me……somehow adapt. We evolve. We SURVIVE.
I remember when my body adjusted the first time. The first two to three weeks of “baby boot camp” were the hardest, and then somewhere in there…..the switch flipped. I just got used to it. Somehow, I learned to function on sleep increments of 3-4 hours, and if I may say so, generally speaking, I do so amazingly well…..with grace, with poise….look at me, juggling all my balls, while still seeming relatively fresh…….look at me, I actually shower at least every other day, and manage to find time to change my underwear EVERY SINGLE DAY………..
AND THEN…….THE TEETHING!
And as those 3-4 hour sleep increments began to dwindle to 1-3 hours…… Oh, you can handle it for the first couple of nights – piece of cake! But as one or two nights becomes three or four…..and then eight……and then twelve……the tenuous threads of sanity begin to fray…..the perilously balanced Jenga game that is the health and wellness of my psyche began to wobble….ever so slightly.
The Zombie emerged.
There is nothing quite like sleep deprivation. It expresses itself in a myriad of happy ways. There are, of course, the physical symptoms: general physical fatigue, blurred vision, shortened attention span, hearing that tunes in and out – the list goes on. But that is nothing to the psychological & emotional ramifications: the irritability, the overreactiveness, the spontaneous bouts of crying – the inevitable loss of sanity, which eventually evolves into a state of numbness.
However, each day brings with it new hope! The teething can’t last forever! And even if it does, the first seven month of parenthood have proved to me that we are nothing, if not adaptable. Forever a biologist in my heart, I believe in evolution. Give it a few more days, and my body might find a way to survive and thrive on this new sleep schedule. Anything is possible!
Filed under: Baby Momma
Wednesday August 12, 2009
Dear Emerson:
Today you are six months and 12 days old.
MORE POOP
In the past two days you have managed to defile two perfectly good work outfits with your explosive renegade poop storms.
Yesterday, after going into the studio for a couple of hours, I decided that I was going to make a quick stop at the health food store and then take you home for your afternoon nap. The day was calm. It was hot, but breezy. Nothing seemed amiss. We arrived at the health food store, and we chatted gaily as I unbuckled you from your car seat. I lifted you out of the car seat and situated you on my hip as I gathered my belongings. As I turned my body from the car, I suddenly noticed the enormous smear of POOP across the front of my pants and shirt. Gasp. I looked down at you in my arms, and you smiled up at me with a look of innocent nonchalance, as if you had already forgotten your trespass.
I didn’t know what to do. For a moment I was stunned into immobility. When I finally recovered, I fumbled around for some wipes. While doing so, I looked into your car seat to find a PUDDLE of poop. OH MY GOD. I managed to get the POOP PUDDLE cleaned up with the wipes. Then, using a burp cloth, I fashioned a barrier between your poopy butt and the car seat, I buckled you in, and we high tailed it home. No health food store for us.
Then, today, ATTACK OF THE KILLER POOPS: PART DEUX! We were sitting at the kitchen table at lunchtime, me in a chair and you in the brand new high chair that Grandma and Grandpa bought for you. I was eating my toast and you were playing with your blocks, when suddenly I hear, “PPHHHHHTTTTT……pppttttt……” I look up from my book and you are smiling at me.
Unaware of the intensity of the impending storm, I quickly finish my toast and pull you out of your high chair to change your diaper. As I hoist you to my hip, the moisture hits my arm. Arrrgh! I look down, and there is already a big smear of poop on the front of my gray slacks, along with a SPLATTER of poop on the kitchen floor. Let me say that again, A SPLATTER OF POOP ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR! Fortunately this time we weren’t in a parking lot twenty minutes away from home. As such, I was able to take you immediately to the decontamination room and get you stripped down and cleaned up. Thank goodness for little favors.
It is my hope that this is NOT the start of a new daily ritual. I really don’t have enough outfits for that sort of regiment, and I definitely don’t have time to do the necessary laundry.
I love you Poop-Asaurus-Rex.
Love,
Mommy
Filed under: Anna
Disclaimer: FilmChris, if my last post about baby poop caused you to question the relevance of this blog to your life, this next one is going to push you right over the edge. Sorry, in advance.
There are many many things that one does in preparation for the arrival of a new baby: decorate the nursery, take childbirth classes, buy diapers…..the list goes on and on. Well, one of the things that a number of women whispered to me behind the backs of the menfolk, was to make sure that I had an ample supply of giant cushy maxi pads for myself at the house. That way, upon my return from the hospital, I wouldn’t have to send my poor husband to wander helplessly through the feminine hygiene isle of Target.
Well, for those of you that know me, you can guess what I did. I went out and bought the entire feminine hygiene isle at Target. Anything with any amalgamation of the words “super” and “absorbent” went in my cart. BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW! Heaven forbid that I should be UNPREPARED and not possess the ONE PRODUCT that I would inevitably need. For those of you that don’t know, in Anna-land, there is a special corner of hell where the souls wander around feeling UNPREPARED and are propetually LATE FOR AN APPOINTMENT. GASP! GASP! THE HORROR! I know……you can send sympathy emails to my poor husband at ihaveaneuroticwife@yahoo.com.
You can shake your head at me all you want, but I was prepared!
- Side Note: For those of you that have not perused the feminine hygiene isle lately, they have made some incredible advances in maxi pad technology! The maxi pads of my youth (resembling large cotton ball filled pillow cases with a strips of adhesive on the backs) no longer exist. They have been replaced with the sleek, thin, ultra absorbent, winged, maxi pads of the future!
Then I discovered that the maxi pads that they have at the hospital were FAR superior to anything that an ordinary non-MD-ed person could get their hands on in the real world. These were special maxi pads, not available to the general public.
And as Sarah Palin would say, “You betcha!” I left the hospital with a bunch of those super special hospital maxi pads packed neatly and securely in my luggage (it isn’t stealing when they give them to you).
I have to say that in those first couple of weeks my maxi pad stockpile did make me feel secure and calm. Not only was everything that I could possibly need right at my finger tips, but I had options! It was like a mini-shopping experience every time I looked under the bathroom sink.
And now we come to the “dilemma” section of the story.
What do I do with all those stupid maxi pads? Needless to say, I didn’t come anywhere close to using all of my stockpile. So now I have a cupboard full of giant maxi pads that will never be used. But I can’t bring myself to throw them away because I spent perfectly good money on them (lots of it) and they are PERFECTLY GOOD MAXI PADS! What an inexcusable waste!
I am guessing that I don’t have any friends that use giant maxi pads on a regular basis, and I am fairly sure that it is generally considered a social faux pas to randomly approach pregnant strangers and offer them your almost full, but opened packages of Super Plus Ultra Absorbent Nighttime Always Maxi Pads with Wings.
So what do I do with all those dumb maxi pads? They have been cluttering up my bathroom cupboard for the past six months, and I am starting to get pretty sick of them taking up valuable bathroom space…..
I suppose if these are the questions that vex my mind, I should seriously contemplate GETTING A LIFE. Not only have I wasted time thinking about this stupid and frivolous problem, but I have wasted the last half an hour writing about it, which in turn has prompted YOU to waste your time reading about it.
Just in case you had any doubt – Damn, it is good to be an American. In many parts of the world they don’t have the ability to adequately manage their sewage. They have no toilets, much less toilet paper….and here I am, sitting on my couch, typing on my laptop, wondering how to dispose of my maxi pad stockpile. Let me say it again, “Damn. It is good to be an American.”
Yes, you read right, the title of this post is POOP.
Today Emerson gifted us with the most impressively gigantic poop OF HER LIFE. It was awesome, in the most literal sense of the word. It inspired awe. It must be the inevitable result of our recent foray into solid foods. For the past few nights Troy has been feeding her oatmeal at the studio before we head home for bed, and uncharacteristically, Emerson has actually been EATING some of it, rather than letting it ooze from her open mouth. The end (ha ha) result: POOP-O-RAMA!
One of the interesting things about becoming a parent is the almost immediate onset of the unabashed and unembarrassed “Poop Discussions.” Now in normal civilized interactions the subject of a loved one’s poop almost NEVER enters a conversation. That is, unless one of the members of said conversation has recently given birth – in which case, all bets are off. If you are the member of the conversation that has NOT recently given birth, BE WARNED! Graphic textural descriptions of excrement may arise at ANY MOMENT and WITHOUT WARNING! Also note that you will be expected to respond with perceived INTEREST and CONCERN! Because baby poo is INTERESTING and IMPORTANT stuff!
I think that this all falls into the category of “Things That You Don’t Really Think Will Ever Happen to You, Until They Actually DO Happen to You and Oh Well.”
Also in this category are (in no particular order – some baby related and some not – but almost all related to bodily functions and/or fluids):
- Passing gas in front of your beau (who if you have reached the passing gas stage, might already be, or perhaps soon will be revealed as, your soul mate and spouse).
- Noticing a little stain of poop on your child’s clothing and thinking, “Oh – it’s just a little bit of poop.” Then seriously debating whether it is worth changing your child’s entire outfit for such an inconspicuous and insignificant amount of feces. (Don’t know about ya’ll, but before I had a baby I pretty much thought that EVERY amount of feces was significant.)
- Peeing your pants as a grown-up. Don’t know about the boys on this one, but from what I can gather from the women, it almost always wrapped up in that pretty “Having a Baby” package – one of those totally awesome “also included at this amazing price, for only the cost of shipping!” add ons.
- Valuing comfort over style in: shoes, underwear, clothing…..….you name it. At home, my cotton underpants, jeans, t-shirt, and flip flop or sneakers outfit has become more than just an outfit, it has become a UNIFORM.
I don’t know if it is my age (quickly encroaching on thirty) or the fact that I just went through one of those defining life changing experiences (having a baby), but this list (and lists like it) seems to be growing for me at an exponential rate. Se la vie.
Filed under: Baby Momma
Tuesday August 4, 2009
Dear Emerson:
Today you are six months and four days old. I had planned to write to you on the actual date of your six month birthday, but things have been a little crazy busy around here for the last couple of weeks, so I am a little bit late.
SIX MONTHS
We can’t believe that you are SIX MONTHS OLD! You are getting so big! It is pretty amazing how much you have changed in six months. You are like a real person now, with a great big personality. Every day you get more and more observant and animated. Somewhere along the line you developed full cognition. You notice everything – always looking around like you totally get what is going on around you. We wouldn’t be surprised if you just woke up one day and started speaking in full sentences, telling us exactly what you thought about healthcare reform.
The Intensity that is Emerson
So here is a list of a few of your six month milestones:
- ROLLING OVER: You have got this one down pat. Despite the fact that you don’t spend very much time on the floor, you have figured out how to roll from your back to your front and from your front to your back (a more recent skill). Lately, when you are on your tummy you sort of squirm and scoot around, like you are trying to figure out how to achieve greater mobility. I have a feeling that crawling is knocking on our door. I guess that means that we will have to become more vigilant about baby-proofing the house……
Live Action Rolling Over!
- MAX: You have noticed that Max exists and have actually become pretty interested in his comings and goings. I don’t know if this bodes very well for Max. He is an exceptionally good natured fellow, but I am not sure that he is quite ready for the ear and whisker pulling that I foresee in his rather immediate future. Right now, he is cautiously affectionate with you……and rightfully so. I think that his instinct is right on the money. He should be a little wary.
Emerson & Max
- TEETH: You have two snaggly little teeth on the bottom, and for the past few days you have been joyfully working on cutting your first top tooth. When I say joyfully, I of course mean with great composure, calmly, and without fussing …..There should be a special function on the keyboard that allows for you to clearly denote SARCASM in your typing – like bold, or italics…..control “F” for FREAKING FACETIOUS! Although, I do have to say, that despite all of the drama surrounding the “teething chronicles,” your big snaggle tooth grin is face meltingly adorable, and you have developed this very loud very funny gum smacking noise that I think is pretty darn humorous. I am also hoping that “more teeth” is somehow correlated with “more likely to eat solid food” (see next bullet point).
- SOLID FOOD: We have started to introduce you to some solid foods. Although, introduce implies a two way conversation. For instance, we would say, “Oh hello Emerson, fancy seeing you here! I would like you to meet Mr. Rice Cereal or Miss Mushed Up Banana.” To which you might respond, “Ahhhh. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Pureed Sweet Potato. I have heard so much about you, and I must say, you are as delightful in person as the stories of you escapades would have led me to believe. I have so anticipated your arrival, Mrs. Squooshy Ripe Avocado, and now that you are here, I delight in your presence!” Yeah, much to my dismay, it hasn’t really gone like that. You are not very interested in the solid food game. While occasionally we can actually get you to consume one or two little spoonfuls, most of it ends up running out of your open mouth. It is like you can’t even be bothered to spit it out; you just leave your mouth open and let it fall from your cavernous lips. Often times you will actually gag a little bit as the tiny morsel of food touches your delicate tongue. A tad dramatic, don’t you think?
Sweet Potatoes
- FEET: While you don’t much care for solid food; you have a great love of your feet. I guess everyone has their priorities. You grab on to them and shake them about, whilst smiling gleefully. You have recently discovered the unparalleled joy of removing your socks. I have to say that I am right there with you on that one kid. I like taking off my socks too. There is really nothing better than walking around with bare feet. It is one of life’s fabulous little joys.
- SLING: Your Rubenesque physique has led me to some fairly extensive research in “baby wearing.” You are tipping the scales at about twenty pounds now, and that is an awful lot for me to lug around all day. My left bicep is becoming disproportionately large, as compared to the rest of my musculature, and while the very expensive Baby Bjorn worked well when you were a bit lighter, at your current weight it wreaks hellacious havoc on my back. Through a bit of trial and error, we have both fallen in love with the “Moby” style of sling, which is in essence a great big long piece of fabric that your wrap around your body six million times, encasing your baby in a cozy mummy-like hold against your body. It is awesome. The width of the fabric and the strategic placement of the wrapping distributes your twenty pounds much more graciously on my body, and you seem very content and happy carried around vertically so that you can see everything, smooshed up against a warm body. I wish that we had known about this in your first few months. I am positive that you would have been a much less fussy baby if we had carried you around all wrapped up in a Moby-style sling. Ahhh, the clarity of hindsight.
Baby Wearing
- SLEEP: Your sleep schedule is all over the map. For the first few months of your life, we were progressing slowly forward toward the holy grail of baby-dom, sleeping through the night. But now, if anything, you are becoming less predictable. Some nights you only wake up once or twice to eat, some nights it is two or three times. Some evenings you go down without any trouble at all, some nights you decide to mount an epic battle against the land of Nod. Most mornings you are AWAKE at 6:00 or 6:30, but then yesterday morning you slept until almost 8:00 (sweet relief). Who knows what is going on in the sleep centers of your brain? As far as napping goes, you are much more consistently sleepy during the day. Although, we have not seen much progress in the whole “napping alone in your own bed” goal. But on most days I can actually get you to take at least one long nap, which is definitely progress, and becoming NECESSARY in order for you to maintain civility in your social conduct. On a really good day we get two naps. Then you are a happy girl. I am starting to have the sneaking suspicion that naptime might always be a battleground for us. I suppose every mother/daughter relationship has a few.
We love you butter bean.
Love,
Mommy
Filed under: Anna
Last night as my adorable husband and I were engaged in our normal evening ritual, sitting on our butts in front of the television & snacking on pretzels (I know, you were hoping for something a little more exciting, a little more exotic…..perhaps a bit naughty – sorry), our channel surfing landed for a brief time on the classic Christian Slater film, Pump up the Volume.
Expertly crafted in 1990, this epic 90’s drama chronicles the life and exploits of a shy and troubled teenager that happens to broadcast a raunchy rabble rousing pirate radio program in his spare time. The movie follows the stupid life of the Christian Slater character and the lives of his stupid high school cohorts as they rebel against the stupid adult authority, the stupid injustices and trials of teenage life, and generally raise a bunch of stupid hell.
While it is not difficult to see why the Academy chose to pass over Christian Slater for the Best Actor of 1990, watching this movie again for the first time since….oh, say 1990, did evoke some interesting evening conversation in the Baeten household.
Centered around the sentiment: “Good God! Teenagers are SO stupid! Do you remember how STOOPID you were as a teenager?”
Now that we have a daughter, we live in constant fear of teenagers. Every gum chewing, text message obsessed, Daisey Duke wearing, overly made-up girl that aimlessly wanders past us, oblivious to the world around her, sends a shiver of dread through our bodies. (As a side note: Said trampy looking teenage girl probably doesn’t even know who Daisey Duke IS. ARGH! Further evidence of both the stupidity of teenagers AND the inevitability of our own aging process.) It really is a good thing that a good 12 to 16 years of preparatory time is inherently built into the whole parenting process.
Here is a good thought experiment for you (especially if you have children who are or might someday become teenagers): Think really hard, and try to really remember what you were like as a teenager. That is some scary shit, isn’t it?
As awful as the teen years are for parents, I think that it is entirely possible that they are worse for the teenager. Your emotions are bouncing off the walls, your skin looks like crap, everything that you do is awkward, kids are MEAN, your parents are so OLD and out of touch with reality that they COULDN’T POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND!
On top of that, EVERYTHING SEEMS SOOOOO IMPORTANT! Your emotions are so real, so potent, and so completely unbuffered by the leveling effect of EXPERIENCE. So at sixteen, when you are in love and you think that you will never ever possibly in a million bazillion years love anyone as you love THIS BELOVED TEENAGE BOY! You really truly believe it, in the deepest depths of your little teenage soul. And when your heart is broken and you think you are going to die, you REALLY THINK THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE, that you will never ever ever recover. When you are snubbed or embarrassed at school, it feels like that emotion is going to last FOREVER. Add to that, the fact that most teenagers are completely enveloped in the cloud of THEMSELVES, and as Keanu Reeves brilliantly said, “Whoa.”
Hell, I have friends in their 30’s and 40’s that still behave and react that way.
It is all so very very scary.
Ruminating on this topic has inspired me to create this list:
Things that I believed in my youth (not necessarily limited to my teenage years), which I now realize are really STOOPID:
1. I am blessed with a relatively favorable metabolism; therefore, I can eat whatever I want without consequence. I don’t care how good your metabolism is at 20, for 99.9% of us this one comes and bites you on the hinder. The bite is of varying degree and intensity for each individual, but for almost ALL of us we eventually will rue the day we ever committed ourselves to this thought. I actually remember having a casual conversation with a regular couple that frequented the little restaurant that I worked at in high school. They had just come in from the gym and were talking with me about their workout/eating regiment, and I actually said to them something along the lines of, “I don’t really have to work out.” I honestly didn’t think anything of it. I wasn’t bragging or being snotty. I just thought it was true. The couple was far too nice to kick me in the head like I deserved, but OMG, SHUT UP YOU STOOPID FIFTEEN YEAR OLD TWIT! NONE OF US HAD TO WORK OUT WHEN WE WERE FIFTEEN!!!
2. The searing cancer causing rays of the sun will not harm me! While I was never a sun worshiper, I was recently reminded that I did in fact “lay out” with my friends from time to time as a teenager. A few weeks ago my 16 year old baby sitter and I took Emerson to the pool for her first “swimming” experience. We are sitting on our little lounge chairs and fair little white-as-white-can-be Kacy whips out her baby oil and starts slathering it all over her body. When she sees me ogling her with a look of horror on my face, she says to me, “I don’t really tan, so I like to make sure I get a good burn. It will eventually give me some color.” REALLY?!?!? WTF?!!? Then I realize, “Oh yeah, you are sixteen. Enough said.”
3. It really matters that you get a 4.0 in high school, are valedictorian, ace your SAT’s, graduate suma cum laude from college, etc. etc. Now don’t get me wrong, I fully realize the importance of these accomplishments in the short term. These things help to get you into the college or grad school of your choice, but I really do wish that someone had told me, “Once you get out in the real world, no one will ever again ask you what your GPA was or care that you got a B+ instead of an A- in Organic Chemistry II.” It would have taken a little bit of the self inflicted pressure off to know that by the time you no longer include your part time job at Wendy’s on your resume, no one gives a poop about your PSAT score. In fact, if you were to mention your GPA at all, even just in passing, people will silently make note of the fact that you are a LOOSER that hasn’t accomplished anything of import since high school.
4. I commit myself to only ever wearing cute panties, preferably of the thong variety, and almost always matching my bra. All I have to say about this one is: PREGNANCY. For those of you who have experienced it, the one word is explanation enough. For those of you who haven’t experienced it, somewhere in the second trimester there is an overwhelming and visceral need to travel to the closest Target available and buy many pairs of the biggest most comfortable 100% cotton underpants you can find. Notice that I said UNDERPANTS, not panties. My child is now 6 month old, and I have had no such biologically urgent need to return to my previous undergarment state – maybe for special occasions.
As for the rest of the list, the baby has just awakened from her nap, so I leave it to you, my handful of friends and readers….I am sure that we each have one or two things that is worthy of this list.
Filed under: Anna
So, in an attempt to distract myself from my crippling dog grief, last week I went out and bought a sewing machine. Martha Stewart, ya better watch out! The craftiness that is Anna is about to be unleashed! That’s all I have to say about that.
Who knew that there is SO MUCH TO BUY at JoAnn’s Fabric? Wow. I had no idea what a money sucking black hole carnival ride the fabric store could be. For those of you that have never set foot inside the fabric store, be warned! You wouldn’t think that it would be the mecca of retail therapy that it is, but IT IS!
My journey to craftiness all started with my desire to buy a new baby sling. I have the very expensive Baby Bjorn, which worked beautifully, until it became clear that we had begotten an adorably roly poly mini sumo, rather than a fine boned willowy Asian flower. For many weeks now, Emerson has been too heavy for me to comfortably cart around in the Bjorn, so I have been looking for other options.
My internet research finally brought me to the “Moby Sling,” which essentially is a big long piece of fabric that you wrap around your body six million times, enveloping your baby in a cocoon of slingy coziness. Because of the multiple layers of wrapping and the width of the fabric, the Moby sling is supposed to distribute the weight of the baby very evenly over the body and back of the mommy. Yay for things that are back friendly for mommies.
The official Moby Slings, from the Moby Sling website cost anywhere from $40 to $70. Now if you know me at all, you know that I am a little bit nuts, and a lot cheap (or is it a lot nuts and a little bit cheap – I can’t remember right now….). So I look at these slings and I think to myself, “Forty bucks! It is just a big long piece of fabric. I could totally make that for a lot cheaper.” (Here would be a good time to point out that I have NO IDEA WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT! But also remember, that last week was not the best week for me as far as emotional health goes – so I guess I will use that as a little bit of an explanation and/or excuse)
So I do a little more online research, and I find a pattern to make said Moby Sling. Bingo! The pattern costs $3.60, and they will send it directly to my email as a PDF. Instant gratification. Brilliant.
The pattern people are true to their word, and in no time, a PDF is waiting for me in my inbox. Now the pattern goes something like this: Get a piece of fabric that is 5 yards long, cut it so that it is 20 inches wide. Ta Dah! You have your sling. Go to Mobysling.com to figure out how to tie it up. P.S. If you don’t want your sling to look like a hobo white trash trailer park sling, you might consider hemming the edges.
I kid you not. I paid $3.60 for that. Oye. I am such a sucker.
Off I go to the fabric store. As Emerson and I drive to the fabric store, I am further contemplating my brilliant home made sling idea,and I come to the conclusion that it is completely unacceptable for me to have a hobo white trash trailer park sling. My sling must have a hem.
We arrive at Jo-Ann Fabrics. We walk through the door, and low and behold, they sell sewing machines there, and a little old sewing machine sales lady to help you with your sewing machine purchase. After much sewing machine edification, I selected a machine. The entire time I am being seduced into the world of sewing machines, I am carrying Emerson, all 20 pounds of her sling-less…..and then she falls asleep…..the dead weight of my adorable little 20 pound sack of potatoes weighing heavily in my arms, further validating my sling quest.
In case you are contemplating a sewing machine purchase in the near future, just know, there is quite the spectrum from which to choose. You can spend anywhere from $50 to $9,000. I decide to go with the entry level machine of the higher quality brand, putting my purchase around $35o, excluding tax.
Then it is off (with my sleeping potato sack of sumo baby in tow) to buy my fabric and necessary accouterments. Now I didn’t really realize this (because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING), but five yards of fabric is A LOT of fabric. The first three fabrics I selected didn’t have enough on the bolt, so I was left with my fourth choice, an eggplant colored slightly stretchy soft cotton jersey. Then I had to buy all the accouterments: fabric scissors, thread, a measuring tape…….blah blah blah.
Anyway, long story short, we make it out of the fabric store, my left arm about to FALL OFF and my bargain priced homemade Moby-style sling coming in at about $450. Add to that that, the fact that my sling is destined to have a bootleg amateur hem – it is definitely turning out to be a steal of a deal!
Do you see? Do you see the crafty wicked ways of Jo-Ann Fabrics? Evil, I tell you. Evil.
Anywhoo. I got it all home and got to work making my sling, and low and behold…..I LOVE IT. It really does distribute the weight more evenly across my back and body. Emerson likes being carted around in it, and will even SLEEP in it a little! All in all, a successful, though expensive, craft experience.
Since then, I have made Emerson a pair of stripey pants that is too small (doesn’t quite cover up her big ol’ diaper butt) and an eggplant colored (can we say, left over sling?) dress that is much too big. But I am having fun trying to figure it all out. Who knows? Maybe I will learn to be crafty after all.
