Let's do the time warp again.

Things have been a little bit crazy lately (in-laws, weddings, indigestion), so I haven't had the time to post any new tales from the Deviant.  Let's be honest, I don't even have time to shower.  Ew.  With that being said, I'd like to share a pregnancy flashback.  It's kinda like an acid flashback... except the only drug you're on is prenatals. Enjoy.

October 25, 2010
The day otherwise known as "The day I find out I gained 19 pounds & have a cavity." Ugh.
Today is my Glucose test.  Just another one of those things you don't find out about until you are actually pregnant.  Per Doc's orders, I down the sugary syrup in under five minutes, pretending once again that I am a college freshman & this crap I have to drink is an ice cold brew.  Now I get to be poked with more needles.  Hooray.
After waiting at the OB's office for about 37 years, we finally get called to a room.  This, of course, after having peed all over my hand during a routine urine sampling, and also after being weighed (Wait, what? I'm sorry, your scale is broken, I don't recognize those numbers).

While sitting in the tiny room, I look at Ben-- I think about things like how truly lucky I am to have him in my life... He's going to be such an awesome dad... how it must look good to everyone in the doctor's office that he comes to each & every appointment with me.  We are a loving, mature couple totally ready to start a family.  It's right about now that he gets up from his chair & starts playing with the Nuva Ring samples & taking pictures of the STD poster on the wall... "EW! Scabies!" Sigh.
After a few minutes of Ben educating me on the wonders of pubic lice, I become very cranky due to my sugar crash.  I am beginning to think a cyanide test would have been more appropriate.  Rapidly approaching a ten on the crank-o-meter, Ben tries to divert my attention by grabbing the light on the table. You know, the one they use to actually look into your vagina.  Turns out this light can be used for more than just vaginal spelunking: it is perfect for casting shadow puppets on the wall across from the STD poster. 
It was that day that I discovered my husband's hidden talent for shadow animals.  It was also that same day that my OB, too, discovered Ben's hidden talent, since she opened the door mid-flying bat.

The Anti-Rhyme

So you've just had a baby... congrats!  You've weathered the morning sickness and the episiotomy ("You want to cut me WHERE?!") and now it's time to bring that little pooping and burping bundle of joy home.  You swaddle her tight, sink into your rocker (Ouch! Damn stitches!), and... now what?  The panic sets in.  You have no flipping clue how to entertain this thing.  You quickly comb through what's left of your brain cells and it hits you--Sing! Good mommies SING to their babies!  Only one problem... is mama supposed to buy you a mockingbird, or a Dyson? Crap.  Through all the panting and pushing, the little file where you kept nursery rhymes fell out when your water broke.  But fear not, this is where your inner Deviant enters the scene with the Anti-Rhyme. 

Just rewrite any of your favorite tunes using words like "poop" and you're golden... like that diaper you just changed. Or, if new mommyhood has claimed the last of your brain cells, feel free to borrow some of my own masterpieces. Keep in mind, this tactic is good across all genres of music, so the possibilities are endless.

Genre 1: Bad 80's hair bands

sung to the tune of "Cherry Pie" by Warrant: "Heeeee's myyyy punkin pie/little bitty guy with a stork bite eye!"  

Hey man, it doesn't have to be genius... as long as the kid smiles or is momentarily distracted from ripping out the dog's fur again, your job is done.

Genre 2: 90's sock-over-the-peener alterna-rock bands

sung to the tune of "Love Roller Coaster" by RHCP: "Your mama's got/a dirty dipey in her hand!/oh yes she does!" (change dipey) "your mama's got/a clean dipey in her hand!/oh yes she does!"

Genre 3: Oldies but Goodies

sung to the tune of "Hanky Panky" by Tommy James & the Shondells: "My baby's got a dirty dipey!/oh yeah, my baby's got a dirty dipey!" (repeat like, a billion times) "I saw him walkin' on down the line, yeah/his dipey's dirty for the very first time, yeah/he said hey ma what's in my pants?/oh hey mama I just don't understand/cause my baby's got a dirty dipey (insert whammy bar guitar sounds)"

Genre 4: Classic/Psychedelic/This-light-show-is-gonna-blow-your-mind Rock

sung to the tune of "Another Brick in the Wall" by Pink Floyd: "We don't need no dirty dipeys/we don't need no poop patrol/no dirty dipeys on your booty/Hey! (insert child's name here)! Leave them dipes alone!"

Before you know it, the whole fam will be joining you on your quest to find the perfect Anti-Rhyme... I've caught my husband singing "Ticket to Ride" by The Beatles using the words "My baby's got hair".  See?  You can do it.  But as for those brain cells coming back, you're own your own there.

Oh the joys of having a boy...

I've known for months now that my boy was, well, a boy.  He on the other hand, hasn't... until recently.  Every time the diaper comes off, it's a race to the nether-regions.  I honestly didn't expect to deal with this for another decade or so, and what started out as a harmless game of hide-and-seek has turned into full scale weenie-warfare.

Exhibit A, changing a pee-dipe: "OMG! Doesn't that HURT him?! He's damaging my future grandchildren!!"

but this is small potatoes (no pun intended) compared to exhibit B...

Exhibit B, changing a poo-dipe: "Oh man, what did you eat kid? No Holden! Don't touch that!!"

Now begins the following sequence... Poop in dipe.  Poop on peener.  Boy grabs peener.  Poop on hand.   Grab hand, grab wipe.  Boy kicks diaper.  Poop on foot.  Grab feet.  Hand now in mouth.  Grab hand again.  Wipe hand, wipe mouth.  Grab another wipe.  Boy grabs feet.  Poop on hand, again.  Wipe feet.  Poop on legs... really??  Grab another wipe.  Boy grabs overly expensive, embroidered teddy bear from Nannie & Papa.  Poop on bear.  Wipe hands, wipe bear.  Somewhere in there wipe peener & bottom.  Say screw it and put boy in bath.  Boy grabs peener. *Sigh*

Well, when a Mommy & Daddy love each other very much...

It all started a year ago when the two little pink lines showed up in my bathroom sink. No, not the pink-in-the-sink from flossing (although pregnancy gingivitis is a real BITCH), but the ones from the EPT.  That's "Error Proof Test" to you.  One would conclude that after all the pregnancy tests I took in college that I'd be a pro by now, but no amount of Natty Light can prepare you for the shock of a positive one.
Fast forward 37 pounds and a year later... I haven't showered in two days, am covered in spit up, and half my once expansive vocabulary now ends in the letter Y ("Hunny, can you grab me a burpy? They're in the nursery next to the dipeys").  Needless to say, life as I knew it has changed--I have stretch marks the size of the Grand Canyon, the last book I read was Hop on Pop, and I actually Youtubed "the itsy bitsy spider".  But, underneath it all, I'm still the girl with the nose ring & affinity for all things vegan, hence, the birth of The Stroller Stories (and Other Tales from a Deviant Motherhood).
I say Deviant not because I intend to cause chaos on the playground, but because I am looking forward to breaking the social norms on Motherhood.  So, you can either whisper about me from behind your Peg Perego, or you can join the revolution. Who's with me?