Y’all, last night, as I was laying down in bed at the criminally early hour of 8:30pm and staring in nervous anticipation at the video monitor (that thing PLAGUES me.  I stare at it, watching Olivia and waiting and waiting for her to wake up and make me go in there, instead of closing my damn eyes and getting some rest, already.  If she woke in any predictable fashion, I might not be so obsessed with watching her, but she’s like a ticking time bomb), I had a GODDAMN, HONEST TO GOODNESS, 100% TRUE, REVELATION.

And that is that this blog was BUILT on excessively wordy, all-capsy, voluminous and bitter complaining about anything and everything, from how annoying it is to do the dishes to the mind-boggling cost of changing your last name.  I am a VERY GOOD complainer.  I would win MEDALS at complaining. If such a competition existed, I would surely be the National Champion and representative at the Universe Games of Complaining, so talented am I at finding things to complain about.

Since I am such a champion complainer, I should just STOP trying to write long and mushy posts about the joys of motherhood (Look, I know, I know.  The rest of you are experiencing it, I totally believe you are.  But I am still in the trenches here, and I am convinced that if I were to sleep more than three aligned hours ever again, I too, might find this motherhood thing… tolerable.  That’s not the case here, and sugar-coating it isn’t this Master Complainer’s style), because I just CAN’T.  I waffled and hemmed and hawed about writing Olivia’s six month post, thinking I should probably have something complimentary to say about her and how I feel about her, but I couldn’t come up with much of anything.  What did come to mind was the laundry list (OK, wait a minute.  What is a laundry list?  Like, what you put in the laundry?  Do you really make a LIST of these things?  Is this the sort of thing people did when they sent their laundry out?  How about we start calling it a grocery list, because that’s more relevant to ME personally) of things I had to complain about, from lack of sleep to cleaning dried up carrot puree out of the upholstery.

So I wrote a half-assed post that felt like I was phoning it in, and it pissed me off.  So what if I don’t have grandiose and operatic feelings about being a mother?  So what if there’s no movie score playing in the background when I pick a fussing Olivia up from her crib for the 45th time (I lie.  I absolutely DO NOT have the patience for 4 pick ups, much less any double-digit number of them)?  This shit is HARD, yo, and if it’s easy for you that is SUPER FUCKING AWESOME AND I AM DEEPLY JEALOUS.  Really.  But if the whole point of blogging is to be all honest, well then.  This shit is hard, yo, (apologies. J and I have been on a Breaking Bad bender, and uh, now I talk like Jesse Pinkman) and I’m having a really hard time coming up with something heart-warming and deep to say about it.  Besides, there are better writers out there than me, if you’re looking for poignant. Here, we bitch about our children and their crappy sleep habits.

LORD, I feel so much better typing that out.  Send CPS if you have to, I can take it.

I might as well include a bit of actual complaining (instead of just… complaining about complaining), which is that Olivia is learning to crawl.  She is SO DAMN CLOSE, and that part is really fucking awesome to watch- because she is stubborn and obstinate and WANTS IT SO BAD.  But along with this desire is the frustration, and oh, HOLY SHIT, does she get frustrated.  It’s like she invented crawling in her mind’s eye and cannot for the life of her get her body to get with the program.  Now, were she an adult, she’d do what the rest of us do when we come across a physical activity we can’t master (I’m looking at you, volleyball) and quit.  But she doesn’t have the sense God gave a cracker, so she keeps trying and trying and trying, and I have to both laugh at her efforts and her adult frustration, and sigh with exasperation at her high-pitched whining.  She’s gonna get it one day, and then I bet we’ll be onto the next challenge, so I anticipate the frustration and the whining to continue, uh… FOREVER.







Ahhh, what the hell am I saying?  I still think she’s adorable, even with the crying.  COW PRINT DIAPERS.  I mean, COME ON.

So come here, fellow complainers.  Tell me all your (first world, I know, I KNOW) problems.