Monthly Archives: October 2013

How to register for baby gifts

Step 1: Get knocked up.

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Step 2: Realize your house is a baby death trap.

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Step 3: Try to stop self from screaming “YES!!!” when mother offers to throw you baby shower.

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Step 4: Begin immediately fielding calls from everyone you’ve ever met asking if you’ve registered yet.

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Step 5: Mention to your husband in passing that you should really register soon.

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Step 6: Half-heartedly attempt to register one night but get distracted by Dawson’s Creek marathon on Netflix.

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Step 7: Finally sit down to register after death threat from cousin.

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Step 8: Begin reading the product reviews.

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Step 9: Stop reading product reviews when blood starts spurting from your eyes.

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Step 10: Say screw it and start picking things based solely on color and how many adorable dancing giraffes it features. Then eat an entire bag of Cheetos and take a nap. You’ve earned it.

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Top 8 Parenting Myths Debunked

I know what you’re thinking.

What the hell does a first-time mom who is only six months pregnant know about parenting?

And the answer is, of course, nothing. Well, almost nothing. I do know that the first poop the baby takes once it’s outside the uterus is apparently a mix of dark matter and pure evil, but I only know that because I read too far in my pregnancy book last week.


But after extensive and thorough research where I asked friends who were new parents scientific stuff like “so, does parenthood blow or what?” and “when do babies stop sucking?” and “how much Red Bull and vodka can I chug while simultaneously breastfeeding?” I have gathered enough evidence to debunk the most common myths surrounding this major life change.

Myth No.1: As soon as your baby is born, it’s love at first sight.

Chances are you will not immediately fall in love with your baby. Chances are you’ll look at it and wonder “who the hell is this wrinkled old man who came out of my vagina and what the hell is he covered with?” OK, maybe that’s exaggerating slightly. You could also be thinking “wrinkled old woman.” But the point is, it’s perfectly natural not to feel bonded to your child right away. So don’t worry. You will bond eventually. Possibly even before they go off to college.


Myth No. 2: Breastfeeding is the most natural thing in the world.

Breastfeeding is NOT the most natural thing in the world. Far from it. In fact, Joan Rivers’ face is more natural than breastfeeding. Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean feeding a child from your boob is unnatural (despite what those squeamish arseholes in restaurants that just HAVE to complain whenever a woman dares to use her boob in public for anything other than sexual arousal would have you believe). I mean that in no way does this natural act come to you or to your kid naturally. It’s a daily battle the first few weeks, sometimes months, to get you, the baby and your ginormous boobs all on the same page at the same time.

Myth No. 3: Having a baby will bring you and your partner closer than you’ve ever been.

Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation. Or the ass-numbingly dull tedium of changing diapers every two hours. Or perhaps it’s the immense crushing responsibility of having to keep a small human alive. But you and your significant other will hate each other for awhile and argue about stupid crap such as why lil’ Kayleighanna isn’t wearing socks outside when it’s OBVIOUSLY FREEZING OUT THERE AND WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO, KILL OUR DAUGHTER!?! But never fear. This is why God invented grandparents, so that just when your marriage is about to implode, they can take the demon seed for a night and let you two drink until you can’t feel feelings anymore.


Myth No. 4: Babies are sweet little angels.

Babies, by nature, are not sweet and nice and innocent. They are terrorists. Tiny, tiny terrorists who refuse to let you sleep or eat a warm meal or sit down or shower or pee or talk on the phone or have a beer or leave the house or wear a clean shirt not covered in vomit. But at least they’re your tiny, tiny terrorist.

Myth No. 5: Babies are expensive.

Babies aren’t expensive. Babies are ridiculously, mind-blowingly expensive.  Whatever crap you bought for your baby, it’s not enough. Because apparently babies die if they are not surrounded at all times by educational toys, soggy baby books, slightly less educational toys that play music, no less than five chairs that all move or vibrate or swing in different directions and 76 blankets.

Myth No. 6: Putting your baby into yoga/music/sign language class will give them a jumpstart in life.

Babies think key rings are the height of civilization’s achievements. It’s OK to wait until they aren’t floppy headed drooling machines to sign them up for Infant Interpretive Dancing. Stop stressing out about their future at Harvard when they’re only three-months-old.


Myth No. 7: Babies cry for a reason.

As it turns out, sometimes there is no reason. Sometimes they’re just crying because they’re a butthead. For reasons why they do this, see Myth No. 4.

Myth No. 8: Religiously reading parenting magazines and websites and blogs will help keep you informed and up-to-date.

Religiously reading parenting magazines and websites and blogs* will help turn you into a competitive and paranoid control freak who lectures other parents about how they really shouldn’t let lil’ Pyke play with their iPhone because the latest studies show that children who are exposed to screens within the first two years of life end up being serial killers who work at Wal-Mart.

And everyone will hate you.

*That is, except for this blog. You should always read this blog.

Through sickness and health…I guess

Well, I can officially check off that whole “through sickness” marriage vow.

(That’s how it works, right? You do it once and then you’re off the hook?).

Although technically, it was more of an injury than a sickness but the point is, when my husband busted his head open last Friday after slipping in the kitchen, I didn’t run away. I didn’t roll over and go back to sleep, ignoring his yells (even though I was like, SUPER tired). I didn’t even pass out at the sight of gallons and gallons of blood casually leaving his head.

Instead, I calmly and maturely assessed the situation and swiftly took the appropriate action.

Ha! Just kidding. Considering I’m married to a member of the male gender, it went down more like this:



So, what exactly happened, you ask? The official story is that he turned around to close a kitchen drawer and slipped on our dog’s toy, falling backward and hitting his head on the world’s hardest ceramic dog bowl. But the unofficial story, the much more sexy conspiracy theory story, is that my dog is trying to murder my husband.

I mean, the dog toy, a stuffed squirrel we had nicknamed Jedediah, just happened to appear right under his feet? Out of nowhere? At the perfect distance to make him hit his head on the dog’s water bowl? Not to mention, we’re expected to believe Buffy isn’t holding a grudge against us because we removed his manhood when he was still a puppy? And also named him Buffy? And maybe once dropped him on his head as a puppy? (Oh, calm down, I said once…twice tops).

Yeah. Coincidence, my ass.


Luckily, my husband is one of the most calm and laid back dudes in a crisis that you could ask for. So while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to find socks and my car keys and yelling for him to “Just hang on, baby! Don’t die on me! You have so much to live for! Stay away from the light!” as I ran from room to room in the house, he was being practical, looking up the closest hospital on his phone while simultaneously trying to staunch the blood flow from his gaping head wound. He even called the hospital to double check they had an emergency room:

“Hi, yeah, I was just wondering if you guys had an emergency room? You do? Alright, well, I’ll be seeing you real soon then.”

Meanwhile I was in the bedroom, helpfully yelling things like “If you see Grandma, stay away from her! Do not let Grandma lead you to the afterlife! Tell that old biddy to shut up!” while putting on two different shoes (both left shoes, by the way).

And then, if you will indulge me, I’d like you to picture the following (I tried to draw it but my art skills have some pretty severe limitations…SHOCKING, I know):

My husband is in the passenger seat, gently giving me directions from his GPS while blood and brains are spurting from his head (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating just a little). I’m a wide-eyed lunatic with crazy bed head in the driver’s seat yelling obscenities at red lights and making lewd gestures to the only other three cars on the road (sadly, I am not exaggerating). When all of a sudden we encounter one of Greater Boston’s infamous “roundabouts,” a fun marvel of modern road design that I nicknamed “Traffic Circle of Death.”

Ryan: “OK, you’ll want to take the second exit.”

Aprill: “Second!?! What the hell does that mean!?!”

Ryan: “Just get in the right lane and then take the second road that veers off the circle.”

Aprill: “Which way is right!?! I can’t tell my left from my right!?! Oh god, we’re going to die!”

Ryan: “It’s OK. Breathe. Just turn right here.”

Aprill: “AHHH! There’s another car! What do I do!?!”

Ryan: “He’s like 100 feet away from us, babe. You’re fine. You’re doing great.”

Aprill: “I can’t do this! We’re going to die! Did I mention we’re going to die!?! Oh my god!…Oh…OK, we’re off the circle. So just go straight for another mile, then?”

By some miracle (and no thanks to me) we made it to the ER in one piece and three long hours later, Ryan’s head was stapled with the world’s most intimidating stapler and we were sent home with the instructions that I was to wake him up every two hours to make sure that he wasn’t, you know, dead.

Terrifying as this whole experience was, however, it did teach me a good lesson about marriage. And that lesson is that when it comes to “through sickness,” my husband is actually better off on his own.