30

Whoorlito: 4 Month Update

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I can’t believe it…4 months old. Jesus, what a geezer.

I never planned to be a monthly-baby-updater-person, but I just realized that if I don’t document here, it will definitely be lost in the dusty recesses of my noggin forever. So, essentially, this is more for me than you. Feel free to vomit from boredom.

So here goes…where to begin…

How about the fact that Wito weighs 17 pounds. Um, yes, he is large and in charge. He loves to eat, and when I say he loves to eat, I mean he loves to eat in a screaming-banshee-head-butt-your-mama-in-the-face kind of way. Honestly, the only time he screams like he is in some sort of painful agony is when I stop to burp him in the middle of the feeding. I’m pretty sure the neighbors think I am hanging him by his toenails over here.

He has been such a good sleeper the past two months- we are so blessed. He pretty much sleeps 10-11 hours every night and doesn’t fuss for more than a couple of minutes when we put him down. However, currently we have had some hiccups in the sleep department. Ever since I’ve returned to work, he has woken up at 3:30am and fussed for an hour. I find this extremely funny. Not funny in a ha-ha kind of way; more in a jab-baby-spoons-in-my-eyes kind of way. Far be it for Wito to wake up in the wee hours when I am on maternity leave and can take catnaps during the day myself. Nope. Not so much. Let’s just wake up and cry when mom has to be selling pharmaceuticals to highly analytical physicians at 9 the next morning. Sweet.

I keep telling myself it’s his way of trying to spend time with me since I’m noticeably absent during the days. Yeah right.

Currently, we are in the process of releasing the swaddle. My hottie pediatrician told us it was time to quit swaddling him. WHAT? You should have seen the fear in our eyes when he told us this information. You mean put him in the crib UNSWADDLED?! With his ARMS just FLAILING about?!! HUH?! WHAT?!

Um, this unswaddling thing is hard. Poor Wito just looks at us like “What in the hell am I supposed to do now?” and starts vigorously flapping his arms up and down like a crazed bird. And then some crying begins. Loud crying. Screechy crying.

Anyhoo, we are taking it one limb at a time. We are currently in a right arm swaddled, left arm free, legs swaddled at night but not in the day mode. Kind of sounds like Twister, The Not Fun Edition.

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He has the most darling giggle, loves to be tickled and sung to (ABC song) and has extremely strong legs and long fingers. He gives himself the hiccups when he becomes overly excited. His favorite place in the house is his changing table because hey, the kid likes to be groomed and fussed over (just like his father). He also is utterly transfixed with these Ikea woven panels in his room; like, he smiles and TALKS to the panels. Kind of reminds me of a little girl who thought a pie-making queen lived in her bedroom curtains.

This week he started rolling over, turning the book pages when I read to him and pretty much refusing the twins.

Yep, Wito likes the bottles. And it’s pretty amazing how quickly my supply dwindled when I returned to work. But I am still breastfeeding in the morning and evenings, and it seems to be a mutually satisfactory partnership.

It’s truly amazing how much this child grows physically and mentally every day. I swear, when I walk into his room in the morning, he actually LOOKS bigger than the night before.

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Oh my goodness, I’m in love.

Now, back to the regularly-scheduled intermission. Bye!

11

If You Leave Me Now…

You’ll take away the biggest part of me
OOOH OOOOH OOOOOOOH NO, baby please don’t go

If you leave me now, you’ll take away the very heart of me
OOOH OOOOH OOOOOOH NO, baby please don’t go

Please envision Peter Cetera and yours truly serenading each and every one of you in matching white tuxedos. With black shirts underneath. Exposing my bodacious hot tata cleavage.

I’m taking a little whoorl breather while this new working mother gig kicks the living shit out of me.

Don’t go anywhere!! I’ll be back!

28

Pardon the Mess

Hi. Did you miss me?

Turns out I had a slightly larger bandwidth issue than I originally presumed. Like upgraded my entire account to a more expensive plan only to find out that it wasn’t enough either kind of issues. So on top of returning to work and leaving my precious baby, I spent mucho evening hours involved in email conversations such as this:

Whoorl: Why is my site down when I just upgraded it?
Host: Your site has exceeded bandwidth.
Whoorl: I know this. But I upgraded like you told me to.
Host: Yes, but you are currently exceeding that plan as well. You must upgrade again.
Whoorl: I don’t understand. Why are you bleeding me dry?
Host: You have exceeded your bandwidth. Gimme your money, beaatch.
Whoorl: TAKE YOUR NEW PLAN AND SHOVE IT, DICKWAD.
Host: Okie dokie.
Whoorl: By the way, what’s bandwidth?
Whoorl: Hello? Anyone there?

Whatever.

But let’s get to the nitty gritty. How was my first week back to work, you ask? Well, it was severely traumatizing. Like gut-wrenching, agonizing and horribly HORRIBLY wrong.

Oh, leaving Wito was fine, but people. PEOPLE. Do you know what it’s like trying to shove your post-partum ass into a size 2 suit? It’s not fun and frankly, not for the weak in spirit. Can we all say “muffin top” in unison?

Yet every morning, I try to fit into these suits. Like somehow, magically overnight, my hips and gut have resumed pre-pregnancy shape and TA-DAAHHHH, my suits fit again.

This is not the case. And total bullshit.

And what’s up with all this “Oh, the pounds will just MELT off when your breastfeeding!” More bullshit, people. I just read your body has to keep an extra 5-10 pounds on while breastfeeding to help create the milk.

I have 6 pounds left, and they seem perfectly content hanging out on my frame forever and ever. And frankly, even if I lost 20 pounds, my clothes wouldn’t fit due to my new motherly shape. D says I got me some curves.

Curves, my ass. Literally. I walk around all day just hoping and praying the weakening-by-the-minute seam down the back of my pants won’t bust and unleash the overflowing dam of ass on some unsuspecting bystander.

Today, I crammed into a pair of pants and immediately had to unbutton them while driving to work. Swell. In addition to the trillion things I have to prepare before my sales calls, I have to add Button Pants to the list.

Sales Binder? Check.
Proper amount of pharmaceuticals in bag? Check.
Pens, Pads, endless corporate branding? Check.
Physician sample forms? Check.
Pants buttoned and zipped? Motherfucking check. And ouch.