Mommy Nani Booboo’s personal 2012 in a nutshell – without the nut… or shell.

 

2012 started with a pitiful bang for me as I was lost in motherhood, and struggling with depression.

The intense colic of my second born had me spinning in circles, and unwillingly participating in shopping cart roller derbys.

The new home we had moved into turned out to be a nightmare and during one of my many attempts to make our surroundings better, Arm and Hammer tried to kill me.

I battled my way through the first couple months of the year like only a parent with kids under five can.  Eventually, I was rewarded with the best 15 minutes in a long time.

After realizing motherhood has made me into a big fat liar, I needed to find a way to be courageously honest, and finally came clean to my husband and you about the Postpartum Psychosis I suffered with my first son.

2012 was a year that I was extremely grateful for the cyber-campfire that is blogging.  I wrote these words to you in a post about why I will never quit blogging.

A blogger strokes the keyboard, reaches through the computer screen, and taps you on the shoulder.  A personal blogger writes to make you feel, to make you laugh, to make you think.  A blogger (a good one) feeds your humanity.  And the best part of it all, the absolute best, is that you also feed mine.  It may actually be a tipped scale in my favor.

When I’m honest in my writing, it makes me feel human.  But when you, the readers respond… it makes me live.

Social media continued to be my addiction in 2012, and once again I attempted to control how everyone in the universe uses Twitter.

I discovered there was a Jenni Jekyll and a Jenni Hyde, but I’m not sure which one shouldn’t be allowed to drive.

I learned how to have non make up sex.

The New York Times forgot to ask me about the whole motherhood vs. feminism thing.

I briefly weighed in on the “mommy wars” and Time shmime.

I got to be on the review and scoring committee for the BlogHer’12 Voices Of The Year submissions.  It was an honor to read the kajillion posts, to be reminded of other parents in the trenches with me, and to have my eyes bleed from the goodness of  all the writing.

I was honored to participate in the Mother’s Day Rally over at Postpartum Progress.

I also finally realized I was the chosen one… at least when it comes to dirty vegetables

and I discovered one of my favorite things to do is write for the wayward googler.

I started Mommy Nani Booboo Tube.

However, 2012 was no different than any other year in my anxiety about things that may or may not exist.

I went to New York, attended a conference, met with old friends, broke my laptop, and had a cab driver try to kill me.

I finally became a cougar… for three seconds - big milestones this year…

and I’ve managed to keep my reckless baby alive.

My oldest finally felt the space left behind when grandparents live far away.

Someone asked me if I thought women could “have it all”.

 

 

The political climate of this past year eeked it’s way into this space, even though I first wanted to keep politics off this site.  It ended up being too important for me to remain silent about.

I flew a glider plane.
 

 

We decided to move… again… and downsize… and monkify.

The year decided not to go out like a lamb, and instead spun me and spit me out with Murphy’s Law in full effect, moving over the holidays, and a devastating tragedy for the nation that rattled every parent to the core.

My babies both got very sick with infections, the holidays were a blur, and I’m not sure my birthday happened… but I discovered that one can feel fantastic with absolutely no sleep.
 

 

So, 2012 – it’s been no bed of roses, but I’ve learned a lot from our relationship.

 

Let’s still be friends…

and 2013…

 

let’s be lovers.

 

JenniChiu

 

 

 

Because he asked, “Do you trust me?”

 

“It’s infected” Hot Nerd delcared, as he squinted over my knee.

“It’s an ingrown hair or something.  It should totally fix itself” I said.

“It’s getting bigger…”

“I know.  Why is it getting bigger?”

“… and whiter… or pale yellow…”

I leaned back a little further on the edge of the bed and propped myself up on my elbows.  My belly swelled with it’s nine month gestation, and my back ached.  I started to pull my leg out from his grasp to get more comfortable.

“Wait.  I’m not done evaluating.”

“What more can you evaluate?” I asked.  ”You’re not a doctor.”

“Then you should see a doctor about it” he emphatically replied.  ”We don’t want anything getting infected while you are pregnant.”

“I showed the doctor” I said with an eye roll.  ”She told me just to keep putting antibiotic cream on it along with a band-aid.”

He stood up, exasperated.  ”She’s your OB!  What does she care about your knee?”

I threw my head back and let out the whiniest sigh I could muster.  ”Haaaaaaaaaaugh.  Well I don’t have another doctor… I’m tired…and uncomfortable… I’m not searching for another doctor just for this little thing on my knee.”

“Well, we’ve got to get the puss out” he said, heading into the bathroom.

“What do you mean?”

He returned with a razor blade… and looking serious.

“Whoa.  No way.  That’s not going to happen”  I said, as I scooted backwards on the bed.

“We’ve gotta lance it.”

I shook my head.  ”I think we should let it just pulse away until it pops on it’s own.”

“What if it just get’s bigger and starts to spread up your leg?”

“I don’t see how that’s much worse than letting my untrained husband take a razor blade to it.”

“I’m just going to slice a teeny hole in it,” he said calmly as he wiped down the blade with alcohol.  ”It’s just like when you pop a blister and drain it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Are you going to find a doctor?” he asked.

“No.”

“You won’t feel it.  It’s not that big a deal” he said as he pulled my leg toward him.

I tensed and started to pull it back.

“If you let it get bigger it’s probably going to scar.”

I eyed him skeptically.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“What kind of question is that?” I barked.  ”Do I trust you to be a good husband – yes.  Do I trust you with our soon to be born baby – yes.  Do I trust your lancing technique – not so sure.”

He looked me in the eyes.  ”Let’s not make this a huge thing.  The bigger this puss bubble gets, the more skin surface is affected, and the greater your chance of having a scar.  Now, DO YOU TRUST ME?”

I sighed…

I nodded…

and I closed my eyes…

 

And that is how five years ago I ended up with this gorgeous, circular, white scar on my right knee.

 

Nothing says I love you like an agreed upon lancing…

 

Bastard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Let’s Bicker About How We Bicker And Then Let It Go.

 

Sometimes, when we are driving on a short road trip to Los Angeles and back, and the baby is napping in his carseat while the four year old has headphones on watching a movie – sometimes, there is nothing for us grown-ups to do in the car but bicker.  My husband and I can do some good bickering.  We are especially good at bickering about how we bicker.

Hot Nerd:  I’m just saying that we shouldn’t criticize each other in front of the kids.

Me:  But why do you get to say whatever is bothering you first, and then say ‘Let’s not talk about it in front of the kids’?  If you really didn’t want to talk about it in front of the kids then you shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Hot Nerd:  It’s disrespectful to talk that way to me in front of them.

Me:  Disrespectful?  I was merely pointing out that I didn’t appreciate your tone.  You have this tone that you take with me sometimes… and you do it in front of them too…  It’s not cool, and I’m not just going to shut up and take it.

Hot Nerd:  I don’t have a tone.

Me:  You have a tone.

Hot Nerd:  Shhh!  You’re going to wake up the baby.

Me:  I’m not going to wake up the baby.  I’m whispering.

Hot Nerd:  You’re whispering LOUDLY.

Me:  Well, I’m angry.  How exactly should I whisper?

Hot Nerd:  You accuse me of having a tone.  You do the same things that you don’t like.  You’re the one with the tone right now.

Me:  What?  How could I possibly have a tone?  I’m whispering.  The very definition of a whisper is an excess of breath and a lack of tone.

Hot Nerd:  (pointing out the car window) Oh look! Fat boy is running.

pause

pause

pause

I slowly turned to where he was pointing and saw this sign:

 

 

So…

that was the end of that.

 

 

 

Two Inner Monologues At A Sunday Brunch.

 

Wow, look at you with the connections.

Um… yeah.  Pretty popular place.  Have you ever been here before?

No… I’ve heard it’s good.

It is.

Yeah it is.  It’s one of the most famous brunch places in the city, and if the hostess wasn’t a former co-worker of mine we’d be waiting an hour and a half outside like all those hungry suckers.  Wait – she’s heard of it.  Does that mean she’s impressed?  The way she said that, “…with the connections”.  It sounded so flat.  What did she mean by that?

He’s totally trying to impress me right now.  Do I want the Eggs Benedict or the French toast?

They have amazing white chocolate French toast.  Would you like to split it?

Sure.

And maybe get some other stuff…

Yeah.  Hash browns.  Bacon…

(Twenty minutes later.)

Wow, she sure doesn’t say much.  I don’t think I’ve ever eaten almost an entire meal without exchanging words before.  Perhaps this isn’t going well.  She seems to be enjoying the food.  She’s actually quite an impressive eater.  Oh, there see – she’s smiling at me.  That’s a good sign.  Let’s get her another mimosa.  I don’t think she’s dumb… I can see her wheels turning… I think.  Maybe she’s shy… Maybe she hates me…

Good huh?

(nodding and smiling) Mmm Hmmm.

What is she thinking? 

I’m so glad he’s comfortable with silence.  I hate having to make excruciating small talk while I’m eating.  People should really not talk at all during meals – someone almost always ends up speaking with their mouth full in an effort to fill the lull.  I also hate the sound of open mouth chewing – ew.  I guess that really makes going out to eat a bad date choice.  I wonder why so many people do it.  Maybe on a good date not much of the food gets eaten because they’re so busy chatting it up – but then what’s the point?  I should get another mimosa.

What the fuck is she thinking?

He’s got this weird vein in his forehead that is just throbbing away right now.  I wonder if he can feel it.  I think I have food in my teeth.

Excuse me.  I’m going to the restroom.

Well she sure looks good when she’s walking away.

He’s absolutely checking out my ass right now.

(five minutes later)

You’re back.  I didn’t know if you wanted more coffee or not.

(sitting down) No thanks.  I’m good.

She clearly must not be having a good time.  Should we still go to this street festival thing after brunch?  I have to.  I have to see this date through…

This is eerie.  She is eerie quiet.  This is like watching some odd winter storm – it could go very bad very quickly… or it could end up being quite beautiful.  Hmm… 

*blink blink*

Well, the food is gone and the check is paid.  We have talked about nothing and found no commonality yet.  Should I strike up some more conversation or…

We should probably get going.  There are a lot of people waiting for a table.  Festival time?

Yes!  Yes.  Festival time.

Do I pull her chair out?  Crap – she’s up.  If I walk ridiculously fast I can get the door.

Man, this place is way too crowded and noisy for me.  I gotta get out of here.  He must be overwhelmed too – he’s walking faster than I am.

(grabbing the door)  I have absolutely no idea how this date is going. 

(walking through the door)  I think I kinda like this guy.

 

 

PS – I’m not sure quite how much of this is true… but I do know that four years later we got married.

 

 

Keeping the sexy alive in your relationship.

 

 

Over on my You Tube channel – Mommy Nani Booboo Tube, I often answer questions from either you guys, or the Mom Pulse community.  Mom Pulse is a new You Tube network that I am a part of.  If you’re a mother who is interested in producing video content and would like to apply, click here.

If you’re one of my non-mom readers, just watch and enjoy.