Baby Spartan's Mom

So...I'm in the bathroom trying to wake up and look like a normal human being this morning when my sweet daughter waddles in and hands me my cell phone.

The screen read, "Purchase Successful."

Apparently, she had grown tired of my "I Dream of Jeannie" ring tone and decided to change it to "Tribes at War" by Damian Jr. Gong Marley (apparently the youngest son of the prince of reggae, Bob Marley).

It also read, "Explicit lyrics."

Great.

So I download -- listen -- and it starts out as reggae -- pretty cool -- violins and bongos -- interesting mix -- love the reggae -- and it's quite a catchy little number -- I'm groovin' along -- then the rapping starts -- NOT a big fan of the rap -- feels like the record scratched out my moment of bliss.

But I might try it. It's cool in the beginning...the phone wouldn't ring that long to go into rap mode anyway.

So call me. We'll try it out. :)

But come on...seriously. TRIBES AT WAR? I admit, Baby-daddy and I have been less than conflict-free lately, but this is ridiculous.

Does our little munchkin actually have the uncanny ability to paint a portrait of my raw nerves like that?

She must be clairvoyant.

Of course she is. (She's a genius)

A little backtracking, just because she's so beautiful in this photo and I don't have time for a proper post.



Here she is chilling out with Daddy on a trolley we took on our visit to Ojai with my parents a few months ago.

Keep checking my blog...Coming soon is Vegas, baby!

...need I say more?

{Someday, she'll kill me for this one}

How in the hell does THIS darling little human look like a boy…?











A woman on the street was yapping on her cell phone, took one look at us and ignorantly said to her friend, “How cute! A mommy is walking by and her cute little boy is dangling his foot over the tray of his stroller!”

To which I replied over my shoulder as we passed, “Yes. SHE loves to do that. It’s very freeing for HER.”

You know, I always tell people it doesn’t bother me…that everyone on this planet since her birth thinks she’s a boy. Even if I dress her in a pink jumpsuit with a tutu. Some people are just retarded.

But it DOES bother me. There I confess.

In the slightly annoying, cell phone brandishing woman’s defense, Lia is not a girly-girl. And the Bettie Page bangs don’t really help.

Hmmm, on further introspection, maybe this defensive attitude of mine can be traced back to my own deep-seated insecurities resulting from the insensitive butthole that looked at me and my four brothers at the church fundraiser spaghetti dinner many moons ago and told my dad, “My what a fine looking group of boys you have there.” I wanted to crawl under a rock. I remembered hearing this from stupid adults before, but that was the last straw for little Annette. I refused to let my mom cut my hair after that incident and have had long(ish) hair ever since.

I think this is like my first or second grade photo…



Nice bowl cut.

So…my poor daughter inherited my Tomboy looks.

{sigh of resignation}

I guess it could be worse…she could have inherited her father’s Fred Flintstone feet.

That is the sound I woke up to this morning.

The sound of Baby-daddy in the height of frustration. Banging around the dresser drawers in search of the ever-elusive pair of pants and shirt to dress Lia after she woke up this morning soaked in pee.

After I arose from my stupor, dreaming that someone was breaking into the house after hearing all the crashing noises from 6 drawers opening and closing many times over, I found my baby dressed in a beautiful cream-colored pajama set. Ahhh, so pretty…

However, upon closer inspection, I discovered the PJs were on backwards.

And she was wearing purple striped socks.

Then he said to me, “Why are you up? I thought you were going to sleep in today.”

That’s the Daddy. 