Mommy vs. Moby Round 29798718

Lately I feel like my life with the Moby Wrap is like an episode of Man vs. Food. Ever see that show? If not, it's where this guy [Adam Richman] goes around to different restaurants across the nation to participate in their ridiculous food challenges. For example, eating a life size steak in 20 minutes. AND he can actually do this! Slightly disturbing, but entertaining to say the least. It's on Wednesday's at 9p on the Travel Channel. You should check it out.

ANYWAY.

This is what my life has become with this Moby Wrap. A next to impossible challenge. I feel like I am studying to become a brain surgeon or training for a triathlon. Except, that would actually be EASY compared to this. I feel like a total moron and completely defeated by this ginormous piece of cotton stretch origami. I swear, this thing requires 10 people just to get it on. Not to mention the additional 10 to cram the baby inside.

It's funny because I see so many of my friends and people I don't even know who love theirs and think it's so easy to use. Am I just that stupid or something? I'm getting the feeling that I must be. I mean, how hard can this actually be?

Now before I continue on my rant, I'd like to point out that I am actually very thankful for this gift from my friend Bethany (who by the way is adorable when she's wearing it). She's obviously WAY smarter than I am, and is the master at baby wearing. She's also one of the greatest mother's I've ever seen. So yea. I, on the other hand, completely fail.

So, if you have never used or seen the Moby (other than in the beautiful and obviously fake photographs), you are in for a treat. It comes packaged up in this tiny little sack rolled up perfectly with a photo of the happiest mom and baby you've ever encountered in your life. "Award Winning Wrap--Parent's Choice," etc, etc... Sounds fantastic.

Honestly, I opened up the tiny package thinking that this thing was already going to be put together for me. I mean, on the package it looks like a big stretchy t-shirt that the baby just slides right into. Easy enough. I can just toss her inside in a jiff, and happily go about my business. Perfect!

WRONG! Let's just say looks are deceiving.

You open up the package and out comes this 10-12 ft long GIGANTIC piece of fabric. I felt like a damn magician pulling the never ending multi-colored scarf out of my sleeve. I mean seriously. I could have used this  contraption as an aisle runner at my wedding. I think my first thought was, really? What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? Even my dog looks confused. See:

And here:

All she needs is a veil.

Luckily for me, there is a fabulously thick book of beautifully photographed step by step [supposedly idiot proof] instructions. Well it seems simple enough just looking at the pictures. Here's proof.

Well HA frickin HA!


Here's the biggest laugh of them all. Simple as 1, 2, 3 my ass!

I am telling you that even step one makes absolutely ZERO sense. Actually, no I take that back. The words make sense, but the photos? Not so much. Tell me, whose belly buttons are located practically in their chest? I know that pregnancy does some strange things to your navel area, but it certainly didn't do THAT to mine. The reason I say this is because they tell you to align the Moby tag with your navel, but the picture shows the women with the tag directly beneath their chest. Am I missing something here?

No joke, the first time I attempted this project, my husband and I took a good 10 minutes just to get this beast on me the "correct" way. OH! And did I mention that the pictures in the manual show the wrap perfectly creased, folded, etc? Then you look at mine. I look like I've been attacked by the fabric. After 10 tries by myself, I finally got the wrap to look almost as good as the photo. THEN I tried to put the baby inside. ha! At first, I thought that it was because Noelle was too small. But now that she's over 10 lbs, I know that it must be me. No matter what I do, I just can't do it right. She's hanging halfway out, or I am literally ramming body parts into tiny crevices...hThen she cries [ehem... WAILS] because her mom is such an idiot, and the 20+ minutes that I've spent trying to get this damn thing to work for us have been wasted. Ugh. I know I can't be that stupid. I guess I have to be smarter than the wrap. Perhaps we'll try this exhilarating event again one day while she's sleeping and can be stuffed into the material with a little less effort.

Until then...In this case of Mommy vs Moby-- Moby wins.

Reviews of Go the Eff to Sleep

So one of my best girlfriend's picked up this adult children's book for me called:

Perhaps some of you have heard of this book? Maybe even have read or own this book? Well, if you are a total prude or dislike cursing, you probably won't find any humor in this book whatsoever. Otherwise, it is pretty humorous. The funniest book ever read? No. But it does the job. So unless you have perfect children (I mean REALLY perfect), it's worth a read for a good laugh. 


So, for the hell of it, I decided to go on Amazon to read some of the reviews for this book. I am a review reading freak in general, so even though I didn't need the reviews to help me make a decision about purchasing this book, it was interesting to see what others were saying. Knowing the content of this book made it that much more enjoyable. To really spice things up, I went straight to the 1 star reviews. I just knew I would find some controversial and/or ridiculous reviews on there, and boy was I right. I seriously laughed so hard at the insanity of these reviews that I just had to steal them to share with you all tonight. Even if you've never read the book, you will get the gist of it based on the reviews. Once you are done reading these, I want to know what you think. Are these people for real, or did they write these to make fun of the people who really read this to their children? 


**I was literally crying from laughter when I read this...

1.0 out of 5 stars It made my four year old cry!!!, June 15, 2011

By 

A Reader From NYC (New York) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Go the F**k to Sleep (Hardcover)

This is the worst goodnight book I've ever read. It made my four year old cry every single night I read it to him. And then just the other night when it was time to put his baby brother down, he said, "Why won't he go the f*** to sleep?" What sort of lesson is that?

I don't normally give one star reviews. I would have given this a two star review if the authors had used a better word like "fudge" or "flock", as in "Go the Flock to Sleep", but now, thanks to this horrible book, my four year old is using the f-word every day and my baby son just said "flluch", so his first word was the f-word. Am I supposed to tell him this when he gets older? "Son, your first word was the f-word"? What's he going to grow up to be now? A tattoo parlor artist? A Democrat? This book is a disgrace.

**I think this one below is the SAME reviewer. Hilarious. 

1.0 out of 5 stars KEEP AWAY FROM YOUR CHILDREN AT ALL COSTS!, October 5, 2011

By 

Bradley (New York, NY) - See all my reviews

This review is from: Go the F**k to Sleep (Hardcover)

I stumbled across this book on Amazon and thought it looked cute, so I bought it to read for my four-year-old at bedtime. I was looking forward to receiving it, but when I opened up the package, I was horrified to see a sleeping child surrounded by tigers. Children should not sleep in the presence of tigers. Tigers are dangerous! Had I noticed the tigers on the cover from the start, I never would have purchased the book. I thought they were just really big cats from some magical land like Oz or The Magical Land of the Really Big Cats.

I should have thrown the book straight in the trash after seeing the cover, but I'm not exactly made of money so I taped a page from a newspaper to hide the cover from Max and read it to him later that night. I started reading it and it was really great, but then I got to the last sentence on the first page and was horrified! I've never read such filthy language in a children's book. I wanted to stop reading. I NEEDED to stop reading. But Max is the pushiest four year old I've ever met so he wouldn't let me stop reading.

I read more and more of the book and felt intense nausea, but I had to continued because Max would have would have squirmed away and told me that he hated me if I stopped reading before the end. The publisher of this book should be ashamed of themselves for publishing such filth. Not a page went by without one usage of the f-word. And there was even one page with the word for excrement!

Page after page. A few of them even had children playing with tigers like on the cover! I'm mortified that Max will leave the house and spend the night sleeping in the zoo surrounded by deadly predators rather than sleep in his room surrounded by his 27 teddy bears. And then there's that page with the child falling through the air attached to a parachute. Oh my Lord! I don't know what's more dangerous: a child spending time with tigers or jumping out of a plane to go skydiving.

This horrible book is only 18 pages, but it felt like an eternity while I was reading it. I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack before I finished reading its last obscene sentence.

And then I saw the final page with the biographical data of the evil evil men who wrote and illustrated the book. I didn't read it aloud to Max because it always angers him whenever I accidentally read a page like this. But I was shocked...absolutely shocked to learn that not only did the author have a filthy mouth and advocate putting small children in dangerous situations, but he is also an anti-Semite. Even worse than an anti-Semite. He is a proponent for the extinction of all Jews. I will never, ever read his book, The End of the Jews, especially to Max. At that moment, I felt like I had just read a children's book written by Adolf Hitler.

Shame on you, Amazon! Shame on you for your false advertising. You are to blame for not listing the book's actual title. How was I supposed to know what the book was actually called when you censored the title's filthy word? I never thought anyone would use THAT word in a children's book title. I thought it was a Sumerian word or something. I thought the book would be educational. Teach Max a few words from an ancient language before he went to sleep. But no--instead he's been talking like a hummus and salsa factory worker ever since I made possibly the biggest mistake of my life.

OMG LMAO!

So... thoughts? If nothing else, I hope you had a good laugh. Oh, and read the book if you haven't. It will make the previous reviews that much funnier.

Playtime & Hiccups with Ellebelle

So I decided to take a time out from my usual hormonal craziness (not to worry, I'll be back) to bring to you some fun with my beautiful growing girl. After our eventful day [weekend] of screaming, upset tummies, screaming, vomiting, screaming, and doctors, (did I mention screaming?) we were able to enjoy some happy time tonight. And after all of the fussbutting going on around here, I felt it was absolutely necessary to catch this joyful and alert event in action!

It's been really exciting these past 2 weeks or so watching Noelle become more alert and aware of her surroundings. She seems to be noticing new sounds and is slowly becoming more interested in some of her noisier toys. So last week I decided to break out her new stroller/car-seat arch of toys and latch it to her changing table (which, btw is her FAVORITE place in the house-probably because she knows she'll be getting a new diaper to destroy seconds after it's taped shut). She's been LOVING it! She also is in love with her soft bunny blankie that one of my former students picked out for her. Between these toys and her Baby Einstein Take Along Tunes, she is good to go for entertainment. I'll be posting some videos with her music later, but for now here is an adorable (and dark-sorry, forgot to turn the light on a little brighter. Bad mommy.) video of my alert little princess girl. Please try to ignore the extremely annoying baby voice and sounds that I produce. Embarrassing. :^)

And, just because I know how much everyone loves baby hiccups, here's a sneak peak into what we get to hear at least 10 times a day. Oh, and I finally decided to turn on the light, so you can really see her baby eczema- poor girl. ENJOY!

Hope we've helped make your night (or day). G'night all!

Wifezilla aka The Baby Blues

Ever see the show Bridezillas? You know, where those unbelievably obnoxious women act like psychopaths and treat everyone around them as if they were the biggest pieces of scum garbage to ever walk this Earth? The types of women who make you want to jump through your television and slap the ever loving shit out of them for acting so ridiculous. They are getting married for crying out loud. Isn't this supposed to be one of the absolute HAPPIEST days of their lives? Judging from their actions, you'd never know, right? Fabricated for television or not, these women make you (or at least me) sick.

By this point you are wondering, why the hell is she going on and on about that dumb tv show. Who cares? Well, let me explain.

Those women who I so horrendously described... yea. Lately, they are me. Times a thousand. Just ask my poor husband (or really anyone) who has been forced to put up with me and all of my crap for the past 5 or so weeks. Please allow me to introduce you to...DUN DUN DUN...Wifezilla.

By definition: 

Wifezilla- adjective

Term used to describe an over tired, over stressed, over reactive, over IT, woman who takes out every single ounce of her daily thoughts, issues, emotions, etc, on that poor soul labeled as her husband. 

Alright. Who are we kidding here?

What Wifezilla really refers to is a raging hormonal bitch who has sudden urges to lash out, spew verbal diarrhea, and/or throw random crap {at her husband} because......well, who the hell really even knows why? Does she even know? (we'll answer this later)

Now do we see the resemblance between wifezilla and bridezilla? One major difference. Wifezilla is not fabricated. She really exists. And in this household. INSERT- wife hanging head in mortified shame.

You see. I've always had a tinge of this, we'll call syndrome. I can be pissy, whiny, grumpy, annoyed, and down right ugly if the mood strikes. Admit it ladies. At one point or another, you have all taken on some shape or form of the Wifezilla syndrome. Maybe not to the extreme of what's been described, but we've all somewhat been there, right? [Please don't tell me if your answer is no. I'm already embarrassed enough.] Anyway, for me, it's always been there. But NOTHING like this.

Prepare to take out your tiny violins and let the sob story begin...

Let's rewind back to early September. I was 40 weeks pregnant and pretty over it. Tired. Anxious. Excited. Full of wonder. And the list goes on. I was getting very stressed out because Noelle didn't look like she was going to make her grand entrance naturally as I had anticipated, and all of my dreams of an ideal (and completely unrealistic) labor and delivery were looking pretty dim. I was an absolute loon with all of ridiculous things I was doing to try to manually induce labor. From eating chocolate cake and spicy foods to bouncing on a ball for hours and taking daily 4 mile walks. You name it, I tried it all. Yet, in the midst of all this craziness, I had a lot of support and understanding from my husband Nick. He would give me nightly back and neck massages, get me whatever I needed (since it was not easy for me to get up, waddle, sit...err...collapse), and really tried to keep me thinking positively that I would have the experience that I was longing for. He was amazing.

Then it happened. The moment we were waiting for. The birth of our gorgeous baby girl.

Well, I won't get into all of the details from my-not so wonderful-labor, delivery, and hospital experience. That is for another post (or 12. Seriously, it will probably take that many to describe how horrid it was). Let's just say my awful experience did not meet any of my expectations (which I obviously should have never set in the first place) and I was absolutely miserable. I mean- m.i.s.e.r.a.b.l.e.

I went 4 days in the hospital operating on one actual meal of food (bowls of ice chips do not count), sleeping a total of MAYBE 6-8 hours, being in the most gut wrenching pain of my life (from the c-section), sobbing uncontrollably, and having to rely on Nick for pretty much everything-including taking full care of our newborn baby. If you know me at all, you know that I do not operate that way. I despise having to rely on other people (my husband included) to cart me around and do everything for me. I need to be in control of myself and my environment. That way, when my astronomically high expectations aren't met, the only person that I can be mad at is myself. Well, now my independence and ability to care for my baby had been taken away. So that, mixed with everything mentioned above, left me feeling beyond guilty, frustrated, and angry. Yea... not the best combination. And definitely not the ideal situation for my overly tired husband. 

So once Noelle was in the room with us, and I wasn't able to perform any of my motherly duties the way I had hoped (having to stop breastfeeding, not being able to get out of bed to change her diaper or hold her), I was really not the nicest or easiest person to deal with. After all of that, I would say I had a pretty good excuse. Let's just say that nothing he did was right. He wasn't doing anything with the baby the "right" way (or the way that I would have been doing it). He wasn't moving fast enough for me. He wasn't staying awake with me. He didn't know the pain that I was in. He didn't see how upset I was about feeling like an inadequate mother. He just didn't understand. Or maybe he did. Maybe everything that he was doing was perfectly okay. I just didn't see it that way. AT. ALL.

You would think that after being able to come home with our new beautiful baby girl and having the help of my parents that I would get some sleep, eat some food, and snap the hell out of this funk. You know, go back to normal. Well I did, for about a day. Then Noelle ended up back in the hospital with extreme dehydration which I was completely (still kinda am) blaming myself for. Now I had another night of sobbing, no sleep, no eating, still in agonizing pain, and now all of those feelings that I mentioned before were tripled. Anything Nick tried to do to help, etc, was taken as an insult and frustrated the living crap out of me. My thoughts at the time... I am a crappy mother and he is a crappy everything. Ugh. Seriously, can't the man do a damn thing right? 

I had reached my absolute breaking point, and we were in desperate need of a do over button. 

No matter how crazy it sounds, I know that it was completely normal to feel the way that I did. I have done enough Google searches, read enough articles, blogs, and baby books to know that it is common to suffer from what is known as the "baby blues." Taking out everything on the husband, feeling inadequate as a mother, etc. All typical symptoms lasting for a few days to a week. So why the hell do I still feel this way?

I am still frustrated. Still tired. Still angry. But, more importantly, still taking everything (and I do mean ev-er-y-thing) out on Nick. He still can't do anything right. Still not moving fast enough for me. Still not staying awake with me. Still offering (or questioning) to help and frustrating the hell out of me. And really, for no reason whatsoever. I mean, I have my independence back. I am able to breastfeed successfully with my child just like I wanted. Noelle is a pretty good baby and is healthy. We aren't going into the poorhouse because we had a baby (which was among some of my other crazy thoughts). So what the hell is my problem? I'm pretty sure that sleep deprivation combined with an inability to exercise or do much else is playing a huge role here... but come on.  

Baby blues to the extreme? More than likely. I am just tired of feeling like an out of control psychopath who treats her husband like a giant turd 90% of the time. An utterly atrocious wifezilla. And lord knows he is tired of me and my "episodes." Thank goodness he is pretty patient and completely tolerant of this insane behavior, or we would be in serious trouble. 

Hey, I'm not looking for psychological therapy here, so please don't offer any. Do I really need it? Don't answer that. Really, all I want to know is that I am not alone here. That there are some other post partum wifezillas out there and that this syndrome will eventually and hopefully go away (on it's own) soon. I just want to feel like myself and cuddle with {not hate on} my poor hubby who I really do love (despite what you've just read) again. 

Thanks for lending an ear {more like an eye} and not jumping through your computer to slap the everloving shit out of me. Although that's probably just what I need.