Rachel Callahan

The Perils of Sleepwalking and Motherhood.

May 7, 2010 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Parent of the Year, Pregnancy: The Psychoses., Quirky quirky quirkiness, Weird Strange and True

I have a condition – Sleepwalking. This condition has come and gone different times in my life, but has ultimately only landed me in the emergency room exactly once.

However, that fateful night at the ER was not the only scary situation I’ve gotten myself into due to said condition.

My condition is brought on by intense emotions, days, situations, and experiences. So naturally, my most serious “flare up” happened when I became a new Mom – the most life changing thing that’s ever happened to me.

The 24/7 overwhelmingness of Motherhood was quite simply…overwhelming to me. I wasn’t good at putting it down and being able to relax (something I’m really hoping to be much better at this next time).

Because of that, my dreams were consumed with Ali. I remember trying to convince myself (in my sleep) that “You are still Rachel. You are not just Ali’s Mother. You have an identity too.”

Besides that, though, I was constantly waking up in a blinding panic because Ali was in bed with us and shouldn’t have been.

(And this was complete nonsense because we’ve never co-slept with Ali a single night of her life.)

I could actually “see” her, and would pick her up and run her back to her room to put her in bed, only to find “real baby” in bed already.

But, in my confused and half awake state, I would gently place “fake baby” in the bed alongside of “real baby”.

Just in case – I figured it couldn’t hurt.

This pattern repeated itself night after night, but with a few variations.

I remember one night waking up to see fake baby on the cat perch. Panicked, I ran over to the other side of the room, picked fake baby up, dusted all of the cat hair off of her, and right before I ran her back to her room, fake baby meowed at me.

Poor Oreo. No wonder she doesn’t like that perch anymore.

I often nursed fake baby (which was quite messy), rocked fake baby, and kissed fake baby, all in my sleep. But most of all, fake baby caused a lot of panic in my life.

Chris knew about fake baby, and we often talked about her as if she really lived in our house.

After writing all of this out, I’m thankful that he didn’t have me committed.

Luckily, fake baby moved out around the time Ali started sleeping through the night. I’m just really hoping that Newbie doesn’t bring along a fake baby of his or her own.

Because I really don’t want to be committed.

The Scent of a [Pregnant] Woman.

May 6, 2010 Rachel Callahan It's Tough Being a Girl, Just My Luck, Pregnancy: The Psychoses., Weird Strange and True

I smell a poopy diaper. In my kitchen.

Not just any poopy diaper. A NEWBORN’S poopy diaper.

How is that possible? And where is the smell coming from?

I never had psychotic scent episodes when I was pregnant with Ali.

In fact, I remember thinking that my friend Lydia was a bit…over the pregnancy edge… when, during her last pregnancy, after tearing her house apart DURING small group trying to find the smell of rotten garbage, she discovered that her pregnancy nose was interpreting Chris’ (very nice) cologne as rotten garbage, and very nicely asked him to not wear it in her house again until after her baby was delivered.

Now I understand.

And at least Lydia primed Chris for understanding my psychoses as well.

“Oooooh…you’re like Lydia now. I get it.”

I’m taking out the garbage when there’s merely one thing in it.

I’m washing my kid’s hair because it smells FUNKY. And it’s never smelled like anything but wonderfully sweet baby head before.

I’m texting my husband and telling him to NEVER. PUT. MY. FLOORMAT. IN. MY. CAR. AGAIN. Because two weeks ago Oreo rode in a box on top of my floormat and it still smells overwhelmingly like cat. MUCH more like cat than Oreo does.

Maybe God’s theory on this one is that we get all of our intense smelling out of the way now, so that our smell buds can burn away from the being over-stimulated so that when we have a newborn and would REALLY be disturbed by the aromas that are attacking us from every direction, we don’t even notice them.

I don’t know what it is, but my nose has GOT. TO. GO.

Along with my floormats.

But luckily for Chris, his cologne still smells heavenly.

Disclaimer: I promise I will get back to normal, non-pregnancy topics as soon as possible. i.e., as soon as the nausea and smells of pregnancy leave me alone for two seconds together so that I can focus anything else.

The Sequel: Newbie. Release Date: December, 2010.

May 5, 2010 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., Newsflash

So, in case I bored you so much yesterday with my Smoothie story that you didn’t make it to the end of the post yesterday, I am, indeed, pregnant!

Apparently, telling the world that you’re trying to get knocked up really helps with the process.

So now for all the FAQs:

I’m six and a half weeks along, with a due date of December 27th, almost two weeks from Ali’s fourth birthday.

(It was SUPPOSED to be December 20th, but after the sonogram, they moved it a week. I’m not too sure I’m happy about that right now. And I CERTAINLY won’t be happy about that when it gets into late December.)

I had a C-Section with Ali, and so it’s quasi-recommended that I have another, and if I decide to do so (and God doesn’t answer my prayers and send me into labor earlier), the C-Section date would be December 20th.

We found out we were pregnant April 19th, right before leaving for our family vacation.

We decided we wouldn’t tell Ali until we were ready to announce it to the world (for obvious three year old blabbermouthy reasons), but wanted to let her be a part in telling the fam anyway.

So I got her to write this card, of which she couldn’t read any of but “Mommy”:

Friday morning on our family vacation, I told her excitedly that it was time to give Gramamma her card.

For the first time in her life, she said, “No, I don’t want to give ANYONE a card today.”

This was not part of the plan.

“Are you SURE, baby?? Gramamma and everyone else will be SO happy!”

”No. No cards.”

“But you HAVE to! Gramamma will be so excited she’ll jump up and down!!”

She took the card from me in a huff, ran across the house to my Mom, handed it to her and said, “Jump up and down now, okay Gramamma?”

Excitement and happiness followed, the cause of which Ali had no clue, except that maybe they were all that thrilled with her writing abilities.

Later, Ali grumpily told me, “But Gramamma DIDN’T jump up and down.”

Oops.

We finally told Ali yesterday that I had a baby in my tummy while we were waiting at the doctor’s office. Although she showed a little excitement, her response was much more ~~geeky~~ analytical:

Her first reaction, of course, was to go back to her eternal assumption, rub my boobs, and say “So the baby’s in here?”

“No. Lower. In my tummy.”

“Well what is your baby’s name?”

“We don’t know yet – it depends on whether it’s a girl or a boy.”

“I want her to be a sister. Not a brother. And when will she be on the OUTSIDE of your tummy? And when will I have a baby in MY tummy?”

Later, after having a bit of time to process this new information, she asked, “So what kind of shoes is she wearing?”

When we got to the sonogram, Ali immediately said in wonder, “Well, look at that. Look. At. That.”

Apparently, she’s been hanging around a lot of old men lately.

As far as I go (don’t forget, everyone is supposed to continuously fawn all over the pregnant woman), I have been increasingly more and more nauseous every day, all day. Much more so than I was with Ali. I finally had the privilege of starting The Puking Phase yesterday morning.

But you know how wonderful pregnancy is? Even my puke came out as rainbows and sunshines.

(But I think I might wait a while to eat Lucky Charms again.)

Although she was pretty disturbed by me throwing up my Lucky Charms (why would I be so wasteful??), Ali has been handling my not-feeling-so-great-ness pretty well:

At least I’m decorated while I’m miserable.

She has also been picking up on the nausea terminology a bit too much. Last week, we stopped by the office for a minute, and she sang quite loudly to my boss,

“You make me feel QUEEEEEEEASY.”

Since she was the one who taught me the song, I might have sung it back to her once or twice. It is, after all, quite catchy.

The Magical Smoothie.

May 4, 2010April 19, 2012 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Newsflash, The Blissfulness of Life, Weird Strange and True

I’m a smoothie connoisseur. Fruit only – no milk or yogurt.

Whether I’m making my own, buying them from the only Smoothie shop I deem acceptable (Planet Smoothie), or getting lucky and getting a really good one at some random place, there’s no greater joy than a good smoothie.

But no smoothie that I’ve ever had or made myself compared with The Magical Smoothie.

They are Peach. And they are served in only one location, to a very exclusive group of people – at Brookwood Hospital, only on the Maternity floors.

I’ve even heard a rumor that only the Moms trying to breastfeed get them, which leads me to believe that one of the magical ingredients must be lactation-inducing.

But regardless of the ingredients, they are simply indescribable.

I received my first Magical Smoothie the day after Ali was born. It was served in a regular old styrofoam cup, and It very nearly made all the pain from my C-Section disappear in my heavenly bliss of smoothie perfection.

It was most definitely more effective than the stupid morphine pump.

The odd thing was, I’m not sure what made it magical, because it wasn’t even a good consistency – when they brought it to me, it was solid ice.

But as it melted away, my life changed.

The next day, they didn’t bring me one. You better believe that I put that nurse button to good use. Even on my departure day, I begged and borrowed for just one more, because I knew that there was no way I could live without one more sip of Peachy Heaven.

Since that visit, I’ve spent many a day pining for a Magical Smoothie. Every time I’ve gone to visit a friend on the Maternity floor (and believe me, that’s dozens of times), I’ve tried to commandeer a Magical Smoothie.

I’ve tried to sneak into the supply kitchen.

I’ve had the new Daddy go ask the nurses for one.

I’ve mapped out and conspired to steal the whole refrigerated cart when the Magical Smoothie Elves make their rounds.

The only time I succeeded in having an unearned Magical Smoothie, though, was on a Strawberry Day.

It was good, but it was no Peach.

Granted, I was a bit afraid that drinking it out of context would make me instantaneously lactate, but it didn’t really matter – any price would be a price I’d be willing to pay for a Moment of Magic, including 5 years in jail for stealing smoothies from post-partum Moms.

My friends and I sit around and reminisce about our days of giving birth, and one of the fondest memories is ALWAYS The Magical Smoothies. We’ve even convinced some of our other friends to transfer doctors and hospitals from Saint Vincent’s to Brookwood – almost entirely for The Smoothie.

So you can only imagine my excitement.

The counting down of the days.

The anticipation of my next Smoothie Event.

Coming, December of 2010, Newbie:

Yes, I’m REALLY pregnant! And no, of course I’m not more excited about The Magical Smoothie than the baby….I promise. But I can’t help it if I’m already craving some Peachy Magic. Now if they only had Magical Smoothies that curbed nausea…

A Wrinkle in Time.

May 3, 2010 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I would NEVER take too many pictures. . ., Kids: The Experience., The Blissfulness of Life

Sometimes I just luck into priceless moments. Because they’re certainly never the ones I attempt to create.

(For example, see when Thomas the Train drowned in a Puddle of Mud.)

Ali asked if we could go out to the porch swing the other morning. We were both still in our jammies and had nowhere to go for a while (and I’m not horribly ashamed of my neighbors seeing me in my jammies, unfortunately for them), so I agreed.

She wanted to push ME in the swing.

And talk.

As she pushed me, she told me stories and dreams and recounted scenes from movies, and I just rocked in amazement at how much she was opening up and letting me into her world.

I mean, the girl can always talk, but not necessarily always about interesting things. You can only discuss the Princesses and their respective Princes so many times.

I learned that her favorite color (for the day) was Black Splat, that there was a picture in the big kid’s Sunday School class of God and a little girl in a swing with a little boy pushing them (I will have to investigate for accuracy), that she thinks butterfly kites would be her favorite thing in the whole world, and that everyone got really dirty in “Mary Boppins”.

I started to get cold, and she said “That’s okay – don’t move! I’ll go in and get you a blanket and bring it back out to you ALL BY MYSELF.”

And she did.

After about half an hour of this amazing porch time, I asked her if I could go get my camera. She agreed, and decided that she wanted me to take pictures of her silly faces.

This one…

Immediately reminded me of Sue Sylvester’s Vogue:

(Sorry, Non-Glee fans…)

So I photoshopped…

Errr…not that I’m a Gleek or anything.

She laughed…

She ran…

She experimented with modeling…

She practiced her stellar photography skills…

(That was the only one in which my head was lucky enough to be included)

And, most importantly, we absolutely relished each other’s company.

Mental Note: Keep an eye out for more perfect moment opportunities.

And spend more time on the porch.

Letting Ali rock ME.

And bring ME blankets.

I think I could get used to having a Kid-Butler instead of being a Butler to a Kid.

The Baby Book of Burning Questions

May 2, 2010October 8, 2014 Rachel Callahan I embarrass myself just for your amusement., Just My Luck, Storytime, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

When Ali was born, my Mom allowed me to take out a semi-permanent loan of my baby book for comparison purposes.

And I’m quite positive that she is going to promptly cancel my loan after this post.

If not from this post, then in fear that I would one day post “The Bathtub Pic” of baby me, my brother JC, and my Dad.

Don’t worry, Mom. I know that no one wants to see that.

(Including me.)

(Mom, Would you like to come pick that picture up, please?)

Anyway. My baby book:

The poor book looks older than me. It’s missing its cover, the pages are all yellowed and pitiful, and the sticky that’s supposed to be holding the pictures and captions in place destickified years ago.

But I still love looking through it – I don’t remember any of the events pictured, since it stops before I got old enough for memory (really, I’m just impressed that I, as the second child, even HAVE a baby book – so no complaints regarding the longevity of it’s continuance), but what it does do is bring back memories of looking through it as a kid, and my thoughts about the book at that time.

For instance, my biggest beef as a child was that my brother was ALLLL up in my baby book, and I wasn’t in his book ONE. SINGLE. TIME.

When I was young, I just knew that my parents did this simply to spite me as the middle child, but as I’ve matured to the ancient age of 28, I do realize that he was around for my baby book, and I was not around for his.

And I can accept that.

And what helps me accept that is that I get to laugh at the way they dressed him. Sure, I was in smock, but he got to wear full German Lederhosen:

Now. Back to me. As a child, I was always confused by the picture on the right:

I just couldn’t understand how I was walking at one month old, but baby books don’t lie. So obviously, I was.

Then there are the hippy photos of my Mom, which coincidentally always had that orange-ish tint to them, something that none of the other pictures had.

It’s almost as if the orange photo tint was some sort of aura that wafted off of hippyish people…

But THEN as I continued through the book, I remembered WHY I was so upset about JC being in my baby book.There were whole pages of pictures of JUST him.In MY baby book!

Next are the pictures from my first Easter:Correction. Pictures of my BROTHER and my COUSINS on my first Easter. My baby book, people!!!

I was relegated the the bottom corner of the page, not good enough to put in the cute cousins shots with the rest of them, I suppose.

At least JC was in smock. There’s always that.

And at least my little brother isn’t anywhere to be found in my baby book – I can hold onto that small victory, even if he wasn’t born until years after my baby book was yellowing with age.

Oh wait. Unless you skip to the very last page, where he can be found, in a photo taken years after all of the other photos.
It’s almost as if they wanted to make SURE I knew I was the middle child or something.

But.

Aside from my Middle Child issues (which, by the way, I don’t REALLY have, just ask my Dad), the most puzzling page in my baby book was from the May after I was born.

I am nowhere to be found on this page, nor is my Mom. The photos were taken at the Indianapolis 500, and brought unlimited hours of puzzlement and confusion to my childhood years.

There were three pictures:

There was my Dad…

My Dad’s friend’s wife…

And my Dad’s friend.

Or, rather, my Dad’s friend’s shirt, since that’s all I ever noticed.

What does that even mean?!

And what in the WORLD does it have to do with MY baby book?

Some questions, I fear, are best left unanswered.

Giveaway: Win a Yoohoo Friend!

April 30, 2010 Rachel Callahan Giveaways and Contests

I did a giveaway for Yoohoo and friends back in January, and got such rave reviews from some of the winners (and Ali, who still loves hers), that when Aurora World asked if I’d like to give you more Yoohoos, I excitedly agreed!

Yoohoo and Friends are adorable plush animals that represent the endangered species of the world. They have just launched their newly redesigned website, and to celebrate, they are having a “Design YooHoo’s Next Friend Contest”. The contest encourages children to submit drawings of who they think YooHoo’s next friend should be. Every entry is posted on the Facebook fan page. Three winners will receive various prizes, including plush toys from the YooHoo & Friends line. Winners are chosen based on creativity (50%), colors (30%) and choice of animal (20%) and will be notified by June 15, 2010.

However, you can win one of three Yoohoo friends here, as well!!

Yoohoo has just released their graduation and birthday friends, which are awesome gift ideas and super-cute:

If you would like too win one of three Yoohoo prizes (You get to pick whether you want a Graduation or Birthday YooHoo), simply leave a comment on this post.

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Become a fan of Yoohoo and friends on Facebook or Twitter
Subscribe to OR Follow my blog
Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook
Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, May 10th. The winner will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, May 11th.

Disclosure: I received no compensation or review products for this giveaway. My opinions are always my own. And, for my random disclosure fact: If i rub the inside of my left elbow, it tickles my left jaw something terrible….which makes me believe that there might actually be something to acupuncture.

Just Call Me Granny.

April 28, 2010 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Don't Listen to my Fashion Advice, Utter Silliness, Weird Strange and True

I am officially old.

Because, you see, the first sign of old age is to be completely weirded out by “This Generation’s Music”.

I’ve stayed hip and open-minded for quite a while, but two artists have put me over the edge and, in so doing, over the hill.

Lady Gaga and Ke$ha.

Besides the fact that by adding a dollar sign into your name it takes away any class you may have ever had…

(I think the same thing every time I see the new bank in town – $uperior Bank. Seriously. I am not leaving my money with a bank that sounds like a payday loan shack)

…they both just simply befuddle me.

(I’m even using words like “befuddle”. Go ahead and save me a bed in the nursing home now.)

I’ve had the privilege of seeing them both recently on SNL and American Idol, and I Just. Don’t. Understand.

(See? Geezer here.)

I don’t understand how wearing thick, heavy, metal rings of Saturn while you are performing improves the quality of your music.

Especially when you plan on playing the piano halfway through the song, and have to awkwardly stop the song for a five second break in order to arrange your rings in such a way that you are able to SIT.

I also don’t understand how breaking open a bajillion glow bracelets and painting yourself up with them enhances the focus on your songwriting abilities.

…and painting your whole band…

…and wearing feathers.

Speaking of Feathers, I don’t understand what an Indian Headdress has to do with a song called “Blah Blah Blah”.

Forgive me, Ke$ha. I’m sure that your analogy and connectivity abilities are much deeper than mine.

But while you’re at it, can you explain what back-up dancers with old-style (but fascinatingly functioning) TVs on their heads have to do with Indian Headdresses and a song called “Blah Blah Blah”?

Because I’m a geezer. And I just don’t understand.

And, I’m certainly no fashion expert, but I’m pretty sure that the guy in the penguin suit behind you looks more flattering than you in your Zebra suit. The lines – they just aren’t meant to be in spandex.

But of the two of these inexplicable characters, I’d say Lady Gaga has a bit more “interest” to my ancient self.

For instance, I think the Mrs. Dread Pirate Roberts look is pretty awesome.

And if I could make Ali’s hair into a hair hair bow, I’d totally do it.

But I still don’t get it. And therefore, I’m shall accept my status as Geriatric Granny with grace.

And anyway, I always thought dentures would be a lot better than my rotten teeth.

My Deepest, Darkest, Mommy Secret.

April 27, 2010 Rachel Callahan Kids: The Experience., Parent of the Year

Okay. It’s not REALLY a secret. But it should be….because admitting this will surely and most deservedly make me the object of great scorn and derision.

Here goes…

Sometimes, Ali still gets a pacifier to sleep.

Yes, yes, I know I tried to take it away. But…

Here’s the deal: she’s three and a half years old, and still takes a 3+ hour nap. Which I desperately need her to continue doing, seeing as how I work two jobs and write three blogs almost solely during said naptime.

And, you see, although she goes to sleep without the paci, she wakes up halfway through her nap every day, at which point I give her the esteemed and most coveted oral device, and she goes instantaneously back to sleep, thereby doubling the nap (and therefore work) portion assigned to me for that day.

Okay, and she also gets her paci if she ever wakes up before 7am, because, again, she’ll go right back to sleep.

And one more confession: if she is to ever have a nap in the car, she gets the paci from the onset of said nap, because despite the unidealistic nap situation, she will close her eyes immediately for the lovely and much anticipated treat of getting a paci.

…and she will even pretend to nap for up to an hour after waking up, so as to be allowed to savor the moments of Stolen Paci Bliss.

She absolutely must still get a Ring of Mordor power trip or get high or something off that thing.

So obviously, I keep the thing around because it benefits me quite a bit.

But my guilt is overwhelming. She should have let that thing go two and a half years ago. I am sure I’m on some Top Ten Paci Offending Parents list somewhere.

I know that I’ve really got to address this issue at some point – I’m not looking forward to explaining to her husband that he needs to just stick her paci in her mouth if she wakes up crying on their honeymoon.

Maybe when she’s a tween and wants to start shaving her legs to desperately fit in with the pre-adolescent crowd, I’ll make a deal with her…you can shave, but only if you give up the paci.

(At this point, she’d pick hairy legs and pits hands down. Good thing her Greek Gene of Super-Hair hasn’t caught up to her to that extent yet.)

Please, someone tell me that their kid had a paci at three too. Or, if that’s not the case, then by all means, share your deepest, darkest, Mommy secret, whatever it may be.

Feel free to alleviate my guilt of total Mommy Failureishness.

A Decree to All Imaginary People Wishing to Live In My House.

April 26, 2010 Rachel Callahan Just My Luck

Dear Imaginary Friends (that also go under the aliases of “The Girls” and “The Princesses”),

I understand that you are a normal part of childhood development, and I’m not freaked out by your presence. However, I’d like to set some ground rules with you.

1. Please don’t make my child cry because of how sad you are.

2. Especially right before naptime.

3. At said naptime, if I go downstairs to get you because you’re sad that you got left on the couch, please then hurry up and make up your mind once we get back upstairs as to whether you want to sleep in the floor or the bed. Quit being so wishy-washy.

4. And don’t change your mind once I leave the room.

5. You are ESPECIALLY not allowed to change your mind mid-nap, thereby waking Ali up to tell her that you need to be moved. By me.

6. Bottom Line: Naptime is a precious time. Don’t mess with it. Or you shall find yourself kicked out, sitting on my imaginary doorstep.

And no, I don’t care if you ARE princesses. You’re not running my household.

p.s. – please also quit tee-teeing in your imaginary big girl panties. Your imaginary pee makes an imaginarily horrible mess.