Ok, so I'm a real freelancer

DEADLINES:
I'm not the most religious person in the world, but I do believe in God and that He shows us signs when He thinks we need them most.
Take my post on not being sure if I'm really working right now. Sure, I have semi-regular paychecks coming in, but I was really doubting my self-proclaimed role as a freelance writer. What if I was really only partaking in a glorified hobby? Could I actually call myself a Work at Home Mom?
Talk about self-doubt, right?
But the very next day, I got my sign to shut the hell up (Yes, God and the word "hell" are being used in the same post. I told you I am not the most religious one out there...) when I saw the new copies of this month's Metro Parent magazine at the gym where Mr. L. and I work out. I picked up a bunch to look through when I got home, since I knew I had a few stories in there.
As I sat down later to glance through and see what I had published this month, I came across my three stories on April TV Turn-Off Week in the actual Metro Parent magazine, and my interview with TV personality, author, and autism activist Jenny McCarthy, along with a story I wrote on how parents can help their learning disabled child foster self-esteem in the special edition of the Doctor Mom insert.
And you know what each article said at the very end?
"Pauline M. Lupercio is a freelance writer from Roseville."
That's all I needed to see.

DIAPERS:
Buttercup had me up all night. The little devil is teething again because apparently seven teeth was not enough to round out her first year of life.
What a show off.
Anyway, I finished writing at about 2:30 last night and then got ready for bed before checking on sweet lil' Buttercup.
She was out cold and oh-so-cute.
So I debated: Should I go to sleep and then have her wake me up in an hour (like every night) for a diaper change and bottle? Or should I just cut to the chase and take care of it now, rock her back to sleep, and then get a nice solid set of shut-eye?
Of course, I took the rookie Mom route and woke the sleeping baby.
The Sleeping Teething Baby.
Not smart.
And because of my being an idiot again, Mr. L woke up every hour listening to her screams. (I don't know why he's bitching though. Being "woken up" means he actually got some sleep. but I digress.) Because just as I got her settled again and climbed into bed again, she'd begin screaming like the world was coming to an end (or a sharp little dagger-like tooth was cutting through her tender gums, but what's the difference?)
All of the Orajel in the world was not going to make The Sleeping Teething Baby that Mommy Woke Up feel any better. Oh no.
At about 4 a.m., I gave up and pulled out the living room hida-bed as fast as I could, grabbed some blankets, a bottle, a diaper, and the baby and settled in for the little bit of night I was desperate to salvage.
It took her an hour, but Buttercup finally fell asleep. Thank God.
(And for the record, I woke up to her slapping me in the face with her teething toy. I didn't ask why, but am assuming she was reprimanding me for being stupid enough to wake her up last night.)

The dangers of being a WAHM

DEADLINES:

For those of you not in-the-know...WAHM stands for Work at Home Mom. That would be me, and anyone else who tries to make a living with their baby cradled on one hip while they try to get their work done with their free hand.

And just for clarification, being a WAHM is not as easy as it sounds. Sure, I get to work in my PJ's and my idea of a long commute is having to crawl out of bed and walk 10 feet to my home office, but there are serious drawbacks.

Among them are the fact that work and home life are and never will be separate and that you really can't get much done with a wide awake baby who is desperately trying to put anything not nailed to the floor into her mouth.

Also a biggie would be almost burning the house down while trying to cook some long grain rice.

What can I say? I was "in the writing zone" and didn't come out of it until I noticed the smoky stench coming from the kitchen.

On the positive side, I finished my work before I rushed to the kitchen to dump the nearly flaming rice into a sink full of cold water.

And the takeout for dinner that night was wonderful, in case you are wondering.

Why? Why? Why? (Banging head on wall...)

DEADLINES:
Work is currently completed.
If it wasn't Easter weekend and I wasn't cleaning and running last minute errands like a mad woman, I'd be celebrating by not depressing myself trying on pre-preg nice clothes to wear to church on Sunday and just buy something new in a bigger size and cut off the tag so I could pretend it was my pre-preg size.
That would make me feel better.
*Sigh*
But back to the deadlines.

*I currently have a pretty cool contest running on The Ruff Ruff Review. If you've got a dog and like free things, this one's for you.
*I'll have more Baby Gooroo posts as of Sunday night after the flock leaves and the baby passes out for the night.
*And I just received my Ergo Baby Carrier for review in the Metro Parent monthly Five Fabulous Finds column, which reminds me that I need to get crackin' on April's column.
A few teasers for upcoming feature items include the Baby K'tan Carrier (pictured), Bumblebags Diaper Bags, and a ton of children's CD's by artists I have never heard of yet because my baby is still thankfully young enough to spare me from children's music overload.


DIAPERS:
So why the oh-so dramatic post title?
We are having like 30 people over on Sunday (sucks being ethnic sometimes), and the house, as I have previously mentioned, looked like a flea market on a busy Sunday morning. There is crap no one ever uses EVERYWHERE.
Most of which was, is, or shall be the property of Lil' Miss Buttercup.
So I have errands to do today (like buy the ham and shop for other Sunday necessities), only to come home to Mr. L. giving his acceptance speech at the self-proclaimed World's Best Husband Award Event. (Attendance: 1)
Turns out he did most of the cleaning in the basement today (our second living room) and was more than happy to point it out. He's telling the truth. But why?
Maybe he wanted a cookie?
But seriously, who cares? I mean, I love him and am grateful he is taking the time to help me get the house ready for another too-big Mirish (not a typo) family fiesta, but I don't recall pointing out each time I do something that needs to be done (Mommy, Mommy! I used the potty again all by myself!) like cleaning the kitchen or doing the grocery shopping or simultaneously working on a story while keeping the baby occupied while dinner cooks on the stove after living on four to five hours of sleep (on a good night) for the past nine months.
I just do it.
Again-I love him to pieces, but isn't this like a defect in the male genetic code or something? I have witnessed it plenty of times. My father-in-law. My dad. The neighbor across the street.
The need for a "Yay for you, baby!" pat on the head for a domestic deed well done and the total state of oblivion that as moms who have to do it all every day, we just aren't that impressed anymore?
As for the head banging reference in the title...I almost got to that point while I tried to explain to him why I wasn't bowing down at his feet for the basement cleaning job (rookie mistake, I know that now.) Thankfully, I quickly came to my senses, thanked him, and joined in on the cleaning frenzy, wondering if same sex couples go through this Men-Mars/Women-Venus crap.
My theory is no, and that makes me insanely jealous.

Snowmen, corn flakes, and baby poo

DEADLINES:
I am now sitting down to type as much as I can on two stories due Friday while Buttercup sleeps. Well, technically, I am now typing on my blog about getting ready to type as much as I can for my stories.
Priorities, you see.

DIAPERS:
Why am I not surprised that the listing for the stupid Frosted Flake has been removed from eBay?
Turns out the sisters who found it yanked it and re listed a coupon for the flake, since there were concerns about listing an edible item. Whatever.
The new auctions ends on Friday and is already at $700 plus. Nice.
And for those who have no original thought, copycat corn flakes like the snowman and Florida are available, too.
Looks like I missed the bandwagon.
Or did I??? Maybe I can save Buttercup's next poopy diaper and list it as an abstract piece of art? Not that I pay too much attention when I'm wiping my baby's ass clean, but she has, on occasion, gotten creative and pooped out what appeared to be tootsie rolls. And one time I threw away a probable gold mine in the shape of a small Idaho potato.
No really, and I didn't alter it in any way, either.

I'm sorry I have a baby?

DEADLINES:
Yep, let's just some my progress in the past 24 hours as non-existent. I still have to post for Baby Gooroo, too. And at 1:27 a.m., I'm wondering how much I will get done.

DIAPERS:
I wish I had started blogging much, much sooner. But truth me told, I had no effing clue what a blog even WAS, so hindsight isn't going to get me very far there, is it?
The reason?
My friend Sara is currently doing her damnedest to get pregnant. It's been about two and a half years and if I remember correctly, we both may have started trying about the same time. (Is that right? Buttercup is nine months old now...you do the math. I am a writer. Enough said.)
Well, it took me 18 months (while everyone I knew popped out babies like Pez dispensers, including my sister's two boys), and in that time I found out I was insulin resistant and had PCOS (along with an already diagnosed thyroid problem). So much for being fertile Myrtle, huh?
Sara and I would talk and kind of console each other. We understood what it felt like to repeatedly have to answer the "So, are you trying yet?" questions, since we got married within 6 months of each other almost 6 years ago.
But I eventually got pregnant with Buttercup while Sara got left behind in the land of Those Still Trying. And bless her sweet and giving heart, her tears of joy and Congratulations For Being Pregnant gift were the most touching responses I can remember. No matter how much it may have hurt, she was still happy for me.
I recently started reading her blog and well, I kind of feel like a big a-hole now.
I got caught up in being a mommy and while Sara keeps me updated on her journey, I'm think I forgot what it felt like to be on that side. But getting peed on when the baby's diaper is too big will do that to you, I guess.
Is it weird to feel sorry for having gotten pregnant first? For it being easier because I didn't have to deal with the "want" for as long? For having a baby?
And since I never shared any of that online, anyone reading my blog may just assume I got knocked up without even trying. (That's why I wish I had started writing this sooner.)
*Sigh*
But I am crossing my fingers and praying that Sara will be a mommy soon. Come hell or high water, she'll make a baby very lucky some day when she holds it close to her heart for the first of many times.

DEADLINES:
It is now 1:51 a.m. And yes, I waited 'till the last minute on every writing assignment in high school and college and Aced all of them. But before you decide to hate me, I need a calculator to add 2 +2.
Seriously.

Buzz kill

DEADLINES:
Today was a major day in getting things accomplished. Granted, I didn't start working until about 2 p.m., but in three hours I completed five or six phone interviews for Metro Parent stories due on Friday.
Woo Hoo!
That actually means that I finished all necessecary interviews for both assignments and now just need to plop my ass down at the computer to write them up. (That's actually the easy part.)
I was going to do it tonight, but I have a house to clean.
Plus, I'm in a bad mood (totally husband-induced), and I'm in the mood to stew in my bad mood, so I can't ruin the stewing by getting my creative juices flowing, cuz then I would forget that I was mad.
It would be like killing a good buzz. Seriously.
I'll just wait until tomorrow after Buttercup is in bed.

Sleeping beauty (not)

DIAPERS:

The plan this afternoon was simple.

Get home from running errands, get Buttercup settled and in her jammies, and get her to bed at the first signs of sleepiness. (There are deadlines to meet, after all, and Momma usually gets her work done after baby is in bed.) Easy, right?

*Smirk*

So she starts yawning and sucking on her fingers (DING DING!) at around 8 and while early, it's not an unusual time for the little princess to get ready for dreamland. So I take her into her room, grab a story book, turn the iPod to the "Buttercup's Bed time" play list, and rock her into what is usually to appropriate state of sleepiness.

Twenty Minutes later, she is red-faced, snotty-nosed, and pissed off. She was SO not ready to go to sleep and now it is time to pay.

The rest of the night kinda goes like this: Sleepy signs, parents gratefully respond, baby laughs in their faces and begins to play again; sleepy signs, parents gratefully respond, baby laughs and decides she is hungry for a major serving of solids; sleepy signs, parents tentatively respond (while praying to the God's above); baby laughs and then gets mad because this time she really is sleepy.

She cried herself to sleep in less than 30 seconds.

Total time to get Buttercup into bed this fine evening? Three hours.

Glad I didn't have anything else planned.

The holiday rush

DEADLINES:
Yeah, so I have two assignments due on March 21 that I had been hoping to have done by TOMORROW that I haven't even finished interviews for yet.
Wonderful.
Looks like my relaxing week of hectic and frenzied cleaning and shopping (see below) just got a whole lot crazier.

DIAPERS:
The husband and I spent a good portion of today trying to clean the obstacle course that is our home in preparation for Easter Sunday. It does not help that we have been over run with baby toys and gizmos and gadgets galore.
I am not exaggerating when I say that our basement is probably a fire hazard right now with the amount of crap that has to be stepped over in order to move from one spot to another. And that is bad, really bad, when said basement is finished and used regularly as a second living room.
And yet somehow, someway, we must get out house in presentable shape so both sides of the family can spend the day playing a (hopefully) friendly game of "Pass the Baby."
We don't even bother trying to fool ourselves into thinking that everyone wants to come to our house to see US...nope.
It's all about Princess Buttercup. We just get to partake in the basking of baby adoration since we happen to live in the same house.