3 months, 3 miles

Ernest Hemingway said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” With that in mind, please allow this stinky, messy blood clot of a blog post to commemorate  my dear loinfruit’s 3-month birthday and also my triumphant return to running. Because these days, you get either a shitty blog post from me or no blog post at all. And then what would you guys do? Cry, probs. In the shower. While scrubbing yourself fervently and sobbing, “Unclean! Unclean!”

Anybetyoudothatanyway, my, my, how time flies. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right? This time last year, I was busy trying to get knocked up (picture it). Now? I have a 3-month old and I am taking serious precautions to avoid getting knocked up again…is four condoms enough or should we make it five? We have a friend who got pregnant only 4 weeks after giving birth to her first. I don’t know how sex even works when your fuck parts still look like something out of a bad, bad horror movie, but, hey, I’m not one to judge. (HAH.)

So, remember waaaay back in that first paragraph before I burned into your mind and retinas that smoking hot mental image? We were talking about milestones. Peanut (but you have to say it with a thick ol’ drawl like Nic Cage in Wild At Heart), is no longer a newborn, and I ran three miles without stopping. At an 11:00 pace. But just forget that last part and focus on the three miles.


Fortunately, the 8-weeks rage has mellowed considerably, and she’s back to being a friendly and non-schizophrenic baby. My favorite kind. And she is so grown up! It sounds stupid, but I’d kind of gotten used to caring for this tiny, uninvolved blob who barely acknowledged my presence. But now, when I go into her room in the morning (AT 4-FUCKING-30 IN THE MORNING) and she recognizes me and smiles, it occurs to me that she might actually like me. And is a being capable of liking.

Another milestone: she wore white and didn't ruin it with poo.

We successfully made it through another growth spurt, during which the Fürstin Schätzchen clawed madly for my boob every 20 minutes or so. (And her tiny little finger nails are like razor blades. Like kitten claws but non-retractable.) I was all like, “You can’t possibly be hungry again!” And she was all like, “Don’t tell me my business, devil woman!” And then I tried to remember why I thought it was so important to breastfeed in the first place. Formula started sounding like a pretty good idea. Or tuna water. Whichever. (Just kidding, I remember why: weight loss. I’m on an 837,000 calorie diet and I don’t gain weight. I’ma breastfeed ’til she’s 14.)

She sleeps pretty consistently until 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning, which I’m told is tremendous. Ungrateful noob that I am, I complained about it.

Also, her hair: YAY SHE HAS SOME. Her bald spot in the front has migrated around to the back, but she has hair nevertheless.

Also, also, Sophie: Sophie, apparently, is the trendiest baby chew toy on the planet. For the low, low price of $24.95, you can have a toy that, if made for a dog, would probably only cost $1.95.


Anyway, maybe it’s worth the money because it kept her occupied for nearly 25 minutes yesterday. (For comparison: she tuned out Naked Lunch after like, five minutes.) Every parent should have a Sophie. No parent should buy a Sophie. Let someone buy one for you. Someone will. I promise.

Okay, back to running, which is the reason I imagine some of you keep crawling back to this partial-birth abortion of a blog every once in a while.

I did run three miles without stopping. However, on the same day, I stopped by Sweaty Kid’s blog and read about how she ran 12 miles in the icy Juneau buttcrack of dawn and it made me feel slightly less badass.

I did mine in interval-form, on the treadmill (but I always do a 1% incline because it better simulates actual running…ryyyight SK?). I just did a simple 5-4-3-2-1, starting at an 11:30 pace and working down to a 9:40 for the last minute. And then repeated it. It felt…pretty good. Not easy. Moderately hard. So now that I’ve tackled the elusive 5k, I feel like I am officially making progress. And there I go celebrating mediocrity again. Blow me.

I still can’t break free of the timing devices, despite how demotivating it is when my “all out” is a 9:40 pace. (Or can your “all out” be a pace you can only hold for 15 seconds? Because in that case, I can run “all out” at an 8:00 pace. Woo?)

Last, and this has nothing to do with anything but I still feel it is worth mentioning: I been hot-tubbin’ like a motherfucker. I spent the last three wretched months of my pregnancy in the dead of an Indiana winter and I couldn’t go near a hot bath. The unfairness. My absolutely favorite thing to do now that I’m not pregnant anymore (besides drink) is to take scalding hot baths. So hot my skin turns pink and I’m sweating when I get out, which ultimately defeats the purpose of the bath but it feels…so…good.

Yeah. I’m pretty sure this is not what Hemingway had in mind.

20 thoughts on “3 months, 3 miles

  1. Serious question:

    If a baby toy is that much pricier than a dog toy, why not by the dog toys? Can human crotch droplets like…not play with the same plastics? They’re just gonna shit on it anyway then play with the box, so might as well save the money to pay them off when they’re resentful teenagers and you want them to leave the house.


    • Good question! I’m sure the crunchy moms would say something about all-natural, organic, vegan, holistic BPA-free plastic, but I don’t care about those things. I let her chew on lead-based paint chips tested on baby seals, doesn’t seem to have done any damage!

      • It’ll make her stronger in the end and she’ll be kicking the ass of those stupid fucking hippie babies. I want video of the first time she punches out another baby. I’ll be proud of her.

      • It’ll make her stronger in the end and she’ll be kicking the ass of those stupid fucking hippie babies. I want video of the first time she punches out another baby. I’ll be proud of her.

  2. every time I start to get a little twitch in my ovaries from the insurmountable fucking cuteness that your little offspring spewith forth, you say something like your fuck parts still look like something out of a bad, bad horror movie” and I’m slapped back into reality. But THEN…”I’m on an 837,000 calorie diet and I don’t gain weight.” happened and it’s really a draw.

  3. I’m with Jessica. You’re not scaring me. (Too much.)

    Also, I barely had any hair when I was a baby. My godfather shaved my head so that my hair would grown in thicker and nicer or something. It’s part tradition, part old wives tale.

  4. Damn you! You made my heart feel things with the pictures of her with that chew toy. I’m going to have to go back and read the part about your mangled lady bits to get my head right.

    • I had to have a c-section, so at least I’m not ALL mangled, but my dreams of dancing at upscale, high-roller strip clubs are dashed. They’d only hire me at the trashy ones now. 😦

  5. I went to a mom and baby yoga class when I was still on maternity leave (don’t laugh), and almost every single baby had a Sophie. It was madness. We have one, which was bought for us by my husband’s sister. I had no idea they were so expensive. I’m going to sell it on Craigslist.

    • Dude, I miss yoga SO HARD. But I’m so weak, I can’t even do a halfway non-humiliating down dog anymore. Was the mom and baby yoga cool, or was it lame? Was it a decent workout or just for fun? They have one near me, but I was hesitant…but if it gets the Sonia stamp of approval, I might consider it.

  6. I bet all my money and all the money I will ever make that being parasitized for nine months, pushing a small human out of your ladyparts, being chronically sleep-deprived for the subsequent year(s?) and trying to raise a person that doesn’t suck is all infinitely more difficult than running 12 miles in bad weather (while being an otherwise lazy wastrel who has no responsibilities aside from work). Perhaps someone with grammar and editing skills can go back and fix that trainwreck of a sentence. What I’m saying is, you deserve to celebrate your victories. Also, compared to Shalane Flanagan or whoever, we’re all a bunch of mediocre suckers anyway. Good thing running doesn’t really matter.


    Also, can you really not take hot baths while pregnant?!!! The list of shiz you can’t do is so long. How did the human race ever even get this far before there were all these damn rules?

    • Well, neither of us get enough sleep it sounds like, one thing we have in common. And I still feel like a wastrel…and love using the word wastrel…

      Of all the stupid things they say you shouldn’t do when pregnant…don’t eat cold cuts or sushi or eggs benedict, don’t sleep on your back, don’t drink half a gallon of vodka for breakfast…the hot bath thing is actually legit. I guess too-hot water smothers the fetus or whatever. Like I said, totally unfair. If you ever get knocked up, try to make it so you’re not pregnant when it’s cold out. Living in Alaska, that might be hard for you.


      No, but yeah: I don’t think you’re even SUPPOSED to do sex until at least 6 weeks, and I sure as hell wasn’t in the mood at that point. But it’s just confirmation that the whole if-you’re-breastfeeding-you-can’t-get-pregnant thing is total bullshit. And her new baby also has terrible colic AND she has a 1-year-old. Helps me put things in perspective. =)

  7. I read recently there is something like a 1:1 ratio of Sophie’s to humans in France. I am guessing the U.S. will quickly pass that since ‘merica rules. I also wonder how many landfills will be filled (too many fills) with Bumbo’s someday. Everyone I know has at least two.

    Your spawn is adorbs. I love her expression in the last Sophie photo.

    • I can’t wait to see your SPAWN X 2!!!

      I’m also not cloth-diapering, so in addition to her Bumbo there will be about a zillion of Kenzie’s turd-soaked Huggies. Sorry I’m not sorry! =)

    • Slut!!

      Ha, ha. Doesn’t she though? I love her cute little head. I’m trying really hard to keep her upright as often as I can so she doesn’t get one of those unsightly flat spots on the back of her adorable little head.

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