When it’s meal time at the Calhoun house Maisy gets stripped down, socks and diaper alone remain. She’s a downright messy eater and we can hardly go around in public with her clothes tie dyed with food stains. I like to make quick work of the ritual stripping so this usually involves me flinging the shirt off up over her head and then whipping the pants off in turn. Before I whipped her pants off yesterday I noted a peculiar stain on them that I didn’t recall being there earlier. I shrugged and whipped anyway. As the pants flew off so did poop. That peculiar stain was no stain, that was poop trying to escape the confines of her pants. I set Maisy and her slimy butt down not knowing what to do. Then quickly realized the trail of poop on the floor as Maisy started reaching for it – undoubtedly to put it in her mouth. After cleaning the area surrounding Maisy I chose to clean the poop off my favorite light colored pants even though I was fully aware Sam may or may not snack on baby poop while I did so. Then I went back for the baby and held her at arms length, which she thinks is hysterical, all the way up to the nursery. I proceeded first with damage control getting the poop smear all the way up her leg cleaned up then went in for the kill. Yeah, lame kill. Turns out most of the poop squished out the side rather than planting inside the diaper itself. For good measure I plopped Maisy in the bath for a little extra scrub and then we were onto meal time. Upon my return to the dining room however, I realized I still hadn’t cleaned up the rest of the sweet stinking sludge as I found it on the walls (when I say I whip the pants off I mean it) and still all over the floor with the exception of the circle around where Maisy once sat. I laughed as I cleaned the poop off my walls. Come on, it’s funny.
Category Archives: Storytelling
On Giving And Receiving
There has never been such a time in life as this when I am so in need of help from others. It’s an extremely humbling place to be and, oddly, a very gratifying one. I’ve had a friend randomly stop by to help me finish stringing my Christmas lights. Another friend dropped of a large jar of homemade laundry detergent when I simply asked for a cup so I could try it out on my cloth diapers. My father-in-law has come over dozens of times to build me an outdoor clothesline, hang my hammock, fix my tub drain and the like. My mother-in-law has picked up and dropped off groceries at times when I couldn’t squeeze out of the house due to naptime restrictions, purchased new clothes the next day at the mere mention of needing a few more things, and the like. We’ve had godparents travel from Illinois and Colorado just to make sure they are at Maisy’s dedication (and they brought gifts). We are so undeserving of such a loving and supportive community! Sure, getting the most delicious homemade lemon cheesecake in the world brought to your front door is incredible, you have no idea, but it’s the heart of these friends that is the most incredible. Friends and family have been so giving of their time, money and resources. In a way I feel like I will never be able to give back what I’ve been given, but I do feel empowered and inspired to be that gift to others.
Through this whole experience I’ve also learned that it is a gift to accept the generosity of others. There are so many friends that not only willingly gave of themselves for us but they wholeheartedly pursued giving to us. That being said, I could have made it a lot easier on some friends by offering up ways they could help more readily. Especially because there have been several times now that I’ve pursued lending a helping hand or gifting a home cooked meal to someone else and haven’t been able to coax from them practical means to do so. Sure, people can help unaided, but it’s much easier to know any food allergies or if they actually need a essentials like toilet paper before showing up at their house with such surprises.
In the end, let’s say this is a challenge to give and receive – give someone the gift of meeting a need and if someone wants to help let them.
There’s A Turd In The Tub
written by: Kaia Calhoun
date: last night (2/17/15)
Yes, world, there’s a turd in the tub,
A turd in the tub,
Where the kids go rub a dub.
I thought to drop a line online,
I thought to take a photo.
And then I thought to take some time,
And write this poem on the go. Oh!
All these strings of words just came to me,
When I looked down at that smudge.
I rehearsed them over diligently,
As I wiped up the yellow fudge.
So now I give to you,
Not a live or a picture.
But something with a rhyme or two,
Written by me, the mommy victor.
Besides, I thought it prudent,
To save you from the visual.
I hope this brought you some amusement,
And now I’m off to bed, early as per usual.
© 2015 Kaia Calhoun
Tales of a Mommy Brain
Hitting Myself in the Face with a Car Door
One day not so long ago I was running some errands. When I got back to the car I loaded something into the back seat. I closed the door. On my face. I shot the door a look (as if it had voluntarily assaulted me), frowned and felt for the wound then laughed and thought to myself… “thank you mommy brain” and “at least it’s a good story.”
Embarrassing Dog Walk Story
One day not so long ago I was walking the dogs. I think walking the dogs is one of my most impressive daily mommy feats because I tow along the stoller with Maisy in it and two excitable dogs all around my neighborhood. Both hands are devoted to the stroller so the dogs are attached to my right wrist and forced to walk peaceably beside said stroller. Ordinarily, this is a difficult, but manageable task, but throw any minor distraction into the mix and I’m a gonner. On this particular day some other neighborly walkers crossed my path with two dogs of their own. My mutts immediately began their frantic tugging in their direction as I desperately and unsuccessfully tried, all too late, to cross to the other side of the street – in hopes of avoiding direct contact with the oncoming greeting of course. The dogs wouldn’t have it and were powerfully steering all of their adrenaline into the stroller in hopes of reaching those dogs which, in turn, threatened to topple the stroller over and spill my tiny beloved across the pavement. Since that tactic wasn’t producing the desired result they both flipped a 180 on me and bolted backwards then behind and around me. My arm was ripped over my shoulder. I looked like a freakish ballerina with my body teetering dangerously all to one side; one arm splayed on top and over my head, one leg rooted impossibly to the ground as the other kicked up into the air, with my last limb, my other arm, gripping the stroller. In short, I looked ridiculous. These folks immediately saw my struggle, and paused on the sidewalk beckoning something like “it’s ok we’ll let you pass.” Trouble is, passing wasn’t an option because my two little powerhouses only grow stronger as fellow canines get closer so it was cross the street or set them loose and hope for the best in order to preserve the life of my child. I mustered any strength in me and somehow managed to messily get us most of the way across the street and past the threat. When I had the dogs back in line and my breathing normalized I realized I hadn’t spoken a word to those people. I had plenty of words flying around in my brain.
“Oh no, please don’t stop there that’ll just make it harder for me.”
“Oh my goodness I’m so sorry my dogs are so pysco.”
“I swear I normally have a better handle on these guys.”
“I look ridiculous don’t I?”
“Yeah this is crazy but a girl’s gotta get outside!”
Nope. Instead I was completely rude and struggled past those nice people without a word. Thank you mommy brain. I can only hope they mustered up some understanding and thought kind thoughts of this young, and clearly overwhelmed, mom instead of unleashing backstabbing remarks after I was out of ear shot.
Attacked by a 200 Pound Great Dane on a Shoot
I traveled out to a vineyard to photograph a lifestyle segment for BRAVA Magazine. My editor and editor-to-be (the former was moving away) were both there. The subject in question was the co-owner of the establishment. Upon arriving, I parked in her driveway and walked past two giant, angry Great Danes. I had a flicker of fear pass through me. This is strange for a dog lover such as myself so I should have known then that something was off. We started the shoot with some simple portraits of the lady on her porch and then my editor decided it would be cool to incorporate the dogs. It was a few pictures into the scenes with the dogs that the younger Great Dane growled at me. I wrote it off as him not being a fan of this mechanical contraption I was using. Then, as I was flipping through the images on the back of my camera, that younger Great Dane mounted me like an attack bear from behind and started clawing and clubbing the back of my head with his oversized paws. This was no gentle pat by any means and I had bloody scratches all over my scalp to prove it for weeks to come. My instinct, to shield my cameras from the blows. Forget self preservation. I’d call that mixed up priorities! Thank you mommy brain.
Bedsharing with Maisy
Before Maisy arrived I pondered bed sharing with a sense of unease. The idea of putting a tiny human being next to two full grown adults, one of which being a tossing and turning hard sleeper, sounded like a death trap. Actually, since having Maisy Josh’s sleeping skills have proven to be even more proficient than I initially expected. While my whole being propels out of bed at Maisy’s slightest sound Josh remains soundly asleep even if she’s been joyfully greeting the day with screeches and shouts for over 15 minutes.
Anyway, I spent over 72 hours in heavy labor before Maisy was born, then night came, then she made a peep, then she was in bed with me. It was simply survival. I was exhausted, torn to bits, and alone. It took me approximately 1 minute to realize that the way I was not only going to survive but thrive at mothering an infant with a husband who spends half of our lives on the road, I was going to sleep with this baby. Because, that night and every night following, this baby only stands a chance of sleeping well if she’s next to me.
I love bedsharing. I love that in the middle of the night when she’s hungry all I have to do is whip out my ready made food supply and pass back out while she feeds herself (sometimes this tickling of a very sensitive area causes some peculiar dreams though.) I love that in the morning I wake up to I bright eyed and smiling little bundle of joy (she’s seriously the most joyful morning person ever but also laid back enough to allow me enough time to get on board with starting the day at, sometimes, 5 am.) I love that even as a newborn she somehow managed to scoot over and nestle her face into the crook of my neck if I ventured too far away in my sleep (even if it meant being pinned between Maisy and Josh). I love that I get to spend all night long snuggling with my favorite little girl in the world (talk about quality time!) And I have to believe that all of this is creating a nest egg of love inside my baby girl that will assure her that I adore her no matter what someone says to her at school or how long she has to be in time out or how much she thinks she hates me at any point. Although, if the only benefit is that I get this nest egg of love that is good enough too. I know that on the days I want to scream at her or the days I’m so tired I just cry or moments when I feel at a loss for what to do that I can easily conjure up my baby’s morning grin or any one of those moments in the middle of the night when I discover her nestled into my neck.
Do I recommend bedsharing? Absolutely! Turns out, it’s perfectly safe, natural, and desireable! It is my sanity. It unleashes joy I would not get to experience otherwise. And it builds in me a nurturing heart that is bigger than I could have hoped for. There are so many mornings that I comment to Josh how I can’t imagine missing those moments with her just to have a little extra space in bed. Bedsharing means, usually, more frequent night wakings than a crib baby but the trade off is well worth it. I’m glad I still have some time with Maisy in our bed before she outgrows that need and needs more of her own space instead because, though I may be ready to get more sleep at night, I am not ready to give up that intimacy with her.
*These are all older pictures… I really have to take some recent bedsharing pictures!
Musings of a Musician's Wife 