by Amber Dusick
“If you are a parent, or even just have or know a parent, you will love this book. It’s seriously impossible NOT to. I dare you to try.”
—Jill Smokler, New York Times bestselling author of Confessions of a Scary Mommy
“The drawings aren’t very good, Mama.”
—Crappy Boy, age 5
Of course you love being a parent. But sometimes, it just sucks. I know. I’m Amber Dusick and I started my blog Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures because I needed a place to vent about the funny (and frustrating) day-to-day things that happened to me as a parent. Turns out, poop is hilarious! At least when you’re not the one wiping it up.
This book won’t make your frustrating moments any less crappy. But these stories about my Crappy Baby, Crappy Boy and my husband, Crappy Papa, will hopefully make you laugh. Because you’re not alone. And sometimes the crappiest moments make the best memories. Parenting is wonderful! And also, well, you know.
AMBER DUSICK wrote her first blog post at crappypictures.com and, wishing she had photos to illustrate her stories, she drew them-late at night, in the dark, while nursing a baby. The pictures were admittedly crappy, but Dusick’s hilarious take on the crappier side of parenting made Parenting: Illustrated with Crappy Pictures an overnight success. Dusick lives in Los Angeles with her not-at-all-crappy husband, two sons and two cats.
To my totally noncrappy family and friends. Thanks for making life so fun.
thank you
CONTENTS
Meet the Crappy Family
1 Before & After Kids
2 Not Sleeping
3 Eating
4 The Good Stuff
5 Traveling
6 Sickness
7 Toys & Play
8 Language (Is Cool)
9 Poop & Diapers
10 The 50 Crappy Laws of Parenting
Here is a picture of us so you can see what we look like:
Meet the Crappy Family
Hi, I’m Crappy Mama. I have two kids. I call them Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby because I draw crappy pictures of them. They aren’t actually crappy. Not usually. I also have a husband, Crappy Papa.
Right now, Crappy Boy is five and Crappy Baby is two, but many of the stories in this book take place when they were younger. When the story takes place a long time ago, I use past tense. Fancy!
Some of you already know me from my blog, CrappyPictures.com. But if you don’t, let me attempt to make a short story even shorter. I started a blog mostly because I was tired and frustrated and happy. I drew some crappy pictures to illustrate the day-to-day things that happen to me as a parent because I didn’t have any photographs. That was it. No agenda. I was just having fun.
What started out as just a little silly thing I did for fun has turned into a big awesome silly thing that I still do for fun. Like writing this book! Welcome!
And please keep reading. I suck at writing these intro thingies. It gets better. Promise.
You know what changed after I had kids? Everything.
Most of the changes were good. Very good. They are wonderful little people whom I adore. And I can’t imagine my life without them.
But I’m not going to begin this book by talking about unconditional love or any of that boring shit.
I’m going to begin by talking about other stuff. Stuff that changed. Stuff like this…
AGING
This is what aging was like before I had kids:
In just one year the only thing that changed was my outfit.
And this is what aging is like after having kids:
Now, I age five years every year.
MY BREASTS
It feels a little premature for me to whip out my breasts. I mean, you are just getting to know me and all. So I’ll keep my clothes on. For now.
This is what my breasts looked like before having kids:
And that was braless. Yes, real. Okay, maybe they weren’t that spectacular, but this is how I fondly remember them. (Fondly. That looks like I wrote fondle. I’m leaving it.)
And this is what my breasts look like after having kids:
Only the most powerful of push-up bras can make them reappear. And I only have one of those. So I reserve it for special occasions.
MY STOMACH
This is what it was like to stuff myself before having kids:
I’d feel like I was going to burst!
And this is what it is like to stuff myself after having kids:
My stomach doesn’t ever feel like it is going to burst. It just stretches and expands.
He then asked me if it was a girl burrito or a boy burrito. I’m often pregnant with food babies.
There are other physical changes, too. Like peeing from laughing. Yay! And that my feet grew a full size during pregnancy and never ungrew. And that my hair got thinner after pregnancy and never got unthinner. And that my ass disappeared but my hips widened. Oh, and that I also have a little apron of extra skin on my belly. It’s cute. And should we talk about my vagina? No, we shouldn’t.
But enough of these superficial complaints. Who cares, right? My body made people. I’m like a wizard. Wizards don’t need perfect bodies because they wear robes. I have a robe. It is purple. (See how I distracted you from my body flaws by talking about wizards? This always works. Feel free to steal it.)
There were also changes to my daily routine.
GOING TO THE GROCERY STORE
This is what going to the grocery store was like before having kids:
I could stand there for days, pondering which can of beans to buy.
And this is what going to the grocery store is like now, after having kids:
The only thing I ponder is how fast I can get the hell out of there.
TAKING A BATH
I have always loved to take baths. This is what it was like before I had kids:
Ahhhh, how relaxing. Candles. Bubbles. Aloneness.
And this is what it is like when I try to take a bath now, after having kids:
Notice I said try. Relaxing bath attempts usually coincide with a crisis on the other side of the door (see Crappy Law #4 in Chapter 10).
Sitting in a waiting room alone used to be annoying. But now it is like a mini–spa vacation. I have to go to the dentist? Yes, please! I fell asleep in the dentist chair last time I went. The dentist was doing something annoying in my mouth like a root canal or something, but otherwise it was awesome. Those chairs are comfy! I never noticed this until after I had kids.
And going to the bathroom has changed, too. No, not the hemorrhoids that I got as a door prize for pushing a nine-pound baby out of my lady hole. The audience. When I do manage to shut the door, it is a very special experience. I read, like, three whole sentences in one sitting. Bliss. Raise your hand if you are in the bathroom right now sneaking a couple minutes of alone time. (It is kinda my dream that this actually coincidentally works for someone.)
But this whole before-and-after series would be pointless if I didn’t mention the most monumental change of all. Before kids, I knew this change was inevitable and thought I was prepared for it. But this change was a rude awakening. All night long. Repeatedly.
SLEEPING
Sleeping before I had kids:
It was simple. I slept.
This is what sleeping is like now, after having kids:
I don’t sleep. And now you can skip the next chapter because you already know what happens.
I really should write this chapter but I’m too tired. The end.
(Do you think I could get away with this? I’m not lazy. I’m succinct!)
All parents complain about the lack of sleep. Why? Because they a
ll lack sleep.
BABIES DON’T SLEEP
Actually, babies do sleep. A lot. They just do it all wrong.
When Crappy Boy was a newborn, his days and nights were mixed up. This went on for weeks.
Our pediatrician suggested we try to keep him awake during the day to encourage him to sleep at night. Sounded logical. Babies do not give a shit about logic.
No matter what we did to show him that daytime was exciting, he slept. And then all night long he was ready to party:
I know you seasoned parents are squirming in your seats, yelling at me through these pages to, “Sleep when the baby sleeps!” Whatever. No moms ever do this with their first baby because they are too busy looking at the darn thing:
Why didn’t I sleep?!
Of course three years later, when Crappy Baby was born, I knew better. I most certainly was going to sleep when the baby slept. Except that I had Crappy Boy to take care of so that was actually impossible. In other words, that advice is lame. Stop giving that advice.
(You may have heard rumors that some babies sleep through the night right away. Just so you know, these are probably lies told by old people to make sure that people keep having babies. If you do have one of those sleeping babies, do not tell anyone! They’ll either be jealous or they won’t trust you. Or worse. See Crappy Law #41 in Chapter 10.)
PRODUCTS TO HELP TRICK KIDS TO SLEEP
Sleep is such a tiring problem (Ha! You see what I did there?) that there are a whole slew of products you can purchase to help alleviate it. It is a huge industry and probably grosses, like, a lot of money each year.
When Crappy Boy was three months old, he was very particular about where he would sleep. He’d be in a very, very deep sleep. So I’d gently, gently lay him down in the co-sleeper right next to our bed:
And he’d wake up. Every time.
The co-sleeper morphed into an overpriced nursing pillow holder. We also had a beautiful crib that he hated. It stored blankets really well. And the cats found it to be quite comfy. They were pretty pissed when we eventually sold it.
We bought swaddling blankets, thinking that they would trick him into thinking he was actually being held or something. The blankets resembled baby straightjackets, but he’d rip his way out of them in about ten seconds:
And he’d be extra pissed, like the Hulk busting out of his too-tight shirt.
And that was all we bought. Surprised? Well, we also had a white noise machine, soothing music, soothing lights, a swing and a hammock thing. But we didn’t purchase any of those. They were all given to us by other parents who had already found them to be useless.
The only thing that was actually effective at tricking my babies into sleeping was not something money could buy. It was me. Well, actually it was my milk-producing nipple pacifiers. But we’ll say it was me because that sounds cozy.
WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO (NOT) SLEEP AT NIGHT
Then Crappy Baby came along and my not-sleeping habits changed again. Here’s what a typical night was like for a while.
We’d climb in bed at 9:00 p.m….
By 9:03 Crappy Papa was completely asleep.
I’d be nursing Crappy Baby and hadn’t even begun to think about sleeping yet. I’d lie there motionless, pretending to be calm and relaxed so he’d fall asleep.
I pretended to be sleeping but really I was going over the “to do” list or replaying conversations from earlier. Or I’d have pretend conversations that might happen in the future. On a good night he settled pretty fast.
Finally, around 10:00 p.m. he was asleep. Success! He rolled over and my body was my own for the first time all day. I pulled up the blankets a little. I closed my eyes for real. Started to relax and let go…
Until I heard a noise.
Becoming a mama gave me heightened spidey senses. A tiny noise a mile away woke me up like a mama bear, ready to protect her young.
My husband did not develop this quality with parenthood.
Crappy Boy entered. I thought he was asleep. He had no concept of being quiet while people are sleeping, so he barged in loudly asking for random shit. I had to jump out of bed and rush him out of the room so he didn’t wake the baby. This attempt was successful about 50 percent of the time. Let’s assume it was successful this night.
So I was in the hallway, hearing Crappy Boy’s demands and bargaining with him. Water, bathroom, covers on or off, etc. I had no real power here—I’d agree to anything to get him back in bed quietly. When he exhausted all the standard stuff, he finished by needing to tell me something very important, like “I saw a rock today on the ground and it had dirt on it and I forgot to tell you!” and I steered him back to his room.
By the time I headed back to my bed, the baby had turned into a starfish. Legs and arms stretched out, taking up my whole side of the bed.
I slid next to and under him, being careful not to wake him. I couldn’t move. I was scared to breathe. This was a very delicate situation. I had to move him. I had to risk it.
The first attempt to move him just made it worse. He swung both arms and legs on top of me. He was stirring so I couldn’t move a muscle. I was like a statue while I listened to his breathing to hear when he was in a deep enough sleep to move him.
Finally, by midnight I had successfully moved him. I hadn’t heard from Crappy Boy in a while so he must be asleep, too. I fell asleep for the first time!
Until I was awakened by a foot in my eye. I tried to ignore it. A foot in the eye was a sign that he was starting to move into a lighter sleep. This meant he’d wake up completely to nurse soon.
We nursed again. I was half asleep but mostly just felt like a zombie. My mind wandered to weird stuff. I closed my eyes and saw flashes of people and places like a dream, except I was awake.
Finally, he settled again and rolled away. It was 2:30 a.m. and I could finally get some real sleep! It was very unlikely that either kid was going to wake me up again. Sweet sleeping bliss.
Until the two cats came in at 5:00 a.m. and announced that they were hungry. They continued to make this announcement every fifteen minutes or so. I ignored them. But they knew. I was their target. They knew I was awake no matter how hard I pretended not to be. They finally settled on my feet so that they would be alerted the moment I stirred. I got a few more minutes of sleep.
Only to be woken up at 7:00 a.m. for a new day. Crappy Boy skipped into our room and gleefully sang, “Morning! It’s morning time!” Which woke up Crappy Baby, who replied with “Mownin!”
Then they jumped on our bed.
Even this didn’t wake up Crappy Papa. He was still sound asleep.
“Go see Papa,” I grumbled.
They had to poke his head and repeat “Papa!” over and over again until he finally woke up.
And what was the first thing out of his mouth?
Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
THE BEDTIME ROUTINE AND THINGS I DO WHEN I SHOULD BE SLEEPING
Both Crappy Boy and Crappy Baby pretty much sleep through the night now (Yes, this actually can happen! It isn’t a myth!), and I have a new, incredible sense of freedom at night.
I’m still tired all the damn time, though. But it’s all my fault. Here’s why…
Every parent loathes the bedtime routine. Actually, there are probably some parents who love the bedtime routine, but I’ve never met any and they are probably weird.
Why do I hate it so? Because our goals are not compatible. My goal is to get them into bed. Their goal is to avoid getting into bed.
Nightly rituals are employed to let the children know that sleeptime looms. Our ritual has evolved into a complicated and arduous process with many steps. Any mistake in the order or execution of these steps will upset the balance of the universe. And nobody likes that.
Let’s assume that even though I’m barely keeping my eyes open, I successfully perform the choreographed dance of teeth brushing, mouth washing, changing into pajamas, peeing, book selecting, book reading, storytelling, back rubbing, question answe
ring, water fetching, forehead kissing, goodnight saying and door shutting. All is quiet. I, too, can sleep.
But this is the first me time I’ve had all day! I suddenly have a burst of energy! I’m alone and free!
I’ll just check my email quickly before I head to bed:
Four hours pass. I’ve been very productive. Online window shopping for things I will never buy, bookmarking craft projects I will never create and copying recipes I will never make. And now I have to get up in six hours. Oops.
But it isn’t always the computer. You know how kids don’t want to go to sleep because they fear they are going to miss something? Sometimes they are right. Don’t tell my kids.
My husband and I have been using our new freedom to do adult things together:
Like eat massive amounts of junk food while we watch TV.
We know we are taking a huge risk with this behavior. If we ever get busted eating late-night cookies and ice cream, our kids will never sleep again. We’ve almost been caught:
So we need to get smarter or we will destroy everything. Like our lives.
I also do good stuff late at night. Like write this sentence.
