All posts tagged “Baby Gumbeaux

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33-YEARS OLD, HAS S*** TOGETHER. HERE’S HOW!

I turned 33 on October 12th and almost instantly, I had my shit together.

Just kidding, clickbait.

Per tradition, I reflect on the previous year and set goals for the next year. Obviously, becoming Baby Gumbeaux’s mom and adjusting to motherhood was the biggest event of the year. To compliment that adjustment, I resigned from every organization and board, with the exemption of PTA . My true calling (Read: 10-Months-Old, Parties Like a Rockstar & Does Not Care If We Get Sleep). As a result, I am spending my time the way I want. Well, with the exception of the time I spend working for the man. Anyway, I have more time to focus on family and my personal goals which include, but are not limited to:

Not complaining. Complaining about being in Jackson, lack of advancement in my career, not being able to find a foundation to match my skin tone, etc. Now, I am only discussing what I want and taking action which often includes balancing a shitload of stuff, because I want to accomplish a shitload of things. To compliment this change, I recite affirmations every morning but then I found out Baby Gumbeaux was slapping her classmates for touching her hair and bib so I started reciting them with her, on the way to school. Naturally, we started including Husband Gumbeaux or should I call him Daddy Gumbeaux? Zaddy Gumbeaux?

Launching my podcast entitled Jxn Transplants. Now, I get to be honest about my struggle to adjust and know there are other transplants who relate. It also gives a ton of recommendations to transplants, Jacksonians, and even people who want to visit Jackson. Apparently, that is a thing.

Taking pictures more often. Not for you weirdos, in general. I detest taking pictures. I don’t know how to pose, my eyes are usually closed, terrible angles; mostly importantly, I don’t like smiling. Thugs don’t smile. I think it’s because I have become increasingly uncomfortable with my body; particularly, after incubation.

Last and least but certainly not least, I have to finish writing my dissertation. I’ve been talking about this for the last few years (I enrolled in the program a year after starting this blog). I have tons of excuses: sick and tired, interested but uninterested, dreams and goals have changed, struggling to find the relevancy of having a PhD, drained, merely thinking about it is exhausting. Actually, I’m going to take a nap.

And, I’m up. Fun fact: I am still paying tuition and have to remain enrolled if I want to finish this very last step. As a result, I will finish. Prayer warriors, reach your hands out to me and help me get through this. I may include you in the acknowledgements. Side note: it’s super annoying when people who have never been enrolled in a doctoral program ask me what’s taking so long. What’s taking so long for you to mind your business? 

Yeah, so… I accept your belated birthday wishes. I am still accepting gifts and money. As stated many times before, my friendship can be bought. Listen to my podcast and tell me I’m doing an awesome job. Read and share my previous post: Fun Facts My Parents (and Grandparents) Don’t Know

Follow me most places @pinkgumbeaux.

Ashlee, out.

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10-MONTHS-OLD, PARTIES LIKE A BROKE ROCKSTAR & DOES NOT CARE IF WE GET SLEEP

I have an awesome idea for Baby Gumbeaux’s first birthday. I am going to throw myself a party! I think surviving a year of motherhood should be rewarded.

BG is still a bat out of hell in a walker, only crawls on carpet (will freeze and have a meltdown if you put her on the floor), now stands in her playpen (often holding on to the rail, dancing, dropping it low then picking it up slow), and can say three words: heeeeey (hey), mama, and dada. Side note: She said mama first. Why? I have been practicing it with her for the last two months, behind Husband’s back. 

One thing I find interesting is when we are all together, she goes back and forth between Husband and me. It’s like she wants to give us equal attention. Thanks for your consideration baby Iyanla Vanzant.

Home girl thinks she is supposed to eat everything we eat and for the most part, she does. We have even split a bottle of wine. And, no. No, she has not secured employment and does not financially contribute to the household. At the least, she should be washing her own clothes and changing her diaper.

At this moment, I want you to brace yourselves for the most important news ever announced on Pink Gumbeaux, more important than my 32 years on earth, and probably more important than the combined accomplishments of all my readers!

Are you sitting?

OK.

Are you sure you are ready?

Fine.

I’m trying to make sure you’re good.

A month or so ago, I attended a parent-teacher conference where they informed us of the parent association and asked if anyone was interested in being a board member. I lit up, Husband shook his head. I have a shitload of stuff on my plate and have been working for the last year to get rid of it but none of that mattered, I raised my hand. At that moment, a bright light appeared over me. Actually, that didn’t happen. I don’t think that particular room has windows… Anyway, I spent the next few weeks obsessing over “the email” announcing the meetings and officers. I told everyone that I was running for office and planned to win the election.

The day of elections (last Thursday), I overdressed the baby and dressed as if I was being named CEO of a Fortune 500. I had even memorized a small speech regarding my experience and platform. Yes, I did this in real life. Once there, only 2 (including me) of the 5 parents who volunteered to be officers showed up. When the daycare’s director asked about officers, I volunteered to be president and was elected. The other parent was unsure and I am not sure if the others have picked positions but that didn’t stop me from telling family and friends that I won by a landslide. I am even demanding they address me as President, bragged about being a public official, and may change this blog to President Gumbeaux.

 

Yeah so, I’ve had an awakening. Life experiences, getting married and having a baby has led me to become President of the Parent’s Association. This is my purpose. Hello public office, I am here and I am going to change the world!

For whatever reason, a host of family and friends think the daycare and parents should be afraid. Something about me being Type A, bossy, and “extra”. Right, Ercilla? Isn’t that the word you used? Of course, I disagree. I’m more of an ambitious, sometimes aggressive, bossy, impatient and extra person.

Anyway, this concludes my 10-month update. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

Read and share my previous post: National Read a Damn Book Day. Follow me most places @pinkgumbeaux

 

 

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7-MONTHS-OLD, UNEMPLOYED & STILL DROOLING

Yes, Baby Gumbeaux still exists. Unless you follow Baby Gumbeaux on social media, you have no idea what we’ve been up to. Most recent Facebook and Twitter posts are about phantom poop smells, chew toys, making a quilt out of my C-section panties and nursing bras, and twerking to ABC Mouse.

Baby Gumbeaux is basically grown but has yet to secure the employment necessary to pay for daycare, diapers, and food. She is 15 pounds and 25-inches-long, a third of my height. Don’t be surprised if she’s taller than me by kindergarten. She has a ton of personality; specifically, my personality. She runs the staff at her daycare, only allowing a couple of teachers to hold and feed her, gets annoyed when other babies get “too much attention,” and often accompanies her teacher on her lunch breaks. Baby Gumbeaux has three boyfriends ranging from babies to toddlers that, visit her every morning and afternoon. She runs the toddlers too. Just last week, she mowed over two toddlers while in her walker, and they just let it happen.

Unless you approach her with a compliment, she likely won’t allow you to touch or hold her. Don’t blink or breath near her or she may start screaming. She often snatches her hand away from people and occasionally lets out a baby kick. Not too surprising since I usually don’t like people touching me either. During a trip to New Orleans last week, she wouldn’t allow anyone to hold her. Well, just the kids and only because she thinks she’s one of them.

Baby Gumbeaux is eating baby food and tried mashed potatoes a couple of times. I tried to feed her scrambled eggs, but she spit it out. I think the texture is weird to her. Have I ever mentioned I am an extremely picky eater so seeing her reject a ton of food should be fun?

She thinks she is grown, so her preference is to try to walk and has thrown a baby middle finger to crawling. Her favorite pastime includes watching me get ready and laughing when I dance. I have yet to determine if she’s laughing with or at me. She has no rhythm, so the joke’s on her. Baby Gumbeaux is a rebel so, homegirl still does not sleep through the night. Interestingly, when we are getting ready for work, she usually goes back to sleep. I don’t think so sis; you should’ve slept last night. It’s time for daycare.

I am fairly certain I am going to ditch Baby Gumbeaux’s Instagram and Facebook. They are the same people who follow Pink Gumbeaux. We’ll stay on Twitter because we have a bit of an audience @babygumbeaux. Read and share my previous post: Talking Gumbeaux.

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BABY GUMBEAUX TURNS 4 MONTHS! FT. HUSBAND & DROOL

Yes, it’s a girl.

Most importantly, I survived 4 months of motherhood. By the way, the word “motherhood” still sounds super aggressive.

Note: Baby Gumbeaux drooled throughout the duration of this interview; thereby, contributing absolutely nothing . However, I thought it pertinent to include her drool as a featured writer. 

About Baby Gumbeaux

Baby is 11 pounds of attitude! She loves when we read and sing to her, laughs when we dance, yammers loudly about her day (in a language we don’t understand), can now grab small toys, drools a ton, lights up when called beautiful, occasionally displays the side eye, does not like strangers touching her hands (neither do I), and will scream if you remove her pacifier (which the director of her daycare learned the hard way). At this point, Baby is still sleeping in 3- or 4-hour intervals, it just depends on how busy her baby schedule was that day (translation: we still ain’t getting sleep).

About Fatherhood

Fatherhood helped me realize how much time I had (and no longer have).

Having a baby is expensive AF. We had some chump change saved but there is a host of unplanned expenses.

I think we need to work on Baby Gumbeaux’s resume and post it to Ziprecruiter.

Anything else about Fatherhood? You know, I’ve heard parents say they had nothing to live for prior to their kids and I don’t feel that way, lol. However, I do feel like she has always been apart of my life. It just seems like this is my reality, I don’t miss who Ashlee was before her.

She’s Daddy’s Sweet Sweet Baby.

Not relevant. 

I like to visualize what part of us she will have. I like to see how much she looks like me.

She does mirror you but has my personality. It is your face but my personality so I think that’s better. Anyway, the baby was barely out of my body before people started planning the next one. How quickly do people forget about the mental and physical trauma associated with childbirth. When I tell you I don’t want another kid, you’re silent. 

People don’t think about the pain and trauma because it’s your pain and trauma. So, it’s OK…

What? Lol. What do you mean “it’s OK?” 

*laughing* Because, I’m not the one in pain and trauma. Regarding other kids, I think she should have someone in life.

So, think about all the siblings we know. Not many of them are close. I think that “having someone” logic is bullshit. 

Think about your brother…

That doesn’t count, that’s an anomaly. Moving on, having a kid makes me think about my upbringing a lot. The things I want to model, the things I want to change. I wish I had the community I had. I had both my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. All of these people had an impact on my life that resulted in who I am today (which may or may not be a contribution to society, I am not sure). Do you think about quality of life and education; particularly, since we’re trapped in Mississippi? 

I mean, yeah. Not only do I want her to have what I didn’t have, I want her to have what I did.

Note: Why can’t we just move? We can’t move because my husband is an awesome f***ing architect and developer and has big plans for Jackson that requires us to be here (and for me to support him). 

Do you have any comment on why we are stuck here? 

Women are to do as they’re told.

Whatever. Thanks, for this boring interview. Drool, your presence is much appreciated. Read and share my previous post: Good For You. Subscribe, like, and follow me @pinkgumbeaux.

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IN LOVING MEMORY OF BREAST MILK

This post is not a cry for help, it’s a f***-this post!

Pregnancy, labor, and recovery were not what I envisioned. Don’t get me started! However, I knew there was one thing that would work out.

*looks at the moon because looking at the sun would be harmful*

That one thing was breastfeeding.

I was going to be a breastfeeding goddess. Breast milk would flow from me like a fountain. Like, one of those fountains at fancy events that has Champagne flowing from it but that didn’t happen. It never happened.

In the hospital, I did not produce a drop of milk and requested the lactation nurse at least twice a day and allowed her to aggressively grab and squeeze my boob, shove it in Baby’s mouth, try positions such as the football, was given a hospital-grade pump (I wonder how much that cost me), and left the hospital with a boatload of breastfeeding tips. Once home, I moved back and forth between Baby and the pump. Baby would never latch but who could blame her? There was nothing there.

I started asking for help from all the breastfeeding groups I was a member of. Naturally, conversations with other moms included the discussion of breastfeeding so I asked them for help but the best advice I got was to schedule an appointment with a local lactation doctor.

While waiting for that appointment and right before showering, I noticed that my bra was wet. I was so excited because it meant my breast milk finally came in. I immediately pumped and proudly added that half an ounce of breast milk to her formula but eventually grew agitated after a few days because I was not producing the amount necessary to replace the formula.

The day of my lactation appointment was a snow day and the south shuts down during snow days so the lactation doctor canceled my appointment. That day, I called my OBGYN and requested medication for postpartum depression. I felt overwhelmed. My mom had left, I was with Baby by myself while Husband worked, was in pain, sleep deprived and was still unable to produce milk. Note: I never got that prescription, was told I had to wait 6 to 8 weeks to ensure it was postpartum depression. By that 6th week, I felt better and didn’t need medication.

At Baby’s 2-week checkup, her pediatrician wanted me to keep trying to breastfeed, told me that women who have c-sections usually have to wait longer to produce milk and suggested I take fenugreek. I bought it immediately and started popping it like tic tacs. A couple of days later, I had that rescheduled appointment with the lactation doctor who suggested I triple the amount of fenugreek and pump 8 times a day. When would I have time to do this? I eventually succeeded at pumping 8 times a day but did not produce more than an ounce or 2 a day.

The process became tiring. I decreased the number of times I pumped then went a day or two without pumping. Baby was 2 months or so when I decided a decision needed to be made. Increase pumping or quit. Naturally, it was a tough decision but during Baby’s 8-week checkup, she told me a healthy baby was a fed baby. I had been told that a few times before. Finally, I made the decision. I said, “fuck this!” I put the pumps in storage, unsubscribed from all of those breastfeeding groups and accepted that Baby would be a commoner.

To the moms lucky enough to be that fountain, breastfeeding your kid until they’re 32, ease up on moms like me. Mommyhood is hard enough. However, this story is not all bad. As a result of not breastfeeding, my boobs won’t sag. My hair is growing even faster post pregnancy and my locs are glowing. This has nothing to do with this story but I thought you should know.

Oh, and the baby is doing well… 10 pounds now!

Read and share my previous post:  365 Inspirations for the Soul of the Side-Hustler and the Entrepreneur (Review). Subscribe, like and follow me @pinkgumbeaux and @babygumbeaux.

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