What is my Mom thinking? (Installment #3 from Baby Greiman)

My mom is so awkward. I’m not talking about a normal smell-your-armpits awkward.

I’m talking about making everyone and everything in a room feel an intense dread come over them, with no hope of escape awkward.

Yep, that’s her. In this never-before-seen photo, one can clearly see a hint of the awkwardness she’s capable of.

My mom may be a bit old-fashioned. But, I see that as a good thing. Who wants a wild child, table-dancing, booby bead gathering woman for a mom? Not me.

However, this type of old-fashioned behavior is not a welcome thing in the doctor’s office. It just makes everyone wish they were somewhere else. Let me tell you a little story of what happened at her last exam so that you may judge for yourself.

Due to an insurance change, my mom had to switch doctors in the middle of me growing in her belly. She loved her original doctor who was/is kind, sweet and understanding of her bizarre behavior.

The new doctor is also kind but less understanding. (See below).

Doctor: I’m going to leave the room. Go ahead and get undressed and put this robe on.
Mom: Um… Why?
Doctor: We need to do an examination and make sure everything is progressing normally.
Mom: “Everything”-like what?
Doctor: (at this point, he has sighed audibly) We’ll do a breast examination and I want to see what kind of pelvic structure you have.
Mom: I wasn’t mentally prepared for this.
Doctor: Would you like to make another appointment when you are more prepared?
Mom: No, it’s cool. Seriously. Totes. I mean…I just didn’t know. I wasn’t ready. Do I get a treat afterwards? (Dad suddenly found his phone very intriguing).
Doctor: There are some chocolates up front. Are you sure you’re ok?
Mom: Yeah. Totally. I’m great. Really. I’m ready. Alright, I’ll robe it up. This will be awesome.
(The doctor slowly vacates the room).

It got worse from there. She put the robe on backwards, said “ouch” and tried making small talk throughout the examination.

I may be only 2 pounds and have just formed my own eyebrows, but I can recognize abnormal behavior when I hear it. Once again, please pray for me to have a semblance of a normal life when I finally reach the outside world.

Baby G. out.

*read Installment #1 and Installment #2 from Baby G

What is my Mom thinking? (Installment #2 by Baby Greiman)

Dear Readers:

Baby G again, here. I’m past the 20 week mark and I’ve started to hear–a lot. Which means that I’ve started to assimilate some information as to who this woman is carrying me around.

I’ve heard her boisterous laugh that only a few get to hear. She usually tones it down for normal human consumption. But, Dad and I? We hear it all.

This-this-is my mom. She’s weird and eccentric. She runs into walls and corners of countertops. She drops hot coffee all over herself and her response is: “Geez, oh Pete’s”. (The only other participants of that phrase are avid users of denture cream and are pushing 90.)

She also sings at the top of her lungs while on the treadmill and sometimes gets so into it, she falls off the side. When she’s done singing-or just bruised up a bit, she prays. Usually, she starts with her parents, my Dad’s parents, then moves onto the siblings, then their kids, then me (“baby G”) and rounds it out with world events (which unfortunately she mixes up and ends up praying for Nelson Mandela; who she thought was sick and was in fact, dead).

But, you see this side of her. Calm, collected, composed. Holding in farts. Not spitting while talking.

This is instead the reality of my Mom. That’s one of her favorite faces to make, take a picture of and text to loved ones. She cannot grasp the “looking into the camera lens, rather than the front of the phone” concept. And, she is probably both spitting and farting at the time.

However, she has nice teeth. So, there’s that.

I’m just beginning to get to know these two. They started off normal enough-or so she says. She was a tough woman, working for a marketing company, and he was in a loud, unruly rock band. He wouldn’t wear shorts in the summer, she preferred dresses year ’round.

Years have passed and she’s become more comfortable in her skin, she tells me. She doesn’t feel the need to be tough. I’ve heard her cry over stories of animal cruelty and during commercials where soldiers return home. That’s normal.

But, then she cries while watching puppies eat on the Jimmy Fallon show. Makes no sense to me.

I think she’s been encouraged to be more herself (a.k.a. more weird) by that guy on the right.

And, they haven’t wanted to find out if I am a boy or a girl. So, they refer to me as either “Baby G” or “he/she”. Talk about confusing a little brain.

Just wait until I get into the open air and rock their world. Watch out, Mom and Dad. I’ve heard a lot of secrets, weirdness and farting-and I’m not afraid to use this information to my advantage.

Baby G out.

What is my mom thinking?! (A letter from baby Greiman)

Dear Readers (that my mom talks about all the time):

This here is baby Greiman. I may be a boy or I may be a girl-I’m not sure yet. Things haven’t quite developed in my nether regions.

However, what I am sure of is that my mom is crazy. Like seriously, ridiculously out of her mind. Granted, she’s not afforded the brain to body ratio that I currently enjoy (her brain is merely 2% of her body), but she should know better.

Take for example what she put me through yesterday: 1 hour of a modified WOD in Crossfit. Apparently, her doctor said I’m already changing her life. She has to give up handstand push-ups, double-unders and box jumps.
But, I still am sloshed around while hearing muffled grunting. And, I can sense stinky sweat just outside my cozy oasis. Why mom, why?
How about a nice bath, some netflix and a fire going instead?

Then, as if to ironically offset all the hard work-she eats THIS! Are you kidding me?! I would prefer a salad, some lean meat, an avocado, maybe the occasional bowl of yogurt…but THIS?

And, I’ve been informed that this is the guy who supplied this greasy mess. Apparently, he’s going to be my dad. I have to question both of their ability to make sound judgements-not just for themselves, but for me.
After all, I’m subject to whatever it is that they put me through.

Including this nonsense. Every weekend-multiple times a weekend, I endure a super noisy, clanging cacophony of sounds that I’m confounded as to the purpose.
Although, mom seems to really enjoy it. She sways back and forth, stomps her feet and sings really loud. Sometimes she stops only to stare at the aforementioned ‘dad’, which she tells me quietly is “so cute”.

I think I’m doomed to have a strange life with really weird parents. Please pray for me.

10 Ridiculous things I did to be like my Dad

I have a pretty awesome Dad. As a little girl, there was nothing more in my life that I wanted to do but to be like him. I idolized him. This brought about a lot of weird behavior on my part-trying substitutes for the adult things that I saw him doing.

I got to thinking about the silly ways I tried to be like him–which must have made him both laugh and feel honored. Here are a few ridiculous things I did as a little girl to try and be like my Dad.

1. I used to pray for a soar throat so that I may have a reason to carry cough drops in my pockets. Dad’s pockets were and still are filled with paperclips, rubber bands, cough drops, a tiny eraser, coins, folded kleenex and other essential items.

2. I witnessed a daily foot powder regiment with my father. So, I administered copious amounts of baby powder to my shoes–which I thought was the equivalent to foot powder. This created a gooey, sticky mess after running through mud puddles.

3. I memorized every line to every Beatles song ever written, so that we could discuss them on our “days” together.

4. Played simultaneously with G.I. Joe’s and Barbie so that the army guys would have equal face time with me.

5. Learned how to draw Kilroy, because that seemed to be the funniest cartoon ever, for all of mankind and into eternity.

6. Shined my non-leather shoes with shoe polish after watching my Dad buff his combat boots to a nice sheen. My socks, pant legs, hands and household items suffered due to my lack of leather vs non-leather knowledge.

7. Used duct tape to fix anything. And I mean anything.

8. We were timed as we did chores, motivating us kids to complete them “most rick-tick”. Presently, I have absorbed a habit of counting and timing everything I do-from how many times I stir the batter, to how long it takes me to walk across the house.

9.  I never believed in Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. But, I sure as heck believed in the Clean Room Checker. He brought me a candy bar for a surprise clean room inspection. I still hope Biceps will one day take note of the cleanliness of my bedroom and leave me a candy bar.

10. I always wanted to know, up front, what the rules were and what was expected of me. It was better to get that out of the way, not disappoint or frustrate others and stay within the confines of societal norms. That is, until I reached my adolescence. Then, this knowledge was skillfully used to know just how far I could push the boundaries without crossing the line. I saw this skill as sort of a win-win. Have fun, but stay out of trouble.

They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I think “they” are right. I love you, Dad.