For the bride-to-be...

So wedding season 2011 doesn't begin until August (for me, at least). But when it hits, it hits hard. I have three weddings to attend in a seven-week period, all of which I am serving as an attendant, and then a fourth a month or so later. And with all of this marital bliss comes the prerequisite showers and bachelorette parties and calls for advice to the bride-to-be.

And so, dear readers, I've been feeling rather nostalgic these past few weeks. Thinking back to my own wedding, our engagement, and the few years preceding those events of getting to know each other, becoming a couple, renting our first apartment, renting our second apartment, renting our third apartment, adopting two cats, renting our fourth apartment, buying a house, adopting two dogs, having a baby... And building a life zoo together, in general, over the last seven years.

Which brings to mind my single most important piece of advice for any woman in a long-term relationship of any kind:

Say what's on your mind.

I spent the first five years of my relationship giving the silent treatment or otherwise sulking when I was upset (which wasn't very often, I should add). It's a familiar scene in our daily lives: The woman who refuses to offer anything more than "Nothing," or "Do what you want. I don't care." And all the while, she is silently seething and spewing venom with her eyes. It could last for hours, or I could stretch it out over a number of days, before it finally erupted into a huge burst of pent-up nags, complaints, criticisms (not the constructive kind) and other types of nastiness.

I'm not sure exactly when or how, but one morning it suddenly dawned on me that no matter how long I kept this up, Mr. Zookeeper was never going to be a mind reader. Even if I was really, really good at the sulking part. Turns out, his ESP skillz are completely non-existent. And my guess is your boyfriend/husband/best friend/lover/life partner/running buddy/hairdresser/dog is similarly lacking in the mind reading department.

So, if something is bothering you, why not save yourself five hours (or days) of forehead wrinkles and eye rolls and just tell the person you love what's up. In today's technology-driven world, you can even text them. And who doesn't welcome the challenge to whittle a nag down to 140 characters or less?

One more thing: Once you've aired out your grievances, why not do your guy (or gal) a favor and let them know how to fix it? No sense in building a dog house without a door, eh?

No Words Wednesday

A word of advice...

I had to nurse Little Guy in the breastfeeding room of the Naval Hospital the other day. (All is still not well with my lady parts, I'm afraid, so we have twice-a-week appointments there.) And, like the other few times I've had to use that room, I met another Nosy Nelly friendly mother who had advice for me.

Here's the thing: I don't mind free advice. In fact, some of the tactics that work best with our fussy/colicky/gassy/tortured devil spawn son came from other parents. (And even a few non-parents, like Pammy!) I'm all about soaking up as much knowledge as possible, so spit it at me, I say.

But, please, please, please, for the love of God, don't patronize me by pretending to be my baby speaking to me. This has to be that ring of hell that Dante forgot to mention: Listening to a middle-aged woman use baby talk as a passive aggressive method for making you feel lousy about yourself.  "Awwww, mommy, if you'd paweeeeze just hit my back harder, I'm sure I wouldn't be so fussy wussy."

Listen, lady, besides already explaining to you that my baby burped better on my knee -- and yes, I understand he was screaming bloody murder at the time and not exactly giving me a vote of confidence -- but your advice is not any more appealing coming in a wittle bittle impression of an itty bitty baaaaaby. Speak like a normal adult human being and then I won't have to second guess your own parenting abilities.

And if your baby hasn't experienced digestive pains like these, please step to the side. Unless you've been down this path, which included at least one 3-hour screaming session for a single fart, you really can't know what it's like to try seventeen different burping positions before finding the one that works for your baby. Saying, "I always burped my kids like that and they never had any problems," does not, in fact, make you knowledgeable on the subject.

Also annoying: That Little Guy has seen four different pediatricians who all insist his digestive issues are completely within the normal spectrum, but every mother who has heard him scream through a bowel movement insists "that's not right." Can't someone meet me in the middle here?!