DIY Onesies, or, the first time I used an iron in like, three years.

So.  I said that I would splash about pictures of crafts that I've done that I found on Pinterest.  Well, HERE I GO...SPLASHING ABOUT!!

My sister is about to have a baby.  Like, literally, she's about to have him any minute now.  A boy.  A wee babe with testosterone.  Thus, I decided to make customized onesies with wittyish sayings.  Because that's how I roll here at Chez Murphy.  With the wit and the saying of the wit.

Prepare for photo splashing.

What you'll need for this project:

1.  Ideas.  Or, you can just steal ideas from other people.  Dude.  It's not like we own the sayings.  Steal!  Steal away!  Also, don't tell anyone I told you to steal.

2.  Fabric Transfer Paper.  Idk why I capitalized all that.  I found my FTP at the Walmarts.

3.  Onesies.  Also found at the Walmarts.  With a coupon.  Word.

4.  Scissors.  For you shall cut and trim and cut some more.  And trim.

5.  An iron.  Which I had to hunt for because I don't do any ironing around these here parts.  That's what the dryer is for.  Also, I just revealed how great of a housewife I am.

Ok, now to get started on Fabulous Onesies With Wittyish Sayings.

First, go on your compy and create the designs you want to use.  Or, get your husband to do it like mine did, because My Hubs is the bestest.  Once you've gotten your designs/sayings/pictures/whathaveyou all ready, print them out on your Fabric Transfer Paper.  HOWEVER, DON'T FORGET TO DO IT AS A REVERSE IMAGE.  OR MIRROR IMAGE.  OR WHATEVER OPTION MAKES IT LOOK ALL BACKWARDSY.  I forgot to do this the first time around and thus cussed in my mind and sat frantically at the computer until My Hubs took over and figured out what to do.  So.  Lesson learned - read the instructions in the FTP which clearly state to make your images reversed.  Moving on.

So once you have your images printed out and they are backwardsy, cut them out leaving a very small margin.  Also, I should mention that I chose the LIGHT Fabric Transfer Paper.  Because I was using white onesies.  And thus, you shall have a pile of cut out images, like so:

The backwardsy look is confusing, I know.  Now you need to get your iron ready.  Make sure there is no water in your iron and the steam option is turned off.  Now heat up your iron for five minutes on the highest cotton setting.  Prepare your surface.  For me, that meant sponging off all the crumbs and whatnot stuck to my table.  Then I laid a towel on the table as my ironing surface.  The instructions say not to use an ironing board.  Idk why.  It's a mystery.

Now is a good time to get a helper.  This is mine.

She got bored pretty quick, though.  Not helpful at.all.

Now that your iron is all hotty hot hot, iron your towel.  To rid the towel of creases.  Now, iron your onesie or tshirt or whathaveyou.  Now your surface is ready for Witty Saying Or Image Placement.  Like so:

You place your image where it is on the fabric and where it's not showing all backwardsy anymore.  Get it?  Once all centered and such, iron that bad boy.

Have I told you how difficult it is to iron and take a photo all at the same time?  Nay?  Well.  Take my word for it.  Word.

Iron iron iron.  The instructions tell you how long.  I did it for around 45 seconds.  In smooth movements, emphasizing the corners.  OOH- I forgot to mention, when you cut out your images, make the edges rounded.  This prevents the edges not adhering and whathaveyouandthings.  So.  Now that your image is all ironed on your fabric, let that cool off for a couple of minutes.  While one was cooling, I was repeating all these steps with the next onesie.  I am practically as organized as Martha Stewart, I tell you.

Once your fabric is all cooly cooled, you are ready to begin peeling.  I just began slowly peeling away one corner of the ironed on image.  It's not rocket science.

Slow slow slooooowwww.  It's not a race.  Also, that scratch on my hand?  From a tree at work.  Christmas is dangerous, I tell you.

Now, your transfer paper backing is peeled off.  Voila.

Boom.  You're done.

Here are all my finished onesies.

And there you have it.  DIY Customized Baby Onesies With Awesome Wittyish Sayings.  Also, can you tell my family is heavily influenced by Apple?

A sappy recount of the birth of my baby

It was a quiet night, when suddenly I was awake, gripping my bulging belly.

“I think I’m in labor!” I cried to Lance. I glanced at the clock. A red 3:30 glared at me. I laboriously made my way out of the bed to the phone and called the hospital.

“What do I do?” I asked the nurse. “I’ve never been in natural labor.” I listened to her advice and after thanking her, I hung up. Turning to Lance I repeated what she said.

“I should take some Tylenol and a bath, but since I hate baths I think I’ll take a shower and then I’m going to do the dishes and vacuum the floor.” Lance blinked groggily at me.

“You’re going to what?”

“Shower, dishes, floor.” I was determined as all psycho nesting mothers are.

So after a shower, I washed the dishes and Lance vaccuumed the floor. We sat and timed my contractions. They were only 8 minutes apart, but the pain was getting worse.

Lance called his parents around 5:00 a.m. “You’d better come on, it looks like the baby will be here soon.”

Lance convinced me to lay down again, assuring me the house was clean enough for company. I managed to nap between contractions but the pain was so intense that I had to get up on my hands and knees and breathe through the contractions. My main fear was not getting an epidural.

I convinced Lance to call a lady in our church to come over and stay with my daughter, Emma, so we could go to the hospital. The pain was now taking my breath away. That epidural was my prize now. Sally, a church member, arrived at 7:15 and after showing her Emma’s clothes, breakfast and other pertinent items, we made our way to the car.

I had fancied a Bojangles biscuit before heading to the hospital, but the four times I had to stop my tour of the kitchen with Sally to get on my hands and knees and breathe convinced me to head to the hospital NOW.

We made our way to the delivery ward with me in a wheelchair and my pillow, suitcase and video camera all perched precariously next to my bulging belly contracting all the while. Passing by the Admitting desk, the clerk took one look at me and said, “Go on, honey. Daddy can come back down and fill out the paperwork.” I grunted out a thanks and we were off again.

We made it up to the tiny labor ward and the two nurses sighed as they saw us. Apparently, there were four other women in labor and only the two of them. I glanced at my watch. 7:30 a.m. Lance went to finish my admittance paperwork while I slowly got undressed and put on the sexy gown the nurse handed me. I think I asked her at least four times if I could have an epidural now, please. She called my doctor as the other nurse checked my dilation. I was now dilated 5 centimeters. The nurse on the phone said my doctor was on his way, and that the blessed anesthesiologist was also on his way, that he would be here within the hour. It was now 8:00 and Lance hurriedly rushed into the room. I will never ever ever forget the expression on his face as the nurses checked me again and said, “We have no time for an epidural because you are a 10 and you need to push.”

I vaguely remember crying, because the idea of natural labor terrified me. I had never prepared for that, never wanted that, didn’t take the stupid classes that taught me how to breathe. This was just all wrong.

The meaner of the two nurses approached me and got right in my face. She told me that she was going to help me bring this baby into the world and would tell me what to do. I think I apologized for the way my breath smelled, I can’t quite remember. But I do know that she was mean and bossy enough to tell me when to breathe and as she was being mean and bossy, the other nurse was getting the room ready for our little girl. We kept glancing at the door, hoping my doctor was going to be there, but it was just us.

Suddenly I felt, horror of horrors, that I was going to poop on myself, the fear of all laboring women. I said, “Um, I think something’s happening…” and suddenly I felt the hot splash of my water breaking.

The next moment, I felt the need to push like never before. My child’s head shot out and the nurses were shouting to me to NOT push. I remember asking, “HOW THE HECK DO YOU NOT PUSH?!” They said, “Pant like a dog!” So I panted like a dog. I do remember glancing up at Lance who had his mouth hanging open and eyes as big as saucers and shouting “DO SOMETHING!” Poor Lance.

I looked up at that ceiling and panted like a dog. Occasionally animal sounds came out of my mouth and I just HAD to push, ya’ll ladies know. Finally after this went on FOREVER the nurse said, “Ok, you can push.” And my doctor walked in.

One push later, a squirming, icky baby emerged, much to my relief.

It was 8:32 a.m. and my sweet Adelyn had just breathed for the first time.

She was a honkin huge baby. 8 lbs 11 ozs. 21 inches long. All natural, not one bit of drugs, not counting the Tylenol from the dingbat nurse who told me that would help.

Addie is now four today. She is the funniest, blondest, wiriest, sweetest, most ornery kid there is. She can make you laugh, make you pull your hair out, make you sit and cuddle with her and try to mentally burn in the moments when she wraps her arms around your neck and squeezes.

This morning she got out of bed, padded her way across the room to me and tugged on my shirt. “Mama, is it my birthday?” she asked in her raspy morning voice.

I scooped her up, squeezed her tight and said “Yes.”

******

I wrote this post two years ago, the day Addie turned four.  She was this skinny little wiry thing with her thumb in her mouth and twirling her hair.

And now she's six.  Six going on 26.  Tall and willowy.  Blond haired and blue eyed.  She looks not a lick like me.  If I wasn't there when she was born, I'd think they switched babies on me.
She’s got a wicked sense of humor. She’ll cut a joke and look at you out of the corner of her eye with a grin, just waiting to see if you got it. 

Addie doesn’t walk. She skips.  Everywhere and everyday.

I pray that my child will bring joy to people. That as she skips into the room, states something completely obvious, “You have blue hair. Are you really old?”, that the subject in question will stoop down to her level and pick up some of the life that radiates from Addie.

So happy birthday, Sweet Pea.