Setting the Bar Low

Uhg. I just went back and re-read that last post. It came off a lot more my-kid's-leg-may-be-broken,-but-hey-at-least-I'm-pretty! than I meant it to. I was going more for an I'm-trying-not-too-be-too-Debbie-Downer-here, but I think that got lost in translation. There's a large margin of error in my brain these days.

I was tempted to delete it, but I'm weirdly compulsive about leaving the blog ALONE once something is posted. It feels like cheating to go back and edit once I've decided to share things with the world. So I am telling myself that post is what I get to look back on, once I get back in my groove (I suppose that assumes I was ever once in a groove to begin with) and can measure just how far I've come. Baby, I sincerely hope you'll go a long way from that.

In happier news, Miss Thang just got a new friend today. Welcome to the world, little Baby B! I KNEW, KNEW, KNEW you were a girl. And I can't wait to see the little woman you become. We love you already.

Never Been Great at Balancing

The good news is: no bones appear to be broken. The bad news is I had a very I-suck-as-a-mom-week, wherein we had to make a little venture over to the local pediatric urgent care after Miss Thang had a little mishap on the playground. The other bad news is I don't think human x-rays are going to be any cheaper than feline x-rays. I am quick buying chocolate now before I get the bill, which will hopefully sustain me through paying off the bill. (Or, at least, through Saturday.) Also, I have learned my daughter is way tougher than I am. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Um. What else. I've decided to have a good body image. This may or may not be the result of some serious, Glamour Magazine-reading-taken-to-heart fueled by extreme anxiety and chardonnay. This is a good alternative to Ambien, no? With that: I am feeling pretty hot. I am skinnier than I was pre-pregnancy via exactly no exercise. I credit breastfeeding, genetics, and dumb luck. My boobs are smaller, which is actually a good thing, because it means I can buy shirts that actually fit the rest of my torso. I am well past 30 and have had a baby, which means I have given myself permission to stop caring about a tiny bit of not-flat-belly. I am not planning on being on a Mardi Gras float or participating in a wet t-shirt contest in Daytona over spring break, that was never really my scene even pre-30 and pre-baby. Given that it's winter, I will go ahead and let people assume that I have fabulous abs underneath this yummy sweater and turtleneck. Also I'm wearing skinny jeans. Because I am not ever going to wear mom jeans. Ever.

Also, I sing better than I ever have, I credit thousands of verses of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "Down" by Jay Sean, because those are Miss Thang's two favorite songs. She sings along to both. Seriously, toddler "DOWN DOWN!" is the cutest rendition of that song ever. I need to get a video posted....

So that's the yin-yang of my week. Paragraph 1: I suck, Paragraph 2/3: I rock. Also, still not great at technology.

Bisous.

If I Clean Does That Mean It's Spring?

I just went through my old blog roll (does one still call it such a thing? Am I dating myself as a blogger of 2007?) and did a little cleaning. My very strict decision-making process involved two criteria:

1) Do I still read the blog?

2) Has this person posted in the past year? / Do I even know this person outside of the blogosphere? (Again with the dated blog-talk.)

Almost everything I got rid of fell under #2. I'm happy to re-add a blog if it starts up again. I just wanted things to look tidier on this page. Are they tidy?

Who am I kidding, I don't really have a tidy bone in my body. But since I'm trying to stage my little comeback, I thought I'd get rid of some dead weight. Blog-a-karmic-burden or something. See? New blog lingo. I believe that one hasn't even been Twittered yet.

Speaking of, though, I do think social media has reached it's tipping point, and the world of blogs, Facebook, Twitter, and everything else the kids are doing these days is going to get a little slower but smarter. I think the inane, every-40-second-update-on-my-state-of-boredom is on its way out. (A princess can hope, anyway.) I've seen some good blogs fall away, but more of the rough ones are gone, so that was a worthwhile trade-off. My Facebook feed has slowed way down, partly due to my finally discovering how to block fucking Farmville updates, but also because of less boredom updates: see above. I haven't really been able to get into Twitter, so I can't speak to that, but I'm guessing people are getting a little stricter about who they are choosing to follow, rather than trying to keep up with everybody in the world re-tweeting whatever Perez Hilton has to say today.

At least, I have. I've all but quit Twitter, but sometimes one or two friends say something funny on there so I try to go in and check every other week or so. And I only check from my phone. While I'm pontificating, I think smart phones are the only things saving Twitter.

Thus I spake.

Meanwhile I have reintroduced chardonnay to my lifestyle. You were so missed, old friend. You may also be the reason that I could give a hoot about Twitter anymore (damn buttons are so damn small on my phone) but make me want to write again. Clearly I have some work to do, but you have to start somewhere, right?

...

Am I allowed to drink in a socially acceptable way before 5:00 if all of my writing has to occur over Miss Thang's naptime?

Rah Rah Veteranarian!

Clearly I check my own blog a lot. Didn't even realize that last post had a missing link. (For, what, two months? whoopsies.) 'Tis fixed! Makes a lot more sense now. I like how I replaced writing with linking to mildly humorous YouTube videos for a while there. That's kind of cheating.

What? No, this is totally different. It's informative.

So, I've been struggling with writing because I don't really know what to write about except leaky toddler noses and strong opinions on car seat brands (not really), but I don't really want to be a mommy blogger, so I just quit blogging altogether. Also I was a little tired and having trouble finding uninterrupted computer time. My keyboard responds not so well to juice and markers, it turns out.

Lo, Tatum once again saves the day for all of us by reverting to his goat-like tendancies and eating a rubber band, thus necessitating an emergency surgery one fateful Tuesday night and giving me lots to cry about as well as hey! Non-baby blog fodder! Once I wiped away the tears, received the bill, wiped away a shit-ton more tears, and got the 30-some staples removed from his belly, I felt I had recovered enough to share the story.

So. That was kind of the story. Kitty intestines = not big enough for rubber bands. Take note. Also, cats get depressed when forced to wear a cone for two weeks and are prohibited from running and jumping (Let's see YOU try to keep a cat from running and jumping for a fortnight. It involves sedative drugs and MAGIC and possibly tape.) The sweet part of this otherwise-melodramatic story is that Miss Thang is truly near and dear to Tatum's heart, because he finally purred for the first time since he was taken to the kitty hospital once he got home and Miss Thang was allowed her first supervised visit to his little quarantined area, and got all up in his face and said "HI!"

I'm just the one who brought him his favorite food at the cat hospital after surgery, and sat by his drugged up head, and left my coat for him to snuggle in, despite the fact that it was sub-zero temperatures outside. Whatev. He loves my baby. That is a mother's love. I'm not even jealous he purred for her first. (much.)

So the story has a happy ending, Tatum appears to be back to his normal self. Miss Thang continues to love on him. I continue to love on them both, as well as Sugar and The Funasaurus. (Who lost a bunch of weight last year and has kept it off and looks hawt, btw.)

I don't get the patio set I had my eye on, they aren't giving away midnight x-rays and cat surgeries these days. ... Actually... now that I'm adding it up... I don't get several patio sets. Blerg. But it was worth it. Our odd little family is happily together again, and the cats can just watch us eat picnic style on a plastic tablecloth all summer. It'll be easier to wash up, anyway.

Kisses

It's funny because it's true.

Of course, I am currently not writing a novel so much as putting postage stamps on crookedly on our Christmas cards. How does everyone else in the world manage to get them on straight? Seriously, am I the only person who cannot get two straight lines to go parallel without a ruler/help from a Funasaurus?

hola

Hi! I realize I'm probably writing into the void at this point... I have started to write dozens of posts (seriously), because schtuff keeps happening that makes me think "OMG I HAVE TO BLOG ABOUT THAT, SOMEONE MUST BENEFIT FROM THIS a) sleep deprivation b) poor choice of words to use in front of my in-laws c) completely failed attempt at using make-up and/or my rasor d) rash-inducing incident involving a belt and what appeared to be just a pretty leaf," but a certain little princess-in-training always seems to sense when I am about to indulge in something other than diaper-changing, and foils any internet-ing attempts by moi.

That said, I am making time right now to tell you that I slept on my stomach for the first time in a year and a half. It was orgasmically awesome.

Candle in the Water...OR...I Am Busy Expressing Myself in Cliches These Days

I burn my candle at both ends,

It will not last the night.

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends,

It gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Or, as The Funasaurus put it, if I've got one foot in two different pools, I can't swim in either of them.

Thus, via extremely overworked cliche, I am here to tell you I'm quitting my job for a little bit to be a full-time mom. Also maybe to sleep a little bit, but I am trying not to get too far ahead of myself.

I'm excited, even though it's a big leap of faith, and I am not very prone to either leaping or faith-ing. I am just loving this kiddo so much, and I don't feel like I'm ever really getting to give her all the attention and time that I want because I'm always so stressed about work. Also not sleeping. Also I miss seeing The Funasaurus.

The plan is to continue to do some freelance work for my employer so that I can keep up with what's going on, and hopefully rejoin my team a little later down the road. Who knows, but for now I am just ready to hang out with Miss Thang without worrying about what she's up to while I quick try to finish one more email. (At least, work email! Muahahahaha)

T minus two weeks and two days.

Shakespeare Sass-ified

Othello




Hamlet




Romeo & Juliet





And it's not Shakespeare, but still awesome because something about The Giving Tree always bothered me, and I believe this YouTube parody sums it up perfectly, if crassly:



Oh crap, I just realized it's cutting off the right edge of these videos. I highly suggest following the link to YouTube to see the whole thing. So worth it.

Baby Travels and Rap

Hi! I am hoping I still have a reader or two. Seems a little dusty around here. There may be some big changes in store, which would lead to me having a little more time to write. I’ll post more details once the decision’s been made.

Meanwhile I am discovering just many things about my personality have changed since I became a mom. I have more patience than I thought I would. I need a helluv a lot less sleep than I thought I would. Tangentially, I am willing to scream like Tarzan in my vehicle to keep from falling asleep at the wheel. (I am not driving much these days, until we get the sleep-thing figured out.) Most shocking of all: I like an Eminem song.

WHAT?

I have begrudgingly appreciated the fact that the guy can be a talented poet ever since he appeared on the obnoxious rap scene. (As opposed to my beloved not-obnoxious rap scene. It’s a fine line, sometimes.) However, I have always thought the dude was a whiney douche bag with a shrill, grating voice more suited to punk; which happens to be a genre I have never ever ever liked. Ever.

Yet suddenly I’m in the car last week nodding along to a catchy tune before I realize: a) I’m not asleep! SUPER! And b) holy crap. It’s Eminem and I don’t hate it. He has a new song out about addiction recovery or whatever, [“I’m Not Afraid”] blah, he’s been whining about his life since he started his career, but there’s a nice melody, the chorus is pop-ily dark (which, I realize, is like saying something is kitten-ly sinister), and I don’t know why but I am loving on this line:

I’m strong enough to go to the club
Or the corner pub and lift the whole liquor counter up
‘Cause I’m raising the bar

Well done, Marshall, well done. Now be a dear and tell Green Day to follow your lead, won’t you?
In Miss Thang news: we survived a very hectic trip back east. But she got to meet her great-grandmother, which made me (and her, and great-grandmother) crazily happy, so it was worth it. Despite the flight, the incorrectly installed carseat, the late nights, the complete lack of schedule and thus lack of sleep, the lack of oil in our car, the three-hour trek into Virginia to be eaten alive by mosquitoes, the pacing outside in a thunderstorm because, ho ho, the patrons of the country club apparently do not appreciate screaming, overtired babies, and the power outages in 90 degree heat with 100% humidity. So worth it.

The Funasaurus was back in Colorado (in air conditioning, nonetheless) for the last half of our trip, working some long hours, and I feel I have been fairly explicit in my desire to never travel without him again.

Baby! And Also Me-Stuff

Welcome EBW #2. I am so very happy you’re here. You’re very, very lucky to have been born into such a wonderful family.

In more personal news…I played hooky about two weeks ago. Maybe it was three. I don’t know, for some reason time is spinning out of control these days, and I haven’t even licked the wrong side of a mushroom. (That I know of. I did manage to locate a missing book of stamps while basically unconscious the other night, apparently I remembered where it had fallen while I was sleeping, so after a 4:00 AM feeding I went and retrieved it…although did not remember doing such a thing right away when I woke up in the morning, and spent a while pondering stamp gnomes before getting a very dark mental picture of kneeling in a nursing bra and feeling around under the coffee table at unreasonable-o’clock AM. It’s possible I also consumed something that would cause an acceleration in space-time, I just don’t remember.) The point is, two-to-three weeks ago there was an eye in the midst of a crazy work storm, it was a Wednesday, I had nothing to do (despite having been up working until 3:00 AM the night before…which gave me about an hour’s sleep before aforementioned feeding) so I said fuck it, and gathered my goggles and skis and went skiing.

Of course, by the time I made this decision, I had about four hours until our nanny was supposed to leave. So I drove quickly, which was freeing in and of itself, I don’t drive fast when there’s an infant car seat in the backseat, raced onto the mountain, and got in about three and half good runs before I had to race back to my car and drive an hour and a half to get home. Happily, coming home is downhill, and I didn’t get stuck in any traffic. Shortest epic ski day ever. It was glorious. And my streak of skiing pretty much every year of my life, minus those early few, is intact.

I have been reluctant to post this because I worry about co-workers finding it. Then I realized that if they found this, they would probably consider the hour at which I turned in my work the “night” before, and agree that a ski day was a logical ying to that yang.

Miss Thang is good, I didn’t get any takers on the offer to expound upon her pooping habits, which is a shame, since I don’t know how to talk about much else these days. Miss Miss is cruising right along, not quite able to let go of our hands, but already trying to run. It’s basically the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Her balance needs a little work, but I think that’s partially due to her head. It’s proportionally quite large compared to the rest of her, so I think she’s just top-heavy. She gets that from her Uncle Chico. Hopefully she’ll grow to fit her head, just like he did. And hopefully she will never grow a prickly mustache, just like he did.

Everyone I know, minus me and my darling Funasaurus who has managed to shed an insane amount of weight anyway, recently, ran the Boulder Boulder this year. Or, if they did not run it, they are training to run something else impressive. I continue to sit around and whine about exhaustion while eating ice cream. It makes me a little sad, I used to run all the time. (Well. Run-ish. Moved my legs in a slightly frantic walk-y way, anyway.) Now I have no muscles, and a bit of extra skin. I would like to work on that, but it is a daunting prospect, getting back into such a habit, especially when there is a new gelato place within walking distance of my home. Does it count as exercise if I am snarfing Nutella-flavored ice cream while I stroll at a bisk-ish pace?

Awesomeness

I cannot even explain how awesome this is.

Sorry for the slacking, work has been kicking my ass.

Because I have nothing fabulous to tell you about (unless you are interested in the color and consistency of my child's poop? Yes? Email me. I will write you a novella, I have much to say on that subject) I will instead direct you to some other recent awesomeness that I've discovered.

The Rejectionist [heart]

Rhyme, Reason, or None of the Above [Rock on, L!]

Tavi [Sometimes I hate her just a little bit for being more self-aware and eloquent at fourteen than I am at thirtyshmhshm, but mostly I think she's awesome.]

Post Script: Read Tavi's entry about Terry R. post at your own peril. As a vaguely feminist, modern woman, I have always harbored quite a bit of anger towards the porn industry. As a mother, I literally got sick reading that post, and could only think about putting a blanket around that girl's shoulders and telling her I would personally hunt down that vile man and hurt and humiliate him in a way that would never allow him to do the same to another young girl. Then I cradled my own child to sleep in my arms for the first time in a while. It is still haunting me.

On a lighter note, without trying to jinx it, I think I managed to salvage my strawberry plants despite this week's snowstorm. Yay for container gardening! The produce may never be big, but it also got to spend a cozy evening in our balmy living room whilst the snowflakes swirled madly on the other side of the window.

You Tell Me

I'm not one for conspiracy theories...but I kind of think the makers of the Snuggie have bought my horoscope writting company. Check out my horoscope for today:

If it makes you feel warm, snuggly and as well taken care of as can be, you need to try it -- even if it makes you feel faintly ridiculous at the same time. It may lead to an unexpected purchase, but that is okay. You're after quality, not quantity, and you definitely won't settle for anything less than what you need. It shouldn't be a major effort for you.

Exactly what else am I supposed to get from that? I may not be a vegetarian, but even I cannot justify a mink coat anymore.

Oooh ooh ooh

Want.

Hoping the Future Will Consist of More Than Diapers

So, world. I am glad you have kept turning! Life is going well, Miss Thang gets cooler and more engaged in her world every day, and I am slowly returning to parts of my own life that are not directly related to Miss Thang’s survival. I went on my first work trip, and while I missed Miss Thang desperately, I did a) drink wine b) sleep several consecutive hours in a row for TWO WHOLE NIGHTS, OMG, and I felt like I had chugged an entire pot of coffee I was so AWAKE the next morning, but without the jitters. It was awesome. Also reassuring to discover that being a mother has not, in fact, made me completely idiotic so much as exhaustion has. It’s cure-able! Hypothetically speaking. My kid’s now teething. That’s a barrel full of insomnia.

I also went to book club last night and stayed the whole time, and wow, it’s nice to have friends who exist outside of the internets. (Not that you aren’t all lovely. You are.) There was a lot of talk about living and growing up and whatnot, and the things you dream about doing and the things you actually do, and it’s nice to see that in our small group of 30-something white women, we’re fairly diverse, at least in regards to where we are in life. Some are starting families. Some are staring months-long treks into Alaska. Some just got back from Operation Smiles tours in India. Some are starting new jobs, enjoying new haircuts, and raw diets. Personally, I was enjoying the leftover Easter candy while listening to all of this.

I fluctuated between feeling nostalgic for a time when I traveled like that, and feeling exhausted thinking about going anywhere farther than the grocery store. I have hibernated all winter with my baby, protecting her from scary viruses named for barnyard animals and The Wind, which is basically Miss Thang’s nemesis. She does not like a breezy day. At all. But at some point I feel as though we will need to face the world again. I’m going to have to trust her immune system a little bit if I want to go rent a house on the French countryside some summer, and she’s going to have to deal with The Wind if she wants to come with me.

It Is Nearly Spring. Which Is Why We're Due for a Foot of Snow Tonight.

Despite the fact that it’s totally screwing with my sweet baby’s nice but delicate sleep schedule, I am a big fan of daylight saving’s time. Or, rather, the lack thereof. I like the longer evenings. I like eating dinner before it’s pitch black out. I like having bright sunny afternoons with the kiddo. Yesterday was a good day. Miss Thang and I enjoyed some sunshine and cuddling and playing. I’ve certainly had good moments here and there, but yesterday was a good day all day long. And I can say that now, because yesterday is over and cannot be dramatically changed. (I say, as if challenging the universe.)

Miss Thang is nearly five months old, and she has turned into this really cool little person. The change was recent, but it’s been wonderful. I mean, she’s always been precious and loveable and whatnot, but suddenly there’s this personality emerging. She’s got an opinion, she likes to laugh, and she’s becoming better and better at controlling and maneuvering her own body. Also, she seems to like me for more than my boobs, which I admit is very rewarding and long-awaited.

The other day I went to take a shower, and left her in the care of one Funasaurus. When I poked my head out when looking for a towel (ah, the luxury of having time to towel off!) I heard him talking. I wondered if he was on the phone, but then realized his tone was slow and rhythmic and he wasn’t pausing. I guessed he was reading to Miss Thang. Right then my little book nerd heart swelled and burst into a million little pieces. I rushed to get dressed and brushed my teeth (other things that make my heart happy these days) and then went to join them. As I walked towards the nursery, I could still hear him talking. I began wracking my brain for what children’s book we could possibly own that had that many words. Most of our books, so far, are board books and feature such compelling text as “cow says MOO.” As I got closer I heard him mention something about probing and hanging from a ledge.

My husband was reading my innocent baby Shutter Island.

‘Twas not quite the literary family gathering I had imagined when I was carefully arranging Dr. Seuss and Pat the Bunny along the wall before Miss Thang was born, but she was happily gumming a pink rattle wearing nothing other than socks while listening to her daddy, so I decided to let it be.

Meanwhile I have my first work trip coming up. I am dreading leaving Miss Thang overnight. It’s only two nights, but I am having anxiety issues when I think about it too much. Honestly, she’ll be fine, and the thought of sleeping through the night is seductive, but I am so attached to that bitty little person I just don’t want to be away from her.

I have been assured she will not forget about me in that time, so I take solace in that. And also in the fact that since I will have to pump and dump anyway, I can probably drink some wine. And by “some” I mean “a crapload more than just a sip, which is all I’ve allowed myself for the past YEAR.”

Not all bad.

I Don' Know Whatcha Heard About Me

I am tired. I don’t know how you other working moms do it, I feel like I am spread as thin as could possibly be and I get to work from home. There are plenty of nights where I’m up working past midnight, trying to catch up after Miss Thang goes to bed. Then I’m usually up around 3:00 or 4:00 to feed her. And the cycle begins again somewhere around 6:00 AM. That leaves me very little time for the other details in my life, like blogging and personal hygiene.

Miss Thang is proving herself to be rather high-maintenance. I fluctuate, minute-by-minute, from thinking I am completely inept and failing completely as a mother to thinking that absolutely no one else could possibly care for my child the way that I do.

The other day I finally took a small break to run to Vitamin Cottage. I don’t get out of the house every day, so even those small errands feel like a delicious treat. I cranked up the local hip-hop station and found myself singing, “‘cause I’m a mother fuckin’ P-I-M-P” along with 50 Cent.

Then I took a little pause to eat a bite of an organic hippie fruit snack that I bought at Vitamin Cottage as I cruised along in my little fuel efficient sedan and glanced at my breast milk spit up stained t-shirt. I then had to concede that I am not, in fact, a mother fuckin’ P-I-M-P these days. In fact, I’m pretty much the opposite of that.

I think the Girl Scouts should (may already have, given how many showed up at our door this year) buy lists of addresses of recent patients from the hospitals so that they can go prey upon new moms. I cannot resist a) cookies b) cute little girls. I bought a shit ton of mediocre but highly nostalgic boxes of refined sugar this year.

What organization peddles large chunks of dark chocolate? If you come to my house with such a thing, I will convert to your religion. Just saying.



But even if I never got to taste chocolate again, she'd make life worth it. Lord, but tell me that face does not melt your heart.

Giving Up on Transitions

Anecdote 1: I Bred a Street-Fighter.
The other day I was bent over Miss Thang, making silly noises in an attempt to get her to smile. Apparently she had had enough. She grabbed a fistful of my hair right by the roots and then kicked me square in the jaw when I couldn’t move. Note to self: even babies hate your singing. Perhaps it’s time to turn on a CD.

Anecdote 2: I Care Not for Germs.
My shower puff fell apart the other day while I was using it, thus indicating I was about three months late in buying a new one. So I grabbed one off the shelf at the supermarket when I went grocery shopping. The checkout woman scanned it, then proceeded to throw it at the pimply-faced bagger. She missed, and the poof landed on the floor and rolled away. She retrieved it, only to flirtatiously try to throw it at the guy again. I debated throwing a frozen pack of ground beef at her. How does she not realize that my intent is to use this thing for cleaning myself? I am not really interested rubbing grocery store floor germs all over myself. Thanks anyway. Asswipe. Please hold my place in line while I go grab a bottle of bleach to add to my purchases today.

Anecdote 3: I Do Not Appear to Have Much Left in the Way of Muscles
I realized it’s probably been about a year since I last exercised. A year. So I decided to go jogging over the weekend. A woman from the nearby senior center with a walker almost passed me on the path around the lake. I. Am. Out. Of. Shape. But! Hey, this fresh air stuff is pretty awesome. I had kind of forgotten about it, what with hibernating with my baby this winter.

Anecdote 4: Fantasy Olympics. Because We're Cool Like That.
Some friends have decided to do a fantasy Olympics this year. The draft is tonight. (We are only drafting countries. Once we know our countries, we can start caring about individual athletes. This is not a high-stakes kind of fantasy league so much as a contrive-a-way-to-make-ourselves-get-more-personally-vested-in-the-luge-type league.) I drew sixth place in the draft. Out of six people. The odds are not good that I will get to draft Norway, despite my protests that I should just automatically get it, given my personal ties, plus two other picks. The powers that be remain unmoved by my pleading. Note to self: Learn to plead better. Maybe I should try singing to them. It seems to inspire reaction.

Anecote 5: Miss Thang has had some serious reflux issues. My clothes all carry a permanent eau de milk puke scent on them nowadays. In an attempt to see if it will help, I am trying to cut dairy out of my diet, because apparently a lot of babies have cow’s milk allergies to varying degrees. All I can say is my world is rather bleak without cheese. And ice cream. Leading me to be kind of cranky and whiney in general. See: this entire post. In better news, I learned my local grocery store carries coconut milk! Who knew?

Thus a very disjointed blog post. As you can see, I’ve got some ADD going on. I have things to say and do, and then, whoa, look at that pile of laundry! And as the laundry is being added to the dryer, Miss Thang cries, and when she’s semi-soothed I realize I am dying from thirst, and as I’m pouring water I trip over Tatum who’s trying to tell me his dish is empty, and so I go to give him water and see his food bowl is empty too, so I go to feed him and spill food everywhere so I grab a broom and while I’m not paying 100% attention to her, Miss Thang barfs on me and everything else within a 50-foot radius and so I go to change her and as I throw her wet onsie in the laundry I’m like, HEY! I can add that to the load I started twenty minutes ago since I don’t think I actually remembered to turn the machine ON. And what was I saying...ADD much?

I can haz ice cream now? PLEEZ?

Dors Bien Ma Cherie

I don't really know what to say in light of the disaster in Haiti. Since becoming a mother, I've found my heart can break pitifully easily and it has been broken over and over seeing the images and hearing the stories coming out from Haiti. I made my donations, but it doesn't feel like enough. For some reason I've always had a soft spot in my heart for that island, though I've never been there. Sesame Street played its part. This was my introduction to Haiti:

MEEEEP

http://www.nrk.no/nyheter/nobels_fredspris/1.6907010

All sorts of things I love so much. Hip-hop meets Norwegian royalty.

The Princess is HERE, Wyclef, I'm so here....

Where the Wind Takes Us

Hi. I know I keep disappearing. I don’t know what has happened to my life. Sometimes I look at it and think, Whose life IS that? Certainly it isn’t the one I planned on. By thirty I was going to be sipping Bordeaux daily on the balcony in my chalet in Switzerland, responding to fan mail about my most recent best-seller over Audrey Hepburn-esque sunglasses, listening to my little goat herd bleat below.

I realize that’s fairly specific. I’d certainly have settled for France or Norway or something. I’m not unreasonable.

sigh

To be honest... I’m actually digging the whole mom-thing, but I am almost scared to admit that for fear of jinxing the little glimmer of hope that has appeared in the back of my mind’s eye. Miss Thang sleeps through the night (ish [not counting the regular 3:45 AM feeding, but she does go right back to sleep]) and it’s amazing what a little sleep will do for all of us. She also is seeing the world much more clearly, and spends a lot of time looking around taking in the very interesting doorknobs and couch covers in our house instead of screaming. Which has done wonders for my nerves. She's also unearably cute and has cheeks that I fantasize about gnawing on.

I started back at work this week, and we did find a nanny. She’s kind and teaches piano so there’s some hope for Miss Thang’s musical development despite her parents’ complete and utter lack of ability or knowledge in anything musical-y at all. (Her father’s unnatural fondness for a capella does NOT count.) So the nanny is awesome, but I miss my baby terribly, which is silly because she is just downstairs and I find plenty of reasons to go peek on her throughout the day.

The next step is getting back into the rest of my life. I have yet to figure out how to get to book club when Miss Thang’s bedtime routine involves needing certain pieces of my anatomy to be present at home, and I am not yet sure there’s a reliable way to ski with an infant attached. I remain optimistic, for I am getting sleep.