The Parent Distraction

I've been crying a lot lately. 

Not because things are going awful. Things are great, thanks for asking,

Probably because it's Anna's first Christmas, and all the sappy movies are on and Christmas music is playing EVERYWHERE. And you get grateful for all you have. 

But that doesn't mean awful things don't happen. Children go missing, parents pass away, grandparents get sick, or any combination of those. Or you read scary books about zombie apocalypses where people give up their children to strangers in order to save them. 

All in all, once you've become a parent, you see the world VERY differently. Things are a lot scarier. Potential disasters are more often than not brought to the forefront of your mind, regardless of how impossible they might seem (you know, like zombie apocalypses. C'mon, you've all considered what you would do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. For the record, head for a prison. Apparently it is your best bet.)

All those stories about parents losing their children really seem to hit home, especially around the holidays. And you wonder, but don't wonder, what it would be like to lose a child. Who would you be? Are you still a parent if you lose a child? How would you react? What sort of person would you become?

I hate to think it, but I would probably become a sadistic version of the Hulk. 

Seriously. 

So I'm going to hug my little one a little closer tonight and thank heavens I have her!

The Princess Potential

We've had so many little boys visiting lately and playing with Anna's toys. 

But the favorite has to be the princess castle. 

Among the notable princess interactions:

The Princess Party:

Apparently just Aladdin and all the ladies.

Dinner at the Wagon:

Batman and Superman dine with the twin Cinderellas and Jasmine. 

The Police Lineup:

Please have your IDs ready.

And my favorite:

The Princesses and the Justice League meeting. Villains welcome.

The Diet Supplementation

I think I'm getting more carbs than usual.

Anna's recently started eating those dissolvable puffs that come in a gazillion unnecessary flavors (peach? Really?). When I take her out of her high chair, there's usually a few that she dropped or missed. So what do I do?

What any parent does. 

Eat em!

I'm not about to walk them back to their container across the room. No way. Even those peach puffs. Yum (mostly). 

Time to hit the gym to burn those extra six calories.

The Working Complexity

Pumping.

One of the most awkward things ever, both to do and in conversation. One of the worst parts is finding a place to pump. Especially at work. Where you don't have an office. And have to publicly ask others (granted, offices of other moms that have done what you are doing) to use their office and could they please take a coffee break you'll even pay for it just lock the door on your way out K thanks.

Most awkward place? Bosses office. Weirdest? Waste management plant. Not the grossest, though. I found out my sister in law pumped in a bar room bathroom once during my bachelorette party.

She must REALLY like me.

And I just had to chat with a coworker and friend about it. One of the moms in her preschool class really wants to meet me (I did her a teeny favor once). Like really wants to meet me. And asks each class to meet me. The coworker has politely declined, bunlet it slip once that I can't meet during that time because I'm pumping. How do I know? Said mom called me to register her son and again expressed the desire to meet me...but mentioned she knew I was pumping during the class and thus unavailable.

Talk about freaking awkward.

Ugh. Now when I do meet her she'll just be looking at my boobs. Great.

I suppose it could have been worse. Could've been a dad. Yikes.

The Princess Postulate

My aunt got Anna a Disney princess castle before she was born.

When we moved in, we finally unpacked that sucker (mostly because I wanted to play with it) and all the additional princesses and princes and superheroes we had bought along the way.

The sucky part of it is only the princesses work-none of the princes say a thing! And only the favorites are represented: Cinderella, Snow White, Belle, Jasmine, Rapunzel, Tiana, Ariel and Aurora. Only the Beast and Aladdin are represented on the prince side. And why the Beast? Ariel doesn't still have her fins at the end (or as her plastic self) so why is the Beast still a Beast and not Prince Adam? Not fair.

When do the other ladies of Disney get their chateau? Some little log cabin or condo for Mulan, Megara, Merida, Giselle, Jane, Kida, and Pocahontas? Some of which are more brave and noble and noteworthy than the princesses who didn't follow directions and slept through half their adventures.

Anyhoo.

So I put the princesses and any corresponding princes in their respective rooms in the castle. Naturally Anna pulls them out, one at a time.

For some reason though, Snow White is always kicked off Princess Castle Island first.

Maybe she doesn't approve of her lifestyle of living with seven men?

The Epic Return

We are back! 

We are moved into our new house. We have Internet. The government is running (sort of.) 

I love this house! Things aren't quite in order, but one of my favorite parts is. 

Yes! Let the reading begin!

Oh, and blogging.

The Hiatus Situation

This blog has been temporarily put on hold due to the government shutdown.

And us preparing to move into our house. And Internet troubles.

The Smart Choice

I wrote this blog to be funny, but also to be serious. I want it to be real.

Lots of women talk about how stupid their husbands are. I may allude to it, but mine is not stupid at all.

In fact, he may be a lot smarter than I give him credit for.

We used to play volleyball as a family--the four of us and D. See earlier posts for a family tree.

We don't anymore because D won't play with my brother or my sister because they take the game a little too seriously. 

I overlooked it for awhile. It didn't bother me as much. I stopped playing when I had Anna. And started back up four months after she was born.

My brother's attitude had changed. He was nicer, more supportive. It was enjoyable. We won a trophy. Until he started classes for work and had to skip games. 

And then my sister took aver.

And we got into a fight during the playoff game. Granted, we were short players and had only one guy, but still. I resisted. I won't go into details, but I finally broke and told her to shut up and stop talking to me.

I didn't say it very nicely.

But I realized why my sister and husband were reluctant to play with her.

Because she brought out the worst in me. I came to play, to have fun. And I was having neither. I was mad, and swearing. I hated it. What if Anna saw me like this? It's not even a real trophy and we don't get to keep it! 

So I decided it's not good for our relationship to play with them anymore. As much as I love to play. I love her more. It's better this way.

The Lazy Mommy Moment

When you are so lazy you don't want to go to the 7-Eleven for milk, and seriously consider using your own breast milk in your cereal.

The Jargon Alternative

They say we become our parents.

Well, maybe.

I find myself saying phrases that my mother used to say to me. How when she gets mad at us, she calls us by our first and middle names. Or her French response when we ask her when we are going to do something. (In the week of three Thursdays. Which means never. I don't know how to type it in French, only say it.)

I was also an 80's child.

I grew up in the 80's and 90's, and spent most Saturday morning with Saturday morning cartoons. And afternoons during the week with cartoons and TV shows. Gummi Bears, Captain Planet, Nickelodeon, My Little Pony, Care Bears, Ghostwriter, Tale Spin, Rescue Rangers, Looney Tunes, you name it. I actually watched Spaceballs before I ever saw Star Wars (and was quite disappointed when my dad put on A New Hope when I asked to watch "the movie with the guy with the big helmet"). To this day I can't watch that alien coming out of the stomach in the diner scene.

Anyhoo.

I find myself using phrases and songs from my childhood in my life now. I quoted in an email just the other day to a colleague that "the choice is yours!"

I sang the theme song to Gummi Bears just the other day. My husband's Pandora is set on Toddler Radio.

Sometimes I go a little off base.

For example, today I was in a "glass case of emotion." Anyone? Anchorman?

Also out of my mouth this week "Oh captain my captain."

And my pride and joy? "Shiny."

Apparently I'm getting a little too old, or a little too nerdy. Or both. A trait I can only hope Anna picks up on.

Oh well.

Time to dive into Firefly episodes and Captain Planet. : )

The Small Stuff

How does it go?

"Don't sweat the small stuff,"

Well, you try not to as a parent.

Unless, somewhere along the way, you took a corse in microbiology.

And then, you sweat the small stuff. The micro sized stuff. Not just the stuff kids can choke on.

The germs.

Now I'm ok with the basics. Snot, sneezes, they happen.

But food germs.

Gross.

I am the one to throw away the smelly sponges. After someone washes baby bottles with them. And I have to wash them again. Or when you realize the drying rack for said bottles is under the paper towel holder. Or when someone puts the bottle brush brush down in the sink that has just had raw chicken in it. Or puts the semi cleaned cutting board that said chicken was cut leaning over the clean bottle nipples.

I want to vomit just thinking about it.

I need a shower. Of Lysol. STAT. 

The Flirtation Phenomenon

Anna has been eating cereal and a fruit or veggie for dinner each night.

And each night, without fail, she ends up grinning and cooing at the freezer.

Not at her reflection, but at a dog magnet.

When she crawls, she immediately smiles and goes straight for the dog.

At least someone in the house likes that dog.

OK, i love her too.

As long as I don't live here.

The Mixup Mistake

It's finally happened.

Granted, at six months old, Anna doesn't do much that is yell-worthy.

My mom's dog, however, does.

And yesterday, as I was feeding Anna, I mixed the two up.

I yelled Anna's name at the dog, and then tried to get Anna's attention using the dog's name.

Twice. In a row.

Neither seemed to mind. Except me, who facepalmed some baby peaches into my hair.

Time to start taking evening showers.

The Pet Peeve

In retrospect, the title for this post should have gone to The Dog Dilemma.

At the moment, it refers to the little things that for some reason make you absolutely crazy in the head in ten seconds or less.

Like my husband.

God love him, but when the man washes dishes, or in this case, breast pump supplies, he has no sense of style. Or smell.

I asked him a few days ago if he could please wash the equipment. I wash it every day, at least twice a day, for almost seven months straight.

I'm a little sick of it.

I ask my husband to do it.

And he does.

And i go to the bedroom to do my thing, get all set up and realize that all the parts smell like dirty sponge.

#1 Gross

#2 WTH

#3 i know he has a poor sense of smell, and though this has occasionally worked in my favor for the odd toot or forgotten deoderant, this just makes me crazy!

The Song Revelation

Some songs are very meaningful. Sometimes a song takes you back to an old memory, buried in your brain and dragged to the surface where it hopefully reminds you of a good time I your life.

Happened to me twice today. Once was Gloria Estefan's "I just want to be happy", which brought up memories of evacuating four hurricanes in a row, car trips to Tampa, sleeping on a carpet, and dancing to this song over and over with. Bunch if college friends and one of their (mostly) sober moms.

Another song reminded me of one of those college friends. B was just my height, crazy smart, crazy opinionated (but funny about it) and was par of a group of the same nerdy friends. We dated only briefly, and remained friends. About a year later he confessed to us his deepest secret: he was gay. 

Now I've told this story (the extended cut) many times, and have occasionally gotten laughter or mockery at the fact that I was his last girlfriend before his confession. 

I mean really. Even if he knew he was gay then (and he did) what does it matter? It's not embarrassing to me at all. Maybe I helped him realize what he really wanted. Maybe as a group we finally made him feel comfortable enough to pursue true happiness. Whatever it was--we're both happy now and that is what counts!

The Dog Dilemma

We are still at my mother's house.

They cannot build our house fast enough.

My mom went away to Florida for a week. I was alone with Anna and the dog while the husband was in Texas. All went ok, and I felt like a superhero balancing baby, work, and dog needs including feeding, going outside, eye drops, incontinence, and insulin shots.

Whew.

And then the hubby came home and things were a bit easier. 

Until Thursday night.

When we had raging thunderstorms. Anna slept through them fine...until the whining dog woke her up. And continued to whine ALL NIGHT. So as a family, we accumulated about eight hours of sleep. 

Needless to say, I did not go to work on Friday. 

Now while I can deal with incontinence, shots, and gross eye drops, what I can't deal with is an inconsolable dog and no sleep.

The raging beast of sleepless nights had returned. I begged. I pleaded. I cried. A LOT. I yelled in whispers. I threw pillows. I threw an absolute tantrum after trying EVERYTHING. She wouldn't eat or lay with me or cuddle or lay down. 

My stance in getting a dog has changed. Because I can't deal with a dog that gets up and whines more than my infant child does.

I'd rather have a maid.

The High Revelation

Best high chair ever. On wheels!

Mommy Moment #3

Realizing that all you have to do to entertain your six month old is sit her in a high chair while you cook. And give her an empty sugar container.

And maybe dance.

And try to stay calm when you realize she's dumped her milk on the tray table and is making sugar slush.

And trying to eat it.

Along with the dog toy someone left on her exersaucer.

The Fundraising Surprise

Seriously?

She's not even a year old and I have to start fundraising?

I'm exhausted already.

Can't I just gve you the money?

The Highway Proposal

Some days I just wish I had the road to myself. 

Or at least this:

To wipe out the jerk who will likely cause some kind of accident. 

And these:

For those slowpokes who hold us all up!

The Mom Connection

Remember how I said becoming a mom meant you were suddenly part of some secret club?

It's true.

Ever since becoming a mother, it's like I have Mom-radar. I can sense them, almost like a superpower. 

And sometimes I can't. Sometimes I miss them completely.

And get ambushed.

See, when you have a baby, all of a sudden it is VERY easy to find things to talk about. An innocent "How's the little one?" can turn into a fifteen minute chat (possibly one sided) about breast feeding, teething, or funny stuff your kid said or did.

And you find it the people in your life that don't really care about those sorts of things. And the you find the people that you didn't even know had kids coming by your desk to chat up about their little ones and their stories.

And it turns into a battle of who can tell their cute kid story first.

This must be what penis envy feels like.

The Banana Complex

Inevitably all children (and adults) garner nicknames.

We knew going into this that Anna would be called Anna Banana.

And we were fine with it.

She's called Anna Banana so much, it was nearly the name of this blog.

So much that she will probably grow up thinking her middle name is Banana.

We call her this constantly.

So she turns six months old on Monday, and after a few weeks of cereal we decidedto move on to fruits and veggie.

What do we start with?

Bananas.

I hope she doesn't have a complex about it. 

Currently her banana face is a mix of "What the frell is this?" and "This tastes funny so I'll eat it..."

How I Met Your Father Theory

It was at band camp.

No, I'm not kidding.

I met Anna's father at band camp. It was freshman year of high school. I debated joining the marching band, because I wasn't a huge fan of it, but they were going to the Fiesta Bowl in Phoenix and I thought it was kind of awesome. So I joined.

And on day one, I walked into the band room, and there he was.

The room was almost empty.

He was standing behind a drum case, pulling a snare drum out and attaching it to a harness. His hair was a little long, and his teeth were a little crooked. But I fell for him right away. He's always had this air of sweet kindness about him, and his smile....well it makes me weak at the knees. Every time.

Love at first sight.

Somehow we became part of a group of friends, and over the next two years became really good friends. We would talk on the phone every night. You know, the corded kind that was stuck to the wall and your mother yelled at you for hogging it and how it better not be long distance.

We would email (texting and Instant Messaging didn't really exist yet...GASP) late into the night when there was only one computer in the whole house and your sisters were screaming at you because it was THEIR TURN and how dare you hog it.

We would sit next to each other on the bus to competitions and football games.

We had special nicknames for each other (they are too embarrassing to post) and traded notes between classes. I still have a box of those notes. 

We did this for over two years.

And then he finally got the message.

I had a crush on him.

It happened in late summer, and we ended up holding hands in the back of a friend's car.

That was as far as we got.

Another gentleman (that's being a little too kind) came between us...and as an emotional teenager I went for the confident, cocky jerkface instead of the kind, sweet, caring person I'd crushed on for two years.

I know. I was an IDIOT.

MORON.

OUT OF MY MARBLES.

I broke his heart. He's said it. I've said it. His MOTHER has said it (and trust me, that hurt a bit...since it was only a few weeks ago).

I did it. Guilty as charged.

We still stayed friends, and we nearly got back together our senior year, long after jerkface was gone.

And then we went our separate ways. To college. About 100 miles apart.

And we lost touch for a bit.

And then I started doing a charity event called Relay For Life. I ran one in college, and decided to be part of it back in my hometown. I wanted to start my own team, and I got in touch with old friends on Facebook.

He responded. And came over to talk about joining the team.

And he walked in that door....

....and it was band camp all over again.

We flirted the entire event....dyed our hair green together....and got invited to go watch fireworks with friends. And after a Fourth of July FULL of teenage flirting (as college grads) he went for it and put his arm around me (didn't take him long to get the message the second time around). A few days later, he came over to watch a movie.

We had a moment, and he finally...FINALLY...kissed me.

Bam.

Fireworks.

And the rest?

History. ; )

The Writing Conjecture

It's been a little while since the last post.

I've been out.

And about.

And it's been AWESOME.

It's hard to write about nothing.

It's also boring.

I strive to avoid boredom.

But it's hard to type good posts on an iPad and not want to throw it like a Frisbee. Across the room. And out the window.

And it's hard to type good posts when your time to yourself is, well, non-existent.

And when all the breast pumping equipment is waiting for you.

And all the dirty bottles.

And when the touch pad on the crappy laptop you're using keeps moving against your will and closing your window.

And your baby is teething.

And you're sort of blogging in secret.

More on that later.

Anyhoo, after a few days baby-free husband-free out with my girls, I feel refreshed relaxed good.

And all I can say is....I missed you alcohol. 

The Orange Complication

We both haven't gotten a good nights sleep on awhile. I could be because we are stressed. It could be we have a new pen in the house. It could be that we're sleeping in foreign beds. 

Or it could be this:

That the room we are sleeping in is orange. Bright orange. Glow in the FRELLING dark orange. 

And pink.

And so are the sheets. And the pillows, and the curtains....

Thanks to my sister, we have a bedroom that can be seen from space.

The Reading Situation

My T rides aren't super long, so as much as I want to read my book, the bulk of other items I am generally carrying prevents that most of the time. 

So I  do what most people on the train do; I play on my iPhone and generally ignore others.

On my way home today, two elementary aged kids sat beside me while their dad stood in front of them (with a pretty cool Wolverine t-shirt I might add). It took me a minute to notice, but they were both reading,

Books.

Not comic books or kiddy books. Not Kindles or Nooks or iPhones.

Actual books.

And the cherry on top?

I overhear their conversation.

The boy, maybe 8, starts asking questions about what certain phrases in the book meant. And like an amazing dad, his father helped guide him to the answer by asking questions and building on his son's prior knowledge.

WIN FOR YOU DUDE.

So not only did I witness reading and reading comprehension in action, but I also observed actual conversation.

On the T.

And as I sat there amazed and slightly guilty over my paperback laying in my purse, nearly ready to compliment this man and his children aloud, the boy asks what station they are getting off at.

And the dad just scolds him about not listening and tells them both to sit up straight and he won't tell them again.

What the frell?

You've got two awesome kids who actually like to read and learn and you're going to nitpick over posture and having to repeat yourself?

And just when I thought there was intelligent life left in the Northeast....

The Rescue Attempt

Today was somewhat scary.

This afternoon, our neighbor came across my mother's lawn, screaming my mother's name.

Her dog was limp in her arms.

It turns out, she had let the dog out and the pool gate had been open, and the dog fell in.

She jumped in when she realized what had happened, attempted CPR, and then picked up the dog and ran across the street.

I had just put Anna down for a nap, and we had two dogs of our own in the house. I heard our neighbor first, and when I saw what she had, I ran back up the stairs, grabbed the dogs, and yanked them back up the stairs with me so my mother could get by.

My mother didn't hesitate. She ran out the door an immediately started CPR on the dog along with the neighbor. After several minutes, more neighbors arrived (I had to stay in the house with the dogs and baby) and eventually they all left for the vet hospital.

With my mom.

Who had no purse, cell phone, or shoes to speak of.

Unfortunately, the dog didn't make it.

My mom came back over an hour later, emotionally spent. Our conversation was this:

"I can't believe you did CPR on that dog Mom...that was amazing."

"I had to. I knew she was gone but she was begging me and I couldn't let her down."

I realized today how much I want to be like my mom. She didn't hesitate for a second. She didn't stop to make sure we were OK in the house - she trusted us to be OK and did what she had to do. She did CPR on that dog for at least half an hour. And she's slightly allergic to them. She was in a car accident a few weeks ago and is still sore. She has trouble standing and kneeling for long periods of time. And yet, when someone was most in need of her, she forgot everything, ran outside, laid on a lawn that had a huge potential to be covered in dog poop, and tried to help.

I want to be that kind of person. The kind that doesn't hesitate. I can keep a cool head when things get pretty sticky. But that - that was heroic. We were both emotionally and physically spent the rest of the day, and it's an awful thing that's happened.

But wow....just....wow.

The Window Complication

We have officially moved in with my mother. And the dog.

It's a split level with four tiny bedrooms and two point five baths. The bedrooms are tiny because Anna fits in one and my husband and I have to split our basic bedroom gear between two more of them to function.

It's an older house. Needs a little work. All the doors creak. When the toilet flushes it sounds like Chewbacca. Glasses don't stand upright in the kitchen sink because it bows in the middle. Garage doors open and close at their leisure.

But the windows are pretty new. And the slider onto the deck.

There is no Central Air, but two bedrooms and the kitchen have A/C units in them, so we stay pretty cool. The baby's room has no A/C, but it has a fan and it hasn't been unbearable at night.

If fact, it gets into the 50s.

My mom tends to leave the windows and slider open during the day to keep the dog cool. 

And apparently leaves them open all night.

This is the third time I have woken up at fourish to pump and it has been freezing in the house. Not noticable to me because i shut my door. But noticable to Anna, who has been sleeping through the night and who's door can't close all the way.

And thus gets up at 3:30 to interrupt my only long stretch of sleep I get a night.

Did I say long?

I meant medium.

The Exhaustion Explanation

I feel so disgusting. 

I have had less than five hours of sleep,

I worked a ten hour day.

I have been stuck in three hours of traffic.

I have barely seen my child.

I have moved us out of our house and in with my mother.

And now i sit in an old bedroom that smells like dog pee pumping is semi darkness feeling sticky.

The Black Market Proposal

We are almost six months into this adventure, and I am still making breast milk like my life depended on it.

I've heard that in China apparently making breast milk is more of a problem. So much that they actually sell breast milk--sometimes on the black market! 

I could make a killing, if only I lived in China.

Although apparently they also sell BABIES on the black market there as well.

Some parents didn't even see their newborn twins because their doctor SOLD THEM. 

Now thank goodness, they were returned to their parents, but seriously....

WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? 

This is the type of stuff that scares me about the world. I make jokes and try to take things lightly, but stuff like this makes me want to go all Incredible Mother Hulk on these people and HULK SMASH them into bits of dust. 

The Worst Mom Ever Feeling

When you nick your baby's finger while clipping her nails.

Talk about feeling like an epic failure at LIFE. 

HULK SAD.

The Coolatta Complication

So lately I haven't been getting much sleep.

You might have heard - I have a newborn.

She sleeps through the night now (read: YAY CEREAL!), but unfortunately, my boobs and I are still getting up at least every 6 hours to pump.

That's right.

We're five months into this thing and I'm still pumping.

Plus, for some reason, the baby monitor has found a permanent home on MY nightstand. (Mental note: Disable monitor or unplug and stick under husband's pillow.) So I get up with her if she gets up hurls herself into the side of the crib gets her leg stuck in the crib slats.

So, less than 5 hours a night.

I live for Thursdays and weekends.

And caffeine.

Now while my brain realizes there is no caffeine in Coolattas, my body doesn't (ssshhhhhh).

So now and again, during the week, I treat myself to one to wake me up. Or so I don't crash and burn on the highway.

Anyhoo, part of my work entails learning to live a cleaner, more eco-friendly lifestyle. Which includes one of these babies:

Which they so kindly filled on Monday.

But not on Wednesday. Because he would have to use a plastic cup to make it, then pour it in.

OK.

FIRST - why the hell are you still using styrofoam? They make compostable coffee cups, and styrofoam sucks! If you don't know why - LEARN WHY.

Second, what the FRELL is the point of having a reusable travel container if you are going to make my drink in a separate cup, pour it into my cup, and then throw out the other cup?!?

Is it an issue of sanitation? You can't use your stirrer thing in my cup because of germs? OK, I get it. BUT YOU STERILIZE THE THING EVERY TIME YOU USE IT.

So I harumph on that argument.

You can't possibly be saving money this way. But you are pissing off customers who have these containers for a reason. As the saying goes: "How can it be deemed less effort to drill for oil, ship it to a factory, turn it into a plastic spoon, package it, ship it to the store, buy it, bring it home, use it, and then throw it away, then it is to just WASH THE DAMN SPOON WHEN YOU ARE DONE WITH IT?"

Ok, I might have edited that a bit.

The Hulk Duality

I think when you become a mother you develop a split personality. Maybe even multiple personalities.

There's the sweet, loving, doting person you become around your child. You love your child, and every time they smile at you, it's like a ray of sunshine.

And then you start watching the news. Or you let your obnoxious relative hold your child (reluctantly). Your brain begins to churn over thoughts of "what if?". What if she gets hurt? What if someone hurts her? What if someone tries to take her? What if I was the mother of that child that was hurt by their relative or a complete stranger? What if what if what if what if...? It could go on forever.

The absolute terror that comes with having a child spawns this alternate personality. The Incredible Mother Hulk. The uncontrollable anger and rage that comes at the thought of someone injuring your child. And the insane thoughts of what you would do to that person. At any given moment, you could turn into a giant, angry, screaming being that will just SMASH anyone that gets in your way (you may also unnecessarily turn green).

THAT is the crazy split personality I am talking about.

While I am sure there are other personalities to come, this is the one brought to mind at the moment.

Not because someone hurt Anna. But because someone else I know passed away. Someone young. Ambitious. Caring. Kind. And she didn't have to. We received a letter about how important our institution was to this young woman. How the family plans to remember her.

And I can't imagine what I would do in their shoes.

Except become the Incredible Mother Hulk.

The Dumping Anomaly

So I went into Anna's room the other morning and saw this:

That's right. Those white things are diapers. And that tall white cylinder? We call that a diaper pail. The blue bag? An old diaper pail bag. 

I asked my husband about it. He said, and I quote:

"I can't reach I after I change her diaper so I just toss them there."

What?

Let me introduce you to our little friend, the changing pad strap, which allows you 1 foot of clearance to reach said diaper pail. Also, meet his best friend, the attached crib, also known as BABY JAIL. You put the baby in, do whatever you need to do, and then take them out after they've served their time. Which includes a mandatory potty training until which time they get to WATCH THEIR FATHER PUT DIRTY DIAPERS IN THE DIAPER PAIL.

Oy. 

The Return Decision

So we're back from vacation.

We have been for about a week or so.

But it's been busy.

We're moving out of our house in about a week. We're both back at work. My husband goes away for a few days next week. Zumba is back. Volleyball is back.

We're busy.

And while it has been challenging to come up with posts every day, and I have enjoyed it, the truth is I am exhausted.

And we'll be moving the computers too.

But I have decided to do my best. I have decided to post at least four times a week, versus everyday. But I'll do more if I can.

Bu for now, let the insanity begin.

P.S. Oh, hello 30. Nice to meet you. No, I don't have a complex about my age....

The Productivity Equation

My productivity % =( amount of work I have to do / hours of sleep x oz. of caffeine) x 10

Guess what happens when hours of sleep and oz. of caffeine equal zero.

The Froyo Conclusion

My husband and I have been wanting to try this new frozen yogurt place near our house. He discovered it accidentally on a day off, and we've been meaning to go there.

Since half of our house is in storage, and we just got in from vacation, desserts have been kind of...lacking. So tonight seemed like the perfect night to try to head out.

And then Anna got a runny nose. And fussy. And warm. All day.

And I never got around to showering.

So when the husband came home, he took Anna and let me shower. We'd decide if we were going after I got out.

Apparently I took too long.

The Gentleman Anomaly

Today a gentleman offered me his seat on the T.

Huh.

Decency and chivalry do exist. Even during a heat wave.

Who knew?

The Intern Comparison

We have a data intern at work that has been helping us out. She took on some extra work while I was on maternity leave, but she volunteers for us later in the day after I leave, so I hardly see her. I worked late the other day, and the first thing she said to me was:

"Wow, you really do look different when you're not pregnant!"

Uh, yeah? Duh. 

Granted, she didn't know me before I was like 6 months pregnant, but still. 

Although she neglected to mention if I looked good....just that I looked different. I better go clarify.

The Baby Book Proposition

Anna received two baby books. Both were very nice, and to be honest, as a crazed perfectionist  an avid organizer, I loved the idea of keeping track of all of her little milestones as they came along.

I also wanted to keep track of feedings, bowel movements, etc., since I had seen my sister-in-law doing it and felt I should do it too. Just because. So I downloaded a few free baby apps to help keep track of these as well. 

I was ready. 

And then I had the baby. 

And all that went out the window. 

Because seriously, NOBODY HAS TIME FOR THAT CRAP. 

In between the feedings, the diapers, the visits from family, and god forbid, getting any sleep, NOBODY HAS TIME FOR THAT CRAP.

I mean really. There are a million other things I would rather be doing than to fill out every bowel movement, estimate every ounce she eats, and other nonessential information that I'm sure as a grown woman she can live without knowing. 

Look at this:

Are you kidding? I need to record her mood, her activity level? 

That app was deleted.

I did a few pages of Anna's book one night in an attempt to be a good mom. I didn't get too far. Because really, I don't remember when she first started to smile, I just know that she can. And I LOVED IT. And I didn't feel the need to record it the moment it happened. I was busy ENJOYING IT. 

So my advice, as a rookie mom, is to just skip the books and the apps. If you really need to remember how much she eats or poops, your doctor will ask you to record it. Use a pen and paper. More reliable, and you and your spouse can both use it. Use notes from her doctors visits to record milestones. That way you can enjoy them when they come along. Seriously, no one wins any awards because their three month old can roll over before someone else's three month old. Just enjoy them. If you really need to keep track, try this:

Make the child a Facebook page. Restrict it as much as possible. When the child makes accomplishments, or when you take photos, tag them. Bam. Instant baby book. You can also restrict friends with your child to family and prevent crazy people from getting your child's information.

The Beach Comparison

My husband's family goes to the lake every summer for a week or so. My family goes to the beach each summer for two weeks. The last week at the lake and first week at the beach overlap, but we generally have a week at each vacation place.

You've already heard a bit about the camp my husband's family goes to. My family has been going to the same beach house for almost 20 years. We have rented the 2nd floor for a long time, back to when I used to fit 7 kids and 4 adults among 4 beds, two cots, and the occasional air mattress. Not to mention any friends that would visit and sleep over. The beach and camp are similar in only a few ways:

1. Bad beds. You will not get a good nights sleep. Camp beds creak horribly, you sleep in sleeping bags on thin mattresses, and the beds are so small that if you aren't married to the person you are sharing the bed with you should be by morning--just to be proper. Be sure to invite the invading bugs to your reception. At the beach, you get a little more mattress, but they sag in the middle, creating a heat filled cuddle time--whether you want it or not. Oh yeah, and sand. EVERYWHERE.

2. Card playing. Day or night, our families both play cards fairly religiously on vacation. Another family initiation rite is that you MUST know how to play Forty-Fives, or be willing to learn. Or else you are OUT.

Camp and the beach are also quite different...

1. At camp, if you're not family, you're not really invited. Period. At the beach, everyone and their best friend is invited to come up, regardless of sleepng space, parking space, and quantity of food and drink.

2. Camp has fairly ample parking. At the beach, it is a mad rush to see who can get the most parking spaces--and keep them. Each time someone needs to leave the beach house, it is a mad rush to rearrange vehicles so no street parking is lost. You may actually be considered a disgrace if you resort to parking on the paid lot across the street, or World War III may break out if you've hogged the space that comes with the condo too long.

3. At least the beach has ample indoor plumbing. And showers. Hot water available only if you wait 20 minutes between showers.

4. Sound. The lake is quiet, peaceful, and serene. With the occasional exception of fireworks, camp is a dead zone for sound at night. The beach is a cacophony of sound. Waves, planes, kids, fireworks, and traffic (especially motorcycles) can be heard day and night. Buying stock in earplugs is recommended.

5. And finally, atmosphere. My husband's family and mine are as similar and different as the lake and the beach. His family is quiet, calm, and simple, whereas mine is an explosion of sound, food, and drama. It is not unheard of for someone in my family to dive across the table during a game of Spoons (and disappear underneath the opposite side) or for someone to slam down their Forty-Fives hand in the throes of victory the losers won't speak to them for a day. 

The Volleyball Protege

I love how the trophy is almost as big as she is.

P.S. Champions!

The Camp Solution

My husband has been coming to the same campground for vacation for almost 30 years. At first glance, this place isn't much; a bunch of wood cabins with minimal lighting, no hot water or showers, and bathrooms the equivalent of holes in the earth. All of the doors have screens and none of the windows do. The outhouse showers only have hot water between 5:00 AM and 5:07 AM. They have a dance every Monday night where they do the Virginia Reel.

I had never ever heard of the Virginia Reel before I started going to camp.

Camp is a big deal. You don't just get invited to visit camp. Families here have grandchildren and great-grandchildren who now come every summer, and the cabin waiting list goes on for years. 

You heard me. People actually pay for this no-hot-water outdoor living experience. And love it. And come back for years. When we were in high school, none of my husband's girlfriends visited camp--including me. When I came up to visit a year after we started dating again, it was something of a shock. You do NOT get invited to camp unless you were going to be around for a LONG time. It is a test of sorts. If you like camp, you are eligible for marriage. If you don't--Sayonara baby. Literally, if I did not like camp, that was going to be a deal breaker for my husband for getting married.

Lucky for me, I loved camp. So I was in. 

This year is our first year at camp with Anna (last year I spent it throwing up in the bathroom after the camp dance - woohoo morning sickness and twirling!). It has been an experience in packing/vacationing with baby, so like any rookie parent I went looking for little vacation "hacks" or tips to bring only the necessities or make life as easy as possible.

I found only one: baby powder helps remove sand.

That's it.

Not as helpful as I had hoped. 

So here's my first personal travel with baby vacation hack, should you be crazy lucky enough to have our camping experience:

What to do when your baby really needs time on her activity mat but you have wooden floors with nail hazards?

Redefining Pack and Plays since 2013.

The Scratcher Effect

Today I watched a full grown man scratch his ass on a tree.

Welcome to camp.

The Vacation Interruption

It''s that time of year again.

VACATION.

And seeing as I don't get very much of it, I'm OUT. Let's see how Anna does in lukewarm lakewater and SAND!

As of today, this blog is officially on vacation. If you'd like to leave a message, please do so at the beep.

BEEP.

Happy Fourth of July!

Happy Birthday America! Live it up with burgers, hot dogs, and an ice cold beer!

The Teenager Theorum

I work with teenagers. And don't get me wrong - they are some of the best teenagers. My process of selecting the teens we hire (at least my mental process) is complicated. There's certain things that come into play in terms of putting the team together each summer, applying different strengths and weaknesses to the bigger picture. But all in all, they are good kids.

And it's always the quiet ones that surprise you.

I am sometimes afraid when I see teenagers on the street. I overhear their conversations, and they seem....petty.

Maybe now it's because I'm a mother. Other things are a priority for me, and maybe I've forgottenwhat it's like to be a teenager.

Or maybe I was a different kind of teenager.

I wasn't one to talk about fashion, or who the hottest celeb is, or to be completely and totally crazy over a latte. I know girls will be girls.

But I think it scares me to see what teens are capable of in terms of human empathy and kindness. It scares me nowadays to see their work ethics and their sense of entitlement. The way they talk about strangers judgmentally, loudly, and sometimes rudely.

I know we've got some time before Anna's teenage years, and I know it's probably normal to worry about how your child will grow up and who they will grow up to be.

But if I hear one more person say "Oh, a girl - girls are the worst as teenagers!" I will punch them in the face.

Listen jerkface, I was a teenage girl once too, and I wasn't such a crazy *****.

And P.S. all girls are crazy. We're just different shades of crazy. Get used to it.

The Fly Annhilation

Actually heard in my household this week:

Me: Wow. I just killed a fly with a burp cloth.

Husband: Really?

Me: Yeah. MAN I FEEL LIKE A WOMAN!

True story.

The Rookie Mistake

Well, one of many mistakes.

Anna was born in March, when there isn't a lot of sunshine and it's pretty frelling cold. Fast forward to June, when it's 90 degrees one day and 54 the next (welcome to New England).

My husband and I aren't HUGE outdoor enthusiasts, unless it comes to one thing: WATER. Ocean, lakes, you name it we're there. Anna is also a big water enthusiast.

But I digress.

Part of taking Anna out means going outside. As someone who is allergic to the sun (read: burns easily), and one who also knows more than human beings need to know about skin cancer, if Anna's going to be in the sun, she's going to wear sunscreen. End of story.

Until we brought her out and someone mentioned quite loudly that babies aren't supposed to wear sunscreen until they are six months old.

Wha?

News to me. Anna's only gotten sunscreen a handful of times in her 4 short months, and granted the mother that said it was only one month my senior (in terms of motherhood). And her baby was out in the sun. With a sleeveless onesie, no shoes, and a hat. That's it.

We at least made an attempt to cover Anna up. She had on a sleeveless onesie, and we wrapped her in a cool cloth. She had on a hat and was constantly being turned to face AWAY from the sun or ducking under tents that were not ours.

There will be no tomato babies in this house.

And if she absolutely HAS to be in the sun, doctors prefer there is sunscreen. So there. Rookie mistake. Got it.

P.S. Do yourself a favor. Google 'tomato baby'. DO NOT I repeat DO NOT Google 'sunburned baby'. DON'T DO IT!

The Escape Attempt

Let's call this escape attempt number 1.

The First Time Theory

There are some things, that, as a new mom, you want to be the first to do/experience with your child.

Their first steps, first laugh, first word - pretty much their first everything.

My grandparent's 60th anniversary party was today, and as stated in a previous post, we couldn't go. I asked one of my sisters to take her iPad so we could FaceTime and at least she would see my grandparents for the very first time.

Flashback to Thursday night when I picked Anna up from my mother's house, and she told me she had FaceTimed my sister, who was with my grandparents. And showed them Anna.

And also showed her to my two aunts, uncles, and several cousins who also hadn't met her.

I cried a little bit on the way home.

We FaceTimed them again today, but it just wasn't the same. And my grandparents can barely operate a portable phone, much less figure out how to FaceTime using an iPad.

My husband did try to console me with the fact that my mother-in-law gave our nephew his first haircut. Without permission.

This is really making me sadder than it should.

Time for a margarita. :)

The Fireworks Reaction

My favorite holiday is the Fourth of July.

I know, it seems weird. But I enjoy watching the citizens of this country act like it for once, and the fireworks show at Newfound Lake is where my husband and I officially starting dating again (story for another day).

Speaking of fireworks, Anna and I have very different reactions to fireworks.

Especially those shot off on days other than the 4th of July.

In the middle of the night.

Anna, she wakes up, and she cries.

Mommy, she wakes up, soothes baby for 2 hours, gets in her car and RUNS THOSE BASTARDS DOWN.

The Mom Club Hypothesis

Now granted, becoming a mother for the first time is a life changing event. You expect sleepless nights, being covered in poop and breast milk on a daily basis forever, etc. Got it. Your life is changed.

What you may not expect to change is other people. People see you very differently as a mom. They treat you slightly differently. Strangers will approach you and your child and comment or try to touch your kid (wasn't OK when she was on the inside, DEFINITELY NOT OK ON THE OUTSIDE). Today was one of the first times I have gone to a friend's house with Anna and met another friend of hers - also a mom. It was like our own little moms club.

It felt slightly awkward.

While I enjoyed it, there were definitely times of "WTF am I doing here" and "Please stop your 4 year old from trying to tip over the swing my newborn is napping in" and totally an episode where splashing water was accessed by a 17 month old. She's not very tall, and there's only one water source she could reach....

I'll wait while you figure it out.




Anyhoo, it was nice, but still....awkward. I was the youngest mom there, and yet somehow one of the more confident moms.

Maybe I'm just young and naive. I'll get over it once she starts crawling.

Which at the rate Anna is going will be next weekend.

You also get into "my kid is better than your kid" competitions without realizing it. I told them Anna was rolling onto her belly at 4 months old and getting close to crawling (she can REALLY scoot). Apparently this is a bit early for this to be happening, as some babies have yet to do this at like 6 months (or in one case over a year...?). And apparently some can be offended if this is their child - there is a constant comparison going on. And there's really no way to talk about Anna and what she does without entering this motherly pissing contest.

Tread carefully, new mommies.

The Bath Addition

How many people does it take to give Anna a bath?

The Super Strength Anomaly

Why is it that I can carry Anna in her carseat, a diaper bag, a breast pump backpack, a tote bag, and a purse and still manage to open the front door on my own, but lifting my arms for strength exercises at Zumba is the devil?

Discuss.

The Hallicination Quotient

Being so incredibly tired that when someone says "Good morning" to you on the T, you think you're hallucinating. (Although you don't need to be tired to hear that on the T and think you're hallucinating).

And you have to look up the word quotient to remember hat it means.

And realize it doesn't quite apply here but you are too tired to care.

And your kid slept through the night.

WTF Sleep?

The Breast Pump Reconfiguration

I need to redesign the breast pump.

Yes, the amazing discovery of breast pump bras (or your cheaper, more comfortable alternative, the sports bra with holes poked in it) has made it possible to pump both breasts without using your hands.

Voila!

Except that oh yeah if you're a breastfeeding mom with a newborn that won't latch and you pump every 4-6 hours this can get old.

And boring.

And interfere with all the other crap you need to get done.

So I want to redesign this baby. To run on mommy power.

Basically, as long as you are alive, it operates. Sans batteries (ain't nobody got time for that). It fits on your back like a backpack, or maybe a fanny pack in case you want to carry your kid at the same time. Everything else stays the same, but YOU are portable.

Why do this? Because I can think of several things I would rather do with my time other than sit at my computer waiting for Bobby (yep, finally named that bad boy) to do his thing.

1. Make lunch for tomorrow.
2. Nothing.
3. Pick out clothes for tomorrow.
4. Sleep.
5. Laundry. Shower.

And dear lord do nipples that have been pumped every 4-6 hours HURT. Ouchapotomous.

That is all. Look for the "Screw This I Have Other Things To Do" O-Matic out later this nevermind-I-don't-know-any-breastpump-engineers-or-patent-offices.

The Baby Pool Results

Are in!

And guess what.

I lost.

BIG TIME.

As in, DEAD LAST.

As in, there outta be a prize for how completely wrong I was.

As in, my three year old nephew even beat me with his choices.

Believe it or not, this has happened before. In bowling.

Ah well. Welcome to the family Iris!

Love,

Your aunt who will never be a psychic.

The Placement Problem

At my Mother's...

Really Memere?

The Tag Team Effect

I haven't seen my husband in two days.

Yes, he's sleeping in the next room while I get it on again with my breast pump, but I haven't seen him in two days.

Because we've literally been tag teaming with Anna for two days.

Went to bed Tuesday night. Got up Wednesday. He dropped her off at school, I picked her up while he worked late in Boston. He got in late, I left early for work before they got up. We meet at noon to exchange the baby because WE HAVE A NIECE! and the only time he can see her in the next two weeks is this afternoon. And after a drop off at my mother's to go to volleyball, I am home late and he's back and in bed.

Oh, and he'll be away next weekend too.

I'm pretty sure he's going to wake up and wonder who the hell is in bed with him.

The Beautiful Day Reaction

So I can do totally fine leaving for work in the morning and working all day without missing Anna too much. At least, without crying.

Apparently this is not true if you:

1. See her in the morning before you leave.

2. Go on a work retreat in a beautiful place on a beautiful day and get there 1 hour early and watch all the moms and their kids run around in the sunshine.

5 PM couldn't get here fast enough.

The Fingernail Minimization

Anna's fingernails grow like they were possessed. For the first few weeks of life, she was fine. Those babies fell off on their own -  no problem. And then....

...she could scratch. I'm not talking little skin rashes. I'm talking full on, tear through your skin like the claws of a jungle cat scratch. Those babies are right up there with knives, samurai swords, and of course, lightsabers.

And how are you supposed to combat them? A teeny tiny little nail clipper.

Yeah right. This post has been brought to you by the letters W, T, and F.

P.S. 22? Really?

The Grandparent Misplacement

Tonight I called my grandparents for the first time in almost a year.

Yeah, sometimes I kind of suck.

To be fair, they live in South Carolina, and I haven't seen them in maybe two years. We do our best, but they live far away, and can be....somewhat racist eccentric. Let's just say they've been known to throw around words that tiny old ladies in oversized spectacles with surprisingly loud voices should probably keep to themselves.They're a little on the crazy side, and have high expectations of their children and grandchildren.  They also ignored my then-fiance for about an hour and a half the first (and only) time he met them. They also keep 4 foot tall bottles of vodka under the sink.

I sh*t you not.

I love them, but I have some guilt. Their 60th wedding anniversary is coming up in a few weeks, and we were all invited. It would be a good chance to see family we haven't seen in awhile (there are some aunts and uncles I haven't seen since I was like 12), but with my nonexistant limited vacation time, plus the idea of traveling with a newborn.....long story short we aren't going.

And I feel awful.

My husband's grandparents are the epitome of what you would expect grandparents to be. Patient, loving, and just completely overjoyed to see you whenever you walk through the door.

I adore them. I miss his paternal grandparents as much as I miss my own. His mother's parents are just so sweet and I love visiting them. I truly love them as if they were my own.

Which is part of where the guilt comes in. We're hoping to visit SC in the fall, and I hope Anna gets a chance to meet my grandparents (crazy or not). It's hard for them to visit us, even though most of us are from New England. Family is so important to us, and though they are different, and I love them differently than I do my husband's grandparents, love is love is love.

Father's Day

Happy Father's Day to all those daddies out there! Especially my husband (first father's day!) and my dad (....you can guess how many father's days he's seen. : ) .

To my husband:

To my dad:

Mission accomplished. ;)

Enjoy your day!

The Judgment Reaction

One of my friend's mothers is quite...interesting.

She has an opinion about everything.

When my friend had her first child, her mother was constantly giving her input on what the baby was feeling, what it wanted, etc.

Now granted, her mom was taking care of the baby 4 days a week.

However.

If there is one thing I learned in being a mom, it's that moms (or dads) know their children best. Our ears can pick out our child's cry amidst a sea of crying children - or from a good distance away. We can sense poop as it is happening. We can smell dirty diapers from across the room. We're like superheroes in this regard (see previous posts).

This woman also likes to give her opinion on everyone else's baby. Including mine.

So when Anna met this woman for the first time, I knew it was going to be interesting. We avoided her most of the event, and after several hours of smiling at EVERYONE, this woman sat next to my friend (who was holding Anna) and began talking to her. After a minute, Anna began to cry.

And the woman began telling me everything that was wrong with Anna. I simply picked her up, went inside to get her the bottle I knew she wanted (which quieted her immediately) and sat back down.

As we were leaving, another guest at the party gave us a hug and told us how gorgeous Anna is.

I added in that she's also a great judge of character. : )

The Exhaustion Substitution

Can you tell when my husband has to work the overnight shift? Cause all you get is what you see above.

Parenthood should come with a lifetime supply of caffeine.

The List Complexity

Everyone has a list.

You know.

The list of people (mostly celebrities) that if you ever met in real life, and got the chance to take them to bed with you, your significant other would give you a pass.

I had this conversation with my husband about a year ago about who is on each other's lists. Both of ours were very short--maybe one person each.

So what did we do?

We started making suggestions.

For each other.

Cause that's what you do.

My husband's list is VERY short. It consists of Kate Beckinsale and Kristen Bell (he's a big Veronica Mars fan--who knew?).

My list still isn't very long. But it has another problem.

Most of mine are fictional characters. Here are my top five:

1. Malcolm Reynolds/Nathan Fillion (Firefly) I LOVE Nathan Fillion. I adore most of his major roles, and he's a total geek in real life. Malcolm Reynolds though is my favorite, and I just love that character (and his pretty floral bonnet).

2. John Crichton (Farscape). Something about those sad, baby blue puppy dog eyes gets me every time. YES PLEASE.

3. Shane "Scarecrow" Schofield. He's a fictional book character in a series by Matthew Reilly. If you like any kind of action/adventure, you HAVE TO READ MATTHEW REILLY. Shane Schofield is like the epitomy of what a good man is. I frelling LOVE the development of this character. I would also like to lump Jack West Jr. in here, another of Matthew Reilly's series lead characters. I fall in love with all of the characters of these books, and Jack's loyalty is second to none.

4. James "Sawyer" Ford (Lost). With a haircut. Also great character development. For some reason I like semi-conflicted men. And when he really falls for Juliet - it's like YES. FINALLY he's over Kate (lord I did NOT like Kate Austen).

5. Peter Petrelli (Heroes). There's something inherently lovable about the sweet, innocent, can only do good kind of man.

Honorable mentions: Sam Flynn (Tron), Wedge Antilles (Star Wars), John Shephard (Stargate)

Do you think I have a science fiction/fantasy addiction?

Maybe?

The Good Baby Vortex

I haven't wanted to post this, because I am afraid it will come back to haunt me.

Like sooner rather than later.

Everyone talks about the nightmare of having a baby. The joys yes, but the nightmares mostly. You know, about them screaming for no reason, not sleeping through the night, spitting up all over EVERYTHING.

Anna doesn't do any of those things. Well, not very much.

While her "normality" is in question (although her inherited geekhood is not) I don't think there's anything wrong. She's just a happy baby. I am sure when she gets older and really starts teething and crawling I will regret this entire post, but right now I have a cute, lovable, sleep-through-the-night, charming baby girl! I don't think I am too shocked, but there is such a thing as a "good baby". Never fear future parents! It could happen to YOU!

Now, off to enjoy every second of it while it lasts! :)

The Worldwide Triangulation

Tonight is an exhausted night. After teaching squid classes at work, rushing to my mom's house and back with Anna, Zumba, and my regular "get everything ready for me and Anna for the next day" routine, I'm bushed.

By the way, this is how I feel about Zumba.

Um, yes. That is totally me. I am still catching up on the moves, but when I know them I FRELLING ROCK THEM OUT LIKE IT WAS MY JOB.

And for the record - Zumba uses a lot of Pitbull music.

I get it dude. You have a mission. And it's worldwide. I got it.

Seriously - I got it. You don't have to put it in EVERY SONG.

That is all.

The Hospital Configuration

My sister in law is due any day now.

AND I AM SO FRELLING EXCITED!

Anyhoo. She asked me for a bit of advice on what to bring to the hospital. We had a much shorter conversation, but it did give me an idea for a helpful list/advice for the future (maybe for you, maybe for me who knows :) ).  I say advice because you can google "hospital baby checklist" as many times as you like, and I can tell you EXACTLY what I brought/would bring in the future---but honestly what you bring is up to you. Here's my strategy:

1. Make a list of all the crap you think you could possibly need at the hospital or for coming home for you, support partner, and baby (really for baby all you need generally is the car seat and outfit). 

2. Go on the hospital tour. Bring your list. Cross off everything the hospital provides (every hospital is different!). And unless you REALLY want to use your own; leave your breast pump at home - the hospitals usually have a few roaming ones.

3. Check out the cafeteria. Make note of the hours and prices. If you get a decent meal plan that lets you order extra food for your partner, or if the food is ridiculously good and cheap, forget packing yourself snacks. Some hospitals even have a kitchen in the recovery area with cereal, fruit, etc. Save yourself (or rather your support person) from carrying that extra weight around.

4. Be aware of temperature. Bring clothes you can put on in layers. The nurses can keep you cozy when you are in bed, but when you are walking around tryin to get things moving it's harder to stay warm/cool. I also recommend footwear for walking the halls--the nonslip socks are nice but offer no support!

5. Pack two bags. One for the crap you KNOW you will need (clothes, toiletries, etc.) and one for the stuff you aren't sure about. Leave the second bag in the car--you can always get it later if you need it, and it's one less bag to drag from the maternity ward to the recovery room.

6. Bring comfortable clothes. Seriously, no one cares how stylish you are in the maternity ward (they already know you put out ;) ) and no fashion photographers will be present. And whatever you wear is likely to get covered in poop, blood, spit up, formula, or some other bodily fluid. Make sure to pick a dress in summer or something super stretchy in winter so it isn't right on your belly (if you have a C-section).

7. Bring reusable grocery bags. Go to town collecting everything useful that isn't nailed down (hey you're paying for it)! I recommendnd diapers, any formula, those stretchy undies, maxipads, and most important, the nasal aspirator. NONE of the aspirators in stores have worked as well as that one. Snag two if you can!

8. Pack it all in a single suitcase. That rolls. It'll be much easier than "oh, the other bag".

9. Entertainment. You won't need much of it. Bring an iPhone/iPad and a deck of cards. Once the baby is born, you will not want to entertain yourself. You will want to SLEEP. ALL THE TIME.

And that's the hospital guide according to ME.

The Broadway Distraction

I'm something of a theater buff. If I hadn't gone into marine biology, I would have gone into theater. Maybe as a stagehand, maybe as an actor - who knows. I did both in college, and absolutely loved it. There are so many stories to tell from my theater time in college it could fill a blog. Like the time one scene of The Tempest went on so long I fell asleep on stage. Or the time every single actor in that show that had to run offstage wiped out because of the fog machine.

Anyhoo. More stories to come.

At this time, I would like to say two things. Broadway rocks and Neil Patrick Harris should always host the Tony Awards. Like always. Even Anna loves him (or maybe it's just the lights and sound of the TV....)

I can't possibly think up something good right now - the Tony Awards are far too distracting.

The Papa Juice Placement

We visited my friend Jen, her husband Dave, and her two kids this afternoon for lunch. We brought Anna along, and her two boys absolutely loved her. Her oldest is 4.5 years and is much more talkative each time we visit (as he gets to know us better). He's gone from shy and not talking to us, to crawling into my husband's lap on sight.

Today he was showing me his NASCAR collection.

Apparently there is something incredibly soothing to certain children about cars that make left turns all day. He LOVES it. He explained all the flag colors to me and what they mean, and then I quizzed him about which car he wanted to win. Which was his favorite?

"Well I don't really care who wins but number two is good. That's the papa juice car."

This is number two:

(Insert snorting laughter here)

No papa juice for me tonight! : )

The Memory Instability

With Anna ceasing to sleep through the night consistently, my husband and I have slipped into the next ring down of the hell that is sleeplessness.

Between him getting up for work at 2 AM (and being back before I leave at 5), and me getting up at 4 AM (and if Anna gets up in the middle of the night) WE'RE EXHAUSTED.

And when I seem to have the slightest bit of energy, or when some daily happening triggers an idea for a good blog post, I write a note on my iPhone.

And that's it. I forget everything else. I can't remember all the awesome sentences I wrote in my head while trying not to fall over on the T while carrying 2 backpacks, a tote bag, a purse, and remaining baby weight (one backpack for laptop, one is the breast pump, tote bag is for my lunch---I knew you'd ask so there you go.)

And then I get to my last nightly pumping and start to write. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes it's a challenge. And sometimes your arms are so tired from playing the most intense game of volleyball of your life that your fingers are having trouble cooperating.

And then you have to wash breast pump parts.

I swear, I would give ANYTHING to have a magical genie who washes breast pump parts.

You know, like my husband.