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.