Too cold to melt

Do you know that it is supposed to snow here this week? SNOW! That means that it is pretty chilly out here these days. Chilly enough to directly preceed freezing. Brrr. I think this weather may explain a strange phenomenon I've noticed around here. Around here meaning, a round here (I'm pointing to my...self).
When I got out of the hospital I was told by some well-meaning sweeties, "oh, don't worry honey, that baby weight will just melt right off!"
Hmmm....must be the weather.

Remembering not to forget

As you all know, yesterday was Vets day. This day is cool because lots of times you get off of work! But it's also really about something. J and I have step-dads and grandparents, aunts and uncles, and lots of friends who all have served or are still serving with the military, and obviously J rocks the Navy uniform himself. Now, I don't care what your political opinions or beliefs may be, I think that you have to respect and appreciate the sacrifices that have been made, and those that are implicit in the lives of those who serve. Those sacrifices are not small.
Even though Veterans Day will probably be something Little One gets psyched about as she grows up because she might get out of school, J and I want her to get the real reason the day is special, too. Yesterday we had the opportunity to begin that lesson straightaway, in a very moving way.
There are a couple of close family friends who were always there when I grew up, awesome people, and they met in Vietnam. She was his nurse when he was wounded, and he says he knew the minute he saw her that she was The One. They were married for 34 years, until she passed away just before J and I got married. She was my "aunt", and my school nurse, and took care of my sister and I in a lot of ways through the years.
Yesterday J and Little One and I had the honor of standing behind my 'uncle' as as my 'aunt' and other women vets were remembered in a ceremony at the Vietnam Women's Memorial. It was sobering to be there, with other families who have lost loved ones, but also uplifting to get to hear my 'uncle' share memories about her and the extraordinary way they met and built a life. It was a really special way to celebrate the day.
I know that she is far too little to remember (this is why we have pictures) but it meant a lot to me to have Little One there. Because this was a special friend and I want her to know about honoring those you love, but also because the memorial itself is so meaningful. You rarely hear about the women who serve and die in wars, but they have been there. You rarely see a memorial or hear a speech about the heroism of women in conflict, but there are many who are heroic.
I want Little One to understand that, to understand that the sacrifices these women made weren't only for Her country and for all of us, but in another way were also made to pave the way for Little One, and me, and all of us girls to be respected and valued in a way we have always been but not always recognized for; as fighters.

If you're a Vet, and I know some of you are, Thank You. If you're the family or friend of a Vet who knows that there are also sacrifices made by those who love and support those in uniform, Thank You too. And I'd like to throw out a special bit of love for my 'aunt', who spent a lifetime serving others, and continues to inspire.

An extra salute to my own amazing officer, too. I love you, J.

One month anniversary of Little One!

Having a baby is kind of like an arranged marriage. You suddenly get this stranger in your life who you have to live with 24-7, and even though you're going to love them forever, you don't really know a thing about them. Babies are kind of mysterious that way. I mean, sure, all babies are a lot alike. The crying, the pooping. Hey, that's humanity; we all have some things in common.
But at the same time, though she's still kind of larvae-like, Little One is, in fact, her own little person. Part of the fun of being a parent is to slowly figure out what kind of person we've ended up stuck with for the rest of our lives. It takes time, but J and I are supersleuths. We're determined to get to know Little One as quickly as possible, so we can learn all her tricks and try to formulate an antidote to them before she reaches teen years. And also because we can already tell she is pretty cool, and we totally want to make friends with her so we can sit at her table for lunch.

Little One turned a whole one month old three days ago. Happy Birthday Little One! That's a whole month of ice-breaker games and bonding activities we've now shared. We don't even have to wear name tags any more. Since you all probably want to know someone cool too, I thought I'd share what J and I have learned about our new little person.
Here is what we know so far:

Little One is a snuggle maniac. This girl looooooovees to cuddle. She loves it more than anything. She will actually use the same sad face with the trembling, pouty lower lip that she uses when she's hungry in order to fuss for a cuddle if she's feeling neglected. She doesn't mind the swing, and she actually likes the bounce-chair, but all of this drastically pales in comparison to being held.

Her fave cuddle is the tummy to tummy kind, with her head right up under your chin. She will go through all kinds of amazing contortions to get herself into this position, including squiggling up your torso like one of those naked kangaroo babies. Which brings me to...

Little One is STRONG. All those dance parties and jazzercise videos she was doing before she was born beefed this kid up. She can hold her head up by herself, and I have witnessed, several times, as she actually wriggled herself from her back onto her tummy. This is because she is also...

Determined. Little One knows what she wants and you can just see the ambition in her eyes when she tries to get it. Lie her against your bended knees when you sit down and she will literally hurl her head forward, giving her body enough momentum that she is able to fling herself at your chest, where she can squirm her way up to cuddle position. Put her in the cradle and if The Howl doesn't work, she will begin flailing about until she is pressed right up against the side of the cradle next to me. I'm pretty sure she's working on a way to bust through the slats next.

She is always figuring something out. Or seems to be. When she's awake, she is hyper alert. She looks all around with this serious, studious look on her face. She looks right at people's faces and seems to be sizing them up. She pretty much always seems to decide she likes everyone though, because she...

Smiles! Little One smiles a lot, and I've caught a few actual giggles, too. She can also play copy-cat. Meaning if I look at her and stick my tongue out a few times, she will start doing it too. Then she will make a whole litany of other silly faces in rapid succession. So she is also a ham.

She hates to be dirty. Messed diapers are instantly revolting. Spit up is completely intolerable. Baths, however, are pretty fun. Combing hair, not as fun. She likes to be sung to, also, which is too, too bad for J. Though the dogs seem to think it's interesting.

As of yesterday, she also batts at toys , and has discovered her hand. Oooohhhhhh. Hey look, all this may not sound impressive to you, but I think she's come a long way in a month. Which I'm pretty sure is what she's thinking about J and I, who are finally learning to fetch her what she wants (milk, diaper, spit cloth, snuggles) in under 30 seconds.

So far, I think the introductions are going well. We have a lot in common. I mean, I like snuggling too! True we've had our disagreements, mostly about what hours of the day should be used for sleeping, but we're working on a compromise. So far, overall, the kid seems to be funny, smart, sweet, did I mention cuddly?
I think we're going to get along. Yep, I think this will work right out. Guess we must have had a good matchmaker.

Baby's Day Out

Just prior to the full swing (have we reached the full swing yet? I sure hope so...) of the colicky-crying fun, we introduced Little One to her civic duty by dragging her along to the polls with us to vote. See, there we are.
Note that I have cleverly edited out the sign we were holding displaying our candidate of choice. This means "I did not proselytize politics to you, so lets all just get along, shall we?" The point is not who we voted for, per se, but rather that we did get out like good 'ol American citizens and vote. And also, that we got free Starbucks. That is an important point as well.We had so much fun voting and got so hopped up on caffeine (ok, mine was a hot chocolate, but hey I got a mad sugar rush) that we decided to make a day of it and go downtown to see this exhibit at the National Gallery that we've been looking forward to. It was awesome. It was also our first big day out with Little One. It went well. Well ok, we did have a little disaster with some copiously voluminous regurgitation and some untimely fussiness. Just mild fussiness; the type which might fly at Chuck-E-Cheeze, but is generally glared at through wire-rimmed glasses in art galleries. At one point, J said to me, "This is not working. Let's just go home", and I had to slap him in the face and say, "Damn it, man, pull yourself together!!"
That last bit might be a slight exaggeration, but the end result was the same. We soldiered on and had such a good time we went some other fun places downtown after that. So all in all, I'd say it was a sucess, and not just because I got hot chocolate. Though that would have made it worthwhile on it's own, obviously. The reason I bothered to post all this nonsense is strictly for posterity, to note that it was Little One's first:
Metro Ride
Trip to a Gallery
Trip to a Museum
Walk in the rain
Full day out and about
Direct pukeage hit to her father
All of which are very important milestones. Especially the last one. Plus that one was reeaaally funny.

Jinxed

There is a reason I haven't posted in a while.
Which is that in my last post I said something like, "oh, la-di-da, Little One practically never really cries, yay for me!" (something like that). And then, I did not knock on wood.
Well. At some future point when I less resemble a zombie who didn't get the memo that halloween is over, I will tell you all about the new joy in our lives that we like to call...COLIC. Yeah.
Until then, I will just post a few pictures and we can pretend that they constitute an update, k?
Here we go:

This is the colic-baby/dr.evil pose

From our first week home

"Ha ha! That Bee toy is quite the jokester!"

Waving Hi to her fans

Feigning innocence. The cuteness is sincere, though. :)

First little crack in my heart

Like any baby, Little One sometimes cries when she's hungry, or wet or dirty, or when she really feels she's suffered an intolerable lack of attention. Usually, though, she just sort of grumbles to get her point across, unless no one heeds the grumble, in which case she resorts to The Howl. Pretty rarely, though, does she really let go and cry.
Well last night I asked for it. You see, My Mother in Law bought Little One this really fabulous, beautiful cradle so that she could sleep near us for awhile. Little One is a fan. As long as it's daytime. But she gets seriously offended when she finds herself in there at night.
Little One's preference for sleeping is to be tummy to tummy with one of her parents. The cradle, you see, does not radiate heat. It is not soft and smooshy as, unfortunately, her mother is. It does not pat her on the back and say "shh shh" when she startles awake at night. Worst of all, she is positively forced to sleep on her back in there, which is just too insulting.
So I see where she's coming from. But, for so many reasons, she can't just sleep on people's tummies forever. So last night I declared to J, "We're getting serious about this cradle thing tonight. It's time to be tough". And he got the John Wayne glint in his eye and nodded in co-determination.
So we did the bedtime thing and we put her in the cradle. Just as anticipated, as soon as I put my head on the pillow- The Howl. So I picked her up and rocked her, and put her back in the cradle. Repeat. Repeat. Many grumbles and a few Howls later, she is SUPER sleepy, and she falls fast asleep. John Wayne and I give each other a little mental high-five, and we pass out also.
But, minutes later, she suddenly startles awake, finds herself not in contact with any tummies, and instantly starts crying. Really, really, all out, the-world-is-ending crying. So I scoop her up. I bring her in close and hold her tight. She snuggles her little bitty face up under my chin, and like a switch was flipped, falls right back asleep. She even looks like she's smiling a little. And I think, "wow". I didn't feed her, sing to her, hit her with a tranquilizer dart. She just needed to know I was There.
The thing is, in what seems like seconds, that will be gone. She won't want to be held so close, won't cry for me at night. Soon, my presence wont be enough to soothe her when she's upset. Looking at her peaceful little face in the middle of the night, I felt acutely aware of all that, and of how fast time seems to be moving these days. This will be the hardest thing about being a parent, I think. Loving someone so much, knowing that someday they're supposed to leave you. That the the days she wants to sleep on my tummy are finite, and few.
So I gave her a kiss and snuggled her a while, and just soaked it up. I admit it was pretty tempting to just forget the cradle. But. My job as her Mom is to pick her up when she cries, to comfort her and show her I'll always be here. But it's also my job to teach her how to sleep alone. It's a dichotomy I think every parent struggles with; how to protect and nurture and at the same time help her learn how to be independent. And I guess it starts already, at the very beginning really.
So I gave her one more cuddle and a kiss and I settled her back down in her cradle. And this time, she stayed asleep. I was relieved to get to take a nap, and proud of her for finally sleeping on her own for so long. But I'd be lying if I said that when I put her down and Let Go, it didn't break my heart, just a little.

BOO!

Ahhh, halloween. What parent wouldn't love this great American tradition. A holiday all about blood and gore, evil and death, monsters and the general paranormal, and of course copious amounts of sugar and condoned taking of candy from strangers. Fun for everyone! (I've had a super time explaining this holiday to some of my friends who are new to this country, let me tell you).
Well as good American citizens, we of course properly initiated Little One into the festivities. As you can see below, she got her own pumpkin (actually a gift from my Aunt W. Thanks Aunt W!) She did not get to trick or treat. I'm sorry but I usually am a bit suspicious of the motives of parents who's 'trick-or-treaters' do not yet have teeth. Just who am I to assume the free candy I'm dishing out is actually going to, hmm?
Besides which, it was cold out. But, thanks to a gift from our friend A (thanks friend A!) Little One did get to dress up. Which is good because otherwise I'm sure she would have felt left out. Now I'm a bit biased here, sure, but I think the costume was very fitting, don't you? The funnest thing about dressing up little one and trotting her to the door for candy giving was playing "guess the demographic if the group". The parent not dishing candy gets to guess, based on the reaction of the people at the door to Little One, what age and sex they are. Small shrill shouts of "baby!" mean toddlers. Lot's of questions ("Is that angel a baby?") mean elementary school. Random jokes ("sure she's an angel now, just wait two years!") mean dads. Pre-teen girls were a dead give away (outrageously loud chorus of "Aaawwwww!!!!"). No response whatsoever means boys older than 10.
Psht. Who says you can't have wild times any more when you have a baby! Ha. Little One partied with us all night long. We played this game, ate candy and pizza, and watched a moderately scary movie.
Rock. On.

We ate all the leftover candy, so instead you get pictures. Happy Halloween!

Our little pumpkins and our little punkin

Before the squirrels descended My little Angel

checking out some trick-or-treaters with Daddy
Halloween is exhausting!This last picture is very special to me. This is because I realize it may be the last halloween I see a sweet, sleeping face rather than a crazed child hopped up on chocolate. Got to appreciate these things while they last. :)

Just in time for halloween

I've discovered that Little One has supernatural powers.
Like most eerie sixth-sense type talents, she only uses this power in the depths of the night.
At first i thought it was a coincidence, but now- now I know it's on purpose. It has to be, or it wouldn't occur so consistently, and SO MANY TIMES every night. Here's what happens.

Little One eats, and snuggles, and falls into a deep, coma-like sleep. I mean you could not wake the child with a trombone symphony. I look at the clock, which reads: "unbearably late at night", and I look at Little One, and think "yay she is finally asleep!"
I very gingerly, very carefully, ease Little One into her cradle. I set her down, hold my breath, and watch. Not a single sign of consciousness. Steady breathing, no movement. Excellent.
I very gingerly, very carefully, settle into the bed. I pull the covers up, all the while watching Little One closely- still no signs of consciousness. I slowly lower myself down onto the mattress. And then it happens. The pillow. It's something about the pillow that sets off her were-baby senses. The instant, I mean the exact moment my cheek touches cotton, Little One's arms fly out, her legs kick up, her face get all crinkled in and she lets out The Howl.
The Howl will continue, my friends, until all of those steps are quickly reversed and we are back to the first sentence you read after "here's what happens". It's like a carefully orchestrated song...stuck on repeat for the entire night.
How does she know? I tell you I am watching her when this happens. Eyes closed! Sleeping peacefully! I swear I do not have some freakishly loud pillow. She just...KNOWS. Maybe she gets these strange powers from her father, who has a positively uncanny ability to sense my moods and come home, when necessary, bearing Ben and Jerry's like a sheild.
Maybe in time, Little One too will learn to use her power for Good. Or maybe I will learn how to sleep sitting up.

Photo Mania III- Homecoming

Not like beer and football at our alma mater homecoming. That will come later. Maybe next year. But since homecoming is going on right now, back at the school where J and I met and we are missing it, I thought I'd celebrate by posting some pics of a different kind of homecoming.

Looking truly ridiculously engulfed by the giant car seat on the way home

Yay! We're all home!
Looking rather lost in the huge cradle, as well
Getting comfy at home
Checking out her room with mom and grandma

Meeting the other two members of our little family

"Hmm...I think I like this place!"

Photo Mania II

This the the "in the hospital" installment of my Little One exhibit.
Pieces are titled, in this order: Napping in the bassinet thing, all bundled up, dressed up to go home, and with her happy parents right before leaving.
Little One didn't seem particularly impressed by this transition, but as someone who has spent well over a decade looking after other people's kids (and falling totally in love with every single one), the concept that I was actually about to get to take one home, and actually keep her, like, forever, was just so amazing that later it would cause a reckless over-use of italics when writing about it.

Baby...Yellows?

Did you know there is this thing called 'baby blues'? It is actually called that, in medical literature, and it apparently is very common. 80% of women get some form of 'baby blues' in the first few weeks after giving birth. 80 per cent! That's like practically everyone. Personally I think this makes sense, what with the hormones and the sleep deprivation and the realization that the belly wasn't all baby and didn't just fall off after delivery. As most of you know quite well, I am not the least sensitive person in the world. I may even have been called emotional, once or twice...a day.
So when I read about this phenomenon called 'baby blues' I pretty much accepted that this was a phase I would be dealing with (read: inflicting upon unsuspecting husband) at some point. I even prepared myself for it. I stocked up on the most potent anti-depressive substances I could think of, the kinds that are highly specialized and rare, that can only be found in certain places in certain times.
That's right, throughout my pregnancy I was careful to hoard a plentiful depression-fighting arsenal in my freezer of cadburry eggs, various ice cream, and girl scout cookies. The really good kind, in the purple box. And I went so far as to issue a decree forbidding all husbands from tapping into my stash, knowing that I might need the full force of these items. And I also went so far as to warn him of the high probability of having a weepy, moody wife to contend with right about when he would also be getting a weepy, moody infant to contend with. Which I'm sure he was excited about.
Truly, the leftover belly is not uplifting. But still. Little One and I have been home nearly three weeks now already, and I've been peeking in at my little arsenal (now heavily fortified by halloween candy 'for trick-or-treaters') in case I need to nip some blues in the bud, but so far...nothin. So far, at least, I am sore, and sleep-deprived, and since the family left sadly deficient in human contact and, well, daylight, and my life is an endless cycle of feeding and diapers and laundry.
And, oddly, I've never been so happy ever in my entire life. I think Little One might have some genetic defect that causes her to emit THC through her pores or something. I mean, if I could just bottle her fun-adorable-punkin-ness and sell it on street corners, you'd all be watching me on MTV's Cribs right now.
In all seriousness, I'm feeling pretty grateful to be in the minority, at least for the time being. Although I was a little disappointed that I didn't have a, you know, medically viable reason for self-medicating with chocolate. But then I realized that the fact that I'm enjoying all the poop and insomnia so much probably means I've gone a bit masochistic. And hey it's at least as important to treat that as it is to treat the blues, am I right? :)

Let the photo mania begin

You know that guy in the grocery store line that asks if you want to see photo of his kids, because he knows he has a captive audience, and then you have to say yes so you don't look all Cruella De Ville, and then he opens up his wallet and rolls out, like, 5 miles of little pictures and you miss you TV show cause you're stranded in the supermarket nodding and going "uh huh, that one is the cutest also...that one too...aww...uh huh..." This is like that. Only worse, because I do not have to contend with the narrow spacial confines of a pocket. Now, normally, I'd probably be ashamed, at least embarrassed to be That Guy. Buuuut, since I know that copious pictures of Little One are what you're really all here for, and that they are WAY more fun than anything I have to say, I'm just going to roll with it. So, cyber friends, let me ask you. Want to see a photo of my kid? Yes? Well then. We shall begin with day one:
Don't forget to nod your head, smile, nod, and tell me how cute she is.

First bath right after being born, with her respective very obviously sleepy parents, getting her first workup with help from future Dr. J, and just simply being a cutie pie. In that order. Now, aren't you glad you said yes?

Perfect Ten

(Warning: This post contains birthiness. Birth stories are always gory and bloody, and not in a cool Vin Diesel movie kind of way. If overly-personal information and general goriness make you queasy, get out now. Sissy.)

So I would like to answer a question posed to me by my very fabulous friend A, the day after Little One's arrival. i would like to answer it because it is a good question, and because some of you out there are pregnant and have therefore been exposed to horror stories from friends, family, and strangers on the metro, and I'd like to add my two cents now that I have had a baby and get to join the ranks of women who suddenly know everything. The question was:
"So...was it the worst pain of your life?!?"

Which the answer is Yes, Yes it was.
But let me explain. I knew all day Monday, as I cleaned and worked on the house that the contractions I was having were different. Like, "hey, that one had some kick to it!" like a little tobasco sauce thrown in there. So it's not like I ignored them, I wrote them all down just in case, like they tell you to in the otherwise pointless childbirth class I dragged J to a week earlier. But I mean, come on. We've all seen the movies, where women are screaming and throwing things and writhing around, and their heads turn 360 degrees and they curse their husbands and use very non-maternal language. That's labor, right?
Well. I'm a little sorry to say, it was not like that. (Which means I've pretty much blown my chance at a get-out-of-jail free card for totally inappropriate behavior, which is too bad.) So I thought, hmm...maybe not. Still, by the time J finally got home, about 13 hours later, I was pretty sure we'd be making a trip to the hospital, at least to check it out. At around 8pm, we decided to drive over. I called the baby people on the way to let them know I was coming, and here is what happened. The nurse said, "What did you say your pain scale was?"
You know the pain scale, right? It's that little chart in the doctor's office that they stole from your 7th grade school counselor. It has the little happy face over by the number 1, and then the little happy face looks less happy, then rather ambivalent, then kind of disgruntled, and finally turns all frowny over by the 10. I have been told, many times, by medical professionals trying to decode this advanced technological monitoring tool for me, that zero (happy face) means NO PAIN, and 10 (frowny face) means the MOST PAIN EVER. Ever.
So, I thought about the little faces, and as I considered what number to tell the nurse, I thought about mideival torture. Because, really, I think those people set the standard for frowny faces on the pain scale. And I compared the contractions to, say, being stuck with a hot poker, or having eyes gauged out, and I thought, well, surely, this is not so bad, you know, in the scheme of things. So I told her seven.
And she told me to go home. What? Yep, go home and wait awhile for my pain scale to get worse, and then come back. So we did, and I couldn't help but say to J, "oh my gosh...I think labor is really going to hurt". Which we laughed about later, and you'll see why.
Well a couple of hours later, I popped up from the bed and told J we were going to the hospital NOW and screw the nurse. (Which was for emphasis, not a directive, mind you.) When we got there, they asked me my pain scale again. Hmmm......"eight?"
So, the nurse, clearly (annoyingly) unconcerned by this, told me they would just monitor me for a while, and to tell them if things got much worse. This is where J stepped in and used all his future doctory skills and saved the day. He said, "you know, C, 10 on the pain scale is supposed to be the worst pain you personally have ever felt. Not, like, the worst pain imaginable." Oh. Well then.
So I looked at the nurse and said, "Right. Ten. Definitely TEN". Well, apparently, ten is a magic number. Nurse Unconcerned rushed a doctor in. Doctor asked what kind of pain relief I'd like, and I said I'd like to try none, and all the people in scrubs looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. The doctor did an exam, and the eyebrows went up again, this time even higher, and she said, "well, if you want a natural childbirth, this is the way to do it, because you are dilated and going to have this baby RIGHT NOW." So, apparently, I had been in actual labor all along. Which meant, I realized, that it was almost over. You know how on TV, there are these moments where the character gets bathed in a spotlight from above and the choir goes "aaaaahhhhhh!!!" That can happen in real life.
So they rushed me right over to the delivery place and Little One proceeded to make her entrance. And I'm not going to lie, I think I might have hit and 11 on the frowny face scale a couple times, but then something amazing happened. Little One was here.
Here is my hypothesis. I think labor hurts for a reason. Let's consider newborn babies. They cry, a lot, they poo, a lot, they look kinda funny and they don't even say thank you. Evolutionarily, there has to be something to keep us all from getting tossed down a well by the age of three days. I think labor is it. I mean, imagine an ice cube (work with me here).
If you hold an ice cube in your hand, it is not a particularly pleasant sensation. It's cold, and kind of slimy, and it even stings a little. Now. Imagine that you have burned the bejeezus out of your hand trying to get your cookies out of the oven. Suddenly, holding that ice cube is the best thing your hand has ever felt. The ice is heavenly, thank goodness for the ice! Do you see what I mean, here? I think the reason that labor hurts is for that moment that they hold up the baby and say "look at your baby!" It makes something great and amazing into something miraculous. Which is what it was. And you fall all in love with the crying, pooping baby on the spot, and rather than throwing it down a well, you spend all your time for the next 20 years trying to keep it alive. Evolution is smart, people.
Granted, I had a relatively easy time of it, so I'm told. And I had J there with me, every second, being amazing like he does, so I knew that at some point it would all be ok. And the cool thing about birthiness is that, unlike say, gout, it won't last forever.
So look, the long answer to the question is that, sure, it was the worst pain I ever felt in my life. But come on, what does that really mean? Most of us have never been drawn and quartered, or burned at the stake, or eviscerated. What's the worst pain you've ever felt in your life? Was is really that bad? And at the end, it's all so, so worth it. Because in one second, you jump right off that pain scale onto the happy scale. And you get to start right out at 10.

To the tune of that Dolly Parton song

I know I know! I promised pictures, I promised updates, I promised not to ignore you cyber-people all the time. I meant it, really. I am so on your side, all you people who sent me gently inquisitive or rather nasty emails. Take it up with Little One.
You see, awhile back, once upon a time when She was still beating me up from the inside, there was lots of back and forth talking between me and J, and lot's of pacing around and hand- wringing on my part. The end result of all this drama was the decision for me to stay home with Little One all the time, for now at least. This effectively makes Little One my new boss.
Let me tell you, She is the toughest boss I have ever had. I'm sorry to say that She is actually a little bit bossy and demanding. Rather dictator-like, in fact. Miss Little One will not tolerate any laziness in her employees, and she certainly does not allow idling away productive work hours on the internet when there are important things to be accomplished, such as staring adoringly at Little One for hours, or re-creating a plethora of nursery rhymes and lullabies so that they all contain her name. (it is all about her, after all).
So if I've been lax in posting here, it's not because I forgot you, it's just that I have yet to accrue any time off. Or any coffee breaks. Though I did recently get promoted to showering every day, which is a plus. I'm hoping I'll be able to sneak over here more often as I get the hang of this new position, but in the meantime bear with me; I'm not ready to hand in my resignation any time soon. I mean so far the job is a little rough, granted, but the benefits are awesome.





See.

Say it with me now

...Awwwww :)

Honey...

So my pregnancy book says that history is rife with tales of women who have knowingly placed a hand on their belly and looked at their attentive husbands and said "honey...it's time". And counted and timed contractions and done lots of fancy breathing and rushed to the hospital ready to go, only to have labor hit the breaks, burn rubber and fishtale, and come to a screeching stop as soon as they reach the exam table (which if I were that baby and say some strange guy with a flashlight peeping at me, I might change my mind too. Just sayin'.) I tell you this as a disclaimer.
Because, barring such an event, which evidently is quite possible, I think Little One may have decided to join us after all!
I've been in a good denial most of the day, which I can only partly blame Little One for, seeing as how I haven't actually had the opportunity to tell her the little boy/wolf story yet, but at this point I think we're ready to assume that she might mean business. So please wish us all some luck that next time I post here, there will be a picture of a squished pink alien which we will all decide is the cutest thing we have ever seen.
And a little luck for the Elephant, too, if you don't mind. :)
See you on the other side! (I have so always wanted a reason to say that).

... It must be an elephant

On Saturday, J and I got to go to the birthday party of M, the little girl I used to nanny for. It was great to see her, looking as usual like a big pile of adorable cuteness, and fun to see her parents and all the other neighborhood kids I haven't seen in a few weeks too. I was having a great time party-mooching, stocking up on essentials like M cuddles and cupcakes (tell me you can think of a better way to spend a Saturday) when one person, who shall remain nameless to protect his identity and also because I don't know his name, asked a very good question.
This person is the father of some child I know from M's playdates at the park. I think. He spotted me from across the room. He probably had one of those visions like in the cartoons where Elmer Fudd sees Bugs as a giant steak, only for this guy it was my round belly morphing into a target, and he thought "ooh! I have something funny to say!" and he shouted, loud enough that everyone in the room stopped talking and looked at said target-belly, "Hey! What are you, an Elephant? You've been pregnant forever!!! Har har har!!!" (Har har means laughing, so you know).
Now, for those of you who don't get your daily recommended amount of Animal Planet, Elephants have, like, the longest pregnancies on earth. Two years, my friend. Which is insane, but anyways. I do happen to be privy to this little bit of trivia, so I think I get the joke. heh...heh. But I have to admit that really, that comment could be construed in a couple of different ways, and that, really, it would be sadly applicable either way. Which means it really is a good question, and I'm thinking of trying today to see if I can pick stuff up off the floor with my nose. Which would be really cool, since I can't actually end over any more.
So here's a shout out to Mr Funnyman, with his keenly witty observations. Mr Funnyman has a point, and I have a new empathy for one of my Animal Kingdom relatives. After, I guess if it looks like and elephant, and it gestates like an elephant....

Brought to you by the letter N

Some of you may not know this, but I have an serious love of secondhand stuff. I am a craigslist junkie, and am totally one of those people who thinks that trolling local thrift stores and garage sales is a perfectly good use of a Saturday. What is not to love about other people's old stuff? It's cheap! It's unique! It's recycling! And I think that if used stuff is good enough for me, it's even better for Little One. Seriously how long has a baby item actually been used?
So last weekend I was super excited to find a baby-stuff only flea market right around the corner and drag my friend to it. I got a bunch of super cute little outfits, and I will never tell you which ones they are because you will never be able to tell. That is how super and cute they are. Most of them actually still had tags on, which is like, bargain shopper jackpot.
But anyways, I scored a bunch of baby books too, since so far the nursery had exactly one such item in it, not a good way to foster the nerdiness she will need to fit in with this family. So, since though I love old stuff, I hate old germs, today I was cleaning each and every page with disinfectant (yes really).
I was thinking, as I wiped down a particular alphabet book, "my this is in perfect condition for having belonged to a drooly little kid", which it was, really pristine, until I came to the page with the letter N. Letter N was covered with some kind of sticky particulate matter I'd rather not try to identify. It was the only page affected. Which I thought was funny enough to share because in this book, letter N stood for "Neat". "Nice and Neat", in fact.
Ha ha. I like this kid, this little punk kid who used to own that book. This kid has a prematurely developed sense of irony. I imagine this kid will grow up to be funny, and a little bit of trouble. Which is the whole fun of buying other people's old stuff- it all comes with a story of it's own. Since this one was a book, I call that a 2 for one. Nice.

tick...tick...tick....

If you know about all this pregnancy stuff, you know the term "drop". I had no idea what this was until recently, but there is a point- generally when you are so pregnant that you can barely breathe and your kid is smooshed and sticking various appendages up under your ribs like a midieval torture device- where the baby does a headstand and 'drops' down low. This is great because now you can breathe again, and even when baby stretches, generally the ribs are pretty safe. It is also great because it means that baby is getting ready to get the heck out of the belly. Or it is supposed to mean that.
Supposed to. This is why, nearly a month ago, I got all excited when the doctor said "oooh she's already dropped- she might come early!" Yay! Early! So I have rushed around like a crazy person getting all ready (see last post) and....nada. Little One is, apparently, perfectly happy in there, and probably just was tired of me poking her back when she kicked me in the lungs. I have to admit that at times, I have recently wished I could issue an eviction notice. This wish often occurs at around 4 am, after the 6th or so trek to the bathroom. Also when I see tiny pink shoes with no tiny pink feet in them.
But, technically, I think eviction notices are void before the actual due date. So I am trying to enjoy these last few days (I am sticking to days here, positive thinking) of calm. I'm sleeping in and taking naps, and eating ice cream and doing little things around the house that might not get done again for a long, long time. And I'm doing a little thinking on becoming a mom and all that stuff, and trying to appreciate the kicks and squirms that will never be the same once she's on This Side. I have to admit it's probably a good thing to have had the time to finish getting ready, and to rest awhile. Besides, as J says, it just may happen that I rush her on out and then she screams all night and I'll want her to get back in again!
I guess Little One just wants me to know that she is, in fact, related to me and therefore not going to show up early for anything. And since she is after all putting th finishing touches on her brain, rather than just her outfit, I guess i can be a little more understanding. For now.