Posthipchick: Silent

2006-12-14T12:05:00.000-08:00

It's been real, or Index, Harper's Style:

Years since beginning this blog: 3 5/6
Jobs held in said four years: 3 (U*S*A Rugby's office manager, Teacher and now the illustrious Program Manager)
Marriages: 1
Pregnancies: 1
Births: 1
Places lived: 3
Cities lived: 2
Degrees Obtained: 1, and a credential
Blog Posts: 1,193
Times I have faked innocence about this blog: 3
Times I have been in a class and somebody has mentioned this blog without knowing who I was: 1
Friends made through the blog that I have actually met in real life: 10
Friends made through the blog that I have not met in real life but still oddly feel like friends because we email often: 4
Friends that I met in real life and then solidified the friendship with through the blog: 6
Times I have thought it was a better idea to shut the hell up and enjoy my life, quiet and boring as it is, than spend so much damn time on the Internet: 1, but it's enough

Thanks all, for everything these past four years. It's hard to imagine what my life will be like without the blog, but I look forward to finding out.

2006-12-12T16:48:00.000-08:00

Not Angry Enough:

Babble launches tonight without me.

That’s right, I was fired before actually beginning. That really has to be some sort of record. Apparently my voice is too “mommy-bloggish” and “not the right fit”.

Babble is touting itself as irreverent and edgy, which I’m sure it will be. Alas, I am neither of those things.

I think it boils down to me not being angry enough. I tried to pull out my creds- Hey! I listen to Ani Difranco and Rage Against the Machine! I am angry, too! I swear!

But in all honesty, I am not. Before being fired (this is my first firing, ever), I was having serious doubts. The approach they are taking seemed to be one that is constructed around being exclusive and hip for the sake of being hip. Different for the sake of being different. Which is great for them. They can wear the skinny jeans and leg warmers, but I’ll be over here in boot-cuts with clogs. For me, becoming a parent has been the great equalizer. Whether I talk to people who breastfeed or formula-feed, who co-sleep or have their babies in a crib in another room, who stay at home or send their children to daycare, we are all doing the best we can and love our children more than we thought humanly possible. Why do we need to divide ourselves up into categories and talk shit about the others? Won't we do better standing together?

In all honesty, this brings up two things that I have been thinking about for awhile.

The first is that I have never considered myself a writer. In fact, I hate writing. And yet I’ve kept this blog for almost four years, so there’s that. I write. But I think the difference between a writer and a good writer is that a good writer can take banal things and make them funny and poignant. Whereas I have had funny or poignant things happen and I write them down. There is a difference.

The second thing this brings up is the ever-increasing exclusivity of the blog world. Maybe it has always been there and I just haven’t noticed, but these days it feels like it taints things more and more for me. Since Blogher, I have had a bad taste in my mouth about blogging but have just sort of plugged along. I thought that I was going to quit altogether but then decided to just take a month off and see how I felt. Something in me decided to give it one more shot, but I am still feeling like it might be time to pull the plug on Posthipchick.

Anyway, go read Babble and find out how to be edgy and irreverent. God knows you aren’t going to find out here.

2006-12-10T20:51:00.000-08:00

Small World:

Don't you love when someone answers your craigslist posting about selling your couch and they show up and it turns out to be someone you went to college with and totally enjoyed and now they are going to buy your couch and also you guys can hang out sometime? Yeah, I love that too.

2006-12-06T15:17:00.000-08:00

Heartbreak:

I have spent the last few days alternating between obsessively refreshing my sfgate page, looking for news about the Kims, emailing and IM'ing with friends about possible scenarios, and caring for a sick baby while becoming sick myself.

When I was up last night at 1 with a sobbing baby who just vomited all over me, I checked the page. At 3, when she was wrecked by not being able to nurse, I checked the page. I was holding out hope that James would be found alive and I am devastated to know that he isn't.

Through all of this, I began to question why exactly I cared so much. But the fact is, this story hits incredibly close to home. I know people who know each of them. They live on the same street as my MIL, not a mile from us. Their youngest daughter is exactly the same age as The Olive.

You begin to play out the scenario- this could have been us. We could have taken a wrong turn. We could have been terrified in a car for nine days, keeping our children alive by breastfeeding them. Our husbands could have set out for help and died saving our family.

It is sad but true, I think, that the more you feel connected to something, the more you pay attention to it. They are certainly not the only family to be suffering a devastating loss right now, but they are the only ones within my line of vision.

I want to do something to commemorate their bravery and loss, but even with someone so close, I fear there is nothing I can do. So I will hug by sickly little daughter and wonderful husband a little tighter tonight and remember how amazingly lucky I am. May the Kim family have some peace.

Edited to add: Stefania and I are planning on putting some flowers at their family store tomorrow. If you would like me to add anything from you, leave it in the comments.

Pics are up.

2006-12-03T08:24:00.000-08:00

I have become the mom I never thought I'd be:

I am actively trying to get The Olive interested in the Teletubbies. As in I have tivo'd an episode and we turn it on about once a day to distract us from our current frustrations. I have this theory that the more she sees it, the more excited she will be about it. It usually lasts about two minutes, and then she's back to her "frustrated" noise, a sort of grunting like you think she might be pooping, but alas, it's just a special Olive noise used to express frustration at any given situation and is, based on my time with other babies, not a universal noise. It is also the noise I am quite sure will follow me into Hell, because there is nothing worse I have heard, ever, and if you find me in the mental institution one day, it is quite likely that noise that drove me there.

So! The Teletubbies are quite trippy, no? I'm sure many have discussed these alien bears far more eloquently than I can. In fact, I'm sure some Education student somewhere has a fascinating thesis on the subject, so if you are so inclined, go ahead and look that up.

Watching the Teletubbies has, however, confirmed one thing for me. British accents are just so much cuter than American accents. I feel that I am doing The Olive a disservice by not raising her in Ye Olde Country and allowing her to develop that endearing accent. There are simply no immersion schools for American English and British English, and I must say, I think that is a shame. We may have to cozy up a little more to some of our British friends to encourage a little rub-off onto The Olive's vocabulary.

Or just watch more Teletubbies. Good mom, Good mom.

2006-11-30T20:28:00.000-08:00

Welcome to the Working Week:

Everyone I "work" with (work in parenthesis because everyone besides me is a volunteer) are parents. So when there is a meeting at their house, they always welcome me to bring The Olive. I always politely decline, because while their school-age kids are content to watch a video in the other room, I don't have confidence The Olive is up to that yet.

But today there was a meeting and the host not only told us children were welcome, but also that their nanny would be there. And the meeting was at a time that our nanny wasn't available and The Lovely Beausband had a work thing, so... I just marveled at how freaking lucky I am once again in having this job.

Of course, there would be a little work "emergency" today, which meant I had to haul The Olive along to two meetings instead of just one. The first, she was great. I plopped her on a blanket on the floor with my keys and the house had an unbelievably friendly cat and I was free to hash out spreadsheet nightmares. She didn't even peep.

Then we got to our next meeting and I foolishly tried to hand The Olive over to the nanny and the other children, who were so excited for her to come that they had "babyproofed" the house and pulled out all their old toys, you know what happened, right? Hint: I have a seven-month old. What do seven-month olds do? C'mon. You know it. Separation Anxiety, in full force.

So after giving her a few minutes of trying to relax and realizing that was so not happening, I went and scooped her up and thought I would try to hold her on my lap during the meeting. I gave her my keys, my sunglasses, all the things that normally work to keep her quiet for whole minutes at a time.

Of course, this is when The Olive decided to learn to talk. Sure, there's been the occasion 'Ga' here or there, but this was T-A-L-K-I-N-G. "Ba-ba-ba-BAAAAAAAA-Daa-DAAAAA-DAAAAA" at the top of her lungs. For the entire meeting. Of course, I was stunned. I have never heard anything like this out of her before. It was so jarring and sudden. Everyone was trying to hold a meeting, for Gods sake, about important websites and software and auctions and there was The Olive, trying to tell us all about how she wants to be a businesswoman when she grows up or how today's reading circle was. I honestly don't know. I do know, however, that nobody could even talk over her babble and I also know that she might not be invited to any more meetings.

2006-11-09T17:19:00.000-08:00

Hiatus interruptus:

A few months ago, I got a comment on one of my posts and clicked over to the website of the commenter. I do this fairly often, particularly with commenters I am not familiar with.

I clicked over and saw a family who had just delivered their baby at 27 weeks gestation. As in three months before his due date, thirteen weeks early. Early enough that I imagine most babies would not survive.

I have said it before and I will say it again- this thing that happens when you become a mom, where you feel so deeply for other mothers and the pain they go through- it is staggering.

For almost three months, I have followed their son's struggles and accomplishments, and marveled at the fact that they have managed to stay positive and hopeful in the face of such fear.

And it is so worth interrupting my hiatus to tell you that today they took their son home. I find it hard to imagine that they shed more tears than me, but I'm sure they did.

Go Jack.

2006-11-04T08:59:00.000-08:00

November:

Aren't you glad November is NaBloPoMo? Everyone posting and all.

So while everyone else posts every day, I'm going to not post every day. I know, how meta.

Have a great Thanksgiving and see you in December.

2006-10-31T17:03:00.000-08:00

Oh, Doctor:

A few weeks ago I scheduled a doctor's appointment for today. I know I scheduled it for today because the receptionist asked "Are you sure it's ok for you to come in on Halloween?", and I know I'm losing marbles at a rate quicker than most drug users, but I'm pretty sure that all the people walking around in Hulk Hogan costumes and devil horns indicate something.

Anyway. I showed up at my doctor's door at our 1:30 scheduled time. My doctor, who I love, love, love, is ALWAYS running late. But you know- I'm a mom without much free time on my hands so the chance to sit in a quiet room and read magazines? Take an extra hour, doc. But I showed up and went to open the door and it was locked. And on it was a post-it from UPS, dated the day before. Which means nobody had been here since.... yesterday? How perplexing.

I waited about 10 minutes, so totally confused about 1) why the doctor's office would be closed for two days and 2) why no other patients were waiting with me. I called and left a message, and then headed downstairs, about to give up. I stopped by the pharmacy and asked if they knew anything (if someone doesn't show up, I, of course, assume they have died, which seems an important thing to note about ones' doctor), and they called some super-secret-doctor-phone and lo and behold! She would be there in five minutes.

So I went BACK upstairs and waited for another 15 minutes and she finally showed up, looking frazzled. Apparently the receptionist was supposed to have canceled all her appointments for today, which explains both the tardiness and the lack of patients. She just happened to be coming in in the afternoon to do paperwork. So we went on with the appointment, after chatting for quite some time, during which I was informed that answering services charge around $1,000 PER MONTH and I decided I am SO starting a side business as an answering service because that is some serious bank.

The bottom line to the appointment is this: I do not have insomnia, I have a baby who wakes me up. And she really recommends that if your knee hurts, you shouldn't have sex on a hard floor. I want you to remember that.

2006-10-29T16:07:00.000-08:00

October's List Of Things They Don't Tell You:

1. You will never leave the house past 7 p.m. again. Seriously, we tried to go to a friend's for dinner on Friday night and it was a total disaster. And they HAD a yoga ball and a Pack & Play. But that's not enough for our girl, who was kvetching the whole time and wouldn't fall asleep. I remember when I was pregnant with The Olive, Dutch and Wood asked if we wanted to meet them for dinner at a local burrito place at 5 p.m. I thought they were crazy. 5 p.m.? Seems totally reasonable now.

2. That babies are happier outside. You, too, will find yourself aimlessly strolling the city streets as a way of getting the kvetching to end, please, oh please, make it end.

3. Babies love laptops. I mean, who knew that would be her favorite toy ever? I'm sure it's in no small part due to the fact that her parents are always hiding behind them, but look! Lights! And clicky buttons! That make things move! It's the perfect toy!

4. Babies don't always sleep more as they get older. In fact, The Olive's sleep gets progressively WORSE the older she gets. I didn't know I could survive six months on no more than three consecutive hours of sleep, but you know. You get by.

5. Babies don't like food right away. Even though they've been grabbing at yours with their grabby little paws for months, it turns out they are not so into it themselves. Even sweet potatoes. Even Jamba Juice, for the love of god. What is wrong with these creatures?

2006-10-27T09:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Olive,

Yesterday you were six months old. That's half a year. Half a year in which I haven't slept more than three hours in a row, but we?ll get back to that.

One year ago today, you weighed about 4 ozs. and were approximately four inches long. You made me throw up a lot. I was certain you were a boy, and would constantly poke at you and call you ?Dude". As in ?Dude, please stop kicking me.?

Six months ago, they placed you in my arms and you felt huge at 7 lbs., 8 ozs.

Now you weigh in at around 15.8 lbs., and are 26 1/2 inches. You are long and lean, not the chubby baby I expected. I blame this on the fact that you never stop moving. Yesterday at the mom's group, I noticed that the other moms hold their babies on their laps and the babies sit quietly, sucking on mom's finger or staring at a toy. Oh my god, that is so not you. I feel like I spend all day, every day, wrestling a monkey. You are not content to sit quietly on my lap for more than a minute, if that. You want to twist around to see what is behind you, and then twist around again, because god forbid you miss something. Oh sweet girl, how did you end up so much like me?

All day yesterday, I kept thinking about the day you were born. I think it will stick in my memory forever as the best day of my life. I kept thinking "Six months ago right now, I had just had the epidural and was feeling great" or "Six months ago right now was when the pain started again" or whatever it was. Quite honestly, I don't think I have the sequence of time quite right in my head, but I'm ok with that. What I don't forget, and what I think I won't ever forget is the hours immediately after you came out. First of all, I could never quite wrap my head around the fact that a real, live baby was inside of me. I don't know why. I thought maybe you were a cat or something. So I had the house prepared- kitty litter, a little feeding dish, and then you turned out to be a baby. Who knew? I remember seeing you as they wisked you across the room, and I was finally able to open my eyes a bit because all the pain was suddenly gone. And I kept asking what you were, even though I was so sure you were a boy. "You have a daughter", they told me, and at once I was knocked back down again. I was so, so sure that you were a boy that the news sent me reeling. I was unprepared for a girl. And Boo-Boo? I am secretly so happy that you are a girl. I'm sure I would have been just as pleased with a boy, but it fills my heart no end to know that I get a daughter in this life. It is an indescribable feeling to know that we will get to share all those things that women share.

The past six months have both dragged on in ways I never knew a day could drag, and simultaneously sped by so fast that sometimes I think that I'm on a train going 200 m.p.h. and that I can't get off. Where does the time go? It is so cliche, and yet so true. It's like I entered into a different zone when you came out, and now things are set differently. I cannot believe that the person that six months ago couldn't do anything beyond nurse and poop is the same person who slurps on a spoon, or sits up and plays or spins around in her Exersaucer, picking things up and throwing them to the ground. I can't imagine the changes that are going to happen in the next six months. It is almost too much to bear.

Sometimes, on good days, your father and I talk about the next child we will have. Don't get your hopes up, little one. We need some sleep before you get a sibling. But we talk about it and we can't imagine that we will love another person as much as we love you. How can it be possible? YOU are clearly the most wonderful and amazing baby to ever live; how could another person compete? How could the experience of having a second ever be as special as having you?

Yesterday, I was in the store, and I came across a mother and her young son. We got to talking and were immediately swapping sleeping tips and neighborhood news, then quickly devolved into postpartum body issues and marital relationships. How quickly and easily moms can talk. You no longer have the time to get to know someone slowly and build a friendship. Instead, it's five minutes in Target while the baby is pacified by their new toy. There is no bullshit involved. Leaving, I marveled at the way motherhood has done the wonderful trick of connecting me to all the other mothers in the world, all trying to do the best they can. It has changed me in ways I couldn't have imagined, and is the most defining thing to have happened to me in this life. For that, Olive, I will be eternally grateful to you.

2006-10-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

Six Months (almost):

My mom is famous for being the World's Worst Photographer. Seriously. Every single picture of me growing up is blurry. She would take prom photos that cut out your date EVERY SINGLE TIME. We have given her endless shit for her complete lack of skills, but it is becoming clear that I am following in her footsteps. Thank God the subject is cute.

Note the sitting up(!). Yeah, that happened.

2006-10-19T12:25:00.000-07:00

Teacher, leave those kids alone:

I had a dream last night that I returned to my old school and all my students were there. They were so happy to see me. Or happy in the way that teenagers show happiness about any sort of emotion. They joked with me and asked me shyly when I was coming back. And gave me shit, as teenagers are want to do.

In the dream, I kept thinking, "I cannot believe I ever left teaching. I miss it so much."

In real life, I miss it, too, when I have two seconds to even think about it. In theory, it sounds nice. In reality, I maintain that I have the best compromise for a mother ever. I cannot imagine having to get up at 6 a.m. every day (we roll out of bed around nine here), or grading papers after being away from The Olive all day. Being away from The Olive all day. Every day. Being needed so much all day and so much all night. I have no doubt that I would be back on meds at this point if I was back to teaching. If I hadn't died of exhaustion already.

But there are still parts I miss. And I realize The Olive will not need me the way she does now forever. And there will be a point when I don't want to lounge in my pajamas all day, and I want to get back to feeling like I'm making a difference in the world beyond my little family. There will come a day when it feels right to go back to the classroom, I am sure of it.

But last night I wrote out a 'Sleep Plan' for our house, and at the end I included a part about assessments. The teacher in me lives on.

2006-10-14T11:53:00.000-07:00

Insomniac Foodie:

So, I am still suffering from post-partum insomnia here. It is awful, terrible, etc. I will not bore you with the details because I could complain about sleep from here to eternity and I fear it is getting a touch boring. I'm a new mom, I don't sleep. End of story.

So, when the insomnia hits, I like to play some games to try to push myself into sleep. Counting sheep, counting backwards from 100 in 3's, listing the states in alphabetical order. Fun stuff. My newest game is a version of "I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing something beginning with (A, B, C, etc.)". But not one to stick to standards, I shake it up a bit. I'm not going on a trip, I'm going on a dessert island, forever. And I'm not bringing things, but rather food items that will be the only food available to me, forever. I must choose wisely. Here goes.

I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing an avocado
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing bread
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing coffee (this is the hardest one for me. how does one choose between coffee, cheese (oh, beautiful cheese! i manage this one later with a touch of creativity), crab? it is tough, but the final decision is that I cannot live without coffee.)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing d (there is something wrong with me that I cannot think of a food that starts with d. Neither can The Lovely Beausband. Please help us.)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing eggs
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing flour
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing goat cheese (See? I get a cheese!)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing half & half (for the coffee, and any cream-based cooking, since cream is another dreaded c-word)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing icing, cream cheese
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing jack cheese
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing kosher salt
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing lemons
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing mozzarella, fresh
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing nuts
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing onions
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing potatoes
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing quinoa (I couldn't care less, but between this and quince, quinoa seems more versatile)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing rice
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing sugar
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing tuna, ahi
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing unsalted butter
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing vanilla beans
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing wheat
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing x (there are simply no x food words, so I forgo an x)
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing yogurt
I'm going on a trip and I'm bringing ziti

2006-10-10T16:39:00.000-07:00

Thank god she doesn't speak English yet:

I hit my all-time low as a parent today. I was desperately trying to get out of the house for a meeting this morning. I got up on time, but then it was just one thing after another. Urgent work emails. The need to make more coffee. And to shower. And put on clothes. And to pump. The apartment felt particularly messy and crowded, and I kept tripping over shit. All the while, The Olive would not let me put her down. Not for one second. Not in the bouncy chair or the Exersaucer or the Hop-N-Pop or her special chair or on a blanket on the floor or on the bed. I would set her down, just to put on my pants, for Christ's sake, and she would cry. And wouldn't stop. I tried to let her work through it, but the only time she was happy was in my arms. And maybe you are a better mom than me, but I simply cannot get my make-up on while holding a baby. This went on and on all morning, with me running terribly late and trying to get everything packed up and I snapped. I told her to shut the fuck up, loudly, and then she cried and so did I.

I do not want to be a mom who snaps at her children because of frustration. I know, in my head, that she was having some particularly bad morning- maybe she is teething or maybe she had a bad dream- who can tell? Her bad morning just wasn't working with my schedule, the schedule I have altered my life to adhere to. I know it's not her fault, but oh my god, was I frustrated this morning.

2006-10-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

Home:

The Blue Angels are roaring overhead. The bluegrass festival is in full swing at the park. It is a beautiful autumn day in the city- the kind you fantasize about during the fog of summer and rain of winter and moist cool of spring.

I got halfway to the bluegrass festival- literally, drove halfway there with The Lovely Beasuband and friends, after showering and getting dressed and packing the baby's bag and my bag and getting water and the Bjorn and the proper attire on everyone for the possible weather at the park, now and as the day wears on. And then realizing by the time we got there and parked and walked the half mile to the festival, it would be time for me to turn around and leave to get back for the baby's nap, of which I really need to sleep for. So we moved people around cars and I took the baby to the local park to swing on the swings as a big "activity" for the day, to erase any guilt about spending the rest of the beautiful day inside, lying around on the bed.

This is all because I went out last night- back to the mall, even though I hate malls and I am having some serious knee problem that is making walking generally unpleasant. But the night involved me getting some delicious cream puffs, and then randomly ending up getting a totally delicious dinner at a swanky restaurant, with me in my jeans and clogs and hair in a total mom bun, but damn if it wasn't good. But I think that when a switch-up in the routine happens- like we are out or even I am out, the baby does not sleep well, so regardless of the fact that she was put down at 7:00, she didn't really go to sleep until 11:30, and then was up early, and all of this is to say that I am very, very tired.

I am going to rename this blog www.thetiredblog.blogspot.com.

2006-10-05T13:04:00.000-07:00

Bad Ideas I Had Yesterday:

1. To go to the store (across town) to get the needed piece for my breast pump without calling first. Because obviously they would be closed for an hour and a half staff meeting exactly when I showed up. And no other stores in this major metropolitan area seem to carry this piece.

2. To kill time while waiting for store to reopen by spending an hour at a bookstore carefully deciding which book to get and finally choosing one. Only to get home and realize, hmmmm, I've already read this book.

3. And now I have to go back across town to return that fucker. Grrrr.

4. To try to eat dinner while holding the baby, who grabbed at every single thing, leaving a trail of pasta sauce all over the carpet. At one point, I just gave up and let all of the pasta and sauce form a pile on the carpet, because a girl's gotta eat.

5. To try to "streamline" our nighttime routine by taking a shower with the baby. The experience made the car seat look like a good time. Horrible, slippery, not clean. Never doing that again.

2006-10-02T20:46:00.000-07:00

The Things We Do For The Children:

I'm going to be up front here. I hate malls. Hate, hate, hate. The crowds of people, the bad, blaring music, the stale air, the same shit in every store. I concede, however, to enjoying a pretzel now and again.

But anyway.

Why, then, was I so excited to visit the brand new mall in downtown San Francisco (a place I usually avoid like the plague)? Why did I feel the need to rush down there with the masses of tourists and locals alike to see yet another fucking Bebe Sport store?

And WITH the baby? Jesus God. The driving down there (singing 'You are my Sunshine' over and over and over and over the entire time because I got the baby model that HATES the car). The parking (a massive lot, where when you drive in it shows you electronically how many spots are available on each of the eight levels). The elevators (so many that go to all these different places, none of which we wanted to go to. would it be so hard to label them 'MALL'?). The loud music in every store that made the baby so fussy? The dressing room nursing and diaper-changing? The negotiating of the stroller in tiny little aisles? The fact that we had to use an inconveniently-located elevator to get to each of the five hundred levels? Why, in the name of God, did I think this was a worthwhile trip?

It was the hat.

2006-09-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

All I talk about anymore is sleep:

When you become a parent, suddenly the topic of sleep becomes the beginning of almost every conversation you have. How did you sleep? How many times does she get up? Where does she sleep? It goes on and on. But considering babies sleep almost 16 hours per day, it seems appropriate that sleep is in the forefront of everyone's mind.

I always cringe when this conversation comes up, because it seems everyone else's five-month olds are sleeping in nice large chunks of time (four to even eight hours), and they just lie down and go to sleep. And The Olive still sleeps like a newborn. She's either bounced or nursed to sleep and we're lucky if we get two hours of sleep in a row. Of course, everyone has advice. Out of the bed! Cry it out! And I know. I really do. But we've tried out of the bed and it means she sleeps even less. And I am totally unable to let her cry it out, because it's too painful for me to imagine her needing me and me not being there. So I just don't talk about it much, because it's easier than hearing the judgment or seething with envy that other people seem to sleep so much better.

But The Olive started with the nanny this week (Oh, the glorious nanny!), and the first day, Nanny seemed very surprised that it took 30 minutes of bouncing for The Olive to go to sleep. Now for us, 30 minutes is an easy run. But I didn't want to scare her too much. Our lives revolve around that fucking yoga ball and we sweat, sweat, sweat it out as you bounce, bounce, bounce that baby- literally for hours every day.

Apparently the nanny is not as in need of exercise and Zen-time as we are, and this did not seem like a reasonable way to spend her days. So yesterday? She put The Olive down for a nap? AND THE BABY WENT TO SLEEP! No crying. A little fussing, a little patting. IN NINE MINUTES! What the fuck, people? I have TRIED this, I am telling you. I have let her cry for up to 15 minutes. It only works her up more.

And then? The last few days? She's taking like two hour naps! Up from 45 minutes! And last night? She slept for FIVE HOURS IN A ROW! What a beautiful thing five hours of sleep is. I cannot even tell you what that amount of sleep can do to a person's spirit.

This morning, at 9:00 a.m. (after she went to sleep at 8:00 p.m.), I woke up to her lying beside me, grabbing my nose repeatedly, and smiling and gasping in joy when I opened my eyes. There are certain moments of being a parent where you realize that this is the best decision you ever made, and every sacrifice you have to make is worth it because this person is the best thing you could have ever done. 9 a.m. this morning was one of those moments for me, and that is one hell of a way to start your day.

2006-09-27T15:23:00.000-07:00

Alone:

I am alone in the house right now.

As in, The Olive is with her nanny at our nanny share's house and I am "working" (aka lying in bed, ALONE, blogging).

Nobody is kvetching about their current state. I am not trying to email while also playing peek-a-boo. I can just do the damn dishes already because no one is sleeping. Also? If I want to go to the bathroom, I can just get up and go. No prior arrangements need to be made.

The only way I can begin to explain how having a child has altered my life is this: I was almost 31 years old. I was not all about going out. I rarely went to parties. Friday nights were spent watching NUM3ERS and eating take-out. But I could just throw a load of laundry in the washer and not worry about the noise. I had the time to whip up dinner. I was not always doing ten things at once, and none of them well.

Did I cry leaving The Olive with the nanny? No. Am I dying for 4:00 to come so I can rush back to her? Nope.

But did I call once to see how she is in our big 4-hour separation? I did. And she was fine. The nanny was bouncing her on the yoga ball. That, I don't miss.

Edited to add: It looks as though the feeling is mutual. I got there and she couldn't be torn away from her gumming of Brown Bear, Brown Bear to even give me a sideways glance. No, seriously. I called her name and tapped her shoulder, and still nothing. She was really into the book.

2006-09-25T21:40:00.000-07:00

Mud-wrestling, without the mud:

Although I wouldn't be surprised if mud got involved one of these days.

Getting the baby to sleep is now a physical endeavor that often leaves me sweaty and out of breath. Nobody mentioned that five-month olds (Five months! Already! That reminds me- we went to the doctor on Friday and there was a woman there with her newborn (4-day old) baby and I seriously thought he was like three months premature because he was soooooo little. But no. I've just already forgotten how tiny newborns are. The mind is a crazy thing.) are squirmy little things.

The Olive goes to sleep either by being nursed or being bounced on the yoga ball. Bounce, bounce, bounce. It used to be so easy. But now she's twisting herself around as you bounce her to try to see what else is going on. She ends up horizontal in my arms. Then it's the grabbing. My glasses. My hair. My lips. Last night she was squirming around so much and I was trying to stay in a Zen-mode, bounce, bounce, bounce, and she pushed herself off my chest, looked me right in the eye, and stuck my entire nose in her mouth and sucked. How can I help but crack up at that, therefore losing my Zen? And then she's cracking up as well, wide awake. No, baby, it is way past your bedtime.

I swear I am working muscles I didn't even know I had. At the end of the day, I am so physically drained, I just want to curl up in a ball and sleep for days. All the lifting and pushing and pulling and carrying. It's no wonder I've lost all the baby weight and then some.

2006-09-22T11:26:00.000-07:00

Fork-bending:

One of the women in my mom's group is a sign-language interpreter.

This was brought up yesterday at the group and someone else said "I had a friend who was so paranoid she was going to go blind when we were young that she taught herself Braille." Everyone giggled a little and someone asked why she thought that. The woman said it was because of some book she read.

Oh, I know that book. I cannot remember the name of it, but I think the main character's name was Laura. Or Denise. I can picture the cover- a teenage girl with feathered hair and dark sunglasses on being walked by a German Shepherd dog. While I, too, was convinced I would go blind one day after reading that book (and, of course, get a wonderful Guide Dog and boyfriend who was a guide dog trainer), I didn't go so far as to teach myself Braille.

I was clearly too busy for such nonsense, as I spent those formative years trying to bend forks with my mind.

I don't know why I felt the need to share this with the mom's group yesterday, who will certainly hold their children a little tighter when they see me coming in the future, I'm sure, but it's true. For a few years in there, I thought I had some mad ESP skillz that were "developing" and I would sit in the kitchen, staring at the silverware drawer, trying to bend forks with my mind. Or I would stare at a door, trying to open it with my mind. This was when I was not busy reading the messages my home planet was sending me due to my misplacement on Planet Earth.

So, in stunning awkwardness, I told this to a group of Mom's yesterday, who all sort of politely laughed, until one of them said "Your mom must have wondered where all the silverware went", and we moved on. I didn't bother correcting her- obviously people with ESP don't need to get the silverware out of the drawer to bend it. I mean, duh.

2006-09-19T17:19:00.000-07:00

I wish I had health problems:

Last night at 10:00 p.m. a man came to our house and assigned The Lovely Beausband one task: To sleep. Now how he got this lucky is a longer story, but let's think about this for a minute- he had no other priority but to sleep. Doesn't it just sound lovely? I seethed with jealousy, even if it does mean he has some little "health problem". Whatever. You get to sleep a full night through.

But really.

The Lovely Beausband has always been a bit of a snorer. But since I'm an early bedder, we haven't really had issues. I would go to sleep at around 9:00 and he would come to bed at an adult hour. If he snored, whatever. I was a deep sleeper.

Enter pushing out a child.

I am no longer a deep sleeper. Well, maybe I am, but it's hard to say given that I sleep in 2-3 hour increments. And when I wake up and hear the lawnmower beside me, and that is what causes me to stay awake, I want to kick someone. And I do. Repeatedly. Let's just say this isn't the best way to spend a night. Or five months of nights.

So last night they came and hooked him up to a bunch of electrodes and a machine (I don't know why, but he won't let me blog the pictures! Eleven electrodes on his face alone!), and told him to sleep. Which he did, lucky bastard.

The technician that came out told us all the side effects of sleep apnea, and wow! I think we both now believe that the problems of the world could be solved if everyone just had a CPAP machine on every night. Depression, heart disease, diabetes, heart problems, insomnia. You name it and sleep apnea can cause it. So anyway, The Lovely Beausband slept with his "buddy" and we will see in a few weeks what his "buddy" reports about his sleep apnea.

2006-09-17T20:55:00.000-07:00

Joy:

The Olive enjoyed her first swing experience this weekend. I don't have the words to express the joy on her face, so let the picture speak for itself.

2006-09-15T14:28:00.000-07:00

She was not as into the cookie as I was into giving it to her:

2006-09-14T11:43:00.000-07:00

That girl:

Male blog readers (are there any, besides The Lovely Beausband?), you will want to skip this post entirely. There will be talk of blood, and the moon, and all the other stuff you're not really interested in.

Anyway.

I have always been one of those girls with the debilitating periods. You know the type- they call in sick to work because of "cramps" and you're like "The hell? Who can't handle their cramps?" That would be me, doubled over in pain that no pain medicine helps, heat pack on my stomach, moaning. Every 25 days. For seven days. Even on the pill. Fun, no?

So I admit to having a tinge of excitement when I got pregnant that I wouldn't be dealing with this for, what? A year and a half or so.

I don't know why I'm surprised that I got my period when my baby is only 4 1/2 months old, when you're supposed to get six months to a year. I shouldn't be. Of course this would happen to me. I heard it usually happened around when you introduced solids, and I have slipped The Olive little tiny pieces of avocado and banana the last few days. And when I say "little, tiny", I mean pieces about the size of an 'o' once or twice. Sometimes it happens when your baby starts sleeping more. I guess her four-hour stretches gave my period all the room it needed to come back to me.

So now, on top of all the fun breastfeeding hormones, there's this. At least it explains the two huge zits I got last week.

2006-09-13T16:35:00.000-07:00

If Only I Were An Octopus:

I concede that being a WAHM (that's Work At Home Mom for those of you acronymically-challenged) is ideal. You get to spend more time with your baby, you get to work in your pajamas, there is no commute time, and you still get paid. But just because it's ideal doesn't mean it's easy. Let's take a peek into my morning, as The Lovely Beausband was gone at a meeting.

8:00 a.m. Wake up. Have not slept anywhere near enough. Try to fall back asleep, but thoughts of Things I Could Do While The Baby Is Still Sleeping creep into my brain. Try to deny thoughts and drift back into dreamland.

8:40 a.m. Sleep will not come. Mind racing. Shit, I just wasted 40 minutes of Time I Could Have Gotten Stuff Done While Baby Is Sleeping. Resign self to getting up.

8:45 a.m. Will look good if I send out email as early as possible. Want to give the impression that I am diligent worker-bee, because no one ever sees me. Log on and see there are fifteen new messages. The hell? I logged out at 11:00 last night, after being at a school board meeting until 9:30.

9:00 a.m. First cup of coffee. Praise Jesus. Send out emails at breakneck speed, as do not know when free hands will happen again.

9:30 a.m. Open door to sneak past baby to bathroom and see she is awake. Baby monitor not turned on in bedroom. Berate self for being a bad mother by not greeting baby when she wakes up.

10:00 a.m. Cobble together breakfast of yogurt and berries. Put baby in Exersaucer and try to respond to emails.

10:10 a.m. Baby does not seem to be enjoying Exersaucer. Place blanket on floor so she can roll around. Throw laundry in dryer.

10:15 a.m. Coo at rolling baby while replying to emails. Glance up and see bowl of yogurt. Right, must eat. Baby kvetches. Roll her back to her back, and she rolls back to her stomach. And continues to kvetch. Forget, yet again, about breakfast.

10:30 a.m. CANNOT BEAR THE KVETCHING OF BABY ANY LONGER. Try to explain that if she doesn't like being on her stomach, she really shouldn't roll herself there. Watch her roll over again. Throw up hands.

10:45 a.m. Scarf yogurt, as body is beginning to cannibalize itself.

11:00 a.m. Try the Johnny Jumper. Put baby in and in few minutes of quiet, speed-type out emails and start a letter for work.

11:15 a.m. Baby seems tired. Get in bed, nurse to sleep. Sneak out of room at 11:30, thankful for 45 minutes of peace.

12:00 p.m. Why did the baby only sleep for 30 minutes? Have just barely had time to check blogs and reply to emails.

12:15 p.m. Work phone rings in the middle of diaper changing. Strap baby down, pray there are no accidents and run to phone. Trip over the activity mat, which is set to motion music, and listen to faux-classical music as I answer the phone.

12:20 p.m. Shit. Important call. Go outside with baby, as this is the only way to guarantee quiet. Sit on back stairs as two neighbor cats come up, meowing. Baby is finally quiet and now cats that aren't even mine are disturbing my work call? One cat runs by me into house. Pray cat is not a sprayer because there is no way to deal with it now. Person on phone talks on and on.

1:00 p.m. Get cat out of house. Baby discovers she enjoys yelling. Put her in exersaucer, where she yells and yells as I type and type. Yells turn to cries. Pick her up.

1:15 p.m. Turn on TV to jazz music station, hold baby on lap, and try to eat lunch. Baby grabs at plate, water glass and napkin. Find that baby enjoys tearing up napkin. Fine, as long as she's quiet.

1:30 p.m. Really, really need to shower, as must do work errand as soon as Lovely Beausband returns. Put baby in bouncy seat outside door.

1:45 p.m. Baby is hollering hysterically. Keep poking head out of shower to tell her it will just be one more minute. Forget to wash conditioner out of hair. Whatever, isn't that just like leave-in conditioner?

2:00 p.m. Try to nurse baby to sleep. Baby wide awake. And yelling, just because she likes the sound of her own voice. Sing song to baby while rubbing belly. Baby not sleeping.

2:15 p.m. Hear Lovely Beausband's key in door and think there is no better sound in the world. Heap on loving comments while jumping into real clothes as he puts baby to bed and run out the door for errand.

2006-09-11T20:20:00.000-07:00

Being A Mom, Every Single Day:

I ran into someone from the neighborhood mom's group today at Trader Joe's. I greeted her and said "I thought you were back to work today. Oh, I guess that's Wednesday, right?", and she burst into tears. "I just left her with the nanny for the first time and it's so hard." I cried along with her, right there in Trader Joe's. Because I know how hard it is. It is so hard. She went on to say "I never wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. I have a Phd, I have a great career, I keep getting promoted. But I can't stand to leave her, knowing that when she's upset, I could make it better in one second, but I won't be there."

Five years ago, I cried for the children who lost their parents that day.

Today, I cry for the parents who knew that they would never see their children again.

I cannot imagine anything worse, ANYTHING, than knowing I would never be able to hold The Olive again. I cannot imagine knowing that I would never be able to make her better. I cannot fathom what it felt like, in those moments when people knew they were going to die, and the thoughts that ran through their head. I can only imagine that it would kill you right there and then knowing that you couldn't be there to console your babies.

Becoming a parent changes you in ways you cannot imagine. Everyone tells you that it will, you know it will, but you cannot quite imagine how. I still do not have a way to put into words how much more joy I have since The Olive, or how much more sadness. Or how much my perspective of the entire world changed.

But today I cry for the parents.

2006-09-10T18:12:00.000-07:00

At Least I Have The First Two Verses Down:

Hush, little baby, don't say a word
Mama's gonna buy you a mockingbird
If that mockingbird don't sing
Mama's gonna buy you a diamond ring
If that diamond ring don't shine
Mama's gonna buy you a ball of twine (Unsafe for children; Posthipchick does not endorse giving your child twine, or string of any kind)
If that ball of twine is brown
Mama's gonna buy you a princess crown (Because the diamond wasn't enough? Am I suddenly made of money here?)
If that princess crown is broke
Mama's gonna buy you a lovely bloke (You know, our British background and all)
If that lovely bloke is bad
Mama's gonna buy you another cad (Not even really a word, but she doesn't speak English, so whatever)
If that lovely cad is yellow (Of course cad's are yellow. What other color would they be?)
Mama's gonna buy you another fellow (Mama is big on the purchasing of males)
If that lovely fellow goes wrong
Mama's gonna buy you a fancy thong (Because I love the image of a 4-month old in a thong. Shit everywhere.)
If that fancy thong is red
Mama's gonna buy you a piece of thread (Even though no one in our family has ever had a knack for crafts of any kind, Mama is somehow obsessed with getting you all the accoutrements for a career in sewing)

This is usually where I stop, having given up the hope that this song will calm the child in any real way, as she is kicking her legs around and staring at her hands. This is when I hand her over to her father, who works his magical narcotic yoga ball bouncing that could lull even the most awake child to sleep. Like I just did.

2006-09-08T14:24:00.000-07:00

Payback:

You're always saying, "Oh god, I wish the baby would sleep longer". Always. Every time she gets up from her 45-minute nap, every time she wakes up after only two hours of sleep in the night. You always wish she'd sleep just a little longer.

Until, of course, the day you are trying to get out of the house by 2:00 to miss traffic on your drive to your parents, in which case it doesn't matter that the door to her room is open and you're packing your suitcase right next to her head or you're talking in regular voices. No, today she has decided that an hour and a half seems like a reasonable nap, maybe even longer.

2006-09-07T22:06:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think there is really no purpose in my continuing to write, when so many can put it so much more perfectly:

"I had been unprepared for how slowly the time would creep along, how interminable a day would feel. I'd been unprepared for how lonely and bored I would be.

But I'd also been unprepared for the intensity of my passion for my children, how their lives would consume and subsume my own, just as their bodies had irrevocably altered mine. The physical self that looks back at me from the mirror is the perfect metaphor for how they have altered my entire life. My breasts, about which I used to be so proud, now pointed south, nipples stretched, elongated beyond all recognition by three voracious mouths. My belly, once smooth and firm, rounded, yes, but with unmarked milky skin, now hung, a loose and creepy expanse, striped with shiny silver lines. It requires an elaborate origami just to button my pants, and when I take off my bra, I swear I can polish the tops of my shoes. They've done the same to my life, these three. I used to run from courthouse to jail, from oral argument to crime-scene investigation, my whole focus on my clients, those poor men for whom mine was the only voice. With Peter, I played. We went out to dinner, we saw movies, we spent long languid evenings talking about ourselves, about each other, about the world. But once the babies came, they filled every space. Not just their needs, manifold though those are. It's their breath, their presence. They fill my field of vision from end to end. There's so little recognizable now, either of my physical self or my old life.

It's difficult to figure out how to move them aside, even for just a little, to make a small nook for myself. Even those few hours a day, hours in which I have Sadie with me as often as not, give me something. They give me the chance to look outward, beyond them and me. They broaden my focus just enough to keep me from going out of my mind."

2006-09-05T20:47:00.000-07:00

Jobless in the city:

We have been in the process of finding a nanny for the last six weeks now. What would seem an easy process- we are looking to fill a position, others are looking for a position, viola- is surprisingly difficult. It's not the expected 'how will I ever leave my child with this person?' difficulty. Rather, it's the pinning down of a person to even interview. And by 'pinning down', I mean, GETTING A FREAKING PERSON TO SHOW UP FOR THE ARRANGED INTERVIEW.

So it seems to me that if you post an ad on craislist about how you are a nanny who is looking for a job, you should be prepared for people to reply to said ad. And it would also seem to me that you want a job. But I guess I'm wacky like that.

Of the seriously 40 nannies we have contacted, about half have gotten back to us. I don't know what happened to the other people who posted ads THAT DAY but can't be bothered to reply to an email or a voicemail. And then? Why would you arrange for an interview and then not show up? Because over half of the twenty we set up interviews for have simply not showed up. It has gotten to the point where when I arrange for an in-person interview, I specifically say "If you can't make it for any reason, could you please call me to let me know? Because we've had a real problem with people not showing up." Sure, they all tell me. AND THEN THEY DON'T SHOW AND DON'T CALL. Why? If you took another job, I won't be offended. I won't yell at you. But I also won't sit around and waste an hour of my day waiting for you. And these people are expecting to make $20 an hour. For that kind of money, can you show a basic level of professionalism? Am I really expecting too much?

And then? When I'm looking at craigslist again a week later and see that you REPOSTED your ad, what I am I supposed to think? You don't even respond to an email. Why are you reposting? Are you looking for a job or not? Make yourself clear here.

2006-09-04T19:38:00.000-07:00

All the kids are doing it:

Ok, so I'm using flickr now. I hope to be diligent in uploading pics.

2006-09-03T11:34:00.000-07:00

LBD:

I wear the same three outfits every single day, but damn if The Olive isn't the most fun to dress EVER.

2006-09-02T12:51:00.000-07:00

Torture:

Two nights ago, I got it in my head that I needed to make a butterscotch layer cake. Before The Olive came along, these sorts of baking extravaganzas were par for the course, but it's been a little harder to find unoccupied periods of time for baking projects. I only get to make about one dessert per week, and then I'm stuck eating ice cream the other nights. Life is hard, but I'm dealing.

So I had all the ingredients to make my lovely cake, except for cream cheese (for the frosting), which wasn't too hard to come by. I braved the streets after dark and walked to Walgreen's for my missing ingredient. Back, armed with my cream cheese, I got everything together for the cake, got it in the oven, and then realized- SHIT!- the caramel I had intended to use was somehow only half full. So, now covered in flour, braless and ready for bed, I headed out AGAIN- now to Safeway in the car- for the caramel.

I got home, gave The Olive her bath, book and nurse and started to assemble the cake. But somewhere in the process, my stomach started to feel a little funky. So I only had a little slice of the delicious cake and went to bed. Yesterday, my stomach continued to decline, though I did brave one very small slice of the cake that stares at me from the fridge every time I open the door.

I have taken the full allotment of Immodium AD for a 24-hour period in the last four hours. All I can think about is my cake. It is torturing me from afar as I eat dry toast and water. When will I get to eat the deliciousness?

2006-08-31T17:46:00.000-07:00

Roar:

Becoming a parent has made me keenly aware, for the first time in my life, that I am an animal. I have mentioned before that my love for The Olive feels like more than love; it feels like the greatest love plus a biological need to protect and nurture, plus a total sweeping away of my heart from the tremendous cuteness of a naked, chubby baby whose cheeks I want to suck all day long.

But beyond that, I also feel like an animal when I am leaning over the baby to do something and she grabs my swinging nipple in her mouth and it suddenly becomes clear: I am a cow, and these are my udders.

So when she cries at night and doesn't want to fall asleep, I feel the need to go to her. I am Mama and my young is sad. I must care for young. And then go shake out my loincloths or something. I am not philosophically opposed to crying it out, for other people's children. But for my own? It just feels wrong. I don't mean to imply that sleeping for two-hour increments feels "right" or anything, but I think I choose to sleep in two-hour increments rather than listen to my baby cry. The sound cuts me to the very core of my being and I feel like I might turn into liquid and melt, like The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.

Also? I don't think it's quite fair to expect that I should be able to set the baby down and have her drift into a lovely dreamy place when it takes me a Benadryl and an hour of reading to fall asleep, on a good night. Maybe we could blame my mom for that, though, since she never let me cry it out.

I actually think she may be periodically sleeping in longer increments now, although my entire nights are so blurry that I can't really keep track. All I know is that today I feel fairly well-rested, and that is enough to keep me going for now.

2006-08-30T11:15:00.000-07:00

Not the news you wanted:

Follow-up.

2006-08-28T17:39:00.000-07:00

Making me feel like Mother of the Year:

Don't you just hate it when you and the baby start the night looking for crack, but just can't find it? The baby gets so cranky and is all "Waa, waa! Where's my crack, Dad?" And then you're like, "Hey, baby, don't worry. We'll cruise down the street and stop and get some smokes and then all will be well. Yeah, they take the edge off." And then? You stop at the store- I mean, let's be honest, it's FOR the baby- to just "run out" and get those cigarettes and then somebody takes your baby. I mean, what the fuck? You were only gone for like three minutes. And how could this have happened to you? I mean, things were going to well for your night! This is like, totally, going to ruin it.

2006-08-26T18:06:00.000-07:00

Four Months:

Making two-hour sleep increments seem worth it

2006-08-25T11:54:00.000-07:00

Angle of Repose, or A Night in the Life of a 4-Month Old:

10:00 p.m.: Bounced to sleep on yoga ball by Dad.
10:05 p.m.: Attempted to put down in bed.
10:06 p.m.: Attempt Aborted.
10:07 p.m.: Asleep on Dad's chest, while he works.
10:45 p.m.: Picked up by Mom, brought to bed, nursed while sleeping. Asleep.
11:50 p.m.: Mom falls asleep.
12:00 a.m.: Awake. Nursed back to sleep.
1:00 a.m.: Awake again! Mom attempts to cuddle back to sleep.
1:03 a.m.: Nursed back to sleep.
1:05 a.m.: Dad falls asleep.
2:05 a.m.: Awake! Mom doesn't even bother anything but a nurse.
2:07 a.m.: Back to sleep.
4:30 a.m.: Awake. Refuses nursing. Whining like a mad woman.
4:31 a.m: Dad takes her out to bounce on yoga ball.
5:00 a.m.: Asleep! Attempt to put her down in bed.
5:01 a.m.: Awake. More bouncing.
5:10 a.m.: Asleep on bed.
6:00 a.m.: Awake, good lord. Mom begins to cry.
6:01 a.m.: Dad takes her out to bounce on yoga ball.
6:40 a.m.: Asleep.
7:30 a.m.: Awake. Nurse.
9:00 a.m.: It's morning! Hooray! So happy!

2006-08-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

Bloggerblock:

"So, maybe you could post about that thread going on in the neighborhood email list about raising kids in the city versus the suburbs."

"What about all the new things The Olive is doing? Like rolling over and spending hours at a time propped up on her elbows, trying to solve the problem of world peace. And how she tries to crawl, but just drags her face along the ground."

"Or! What about how much better your life got when The Lovely Beausband went on paternity leave? You could totally talk about how paternity leave should be mandated by the state and then we would have fewer divorces."

"Wait. What about the fact that you have five friends who are due within three weeks of each other?"

But nothing comes.

So I will pose this question for you: What should The Olive be for Halloween?

2006-08-20T21:19:00.000-07:00

An Ode To Wood:

Wood just called to tell me they are leaving the city. I am finding this a little hard to actually believe. Like, maybe they are leaving for the weekend or something and I will walk around a little lost, like Juniper, but then she will come back and it will be ok. They cannot actually be gone, for good, because then I would have to start crying and I don't know when that would stop.

I first met Wood when I was seven months pregnant- big and bulbous and totally unsure of what I was getting myself into. I went to her house and she fed me ice cream and I got to see real-life parenting in action. Good parenting. And I realized I might- with luck and prayer and some modeling of her- be able to pull of this parenting thing. She was so at ease with Juniper. So comfortable and relaxed and easy. And cool.

When I got home that night, I told The Lovely Beausband, "I would have been friends with her whenever I met her in my life." She is one of the truest and sane people I have ever met.

I find it is rare, as an adult, to have time to form real friendships. This is probably why the majority of my friends I have known most of my life. It is hard to build that background, and who has the time? There are jobs and family and all the rest of it. But as luck would have it, our maternity leave coincided, and we were actually able to spend time together.

In the following months, we saw each other at least weekly. She walked my 42-week pregnant ass all around the city. Once past due, she was the only person I could tolerate talking to. The emails shot back and forth, all day and night. She was one of the first people I called after giving birth to The Olive, even though we had only known each other a few months. It felt totally natural.

She has helped me so much in the first few months of The Olive's life that I cannot even begin to imagine how I could have done this without her. She has not only given me sage advice, but also brought over food, taught me how to pump, taken me to get pedicures, loaned me books, and given absolutely constant support as I try to navigate this foreign road. I do not believe in guardian angels, but if I did, I would tell you she is mine.

I have dreaded this day for a long time. I have known it was coming, but it always seemed so far off. And now they are driving away, and San Francisco is a little less tonight. And I am left with a gaping hole in my life.

2006-08-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

Fading Light:

It is 8:00 p.m. and it is already dark. Autumn is coming quickly, and I have to wonder where summer went. I have spent most of it holed up in the house, caring for the small one, so it's gone by even more quickly than usual. That's ok; fall is my favorite season. Pashaw on anyone who says California does not have seasons. It does. The lighting changes.

If life had gone as expected, I would be preparing to go back to school right now. I would be getting ready to put The Olive in full-time daycare. At the time, four months seemed like plenty of time off to be with the baby. Now I cannot imagine being apart from her for 40 hours or more per week. It would be like leaving my arm at daycare. I actually think it would hurt that much. Every day, almost every hour, I thank god that I got this job. It is exactly the right balance of getting out and feeling productive in society, and still being able to give my baby what she needs. When I think about what other women have to go through, it breaks my heart. I don't know why it is me who got lucky with this. I really don't. But I am eternally grateful.

Motherhood had been amazing, but I am constantly struck at how biological it feels. When the baby cries and you respond, it is out of something much deeper and primal than love. At each success, you breathe a sigh of relief, because somehow you know this increases the chances of survival. We are animals, after all. And no other animal is forced to leave their young before they can even walk. It is cruel and unjust to make women leave their babies before they are ready. We should be able to do this at a pace that is more natural.

And we are the lucky women.

The Lovely Beausband is now on paternity leave, so he has taken the helm of childcare these days. It is a huge relief- I feel like I can breathe for the first time in four months- but it is also a tiny bit painful. Because now The Olive is bonding to someone besides me. Really bonding. And while I've been wanting this relief for months now, it makes me feel a little left-out. It makes me feel like her babyhood is rushing by so fast. Already. I cry a little every time I see her loving her dad, both because it makes me happier than I've ever felt, and also because I feel a little loss.

2006-08-15T20:55:00.000-07:00

Another case of me being an asshole:

Before The Olive came onto the scene, I had some pretty harsh thoughts about ol' Dr. Sears. Well, not him per se, but his followers. When you live in San Francisco, everyone is pretty hooked into the attachment parenting guidelines, and I had heard enough stories of women being accosted in public for using bottles, or preached at about using a sling, to think- "Eh. Not for me." These people scared me a little. And the term "Family Bed"? Sorry, that makes my skin crawl in every possible way.

But then The Olive came along and it turns out? I like sleeping with her. Like might not be the right word- for instance, I do not like being woken up by her goat noises. I also do not like being forced onto a tiny slice of the bed. But I do like not having to get up in the middle of the night. And I do like the security I feel knowing she is right by me. Now, I have not quite mastered the sling yet (due to complete and utter clumsiness and paranoia on the part of one loco mama), and the term "co-sleeping" is much preferred, but! But! I breastfeed. And I don't let The Olive cry it out! And I believe in attachment (although it should be duly noted here that the only 'C' I got in college was in the course Attachment & Loss. Meh.), like as an important part of the parent-child relationship! Dr. Sears would probably eat me up with a spoon.

But now The Olive is coming up on four months old. Which is four months in which I have slept about two hours at a time. Which, you know, makes a person a little edgy, shall we say? And The Olive has friends her age. Friends whose Mama's are telling me tales of five hours of sleep, or eight hours of sleep, or ten hours of sleep- IN A ROW! But- and you know this was coming, right?- they are all in their own beds. And everyone I know who has babies who sleep through the night? Are all in different beds.

So? The solution seems obvious, right? BUT! BUT! All those babies who sleep through the night? Wake up at like 6 a.m. And my little co-sleeping babe? Sleeps until 10 a.m. most days. And so I am in an obvious quandary here, because giving up sleeping until 10 a.m., even if it is in two hour increments? IS VERY HARD!

2006-08-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Pardon the dust for today.

2006-08-12T10:28:00.000-07:00

September 18th:

Anyone want to go see Ani with me at the Mountain Winery?

2006-08-10T20:00:00.000-07:00

T Minus Six Hours, or A Last Ditch Attempt At Spending Money Without Guilt:

The Lovely Beausband has begun his drive home, and I have to decide which purse to buy. Oh, the hardships!

2006-08-09T19:59:00.000-07:00

Day Four, in which I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends:

First, there was lunch with the blogger ladies. Korean BBQ, yum.

Then there was a delicious dinner fixed by my wonderful friend, Miriam.

And also? This amazing treat.

2006-08-08T21:18:00.000-07:00

Day Three, or I Am A Typical Woman:

Today's treat

That would be 'ultra super premium' vanilla ice cream with pomegranate swirl. aka delicious.

2006-08-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

Incomprehensible:

It is truly the biggest mind-fuck that I know of to consider that one year ago, The Olive was just a cluster of cells smaller than a blueberry and now she sits on the couch next to me, screaming with joy.

I mean, REALLY.

2006-08-07T19:52:00.000-07:00

Day Two, or This Is What Happens When You Leave:

It is 7:30 and the baby has finally fallen asleep after two aborted naps this afternoon. She is not down for the night, oh no. But a few minutes is the respite I need right now.

So what did we do today? Well, first of all we rolled over. Back to front like FIVE TIMES IN A ROW, and then once from stomach to back. Holy shit.

Here I am, just chilling on my activity mat.

But wait! Now I'm like a little bug.

Now I will kvetch because this is like Tummy Time and I hate Tummy Time!

Also, I bought a breast pump. I have pictures of that, too, but Blogger and this bullshit and I have to get some work done. Because, remember? I am full-time employed now? What? You didn't know that? You, too, wonder how I'm getting 40 hours of work done with a baby and no help and no husband this week? Funny, so do I.

2006-08-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

Day One, or Hour Three Without The Husband:

Because parting was such sweet sorrow (I actually cried), I decided today I should really get myself something good as a treat. Not just a magazine or cupcake, but something I could really sink my teeth into. Something I could gaze at while The Olive fusses, or think about at 12:30 or 2:30 or 5:00 or 7:00 when she wakes up AGAIN.
So, of course, I got a hoodie. But wait! It's not just another hoodie! It is long! And black! And I do not have a black hoodie (how is this possible?)! It's practically a jacket! Plus, I gave The Olive two choices and she chose this one (the other one was also black, with the little hipster thumb holders in it, and had spider webs all over it, but I smartly decided it was a little young for me).

2006-08-04T14:45:00.000-07:00

Running Away From Home:

The Lovely Beausband is going out of town next week for work, leaving The Olive and I to fend for ourselves. Why anyone thinks this is appropriate or they will return home to a house still standing is beyond me, but I guess you've got to do what you've got to do, right? (Ah, fancy the thought of me going away for a week. Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha. Maybe in 2008, if I am still able to form cognizant thoughts at that point, which is really, really hard to imagine.).
So the plan for the week is to fill it with as many social obligations as I can possibly squeeze in, so that I do not go sit within the walls of the house for days on end, quietly pulling out tufts of my own hair (this seems like a good as time as any to mention: Being a SAHM- not for me. Hardest fucking job on the planet, hands down and without question.).
Socialization aside, however, I think that every day will need some sort of 'treat' in it to help get me through. And now, I would like to take suggestions on what 'treats' we could do/ buy for each of the five (five!) days that he will be away. Please don't suggest anything for me alone (like getting a mani/ pedi, or massage, or a nap. because trust me, I've already thought about those), because The Olive and I will be joined at the hip even more than normal.

2006-07-31T13:59:00.000-07:00

Irony:

Is it weird that going to Blogher sort of made me want to stop blogging?

2006-07-29T20:49:00.000-07:00

Bottles, Blogher, and Boobs:

1. As reported to me, bottle feeding The Olive went swimmingly well today. I was away for seven hours, and she drank about six ounces. Since I have no idea how much she regularly eats during these hours, I feel satisfied with the outcome. The bottle winner? Playtex Drop-Ins. Grandma kept saying those were the ones to use, but they weren't on the 'what babies like' bottle lists I kept finding online, so I sort of scoffed at them. Shouldn't I have learned by now to listen to my mother? The Olive was completely fine when I got home (which of course makes me feel wonderful, because now I can do things like enjoy Kabuki with Wood this week, and alternately horrible, because didn't my baby miss me at all?)

2. So I went to Blogher, again. It was HUGE; much bigger than last year. I didn't bring my computer, or my camera, so I'm sure I looked as technologically-challenged as I really am. It was fun to meet people, see people, and listen to a few panels. I was reminded that while I love this outlet, obviously, and I do think about blogging a lot, it is not as much a part of my life as it is for some people. It's hard for me to get really riled up about blogging.

3. While away for seven hours, I was, of course, forced to pump. Luckily the organizers of Blogher set aside a room for such activities, but it was also shared with the daycare nap room. Sorry to the young boy who was napping and awoke to see a strange lady with an even stranger contraption on her chest! I spent my pumping time talking to the head daycare girl, who seemed totally unphased by what was going on. But really, how are you going to respond to that situation but to pretend it's not actually happening? Because that was what I was doing.

2006-07-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

Three Months:

The Olive turned three months yesterday (incidentally, it was also exactly two years since I quit smoking, which, quite frankly, I don't quite understand how I've managed to avoid these last three months). Three months is a lot different from two months, and a world away from one month. Already I am longing for those simple times.

Three months is about wanting to do things. Which is cool, right? I mean, the baby no longer just seems like a larva, but rather like a real live baby, with chubby cheeks and grabby hands and a loud little voice. But dear god, that girl is a mover and a shaker. And me? I'm more of a relaxer. We seemed a good fit for awhile, but those days are clearly over. Now she wants to do things other than sleep and nurse. Like, for instance, to stand up. But this is clearly not something she can do on her own, of course. Which means I have to hold her up while she looks around and looks damn pleased with herself. But god forbid my arms get a little tired, and I want to lie her down. Because then the "eh, eh, eh" noises begin. Noises that are clearly communicating that she is not pleased in her current position, and won't I do something, PRONTO?

Also, there's the back arching. And the squirming. It's the clear sign that she wants to be doing things that aren't quite possible yet, and then the noises of frustration begin again. Oy vey, those scritch scratch noises. Evolutionarily designed to make a mother's hair stand on edge.

The physical aspects of this job are becoming abundantly clear, and I am simply not prepared for them. A nice walk, a good nursing session, napping together- these are more my pace. But suddenly I've been thrown into a holding up, dancing around, holding down time, and I have not worked these muscles. And I am damn tired.

But then as soon as you really feel like you are going to jump out the window, there's this bullshit, specifically created to make you know it's all worth it.

2006-07-25T13:42:00.000-07:00

Bottles, Take Two:

I am here to report that bottle-feeding The Olive is not going well. In fact, I would say it is going rather poorly. Not totally poorly and I'm not giving up, but I definitely do not have an bottle-feeder on my hands yet.

Since Friday, I have made two "nipple trips"- trips to the store to choose nipples that might appease her. Silicone, rubber, slow flow, fast flow. She has tried them all. I think our best going so far is the Playtex Vente-Aire with a Stage 2 nipple (I. cannot. believe. I. know. this. shit. It is truly no wonder I have no brain cells left for other things, like the Middle East or the word for "those things you pull out of a box and put in the dryer" (side note to side note: That is a real quote from me the other day)).

We have tried giving her a bottle every single day. At every possible time of day. I have tried, The Lovely Beausband has tried, Wood has tried. Nothing. Or rather, not enough. She will take an ounce or so if you really, really try at it for an extended period of time. I do not think an ounce is going to get the baby through the 12 hours I am planning on leaving her for on Saturday.

I have also thought of other options. Like bringing her. The ladies from Blogher said it was ok, but didn't seem thrilled about it.

I also thought about just getting The Lovely Beausband a hotel room by the conference for the day, but for obvious reasons (what is he going to do all day in a hotel room with a baby? at least at home she is comfortable in her surroundings.), he was not thrilled with that idea.

I am also considering just going for a shortened amount of time. This might be the option we end up with.

But long-term, we obviously have a situation on our hands. I spoke for a long time about it with a friend this morning, who pointed out that we could start her on rice cereal a little early- in a month, when she is four months- and that I would just have to get through this month. That might be a possibility.

2006-07-23T20:48:00.000-07:00

Another Open Letter:

Dear Ani Difranco,

So! You're pregnant! What fabulous news! You are going to be an amazing mother; no doubt about it.

I'm sure plenty of people are telling you that things are going to change. Maybe you believe them, maybe you don't. Maybe, deep down, you sort of laugh at them and think "Well, things changed for you. But my baby? My baby will be different. I'll just sling it to me and get on with my life. None of this neurotic baby-raising." To this, I say: Talk to me after your fussy-ass baby hasn't napped in six hours and you would like to just do one little thing, like, say, respond to an email, but you haven't had two hands, or even one, available for six straight hours, not even to go fix yourself a little something to eat, even though THAT is also for the baby, since now you are really eating for two. Then maybe you, too, will realize that Hey! My baby will sleep if I do x, y, and z, so I am going to do those things every day, even if it kills me, just so I can keep up the most bare level of management of my life. And then you, too, will never be able to leave the house because it's always either time for a nap or time to wake up from a nap or time to wind down to a nap. And then you will start referring to yourself as The Nap Nazi as well (oh, and get ready to refer to yourself in third person at all times, because for inexplicable reasons of biology, as soon as that baby pops out, you will have no choice but to become Mama, or Mommy or Mom).

You may also start to shun some of the things you previously loved. For instance, I know you have expressed your affinity for motorcycles before. Ha! You will now begin to consider motorcycles the work of the devil, specifically invented to drive you to the breaking point, after you have listened to your baby scream bloody murder about being in the carseat for half an hour and then FINALLY, THANK YOU JESUS CHRIST, fallen asleep, only to be woken up by some punk-ass kid revving his motorcycle at the stoplight right next to you. That noise does wonders for a baby. That is, if you consider making a tiny creature jump out of its skin "wonders". Even if it sounds funny now, talk to me when your hormones are raging and you haven't slept more than three hours in a row for three months. Your whole idea of funny changes.

Speaking of hormones, if you think the angst you felt at 19 was something, oh boy, are you in for it. And I do mean in for it. Remember when you were 13 and PMS washed over you and you would sit there and sob and sob for reasons you couldn't explain? Remember how totally irritable you would become over the smallest thing? Oh, Ani. Postpartum is like that multiplied by 100. All day. Every day. And add sleep deprivation to the mix and youthful angst will seem so petty and blase that you cannot even imagine that you ever felt it. And then you will realize that holy shit, this little tiny baby is going to go through that one day as well. And then you will imagine that little tiny baby going off to college and you will suddenly begin thinking that cheesy country music makes sense after all. And then you will go cry an ocean of postpartum tears.

I do hope the father of this baby is a helpful guy. But I can tell you this- it does not matter how much or what he does to make your life easier, it will never be enough. This is the true joke of feminism, because the mother is always going to have more responsibility. It is a biological function and there is no amount of socialization that can make things equal. I am sorry. But you get something special that no man really ever gets to experience.

People will tell you that you will love your baby like nothing else, and that is true. But it is unlike a love that you have ever known. It is love, yes. But it is also mixed with some sort of biological urge to protect, and nurture, and take extreme care of this little tiny being. And I don't care what sort of success or highs you have had in your life, and yours have been numerous. There is no higher high, or more powerful feeling, than when you see you have created a whole other life. There are only cliches to describe it; and they are all true, and yet none of them serve to actually express what this feels like. You will just have to see for yourself.

I wish you luck, Ani. And also can't wait to hear the inevitable turn from punky-folk-singer to lullaby hummer.

2006-07-21T17:09:00.000-07:00

Another Milestone for the Baby Book That We Don't Have:

The Olive rolled over today. I think. I was sure it happened a few hours ago- I called The Lovely Beausband and everything to tell him, but now I kind of think I imagined it. Could that really have happened? Was I helping her? Did I just make it up in my head?

2006-07-21T08:27:00.000-07:00

Bottles, Take One:

Since it seems we have so many pregnant lady readers here at posthipchick, I'm going to start this out with some assvice. And that is: I do not care what your doctor, lactation consultant, Dr. Sears tells you about waiting six weeks to introduce the bottle. If you are not having breastfeeding problems, start the bottle at week two. And do it every freaking day, even if it means you have to pump and turn around and pour the milk into a bottle for your baby. There is so much paranoia about nipple confusion and simply not enough about nipple refusal. I'm sorry, but no baby is going to prefer a hard, plastic nipple to a soft, warm mama boob. Would you? It will make your life 1,000 times easier if, in a month, or three months, or six months, you can go do something and not worry about your baby screaming and gagging on a bottle and refusing to drink anything. Trust me.

So, obviously, we are attempting to get The Olive on a bottle now and then. Because Mama has to do things like go to work. Or, go to Blogher next weekend. Now I have left The Olive plenty of times, but never for more than four hours. And she will sort of dabble a little milk into her mouth during that four hours, from what I hear, sometimes with complaint, sometimes without. But I have not been good about giving her a daily bottle, and I have not been good about trying different nipples, probably because I didn't have to.

So, now, I am going insane. Because I am going to be gone for about 10 hours, and a little ounce of milk ain't gonna cut it for her. And I hate- HATE, down to the very core of my being- the thought of her here screaming. I actually physically cringe at the thought of it. So we are trying everything here- room temperature milk, cold milk, just pumped milk. Avent nipples, Playtex nipples, Dr. Brown nipples. Me giving it to her, The Lovely Beausband giving it to her, Miriam giving it to her. Cradled in our arms, on a pillow, from behind. When she's not too hungry, when she is really hungry. Tired, awake. Slipping it in while I'm breastfeeding.

I am determined to make this work, but it is so hard. I hate to see her scream and, honestly, I feel guilty that I have to leave her and she has to suffer through this. I know there is a school of thought that says that the baby will eat if she is hungry enough. And maybe that's right. Maybe after nine hours of screaming, she will eat. But who can stand to put their child through that? I don't think I can. I really don't. I mean, isn't it my job to ensure her contentment right now? She's certainly too little to provide it herself.

So I will keep trying. Every day. Every way.

Because a girl wants to be able to go to Blogher, you know?

2006-07-20T10:37:00.000-07:00

An Open Letter to the Dude/ Dudette Who Found It Necessary to Shoot A Gun/ Set Off Fireworks/ Make A Loud Noise With Lights at 3:15 a.m.:

Dear Dude/ Dudette,

You have a mother. Maybe you see her, maybe you don't. Maybe you live with her, as many, many a young folk these days tend to for far too long. Whatever. I want you to call her today- from your cell phone or from your living room, I don't care- and ask her about when you were a baby. About how she would have felt after being up TWICE ALREADY in the night with you at 3:15 a.m., if she heard a loud noise and had her room light up EIGHT TIMES with god-knows-what? Ask her how she felt after calling 911 and reporting it? Ask her if SHE could have gone back to sleep before 5:30 a.m. after that? Ask her about the fucking-post-pregnancy-hormones-that-cause-horrific-insomnia. Please, go ahead and ask her. I'm sure she will tell you to keep your ass inside at 3:15 a.m. and leave the poor new mothers of the world alone to sleep.

Or! Maybe you have a baby of your own. One who woke you up at 3:15 a.m., and you went outside to blow off some steam by firing a gun/ shooting off fireworks/ making loud noises for fuck knows what reason, except that you are being driven to the brink of insanity with sleep-deprivation. In which case, I totally understand.

Next time, just please ask me to join you.

2006-07-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

The Fourth Trimester:

Today is the last day of The Olive's fourth trimester (I know! Can you believe it?).

Before she came out into the world, I was a nervous freak trying to figure out what I would need. Everyone seemed to tell me something different and I was terrified that if I forgot something, all hell would break loose. I forgot something. And guess what? Target stays open after you have a baby! I KNOW!

Everybody is going to have a different experience in regards to what they need (I have a friend who couldn't keep enough burp cloths around because her baby spit up constantly. I don't think I've used more than two of the thirty I have. But hey, good cleaning rags!). Also, where you live, what season it is, etc., affects what you will need.

But, if you are having a baby, or know someone having a baby, here is my unsolicited advice about what you will need. Take it as you see fit.

1. Food. Food, food, food. At least for the first week, try to ensure that you have meals set up. If you are super-duper lucky, you live in a place that has a service like this. Whole Foods also delivers meals. Hopefully, so do your friends.

2. Diapers and wipes. Suggested brands are Pampers Swaddlers, size N and Tushies wipes. The wipes you can choose, but I stand firm on the diapers.

3. A changing pad of some sort. And two covers.

4. Get at least two outfits that are newborn size (First Impressions from Macys does a good line), and at least six 0-3 onesies. But when they are teeny-tiny, they don't fit into most 0-3 month clothes. Hence, the newborn size.

5. Tucks medicated pads. Get the biggest bottle you can find cause you will be using those babies. Trust me on this one.

6. Get your pump before the baby comes. When engorgement occurs, you will want it. Also, a handful of bottles & nipples, because you never know what your baby is going to take.

7. If you can afford it, arrange for a housecleaner to come once a week for the first month. Or once every two weeks. I wish, in retrospect, I would have done that.

8. Some sort of robe to wear over your yoga pants for easy breastfeeding.

9. I'm sure a lot of people would swear they need breast pads, but I didn't. BUT! Maxi pads. A lot.

10. A nursing bra. I really like this one.

11. Love, Love, Love the Glamamama nursing tank top. Get two, why dontcha?

12. Have somewhere for the baby to sleep, even if you plan on co-sleeping. It's a safe place to put them down when you have to do stuff (and by "stuff", I mean something super-exciting like going to the bathroom).

13. How could I have gotten this far into my list without mentioning The Boppy?

14. Or, the bouncy chair? What, did I just forget how I manage to take my showers daily? Sheesh!

15. I wouldn't be here today to tell you all of this if it weren't for the Magic Yoga Ball (not really magic but shhhhh....). Bounce on this while holding the baby for a narcotic-like sleep (for baby, hopefully not for you, as that would be dangerous, and we at posthipchick do not want to endanger you or your baby in any way).

16. Just go ahead and up that cell phone plan now because EVERYONE will call you a million times.

17. It seems that everyone but me is a swaddling fool. I never really caught on (read: bad swaddler). But get some swaddling blankets nevertheless.

18. Those glowy pregnancy hormones disappear right away. And you are not sleeping. Get something to make those tired eyes just a little less perky, so that your mom doesn't have to tell you you "look gray".

19. One really cozy baby blanket.

20. A stroller. A car seat. (I'm not even going to touch brands with a ten-foot pole).

21.A baby bath.

22. This & this, for the baby bath.

23. Those adorable little baby towels with hood (shut up, I am not bath-obsessed).

24. This book (even if you're not having a baby).

25. A sling, if you're going that route.

Ok readers, chime in with whatever I missed.

2006-07-17T11:05:00.000-07:00

File under Things I Will Regret One Day, Probably Very Soon:

The Olive learned to yell yesterday. She really put two and two together and hollered. I, of course, encouraged this lovely development by busting into full-on gut laughter each and every time she hollered her head off. And, because she saw me laughing so much, and she wanted to please me (do you hear this? SHE is wanting to please ME. talk about developmental stages), she continues to do it every time I look at her. I continue to crack up.

I will probably begin regretting this on Wednesday, at the latest.

2006-07-15T11:03:00.000-07:00

At least SOMEONE in the family will make some money:

Arborist, Astronaut, whatever. We're flexible.

Thanks, Ellen!

2006-07-14T18:25:00.000-07:00

Cause I've got nothing to say:

I mean, I could regale you with tales about how The Olive is arching her back like a mad woman, and kicking her legs, making me think she's going to flip over sooner than I am ready.

I could also tell you about how she babbles on and on now, blowing bubbles and squealing and endearing me to her even further. Or how she prattles on until I hold the phone up to let my mom hear, at which point she merely eyes it suspiciously and shuts up.

I could also go on about the newfound freedom I am experiencing, now that The Olive gets nursed to sleep and then I can GO ABOUT MY DAY!

But all of this is so banal, even to me, and I'm living it.

Instead, let me direct you to a few new reads:

First, Jonathan Lovell, a former prof of mine and writer extrodinaire. I imagine you're in for some good educational dialogue right there.

Also, a reinstated blog of a friend of mine. First, librarian. Now, mama.

And a beginning blogger, with one mere entry to date, of a friend who is going to make you laugh your ass off, I'm sure.

2006-07-12T12:02:00.000-07:00

The Littlest Nazi:

We have discovered The Olive has a new favorite activity- sitting on a blanket under trees. We're pretty sure this means she's going to be an arborist, which is fine by us. We like trees! Trees are good!

When The Olive lies under her future employers, she squeals with delight and can not be redirected for anything. She will get hungry and need to nurse, but damn you if you position her in a way that does not allow for viewing the greenery. She will have none of it. You must lie down on your side and do a sideways nurse, allowing her to eat and enjoy the view at the same time.

What is most surprising, although it shouldn't be, is the new need to be part of every social situation we are in. Don't you dare hold her facing inward when we are out and about. No, the girl must see the world. Wherever we are, even just with her dad & I in the living room, she must be able to see all that is happening.

She is her mother's daughter, indeed.

2006-07-10T21:29:00.000-07:00

Expletive Hell:

One of the side effects of having a child that nobody warned me about (hello? warners? where where you?) is the absolute and complete rage you begin to feel about things. Things? you may ask. Yes, things.

The headrest of the carseat has born the brunt of my rage. It has brought me to tears numerous times, and the other day I threw it on the floor in the doctor's office because the damn thing DOESN'T WORK. It has never fit on anywhere, no matter how often I try. Just thinking about it gets my blood pressure up. My mom especially appreciated that display of emotion, reminding both of us, I'm sure, of when I was 13 and my hair JUST WOULDN'T DO THAT THING!

The house has also been the recipient of much of my anger. I call it the "fucking house", as in "this FUCKING HOUSE is driving me insane." I have always been a mellow housekeeper, homedweller, etc. But now? Now I am driven to the absolute edge of insanity by the things like cords. Absolute. Edge. I can see the water from here, folks, and it ain't pretty.

And The Lovely Beausband? Through amazing strengths of feat, I have managed not to express the absolute inappropriate things that have run through my head. Having never even had these sorts of thoughts before about such a gem of a guy (no, seriously), it scares me a little. Where does this anger come from? And why am I so suddenly full of rage? Is it because I start every day with a different ointment on my butt than my nipples? Because that is probably enough to put anyone in a bad mood.

What is odd about rage, having never really had it before, is how quickly it passes. I am all worked up about something and then- blip- it's gone.

I have always been pretty easy-going. I mean, I'm a neurotic mess, but it's all about me. I can't think of a person in the world who would coin me as controlling or angry. Is this just a hormonal blip that will pass? Or does having a baby make you suddenly unable to handle the small parts of life? And if so, how is the world full of parents who are still functioning?

2006-07-09T17:13:00.000-07:00

Anonymous:

Without naming names, someone here discovered their thumb last night. Someone also discovered that it is the perfect suck toy. Someone had trouble sleeping for all the excitement of such a delightful find.
Someone else was woken up all night by someone slamming their hands around their shared bed. Someone was very tired this morning.

2006-07-07T13:38:00.000-07:00

Another Year:

Are you going to Blogher? I am going to Blogher. I went last year, last minute, and had a great time, even if it did mean having to get up early during my summer break. It was worth it.

At the first event, I sat with the ladies who would be speaking at the Mommyblogging panel. I told one of them that I might be joining their ranks soon; I had not confirmed my pregnancy yet and even just saying that sounded totally far out. I had not yet told anyone that we were trying to conceive.

"Do you have anything big planned?" she asked.
"Just a trip to Paris," I replied.
"Oh, then you are DEFINITELY pregnant," she said, "Anytime you plan something big, your plans will get ruined."

And she was right. Less than a week later I was staring at a stick with two very, very faint lines. This year I'll be leaving my 3-month old daughter FOR A WHOLE DAY (Hey, are there going to be pumping rooms at Blogher?) to go listen and talk and meet people.

Will I meet you? I get a sort of social anxiety thinking about all these people whose lives I follow every day being in the same room. You know, maybe there's a reason that bloggers are bloggers. Maybe they are too socially retarded for real life. I certainly am.

2006-07-05T21:14:00.000-07:00

Itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-blue-and-flowery-bikini:

No, seriously, could you die from the cuteness?

I want to nibble her.

Another here.

2006-07-04T21:42:00.000-07:00

The Life Of A Mom:

I am at a party right now. Well, rather, there is a party going on in the house that I am present in. Where am I right now? In the back bedroom with a sleeping baby. If I leave, I can't hear her, and I didn't even think to bring the baby monitors (next year, in Israel! With the baby monitors!), so I am just sitting with her as she sleeps. I just finished cup two of Mother's Milk Tea, because I've suddenly slowed down milk production (I think, based on my University of Google research, due to the fever), and I have to think: Mmmmm, there is nothing like a cup of hot tea in 90-degree weather. I have to stay up for another hour to take my last round of antibiotics and Motrin, and I might just spend that hour with acidophilis smeared on my nipples.

The life of a mom is glamorous, indeed.

2006-07-03T15:15:00.000-07:00

I've been indoctrinated by the Northern California hippies:

Before I got pregnant, I never gave much thought to breastfeeding. I don't know why, I just assumed it wasn't a problem or question. While pregnant, many of my friends ran to breastfeeding classes, while I maintained an attitude of "It's biological, right? The baby will obviously latch on and be fine." I will admit to even having a superior air about it. Classes? I scoffed. Survival of the fittest! My baby will be fine. And you know what? She was. She latched right on and suckled away and I sat on my high horse. I figured that my friends who had problems had them because they were neurotic freaks (I mean this in the most loving way. I, too, am a neurotic freak, just- for unknown reasons- not about this.).

Three weeks into breastfeeding, I got my first case of mastitis. I don't know about you, but I don't get fevers all too often, and that is something fierce. The chills, the aching, the burning up. Not to mention the sore boob.

Then I went on antibiotics, which gave me thrush in my nipples. Thrush in the nipples is described by my doctor as "feeling like there are tiny shards of glass in your nipples when you nurse."

Then the anxiety kicked in. And, being that I'm breastfeeding, means I can't take anything for it. So I just quietly freak out. Which is fun for the whole family.

I will spare you the details on what is going on with my butt, again due to breastfeeding hormones.

And now I have mastitis again. I spent last night with a raging fever, shivering in 80 degree weather, unable to get up to get The Lovely Beausband to help me. For an hour and a half, I laid in bed, shaking like crazy and burning up. I finally was able to get up and get help, and The Lovely Beausband spent the next two hours putting ice cold washcloths on my face and neck to break my 101-degree fever. My right breast now looks like someone beat me- bright red and in searing pain.

But yesterday, in the ER, I got a doctor who was a total dick about it. When I told him I had mastitis, he pointed his chin at The Olive and said "You know you are getting this because you're breastfeeding, right?" Thanks, Doctor. I hope your medical degree didn't cost you much. He then told me I'd have to stop breastfeeding while on the antibiotics, which I questioned because they certainly never told me that before. He asked who my other doctor was, and said I could do as I please, but he would write on my discharge papers that I should stop breastfeeding. He informed me that "his children were raised on formula, and they turned out fine." After he left, the nurse came back in the room, closed the door and told me in no uncertain terms that I could keep breastfeeding just fine. You could tell she thought he was as much of an asshole as we did.

The thing is, I never thought I'd be this committed to breastfeeding. But now I'm willing to go through hell to continue doing it, because I do actually believe it is the best thing for my baby. I fall for the line that my body is making exactly what she needs. I instinctively shudder at the thought of bottles, or pacifiers, or formula. I've become a total breastfeeding asshole.

I know this is completely wrapped up in where and when I am doing this. Thirty-five years ago, and I would have given my baby formula, I'm sure. If I lived in Dallas today, maybe I would feel embarrassed to breastfeed in public. But here, in San Francisco, in the year 2006, I would be embarrassed to give my baby a bottle. I would feel judged.

When I called the doctor awhile back about the anxiety and asked her if I could take Ativan, she said that while she couldn't say yes, she also couldn't say no. She also said it wouldn't be the worst thing to give the baby formula. "Keep in mind," she said, "that you live in Northern California. In the rest of the country, people are not so adamant about breastfeeding. And the doctors would tell you to go ahead and take the Ativan."

I realize this, and I also realize my opinions are largely influenced by my location. But, for that, I am grateful. I am glad that I live in a place and time where doing this, no matter what the cost, is considered best. I know breastfeeding can be hard; I know that a breastfeeding mama suffers a lot. But I still think it's worth it.

2006-07-02T14:34:00.000-07:00

Not Again:

Fuck me. Mastitis again. And, of course, this would happen on one of the two days I have been uninsured in 15 years. Insurance will kick in retroactively to today, but still. Oh, and we are out-of-town, visiting friends, who are having a big pool party today.

And I am lying in a dark room with a heat pack on my boob. In 100 degree weather. LOVE. MY. LIFE.

2006-06-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

In the Hood:

I live in Dutch's least favorite neighborhood. And over in our hood, within a few block radius, there are few eateries I enjoy. Sure, there are lots of dive burrito and torta places, but I'm a slightly trepidatious restaruanteer. I like venturing out, but cleanliness, or lack thereof, makes me a little nervous. So there are lots of places in the hood that I don't go. One that I do enjoy, however, is San Francisco's oldest ice cream parlor. It might be a bit of a misnomer, because it was bought out by some young hipsters a few years ago, and while they have all the original decor, they also serve things like tofu scrambles. Which I actually really enjoy.

There has been much speculation of late about the soon-to-be-reopened Roosevelt's Tamale Factory- another old-school San Francisco landmark, just a few doors down from St. Francis. I walked by yesterday and noticed that they had finally reopened and was curious to check out the goods. I had not heard that it was bought out or anything, just that it was reopening. It is a place I had enjoyed on occasion in its previous life. We met up with some friends there last night and immediately it was clear that things had changed. The decor was polished, there were young, white faces behind the counter, and there were no Mexicans eating inside. I surveyed the menu and asked the young hipster about one intriguing item- stone-ground organic corn tostaditos. In case you ever run into the same thing on a menu, let me translate for you: chips.

I'm torn. Part of me likes stone-ground organic corn tostaditos and veggie burgers available to me within two blocks of my house. But some days it really feels like it's gone too far. Yesterday, I leaned toward the latter.

2006-06-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

Baby Einstein:

Like most first-time parents, the posthip household began an earnest endeavor at obtaining appropriate apparatuses (apparati? I'm not sure the plural) for our child. We were not overly concerned with the house being overrun with large, colorful plastic, and happily took whatever our friends threw at us. Swing? Sure! Bouncy chair? Of course! Exersaucer that is as large as our couch? Why not? Let me be the first to state that all of these (actually, I can't yet speak to the Exersaucer as we are not "there" yet) are great placaters of The Olive. Every day, she sits in her bouncy chair while I take a shower. I call the lights her "friends" (as in, "Do you want to go see your friends?"), and she never questions me (a great trait in a baby, really). In the past two days, I have actually seen her smile at both the bouncy chair AND the playmat. Now maybe if you have an older child, or you are not a parent (in which case I feel terrible for boring you with this total crap, sorry!) this is not that exciting, but to see her smile at an inantimate object is such a total trip. Who is this developing person who moved in with us, anyway?

Anyway, all of this is to say that the real reason for all of this junk is obvious- ANOTHER PLACE TO THROW YOUR CLOTHES! Also, please note yoga ball #3 in this photo (The Olive really likes being bounced on this ball. Yoga ball #1 burst, we assume from overuse. Yoga ball #2 was pushed into the space heater by some of our younger visitors.)

Also, The Olive being all posthip and shit:

And yes, I am shamelessly using my child to advertise my blog. Is that a problem?

2006-06-27T21:52:00.000-07:00

Dog Days:

Living with me these days is like living with a hairy dog in Spring. I sweep the floors and there are piles of my hair everywhere. There is hair on the Brita, hair in my shoes, and I swear to you, as I type this, I found a hair in the cookies I made last night. I knew my hair would fall out after childbirth, but I just didn't know it would happen ALL AT ONCE.

2006-06-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

Two Years and Two Months:

Two Years

And Two Months

(I had a whole blog post in my head, and have been trying to type it all day, but now it is 11:00 at night and I am just too tired.)

2006-06-24T09:39:00.000-07:00

Clearly I'm Old:

While the car has been broken into twice, neither time did they choose to take any of my CD's. Too bad, a little lesbian folk might do them good.

2006-06-22T22:31:00.000-07:00

Fun with PhotoBooth:

I believe this is how The Olive views us.

2006-06-21T22:49:00.000-07:00

My neurotic husband can totally kick your neurotic husband's ass:

The water department came today to check something with our water. I wasn't here, but when I returned, the toilet water was blue. I assumed they do that to do some sort of check (technological language not included in this blog entry). When The Lovely Beausband returned home from work tonight, I informed him of this development (I know, it's a thrilling life we lead here). "Well, that's fine," he said, "but I hope it doesn't stay that way." "Why?" I asked, "You have something against blue toilet water?" "Well," he said seriously, "that is the only potable water in the house." This comment got a blank stare from yours truly. "In case there's an earthquake, that's what we can drink."

I ask you, Internet. Who THINKS about this sort of thing?

2006-06-21T17:29:00.000-07:00

I believe the following conversation actually proves my hipness:

Phc: Blah, blah Brittney Spears pregnant blah, blah.
Mom: Blah, blah white trash blah, blah.
Phc: Blah, blah awful gross husband blah.
Mom: Blah dirty looking blah.
Phc: Blah, blah "we're country" blah.
Mom: What is she famous for anyway? Is she a singer?
Phc: (long pause) I honestly don't know.

2006-06-21T14:08:00.000-07:00

What a difference a day makes:

One Benadryl (safe for nursing moms!), a different room, and nine hours have made me a better person.

Thank you all for your advice.

2006-06-20T17:07:00.000-07:00

Loop:

I have to warn you, I might be going crazy.

When The Olive was first born, I made many comments to people about how I was totally doing ok with the sleep deprivation. I was fine! This is not so bad! I can live! Now, I want to wring my past selves neck. And then beg her for answers, because how did she do it?

Now, every night, I lie in bed for hours, completely unable to sleep. It is horrible. A type of horror I have never actually known. The Olive falls asleep and I am exhausted beyond any reasonable state and I know I only have a certain amount of time before she will wake up. And I lie there. And lie there. And then start to drift off. And then wake up, in a panic. Then the adrenaline starts and I can't fall back to sleep.

Ditto the experience every time I try to nap during the day.

It doesn't matter if she is next to me or in the other room. I don't think it would matter if she were in China.

To compound this already lovely situation, the sleep deprivation is causing panic attacks. When I don't sleep, the next day is like a slow-motion horror film. I am angry and panicked and totally traumatized. I don't think I can make it through the day. All I want is to fall asleep. But when I go to nap, I just lie there and lie there and lie there.

I honestly don't know what to do. I cannot continue to exist like this; it is a completely unreasonable way to live. I am a total mess.

The doctor said, if necessary, I could take some ativan. There are no known studies of ativan and breastfeeding, so it makes me nervous.

But I don't know what else to do.

2006-06-19T09:51:00.000-07:00

Youth:

It would be nice if someday I made as much money as I did when I was 23 and didn't have a college degree.

2006-06-17T19:37:00.000-07:00

Dads, Redux:

It's been many years since I've had occasion to celebrate Father's Day. The last one I remember was the year I turned 18, just a few weeks before graduating high school. My own father gave me nothing for either event, but a few weeks later, right before Father's Day, called to tell me which watch he wanted. And I got it for him. The guilt, it runneth deep.

I'm not sure if The Lovely Beausband has ever celebrated Father's Day. My dad is crazy; his was an alcoholic who left when he was young and drank himself to death fifteen years ago. They were not, shall we say, in touch. I don't think I've ever heard him say a complimentary word about his dad.

Being a new mom is hard- harder than I thought in many ways. But at least I have models to work with. The Lovely Beausband has to go completely on instinct, and the knowledge of what not to do. There's no dad around to tell him he's doing a good job, or commiserate with him about what it means to be a father. We've got nothing here but estrogen to keep him company.

But somehow, even without that guidance, he knows exactly what to do. And when he doesn't, he's willing to learn, which is probably worth a lot more. It is hard at this age with The Olive- she has eyes for the one who feeds her. Biology is funny like that. But I see how hard her dad is working to get to know her, and to make sure she knows he is willing to do anything for her. Sometimes I am even a little jealous that he gets to know her in a way that isn't so physical or need-based. He just gets to love her, without her taking so much from him. Their relationship is set up to be so different.

I don't know what the future holds for any of us in our little family. But the past has a long history of men who leave (seriously- we both have divorced GRANDPARENTS. who else has divorced grandparents?). I know one thing for sure- The Olive is never going to have a story to tell with a disappearing dad. A dad who embarrasses her? Sure. A dad who has high expectations? Absolutely. But a dad who leaves? Never.

I wish I had a better dad. I wish The Lovely Beausband had a better dad. But I cannot imagine The Olive having a better dad. And that? That is healing.

Happy Father's Day.

2006-06-16T15:26:00.000-07:00

Doctor's Orders:

I'd like to go ahead and quote my doctor here when I asked her about post-partum sex: "I suggest you inebriate and lubricate."

2006-06-14T12:54:00.000-07:00

Are we at the fair?

Nope, just enjoying my new computer (pic taken with photoboth). What, I forgot to mention that? I don't know how, what with the fact that I started my new job, left Olivia alone for the first time, have massive sleep exhaustion, miss my mom, and the car has been broken into again. I mean, I've got nothing but time to play with the latest addition to the family.

2006-06-13T21:40:00.000-07:00

True exhaustion looks like this:

Trying, desperately, to fall asleep for two hours to no avail. It is incomprehensible to me how I can be this fucking tired and not be able to sleep. But something about the presence of The Olive gets me into this state where I cannot sleep (how much do you want to bet that NOBODY has this problem with #2?), so I just lay there, dying of exhaustion. Then she is awake and there is no chance for sleep, even if I put the bouncy vibrating chair on the bed and try to doze. The only way I was going to get to sleep is if she is away from me somehow. So I drove down 40 minutes to the Lovely Beausband's work so he could take her away and I could sleep in the car for 10 minutes. This? This is what my life has come to- driving 40 minutes for a 10-minute nap in the car.

2006-06-11T22:29:00.000-07:00

The Unbearable Cuteness of Being The Olive:

More here

2006-06-10T20:27:00.000-07:00

Hot Town, Summer In The City:

San Francisco topped out at around 55 degrees today, beginning what is known as "June Gloom" or "The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent", etc. We'll now commence a few months of fog and windshield wipers and scarves and hats and boots. Some people complain about this weather, feeling like they don't get a summer. There are no flip-flops or tank tops or hot summer nights, at least until September. I, for one, am grateful. Sure, I get the appeal of summer. But that's all it is- the package sounds good, but the reality is quite different. I hate sweltering days and sweating and you couldn't pay me enough money to wear shorts. I like the hot summer nights before I'm forced to sleep in them, and, quite frankly, the miserable days simply aren't worth it. It seems I have become a true San Francisco girl, with pale skin and a year-round winter coat to prove it.

2006-06-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

Public Schools:

I have started my new job managing the Education Foundation (part-time only for now, folks), and have now had the opportunity to see the other side of public schools. And can I say that dear god, what a difference parental involvement makes. I should start by telling you I have never worked at a school that even had a PTA. Most of the time, parents wouldn't even return my calls. I doubt many of the parents of students knew each other or had a network on which to lean on. The community I'm working in now has a PTA that has "tension" with the Foundation I'm working for because they both want to do more. Huh?

I went into a classroom yesterday that had a floor-to-ceiling Eiffel Tower that the kids built. There was art everywhere. All of the hallways are decorated with artwork done by the students. Walking down the hallways, all of the children would say "Excuse me" when they passed me. The science fair was downright impressive. The libraries were open. With books. And a librarian. Huh?

Now I want to point something out here. You would assume that these are all rich kids, right? Nope. Some are, to be sure. Incredibly rich. But two of the schools I visited yesterday were Title I schools. There is a large amount of diversity in the schools. And still, they are thriving. Parents are involved. Seriously involved. Schools are actually diverse, with children from backgrounds all over the world. High expectations are being held. Resources are there.

It was such a completely different picture of public schools than I am accustomed to. It is public schools doing an amazing job at educating their students. Every child should be so lucky.

2006-06-08T20:05:00.000-07:00

Myspace:

I don't know about you, but as a thirty-something, I don't have a lot of need for myspace. Nobody I know is on it, except my brother, and- similar to friendster- I do not understand the point. Thank God that unlike friendster, it actually loads within 24 hours.

But a few days ago, I started thinking about some kids I used to babysit, who lived next door to me. The summers I was 13 and 14, I would babysit them for 40 hours per week. I taught them how to swim. I fed them breakfast and lunch every day. We played for hours. And then they moved, and our families fell out of touch. It has been probably 15 years since I've seen them, though my mom has run into their mom around town now and again. It suddenly occurred to me that they must be pretty old now- no longer the 3 and 5-year old's I remember. Where could I find them? Well, all the kids are on myspace, so I decided to check it out.

They turned out NOTHING like I would have expected. Their little bodies that I used to rub down with sunscreen are now flashing myspace users cleavage and holding up bottles of beer. They apparently "love to PaRTy!!!" Really? You were little chunky babies with bowl cuts like 10 minutes ago. How did this happen?

It's amazing how quickly time flies when you're not looking. Will the same happen with The Olive? Will I really turn around to see 15 years go by and be looking in the face of a girl who wants her driver's license? Who wants to go out with boys? Who slams doors in my face (Note: That WILL get you grounded, Missy.)?

People warned me a lot about these first few months of having a baby. They warned me that it would be hard, and I would be exhausted. They told me foreboding stories about never sleeping and crying and freaking out. I went into this with my expectations pretty low, which seems to be serving me well. While there is the obvious exhaustion and frustration and total fucking tedium of saying "Hiiiiii" to a baby a thousand times a fucking day, I am constantly reminded of how quickly time is passing and have actually been able to enjoy this time. The Olive has already outgrown one of her newborn outfits, and has moved up a diaper size. "Wait", I want to cry out, "Not so fast." But I can't slow down the next fifteen years any more than I can slow down the last. I just hope- against all the odds- that I will remember to enjoy every moment of it.

2006-06-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

Six Weeks Tomorrow:

The Olive is weighing in at a hearty 11 lbs., which is wonderful and also makes me stand over her and beg her not to grow anymore, not one more inch or ounce, because she is just perfect the way she is. Last night she slept for five whole hours in a row, so I definitely think we will keep her.

She is going through a very 'I Love Mom' phase right now. I almost expect she is going to bust out those BFF necklaces for us to wear one of these days. When other people hold her, she fusses and cries, but when they put her back on my lap, she smiles and coos and sings "Reunited, and it feels so good". It's a huge emotional rush, obviously, but it also presents a problem. While it's great to be #1 in her life, it also sucks to be #1 in her life. Because she is always, always wanting me and only me and that responsibility is huge. I mean, sometimes I'd just like to check some blogs, make cookies and call it a night. I want her to be comfortable with other people and the only way that is going to happen is if she's uncomfortable with other people for awhile. I wish there was some way around this, but like everything worthwhile, you must feel the pain to get the gain. I hate that.

My job starts today and this month is the one time I will have to be away quite a bit, because I am training with the outgoing person. I have to put in the time now to get the time later. I know there are mothers everywhere who go back to work when their babies are six weeks old- that's all the state actually provides you, so unless you can afford a financial hit, it is often when mothers go back to work. But it is oh-so-early. And I am only going to be gone for four or five hour stretches at a time. I cannot imagine going back full-time right now. So there is going to be some discomfort on everyone's part for the next few weeks, but I'm hoping that through it, she will learn to survive being separated and still letting me be #1. At least for a few more weeks.

2006-06-04T19:44:00.000-07:00

Two English Majors In The House:

Phc: What is 15 times 12?
Lovely Beausband: Um, 300.

24 hours later:
Phc: Remember when you said 15 times 12 was 300? You were wrong- it's 150.

I always joke that my nightmare is if The Olive grows up to be a Republican accountant, but maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing after all.

2006-06-03T16:24:00.000-07:00

Representing:

I would totally wear this outfit.
I need about 100 more baby hoodies, because (gasp!) she's already outgrowing this one.

2006-06-01T15:31:00.000-07:00

Jumping Ship:

For three years now, I have been teaching inner-city school children. There is no question for me that this is my professional "calling", and I never, ever thought that I would leave teaching. Ever.

If you've been a teacher, you know how difficult it is to balance your professional life with your personal life. If you haven't, imagine not only working 40 hours per week, but then spending another 20 hours preparing for those 40 hours. And imagine that those 40 hours are the most emotionally, physically and psychologically draining hours you could stand. There's your teaching life. Sure, you get summers off, but that is a far-away call in January, when you feel like you will never sleep again.

Throw in having a baby into this mix- who, incidentally, also needs 100% of your energy- and it's enough to make any sane person need to go breathe into a bag. Because how- HOW?- will you be able to give everyone everything they need?

I have never wanted to be a SAHM. I really didn't think I did before The Olive came, and while it is more and more appealing now that she's here, it's a) not an option and b) not really what I want to do.

Who knew I would find a perfect in-between?

I took a job today managing an Education Foundation. It's not teaching, but it is the field of education, and has a mission I strongly believe in. It will be fun and interesting work. Work that I will do primarily from home. With flexible hours. And with people who all have children, so are completely understanding about the issues that are raised when you are caring for a family and working. They are more than family-friendly, they are actually PRO-family.

After I got off the phone today and accepted the job, I looked down at my beautiful daughter with tears pouring out of my eyes. I never even considered I would get to stay home with her. And make money. And I never even considered the fact that I would want that. But once the opportunity came up, I suddenly wanted it more than anything else.

Earlier today, The Olive was lying on a blanket on the floor and I would put my head in towards hers and say "Hiiiiiii". Every time I did, she would get a big grin on her face. I am so, so thrilled that I don't have to miss more of those moments.

This is a perfect way to bookend my 30th year, which ends today and has been nothing I expected and 1,000 times better than I could have ever imagined.

2006-05-31T22:14:00.000-07:00

Stay Calm:

Ok, who has suggestions for how to stop panic attacks that don't involve medication? Speak up.

2006-05-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

The Olive Says:

"Thank goodness it's Memorial Day and I can start wearing my whites."

(Pic taken during 'Tummy Time', right after The Olive rolled from stomach to side! I can't find any evidence to support my theory, but I'm sure this is very advanced.)

2006-05-28T09:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday Morning Randoms:

Will I ever be able to not cry when I hear about someone having a baby? Like on Law & Order? Or Brangelina?

*********************************************************************

The Olive learned that her hand can go into her mouth yesterday. And she slurps on it. Why does this make me proud?

*********************************************************************

When I think about how much I want this job, my stomach hurts. A lot. I try not to think about it too much, because I become a nervous wreck. I don't know when I'll hear, but I expect this week sometime.

*********************************************************************

I do not know how mothers survived before the Internet. Really.

2006-05-26T21:11:00.000-07:00

One Month:

One month ago today, they placed The Olive in my arms after 18 hours of labor and my heart soared to places I didn't even know existed.

One month ago today

Things have only gotten better since that day.

I know a lot of new moms are overwhelmed with their newborns. Not to say that I'm not overwhelmed, because I certainly have my moments, but I've really been enjoying getting to know The Olive. Life has been a little bubble for me since her arrival- we spend most days just hanging out and loving her- and I don't want that bubble to end. Real life is starting to creep in- schoolwork, job interviews, tests, etc., and I want to somehow beat the real world out. This has been the most amazing month, and I already whisper to The Olive that I don't want her to grow up. I now totally get how people end up with big families.

I am already alarmed at how much she has changed in just a month. She has gained over 2 lbs., and grown a whole inch. Her eyes are big and open now, and she stays awake for hours at a time (AND only got up once last night- granted only once in seven hours, but STILL!) . A few days ago, she suddenly learned how to cry and has been breaking my heart on a regular basis ever since. When that face scrunches up and the mouth frowns and the wailing begins, it feels like being torn apart. I wish she never had an ounce of pain in her whole life. She is also able to smile a little now, and even if it is gas, well, I can't help but smile back. Seeing her father's smile on her little face is the most wonderful sight I have ever seen.

I interviewed for a new job yesterday- one that would allow me to work from home and have flexible hours. I want it so desperately- it would be the most amazing gift I could imagine right now. I want to be able to spend as much time as possible with this little person who has broken my heart right open.

I'm a big girl

Mama kisses those chubby cheeks all day