Christmas Cringes

So, it's been awhile since I've blogged. Ok, a long while for anyone following. The holidays kinda sneeked up on us this year. Usually, by the time Thanksgiving rolls around, I'm all gung-ho about getting that Christmas tree as fast as possible cut and dragged to it's final resting place in the corner of my dining room. I proceed to lug all the boxes of ornaments and tree fluff upstairs and assemble my work of holly jolly art.

This year, I'm not there. Or I should say, I'm not here, in that holiday buzz that surrounds my dining room corner, all lit by the chosen tree. It's been a rough year all along. Especially with a new baby.

I've had a hard time adjusting to motherhood all year. When Josh turned six months and he went from fussy baby who eats and sleeps all day, to a babbling bubbly alert baby, I thought that crazy, paranoid feeling of doom and just sheer I-can't-handle-this-thing-called-motherhood business was over. Sometimes, on days like today, I am reminded that perhaps it's not. I remember about six months after Josh's presence was made in the world, before he became bubbly, I had a conversation with my midwife. A routine visit that would turn into a crying fest on the table (sorry for the visual). At that time, I had just broken my foot right before a two major events at work (this lead to a knee-high cast and krutches being added to my wardrobe and no work for six weeks), Josh had surgery (for another post, someday), and my car was stolen out of our driveway at home (also another amusing post). I will remind the audience that this all happened in the space of two weeks time.

All I did was cry, especially on the weekends when the Hubbs was at work most of the day and I was left alone to fend for myself and this little bundle of breastmilk, spit and poop. This scene, however, had become a tradition in my house since my son was born (the crying, I mean). I decided it was time to get this weird feeling I was having about being a mom and the distance I felt towards my son, checked out. So there I was on the table-thingy in the doc's office, in my cast, feeling utterly lost and like a freak. I didn't even know where to start because it had gone on so long. There were times I was happy, lots of times I think. Just I couldn't stay happy for very long and I still had not bonded with my baby. WTF? What was wrong with me?

So there I was, spilling to the midwife who had delivered my son, everything that had happened recently and how I had been feeling even before our life temporarily collapsed. I think I went through a box of Kleenex in that visit. I remember her asking me if I wanted to hurt myself and I said Uh, No.  She said ok looks like you're just stressed out with what's happening in your life right now (REALLY? YOU DON"T SAY!) perhaps you should see a shrink and talk about it.

That's it. And I was cured! Well, no, but I managed. Many crying sessions later, Josh became bubbly and a happy baby (no thanks to my crying, I'm sure). And as time went on, I just ignored those feelings towards him, if the crept up occasionally. I will never know really if I was suffering from postpartum depression. You get those surveys at the hospital and at the doc's office after you have a baby. Do you have suicidal thoughts? How often do you cry? blah blah blah...  Geez, the survey makes you not want to take it. There's nothing inviting about those questions. And what about the answers? scale of 1 to 5, or often to rarely? So will they only take me seriously if the paper is littered with 5's and all Often's? Regretably, I never did see a psychiatrist. Which I still think about every once in a while when those feelings creep in.

So back to my original point, this year's been littered with crap events. One of my good friend's brother passed away earlier in the year. Tragic story I won't tell since it's not mine to share. Shortly thereafter, the foot, Josh's surgery and the car fiascos. We coasted most of the summer, even got away for a week's vacation. But the year just couldn't end on a high note, couldn't you?

The Hubbs experienced a career blow and hefty paycut to match (thank you, corporate bastards). Last week, after Josh has been so kindly sharing his gooey germs with me, I managed to clog the bathroom sink. Which, evidently kick-started a parade of crappy events all over again. It turns out we need to replace the entire plumbing system in our 1959 home. Dear House, you suck. We had to rip out the kitchen cabinets to access the plumbing and replace a hot water heater and main sewage line. CRAZY!!!

My job, for now, is doing good. In fact, I got a raise.... literally, a crumb, for taking on another person's job. These people are saving hundreds of thousands of dollars by not hiring someone and I get a penny. A FREAKIN' PENNY!!!! (ok, not really, but it could be). So instead of working ten hours a day and not seeing my son that often, and in return for my penny, I get to work 14 hours a day (on a good day), learn an entirely new job, and come out of this alive! Oh, did I mention I have to raise $10Million a YEAR! A YEAR! yes, let me repeat: ONE YEARRRRRR!!!!

In the spirit of Christmas and all the merry holidays, I still have a job. Which is something that some people can't say these days. And as I sit across from the Hubbs, who's feverishly searching for a new job as we speak, I am thinking of all the wonderful things I am hoping for this new year. Putting behind this awful crap of a year and moving forward to greener pastures, where Christmas trees grow, waiting to be decorated with tree fluff in some lucky person's living room.

A Taste for Dog Hair

Josh is getting to be very mobile now. Cruising all over the living room, swinging off of furniture and speed-crawling to the nearest electrical outlet. Yes, we've babyproofed. Well, sort of... we got the outlets covered and the baby gates up, but that's about it. The rest requires 24-hours surveillance of the speed-crawling suspect. A little exhausting, but at least I get to play with him while I'm at it. I wonder what he's thinking when the fistfuls of dog hair get into his mouth- YUM! I'd like to give a big THANKS for the loads of dog hair to my never-shed-ending mutt, Lemon.

Giraffes, Giraffes, and Polka Dots

For awhile now, I've been busy planning my son's FIRST birthday party! I still can't believe my little teeny boy who refused to nurse has managed to eat enough to get this big and OLD! Funny thing is, I'm not so much thinking of it as me getting old as I thought I would. It's bittersweet- the baby is gone now and enter this little person with tons of personality and energy that requires a leash.

Well, enough of the sentimental crap...now for the good stuff: party planning! We hadn't really come up with a theme until we came across these:

Who can resist this lovable giraffe with the soothing, modern blue? So I'm taking this theme and running with it...fast.

For favors, I've asked my fabulous friend and owner of Rise Bakery in Clinton, NJ to make these awesome Giraffe cookies with fondant and royal icing (picture to arrive soon). Same Aunt Patricia also offered to make the cake. How exciting! Something Tiffany blue with a giraffe somewhere, that's all I got so far- it's going to be so cute!

More to come... his party was actually today and I can't wait to compile everything that we actually did!

Fall is in the Air

Fall has come around again! As I am typing, Josh is sleeping like a cat splayed on my lap (supercuteness!) It's my favorite time of the year- the leaves, the cool air, and this year is especially important: Josh's First Birthday! I'm working on a post all about his party- I can't wait to share it!

I haven't been blogging long about this, but this milestone is such an accomplishment for me as a mom. We made it! Survived the first year and can't wait to celebrate many more with my little peanut. I've managed to barrel through the year and it certainly has been a blur. Thank goodness for video and digital cameras, or I'd really never remember those exciting moments like the first spoon of cereal, the first crawl, you get my drift.

We're also planning a Vermont trip in early October. Hubbs and I just LOVE the Green Mountain State. We were going to get married there, but it just didn't happen. So instead we try to get away every few months in the Fall and Winter seasons to take in the fresh air and tranquility that Vermont just oozes. We usually stay at our fave B&B, The Buckmaster Inn in Shrewsbury. Innkeepers Liz & Richard are just fantastic hosts! We've been staying there for a few years now and we can't think of a warmer place. They have really raised our standards for B&B stays; anywhere we stay now at a B&B, we always compare it to the Buckmaster. From the hearty breakfasts (and they will make anything you want!) to the fabulous simple chic country decor, this is definitely THE place to stay when central VT. Oh, and it's small, so you don't get this crowded B&B feeling of staying at a large inn. You get to know all the guests and the innkeepers really well. We were even invited to have dinner with them on our last trip!

So yesterday, in preparation for the cold weather, and let's face, mostly because I feel guilty about neglecting my house this past year, I went out and bought my house a present- a new fence. Lemon and Muffie (the canine duo) have really done a number on the current cheap picket fence that came with the house. Hubbs has done some tampering with the gate to keep it from coming off the latch, but it really is on it's last leg. So in one week and $1,500 later, House will have a new fence attached. Are you happy now House? Will you forgive me for the recent neglect? We mulched and weeded last month, pruned the bushes and the flowers, and gave the grass some drinking water. You may even get a new roof next year, we'll see how you behave. You are certainly starting to shape up now! I love this time of year.

What's the Hardest Thing?

Recently, I was cornered by a co-worker of mine who is thinking about having kids with his wife. And since I am the proud owner of baby Josh 1.0, he thought I'd somehow have something spectacular to say about parenthood. Geez, no pressure here.  He asked me, what I think is the all-important question, So what was the hardest thing for you being a new parent?  WOW! I've really thought about this several times over the past year. Parenting is so different for everyone, but we all have something that's especially challenging.

So anyway, I pondered for a second and blurted out: the hardest part was dealing with this overwhelming feeling of utter responsibility for another human life. I'm not important anymore, but this little creature that cries, sleeps and poops non-stop (these days, I can relate to Dooce and her Olympic Pooper, thankfully my washing machine works), somehow relies on ME for everything and if something happens to him, it's MY FAULT.

Now, really, can you just imagine walking around with that on your shoulders everyday? I need to get myself a great chiropractor. For me, everything else about being a parent just comes with the territory and is an absolute cake-walk in comparison. I can deal with colic, the diapers, and sick babies (this last one was also tough, ranks #2). But in the background, is this intense R-word feeling (I can't even say it sometimes). Even after 10 months, it's still there. There are days I want to tear my hair out, when the crying doesn't ever seem to stop. I step back and just wonder, I must be doing something wrong, he's not supposed to cry like this. Maybe I work too much, maybe it's the peas I gave him last night, oh! I know! He doesn't like that toy!  Nope. But whatever it is, it's all on me. I just hope I don't mess him up too much.

A Legacy of Fear: Remembering 9/11

So every year since 2001, all of America stops for a moment on September 11 to honor and remember this tragic anniversary. For those of us that were around at the time, we all have stories about what we were doing that day and how our lives and our perception of safety was changed forever. For most of us who witnessed this day through the lens of the media, we go about our daily lives throughout the year. But it's when September 11 rolls around again, I still feel profound sadness and loss for everything we lost that day. This is my story of what I was doing that day. It might seem trivial and, I imagine, unoriginal as many college students at the time experienced something similar on the bus that day. Nonetheless, it changed me and what was most affected to this day was my perception of safety in my country.

I was starting my Junior year at Rutgers and had just gotten out this dreadful Calculus class that was supposedly my "for fun" class. I crossed a busy College Road and got myself on the bus to a building several blocks away for my next class. The time was just after 10am.

I remember the bus being unusually quiet, just because this was typically "rush hour" for students and even though the bus was full, something was amiss. There were two girls sitting next to me and I eavesdropped in on their conversation. One girl was telling the other that the Twin Towers were bombed.  The girl wasn't sure because she had heard it from someone else. But I was so intent on getting to my class that I just thought they were talking about the 1993 bombing, maybe it was a class project or something. As I approached the building for my next class, I noticed that there were no students hanging out in the entrance to that building as was usual, especially before the start of class. There were signs posted on the door and the hallways were emptied. The signs read: In light of today's tragic events, classes have been cancelled. What? What were they talking about?

I reached for my cell phone to dial my mother to see what she knew- my phone was cut off. But I just knew I had paid the bill! What was going on? So I proceed to call Verizon operator and she told me that service was interrupted for some time. I asked her why and she said, "The towers were bombed". I said to her, what do you mean?  She's all, Didn't you watch the news? I could have reached into the phone, grabbed her and shook her feverishly, but I thought I'd at least get her to tell me what was going! Then she was all, the Twin Towers were bombed this morning and we've lost service in most of the New York metro area- go home, it's all over the news. Ok, something was very wrong here- the Verizon operator lady just told me to GO HOME.

So I got on the next bus, shaking all the way back to my apartment where my roommate was already glued to the only channel we had left. We didn't leave that tv screen for two days (well, except for a bathroom break here and there). For two days, the world stopped and was tuned into FOX for the most horrendous and heartbreaking news coverage in my generation's lifetime. Classes were cancelled, the roads were emptied, no one came or left the campus. We could see the Fort Dix military helicopters flying over the campus every few hours, patroling the skies.

In 2003, while working in a hotel located near Newark Airport, an Arab man walked into my restaurant. He looked around and started asking me questions about the security in the hotel: why so many guards, what are they looking for? what about security at the airport? is it this tight too? Certainly, interesting inquiries from an out-of-towner in any case. BUT this was post 9/11 and as much as we try, stereotypes always manage to creep into your mind, especially when our safety is threatened. I remember this terrifying, creepy feeling overcoming me in the restaurant as this man fired off his odd questions at me. The next thing I knew, I was on the phone with the Chief of Security and he marched into the restaurant with a fellow guard and planted himself at this man's table. The three men sat for a LONG time. I will never know what they talked about and I'm sure this Arab felt completely profiled. For that, I would like to send my apologies to this man. But, unless you lived underground on 9/11, you had to know what this country had just been through and you don't go around asking employees of an airport hotel about the security protocol (AND especially if you are Middle Eastern)!!! 

Eight years: yes, life has continued. Do I feel any safer today? No. Even though I didn't lose any family or friends that day at the hands of terrorists, I lost my innocence and faith in humanity. That people could think of and execute such a heinous act in the name of a god, was almost historic. These things weren't supposed to happen in my generation- my lifetime. But they did. I look at my son now: a bubbling, innocent child who has no idea of what it's like to watch something like this unfold on your TV live. They only way he'll know about this now is through a textbook someday in a History class. I only hope we will have learned the lessons so that our children will never have to experience such human tragedy as we did.

Marriage of Convenience (or other government benefits)

This week is my wedding anniversary to the Hubbs of 3 (or 2) years, depending on who you are, is what you know. Let me explain and the mystery will be revealed.

In 2006, I was faced with yet again another layoff from Corporate America. This would be my second in a year and a half, and the third for our relationship. Trying times they were. Fast forward a few years, two severe pay cuts, serious debt, and a bankrutpcy- here we were again, back at square 1.5. I remember that sinking, and yet exciting, feeling of not knowing what to do with myself after this job was over in a few short weeks. Even though my boss at the time had promised a few of us a job, I wasn't convinced and I knew I needed a backup plan (I was right- got the pink slip two weeks later). Of course, with losing my job, I was losing benefits too and I was getting old enough to know that I really, probably shouldn't be without insurance.

Cue Bright Idea bulb: one comfortable Saturday morning, laying in bed trying not sweat over the impending uncertainty in the weeks ahead, I turned to the Hubbs and said the words that most single men really dread: I need health insurance- LET'S GET MARRIED! Still not sure which is scarier, asking your partner for insurance or the marriage thing, two very big commitments. I should probably mention that we were already engaged at this point, not actively looking to set a date so this wasn't a terrible idea.

I'm going off topic for a second here. I think it's despicable that in such a modern country as we live in, we have managed to tie something so basic as insurance coverage to Marriage. And typical in governmentese, in most states it's illegal for gays to get married, hence robbing them of insurance coverage! There are so many material benefits to Marriage that governments have managed to keep this dying institution alive and well (even if meaningless and sometimes fraud) by denying citizens basic rights, like insurance and tax benefits. Ever think why is it that married folks get a nice tax break if they file jointly? Because Flo and her office buddies in the IRS JUST NEED to take 2 hour lunch breaks instead of flipping through a second return! I don't know about you, but I'd rather my tax dollars go towards the time it takes to process another tax return than a two-hour lunch! When will we find a way to separate marriage from conveniences and basic rights?

And we're back. So Hubbs looks at me, bewildered, and says Sure, why not? Every girl's dream, he said YES! Oh wait, wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? Ah, who cares! Two weeks later, I took a half day off and there we were: me in tube spring dress, all yellow and green flower print, and a teeny bouquet Banana (that would be my friend) made for me. It was just me, Hubbs, two friends and the lady judge- perfect. No fuss.

So almost exactly one year later, the princess in me finally caved and a small (lavish) wedding was had. For most of our friends and families, this is the only wedding they know about... until now. It does feel good to be naughty...

No More Surprises

I came across this essay by Kevin Guilfoile in Heather Armstrong's book Things I Learned About My Dad, in which Kevin lists the ten things he's learned about fatherhood. My favorite on his list? #2: Don't Ask the Doctor for the Sex of Your Baby.

It sounds a bit antiquated, and frankly, I was even SHOCKED to see it in print by someone else- a father, to boot! He goes on to say that there's really nothing left to say on birth announcements once the sex is known and the mystery is gone.

It brings back memories when I was preggers with Josh and we decided to keep the sex of the baby a mystery. OH MY GOD! You'd think I was working some covert CIA mission to exploit koala bears. I didn't realize keeping the surprise was so WEIRD, I mean, how could you NOT KNOW WHAT YOU'RE HAVING?? What was I thinking? I can't tell you how many smirks I got when people asked what I was having and I'd politely answer "I don't know, it's a surprise!" And then I'd get Really? But how do you know what to buy? Huh? I think they make onesies in white (I don't think either boy or girl would object to that) and I like neutrals anyway so it's not like I was just dying to fill a room with pink or blue stuff.

Our world today is littered with predictability; any surprises that come up are not usually good ones (except for maybe the occasional "stripper in a cake" routine at a 30th birthday party)... how boring. Is that as good as it gets? Some T & A popping out of a cake? That's it? I was determined to make a GOOD surprise for myself.

I saw this line somewhere and it's totally true: It's the miracle of life for a reason, not: on this day a girl (or boy) will come into my life. There's something sacred about the birth of a child and who are we to ruin Mother Nature's surprise to us. It's like finding out your husband planned this huge surprise to take you to see Britney Spears on your anniversary and he even got a babysitter! OK, yes, having a baby IS better than seeing Britney shake her thing, but getting a babysitter is just the cherry on the cake! Go Mike! The point is, that when I told Mike that I knew what his surprise was, I might as well have crushed his dreams with my bare, muscular hands (eww, what a visual). I don't know too many people who like having their surprises found out before it's time, why would you do it to Mother Nature?

I liked not knowing that on ___ day in October I was going to have a ___. There was mystical and thrilling feeling about it accompanying the Braxton-Hicks. Plus, it gave my husband an important task during delivery:

40 weeks of discomfort and swelling... $12,486

30 hours of slow, intense labor... $5 for narcotics and a glass of wine

Having your husband tell you the sex of your baby with tears in his eyes... Priceless.

Sand in My Toes

I found the secret to calming my energizer bunny (that would be Josh to all the pervs out there). Josh is a baby jacked up on battery juice in the afternoons, especially when he hasn't napped. You could almost see the excitement steaming out of his ears and jolting his limbs in every direction! I just didn't think it was possible for all that energy to fit in an 18-pound body.
But, lo and behold! Alas, I have found the secret to sanity! The golden nugget, the sacred treasure... you get my drift. On a recent trip to the beach, I spent the whole hour-long drive just dreading the inevitable scene that would follow:

1. Arrive at beach, but wait....

2. Drive car around beach 16 times to find parking spot; it turns out 27,487 other people had the same great idea for a nice beach day. who knew?

3. Stalk another mom with 4 kids, 2 strollers and a shit load of bags to her car, ask her if she's leaving and wait

4. Wait... wait... remember she had 4 kids, 2 strollers and God knows how many bags? oh, I think I even saw a dog and a bike in that mess too...

5. FINALLY! Mom-with-Shit-load-of-bags leaves parking spot. PHEW! Nope! Bastard in Mustang comes barrelling down the street hoping to steal this coveted spot.

6. Get in HONK fight with Bastard in Mustang... I WIN!

7. Now the fun really begins...

8. Josh has now realized the car has stopped: OMMMMGGG!!!

9. Hurry! Throw out the bags, fold out the stroller and quickly devise a plan to carry the beach chairs and umbrella all while driving the stroller one handed...

10. Meanwhile, entertaining a 10-month old who desperately needs a bottle and, no, he won't hold it either!

See the impending doom I was feeling in that car ride? Oh wait, this all actually happened! Silly me, I really thought I could escape it. Well, Mr. Cranky-pants-refuses-to-hold-bottle, neatly tucked into the stroller, is now throwing WORLD-CLASS FIT. I managed to walk the 4 blocks to the beach entrance, swerving a few cars along the way with the stroller, and even convinced a nasty-looking police officer to carry my beach chair for me across the street. I knew having a baby would have it's advantages! Somehow, people feel like they need to help the frazzled mom dragging the stroller, 3 bags, beach chair and umbrella. THANK YOU!

Well, I finally made it to the sand and something wonderful happened: Mr. Cranky-diapers was overcome by the sweet smell of Banana Boat air (or something. oh, who the hell cares, he was QUIET! and that's all that matters!) The power of the ocean sounds, seagull diving right for my head, the overflowing trashcans, pre-teens in thongs, boom-boxes blaring... could I possibly bottle this up and open up a can at home for future meltdowns? Josh was so calm the rest of the day- I really can't figure out what did it. He napped in the salty breeze, played with mama's nose (he's into pointing at things these days), and occasionally got his toes or fingers in the sand. The latter activity which prompted a squeal, yes, a SQUEAL from his cute little squishy face, followed by a big hug on mama's leg... close enough.

Rice Cereal Fashion

Flaky, cereal-y you are
Ground up dry
Waiting for you
Mushy in my milk bowl
The hand drumming louder
Hurry, mushy must be right
Yumminess surrounds you
Splat!
Speckled on the shirt
Touch mushy, smear
You are all I want to wear

Urban Horse Rides

I came home the other day to find two horses on my neighbor's front lawn. I should mention that I don't live on a farm or even remotely close to a rural area. Why there were horses on my street was yet to be determined.

It turns out the town was trying to give the kiddies a taste of the good life: horseback riding on the soccer field. Sadly for some of these kids, that's the only time they will get to even see a live horse. Well, this horse fiasco got me thinking about my own kid and the priveleges he will have.
We just recently got back from a trip out to Ithaca (you know, from "Ithaca is Gorges" t-shirts?). It also happens to be the home of Cornell U- where naturally my son will attend school in approximately 17 years (no pressure, Josh, really). Interesting enough, what I thought was a very simple family vacation, hiking in the woods, evidently, is a big freakin' deal! Some people who saw my photographs on Facebook commented "oh, Ithaca..." (insert snooty facial expression here).

AS IF!

Now, my husband and I certainly live within our means. We have a decent small home in what I like to call urban suburbia- you know, where part of the town is sketchy and the other part doesn't even look like it belongs. Yeah, that's where we live. We don't make alot of money, but it's enought to keep the mortgagers happy and food in the fridge. We work as hard as we can to provide for our son and give him a great life.

Naturally, if you live or even vacation in a certain area, you're automatically lumped in a group that could either be positive or negative lumping, depending on the audience. What I am grappling with is WHY DON'T SOME PEOPLE WANT MORE FOR THEIR KIDS?

I've heard things like, "Oh, Johnny doesn't come from a wealthy family so he didn't do this or that and got himself into trouble." oh yeah? But what about these success stories that you hear in the news every so often about people who came from nothing, went on to college and are DOING SOMETHING WITH THEMSELVES! That didn't require trust funds and partying with senators.

To my urban suburban neighbors, GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE POORHOUSE and everything else will follow. YES! YOU CAN!! Getting Junior on a horse to give him a taste of the good life is not going to cut it.

What happens when the well runs dry?

I have now somewhat successfully (and not so successfully, at times) nursed my 10-month-old boob-loving son (oh no she didn't!) now since he was first born. From the way he now feeds, you'd think he came out just hootin' and hollerin' for that boob. Yeah, well, that couldn't be further from the truth.

Baby Josh rushed into this world, just couldn't wait to come out. He came out so fast, I didn't think the midwive had barely enough time to catch him. Maybe it was a combination of me wanting the parasite consuming my body out as quickly as possible, and the lack of room in my womb for his little tootsies to stretch out without knocking into a vital organ. Anyway, there he was, a whole five days early! All squishy-arms- flailing-what-the-hell-just-happened-to-me-baby!

Of course I was going to breastfeed, how else was I supposed to feed him!?! Now, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with bottle feeding and I was totally open to failure. There's one HUGE misconception about breastfeeding- that it's natural. Now, when I hear that, I think of the Geico Cavemen commercials: "SO Easy a caveman could do it!" Really? Now what suit in the ad copy workroom came up with that load of crap? I empathize with the pissed-off Caveman, especially when he seems to have adapted so well after several millions of years later, even dining out and bowling. I bet it wasn't easy for the cavewoman either, except there's no blog on that, is there? I am still holding out for discovery of a journal buried in Scandinavian ice that shares the woes of the cavewoman. Maybe she had trouble with latching her cavebaby or had a secret remedy for sore nipples.

As hurried as Josh was to enter this world, he was in no rush to latch on. But, already showing off his skills for faking, he was always sure to "latch" on when the lactation consultant came around. I couldn't believe it! This kid was barely a day old!

Of course, when it was time to come home, feedings were an absolute nightmare. Sometimes I wonder what it was like for Mike (that's the Hubbs) to sit there helpless just watching this squirmy ball of screams and flailing limbs and me, balling right there with him. I remember those first few weeks being a blur of tears, sore nipples and more tears.

I think at some point Josh's voracious appetite kicked in and he realized that he'd have to quit faking it if he was going to eat his fill! So a few weeks in to this disastrous nursing escapade, Josh finally latched on! WOOOHOOO! YEEEEEHAWWW! (OK, it wasn't really all that easy and I did have some contraption help from these shield thingies).

And we both plugged right along in this breastfeeding thing until a few weeks ago- the well started to go dry. Not sure why, and frankly I don't really want to know. Working full-time and attempting to keep a semblance of my pre-baby life in existence wreaks havoc on the nursing thing. Ever try to tell your boss that you can't sit through another two minutes of this meeting because your boobs are going to burst? yeah. Or how about the time I was in a meeting with four others (thankfully, all women) and my boss looks at me and says, "You're leaking". Of course, like an idiot, I don't even know what she was referring to until I looked down and to my horror, saw that my bra and nursing pad had severely failed me. There I was in my boss' office, red-faced and milk-stained. To add insult to injury, I had to meet with a student right after (still bearing the tell-tale milk stain) and as much as I was trying to hide it, the student asked me if I had a kid and then she said, "Yeah, that happened to me all the time with my own kids." MORTIFYING!

I could finally see the light at the end of this Moo Tunnel I'd been barreling down. The strangest part of all this is that I don't even feel bad. I mean, should I? I always had this thought that if I stopped breastfeeding too soon that Josh was going to shrivel up like a raisin with lack of nutrition. It turns out Josh won't take a bottle from me, especially if I hold towards my chest. The little man looks at me with the eyebrow, "Ma, you really expect me to drink from this plastic thing when the real deal is right there? (eye roll somewhere in between- yeah, he's doing that too). Well, I figured out a way around that too and now he's just happy getting something to drink. He hasn't shriveled up yet, so it can't be that bad.

NBU- Naptime Blog Update

So, I'm quickly updating my blog (my profuse apologies if you have felt abandoned in the last few months, I thought I had a good excuse), while Josh naps. Lately, the napping thing is not really working out. Pre-toddler Josh has decided that napping is overrated. Well, glad to know at least there's a little bit of me in him too. Nonetheless, the Sandwoman manages to get a hold of my dear son for a few minutes (and sometimes, even a few hours- you go Sandwoman!) You know, only a woman could manage to get that child down that long! I think a little boob has something to do with it too (yes, for the prudes out there, I said BOOB- you got that? good). Maybe at some point, I'll share this whole nursing thing with the internet world. I may have to say BOOB again, though, so get ready.

You'll see that I've now added a photo or two and changed the look a bit (no, no boob photos, ok?). It's still very much a work in progress so please bear with me for a bit while I get my act together. I'm thinking of finishing my first quilt in the next few weeks and I'll be posting that soon. I'd also like to get started on quilt number deux. This will be very exciting since I promised myself, no quilt number two until quilt number one is finished. And I finally learned how to free-motion on trusty old Singer! Still looking for a class in North Jersey somewhere to hang out with the wise old ladies of quilting (sorry, it's just I don't know any people my age who have taken up this craft yet).

Naptime is officially over- just heard the binky hit the floor in the inevitable binky toss. Stay tuned for more to come!

Rate Your Pain

Why is it that EMTs and nurses all have to ask: "how is your pain on a scale of 1 to 10?" That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Who rates their own pain? Oh, I stubbed my toe, feels like a five... Oh, papercut, feels more like a three and a half, but could be a four, haven't quite decided. I remember finally getting to the hospital after being in labor for 25 hours already and the nurse asked the abominous question. I don't know about you, but when those contractions hit you can't think, let alone RATE YOUR PAIN! Anyway, it felt more like a five or six, no, maybe a seven.

Then I figured, hey, I made it this far all by my lonesome- to hell with you nurses and your drugs! I didn't rate my pain for the last 25 hours and I was JUST FINE! Oh boy, here's another contraction...five, six, nope, this one's an eight- holy hell, maybe an eleven- oh no, that's not on the scale! I've come of the scale!!!! What do I do now?!?!? Most importantly, what is the nurse going to do with ELEVEN?!?!?

So when I recently broke my right foot, said EMT asks me the dreaded question and I was that deer in the headlights, moments from being pummeled over the hood of the oncoming Jetta. I completely forgot to rate my pain! How could I be so stupid? What would they do or say if I didn't come up with something...quick??!!? I thought about it quickly and came up with "it feels like a five," right down the middle, not too weak, but not excrutiating either. Phew! That should keep Mr. Hunk, I mean Mr. EMT, away for a bit.

I regretted that "Five" when I found myself waiting in the ER for over an hour and no help in sight. Meanwhile, I was stuck sitting next to a guy who was screaming obscenities (yes, screaming) every few minutes and clutching his head like the voices inside were telling him to do really bad things now, and if he did not comply, he would be repeatedly head-clobbered. To the other side of me, or really down a few seats but it didn't smell that way, was the sad homeless man, who you could tell was a regular with a myriad of ailments, some true, some false, if only it could get him a few minutes on a nice hospital bed and maybe a shower.

So between Screaming-Voices-in-his-Head boy and the homeless, I regretted that Five- maybe if I had just said a Six or an Eight, maybe, just maybe, they'd let me in sooner. If only my parents had taught me to rate my pain, or maybe it was the biology class in college I didn't take that would have shown me the secrets to rating pain. I do wonder whatever was wrong with Screaming-Voices-in-his-Head boy...

Apparently, I had not rated my pain enough to get in faster and decided to make a run for it... yes, me and BRF (broken right foot) split from the hospital. We ran free and fast (well, in my mind we did and with a little help from the Hubbs), right into the arms of my podiatrist we'll call Dr. Dorky. Dr. Dorky quickly casted me up, told me to stay home for 8 weeks and, can you believe?, didn't even ask me to rate my pain. how 'bout that?