Little Big Man

This funky looking seat is called a Bumbo and Willem loves it! I think he feels like a big boy while he's sitting in it. I recommend one for all babies.

Are We Crazy? The Answer Is Perhaps.

This Thursday, Turkey Day, we are compromising all levels of composure and sanity we have been maintaining the past nine weeks as we place our butts in the seats of an airplane and fly to Madrid, Spain. This includes baby's butt. Very few people think this trip is possible with an infant and think we have lost our marbles. Those people should get out more.

In preparation for the journey, I have been taking baby everywhere I go to get him acclimated to the feeling of adventure, the outdoors and lots of people. As a matter of fact, he's a much better kid out and about than at home where he gets bored by redundant scenery. I hope this translates well in Spain. He's going to be on the go with us. Have boob, will travel.

Last night marked a significant moment in my life as a mom. I actually dropped the baby off at my brother-in-law's house and went out for an adult evening of vino and fine cuisine with hubby at Zoot. It was, however, one of the most painful things I've done. Willem busted a nut in his carseat en route so by the time we got there, he was rather rabid. I was completely unnerved and upset. It's a physical and emotional response that Mother Nature has sewn into a mother's wiring. I was looking forward to stepping out in my big girl shoes and propped up cleavage but my heart had been steeped in baby sobs so it was hard to leave him behind. I did finally make it to the event after practically being shoved out the door. The purpose of the evening was benefit-related and hubby was performing at the end of the noshing (and trust me, his performance isn't limited to the stage...dinner was VERY interesting) but I was there for the adult conversation and a real meal. The crowd was VERY white (and hubby managed to ruffle a few feathers with some nasty Bush comments) but there were a couple of colorful characters, one being the very talented Anthony Nak. He was wearing a conservative button down shirt with stitching on the pocket that read "God Loves Even Me." Nice. At 10:30, I raced to retieve my son and got home feeling like the cat that ate the canary (and foie gras, skate, duck, and chocolate cake). I had made it through and only thought of baby every OTHER minute. As I was pumping to dump in the darkness of the bedroom, I did realize that even though I've been stuck in this baby bubble for the past nine weeks, I really do like it here.

Admiring My Post Natal Self

I'm in the process of weaving a baby blanket for Willem with the CLUMPS OF HAIR THAT ARE FALLING OUT OF MY HEAD! The luxurious mane I effortlessly grew while preggers is a thing of the past. I was thinking of going back to my natural blonde color this month but I don't think I'll have any hair left to dye soon. My nails have returned to their wafer thin ways and the knuckles on my hands are huge. I had to have my wedding ring increased half a size to get it back on my finger. Little did I know that was going to cost me $130! That's 7 packages of diapers and 2 boxes of breast pads, man.

I'm still carting around a spare tire for a Pinto in the midsection area (sexy, no?) but a girlfriend explained that this thing might stick around for a while. She says it's natures way of making sure I have enough reserves to maka de leche. Although I can wear my old jeans, keep in mind that they're hip huggers so they dip below the belly and leave a nice place for it to perch when I sit down to nosh candy corns.

My C-section scar has healed and now I sport a thin-lipped grin in my pelvic region. Vericose veins? Check. I'll be zapping those suckers sometime next year. The boobs are pretty cool but are beyond my control. Willem has them under his spell. We added a set of stairs to our house and if I'd known that my knees were going to be so sore climbing them with baby a million times a day, I would've commissioned the elevator job. Actually, I'm just plain sore all over. Back, wrists, back, knees, back. Did I mention fatigue? I'm about to doze off as I write...this...Zzzzzzz.

Good Parent Bad Parent

This is so right...




















This so wrong...

Stuff And Things

So hubby finally made it home the other night after a rousing evening of debauchery. I was beginning to think something terrible had happened to him so by the time he stumbled in through the door, I had retrieved the copy of his will we had just signed earlier that day. I kept thinking to myself "The damn ink isn't even dry yet. This is like a made for TV movie."

Willem turned two months old yesterday and we celebrated by taking him to his pediatrician and letting his nursing assistant jab him four times in the thighs with needles. Next month we're giving him cake and sticking his hands in the candles. What a heartbreaking moment to hear him scream with the certainty that we suddenly hated him. Daddy had the cruel job of holding him down to the table so the woman could make her mark. I'm sure the kid is traumatized on some level and will pay us back someday, somehow. Luckily, I got to be the good guy/gal and smothered him with hugs and kisses after it was over.

It's no surprise to me that he now weighs 12 pounds (7lbs, 12 oz at birth) because he eats like horse at every meal. It's getting more challenging changing his diapers because I have to navigate every chubby little crevasse to find poo hidden there which takes a bit more time than he's willing to put up with. What was once a relatively manageable moment shared by mother and son has turned into a race for time and cleanliness. I swear, every day there's a new fold to unfold. Is there some way that I can start producing skim milk?

Go Go will be here in the morning. She is probably the only person I trust to leave my child with and know I don't have to worry about him at all so don't 'cha know I'll be racing like mad out of the house tomorrow for a shopping spree! Stay off the streets. Fair warning.

Middle Of The Night

Many of us parents are very familiar with the stirrings of the middle of the night. I usually have to feed W around 2 or 3 a.m. and can thankfully (usually) put him right back down to get another 3 or so hours of sleep, when I can get back to sleep. If I can't, I wander the house, periodically peeking out the front windows of the house to look at what, I'm not sure. I imagine that cars whizzing by are revelers leaving last call or the beloved donut maker heading to work. My neighbors across the street have a 4 or 5 week old son and I grin to myself knowing full well what's going on over there as the lights inside their home click on and off. It's tough. Before baby, I dreamed of blue Tiffany boxes, spa weekends, and spontaneous trips to the hill country or Marfa, Texas. Now I would kill for a full nights sleep, a long shower under my new huge showerhead, or a drive to a coffeeshop where no one knows me and I don't have to change my baby soiled clothes to look presentable. Ugh.

Tonight I'm also looking for the return of a certain musician from a post-musical dinner celebration. This is about the time I start to imagine he's in a ditch somewhere.

And This Baby Award Goes To...

Okay, so W is the only kid in the running for the award but this time he REALLY deserves it.

I'm still nervous about the idea of having someone come babysit my son. I know that I would be out on the town dancing on bars with tequila shots squashed in my new found cleavage and not enjoying it one bit while watching the time drag by like a two-legged dog. Therefore, I didn't plan to attend hubby's brave musical performance last night at Hyde Park Theater and went about my evening as per the usual course. W and I kissed daddy goodbye, took a bath, played on the floor gym mat thingie and he was soon asleep around his usual time. Within the hour, he was awake and letting me know he wasn't too happy. I repositioned him in his bed and patted his back until he was out again. It was only a few minutes later when he was letting me have it with a high-pitched screech. It's the one that only dogs and I can hear. This time he wasn't interested in sleep so we hung out at his changing table for a while like two old pals at a bar sharing whiskeys and talked about sock monkeys. I noticed the time, decided to dress him in proper britches of the non-sweat variety and stuffed him in the car seat with Hyde Park in our sight. Upon arrival, he was quickly embraced by a friend's mother whose shriveled elder ovaries swelled upon making contact. We took our seats and the musical began with Willem drifing off to sleep on my chest. To my surprise, he slept through the entire performance, intermission and all! I cringed with every sax blow and actor bellow knowing for sure that he'd awaken and we'd have to leave but that never happened. I was able to enjoy both the performance and my sleeping child. When it was all over and the tears of laughter had dried, I took a groggy baby home and tucked him in. He even slept through a post-musical party that lasted until 2 a.m. (I turned in at midnight). I count my baby blessings every day and know that at any moment the other shoe could drop and he could turn into the Prince Of Darkness but until that day comes, I'm going to keep pressing my luck and love every minute of it.

Mr. Who?

About a week ago, I emailed my mother (Go Go to her grandson) to invite her and her sister to come visit me and the baby. Hubby is going to be gone all weekend playing gigs so we could have the run of the place and do mother, daughter, grandson, auntie sort of things together. I got an email back from her explaining that they couldn't come and perhaps we'd see each other in a few weeks or so. I was surprised! What? Go Go doesn't want to endure the lame four hour drive to see her only grandson? I mulled this over for a few days but finally had to call her at work and say what tha'? Seems there was a misunderstanding in the translation of my email and SHE thought I didn't want her to come visit BECAUSE huband would be gone. Wrong-o. So we're discussing the possibility of them coming and I can tell that she needs to get off of the phone to address someone or something at her desk. She's saying she'll check with her sister and would call me to let me know of their plans. The pace of the conversation picks up a bit more and I'm telling her to "Yes, call me when you know, we'd love to see you, it will be fun, he's so big," and so forth and at the last moment she says, "Well, I guess I won't get to see my boyfriend this weekend. He'll have to wait. No big deal." or something along those lines but I don't hear the rest of what she says after the word BOYFRIEND. What? Who? Stop the presses...and she says, "I'll call you, love you." Click. Excuse me? Boyfriend?

At Least Someone's Getting Some Sleep Around Here

Showbiz Baby

It's been a tough couple of days since the husband has been completely submerged in a musical he's written and is performing in this week (finally!). His rehearsals have taken him out of the family unit much to my chagrin but I try and keep it to myself (but, please, let me share it on the internet). Without his 20 minute-a-day visit with Willem, I am overwhelmed and beat. The tot and I are tired of looking at each other by the time the sun goes down. It's been a battle of wills. I don't think I am supposed to be with him this many hours a day. Will this developmentally affect my child somewhere down the road?

He has been forced to run errands with me but he's really gotten the hang of it. In public he's all smiles and coos and gurgles. He sends women running home to their husbands for more offspring. He naps while I eat out (alone) and wakes up just in time to woo the waitress before we leave. He's the cutest baby in the land at the Fresh Plus grocery store right before he busts a nut when we get around the corner on our way home. In the evening, it's much more of a challenge as he fights sleep and I fight his fight. Somehow we compromise and he drifts off but by this time, I am totally wiped out. A glass of wine, a shower, and I'm ready to turn in. Yes, it's 9 p.m. Boy, have things changed.

For the record, I DO miss my job.

Oh, I just ordered this for the little guy. Soon he'll be begging to hang with the band and since I can't discourage him from being a musician, at least I can protect his hearing. http://store.yahoo.com/earplugstore/ejuearmu.html

Nothing To Report

Sometimes when I sit down to blog, I think that I have nothing to write, that nothing worth typing has happened. Well, I'm usually wrong. There's always the little things. Even though I spent the whole day with my son who only had maybe 20 minutes the entire morning/afternoon/evening in his father's arms because he's busy working on his musical, I still didn't want to leave him on a neighbors doorstep, not once. Sure his usual evening fit creeped into our lovely afternoon together and of course he returned pints of breast milk every time he ate but it didn't matter. Mother Nature has us mommies wired in a way that it doesn't take much for us to forget why we want to give our children to total strangers some days. Willem is mastering this shy Bambi-like smile-hidden-in-arms combo that makes me swoon. I could get lost in the depths of his dimples (he got those from the pool boy) and when he wraps his tiny arms around my neck and clings to me with total exhaustion, I go weak in the knees. When he finds his little fist and with every ounce of concentration he can muster, directs it to his mouth, I am cheering. Of course, when this happens, his eyes cross as his hand gets closer to his nose and stay that way for longer periods of time than I am comfortable with but I know he'd still be "my boy" if they stuck. Every day he is changing so every day I have something to write.

Tonight my husband flirted with me and said I was rocking the "Rosie the Riveter: "We Can Do It!" look and he liked it. At least this time he wasn't talking to my boobs.

This Is Your Brain On Maternity Leave

I'm on my eighth week of maternity leave and during this time I have acclimated myself to raising a beautiful baby and moved into a mini mansion (it is to me anyway) complete with shiny new appliances. Well, I am trying to keep them shiny but I know it will only be a matter of weeks before they look like they came from a crack den. The day before yesterday, I entered into Stepford Wife territory when I couldn't get the surface of my oven shiny again after cooking up some opossum and made a special and speedy trip to Target for some heavy duty cleanser. I'm still working on getting that luster back.

I have lost track of the days of the week and packed out the trash can and recycling bin well in advance of their departure day. The side of my mansion looks like a landfill. It will take me a good 30 minutes or longer to get it all to the curb. Better hook up the Baby Bjorn and teach Willem how to open and close his hands so he can assist mama.

Yesterday morning, when little Will had easily gone down for his nap, I collected my purse and told my husband that I was going to run a couple of errands. I jumped in the truck, cranked up the radio and headed off only to realize that it wasn't 10 a.m. like the clock in the studio had said it was. Nine a.m. and the store I wanted to pillage wouldn't be open for another hour! My time is precious, people, and I immediately needed to decide how to make good use of it while I was away from mothering. I begrudgingly headed to Target 'cause we all know they have tons of crap we don't really need but have to have and they're conveniently open early to sell me said crap. Disgruntled, I found a parking place, wandered in and do you know what I saw? All of the Halloween candy HALF PRICE! This includes candy corn. Thanks to the confusion of daylight savings time, I am stocked with enough candy crack corn to last until next Halloween! By this time next year, I will have the toothless grin of a jack-o-lantern.

On an unrelated note, a real estate agent left her business card on our door with a note on the back saying she has a client who would be interested in buying our house. It's either a fan of Barney the Dinosaur or someone who is severely color blind and don't you know I'm going to call her to find out!