What A Long, Strange Trip It's Been

Today is the one year anniversary of my blog and it’s been one helluva year. Let’s recap, shall we?

June of last year, I was six months preggers. This bump was around that time…
















I had no idea what was in store for this me in the months to come and for what would happen to this bod afterwards. Here’s a later look…












Yikes, no? I was one of those basketball bearing mamas but that didn't make it any easier. I was front loaded, not wide loaded.

I escaped the stretch marks but inherited a road map of spider and varicose veins. It's impossible to avoid growing a person under your flesh without some sort of repercussion.

This is daddy and I before baby, all giddy and expectant and completely unarmed for this tiny army of one...












This is us right after the army arrived. Can you say “shell shocked” (but very happy)?















He came into the world like this…











And is the center of my world like this…













Last year we began the horrific task of remodeling our craphole hamlet. It started out like this…












Today, it's our funky and fabulous mansion. Barney, the dinosaur, only wishes he could live there. The yard is our next project, God help us. I’m glad we’re getting ready to do it in the MIDDLE OF SUMMER!












We traveled to Spain with our infant boy in November while braving the freezing temps but embraced the insane beauty (and walked our asses off!)…












We visited Marfa (ahhhh…)…












Swam in a Kentucky body of water…












And strolled the beach in Port A many times…
















I went from a red-head (I look sorta drunk here but was soley off the hooch...or was I?)…
















To a blonde (closer to my natural color...mousey)...















I watched daddy play dives, outdoor parties, the “Taste of” some crappy city, an in-store, a couple of theaters, a gymnasium in Spain, 37th street at Christmas, a kickin’ and very dark New Year’s Eve party, and family affairs…





















































The biggest deal this past year, of course, was the birth of our son. Being a parent is the most incredible and fulfilling experience in the world. It’s also the hardest thing we've ever done but when you do it 24/7 for months at a time, you get pretty damn good at it. I wouldn’t change a minute of it for anything. I just hope we don't screw him up somehow. You just never know. Thanks to everyone for reading. Keep coming back.

Date For Deux

The pops and I managed to wrestle a date night out of our busy schedules last night and it was a great time. We would like to do it more often but the biggest challenge is the finding the sitter part. I remember a time when the biggest challenge was the anxiety of leaving him behind but now mama is eager to shed her baby leech and enjoy an evening playing footsie with daddy in a nice restaurant at least once a week. Our sitter(s) this time around ended up being daddy’s guitar player and his on again/off again girlfriend who is quite lovely and said guitar player needs to get off of the pot and hook up with this gal long term. He’d be a fool to let this one go. Hubby told me that she wants to have kids and we were laughing because we know that Willem has the ability to inspire women to drag their favorite mates to bed caveman-style. I popped the spider monkey into his stroller knowing that shuttling him off in the other direction would make for an unemotional getaway for all. We got a kick out of watching daddy’s guitar player navigate Willem’s ride down the street as the sometimes girlfriend gave directions on traffic and technique.

We headed off to a delicious restaurant called Taverna in the newly refurbished downtown area of Austin, a couple of blocks that have been given a facelift and could be anywhere USA. Dinner was great but the service was bubblier than my Proseco. The waitress's giddiness made my head hurt. I wasn’t too fond of the décor and despised the flat screen TV perched just beyond the dining room. Hubby kept looking over my shoulder with that “dead air space” look on his face and I knew that there was either a TV or a busty bartender nearby. To make matters worse, they were showing one of those poker tournaments. We both love poker but this wasn’t the time or place to be watching. We committed gluttony and headed over to Jo’s Coffee to watch the wonderful singer/songwriter, Amy Cook, perform. We sat outside and kibitzed with friends, old and new. It was an instance where worlds collide and planet earth suddenly seems so small. Amy’s girlfriend, Liz, is from Marfa, Texas, a place I fell madly in love with back in April 2004. Ever since, I have been begging and pleading for hubby to purchase for wifey a tiny plot of land there. “What are you going to do with this land?” he asks. “I will take a blanket and sit in the middle of it while gazing at the stars, the cactus, and mountains in the distance.” I reply. Something about this place feeds my spirit in the most complete and serene way like I once belonged there lifetimes before. I drive the surrounding roads and my heart races as I look deep into the distance of the land, inhale the unpolluted air, and watch nature beat it’s pace of life in it’s purest form. Marfa, itself, is a funky community of artists, filmmakers, ranchers, border patrol, and the well-to-do. The people do contribute to the liveliness of the tiny town but it’s the scrubby terrain, the fenceless acreage, and vast skies that sends me. Anyway, Liz is a creator of lovely spaces in Austin and in Marfa. This and this she helped design. She is beginning a project in Marfa that involves land, Sparton trailers, and a myriad of other things that I will keep under wraps for now. It’s all still in its infantile stages of planning but I’m getting one, dammit, and nothing is going to stop me. I see this to be the chance to carpe diem and I’m carpe-ing all over it! It is a dream come true.

Baby woke at 5 a.m. this morning (WHY???) and he was hot for mama and wanted to have a pre-dawn party for two so we ate and played and read books and did all of the stuff we should be doing AFTER 6:30 a.m. He went back to sleep at 8 a.m. and didn’t wake up until 12:30 p.m.! I called home to check in and daddy said baby was still asleep (this was at 12:15) and I was like “ARE YOU SURE HE’S BREATHING! DID YOU CHECK ON HIM EVEN! SOMETHING’S WRONG!” My co-workers were all spun around in their chairs staring at me. So he took a marathon morning nap and I’m wondering if this is normal? I stopped by the house like I do everyday to pump and grab a bite to eat but it never usually works out that way b/c baby lays eyes on me and he’s like an octopus. I sit him down and he shrieks. Daddy tries to hold him and you’d think he'd attached him to the ceiling fan and turned it on high. I’ve decided to start packing my lunch and breast pump and forgo the trips home anymore. It’s just too disrupting for me, the nanny, her kid, the husband, the neighborhood, the ozone layer…

Mr. Big Foot...

Lust For Life

Thank you to all for the comments of encouragement to continue blogging. I guess I needed to know that there is some mileage here for others to enjoy. Sometimes when I sit down to blog, I realize that it’s about to be another redundant outline of my day and turn the laptop off instead. Taking some time off from writing has informed me that a) I’m taking things to seriously lately, b) that I need to get out more (and see friends), and c) that I need to keep doing this as a record of our little world. Someday it will be fun to read this log of life, love, and of the all crap in between.

I had an appointment with my new girly-parts doctor today. I have officially fired my other one because I ultimately feel that I was overly encouraged to have a c-section, his meter was always ticking, and I never really got to see him personally anyway. The new doc is an attractive blonde with a no muss, no fuss sensibility. I need that. “Just tell me the facts, ma’am.” I also needed to address this libido-less land I live in, the one that will soon send my husband swimming for an island all his own. She gave me a script for birth control. She said it would dry up the leche production a bit but in order for my plumbing to get back to normal (i.e. I’ve had no period since December 2004, people!) I need to lessen the feedings anyway. It’s sort of a chain reation…take pills, lessen feedings, wean baby, become psycho PMSer until next baby. I hope the pills will actually have something to do. Last week, after an exhausting discussion with hubby about the very subject of my absentee ‘ho-ness, (maybe I could put a picture of it on a milk carton…Missing since December 2004. If spotted, please call her husband immediately!) we had a roll in the hay. He LOVED it and I am glad but he can’t be getting his hopes up for a repeat performance too soon (sorry, dear). At least he knows mama’s still got it (somewhere deep inside, like next to her pinkie toe)!

This past weekend was hubby’s mom’s 80th birthday celebration in Laredo, Texas. Yes, I said 80. And she had 10 children BUT she has a relative (sister?) that had 21. 21 kids! How do you explain that? 21! Now that I think about it I can better understand why my husband’s so crestfallen about our sans-sexual situation since many of his family members spend most of their childbearing years making more family members.

This is his mom. We can all hope that we are this alive, happy, and cuttin' a rug when we reach her milestone.


















She stayed until hubby’s band played the last note somewhere around 1 a.m. I had long gone to make sure my kid was okay with the neighbor/sitter. Daddy and nephew thought it would be funny to plant seeds in my head on the way to the party that the sitter would be taking my bambino across the border for some ransom en pesos. Not a wise idea. With the state of the border the way it is, anything is possible, especially in my mind. At the party, a relative told me that they had just stopped by the house and no one was there…no sitter, no baby. I marched over to the bar and prayed to God as I waited on a baptistism by Cuba Libre. I found baby to be asleep and unscathed upon my return later that evening.

Willem is going through a super-duper “I’m a junkie for mommy” stage that has left claw marks on parts of my flesh. It was especially unnerving when surrounded by family members wanting to snatch a piece of him. He freaked every time. Even began to come unglued when daddy took off with him. As he’d toddle around the house, I'd let a member of the fam slip their fingers in his grasp but when he realized he’d been given the ol’ switcheroo, he’d keep walking but while wailing like he'd been sentenced to the time out chair for life. It was quite pitiful.

Here he is practicing a look daddy must’ve taught him that says, “You spent HOW MUCH at Target?”


















Here he is working on his guitar noodling.

















So the one year anniversary for this blog is in a couple of days. Why give it up now? Thanks again for reading and commenting. I hope everyone gets something out of this. I certainly do.

Until tomorrow...

Hang On To Yourself

I'm considering an end to this blogging thing. At first I was writing for cathardic reasons but then I really started enjoying the fact that people were reading my nonsense. Now I'm wondering if it's all worth the effort. Are you still reading this? Is the Chaos At The Luau done? Let me know if I should continue. Many thanks.

Cake, Wife Swapping, And Poop Sticks

It’s been a dang busy week here at the ranch. I can barely keep up with my hygiene routine much less this blogging. The following is a list of updates…

-The anonymous commenter on an earlier blog about the cake/vomit incident came forward and apologized for writing it. She didn’t mean for it to sound malicious and was completely kidding. Girl, you scared my husband.

-GoGo came to town last weekend to sit with the little one so I could go out of town for an overnighter with hubby to Houston. He had a gig and a hotel room, I had anxiety and hot flashes. It was the first time since Willem was dropped off by the stork that I spent the night away with daddy. Like all parents, we spent the majority of the trip talking about baby. Daddy played a show and was WONDERFUL and I’m not just saying that ‘cuz I like him and all.

-Let it be known that my child has somewhat gotten the hang of the military crawl and can walk with good balance while holding on with one hand. Little does he know that he is on the verge of being the next Forrest Gump…”Run, Forrest, run!” It’s awesome to see his tiny frame toddle across the floor at knee height. Now I need to teach him how to retrieve the remote and bring it to us.

-Casting call: I got a call from ABC’s Wife Swap TV show yesterday. They’re casting for their third season and are looking for a family that throws lots of lavish parties, events, etc. so if you know of anyone or you yourself would like to give this reality show a shot, shoot me an email. I have some info I can send to you. Seriously.

-All this week and last, I have been working with the event planning team on a three day vendor fair for a company in Round Rock who will remain anonymous but rhymes with the word “Bell.” The theme was Willy Wonka and was complete with giant candy props and a chocolate fountain. Some of the props we had commissioned to be built didn’t end up looking like candy. In fact they didn’t look like anything I’d ever want to touch. Here they are. Judge for yourself…






















They were supposed to be chocolate dipped pretzels but as you can see there was no stopping the fact that we called them “poop sticks” all week. Thank you D for modeling with them for the camera.

Anonymous

I almost didn't have anything to blawg about today but thanks to comment number two to the previous blog, I do now.

One of the things I love about blogging is reading the feedback that is posted about what I have blogged. One of the things I love the MOST about blogging is reading the mean and nasty feedback that some people who like to remain "anonymous" (which is a total cop out by the way) post. It cracks me up that someone who obviously dislikes what I have to say takes precious TIME out of their life (that must be much better than mine because they have some ugliness to share) to say something negative. Bring it on. You keep me entertained. And thank you to all of the other comments shared by the other readers with names (and lives and interesting things to say). I know you people and you are wonderful.

Dining Out

I attended a luncheon yesterday at the Hyatt Town Lake with my business partner. We decided we needed to network more. The event was a room full of advertising types and various branches stemming off of that particular trunk. We exchanged a few business cards and shared abbreviated conversations with others sitting at the table but all in all, it was pretty boring. The speaker’s only saving grace was that he was British. What I enjoy most about these sorts of outings, though, has to do with the abundance of nonverbal dynamics that come in to play when participating in a group effort of this nature. Let me illustrate…

People are milling about in the lobby when we arrive so it takes way too much time to figure out which line is check in and when I finally do, I hope I’m not one of the schmucks that has to wear a handwritten version of the stick-on nametag because my credit card transaction didn’t get approved via the net when I registered for this thing. I stick on the paper nameplate and enter the ballroom in search of a table not too obviously in the middle of the room but with decent site lines. I want to be able to both see the speaker and hide if I needed to nap or something. We circle a table and I sit at the seat with the biggest slice of chocolate cake at the top of the place setting. People file in and I secretly vote for and against potential diners at my table. “No, no, no! You can’t sit next to me! Well, crap.” I mutter to myself.

There’s always an uncomfortable moment at each course, not including dessert, when the table can’t decide when to begin eating. When all of salads are down and we begin to graze. I make an effort to not look like a goat eating weeds and keep the teeth clear of green debris while talking to the person on my left. I also hope I don’t spew any food on him as we exchange info about our companies. The first course is quickly devoured and the second arrives and all but one person gets theirs. She must be the vegetarian at the table and we all steal glances at each other mentally urging the other to begin noshing without her veggie whatever. I finally dive in without looking up and the clink of my knife is like a dinner bell. Everyone eats. In the meantime, the featured speaker is at the podium wrestling with his Power Point presentation. He flashes pics of his kid over and over by mistake. I’m waiting for the “British Girls Gone Wild” series to pop up any minute.

The second course plates get cleared and it’s a huge noise of clattering and clinking, the server oblivious to the pauses the speaker keeps making because he can’t even hear himself. You’d think the server was trying to scare off bears or something. I inhale nearly all of my chocolate cake. I try and finish it I but stuffed myself on the previous course that was on a plate bigger than a record album. So much for picking the biggest slice of choco-love-me-and-my-thighs. Naturally, the food coma sets in soon afterwards and all I want to do is undo my pants, kick off my shoes (entirely because I already have them half way off), and grab a disco nap. I hear the speaker ask the group for any questions and out of the corner of my eye I see hands go up. This is the part I despise the most, especially the question askers that say, “Could you please go in to more detail about…?” Somebody hand me a dirty fork.

One of the perks of my job is that my business partner and me communicate via telepathy. After about the 5th “Could you go into more detail about…?’, she looks at me, I look at her, and we both quietly stand up, nod to our new found friends, and waddle off. I rip off the nametag like a band-aid on an open wound and burp.

ebay

Last week I bid on and won a lot of “developmental” toys on ebay. I paid a bit more than I wanted to but when I factored in all of the time spent shopping in this dreadful heat, the road rage, and all of the gallons of gas I’d use to purchase said toys new, I just said, “To hell with it, I’m going to the wall on this bid. Competing bidders be damned!” A woman from Fed Ex shuttled the enormous box to my door and practically threw it at me. Evidently she was this close to driving her truck in to a tree because one of the toys with a Sesame Street-theme had fresh new batteries inside. “Elmo loves baby! Elmo loves baby! Elmo loves baby!” was what she heard for a few too many hours. Safe to assume that “Fed Ex lady hates Elmo!”

One of the toys in the grouping is a Fisher Price activity walker. It kinda looks like a shopping cart sans the cart. Now Willem doesn’t crawl yet but you insert a finger in each of his fists and he’s off like a dwarf on Red Bull. I attached his little hands to the handle of the walker and he shot off like he had tweaked an imaginary throttle. He was practically running to my closet and weaving out of control. Thank goodness this was all happening on carpet. I had to leap through the air like a panther attacking prey to catch up to him and stop the crazy forward momentum. He looked at me like, “What the heck just happened and how did I get here so fast. Can we do it again?’ Needless to say, this one toy is to be used under major supervision and on padded floors.

Rules Of The Road

Beat this Brittney Spears!

















While her baby needs assistance when driving, my baby is a solo cruiser looking for the older ladeez. "Beep, beep, be back to pick you up later!"

Before baby was born, I wondered about the family car passenger arrangement that occurs when you have a child, the one where a parent is in the front seat driving and the other is in the back with baby. I liked the idea of being chauffeured around by my husband but didn’t realize the challenges that were bundled behind the driver’s seat. Most trips are short distances and the entertainment necessary to get baby from point A to point B becomes a rapid series of offerings to the tot within a brief period of time. Kinda like a blackjack dealer at a losing table. Longer distance trips revolve around nap times and when baby finally nods off, I hold my breath over each railroad track, pothole and Scorpions song turned up to 11 by the daddy driver. I eagerly grab the NY Times magazine from a week ago (because I never get to read anything all of the way through anymore) and steal a few precious moments of quiet cerebral entertainment. I sink into this coveted space only to be jolted back to reality because daddy has bad 80’s rock blaring. Although I request that the music be put on the front speakers only, I might as well be inside the woofer. He tries to draw me in to his one man party while looking at me in the rearview mirror with eyebrows raised above his sunglasses and singing in exaggerated falsettos. He yells out quips and quizzes (“Hey, did I tell you about Aerosmith? You know they would get completely messed up at their concerts and play the same songs at every show and decided to mix it up a bit by playing the last song first and the first song last and when Steven Tyler sang the opening song, he said goodnight to the crowd and left the stage. He was so trashed he thought it was the last song of the show!”) He tries to engage me, talking over the music and I wrestle with the desire to be in the front seat next to him like it was before baby came along and the desire to shut out the world for a minute so I can read a paragraph uninterrupted. Seems all, if any, of the free time I manage to carve out of a day undergoes tough scrutiny about how it should be divvied up. Should I file my haggard fingernails, should I nestle with hubby, should I go for a walk, or just hide and sit in silence? Unfortunately, none of those options are ever elected and I go, instead, to unload the dishwasher. It's stupid, really.

And now for a "baby on the road" pictoral...

"Do I really have to wear these sunglasses, mom?"


"Hot wire...now what does that mean?"


"Hey, who's that crazy looking kid in that little box thing?"


"He's kinda handsome..."


"Oh wait! That's me. Yup. I'm pretty cool."

I'm So Not HTML

So the links are up but now I have to figure out why some are one color and others are not. If I was colorblind, it just wouldn't matter.

Change Is Good, No?

I changed my template to this one because it was called "Tequila". No, really, I was just tired of the giant font in the other one and wanted to compress things a bit. I noticed that the new template didn't like my collection of links so I need to re-insert them. I have some new ones to add, too. Come back for more soon!

In With The In Crowd

These days daddy is SO IN. I remember a time when Willem couldn’t be consoled by anyone but mama and his early relationship with his father was a bit estranged. Papa would go on the road to entertain the masses and upon returning, baby would have to relearn that this guy had some important role in his being on the planet and loved him as much as I did. This routine was heartbreaking and frustrating for proud papa and I could never leave the house for more than 15 minutes without receiving a harried call demanding my immediate return…”Yes, leave the grocery cart where it is and come home NOW!” Yesterday, however, we witnessed a moment of his growing affection for daddy while we were lying in the front yard on a blanket in the cool evening air. Willem had claimed my sparklely pink belt like a trout does shiny plastic bait (this was one of his best attempt at crawling I’ve seen yet!) and was getting it all good and soggy when he offered the tip of it to daddy’s chin four consecutive times. He then proceeded to lie down beside him and wrap his legs around his arm like a boa constrictor preparing his dinner. Daddy was all a-glow with delight. He also repeats “Da da” constantly while looking at him square on making daddy want to give him anything he wants in the whole wide world.

Since before Willem was born, I have been singing to him “Twinkle, Twinkle” and “ABCD”. Because they have the same melody, I thought he would pick them up quickly. I have, however, changed the words to “ABCD” so at the end I sing “Now I’ve said my ABCs, next time won’t you sing with MaaaaaMaaaaaa!” He loves it when I exaggerate the "mama" part but it will probably come back to haunt him when he sings it aloud with mighty gusto in school and says “Next time won’t you sing with MaaaaaaaMaaaaaa!” Yep, I better teach him some karate moves.



This intense and handsome little guy is Willem’s best friend in the whole wide world. Introducing Finnegan. Finn can crawl and has 6 teeth. He’s a two-handed waver and a grunter (something I attribute to the fact that he has that pacifier in his mouth often). He has a very kind nature, just like his mom, and he and Willem play peacefully together. Earth Mama said that when they came over the other day the boys embraced each other briefly, something they’d never done before. They are at the stage now where they are showing interest in each other and explore the proximity issue like two dwarfs without depth perception. Can't wait until Willem is mobile and can keep up with his little buddy. Better get on that child proofing project soon.

What? No Baby Picture? Puleeze!

Here's a shot of the whole famdamnly for good measure...

Odds And Ends

I can’t seem to get my poop together to stay on top of this blogging thing. Part of the problem stems from the fact that I like to post pictures to support the written nonsense but I lost a package of batteries to the camera ($17.99!) and was being stubborn about buying more but I went to Target today and, voila, problem solved. Talk about “Living In The Red” as the Target jingle goes. I also bought a big blue ball for Willem because Lord knows he won’t have enough of those in his future. I couldn’t leave without some candy, gum, a shoe rack for the closet that hubby requested (yes, he has many pairs of shoes, most he shares with Guy Fantasy), and some goodies for this precious new member of our family…

“World, meet Isabella Zuniga. Bella, meet the world!” She's got some sweet cheeks!




She is the little sister of Paloma and the child of hubby’s brother who is number ten in a family of ten.

Another reason I haven’t been blogging is because nothing much has been happening lately. We cleaned the house spotless yesterday. *Yawn* Hubby busted his hump and made piles of things mysteriously disappear from the places they had been living for months. I’m sure it was all stuffed in drawers and closets but the end result was impressive. They say if you don’t want to be asked to do something then do it poorly. Daddy’s in trouble now. I went to see a play called Bad Dates with some girlfriends on Saturday and thank goodness they weren’t bad dates because the play was a stinker. At least I got to steep in some sassy estrogen.

We’ve wrestled a few cahrazy storms in the area the past few nights. One of them had winds racing through the neighborhood at 70 mph with marble-sized hail peppering the landscape. We only lost one large tree branch but it barely missed daddy’s car. He’s terrified of storms where I could be a storm chaser in an instant. I’m also the kind of person to say “Oh my gosh, you gotta come seeeeee this!” and when daddy is timidly inching up to the door for a peek at the storm activity, I poke him in the side and yell “Boo!” or Sssstttt!” or something to make him jump out of his skin. Yeah, it’s sorta mean but I have two younger brothers. Need I say more?

Speaking of spooking brothers, I remember a time when my youngest brother who was about 3 at the time (and is 16 years younger than I am) was just fresh from a bath and standing butt naked in his closet looking for what, I haven’t a clue. I decided to don a short brunette wig and pop in to say hi but little did I know that it would scare the bajeebus out of him and I’d have to practically untangle him from closet debris. I sounded like his sister but looked like Viola Swamp. I don’t think he’s ever dated a short-haired brunette in his life, come to think of it.

A girlfriend sent me a link today to www.milkscreen.com where you can find out the amount of alcohol in your breastmilk and then decide if you should feed it to your baby or just drink it yourself because, hey, why waste perfectly good alcohol? Just add some coffee liquor and you've got an awesome White Russian!

On that note, don't you wish I really had something significant to write about? I'll try harder next time.

Elmo's World

Yesterday was my 37th birthday and I didn’t have a problem turning a year older. Not one bit. In fact, I embraced it like I would a porcupine. For my special day, I got over thrush and the cold baby gave me, my house and the detached studio was cleaned by an army of ladies, God bless their hardworking souls, and Saturday night, the Alabama nanny of yore and her sig other showed up ready to babysit so daddy could take me out to get rip roaring…I mean…to enjoy a lovely evening as a couple. It’s been a while since we have made the time to be together, just the two of us, and I am reminded of how important it is. As strong as my marriage may be, it’s extremely hard to maintain wedded bliss with a third family member in the house who would prefer to be attached to my body by any means possible. Add to this working full + time and daddy living the starving musician lifestyle and it becomes a battle of nerves, a war of egos, and lessons in the art of drinking in the closet late at night. We have agreed to make date night a weekly event no matter what. This will end up being cheaper than couples therapy if we can keep the expensive French wines off of the dinner tabs.

We revisited the Ferber Method with baby last Saturday and began the series of letting baby cry at night in loosely timed increments with no late night snacking (Thank you to Brent and Kristen for the lessons in successful Ferbering!). Daddy is the chosen one to go check on things when he squawks at night. It’s great for me but I lie there wide awake listening to the goings on with my super-sonic mommy hearing and yearn to race down and make it all better, i.e. insert boob. The first night wasn’t too bad. Willem woke up maybe three times and cried only a little. Sunday night was rough as he awoke in 15-minute clusters to cry and cry. Daddy was managing the scene from 1 a.m. until 4 a.m. patting his back, reinserting the pacifier and exiting the room. Last night, however, baby awoke at his usual feeding time (4 a.m.), screeched loud enough for me to shoot up out of bed like a rocket but then he didn’t make another peep until 7 this morning. For the first time since I was 7 months preggers, I ALMOST had a full night of uninterrupted sleep! It’s an amazing notion to consider and I pray we have perfect luck tonight although I probably just jinxed it by saying that. One downfall of this arrangement is that I practically float downstairs like an inner tube on the Guadalupe with boobs on the brink of hosing down the house.

On another baby note, Willem has yet to sprout any teeth but continues to drool like Pavlov’s dogs. He isn’t crawling yet either which is a mixed blessing. He can, however, pivot in a circle while sitting on his padded bum like an infant break dancer. He’s still maniacal about walking with parental assistance, which is completely cute, but not a solo endeavor on his part. Oh, how my back aches! We do still encourage tummy time but it really gets Willem’s fur in a dander and he fusses with deep frustration. He loves to make fart noises on my shoulder, if it’s bare, and successfully unhinges his diapers if left in his crib awake too long. He and I stollered over to Mandola’s, an Italian market in our neighborhood, Saturday morning and shared a bear claw while watching the water splash in the fountain on the patio. It was a quiet morning, just us and the grackles. Piglet, who I thought we had lost in Spain at a ham market, fell out of the stroller en route but was discovered on our return in the middle of the street with tread marks and a crumbled rattle in his head. He has now joined Sock Monkey on the island of rehabbing toys.

So daddy is home for two weeks straight and we are playing family to the fullest. It’s so nice to grill out, watch a movie and turn in at nearly the same time each night. I had gotten use to being a single working mom but I prefer married working mom/wife much, much more.

NIMBY

Last summer when we had to move out of our studio apartment, it was because our house was under construction and this was being built behind us...


For months the pumping of the conjunto tuba echoed off of the walls of the facades as we watched the buildings rise from the earth. Ten of them total will be completed by the end of the year and five have gone up already. Four have been sold while one is still pending sale (can you tell I am a nosey neighbor?). Prices for these units are $419,000 and up. SO not worth it. How do I know? Last night the developer hosted a block party with some free nibbles, beer and a band. A couple of the homes were open to the public so Willem, Holly (my dear friend and designer of my house), and I strolled over to poke around. Beautiful granite countertops are flanked by cheap towel holders and mirrors pegged to walls reminescent of crappy student housing. Long tubes with light bulbs screwed in the tips hover overhead. From a distance it looks like exposed electrical work instead of a finished product. Bad Feng Shui. Rooms were small, painted edges unfinished, and the floor plans are wonky. Not my cup of tea. I did realize though that one of the perks of this little neighborhood behind mine is that the new neighbors are diverse, eclectic, and super friendly…and they love my purple house (or lie convincingly). Never mind that I can see into their worlds because their back windows are mammoth floor to ceiling jobs and I know just about every move they make behind them. Talk about reality television! The guys right behind me just put up a huge American flag as their curtain. It’s as big as the ones you see flying high above a car dealership. When I met one of the owners last night, I thanked him for not using a confederate flag. We will be installing clumping bamboo in our yard (backlit for dramatic effect) in the next couple of months as we begin phase one of the landscaping nightmare, I mean, project. The 30 foot willowy wall will aid in obscuring the view of my new friends and their overpriced properties.

Open Wide

I returned to my doctor's office for the first time in over eight months the other day. I had that annual appointment that all the ladies eagerly sign up for. It was strange going in without that giddy "I'm with child" sensation or the "someone get this thing out of me" awareness. Round bellies peeked out from underneath sheets that double as shirts and the daddies held court in line at the in-office coffee shop (genius idea, that coffeeshop). I watched as couples left the office with their VHS videos of sonograms in hand, blissful smiles on their faces as they strolled out. I remember floating in that bubble of disbelief and enchantment that I was preggers and growing a person in my person. It still blows my mind every time I look at my little guy that with a little bit of DNA and sexual healing, I cooked him up. He turned eight months old on last Saturday and I remember the first few days of his life vividly with his tiny body bundled like a burrito in my arms, helpless but so full of life. The other day he said "Dada" in front of Dada and we both freaked. Words! Sounds that resemble words! His raspy voice says "Bababakeekeekee" all of the time and I could sit and listen for hours.

The thrush monster came and attacked me and baby last week. We are still coating our parts (his mouth, my boob kegs) with fruit flavored meds. Really gross little fungus. It's like athletes feet of the mouth (and nips). He has now hatched a cough that I’m sure will evolve into a cold. Daddy has doubled up on the Echinacea.

Got this handy critter off of ebay. Willem loves it. Squeeze its beak and it quacks. Fill it in a quarter of the time it takes to fill the tub. He wraps his tiny arms around the duck's head when I stand him up to wash his below the waist region. It's hard to get him to sit back down though. He'd prefer to stand there and pat the mammoth rubber duck on the head 'til his toes wrinkle like prunes.



Speaking of wrinkled prunes, I still have no libido. It’s awful and strange and frustrating. It’s the complete opposite of who I used to be and God I hope it’s not who I will always be. Fingers crossed for some positive roll in the hay type of changes soon. This can’t go on forever, right?

Beach Baby Bingo

We escaped to the Texas coast this past weekend in search of the Easter bunny. It was four glorious days of friends, babies and tons of sand in the crotch area. This is Willem totally excited about the impending trip...



This is Willem asking "Are you SERIOUSLY taking that many pairs of shoes?"...



The drummer in daddy’s band brought his wonderful wife and their two children, ages 7 months and 2.5 years, and my girlfriend brought her Hoover, Shakespeare the dog, who had a grand time cleaning up after the little people.



We spent much needed time at the beach and took in the surprisingly small groups of vacationers that huddled there with us. Willem was a walking fool as he white knuckled my fingers in his grasp.



He enjoyed the sand on every level...




This is daddy and baby making their Jack Nicholson faces...



And this is Willem reading Goodnight Moon aloud...


to this eager audience...


One of the highlights of mommy's trip was when she flew daddy's kick ass kite, the kind you steer with two hands. On my initial attempt, daddy tossed the kite into the air and I took charge as the wind lifted it at a dangerous speed. It suddenly dipped to the extreme right and headed straight for daddy, it's pointy nose aimed at his bum. He ran like a bunny on a greyhound track as some people in a passing truck screamed, "Git 'em, git 'em!" Mommy laughed so hard she nearly wet her pants.

This is baby wearing the t-shirt of his favorite band and enjoying hiding eggs from himself...

P-A-R-K is K-R-A-P Spelled Backwards

I went home today at my regularly scheduled time to grab a bite to eat and pump the girls and found Earth Mama and the babies to be MIA. I figured they'd be at the park in my neighborhood so en route back to the office I sought them out. Sure enough, they were sitting in one corner of the lot hanging in the grass with a guy who had his own child in his arms. I noticed right away that he was from E.M.'s (Earth Mama's) tribe as he was wearing things made in Guatemala, sporting tangled tendrils and he and his son had names I couldn't pronounce. A peculiar thing about him was the outline of green around his lips and inside his dark beard. Serious vegetarian, perhaps? Willem was pleased as punch that I was there and did his heavy, rapid excited to see me breathing as I sized up the little pow wow and considered taking the kid to the office with me. Suddenly a lovely woman arrived on the scene, obviously the child's mother. He leapt (as a 10-month-old may do) at her as she smothered him in kisses. She wore layered Guatemalan threads with a nose piercing and dreads. I was distracted for a moment by my son and didn't see her ample boob come flopping out and in to the child's mouth, the sun beaming down on it like it was the Holy Grail. I also didn't see the daddy figure disappear for a moment and reappear with a head of romaine lettuce in his hand. It was not in a bag but just free form in his hand as if he had just picked it himself. He tossed it at his wife/girlfriend/mate's feet and they began to tear off shreds like rabbits and eat it. Ahhhh, perhaps this is the origin of the green mouth syndrome afflicting this guy who's name sounded like something said underwater. Don't get me wrong, they were really nice people but not nice enough to offer me some of their lettuce.

Nutin' Much

Baby and I went to Target today and loaded up on Easter goodies for him and Finn and some stuff for the Port A beach trip this weekend. I purchased a floatie thing that has a moveable canopy for the tadpole but it sort of looks like something I could rest a plate of nachos and a big margarita on in the water...hmmmm. We then went out to an event I had to work in the heat of the day and although my shift was only thirty minutes long, it seemed like hours as my child refused to let anyone else nuzzle him. I could hear his tiny voice squawking over the murmour of conversations and the DJ. I stuffed him in the Hiphugger and he passed out sound asleep immediately. I actually had to make sure he was still breathing. Got him home and he took a marathon nap. When he awoke, I had prepared for him a lovely dinner to be had on a blanket in the yard. His first picnic. We had a grand time and stayed out there until way past bath time. Here is bath time...



This is Willem enjoying just a few of the contents of a box stuffed with goodies sent to us by my brother's family. Although the box was addressed wrong and actually open when I got it today, it looked like all of the contents (Pee Pee Tee Pees, eye gel, Tide Stain Stick, super soft blanket, yummy lotions and so much more!) were intact. Thanks fam!

Home Cookin'

I didn’t mention earlier this week that the husband has been on the left coast since Tuesday touring. I didn’t mention it because I’m sorta afraid that someone will come over to my house and break in and steal what, I don’t know, or hassle me which would be a very bad idea since I am a mom now and capable of maiming without hesitation. But if you want to try me, you have exactly two days left. Bring it.

Anyway, he emails usually once a day and calls just about every day. I know on those days I don’t hear from him, he’s been partying like it’s 1999. That’s when he remembers that he’s no longer in his 20’s and walks beneath the hangover cloud all the next day. He emailed yesterday to say that they saw a very pregnant Gwen Stefani in a restaurant. The sax player in the band wanted to invite her to the show. The drummer replied, "Yeah, she's 8 and 1/2 months pregnant, I'm sure she'd love to come down." I would’ve. I was big belly up to the stage stacks one week before my due date. They should’ve asked her. Dummies.

Babyland sans the dad figure is always an interesting affair as I can sincerely devote the entire evening to baby, scarf on some TV dinners and watch some really bad boob tube. I mean REALLY bad. Now I have never, ever watched any of the reality TV shows but the one on VH1 called “The Flava of Love” hooked me. I still can’t figure out why. This came on last night on the *Best Week Ever. The comments on this website are pretty funny, too.

*Freakin’ cahrazie biaches! I was riveted and laughing my ass off which usually scares the child when he’s in the presence of a hysterical (in a good way) mom.

Weekend baby update (for dad’s sake): Willem discovered his hand today and it was weird. I mean he’s been aware of his hands for a while but I think he’s just figured out that he can make them do things. The weird part is that he was talking to them (yes, talking to the hand). He would reach for a colored square on the rug and then turn his hand to his face and “Ca ca ca ba ba ba” at it. Maybe he practicing ventriloquism? Next time I’ll put a sock on it and then we’ll have an opening act for daddy’s band. I also think that when daddy returns we'll need to get Willem a trampoline. He laughed his tiny toosh off at some kids jumping and crashing in to each other at an Easter Egg Kegger.

Toyland Quarantined

I came home today to find little Finnegan sound asleep in Willem’s crib and Willem happily gobbling banana with exaggerated yummy sounds that could be confused for some serious throat clearing. Earth mama mentioned that Finn had been napping off and on all day (red flag) and that he had little white patches in his mouth (insert sound of needle scratching record here). Thrush? Super contagious? Binky sharing? Oh no! We took Finn’s temp and it was 101. Yikes! His mama poured his limp body into his papoose and they headed on their short stroll home. Before leaving though, he managed a tiny smile and a grunt for the road. After feeding and bathing my little guy, I put him to bed and gathered up all of his soft toys for a spin in the washer. Here they are air drying. I tried drying them in the dryer but it sounded like I had loaded it with no less than three cats wearing collars with bells.

Just Say…”FERBER!”

A baby daddy at work asked me how the Ferberizing was going and I totally forgot to tell you how amazingly well it has worked. I mean, I merely mentioned to my husband in the presence of baby Willem that we were going to start the Ferber Method on the tyke and, BAM!, next thing I know the kid is automatically sleeping at least 6 hours straight. No poop! Since last Friday, he has only woken up once a night to feed and then drifts back to dreaming about stealing cars and chasing skirts with Fenn. Dammit, Ferber rocks! Now before he goes to bed, I say "Ferber!" just to remind him.

Let's Pretend It's Summer Already

The weeks are blowing by now that the conference is over and I don’t want to do anything but be with baby (and daddy, too, of course). I’ve got a nest to finish feathering, a yard to gut and replenish. Don’t I need to be around all day to ponder the wall colors and landscaping ideas?

We spent last Saturday afternoon swimming with the tadpole in the frigid waters of Deep Eddy Pool . Now normally, this beach mama wouldn’t dip more than a shin into the depths of shimmering cement pond but I could barely wait to get him all slathered with sunscreen and in his blue dino sun shirt, Speedo and hat before racing out into the water like a kid with a new inflatable shark raft. Willem loved the pool as I had hoped and prayed throughout all of his bath time conditioning. We got out before our limbs were too blue and too numb. We spend the rest of the afternoon lazing in the shade and rolling around on the blanket as daddy worked his daily crossword puzzle.

The new sitter is working out brilliantly. She’s very baby-centric and the ringer is Finnegan, the infant who looks like a Russian writer on a book jacket. When he arrives with mama in the early afternoon, he and Willem both light up with eager recognition. They start grunting at each other like little cave babies and grinning like toothless aged men with a moment of clarity. They play wonderfully together as earth mama navigates. She’s all about the babies and sings to them, tells them stories, shows them sign language, takes them to the park (ambitious journey with two tots, I must say), and handles them like precious heirlooms. It’s not surprising to see that by the end of the day they are sucking the other’s binky, sticky with Wagon Wheel residue and completely exhausted. It takes lots of hyper-stimulation when I get home to keep Willem awake long enough for me to feed him and bathe him before he’s sound asleep.

The other day I called hubby to check in on the kiddos and he mentioned that he had just turned on the monitor housed in the studio to hear what was going on in the baby’s room. He said they were playing and singing. I said, “Click it on, I want to hear.” Of course, when he did, I could hear Willem fussing in the background and he sounded rather inconsolable. I heard an immediate click as daddy turned off the device and heard him say, “I better go in there.” So I don’t always expect it to be a bed a roses at the casa de Zuniga but I know all is well most of the time.

And now for the infant pictorial as requested by the dad...

"I am a goat!"









"Yeeeoooooowwww! Papercut!" (Kidding)












"I miss my daddy."










"I'm a little George Strait fan...yeeehaww!"












"Is there a grackle out there?

Seven Month Marker

My dear child,

Last weekend you turned seven months old and I celebrated by dragging your tiny ass out to the country on a trip that took an hour each way. Hanging out at Malcontent Mama’s birthday hoedown was great fun as we sat on a blanket among the tall trees, the adult kneecaps, and the sugar-hypered older kids. I found that you love Nature as much as I do when you giggled and squirmed with delight while petting a horse and Shakespeare, the wiener dog. You crunched leaves in your small hands and dug in the dirt like a stationary badger. You patted the tree trunks like a reassuring arborist. I am happy to know you can be outside and not be overwhelmed by its vastness and constant activity. The ride home was a total nightmare as you screamed and cried for 45 minutes. My heart broke in to a million pieces but I couldn’t see the point of pulling over and torturing you with the notion that even if I took you out of the carseat to console you, you would eventually have to go back in again. Needless to say, you were immediately reassured when we got home and subsequent jaunts on the road haven’t phased you. No scaring yet.
















Speaking of nature, you are a probably a grackle’s biggest fan and thanks to the bird’s daring personality, you are able to view them up close as they vie for the food on our plates in outdoor settings. They mesmerize you and the rest of the world around you vanishes when you lock in on one. The other day as you were patiently waiting for me to get my crap together to take you on a walk, I spied you about to tumble out of the stroller as you strained to watch a honey bee fly from flower to flower in a clover patch in the yard. You moved your head in tiny jerks as it raced the small distances between them. I laughed so hard from behind the front door.


Unfortunately, your Alabama nanny has moved on to higher paying pastures. We miss her silliness and tremendous desire to entertain you. She has since been replaced with a sweet, young hippy mama from the northeast. The bonus is her 8-month-old son, Finnegan, who she brings along. The two of you playing together is a sight to see. Who can bang the loudest? Who can coo the longest? Who has the most interesting toy? Whose snack taste better? I think this arrangement will work out for now and I am happy to know you have a pint-sized buddy in your orbit.








You have consistently fought off offerings of baby food so we have moved on to people food with awesome results. Bring on the hummus, avocado, yogurt, and bananas! Toss in some fresh peas, Wagon Wheels, and oatmeal. You make your own unique yummy sound with each bite and gobble eagerly while still leaving room for a cozy boob nosh.

You are sitting up like a champ but crawling eludes you. I thought for sure that Finnegan’s ability to move about the room would inspire you but you are too busy flirting with the new sitter. You can stand forever and prefer to do so but walking isn’t on your radar yet. Your parents are not in any hurry for you to be mobile so no rush. You will play by yourself for marathon periods of time but when that time is up, you are all about hiring the parental sherpa. You are more vocal about your desires and the irritated sounds you make seem to mean many things. At some point, you figured out how to scream like a girl really loud. Mommy doesn’t like that so much.

Your parents are going to introduce you to the Ferber Method this weekend because you aren’t sleeping so well anymore and Mommy is tired of climbing the stairs 3 or 4 times a night to tend to your imaginary needs. Of course, there are times when your cries are for good reason but lately you’ve been crying wolf way too much. We’ll see how it goes. Hopefully we will all be snoozing peacefully. A full night’s sleep would be a wonderful early birthday present from you.




















I know that my whole world revolves around every inch of your being and I am grateful to be able to feel that way. Thank you for the past seven months, darling son. I look forward too much, much more.

Love,
Mommy

Radiohead Baby

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give to you the debut performance of Willem singing a tune from Radiohead (genetically speaking, I am not surprised that this had happened)...



(If loading fails, go here...http://youtube.com/watch?v=Vp0GQqDj9tY)

The Bitch Is Back

It has been a while since I last blogged. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to but because the gig that takes a year to prepare for just happened and I’m barely alive to tell the tale. I will begin this newest entry by highlighting my breast pump tour of duty during the conference.

Breast Pump As Camera Case

In an effort to maintain baby’s breastmilk supply, I pumped all over my fair city for 10 straight days and it was freakin’ HARD, people (but the absolute hardest part was spending three of those consecutive days away from baby). In the convention center where we toiled under buzzing fluorescents and scarfed down icy, rock hard pastries, I claimed the handicap toilet down the hall from where I was stationed as my own personal loo. I would sling the udder contraption housed in a suspicious black bag over my arm and race off at mentally scheduled times in an effort to keep my day in some kind of order. God forbid the loo was ever occupied and if it was, you better exit in a wheelchair or without limbs! Never ever was there a disabled person using the room and instead I had to wait with steam coming out of my ears and my boobs on the brink of super duper sprinkler setting while convention center staffers strolled out all coiffed and perfumed. That really got in my crawl! I could hear their walkie talkies buzzing with conversation as I banged on the door with a ferocity that almost dented it. I would sneer as they sheepishly exited probably thinking their supervisor had sniffed them out. I would lock the door and set up shop while the hissing of the machine calmed my nerves. I would store loads of hooch on icepacks and deliver them home late at night. At a certain point, we were required to stay in a designated hotel so I would leave milk at the front desk to be retrieved by daddy. Among the many parties I coordinated for the conference, I found myself pumping in slimy club bathrooms, client’s offices, a catering van, and my truck. I also hiked far and wide to said convention center and utilized MY handicap loo often walking at a pace that trimmed my weight by four pounds. When I think about the feat in retrospect, I am certain that I would have weaned baby weeks prior to keep from having to do the deed during such a stressful time and in so many public locales. I am glad though, as I cradle the little guy in my arms as he noshes and cracks that side grin in mid-swallow, that I stuck it out.

Jebus!

Let me confess, dear readers, that I have been held hostage for the past week at my job and they are letting me write a post to my blog only because I did an email merge successfully today.

Holy shit (I originally wrote "Oh my goodness" at the beginning of this paragraph but I wasn't feelin' it), it's been crazy at work and as was mentioned in a staff meeting this afternoon, we are approaching the top of the rollercoaster and soon we will be in free fall mode. This event planning business was birthed only last year and we cranked out 15 parties in nine days. The three members of the team (that includes me) thought that was an incredible feat. Well, this year we have, read it, 72 parties to host in that same amount of time with the same three people at the helm. At the moment, we are in freak out mode as the first party will be punted to our guests and clients on March 9th. After that, it's 10 straight days of this 24/7 nightmare (I say that affectionately). Current state of mind? Numb and calm (and this is without alcohol or medication...at the moment).

On the homefront, it's the same sweet predictable affair and I embrace every familiar minute. Baby has grown increasingly curious about things and it's all I can do to keep from whacking him in doorways and into walls as he arches his body and reaches for anything in his line of vision. Peek-A-Boo or just Boo! is his new favorite game and I get a kick at how quickly he forgets that I have just disappeared and when I reappear, he jumps out of his skin. This all happens in two second rotations. He loves Chicken Neck (where you kiss him and poke your chin in his neck while making a clucking sound) and a tiny blue elephant is his new favorite toy. Sock Monkey is on the back burner now and I happened to find him all alone face down in the driveway this morning. He either fell out of the diaper bag or barely made it home after a bender. We have moved on to Stage 1 baby foods with mixed results. Willem likes the orange veggies and tolerates the green ones. Fruit isn't his thing and it's always a good idea to feed him when he's seriously hungry or risk being sprayed like a bug inspectors wand with pureed vittles. His bouncy chair that I feed him in and the surrounding wall is peppered with his nibbles. I have a collection of clothes with the same Jackson Pollock-esque detailing via his mouth. It's very frustrating. On a few occasions, he eats well and there is peace and harmony in all the world.

So it's barely 9 pm on a Saturday night and I'm turning in soon. It's really sad. Of course, I have to be up around 6 (after a 4 am feeding) but I plan to spend a portion of the morning at (insert the sound of angels singing here) Target. In the meantime, if anyone sees my old life, please tell it I miss it...a little.

P.S. Congratulations to my brother and his wife on the birth of their second daughter at 5 a.m. this morning! "Phoebe Elyse, welcome to the world!"

P.P.S. And here is baby...

Welcome to Dimple Central.















This is baby in bed reading to daddy...



















Notice that daddy is not only NOT listening with his face covered but is also wearing earplugs. Everyone together now..."Baaaaaad Dad!"