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!"

Mine Was Free

I have my hair blondied at a spunky little salon called Pink where the foxy stylists don unique ensembles I could never wear with a straight face. Two male employees cruise around the room sweeping detached strands and shampooing egos. One of the hairdressers has an interesting collection of tattoos on various parts of her body (and these are the ones I can see). What caught my eye one day were her milky white shapely legs as they flashed in the mirror in front of me. Stacked on jet black heels, they carried her tall frame easily across the room. Much to my surprise, I noticed on the backs of her calves were two aqua blue lightening bolts, one on each leg. They seemed perfectly at home there. Her artwork led to a conversation with my stylist about the tattoos hidden behind her ears. I wasn’t about to leave the premises until I knew what they were and why they were there. Here’s what she told us…

When she was a little girl her grandmother used to nuzzle and kiss her behind the ears. She would nuzzle one side and say, “Oh, you taste as sweet as sugar!” and on the other side she would say, “Oh, you taste as sour as a pickle!” As a tribute to her grandmother, she had a pickle tattooed behind one ear and a packet of sugar behind the other. I thought that was a pretty damn good tattoo story.

I have a tattoo on the big toe of my left foot, something I would hide from my grandmother with a giant Band-Aid made for, say, a removed limb. Many moons ago, it looked like a collection of flowers. Now it just looks like a misshapen bruised or severe frostbite. I wish I had a nice little story to go with my bastard tat but the simple fact of the matter is it was free. Sometimes free isn’t such a good thing.

The Numbers Go To 11

Got home from the salt mine this evening to see that W was just waking up from a nap (translation: "Hello extended evening in babyland."). Pops was at the recording studio working on some songs so after shoveling cereal and mommy hooch into the kiddo, we put on our sweaters and scooted over there to make sure there were no strippers doing lap dances and no empty bottles of Cristal lying around but then I remembered that we don't live in LA so I drove a little slower. We arrived there and W was immediately put to work. Witness...

Here is W considering the usage of the red marker in his work.















Here are the hands of a hardworking tot.















"Did someone say mailbox money?"
















We had a good time but had to get our buns home and in to bed. We're not quite rock stars yet.

Cheatin'

I'm too dang tired to post much so my cop out includes yet more pics of the kid. Let me mention that the Alabama nanny is back and we're all dancin' a jig. Came home at lunch to find W playing the ulitmate flirt and grinning at her from both ears like a circus clown. This evening, after 2-20 minute naps all day, he settled in the La-Z-Boy with me and quietly wound down in my arms. With no muss, no fuss, he went to bed and drifted off effortlessly. This is my kind of night (except the daddy figure is in the studio recording all evening). It's library quiet around here.

Big (cute) head like his papa.














Cheap framing effect courtesy of teething ring.














If anyone wants to buy a china cabinet, I've got one for sale. You get a friendly discount if I know you.

The Good, The Bad, and The Unemployed

Just so everyone knows, my baby was wearing his onesie backwards when I got home yesterday. Today the changing pad that his tiny toosh has been splayed upon for the past week was being used as a drool pad in his crib. I’m beginning to wonder what condition the sitter’s kid is in. The upstairs was sparkling clean but my child was wearing garments in reverse and rubbing his cheeks (the ones on his face) on the butt pad. I just don’t know what to think but I do think today is her last day. This has been a little too stressful.

The good news is that baby has been sleeping 6 to 8 hour stretches at night now, which means I’ve been able to sleep 5 and 6-hour chunks. Wow! Certainly makes a difference in my demeanor in the morning. I’m having to adjust to the generous portion of dreamland touring though. I still have to wake up in the wee wee hours to feed baby and it takes everything I can muster to be alert enough to not break my neck on the stairs and not drop the kid as I settle on his floor to satiate him. Right around the corner, however, is the introduction of teeth. I know my rested nights are numbered.



He doesn't eat as much as he wears.

Go Thee Towards The Sun

Five days a week I sit at my cubicle (yes, I work in a cube…something I thought I would NEVER do but it’s the best cube ever…very square with nice lines) hovering over two computers like the keyboard player in Depeche Mode (yes, that’s right, I use TWO computers because my laptop goes home with me and collects valuable info I need in my CUBE). About four hours in to each day I realize that I have been peering dangerously close to each screen, back hunched in a “C” shape like a grandma at a quilting bee. Over time, this could prove to be bad for me and as the working days get longer, I could deteriorate rapidly. The results might look something like this by the end of next month…







On a lighter note, and I do mean lighter, the night time doesn’t seem to be approaching as quickly these days and when I head home from work I can still see the squirrels I try to squash with my truck and the forlorn college kids waiting on the buses. I don’t feel as defeated by the wintery darkness when I arrive home and yesterday stuffed my little boy wonder-what-he-thinks-of-his-Latina-sitter in the stroller and hiked the ‘hood. It was glorious. He tapped his little socked feet to a tune he serenaded me with and I pushed with vigor in an effort to shake my cubicle shaped butt. Ahhh…all is well.

Oh! One more thing. I found this for sale on Amazon.com. It's fake, you, too, can own one, and I am scared.

Pipi

Willem's current sitter (who is the best dressed baby care giver ever and always looks like she's headed out to a dance party) has had to take a few days off so I am auditioning another to fill in the gaps. She's Latina, in her early twenties and has a 4-year-old son of her own. She speaks no English which isn't really a problem because husband and I combined are fluent present tense Spanish speakers. In an effort to communicate with her more effectively, I found a great program on the internet that allows me to type dialogue in English, cut and paste it into a text box and translate it in to Espanol. Worked like a charm but of course I have to embellish the details and overemphasize the specifics myself. I told her that the baby usually naps for two years instead of two hours. When I was telling her that baby loves lots of kisses and hugs, I basically said that I love lots of kisses and hugs. It took me a minute to figure out why she took a step backwards.

It's very hard finding people to trust to help you raise your only child. It's easy to decide that the way you do things is the only way it should be done. Around 1 p.m., I came home for lunch and to pump and found baby still in his pajamas. Evidently he hadn't eaten because she had prepared formula instead of the breast milk in the fridge and he hadn't taken a nap yet. I was bummed to see the little guy stalled out in his day. The look on his face was calm confusion when he saw me. I'm sure he was wondering what the heck was going on. I scooped him up, popped the boob in his mouth and soon he was fast asleep.

One of the great perks of having this little lady in my house is that she's also a housecleaner so while baby napped for 2 hours and 40 minutes, she scrubbed and swept and wiped and straightened. That's a nice thing to come home to so now I need to decide if this little arrangement is going to work. She's coming again today and tomorrow so we'll see.

Fat Head

If you look closely, you might conclude that someone has whacked my kiddo on the side of his sweet noggin' but this is in fact the result of his large melon squashing his tiny hand during naptime. You should've seen his hand. It looked like a fly swatter.