The Language of Baby

Several times a day, here's what you'll hear me say...

"Are you making me a diaper?"
"Is that my little little?"
"Do you want a boo boo?"
"What a sneezers!"
"Are you shoo-shoo?"

I miss true adult conversations. I even miss slurred, drunken babble.

Oh, and here is my new babysitter...

Jimmy Crack Corn

My guilty pleasure of the fall season is candy corn. I am officially on my third bag since they hit the store shelves en mass. I'm not bragging about this level of consumption but reaching out for help to end the addiction. No wonder I can't lose these last 10 baby pounds. Somebody plan an intervention before they go on sale after the Halloween holiday.

Charge It

Today I actually got to go shopping for me, by myself. For one frantic hour, I tried to pretend that I didn't have an urgent reason to race home to the baby and enjoyed a brief moment fondling clothing that I hope to fit in to again someday. I almost turned around a few blocks away from the house because I was sure Willem was sending me telepathic baby-to-mommy information that daddy didn't know what the hell he was doing and couldn't stop his crocodile tears from flowing. I feel this way because a couple of times I've gone out to run a VERY quick errand, husband has called to say not that Willem was crying but that he was FREAKING OUT and I needed to come home NOW! Of course, hearing his heaving, sobbing voice in the background makes my boobs engorge, my head spin, and I break the sound barrier in my truck. This morning, I raced to south Austin to my favorite store, nearly creamed a couple of families in the parking lot, and practically ran inside. Knowing the layout of this place very well, I cruised my normal browsing route at warp speed, tried on a couple of items in the middle of the store over my clothes (who has time to walk all of the way to the dressing room?), and had great success in the shoe department where I realized that although my son got my eyes, he has given me big feet. I already possessed a couple of built in barefoot skis and now they are Telluride snowboards. I grabbed the mommy-friendly boats and hightailed it to check out. As I write this, I realize I completely forgot about shopping the baby section of the store. In a way this IS a success story.

What Is The Sound Of One Hand Typing?

Raising a child is the most exhausting thing I've ever done. EVER. The little darling is sleeping right now (God only knows for how long or short) so I am typing as fast as I can. Yes, I should be sleeping, too. It's impossible to blog with him clinging to the left side of my body while my right hand bounces around the keyboard. I've tried. Very frustrating.




Two weeks ago, we moved into our remodeled house but were told we couldn't officially "move in". At the time, the electricity didn't pass inspection so we were informed that we could put our crap inside but we couldn't live there. Huh? Was someone really going to try and stop me from sleeping in my own bed in my new master bedroom? To make matters worse, there is no gas therefore no hot water and no heat. This will finally be remedied tomorrow but remember, we moved "in" two weeks ago. In an effort to avoid the constant traffic of contractors crawling around the house like insects on a pile of poop, hubby, baby and I went to the coast for a week in hopes of returning to a home we can actually inhabit. The time away was, well, like being at home with baby but just in a different house somewhere else. We did go on a few stroller walks but the mosquitos were relentless and once I looked down to find a huge beast perched on the end of Willem's nose! Freak out! I did make my pilgrimage to purchase a giant cinnamon roll and that was a highlight. I saw the beach from the back of my truck while everyone else frollicked in the waves like seals. My husband's brother, wife and daughter joined us over the weekend and I was more than eager to play "pass the baby" as they were eager participants. One of the many perks of the extended family.

So now we're home in a house full of boxes, the contents of which have revealed more junk than I can believe we were stupid enough to pack up a year ago. We could open our own Goodwill. We even gave away two suitcases and some clothes today to a couple walking down the street. Is that weird?

I unpacked Willem's room right away when we "moved in". Repressed nesting took a hold of me and I didn't stop until it was done. Of course, it's still an unfinished version of what it will be someday but Willem seems to like it. His changing table is by a sunny window now unlike before when it was stuffed in a closet smelling of stale shoes. He smiles and bounces his arms and legs as the sun makes him squint to the point of visual darkness. I bought him the coolest moblie but my arms get tired dangling the heavy thing over his not-so-little head to amuse him. It only attaches to a crib and we don't have one of those yet so I angle it like a fishing rod with a big catch on the end and watch my son swing his spastic arms to touch it. Oh, the things I will do to see him smile.

On a side note, have I mentioned breast pads yet? No? Did I think for a minute that I would be a candidate for such products? No way. Am I keeping the companies in business? Definitely. I never thought I'd be wearing round maxipads on my boobs. No one spoke of the possiblity. Is it only a big deal to me? Perhaps. For the record, I hate them but perfectly circular tandem wet spots on any shirt are out of the question.

Today...

Dearest Willem,

Today you are 33 days old. I think that most mothers would write a letter to their child on a certain significant date but to me every day is significant and a celebration of you being in this ol’ cruel world. At the moment you are in your swing and seem to like it, an event that is as hit and miss as a basketball hoop game at a county fair. I believe most of this enjoyment stems from the fact that you are currently filling your diaper with your special sauce and it looks like it feels pretty damn good.



In the wee hours of the morning last night, I looked down at your sweet face as I was nursing you and ‘lo and behold you were flashing the Hook’em Horns sign on your cheek with your tiny hand. Wow!

In these same wee hours when you awaken for your 30th feeding of the day, you nurse with such excitement and urgency, making me feel so needed and necessary in your world. You make these great breathless gulping sounds that go “yoink, yoink, yoink” and are loud enough to wake your father. It’s dramatic to the point of cartoonish ridiculousness and we always laugh at you. I only hope your feverish drinking sounds don’t last in to grade school. I fear what the other kids on the playground might do to you when you finish a carton of chocolate milk. You nurse with such force that at any moment you could suck off my nipples, put them in the pocket of your Gap sweatpants (yes, they do have pockets!) and toddle off.



You love being outside and listening to the cars woosh by. You enjoy our stroller journeys. You love your baths even when mommy forgets to warm up the infant support thingie in your tub and puts you on its icy cold surface as you scream like a skinned cat. You like lying on your changing table for chunks of time just to hang out and gurgle to the white walls. Putting a clean diaper on you is like dressing a fish and you think it’s funny.

You are already outgrowing your Onesies and sporting quite the handsome mullet with ponytail potential. You smile at your father and I can almost feel his explosive love for you in the next room. You are such a snuggle bunny and I could hold you for hours. I love it when you send up your dramatic fake cry and I swoop in like a mother lioness ready to protect and nurture. I love watching you change every day as a part of me is sad to see you growing so fast.



Tomorrow we move into our new house and start a new life. Your mommy and daddy have been waiting for this moment for over a year. We are very excited to share this silly purple home with you. We think you will like it. Barney the Dinosaur would. Thank you for being my son and for being so wonderful. Thank you for showing me what it means to love unconditionally. My heart couldn’t be any bigger.

Love,
Mommy

How Does He...

Make the poop shoot straight UP his back? It exits the top of his tiny diaper and soaks up the adoring expressions of the giraffes and elephants on his Onesie. It's a mind boggling phenomenon.

When Farts Became Cute

As a testimony to his healthy bodily functions, my infant son packs one hell of a fart. His tiny buns amplify the flatulent exit and I am in constant shock and awe at the punches packed down there. Today, in the quiet solitude of our bonding, he ripped one so powerful we both jumped. After checking to make sure there wasn't a fire or smoke down there, I burst out laughing while he stared at me poker-faced like nothing happened. When in the arms of strangers, a toot evokes a look of concern and a sudden passing of child back to parent. Having recently been schooled in the art of distinguishing between harmless and dangerous farts, I am amused by this exchange. Eyes immediately scan ones garment for evidence of pooting debris. Thankfully, as of this date, no one has been stained and I have yet to receive a dry cleaning bill.

The freakin' temperatures have finally dropped in our fair city and it looks like the 90+ days of heat are a thing of the past for now. Willem and I went for a walk this afternoon. I was so in to the weather that I walked 30 minutes in one direction and had to walk it back. An hour walk is no big deal to most and there was a time when it wasn't a big deal to me either but I had worn the wrong shoes, still have C-section suture issues, and had forgotten to bring water. Upon collapsing inside my front door, I realized I have a long way to go to get back to my normal, energetic self. Onward through the fog.

I got an email from a girlfriend the other day asking who my pedi was. I emailed her back with comments, info and a link to the spa where I get my pedicures done. She emailed in return saying that I needed to get with the "mommie program" and give her Willem's pediatrician contact info, not pedicure info. She basically stated that my monthly pedicure days are over except for VERY special occasions. I choked back tears as I painted my toes myself.

This is a hotel pool in Corpus Christi sans water in natural light.

Can't You Just Hear Him Saying...

"ROCK 'N ROLL!"

And The "Baby Of The Year" Award Goes To...

Willem Zuniga!

I'm not EVER expecting it to happen again, but the most wonderful baby in the world didn't cry ONCE on the 4-hour drive to the beach, or on the drive to and from Corpus where daddy had to play an outdoor show (after Foghat!) at 10 p.m. therefore getting us back to the beach house at 2:30 a.m., nor did he cry on the four hour journey home. I didn't even have to drink tumblers of adult beverages to medicate him or myself for any of the legs. We went cold turkey and it was great! I don't know what kind of mommie karma I racked up to deserve such a wonderful trial run with tiny infant but whatever I have to do to pay it back, I'm game. We didn't get to spend much time at any of the places we went and it was still damn hot out but we did our little routine in a new location and at one point, Will slept for a 4-hour stretch one night. I think I even had a dream or two!

We walked to the neighborhood coffee shop for decaf and a cinnamon roll shortly after the sun came up one morning (note - daddy is still sleeping in) . I make a pilgrimage each trip to own one of the delicious pastries. These beasts weigh a couple of pounds each. If you're lucky, they're still warm from the oven. Here is proof of the size of this thing. I am holding it right next to baby's head for reference...



Yes, it was delicious.

Looks like we'll be moving in to our house on the 14th of this month. No, it won't be fully completed but we have agreed to move out of our apartment so someone else can move in. This gave me an excuse to really crack the whip on the contractor last Thursday. Most of the finer details will be completed but I'm sure we'll have to co-exist with a few strange men lurking as they tie up loose ends. It's been over a year since we have been able to settle in somewhere and create a home environment. Our life has been in storage that long, too. It's been tough as we have moved four times in the last twelve months. I can't believe my marriage is still intact and we even have a baby to prove our compatibility. Needless to say, we aren't doing squat in the upcoming year except gardening. Hubby can continue to push his music career and I'm going to grow stuff, dig deep and put in some roots.

Geez, Where Have I Been?

Oh yeah, in babyland. It’s a whole new world but a predictable one. My day/night goes something like this…nurse, burp, change diaper, nurse, coo, nap, repeat. Somewhere in there, I get a glance of my husband. It’s like being stuck on a merry-go-round except that you’re madly in love with the circular affair. Okay, I don't want to sound like the Mary Poppins of newborns. I have begrudgingly gotten up at 2:30 a.m. (while cursing under my breath) to begin the cycle all over again but that’s only when I’ve been asleep for about three hours straight. My mood fares better on two or less. Any more than that and I get greedy.

There is nothing more charming in the world than to see your child (Egads! MY child?) smile. W does it mostly during his "drunk sailor" skit. He nurses for about 10 minutes then his eyes begin to roll in all directions and his oral grip slackens. His head lilts to the side with the nozzle of my boob barely touching his lips and he grins the cheekiest, toothless grin, like a sailor that has washed ashore and discovered a never ending fountain of hooch with his name all over it.

He's asleep in his swing right now. It gently clicks tick, tock as he is lulled back and forth. I wish I had one of those in my size. Swaddle and swing me. He’s dreaming of God-only-knows-what-a-3-week-old-boy dreams of and making puppy whimpering sounds. It’s very sweet.

We’re leaving for the beach tonight. Whoo-hoo! Set me free! It will be the third time I have left the apartment since baby arrived three weeks ago. "Hello, stir crazy." We will see how we all fare in the car together for a few hours. I don’t foresee any major snafus on the way but fingers and toes are crossed. I think the biggest challenge will be getting all of the baby gear in the truck. Our days of traveling light are over.

My baby looks very Latino here, no?

If Raising A Baby Were A Foreign Language...

I'd be nearly fluent by now. Doing something 24/7 is an interesting challenge. W and I watch the world (or at least our little corner of the world) pack up its day and go to sleep each evening and then watch it as it unfolds into a new day in the twilight of the morning. We are up and down all night but I'm not complaining. I wasn't counting on consistent sleep being a part of this deal anyway. It's a beautiful thing actually. He and I have our own quiet exsistence as the hours and days tick by. He evolves as my tiny infant son and I evolve as a mother and we do this together, just he and I. For this time together, I am grateful.

Baby Things

I have a whole new collection of baby necessities surrounding me in our small apartment. It's a jungle gym of brightly colored, over-priced plastic. Most of these have ridiculous names, many with dual meanings that are appropriate either way. For example:

Snap 'N Go - What it is: a collapsible stoller frame that a car seat fits easily in to.
What it could mean: After feverishly trying to put the damn thing together, you SNAP and GO to the nearest bar.

Pack 'N Play - What it is: a portable playpen with a changing table for baby.
What it could mean: What mommie wants to do after a long day with baby, PACK, head to a hotel and PLAY with her imaginary cabana boy come-to-life.

My Breast Friend - What it is: a fabric covered donut/shelf sort of thing that fits around your upper torso allowing baby to rest on it while you nurse. It's a great invention!
What it could mean: A buddy who would happily take your place with their boobs and feed your baby for you giving your tortured nipples a much needed break.

Many Days of Firsts

I've been floating in a sea of baby-love for the past 10 days. It's a great ride. I never imagined how good life could be.

This is W. Z. weighing in at 7 lbs. 12 oz and was 20 inches long on 9/10/05 - also his daddy's birthday. Some b-day present, huh? Came in this awfully gooey wrapper though. As advised by my doctor, he was removed via the belly, in retrospect, a horrifying event. Thankfully, the medication kept me from fully digesting the enormity of the manipulated delivery. One thing I will never forget is hearing the doc say, "You're going to feel a little pressure in your chest." I'm thinking, "Why my chest? The baby is coming out of my belly?" Seconds later, an unnatural tugging sensation seemed to suck my lungs, heart, and throat (these parts weren't that numb) outside of my ribcage via my incision. It felt like someone had parked a VW on my upper body. The pressure was unreal and terrifying. Days later, I had a lingering soreness that continued to remind me of that moment.


My son was born in that moment, too. I heard his cries and tried to process the information as "that's MY baby crying." It was too surreal to fully grasp. Groggy from the drugs, I got my first glance at a very upset little person and struggled to make a connnection in my mind and heart. Again, only the fear of the operating room activity consumed me. My husband drifted out of view as they stiched me up and got the vitals of the baby. I heard Willem's cries and I heard my husband exclaim, "Oh my God, Oh my God" with tears choking his voice. I didn't know if that meant something was wrong or all was right. The masked faces surrounding me were busying themselves with getting the surgery done and flipping the table for the next patient. I felt removed, like an object with no real purpose. I was on so much medication.

We spent 4 glorious days in the hospital and I'm not being sarcastic. Hubby and I had a cozy room to welcome the many guests who came to congratulate us. We got to spend much quality time together with our baby (no internet access provides for that). In the backs of our minds, we felt the safety and comfort being exactly where we needed to be in case anything should go awry. The nurses were great (it helps to ply them with cake and truffles), the food barely edible, and the mesh panties super comfortable. I could've claimed a whole box of those. Boy-short meets soft texture.

So we're home now. Hubby has the freedom to come and go as he pleases. His life is pretty much the same. I, on the other hand, have become someone else and I like this person. It's an amazing thing to live in a bubble of adoration, complete bliss, and love something like you could never imagine. Never.

A Day Of Lasts

I awoke at 6:30 this morning and knew I was doomed. I wouldn't be going back to sleep on the last morning I have to spend with my warm, sleeping husband without the peeps and murmurs of a tiny person in the background. The brain is busy with details, scenerios, conversations and last minute things to do. The whole day is going to be filled with thoughts of "this is the last time I will..." Tomorrow will be a day of many, many firsts.

Just rewrote my birth plan. It's a mommy's version of a rock star rider that tells a venue what she needs. Like a rock star, I got to include the drugs and rock-n-roll, but no sex. I will be seeing lots of groupies throughout the day but no sex. No sex for a LONG TIME. But sex is what got me in to this mess in the first place. I think not having any for a while is a good idea.

My mom and her crazy-assed sister from LA are coming in tonight. My Auntie Bonnie is a force of energy, passion, presence and compassion all wrapped up in a raven-haired package and steeped in Cherokee blood. It will be amazing having the two of them here for the weekend embracing and loving this baby in to the world. I couldn't ask for more incredible adoration to be shed on this child from the get-go. The might of those two together could turn the tides.

The proud papa-to-be is probably rousing now and looking for his pregger wife who is sipping decaf at the coffee shop across the street...or perhaps he is still dug in and soaking up the fleeting peacefulness of our cozy nest. Of the latter, I'm not jealous.

Okay, This Is The Real Victory Lap

So I’ve been going through the first stages of labor since Sunday. Evidently, in my world, there was to be no second stage. Although I’ve made some progress, it hasn’t been as significant as it should be. I wanted to believe it was because Mother Nature was letting me get some more things crossed off of my “To Do” list, i.e., dye hair, remove hair, make up guest bed, relearn how to use car seat, stock up on Gatorade, get Thank You cards finished, etc. Today my doctor confirmed otherwise. Since my sweet husband has genetically donated a large melon of a head to our baby, we have to go in for the kid and pull it out of a space somewhere to be determined next to my bikini line. Looks like my stripper days are over. Poor tyke’s head can’t get close enough to the light at the end of the tunnel to barrel through. I was always told I had small but nice child bearing hips but I’m realizing now that hips really have nothing to do with it. I was given three options at the doctor's office…wait for baby to do its own thing which means it could be another week and baby will be even BIGGER, induce now and probably have a c-section anyway, or schedule the c-section and have a chance to put on lip gloss and style a foxy updo for the photos. We voted on the latter. So, the big day is this Saturday at 8 a.m. with a 6 a.m. arrival time at the hospital. This is also daddy-to-be’s birthday. He has chosen to share his birthday with his son or daughter, which I think is incredibly sweet! Also guarantees kool-aid AND champagne each September 10th. Tomorrow I will start my maternity leave and finish up a few details before my life changes FOREVER!!! Mixed feelings abound.

Victory Lap

Baby is due this Sunday (yes, that’s September 11th, as in 9/11 and I’m sure, dear readers, that you’re thinking to yourself “Gosh, I only gave money to the 9/11 disaster in NYC and she’s giving back a WHOLE PERSON!” Don’t beat yourself up about it.). I really, really want to deliver it soon...like right now. Yesterday would’ve been nice, too. I could've given Labor Day a whole new meaning to this little family of mine. I’ve been enduring the Braxton-Hicks contractions since Sunday and they’ve done nothing but wear me out. Being the trooper that I am (and can’t stand the thought of being left out of anything), I went to a midnight outdoor show on Sunday to see Guy Fantasy perform (he’s soooo foxy!!) and bounced around in a boat with my sister-in-law on Monday afternoon. Neither event took this labor thing to the next level. So now I’m waddling around even more now than ever and experiencing weird pains in scary places. Like when I get up to walk, I feel like I have been whacked with a baseball bat in the pelvic bone. One of my wonderful pregger girlfriends said that I'm producing relaxin which encourages the bones to become loose and separate. I thought it was an old football injury coming back to haunt me. All of this is a sign of progress, forward momentum and for that, I am grateful. I have another doctor visit tomorrow and if he says I am not making any progress, I'm going elsewhere for a second opinion.

A Trio Interpretation

The day Junebug decides to grace us with its presence, two other very important people will be assisting me in the delivery process. They are my husband (of course) and, Christi, my best friend since first grade. The other night, we all had dinner together to discuss any concerns about the delivery room dynamic (there were none - Go Team!). At the end of the meal, we each picked up and ate the little metallic paper wrapped mint that the waiter had left with the bill. I couldn't help but notice how each of us had discarded the wrappers. The top one is Christi's, the bottom left is hubby's and mine is on the bottom right.



As you can see from her meticulously folded version, Christi is in the best position to take care of all of my needs, concerns, and delusions in the delivery room. Hubby's seems to be a reflection of confusion and uncertainty (but present) and mine, well, you can see how I must be feeling.

The Pop-Up Timer Has Popped

I happened to notice today that I can see the bottom of my belly button. I don't mean underneath it, I mean the very core of it, a part that has been neatly packed away for the past 36 years. The button has inverted and revealed its virginal flesh. Mind you, it doesn't stick out like an extraneous body part (thank goodness) but barely protrudes revealing a place on my body I've never seen before. I would also like to mention that this is a clear indication that the baby oven is done cooking this little bird and would like it removed as soon as possible.


I am very round in front now, like I have stolen a fourth grader's dodge ball and swallowed it whole, air and all. It's disturbing. One redeeming quality of this compact design, however, is when a carload of guys go blazing past me and begin a sequence of cat calling and hooting from behind. It's only a matter of seconds until they are knocking each other out trying to stuff themselves back in their vehicle windows when they see I am a front loaded baby makin' machine. Such satisfaction!




A couple of weekends ago, hubby obliged me with a weekend at a nearby resort. I was craving a couple of days of sitting by a pool, watching a TV loaded with channels, having someone else to cook and clean for us as we embraced one of our few remaining childless times together. There is such a place close enough to town in case we needed to suddenly head to the hospital. Like many resorts around Austin, this place is a golfing destination, a haven of greens and bogies. It's a very coiffed location with very coiffed guests. Being the lo-fidelity, indifferent couple we have a tendency to be sometimes, we arrived at the valet station in a car so covered in tree sap you couldn't see out the windshield. Empty water bottles, CDs and newspapers carpeted the floor boards and a basket of dirty laundry filled to the brim was sitting in the backseat. We snickered to ourselves as we handed a guy the keys and scurried inside to check in. "Hey, Uncle Jed, which way to the cement pond?"

Mental Multitasking

I’ve been lying wide-awake in bed for the past hour. *Note: It’s 5 a.m. and we go to bed between midnight and 1 a.m. I’ve never been a morning person so I’m sure it’s Mother Nature’s way of preparing me for many sleepless nights to come. In my wakefulness, my mind races, ping ponging from one random scenario to another. Reminds me of being in a hotel room and the jerk next door turns on the TV at some ungodly hour. The volume is so loud, so intrusive; you can hear every word, every jingle. That’s my brain pre-daylight. Somebody call the front desk already.

As I try and get mentally comfortable, I wrestle with continual physical discomfort, the effect of months of sleeping on my left side. My limbs are taking on quite a bit of water weight now and I painfully drag my soggy parts to the loo a few hundred times throughout the night. My hands swell to the size of my doctor’s (he has huge hands, something I considered to be an asset until he started doing the cervical exams). I can barely bend them but can make an awesome sign language letter “C”. So, in the midst of my mental pre-dawn jibber-jabber, I was lying there thinking about how I would defend myself if someone broke into the apartment. My water-logged limbs are useless. Effective kicking and punching would be out of the question but I thought, “Hey, I could muster one hell of a slap with these giant hands of mine! They’re like water balloons on sticks. Just beat’em senseless, wear ‘em down with my frightful paws ‘til they’d beg for mercy." That's some quality programming in that head of mine, by the way.

So with that thought out of the way, I spent some time listening to the A/C click on, click off, click on, click off. Hubby, in the meantime, was snoozing contently, softly breathing, and I grew envious of his obvious comfort level. At some point though he started twitching his lower extremities like he was stepping on hot coals. He was probably dreaming of tiny Chihuahuas nipping at his ankles and feet again. He has this dream frequently. I think it has something to do with being from Laredo.

Of course, I spent most of my mental energy thinking about my baby who is due in 3 weeks! This month we go to the doctor’s office every Wednesday to monitor progress. Last week, doc claimed the child had a disturbingly large head and we might need to put a c-section on our radar. He even wrote in bold letters “large head” in two places on my chart. The c-section chapters are the ones I skipped in all of my baby books! I looked accusingly at my sweet husband who did have quite the cabeza when he came into this world and his mom had to have a c-section with him. “Tweety Bird,” I think he was called as a child. I missed that fine print somewhere. Thankfully, yesterday’s appointment revealed that Junebug isn’t unusually large in any way but having the baby sooner than later was highly recommended. I’m taking suggestions on how to get this delivery thing jump-started, by the way. He also told us that I’m 1/2 a centimeter dilated. Whoo-hoo! That’s about this…----…big. Not monumental but it’s a start. Finally, we’re finishing up this phase of this beloved endeavor.

Speaking of endeavors, did I tell you that an over-zealous army of drunken drag queens attacked our house one night and assaulted its exterior? See for yourself!!!



Can you scream “garish?” Yeah, so I agreed to a version of these tones but damn, don’t things look different when they’re life size? Hubby actually loves it and that’s enough to make me just fine with the cartoonish dwelling. I’m sure the neighbors have already phoned the neighborhood association though. What’s the prognosis on a date of completion? I never got a complete answer from my contractor yesterday, come to think of it. Internally, it’s still only walls and concrete. I’m guessing six weeks, maybe? Insert Serenity Prayer here.

More Than Cake

This past weekend, despite many little curve balls thrown by fate, my husband and I finally settled in to our new apartment. It’s not home but we’re cozy enough. Junebug and I made the transition easier with a two-cupcake-a-day habit. I made 24 of the little SpongeBob SquarePants paper cupped chocolate devils. I didn’t know a box of mix would yield so many! *Mental note for future PTA events. I did frost and deliver 8 of them to a good friend of mine who loves anything “cake.” Miriana is the cake princess of the planet and can be cajoled into any feat, task, project or dare with the promise of cake. She’s Bulgarian and to hear her squeal the word “cake” as if asking its whereabouts RIGHT THIS MINUTE is a gratifying pleasure. She’s also a very talented painter. Back in late December, before I knew I was preggers with Junebug, my husband and I were vacationing in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, by default (we were supposed to be in Rome but weather delays changed our plans for us). While I was drinking rivers of tequila, wine and more tequila, I fell in love with a painting at our little hotel. I tried to buy it off of the proprietors who ran the place and who claimed they bought it for a song – robbery of an artist, if you ask me, but they wouldn’t sell it. I photographed it and wandered in and out of the San Miguel galleries asking if anyone knew of the artist. I had no luck. All I had was the photo. Well, a couple of months ago, I asked Miriana, the Cake Princess, if she would be interested in trying to recreate the painting for me. She agreed to but we never really followed up on the notion (i.e., pregnancy, my seasonal job, contractor negotiations, etc., etc.). On Sunday with cupcakes in hand, I was presented with a 4 by 5 foot reproduction of the piece and it’s a truly stunning work of art. It’s breathtaking in size and beauty combined. It is a reflection of love, life, and family. Perfect for my new home, my new baby, and my new life with my husband. It is the icing on my cake. Thanks Miriana!