The Little Funky Monkey

A Stupid Post

2010-01-21T19:05:00.007-05:00

WB, the LFM and I just got back from visiting WB's family in Puerto Rico. It was a lovely time except for the fact that the LFM picked up a horrible word from a special feature on the Madagascar DVD and spent the entire vacation calling his grandmother stupid every chance he got. It was horrible. We tried explaining that this was a word we don't say, that it hurts people's feelings- no dice, he kept saying it. We tried replacing the word with another woprd- so every time he said stupid we'd respond, "oh, you mean sube." (the spanish word for up, pronounced soo-bay, which sounds almost exactly like his pronunciation of stupid), which only made things worse because then he would say "no! STUPID!", and over-enunciate the word stupid- just to make sure we were 100% clear as to what he was saying. Finally, we started ignoring it, which is the tactic we're currently employing, as he has brought this delightful behavior home with him. He's clearly doing it for attention, because when I don't respond to his use of the word, he gets really upset, to the point of screaming it. Still, it feels weird just ignoring it- it feels like bad parenting, like shouldn't I be addressing this somehow? Yet the more I address it, the more the behavior is repeated.

Boy, this parenting stuff ain't easy...and this is just the wee tiny head of a pin sized tip of the very large iceberg, I know.

There were some really cute moments to the visit as well. Lest you think the LFM is all boundary testing and no joy, I'm including some really cute videos I took on this trip.

This is the LFM singing and being adorable to avoid sleeping. It worked. he's charming, that one. There's no visual, because we were ostensibly going to sleep, hence the darkness. Just enjoy the music.

This is the LFM playing the drums with his Grandfather and Great Uncle in an impromptu party.

This is the LFM searching for lizzards (legartijo) in the back garden at his grandparents' house. It rained half the time we were there, but at least the puddles were fun for one little monkey to play in.

And lastly, this is the LFM rocking out at his grandparents' house. This kid LOVES to dance. And I personally love to watch him dance. He often shouts "Bailando, bailando!" (Spanish for I'm dancing, I'm dancing!) or "Shake your booty!" while he dances. The move about 3/4 of the way into it is awesome and I'm totally stealing it the next time that we (never) go dancing.

Happy New Year!

2010-01-02T01:22:00.001-05:00

The champagne has been drunk, the collard greens (in a white wine sauce with challots and garlic, mmmm) and black eyed peas (with creole seasoning) have been eaten to ensure good luck in the new year, and suddenly, in a very quiet and simple way the future is here. In more ways than one.

When I was little, the year 2000 seemed so unfothomable, and we were all sure we'd have individual rocket packs by 2010, at the very least. Well here we are, in the veritable future (as I post this on the INTERNET from my CELLULAR PHONE via a SATELLITE CONNECTION) and what wows me the most are the minute details of my own personal realized future. The one that looks nothing like what I'd imagined or planned, but fills me to overflowing with a sense of belonging and completion such as I'd never dared dream existed. The one where an ideal New Year's Eve is one where WB and I get a few precious hours of date time to ourselves and then are content to be in our cozy home, possibly dozing off while putting the LFM to bed (me- guilty as charged!), and then quietly ringing in the new year in our own beautiful way, leaving the champagne for new year's day and the firecrackers for, well, see above ringing in of new year.

If the way you usher in the new year sets the tone for the entire year (and I am indeed superstitious enough to believe so), then 2010 will be a sweet little year full of quiet surprise and blessing and oh so much love.

And the LFM will be very whiny.

Let's hope superstition only goes so far....

More Coffee and Cartwheels

2009-12-28T13:03:00.001-05:00

Cartwheels and Coffee Play Area

2009-12-28T13:02:00.001-05:00

Spanish!

2009-12-27T18:24:00.001-05:00

More video of the LFM, this time in Spanish!

Counting

2009-12-27T18:21:00.001-05:00

He can count to 10 in both English and Spanish but he doesn't like to perform for the camera so this was the best I could get.

Techno Fancypants Family

2009-12-27T15:39:00.001-05:00

So I've figured out how to post from my awesome new fancypants DROID phone (verizon's version of the iphone but with better cell phone service), which means I will probably start posting more frequently again, and my aunt in France will not have to abandon all hope of seeing current LFM photos (I'm a horrible neice, I know...). It also means the posts will be ostensibly shorter, so you will all be spared the excessive rambling I may have indulged in in the past. Then again...I am getting the hang of typing with my thumbs rather quickly on this miniscule keyboard. Rambling or not, I'm glad to be back. I missed you, you cute little blog, you.

Well rested Mama

2009-12-27T15:29:00.001-05:00

So we've started night weaning, which essentially means that for now, WB does all of the night time parenting and I, for the first time in over 2 years, get to sleep. Holy cow, batman! I never knew sleep could be so fantabulous! I feel like a completely different person! I'm actually nice! And sometimes funny! And can complete a full thought or maybe even two!

I had no idea I was in such dire sleep straights. Thank you, WB, you have saved us all. Your superhero status is now official. Also, I love you.

The LFM, luckily, does not seem to be showing any daytime stress or behavioral effects from this major change, and its been 3 nights now. We'll break open the champagne once I stop hiding in the guest bedroom and all still goes well.

Summer Loving and Loving Summer

2009-08-10T01:46:00.006-04:00

Whoever invented the camping tent, I love you. No, seriously, I LOVE YOU. You and Shenandoah National Park have saved my sanity and my relationship and probably my suddenly tantrum-prone toddler's life. This has been the summer of the mini-vacay, and we've been running away as many weekends as we possibly can. Somehow, even with all the work of setting up camp, cooking, cleaning, making sure the LFM doesn't attract bears when he throws his food all over the ground, etc, its still ultimately so incredibly peaceful at the end of the night sitting by the campfire with the man I love that its worth the rough car ride and the challenge of putting up a tent with a toddler strapped to my back. We get to speak to eachother in complete sentences! With no housework, no working from home, no to-do list looming over our heads! We are allowed to simply be. In a place where I feel the most whole, the most myself, the most connected and grounded and at peace. And of course the LFM loves getting to run around and see all the wildlife. Now whenever we see woods, he asks excitedly "bunny? bunny? bunny?". I am so passionately in love with these stolen weekends, with this us time. I feel like our little family is pure love in these moments.

The LFM and I have also been taken full advantage of the beautiful mild summer we've been having and trying our best to spend every possible second outside. Between playdates at various parks, the botanical gardens (where they have an awesome little water park for kids to play in), and mooching off of everyone else's pool memberships (the joining fees alone for most outdoor pools are astronomical!) we spend far more time away from home than we do at home. I think that's the way summer should be, don't you?

Once Upon a Time I Could Write Complete Sentences. Soon the LFM Will Be Speaking in Them.

2009-06-22T01:04:00.007-04:00

Once Upon a Time I used to write. In complete sentences. I had a blog that I updated religiously, not one that I neglected and only popped in on from time to time. And I can't really blame the LFM, because there are no less than 5 million other mommy bloggers out there who manage to write in complete coherent sentences...and many are even witty. Maybe its the pressure of the whole blog-as-baby-book thing...feeling like I must record everything, and so I just end up recording nothing.

Maybe I'm lazy.

I'm certainly exhausted.

Jonah is teething again...he's a very slow teether, so we get like 3 weeks of fussiness and then voila! Here's one measly little tooth. It seems so unfair. Its definitely unfair to my boobs and my sleep, but hey I'm sure its much rougher on him, so I shouldn't complain.

Here's the 10 second recap since I last wrote:

At age 15 months Jonah started walking. As with every development thus far, the lines are blurry and I can't pinpoint the precise moment he really began walking. So in the absence of the definitive, I like to say that its the weekend we went to visit his godmother, Chanteuse, in Maryland. I picked that weekend because he was walking a bit that weekend, and I like to think that Chanteuse is somehow tied to his destiny. When she was down for Mimi's funeral she said "wouldn't it be cool if he was born now while I'm here?" and of course, he was. So when we saw her in Maryland and she said "wouldn't it be cool if he started walking while I'm here?", well, we stretched things a bit to say he did. It makes for a cute story, at least.

WB's parents came for a visit from Puerto Rico. Jonah was in love with them, they were in love with Jonah, and I discovered that I can speak more Spanish than I thought. I also discovered that strep throat and family visits do not mix well.

Jonah is a super verbal child...sometimes I catch him just blabbering away in his car seat while we're driving, and its just the cutest thing I've ever heard. he has this sweet tiny little voice...almost too thin and tiny for his often boisterous ways. He's a bulldozer with his body as he crashes about, but he's a nightingale with his sweet little sing songy voice. Here is a partial list of the words he says now on a regular basis (partial list because its almost 1:30am and I'm exhausted and sure to forget half of them):
Mama
Papa
Na-na (night night- this is how he asks 5 million times a day to nurse)
Ca-ca (this is both cracker and canard, the french word for duck)
Pwa (poisson- the french word for fish)
Mono (the spanish word for monkey)
Hi
Bye bye
no (he currently LOVES this one)
Ah-Duh (all done)
Moo-ah (more)
Shah (this is both chien, the french word for dog, and chat, the french word for cat...the intonation is slightly different for each one)
Ha-bmm (Abu- short for abuelo and abuela, grandfather and grandmother in Spanish)
Shhhss (shoes or chaussures, the french word for shoes)
Pah (potty...american slang for toilet)
Pah-pee (Papy, what he calls my father)
Too-too (Choo-choo, what he calls a train)
Brum-brum (vroom vroom, what he calls a car)
Buh (bird)
Ah-buh (Arbol, tree in Spanish, or Arbre, tree in French)
Our genius boy can also correctly identify all facial features in French and most in Spanish and a few in English, and is learning more body parts in French as we speak.

Our genuis boy is also waking up and in dire need of a breast, so I'd better go oblige.

Moving Images are Far Better Than Incoherent Ramblings

2009-04-17T01:18:00.007-04:00

I'm way overdue for a new post, but its 1am, I just finished working from home at my office job, and I'm beyond pooped. I'd love to be able to sleep a teensy bit before the LFM begins waking up every 10 minutes to use my breasts as a pacifier. So I'll leave you with this...its much better anyway, right? Who wants to read about the LFM when you can see him? Mica, the awesome, gave us a flip (did I mention how awesome she is?) so hopefully you'll be seeing a lot more video in the future. Mica, my aunt in France (my only reader) now loves you forever and ever.

Self Love

2009-03-12T13:17:00.003-04:00

This morning's breakfast consisted of the LFM screeching like a banshee and flinging oatmeal and waffle pieces all over the room.
Ah, toddlerhood.

As I write this he is systematically emptying the kitchen cabinets and placing everything he can pick up and move into different cabinets, so that Mama can then blame Papa for putting everything away in the wrong place. But hey, if its not dangerous and he's having fun and it gives Mama just a few seconds of peace...right? Anything is worth a few seconds of peace.

In a totally unrelated vein, lately I've been feeling so very uncomfortable in my own skin. I'm much bigger than I've ever been in my entire life and I feel old, fat, ugly, boring, and definitely as far from centered as you can get. So rather than continually beat myself up about these things (and believe me, I can be quite cruel to myself) I've decided to do something about it. Here's my plan of self love:

1. I started a wonderful yoga class this past Tuesday..not Hatha yoga (the physical practice that most people think of when they think about yoga), but Raja yoga, which is more the spiritual side of things. This class specifically deals with the Yamas and Niyamas of the Yoga Sutras. This was a path I began while we were in New York, and something I've greatly missed since moving here. Tuesday was like a huge warm hug from the universe. I'm really excited about reembarking on this journey for myself.

2. I'm meeting with a good friend of mine tonight to start doing weight watchers, because I do need a regimented program and accountability in order to stick to this. Also, they're really good about nutrition and they give extra points to nursing Moms (which I most definitely still am). I think I'll really feel better about myself just to know I am doing something...I am actively trying to change my weight. Just writing that feels like a relief already. I'm getting out of the mindset that its impossible and too big to tackle.

3. I have an appointment for a haircut next Wed. Since I'm not ac4. ting at the moment, I'm going to take advantage of the fact that I can do any crazy thing I want to with my hair. I might cut it short and funky or I might get a purple streak put in. Who knows? But I always feel much prettier after getting a haircut, so I'm really looking forward to this.

4. I bought a dress. I haven't worn a dress since Jonah was born, because of the whole nursing thing. This is not only a dress I can nurse in, it also shows off the parts of my body that look good right now (boobs), and hides the parts that don't (everything else). While we definitely don't have an extra money lying around (we don't have enough room in the budget to get a pizza, much less a $25 dress), I think it is so very worth it. I already feel prettier. Something tells me I'm going to live in that dress the entire spring and summer!

So yay for self love...a little bit goes a long way, and it most definitely spills over to my family who reap the rewards of a new spring in my step and lightness of heart.

My Hodge Podge Post

2009-03-04T17:20:00.006-05:00

When you haven't written in such a long time, the pressure of writing a catch-up post becomes monumental...so much so that you end up procrastinating the catch-up post and the cycle keeps self perpetuating. So I'm just going to throw a bunch of stuff out there, in a completely random and uneloquent fashion just to get something on this blog and loosen the self-imposed pressure a little bit.

It snowed buckets and buckets in our little southern city, which means it snowed a completely reasonable amount for any northern city but we were completely paralyzed as the entire city shut down here. I think it was less than a foot, actually, but since there just isn't enough equipment to clear it, we were a bit stranded. Thankfully we live in the city, 2.5 blocks from the grocery store, so we made a trek through the "blizzard" to buy some essentials (and by essentials I mean hot sake) and I must say the LFM was completely nonplussed by the fact that everything in the vicinity was covered in white and the sky was suddenly full of falling white polka dots. You would have thought this was completely normal to him. He was all "Yeah yeah, falling white shit...how boring. But are there any dogs around? Now those are exciting!"

Which brings me to my next little tidbit...the LFM is now talking! He says about 4 words: Mama, Papa, chat (French for cat), and chien (French for dog). Chat and chien sound pretty much almost exactly alike, though he seems to know the specific animals they relate to. However every other animal he sees at all, be it in person or in pictures, is officially a chien. We pretty much pass each day with him pointing to every person he sees and saying "Papa!" and pointing to every animal and/or window and joyously calling out "chien? chien? chien?". The neighbors in the house behind us have a dog that often stands on the deck railing, so the LFM is constantly asking (and by asking I mean pointing and whining or shrieking) to be lifted up to look out of the window or have me open the back door so that he can perhaps catch a glimpse of this godly creature. He has serious chien worship. And Papa worship. Mama, however, she's just chopped liver.

Our sweet little baby is becoming quite the headstrong toddler. Meaning we love him dearly, but we don't always like him very much. Particularly when he's flinging his body on the floor and shrieking like a pterodactyl. I'm trying really hard to remember to let it go once each episode is over and not hold any residual frustration towards him, which in some instances can be a challenge. But toddlers exist in the moment and so our interactions with them need to be the same. I also try to always be sure I parent from the child's perspective and not the parent's perspective. This means I look at the fact that maybe the LFM is really frustrated by his limited ability to communicate instead of merely seeing that he keeps pointing at things and screaming maniacally.

I don't mean to sound like he's only a challenge, because that's not at all the way it is. In fact, I'd still say that he is an incredibly sweet and mild mannered child, and he's an absolute joy most of the time. I'm only being honest about the other times and admitting that parenting has become more challenging and complex. I'm sure this is just the tip of the iceberg, and I'm definitely sure that I'm not the first Mama to go through this...I know its all part of the glorious package of parenthood.

And now my sweet boy has just woken up from his nap, so this will have to suffice for now. At least I wrote something.

One Year Ago Today

2009-01-22T23:38:00.011-05:00

My sweet monkey,

One year ago today I woke up at 5:30am and knew that your journey from the dark ethereal comfort of the womb had begun.
One year ago today I began my own journey to say goodbye to my mother, your Mimi.
One year ago today I called the midwife, worried that I would have to miss my mother's funeral and wept as she assured me that Mimi was holding you in her arms and wouldn't let you go until the time was right.
One year ago today your father stood behind me in support and love and held my hand as I spoke at Mimi's funeral.
One year ago today the contractions were stronger in the car, and weaker during the hardest parts of the day. Thank you for that.
One year ago today my mother's sister, Tati Jo, stood in for my mother, anxiously holding my hand and simply asking every once in a while how I was doing, knowing in the way that only another mother that has traveled this path knows.
One year ago today in completely synchronicity my mother's body began its journey down into the arms of mother earth at the very same time you were making your journey into the arms of your mother.
One year ago today I drank wine and did polar bear exercises to slow the labor as friends and family gathered around in a protective loving circle, oblivious to the work you and I were doing.
One year ago tonight I celebrated my mother's life, knowing yours was about to begin in earnest.
One year ago tonight your father and I drove home with Maren Julia to our sweet little apartment, still decorated for the holidays with soft lights and a lovely coziness.
One year ago tonight I took a bath and tried to sleep in preparation for the hard work of your arrival, but that's when the contractions took off at warp speed and we were on the ride, you and I, whether we liked it or not.
One year ago tonight your father made a sweet safe cocoon of us, filled with yogic chants and shared breath, and so much love the room seemed the vibrate with it.
One year ago tonight I slow danced with your father, spiraling my hips to the ebb and flow of each seemingly endless contraction.
One year ago tonight in an endless night I was "working hard!".
One year ago tonight the midwife entered the room in a perceptible energy shift and a calm ocean descended over the room.
One year ago tonight I was 7 centimeters when the midwife checked me, and I was so proud that we had worked so hard and accomplished so much together, you and I!
One year ago tonight I stepped into the heavenly warm waters of the birthing tub and thought "there's no way any one's getting me out of here!"
One year ago tonight I had to have silence and journey so deep within my self in order to do the work I needed to do to birth you.
One year ago tonight I was so utterly focused, and all that existed in the world was the grand triumvirate of you, your father, and I, working together in common purpose.
One year ago tonight Maren Julia boiled water, Tati Jun Jun massaged my back (well, tried to at least...sorry Jun Jun.), and Doula Sara took pictures as Nancy the midwife guided us with love and such gentle nurturing, saying exactly the right thing at just the right moment.
One year ago tonight, whenever I opened my eyes and looked up, I saw a circle of women holding me up with their supportive energy. Whenever I looked within I saw such love and light, as it was only the three of us, so intertwined, so connected, moving and working together in complete wholeness.
One year ago tonight I fell even more impossibly deeply in love with your father.
One year ago tonight we protected each other as a family, even before we knew your huge brown eyes with their sweeping lashes.
One year ago tonight the waters broke and I cried out in great surprise (and maybe a little relief) "I'm pushing!"
One year ago tonight I withstood the ring of fire 4 times.
One year ago tonight in the wee early hours of the morning, with calm breath and while being held by the strong arms of your father, I pushed you out into the warm water, first your head and then the great slippery surprise of your body.
One year ago tonight you floated up out of the water and into my waiting arms as the midwife uttered the most beautiful phrase I've ever heard: "Reach down and pick up your baby!"
One year ago tonight I held you to my breast and cried tears of pure joy.
One year ago tonight, the greatest love story every written was begun, between you, your father, and I.

We love you, sweet Jonah Niquen. You are such light, such blessing in our lives.

Love,
Maman and Papa

Home

2008-11-28T23:50:00.003-05:00

I just found out that my family in France reads this blog to keep up to date with the comings and goings of our little funky monkey, and my poor aunt keeps checking in only to find that this blog has been woefully neglected time and time again. I'm hoping to be able to rectify this, and to post at least more frequently than once a month. I'm sure by now my aunt is the only reader left, considering the long blog silences.

Hopefully now we are entering what I'd like to refer to as the era of peace (and prosperity would be nice to, but I won't push my luck here) in our little life we're building here. We have finally bought the house, after a very frustrating month on pins and needles in which we were homeless (staying at my father's house) and being promised entry every day, only to find more red tape at the end of the day. Yes, internets, we are homeowners. We own a home. Excuse me while I go hide under the covers and quake with fear over what we have done. Yikes! Its terrifying and incredibly exciting all at once. And I don't even think its sunk in yet that we really own it. I'm sure it will sink in the first time something goes wrong and we have no landlords to call!

A day and a half after we closed we ran away to a tropical paradise. Yes, the trip to Puerto Rico had been planned for months, but it just sounds so romantic and jet setting to say that we ran away to a tropical paradise. And it was, in however much of a way it could be with the trip being all about visiting the in laws and such. (editor's note: no. WB and I have not secretly tied the knot or anything, I just refer to them as my in laws for lack of a better word) We had a lovely week, and my grisly fears of nitpicking critical in laws could not have been more off the mark. They were absolutely lovely, and welcomed us into their home with love and open arms. The LFM went directly to them with no hesitation, as if he saw them every weekend. I was astounded (and relieved) by how comfortable he was at their house. And they were in love with every move, every sound, every breath he took. He was so spoiled by the attention that when we got on the last flight home and no one was cooing over him he became hurt and distraught that no one was melting over his charms.

As for me, I enjoyed getting to know them without the shadow of grief and weight of new motherhood clouding the waters between us, and it was more the visit I would have liked to have had when they came for the LFM's birth. Timing really is everything, I suppose, and this time we finally got it right. It was nice to relax after so much stress of moving and closing on the house...to be somewhere without boxes waiting to be unpacked, forced to relax and enjoy ourselves. And the food...oh god, I can't believe I haven't mentioned the food yet! WB's mother is an excellent cook and the food was just to die for. My stomach just piped up in enthusiastic agreement at the mere writing of this. Mmmmmm.....pasteles, I'm dreaming of you....wait for me, oh delicous pasteles. I'll be back for you.

We came back last Saturday, to be greeted once again with a house completely full of a million boxes waiting to be unpacked...but its our house. Our crazy discombobulated house of boxes.

Our home.

First Halloween

2008-11-02T00:02:00.004-04:00

Here is our little stinky man on his first Halloween- no, we didn't dress him as a monkey, we went with whatever the local Goodwill had, and luckily it was a freakin adorable skunk costume! We went with Uncle Noah, Chelsea, and met up with Mim and Chuck and checked out the Halloween craziness on a local street in the artsy neighborhood that is renowned for their Halloween festivities. The street was blocked off, there were hundreds of people milling about and some of the houses were spectacularly done up...they were costumes in and of themselves. Jonah had a great time, although he was a little intimidated by all the people and costumes. People stopped us about every 2 feet to tell us how adorable he was, and WB and I were probably glowing we were beaming with such pride at our sweet stinker. After making the full tour, we went back to Mim and Chuck's for pizza. It was just the perfect speed for us on our first Halloween, and Jonah even met and flirted with a fellow skunk! (although everyone agreed he was the cutest by far)

His new nickname is now Pepe. As in the famous skunk. He seems to love it a lot.

On a side note, I'm exhausted and fried. We're still waiting to be able to close on the new house, although we were able to move all of our furniture in last weekend. The builders seem to be either grossly inept, or they're totally blowing smoke up our asses. It might very well be a combination of both, but I'm at the end of my rope. We're homeless, staying at my Dad's house, and the poor LFM has been so freaked out by these major changes that its like having a newborn again- he only wants to be in my arms and except when he's on playdates or at Mim and Chuck's house, he hasn't been letting me put him down. I think the tide is turning though, and he's starting to adjust to his new surroundings...unfortunately he'll be uprooted again when we move, and then again when we go to Puerto Rico in a couple of weeks. Poor little monkey! Mama's feeling pretty lost too. (not to mention stressed beyond belief) Keep your fingers crossed that we can move in soon...this limbo-land is not for me.

By Way of An Explanation

2008-10-13T14:30:00.002-04:00

I kind of neglected to mention this gigantically huge major life changing event that has kind of taken over our lives for the past few months...no, its not another baby, not yet, but we are giving birth in a way...to a new house. We signed a contract on the house when it was barely a shell and some architect's plans, oh it seems like 7 years ago now, though I believe it was probably in June or the beginning of July maybe? And after several months of a lot of running around like headless chickens for the mortgage people, and picking out all the various features in the house like flooring and lighting and bathroom fixtures (and mind you I am making this sound far less stressful than it actually has been), we are finally approaching the end of the tunnel, and we're set to close on the 24th. Yes, as in less than 2 weeks away. I think I just had a mini heart attack while typing that. Please don't ask how much packing we still have left to do, or I just might cry. Its not fair to make a heart attack victim cry.

I'm hoping that after we finally get settled in, we get to relax a little and that's it with the huge major life events...I think we're ready for a break after 2.5 years of relentless stress and change. Of course I fully realize that the Universe is now laughing hysterically at me for having the gall to write that and fate has now been duly tempted. But maybe, just maybe, we can settle in, breathe, and just enjoy being for a little while.

The new house (I totally think she needs to be named) is an eco-friendly house with a live roof (if you click on the 2nd picture of the rear of the house you can kind of see a hint of it), which means we have plants growing on our roof insulating the house like 50% more. Yes, we will have to mow our roof like once a year. We have a tankless hot water heater, low water consumption toilets, energy efficient fixtures, bamboo flooring, concrete and recycled glass counters, recycled glass shower tiles, and other stuff that I'm probably forgetting. The point is, its a house that meshes with our values and will be easier on the pocketbook in terms of utilities too. Plus its in the city, within walking distance of a number of things (still being a New Yorker at heart, this was incredibly important to me), although it is strange that I will be living about 5 blocks from the apartment where I lived through most of college. The neighborhood is transitional, so I think its a really good investment, and hey, considering we almost put all of Mimi's money (which is how we're buying a house in the first place) in the stock market...its an excellent investment.

Now I just have to survive trying to move with a very curious, very mischevious baby!

Dental Overachiever

2008-08-22T15:58:00.004-04:00

Err, upon further examination, make that now TWO teeth coming in. TWO! No wonder things have been a little wonky here in Funkymonkeyland. The LFM has been stuck to me like sushi on rice. And if course all this coincides with my first postpartum foray back into theatre, so WB's been doing a bang up job of holding the fort down the 3 nights a week that I have rehearsal. And me? Well I've been discovering that I just may be able to hold a conversation not involving poop. I think there is indeed a person within the Mama, and its been really nice rediscovering her.

Wow, I'm still in shock...my little boy now has TWO teeth!

Rite of Passage

2008-08-20T23:48:00.005-04:00

As of 2 days ago, the LFM is getting his first tooth. Its just barely breaking through and we can't really see it very well, but wow can we feel it! I asked WB to write a post about it and he replied that his post would simply say "Its sharp!". And that it is.

My little baby is growing up so fast. I guess now he's got an excuse for being a bit difficult in the past week or so. Maybe we won't give him away or leave him in the next parking lot we have to stop and nurse in because he's throwing a major fit...again. Maybe.

Please pray for my poor nipples, now that he's sprouting razorblades.

Letter to My Big Boy 6 Month Old at 6.5 Months, Because That's Just How Disorganized Life Is These Days

2008-08-11T13:11:00.005-04:00

My Dear Little Funky Monkey,

You have now completed over half of your first year out of Mama's womb. You are all growed up. You're my big boy now, and Papa and I are even talking about leaving you with Tio and Tia for a few hours and going out on a real date...like with just grownups involved and the ability to eat an entire meal without interruption. We also talk about leaving and running away to Peru for an undisclosed amount of time, but that's only in the more challenging moments, and while the frequency of those moments is definitely increasing I'd say you're pretty safe...for now at least.

I think these new personality traits are asserting themselves (that's the nice way of saying you're cute but sometimes you can really be douchey- your Papa and I are totally going to make a onesie that says that too...and all the parents will smile knowingly and the childless people will think we are heartless assholes) mostly because you are not taking small steps of development, but rather giant leaps for all babykind. You are now so close to crawling that I think I peed my pants a little just for writing that statement just now. You can inchworm crawl pretty darn fast, especially if there's something you want to get to to put in your mouth or bang your head into, and you love to get up on your hands and knees and rock back and forth as if you're gearing up and gaining momentum to take off like a rocket. One of these days I know you will. That will also be the day I have my first of many heart attacks. Despite the desperate fear that churns in the pit of my stomach when I think of your impending mobility, I am insanely proud of you. You are doing some of the same things your friends who are 2 months older than you are doing, and while a little ways down the road I may not write that phrase with such glee, for now I am relishing how advanced and brilliant you are proving yourself to be.

An unfortunate byproduct of your new found skills is that you are now the squirmiest creature to have ever been discovered on this planet. Not only are you obsessed with crawling to the point that you practice it in your sleep (to the detriment of Mama's sleep, of course) and want only to be on the floor, even if that floor is covered in hazmat materials and shards of broken glass, but you are also obsessed with standing. You want us to help you stand at all times, stubbornly pushing up when we try to work on your sitting skills. The pediatrician even commented that perhaps you were standing too much and this was negatively affecting your ability to develop your sitting skills. And it probably is, but you are so bound and determined to stand at all times that I have now resigned myself to the notion that you will probably be the freaky kid at prom, all slumped over and unable to sit upright in a chair. You will, however, have mad standing skills, so that may just win the ladies (or the guys...we are open minded parents here) over nonetheless.

You are also eating solids like a champ, always eager to try whatever new foods Mama can make for you, and so far peas have been the only thing you haven't liked. But boy, the face you made with the peas and the accompanying shriek...you are anything but subtle, my son. I have to confess, though, that weird new taste that seems like apples with a certain ju ne sais quoi? That je ne sais quoi...yup, its the peas. Mama's learning to be tricky like that. Hey, we're on a super tight budget around here...I'm not wasting all those peas! So far you've had sweet potato (your fave, and Mama's too), bananas, applesauce, summer squash, butternut squash, carrots, pears, peas, and rice cereal. All made by Mama with organic fruits and veggies except for the pears and the rice cereal, but those were organic too. The next new foods that are all ready to be introduced are avocado and green beans. And this solid foods thing? Totally fun. I love watching you enjoy eating like a big boy (and you do love it- you cry when you see us eating with a spoon and you're not), experimenting with new tastes, and for the first time gaining weight at a good clip.

However, there is one issue we need to discuss, my sweet boy...the poop. Oh god help us all, THE POOP!! The poop is insane! I know what went into that baby food...I made it...but still, I have my suspicion that someone must have slipped something truly rank and vile in when I wasn't looking because what in heaven's name could possibly produce such a stink? And you, who has never been a copious pooper before (you usually were a twice a week pooper at best), have suddenly become the overachiever of poopers, supplying us with enough of the stinky stuff to fertilize the entire nation of Lichtenstein. Did you not get the memo that its supposed to be the other way around? Most babies poop profusely in early infancy and become more constipated with the introduction of solids. But you had to be an original, didn't you? Even as I type this, I hear you grunting away, and am paralyzed with anticipatory fear.

I never thought one could write so much (and talk so much) about poop. Is this really what I've become?

But you, my sweet monkey, what you have become is this extraordinary little person, with your own little personality asserting itself more and more each day. You have the most wondrous smile that can charm even the most stoic and cold people, and when you are happy your little feet and legs start kicking all over the place and you shriek this high pitched little shriek of joy. You love to fake cough, and crack up when I do it back to you, and peek-a-boo is one of your favorite new games. You are curious about everything and that insatiable curiosity combined with your increasing mobility spells certain trouble for us. You love to splash, having spent a weekend playing in the river with your Godmother and Aunt, Chanteuse. In fact you now try to make every surface splash, slapping the floor, your father and I, whatever you can reach. You have also become so very talkative (which is not adorable at 1am, just for the record), saying different combinations of ma, ba, da, ga, and la in this teeny voice that just cracks me up every time because it just doesn't seem to me like it fits with your bulldozer bruiser physicality. You are becoming a much more independent monkey- you're actually on the floor, playing so independently right now, and telling your little turtle Paddles (WB named him) something very important...its a joy to watch you exploring the world around you. And yet there's a teeny part of me that already misses my little baby, who is quickly being replaced by this fearless boy who is now conquering his world inch by inch. You are growing up so fast and furiously that I really treasure the moments that you want to be in my arms, nursing and being nurtured. I hope there's always that little side to you that always wants and needs to be mothered, despite your incredible achievements.

I love you, my sweet little funky, curious, brilliant, obstinate, sweet, and right now very stinky monkey. Let's go brave this diaper situation together.

Love,
Maman

We'rew Crackin Up Around Here...In More Ways Than One

2008-07-02T12:51:00.004-04:00

The latest pictures from the super talented and super awesome Meghan McSweeney

I don't know how other Moms keep up with their blogs. As a matter of fact, I don't know how other Moms keep up with anything at all. I feel like if I've either a) showered b) made something vaguely resembling a meal or c) clipped the LFM's super bionic fingernails that grow like a chia pet on steroids then I've really accomplished an amazing feat for the day. Before having a baby, I thought that I would have so much extra time, being a stay at home Mom, that my home would be sparklingly pristine and all of my meals gourmet. With fancy folded napkins. Maybe even cloth napkins. Fast forward to the present, where if any part of my home sparkles its probably because something was spilled there once upon a time and its better that no questions are asked. My definition of gourmet meal has expanded to include haphazardly thrown together quesadillas filled with all sorts of mysteries from the fridge and if we were to even attempt cloth napkins, we'd probably end up using somewhat questionable cloth diapers while waiting for the original napkins to be washed at some unspecified future date and time. I may be exaggerating a bit, then again, I may not be...it all depends on how deep our friendship goes and how much you're willing to forgive. The point is that when given 20 minutes of nap time at a stretch and the choice between scooping cat litter and blogging, the cat litter usually wins, even if the blog smells so much sweeter.

The LFM is now over 5 months old, and despite all efforts to slow down time and simply enjoy the present moment (at the expense of productivity and cleanliness) I can't help feeling like father time is robbing me blind- sneaking in the back door while I'm distracted by a poopie diaper or an adorable coo and cleaning the place out. How could my sweet little monkey already be 5 months old? If I wake up tomorrow and he's off to college, I'm gonna be super pissed. I mean it. And that feels entirely possible at this point- our sweet boy is growing up and developing just that fast.

He now rolls over both ways, sometimes spinning faster than a whirling dervish on crack, and can now roll across the bed or floor by executing consecutive rolls in the same direction. I'm trying to teach him how to roll into the kitchen and fix Mama a sandwich, but so far he just laughs at that idea. As a matter of fact, he laughs at pretty much anything and everything these days, and we've spent up to a half hour just laughing back and forth at each other. Its utterly adorable. The Little Funky Monkey can also scoot across the floor or bed on his back, though luckily he is less adept on his stomach...for now [insert ominous music here]. He has so much of an awareness of the world around him, and his favorite toys by far are those two freaks and weirdos he lives with who make all sorts of ridiculous faces, songs, and dances to amuse him. He also still loves his play mat and we just picked up this used exersaucer from craigslist...jackpot! I call it heaven in plastic. Not only does he go apeshit for this toy, but this little gem let me sweep the kitchen and the bathroom today. Not that I enjoy housework, on the contrary sweeping is about as fun as file folder paper cuts, but the dust bunnies were demanding dinner too, and they don't eat quesadillas. So thank you, dear exersaucer people, you've made my son scream with delight and you've made walking through my kitchen a possible feat once again.

He is also becoming such a Daddy's boy, though the true test is about to be undertaken. I'm doing a little one performance short play, and have rehearsals for 3 hours every night next week. I'm actually more worried about my milk supply suffering than I am of the LFM suffering; WB is a great father and I think they'll so just fine. Me, on the other hand...I'll be the one shaking from withdrawal, certain that my baby is being eaten alive by hungry dust bunnies while I become the Sahara desert of breast milk. But I will be a Sahara desert doing what she loves, and that's important too. I'll just be surgically attached to the pump the other 21 hours of the day and breast milk will be fine.

I hope.

The LFM is giving me the best little smile and laugh right now, so if you'll excuse me, I think we have a crack up party in the making.

A Word About Fathers

2008-06-16T23:40:00.003-04:00

I wanted to talk about WB's first Father's Day, which was just lovely. We had a wonderful afternoon driving through the country and going for a wine tasting at a local winery. It was sweet and romantic and we had a great time. But I don't want to write about that, I want to write about fathers. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Well, ok, the good and the bad.

I've been having a very difficult time with my father lately. And by difficult I mean he reduces me to tears at least twice a week. And by tears I mean big huge messy bouts of sobbing. (Maybe this is where the ugly comes in?) He's been spending every weekend with his new girlfriend- the girlfriend that he started dating a mere month after my mother died. My mother that he was married to for almost 39 years. He barely waited for rigor mortis to set in. Needless to say I had a bit of a hard time listening to him tell me how he was in love with her, so I asked him to please respect my grief and not talk to me about her. After the 5th request (and at the behest of numerous friends and WB) he complied. Since then things have been strained, to say the least. He doesn't really want to talk at all if he can't talk about her, and I'm sure the only reason he sees us is to see the LFM.

50% of my immediate family have died, and the ones left standing when the smoke cleared were the ones who always clashed the most. He is all I have left of my original family, and yeah, I know I'm creating a new family...but that doesn't just automatically replace the need for the old one, you know?

So this has all come to a head with several recent conversations. The other week, when I told him I needed a Dad, he said he was perfectly willing to be there for me, as long as it was a weekday. When I asked if maybe he could take just one weekend away from his girlfriend..one weekend for us, for his grandson..he said no, he didn't want to. We could see him any time on the weekdays and on the weekends if we want his girlfriend to be a part of things as well. That was hurtful. He was essentially telling me that he places this new woman above his only living child, above his grandchild. WB was so horrified upon hearing my father say these things that he had to walk away, lest he blurt out exactly what he was thinking.

But that conversation seems like the sweetest sonnet in comparison to the cruelty that was tonight's conversation. A conversation in which I mostly sobbed and asked "why are you treating me like this? why are you speaking to me like this? Please stop yelling at me!" while he ranted at me for 20 minutes. The conversation began innocuously...we were talking about the house hunting that WB and I are about to embark on. Then he starts in on how we don't really want his advice (live in the county, not the city...which would probably make us fairly miserable) and how we should just do whatever the hell we wanted. I was trying to discuss the pros and cons of both options, trying to have a discussion about this major life decision and he starts yelling at me about how tired he is of hearing me talk things to death and how I should just go buy a house and not think about it so much. That I think things to death and just go do it and shut up about it. How he doesn't want to hear about it, just take Mimi's money and have fun with it and stop acting like everything is the end of the world.

At which point I try to tell him that I want to share these things with him because he's my family, and I always talked everything through with my mother. But he doesn't want to hear that. He's begun this tirade, and the momentum is clearly overpowering him. He starts yelling at me about how I'm 32 years old, and how at 32 he didn't call his dad and ask him for advice or want to talk things over with him. Evidently in his world there is an age limit to being someone's child...and expiration date on fatherhood. He continued onward to tell me that he doesn't want to hear about my feelings, because he doesn't really care how I feel, and he's tired of me being so down about everything (yes, he actually said this). I, of course, was crying this whole time, and trying desperately to understand where all this was coming from. I told him that I just needed him to be my dad, to love and support me, and that wasn't a ridiculous thing to ask for, even at 32. He asked what that means, to support someone, and said that if it means listening to me complain he wasn't willing to do it. He told me that he wants me to call him, tell him one or two little unimportant things about my life and hang up. That's it. No talk about feelings, no talk about anything. That I should talk to WB about how I feel, but not him, he doesn't want to hear it. He said he would never be the father I wanted him to be, so I should just get used to it. He mocked me when I asked him why he was speaking to me like this, and that I didn't deserve it, actually repeating it back to me in a mocking voice...like a little child does.

This is a man who has already lost one child to suicide, you'd think he'd be a little more sensitive to a daughter who's going through a pretty bad depression. But no, he was anything but sensitive as he literally yelled over everything I tried to say. It was amazing, really, and horribly hurtful. And it was completely out of the blue, we were just talking about houses. And I'm not even asking him for help with any of this (though we totally need help), I was just telling him what the mortgage people said and going over possibilities with him. When the conversation went downhill he still kept bringing up the house stuff, saying I should just take the money and buy a house and have fun with it, and I kept saying this isn't about buying a house, Dad, this is about us.

He's my only family left, and he was cruel to me. I would classify that horrible conversation as cruel...it doesn't read that way, but picture me sobbing while he yelled all those things at me, unprovoked, and maybe you'll get more of an idea. Then multiply it by 1000.

All this has made me so very thankful for WB, and the wonderful father that he is. Not only would the LFM never have to even say "I need you", if he ever did the request would be met immediately with a flood of love and support and never with derision. I am thankful that this is all unfathomable to WB, because I know and trust that our children will never, at any age, feel abandoned by their parents.

It also made me fantasize about skipping town with no forwarding address. Seriously.

my cup runneth over

2008-06-11T12:02:00.005-04:00

i'm sitting here typing one handed because i'm holding the world's most adorable sleeping baby in my arms...i can't put him down, he's too sweet like this, and i know these moments are limited and will be gone in the blink of an eye so i must put aside all other things and just enjoy sharing this time with him. the smell of his head, the feel of his little baby arms around me, the little sighs and baby snores...these are the things i want to capture in words on this blog so that i never forget them, and its precisely these sweet moments that can never be encapsulated by something like letters and punctuation. these moments can only exist in the heart, and right now mine feels overflowing with blessing.

Start Spreading the News

2008-06-03T23:13:00.004-04:00

At Uncle Nick's in the old hood

With Auntie Monkey

And Aunt Mica

With Daddy and Aunt Shea

At Vinyl, yet again hanging on 9th ave in the old hood

Flying with Uncle David in Balsley Park

My Two Loves

With Uncle Artsy Hotpants

Like the truly insane people we seem to have become (three cheers for sleep deprivation) on Memorial Day weekend we packed up the 'ol hybrid and set forth on an epic journey northward, to the place where it all began...New York City. This was the LFM's first trip outside of the womb, and our first family trip since we moved last August. Ummm, New York, we didn't really mean to leave...I mean, when we said we needed space, we just meant temporarily. We didn't want to break up or anything. Sure, we're living with Richmond now, but that doesn't mean anything...you're the one we love, we swear. No one knows us like you do...no one brings out our very best selves like you do. No one does restaurants and pizza like you do. And no one titillates our creative senses like you do. New York, we desperately want to get back together, one day, if we can ever afford it. We're still madly in love with you, and we probably always will be. We haven't discussed it or anything, but I think we both still fantasize about you. And going back? Just made our hearts break all over again.

PPD

2008-05-22T19:52:00.004-04:00

I have a post in the works about mother's day, but who knows when it will be completed. Instead I'm living (and posting) in the moment. And the moment is and has been pretty tough lately. I've been dealing with some very heavy post partum depression mixed with a liberal dose of grief and that's just not my favorite recipe in the world. I'm feeling pretty fragile these days...like cracked pottery that just might break into a million fragments the next time you put it in the dishwasher of life. I didn't even fully realize how hard its been and the extent of what I've been feeling until I went to see our wonderful wise midwife the other day and my busy bee facade of I'm handling it just crumbled before her gentle loving gaze. The truth is I'm a mess. A huge weepy overwhelmed mess. And now I'm putting my mess out there for all the world to see. I am not handling things well, and I pretty much want to hide under the covers and cry all the time. But I can't. The LFM needs me, WB needs me, the laundry...well, never mind, at this point the apartment is one giant metaphor for my emotional state. Hopeless.

And amidst all of this, my father (and everyone else really) is pressuring me to take advantage of the real estate market and buy a house with Mimi's death money as a substantial down payment. Because you know, when I'm overwhelmed and sobbing from little things like making dinner or getting the car inspected, that's the perfect time to make major life decisions, right?

Speedracer on the Developmental Racetrack

2008-05-05T12:02:00.006-04:00

The LFM and his Papy Putting in a Busy Day at the Office

Look at those Awesome Dimples!

No, I'm not Trying to Show Off my Impressive Ability to Create Large Piles of Mess Everywhere I go...This Here is Evidence of the LFM's Brilliance...the First Roll

I've been trying to write this post for a week...literally. Yeah, if this is our poor monkey's version of a baby book, he seems to be getting the cheap ghetto Dollar Store version. We'll give it to him for his 20th birthday along with a gift certificate for a mullet trim and a gigantic bag of cheetos...because we're just that classy.

The monumental news around these parts (which now seems like old hat thanks to my blogging laziness- the date on the post is really a lie, contrived to make me seem like a better Mama than I really am) is that on Sunday May 4th 2008 the LFM rolled over from his back to his stomach! [insert crowd cheers and tickertape parade here] At 3 months! This is not normally achieved until 4-6 months old. Harvard here we come! I knew the boy was brilliant!

Except he has not stopped rolling ever since. Even in his sleep. All he wants to do is roll (he has yet to discover the rock part of the equation). This wouldn't be so much of a problem except that our little precocious monkey has yet to master rolling from his stomach to his back. And he hates-nay, loathes- being on his stomach. The scenario runs like this: the LFM, looking all cute and pleased with himself rolls over with such grace and poise you'd think he was auditioning for the US Olympic Baby Rolling Team. He looks up for the grand finish and flashes a smile that puts Mary Lou Rhetton to shame. He then looks around, realizes that he's indeed on his stomach, and immediately panics that he will never again be able to get back onto his back. He yells until I come and roll him back over. Rinse and Repeat. 12 million times a day. The fun never ends. Ever.

So our Little Funky Monkey is now rolling over and reaching for, grabbing and holding toys. All quite early in the game. He also scoots when on his back and makes crawling motions when on his stomach. Umm, hello? Crawling motions? Maybe being precocious isn't so great after all..I was hoping he'd start crawling when he's about 18. Years. Not Months. Can't he crawl to class at Harvard?

Grabbing at Our Hearts

2008-04-30T22:16:00.005-04:00

The LFM just reached for his froggie toy and grabbed it and played with it! Like a big boy baby not a newborn baby. Wow, he's growing up so fast, next year he'll be off to college. It seems like just yesterday he was destined to go on his first date with a wobbly head while projectile spitting up and now he's sitting on his Daddy's chest playing with a toy. A toy that he reached for and grabbed with his hands. What a talented boy we have! He's also laughing these days and scooting around when he's on his back- he'll start off on his play mat in one position and turn himself 180 degrees just by scooting. He doesn't move so much when he's on his tummy though, so clearly he's destined to crabwalk and then moonwalk instead of crawl and then walk. That's cool with us unless he starts getting skin lightening treatments and plastic surgery..I love his nose too much for him to change it.

The LFM Supports the Arts, Do You?

2008-04-26T00:43:00.009-04:00

At his first Passover seder. dressed up as one of the plagues in his froggie shortsuit.

Attempting the Four Questions in hebrew?

With his adoptive Grandmother Mim

Showing his bad ass nature in his Kiss onesie with Aunt Mica

At our birthing class reunion class (although the Mamas and Babies have gotten together every week since the babies were born), The LFM is about 2 months younger than all the other boys, and clearly unfazed by the gravitational challenges he seems to be facing.

Chillin with his peeps

Sorry I haven't updated in a while...grief has really been kicking my ass lately, and I just haven't felt up to it at all. Emotional turmoil should make me want to write to express those feelings, but no, really it just makes me want to eat doughnuts. Lots and lots of doughnuts. Which is not good when you already feel depressed about how fat you are. Its also not good when its Passover and you can't eat doughnuts. Damn you, Passover. Pass the chocolate, please.

The LFM has been busy supporting the arts, even at such a young age. He went to his first art show last Friday at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts Studio School to check out the awesome work that Charles Benoit's students had done. Then tonight, the LFM went to see his first play ever! At only 3 months of age, our little monkey not only attended the opening of Peter Pan, but he also attended the opening night reception afterwards. What a crazy party monkey he is. He seemed to really enjoy the play and made it through the first two acts before finally falling asleep during Act III. I'm not entirely sure if he was fascinated by the play or by the back of Holly's head, but either way he was quiet and his parents enjoyed the play and well, now we can boast that he saw his first play at 3 months old. Saw is a relative term right? Hey. we gotta boast about something besides his ability to projectile vomit all over his Mama. Next week is Chuck's art opening, which he's greatly looking forward to. Chuck is The LFM's favorite artist, mostly because of his smiley silly faces, but hey we all get fans however we can...what matters is the love, man. That and projectile vomiting. Its an underrated skill.

It was both nice and weird to be out and about tonight. Weird identity issues cont...episode 3 thousand. I do feel like my conversation skills don't really extend beyond poop these days, and aside from the other Mamas in my playgroup I have a really hard time speaking to people for more than about 2 minutes. I just don't have all that much to talk about besides the LFM, and while he's absolutely fascinating to us, I'm not sure everyone cares to hear about how unbelievably fast his fingernails and toenails grow (its unreal...you clip them and 5 seconds later they need to be clipped again, which is a feat akin to open heart surgery). Then again, I'm speaking to the wrong crowd here...presumably you are interested in how fast his nails grow, otherwise why would you even bother to read my ramblings? Oh yeah, its all about seeing the cute pics, isn't it?

A Bit of Honesty

2008-04-09T11:24:00.003-04:00

Its the middle of the night, the LFM is sleeping soundly, WB is snoring away in the next room and its ideal sleeping situation for me...but I can't sleep. The injustice of what I just typed is overwhelming. So instead, I will enjoy the freedom of typing with two hands, and delve into a little bit of new motherhood honesty.

I'm having a bit of an identity crisis these days. I can't seem to find or recognize myself at all. I know its completely normal..I mean, hell, any number of the major life changes of the past 9 months alone would probably cause an identity crisis of sorts, much less all at once. But here you have it- at moments I feel utterly lost, to myself especially. I know who I am as the LFM's mother, as WB's partner...but who am I now as a person, in addition to those things? Right now I just feel lost. Lost and incredibly boring. I used to be interesting and funny with a quirky edge, and now I am just fat, tired, and incredibly boring.

One thing that may be a difficult factor is that I'm not acting or pursuing acting at the moment, and that's always defined so much of who I am. I feel disconnected from the theatre community here these days, and considering I just left the LFM alone with WB for the first time ever last Saturday, it may be a while before I can even think about doing a show here. I received a phone call yesterday from a casting director in New York, whom I had taken a commercial acting class with several years ago (and who had called me in for a national spot shortly after the class had finished because he liked my work). He was calling to ask me to come in to audition for a commercial, and I had to tell him that I was not currently living in the city. So he asked if I was gone permanently, and I had no idea how to answer that one (especially to a casting director), so I explained that for the moment I was gone because I just had a baby. He congratulated me and said "If you get back in the game, let me know". Ouch! I know I'm no longer in the game, but to hear it spoken out loud crushed a little something in my soul. I'm no longer in the game!

Okay, so then where am I? Where do I even want to be? I've been pining for New York a lot lately, but is that where I really want to be with a child? Or am I pining just a little bit for the life that was?

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be a mother, I adore motherhood, and I love the LFM with a fierceness I never knew was possible. I would not trade motherhood for all the national spots in the world and I knew the moment I saw that little plus sign that the world was going to be a very different place for me. Its just that I'm still not sure what that place is for me and where I fit in with regards to this new world and the remnants of the old world. WB best summed it up tonight at dinner when he said that between cancer and the move from NYC and death and birth and postpartum difficulties, its like we were picked up by this gigantic tornado and torn from everything we knew and transplanted into an entirely new terrain and we're still standing there dizzy and reeling and asking "What the fuck just happened?".

I'm also realizing that I do get a little bit lonely during the day, even though I try to leave the house at least for a little bit every day. Sometimes the interaction with the cashier at the store just isn't quite enough, and while I do love conversing with the LFM all day, his grasp of sarcasm still leaves something to be desired. Yet somehow our days seem so full that to fit in a little extra socializing seems difficult. How can this be? And why is it that the days seem so much easier when we are out and about all day than when we are just at home most of the day?

I know these are all normal new mama feelings that everyone goes through, yet I somehow feel so pathetic for feeling them. That and the fact that I am by far the fattest I've ever been in my life (all those comfort sweets in this difficult postpartum period have not helped, I'm sure) are just plain depressing.

And then I look over at the bed to my sweet boy and everything softens. None of this is permanent. I just keep telling myself that. These are the growing pains of life, and I will find my way again. This is just one of many moments...and I should be enjoying them.

Actually, what I should be doing is sleeping. Grrrrr.....

Living In These Glorious Moments

2008-04-07T11:09:00.006-04:00

The LFM Masquerading as a Penguin

Sitting on the Bench in the Children's Section of the Botanical Gardens That is Dedicated to Mimi, my Brother, and my Grandmother, With My Mother's Oldest Friend, the LFM's MamyOuich

The View From the Bench...Right by a Monkey Statue!

Today is going to be one of those slow days in which very little gets done besides feeding. The LFM is taking forever to finish his breakfast...starting and stopping and dozing. I'm trying to learn to let go and just enjoy these moments. So what that the house is a mess and I have a to-do list? Isn't nurturing and loving my baby always on the top of that list? So I say fuck it, and I cuddle and coo and love and nurse and at the end of the day I may not be able to say I crossed a lot off my list, but I will always be able to say I accomplished a lot. Its just a matter of reorganizing my thinking...one of the millions of little adjustments into motherhood. The LFM makes me live more in the moment than I ever have, and that's such a gift to me.

My favorite time of day is morning. We have these lazy mornings, where we take our time waking up. I usually wake up just a few minutes before the LFM, with enough time to go to the bathroom and come back just in time for him to start opening his eyes. That's when the magic begins. When he sees me its like the most miraculous thing in the world has occurred to him...that lady, the one with the boobs and the smiles, she's here!! Never mind that he's been cuddling with me all night, nestled against the security of my warm body, nursing on and off through the night...its still as if he isn't quite sure what he'll find when he opens his eyes and he thinks he's hit the jackpot yet again when I'm there. I can't describe to you how wonderful that feeling is. I must be doing something right to be greeted that way each morning.

From there we spend a lazy 15 or 20 minutes just hanging out and talking and smiling. The LFM is becoming more and more talkative every day, though whether he coos in English, Spanish, or French we have no idea. He seems to like being spoken to in French and Spanish better than English, but maybe that's because they are more melodic languages. What's interesting is that I've noticed that he speaks differently to WB than he does to me, like he's already developing his own different way of interacting with his father. Then yesterday at brunch with Mim, Charles Benoit, and Uncle Noah, I noticed he spoke the same way to Charles Benoit and Uncle Noah. Its like this louder more insistent voice he uses when talking to other guys. Its so interesting to me to see this socialization occurring so early!

Our little monkey has also found his hands. We're not sure when exactly this occurred, as it was a quiet natural affair with little pomp and circumstance, but somewhere along the way he just kind of started regularly putting his fist in his mouth instead of accidentally. He still sometimes seems like he's flailing around with no control over his arms, but then he'll just pop that hand right into his mouth with perfect aim whenever he wants to, so I'm positive he's got some serious motor skills, he's just like his father in that he's quiet and modest about these things.

As much as I'm enjoying gushing, I'm going to go do some more cuddling and cooing now- he's done eating and it won't be long before he reaches the days where he doesn't want to cuddle anymore so I'm shelving the other responsibilities for the day and enjoying these moments while I can.

As I typed that, I got an enormous smile from the LFM, so clearly, he agrees.

very important side note: its also our anniversary today....2 years, though they have been so full and rich and together we've faced many challenges so it seems much more like 20 years. WB, you are my joy, my breath, my spine, mi alma. I cannot imagine a life without you by my side, and am ever thankful to the universe that we found our way here.

Updating On the Fly

2008-04-05T13:57:00.002-04:00

My New Favorite Picture

As I write this, our little funky monkey is talking up a storm with his father, shouting aaaaggggrrrgggg joyously. Whatever it is he's saying, he's certainly adamant about it!

Our monkey has just burst into this wonderful phase of activity where he's super responsive and vocal and interactive..its incredibly fun! He's now 11 pounds and a whopping 24 inches long! This means he's incredibly tall and lanky...with his deep dark soulful eyes, this boy is destined to break some major hearts along the way.

We are settling in to life a little more, and able to go out and about a lot more now that we're only pumping once or twice a day. He's eating about 1/2 breastmilk, 1/2 formula which is more than we even thought we'd be able to get to, so that's great.

And today, for the very first time ever, I left our LFM with WB and ran to the post office all by myself. What a big girl I am! Actually it was a pretty big milestone and I'm totally drunk on the momentary 1/2 hour's worth of freedom. Maybe we'll eventually be able to work ourselves up to the present goal of a haircut.

And now my sweet boy is calling for me, but hey, at least I got 5 minutes, right?

More Pics

2008-03-27T23:55:00.004-04:00

He's starting to look like such a little boy to me. Its so weird to think I have a little boy. I mean, what do I know of boy stuff? Then again, what he needs from me is mother stuff, not guy stuff, so I think I'm off the hook there.

Today I looked down at him and said "Jonah, I love being your mother". He gurgled in response. I think he was agreeing.

It Could Always Be Worse

2008-03-25T11:36:00.005-04:00

The LFM Hanging at the Coffee Shop

The LFM is a closet Nose Eater

Suppertime!

The Little Astronaut Awaiting Lift Off In His Car Seat

Being Read to by his Tiatielle from France

When I was little, I had this book called It Could Always Be Worse. This man goes to the rabbi and says "Rabbi, my house is so so small. My wife is always nagging and the children are crying and I'm miserable, please help!" So the rabbi says "Take all the chickens from your yard and put them in your house." The man does this and comes back the next week saying how much worse this new arrangement is, so the rabbi advises him to take all the goats from his yard and put them in the house and so on and so forth every week until the man's yard is empty and his house is overflowing. The man is virtually at the point of cracking and the rabbi finally counsels him to take all of the animals back out into the yard. The man, who is left with exactly what he had to begin with, is overjoyed at how spacious and wonderful his house has become and believes the rabbi somehow increased the size of his house. The moral of the story, of course, being it could always be worse.

This has been my postpartum experience so far.

I finally think some of the chickens are going back into the yard though, and I am just now starting to really get to enjoy the spaciousness of my new motherhood.

The LFM is now smiling up a storm- these big gorgeous goofy smiles. They're hard to capture on film (I have one from my Dad's camera that I'm just waiting to get a copy of) but boy, i now understand what they mean when they say a smile can light up a room! His eyes totally sparkle when he smiles...as cliche as it is, they do! Our monkey has also begun to coo and gurgle and grunt in his first efforts at communication. He does this in response to what we say, so it becomes this very surreal conversation of sorts. Like when I was a kid and talked in a make believe language with my friends and really believed we knew what each other was saying. Its really cool to watch him so intently watch what we say and how it all works and then put in his two cents worth however he can. I'm sure he's saying only brilliant things, nothing mundane like how gassy he is at any given moment. Its all brilliant philosophical discourse that we're just far too pedestrian to understand at this point. Perhaps one day we'll be evolved enough...

The most recent development though, is that the LFM has suddenly and inexplicably become a Mama's Boy over the last week. While I am truly flattered by all the attention , it certainly makes getting anything done an impossibility. Whereas I used to be able to do things, like bathe for example, he now has decided that I am solely at his mercy and that no, thank you, but the guy with the beard we call Daddy just won't cut it these days. In fact he has decided to save any and all crying bouts for that Daddy character, just to make him feel that much more special. Luckily, that Daddy character happens to be the best father around, and is taking it all in stride. In fact he's braving the threat of a meltdown right now to give me a little time to type with 2 hands. And I have to admit that he really is such a mellow baby (clearly gets that one from Daddy) that his crying is nothing compared to many other babies I've heard. So I'm not complaining.

You hear that, universe? I'm Not Complaining! I get it, It Could Always Be Worse!

The Latest and Not So Greatest

2008-03-16T09:41:00.004-04:00

The LFM at his first bath, about 2.5 weeks old

After his first bath, tasting the towel to make sure it was still fresh

This has been a hard week with much grieving...grieving over milk, grieving over Mimi's death, and yesterday was the 9 year anniversary of my brother's suicide. 9 years? Really? Where did they go? And why has my family done more shrinking than growing in that time?

Last week I had my 6 week checkup (even though it was technically 7 weeks) with our amazing midwife, whom I love and respect so dearly I cannot even write about her in any way that does her justice. And more significant than the fact that I got the okay to start having sex again (not that exhaustion creates all that much desire mind you) was the discussion about milk that ensued. This amazing woman, whose opinion I trust more than just about anyone else's, told me that I'm never going to be able to solely breastfeed. She said that if the milk production was going to turn around, it would have already. She said that we tried absolutely everything and we tried valiantly and for longer than most, but that now it was time to move forward. She said it all far more gently and poetically though. The lactation consultant agreed, and said she was thinking the same things.

And I broke. Just a little bit. I broke.

So what does moving forward mean exactly?

On the one hand, it means gradual liberation form my jailer, the evil pump. This is the positive side of the coin. It means that in a few weeks I'll only be pumping once or twice a day, simply to give Jonah the teensiest bit more breastmilk. It means not freaking out about missing a pumping and feeling eternally guilty when I do. It means no more obsessing every single second of the day and night about my milk supply and how to increase it, because I have to let go of the control there and accept that it just may not increase, even with all the pumping in the world.

On the other hand it means letting go of that dream that I've been clinging so tightly to. It means there's a mean voice in my head that needs to be banished calling me inadequate and a failure. It means this is just one more painful thing that I have no control over and just have to swallow and accept, even despite my constant hard work and vigilance. It means a lot of pain and tears on top of a preexisting mountain of grief from Mimi's death. It means great jealousy of other Mama's who can nurse no problem and great bitterness towards those who can but chose not to. It means bitterness towards the universe. It means the straw that may not be breaking this camel's back, but its certainly injuring it.

And now the plan. The plan is first and foremost that I have a therapy appointment Monday morning with a therapist of my wonderful midwife's reccomendation, because the LFM does not need a depressed and constantly crying Mama on top of everything else. Feeding wise, the plan is that every feeding I nurse him on each breast so he can get as much as they can offer (which was about an ounce and a half total between both breasts at 2:45pm Friday at the lactation consultant's) and then he gets his supplement of pumped breastmilk and/or formula on the breast with a Supplemental Nursing System (SNS).

So we're still breastfeeding, just not entirely, and that's what I'm clinging to for dear life. My new mantra that I repeat about every other second of the day is I AM A BREASTFEEDING MAMA. The midwife says that I need to be able to stand on the hill near our apartment which overlooks the city and scream that I am a breastfeeding Mama, and that this is just how my particular body breastfeeds and I need to find a way to embrace that. I need to find a way to get to a place of peace and acceptance and I need to be able to appreciate my breasts for what they can produce. And I'm trying I really am.

Yesterday, at a friend's baby shower, someone turned to me and asked the dreaded question of whether or not I was breastfeeding. To my credit I answered yes, but then launched into the whole explanation about the low supply and having to supplement and at one point she said something along the lines of "So you're not entirely brastfeeding" and internets, it killed me to hear that, it really did. When I explained abot all the work we were doing she then said something about how I've worked hard for every drop I can give, so she did finally get it, but it still stings a little, you know?

And now I must go nurse my baby, because he's hungry and I AM A BREASTFEEDING MAMA.

What I Have Not Been Writing About

2008-03-10T12:02:00.003-04:00

My Happy Smiley Treasure

Must. Type. at Speed of Light. [while the LFM is (miracle of miracles) not in my arms...a rare occurrence indeed]

Okay, so what I have not been writing about, because it has been devastatingly heartbreaking to me, but what has been occupying my every waking moment and my every waking and sleeping moment, is milk. Specifically the lack thereof. I should preface this for those who may not be in the know, that breastfeeding has always been something that is so incredibly important to me, even before the LFM was an itch in his Daddy's pants. Its something I looked forward to, not only for the superior nutrition I believe it gives, but also for the bonding factor. And I love that bonding factor, I truly do. I adore nursing, even in the middle of the night, and Jonah loves it too. I love that when he wants comfort he asks for and looks for it in my breast- that he knows that is always a safe place for him. I love nourishing him with my body.

And that last one is where the heartbreak begins.

The LFM hasn't been getting as much nourishment from these breasts as he needs since the get go. We've been having to supplement with formula since we discovered at about 2 weeks old that he wasn't getting enough to eat. Since that time I've also been busting my proverbial balls to increase my milk supply through a prescription med, every herbal remedy known to woman, and a rigorous and demanding schedule of incessant pumping so that each feeding takes about an hour to an hour and a half with nursing then giving the bottle then pumping. And make no mistake about it, the pumping sucks. It sucks beyond belief. I feel like a moo cow imprisoned by this machine- I can't go anywhere without either bringing it along or racing to be back in tgime to pump. Its been my jailor but I was hoping it was also to be my savior, so I dutifully stick to it for the last month, charting my way through the whole endeavor to log every single ounce and cc I got. I went to the Lactation Consultant every week, the pediatrician every 5 days, suffered through thrush in the LFM's mouth and on my nipples (ie stabbing pain in my breasts every time I nursed and pumped) and cried endless buckets of tears, but I was certain that in the end it would be worth it. That all the hard work would yield a bountiful harvest of milk in the end, because doesn't hard work pay off? Don't I deserve a little slack from the universe after everything?

It seems like the universe is slapping me in the face here. Or getting quite a laugh at my expense. Or both.

Because when I went to the Lactation Consultant's last Friday, the cruelest of the cruel was revealed...my supply now seems to be decreasing.

I'm sure its hard for most of you to understand why this is even a big deal...if you have enough milk you can't understand, if you chose to bottle feed you can't understand, and if you're a guy or have no kids, fuck you if you even think you can try to understand. Basically I feel like the world's most inadequate mother. I feel like my body has betrayed me. I feel like I'm missing out on something everyone else gets to have. And I feel like this is just one more thing that cancer has stolen from me.

And the grief, she is immense.

And I want my Mama.

We're not giving up yet, but its not looking good at all.

When do I get a little break here in the sadness and grief dept?

Dedication

2008-02-28T11:25:00.002-05:00

Mimi has a play dedicated to her- if you're in the area, go see it and/or send everyone you know to see it. What a beautiful thing for the Firehouse Theatre Project to do. We are all truly touched by this.

Sicko Mama

2008-02-27T13:24:00.004-05:00

Our Little Punk Rocker Boy- He's Such a Badass! (Taken Monday morning, 1 month old)

Our Brave Little Family (Taken After Jonah's Bris, 8 days old)

I'm feeling like a sack of rotten ass, and its so much harder to be sick when you've got a newborn to take care of. Luckily, we were blessed with a super mellow baby (which he clearly gets from his father's side, might I just point out), so he's cool with just hanging out in bed with Maman...as long as there's a boob in the vicinity he's pretty much okay with anything.

The days are flying by now...yet somehow each individual day seems so long. A good friend of mine's grandfather says that when you have kids the days are reallllly long and the months/years are really short. Truer words have never been spoken. And somehow, in these really long days, I'm supremely lucky if I find the time to shower (you'd be pretty grossed out if you knew how infrequently that happens), much less blog, return phone calls and/or emails, and forget about the dishes. I think we'd be eating cereal for every meal if the wonderful Sarachkah hadn't arranged for people to bring us meals through March. They say it takes a village to raise a child, and I'm here to tell you it most certainly does. And damn, I'm so lucky to have the excellent village that I have.

Through the homebirth community and our Birthing From Within class (we all still keep in touch and get together once a week, although Jonah is by far the baby of the group, born about 8 weeks after everyone else) I'm so surrounded by all these awesome Mamas who have been my salvation, feeding my body and spirit with nothing but positivity...which has been so helpful with all of the challenges we've been facing between grieving Mimi's death and the heartbreakingly frustrating milk supply issues. I'm hanging on by my fingernails most days, but its so great to know that there's a safety net of women should I lose my grip and fall.

One day maybe I will feel like myself again?

Okay, back to bed for the LFM and I- gotta grab the windows of sleep when we can.

Catch Up

2008-02-21T16:55:00.009-05:00

Photos of the LFM's Bris (at 8 days old), In which he was much braver and cried far less than his woos of a mother.

I know, I know... I have yet to expound on the many fabulous and adorable qualities of our most excellent monkey, his highness the king of cuteness and super stinky farts. Time is not on my side, no it ain't. We're having some frustrations with breastfeeding, which I really don't want to talk about until it's all resolved, but these frustrations not only make me want to repeatedly bang my head against a wall, they also are incredibly time consuming. I am chained to this apartment and the pump, for the most part. Now for the first 2-3 weeks I wanted nothing more than to stay in the apartment, in our wonderful cozy birth den. But now, a month into it, I'm ready for a little more flexibility than I'm currently afforded.

But I'm not going to spend the precious few moments I have focusing on the negative. Instead, I'm going to tell you how amazing and funny and fun motherhood is. Yes, even at 4am.

The LFM thinks both WB and I must be covered in nipples, and if he just tries hard enough, he'll find one. He's like the world's cutest woodpecker, constantly hurling himself at our bodies in search of a nipple. Sometimes when he's nursing, he lets go of the nipple and then gets super panicky about it and suddenly the missing nipple is a 4 alarm fire in his little world and all systems are kicked into overdrive until the nipple is safely rescued from oblivion and lovingly put back into his screaming mouth. We're certain that when he dreams, he dreams of a giant boob with arms and legs, cradling him in heavenly comfort. And when he has little baby nightmares, its of the boob, on a train, wearing a 1940's hat with veil, and waving an embroidered handkerchief from the train window as the steam engines roar to life and the train begins chugging away with poor little Jonah running behind it screaming for his beloved boob.

Clearly we are sleep deprived.

He does talk to it- he babbles this adorable babble only when he's nursing. I'm certain he's composing brilliant love poems- odes to the boobs. It cracks me up when he does it.

But the most amazing thing of all- the most wonderous beautiful thing in the whole world- is when my litttle monkey smiles at me, sending rays of light from his enormous dark eyes. Its the most indescribably joyous thing. And no, its not gas, its definitely in response to what I'm doing. And its my favorite thing in the whole world.

Our Beautiful Boy (No, Seriously, This Baby Is Adorable Y'all...and I'm Not Biased At All!)

2008-02-14T11:09:00.004-05:00

All pictures courtesy of the amazingly talented Meghan McSweeney- go to her website and check out her work! Better yet, hire her!

La Commencement

2008-01-26T21:49:00.000-05:00

We are thrilled to announce that the Little Funky Monkey is here! Jonah Niquen (named with a J after his Mimi) was born at home in the water on January 23rd at 4:23am weighing in at 7lbs 11 oz and measuring 22 inches. He is the most handsome perfect baby I've ever seen (not that I'm biased or anything), with a full head of long dark hair and super long legs (he will be tall like his father, no doubt).

His birth was beyond beautiful (I will write out his birth story eventually, because its such a wonderful story) and by far the most amazing moment of my life was when the midwife said "reach down and get your baby!". I loved the birth experience so much that a mere 2 hours after pushing out my little monkey I said "I can't wait to do this again!". Don't get me wrong, it was very intense (active labor, from 4cm to 10cm dilation, was only about 4 1/2 hours, which means that my body worked that much harder to accomplish that much more in less time) and even though Chanteuse said that I made it look easy, it was most definitely hard work. Its just that it was such a miraculous and spiritual journey that I cannot even match words to. And WB made me fall even deeper in love with him (as if that was even possible) by being there every step of the journey with me, in our loving cocoon that made me feel so perfectly connected and protected and loved. The LFM was birthed in the same way he was conceived- as an intimate expression of love and tenderness between WB and I, and I will always treasure that.

I can't even thank our midwife enough, except to say that she is a godsend. She is also clearly a mind reader or found the secret portal into my head, because she always said exactly what I needed to hear in the exact moment I needed to hear it, and has continued to do so in the postpartum period. Chanteuse, JunJun, and Doula Sara, were such perfect birth attendants as well...every time I opened my eyes in the tub and looked up I saw them looking at me with such warmth and love I felt so supported. And WB, well, that man is a miracle in and of himself.

And the LFM! All I could say when we found out we were pregnant is "Wow!" and that's pretty much all I can say now that he's here. With every passing moment I feel like I couldn't possibly love him any more or I will just explode, and yet with every passing moment somehow I do. He is my little bundle of blessings and I am so very proud that he chose us as his family.

Ma P'tite Maman

2008-01-22T01:49:00.000-05:00

Ma P’tite Maman,

I was so scared to sit down and write something- scared that much like whenever I try and tell a joke, I would forget the most important parts...the indispensable details that makes it all come together. Then I remembered that you are the one who always, without fail, gets my jokes- even if we have to make up a new punchline because I’ve completely forgotten it. In fact, I’d say that’s what we did more often than not…made up our own punchlines in the beautifully challenging story of life that we always found a way of turning into a joke. Together, we found the joy and most definitely the humor in everything we could…and while not everyone got our special brand of silliness, or not all the time at least, those moments and the lesson of it all, are some of the greatest gifts we could have ever given each other.

I feel so lucky, Maman, so lucky for and so very proud of (as I know you were) how close we are. We created a truly unique mother daughter relationship that was the envy of most every mother and daughter we knew. And we worked hard at maintaining that relationship by respecting the hell out of each other for who each of us was. It wasn’t always easy, but wow was it worth it! I am so honored that through this closeness, I got the opportunity to really get to know who you were…not just as my mother, but also as the inspiring force of nature that you were.

I can hear you now, as clear as a bell, protesting with your completely genuine modesty, that I’m going a bit overboard, and I want to tell you that I honestly am not…that these are my true feelings, that you do inspire me, that I hope to one day become just a fraction of the woman you were. You wouldn’t accept a compliment in life, so now I’m embarrassing you in death by making you accept some pretty deeply felt ones in front of all your family and friends.

You taught me long before the heartbreaks of death and cancer appeared on the scene the true meaning of strength and courage, and reinforced these lessons with every challenge that you greeted with dignity and grace and yes, a truly liberating silliness that enabled you to melt every heart that came near you. You taught me that the process of self-discovery is never over, and that it never should be. In the last 10 years, I watched you bloom and grow into yourself in ways that you admitted you never thought possible…I watched with such awe and pride as you found and claimed your voice and power as a woman! I cried to know all that your path to these moments contained and felt so honored that you were sharing your incredible journey with me.

LIVE LIFE FIERCELY!

This was your battle cry after [my brother] died, and I can still see you, fist in the air, imparting your considerable strength and spunk to the world…and most importantly to your daughter, at a time when I desperately needed it. And now, it comes back to me again, at a time when I need it most…here you are in my head, fist in the air and spunk intact…unstoppable even in death! (Death has not met such stubbornness yet!) Encouraging me to now take up the torch and continue what you began as I start on my journey as a mother, my arms laden with the many beautiful gifts you have given me over the years.

I am devastated that you are no longer here in the physical realm…that you will never physically hold your grandson in your arms and sing him the French songs we sang together my whole life or hear him call you Mimi. But I know and trust you are with us (I just ask that you send some really super obvious signs every once in a while so that I don’t forget this) and that your grandson will be connected to you by many invisible threads that extend far beyond a mere name.

Yes, Maman, after 9 months of you calling him Baby N, you’ll have to get used to a new name involving a J instead of an N…but I think you’ll agree that’s exactly as it should be.

We love you,

Synge and Baby J

Le Fin

2008-01-20T22:08:00.000-05:00

Mimi died this morning, probably around 4:30am in her sleep. I'm sure she chose to die when everyone was asleep, and I'm just so glad that the end was so very quick. Its all so surreal...that's all I can keep saying, over and over again (in 3 different languages...I'm so freaking confused I don't even know what language I'm speaking!). I don't know what else there is to say. I'm just praying we don't go into labor before the funeral, which is Tuesday at noon. I really really want to be there, and its already heartbreaking enough that she missed the one thing she was doing her best to hold on for...I now want to be the one who holds on and makes it.

The Straight Up Facts

2008-01-20T00:14:00.000-05:00

I'm so very glad I took the time to record those conversations before I forgot them, especially since it seems like they were the last ones to be had. Starting yesterday, Mimi became far less responsive and unable to speak. She is now not really taking any fluids, and not really reacting much anymore (she was smiling and responding a bit via facial expressions for part of the day today). We're really looking death in the eye here, tomorrow or the next day probably. Her brother and sister are here from France, and they're actually being so wonderful, I'm so thankful they're here. And of course WB.....he is nothing less than a saint. He just held me and rocked me for an hour while I completely lost my shit in the hugest, scariest, hyperventilating sort of way. He also held my Dad while he lost his shit earlier tonight. He's the official family rock, it seems, and my god do I love that man. My Mimi candle is burning (thank you Sarachkah) and I am going to try and sleep a bit...I have a feeling tomorrow will be an even harder day.

This feels impossible.

Conversation Snapshots

2008-01-18T11:52:00.001-05:00

There are many things about these last moments that I don't want to remember...that I desperately hope I don't remember. I would rather remember the years of laughter, camaraderie and extreme closeness that I shared with my mother. But there are some conversational snapshots that I don't want to forget.
..........................................................................................................................

M: When is he coming?
S: The baby?
M: Of course
S: Hopefully soon. You know, we can ask the midwife for the birth drink* if you want us to.

M: Nah, let nature take its course
S: Ok, but we don't mind, Mimi. I know you're holding on just to see him.
M: Well, yes, kind of. I guess I am.
S: And I don't want you hanging on by your bootstraps and miserable just waiting.
M: Don't worry, I won't. Its ok, first come, first served.

**the birth drink is an all herbal drink that can sometimes bring on labor if the body is ready
................................................................................................................

S: Would you like me to sit in here with you quietly while you fall asleep?
M: [smiling a big smile] That sounds wonderful!
S: Just so you know I'm here
M: Yes, that's important
S: But you know I'm always always here, even when I'm not. I leave my heart right here with you [points to pillow right beside Mimi's head]
M: [eyes wide] You're not afraid you'll forget where it is?
S: Nope. It only needs to be in 3 places right now, here [points to pillow], in my belly, and with WB.
M: Its very important.
S: What is?
M: To follow your heart.
S: Is that what you've done, Mimi?
M: I guess. Sometimes. But... [trails off]
S: Is that what you want to tell me, Mimi, to always follow my heart?
M: Yes, its important. Very important.
S: Ok.
[Talking to LFM in the belly]
Your Mimi says you have to always follow your heart. She says its very important and she wants me to pass that along to you too.
M: Yes, its very important. Follow your heart, however...[trails off again]
S: However?
M: [looks confused] Huh?
S: You told me to always follow my heart, but then you said however....
M: [looks confused, shrugs a bit]
S: You'll tell me later, when you wake up.
M: Yes.
.........................................................................................................................

S: Comfy?
M: Yes! Very!
S: You sure?
M: Yes, I just need a huge from someone and I'm all set.
S: I can do that. Do you need a love hug or a lift hug?**
M: A love hug will do just fine.
S: I always have a big hug for you, Mimi
M: Not as big as the hug I have for you!
S: That's the sweetest thing I've heard in forever.
M: Good, I'm glad.
........................................................................................................................

M: [smiling, out of the blue...] That feels soooo good
S: What feels so good Mimi?
M: To have such wonderful friends.
.........................................................................................................................

M: I've never even heard of such a thing!
S: What's that, Mimi?
M: A quickstop. I never even heard of such a thing before tonight!
(Dad: What's that?)
S: A quickstop?
M: Yes.
S: Well, neither have I!
.........................................................................................................................

WB's parents flew in from Puerto Rico and came by the house last night to meet me and my family. They had a really sweet little visit, in which WB's father, El Original, held Mimi's hand nonstop with such gentle caring, and Mimi made WB's mother's day when she proclaimed with wide eyes "You look so young!". We also took a family photo, at El Original's suggestion...something I'm already so thankful to have. Mimi reiterated with great resolve that she WILL be here to see the baby, and there was so much beautiful love in that room that I will be eternally grateful for those moments. When they left the room, the following conversation took place:

S: How was that? Was that okay? Not too overwhelming?
M: No, that was wonderful. But that was such a surprise! **
S: Was it a good surprise, though?
M: It was the BEST surprise!

(**We had told her they were coming, she just forgot)

Fate Has a Twisted Sense of Humor

2008-01-17T12:35:00.000-05:00

When my brother commit suicide almost 9 years ago, I thought that nothing could be worse than that...I was sure that no challenge could be greater than getting over the particular circumstances of his death and our relationship.

Oh fate, must your dark and twisted sense of humor come into play now?

My Wonderful Mother

2008-01-15T14:24:00.000-05:00

Hospice says Mimi has about a week left.

Sadness and Joy

2008-01-13T23:27:00.000-05:00

No baby yet, but it looks like a far closer race between birth and death than any of us would wish for. I'm pretty sure birth will occur first, but unfortunately the joy and sadness will be pretty intermingled.

They already are.

Mimi has agreed to go into hospice and hopefully they'll be able to make her very comfortable at home. She is pretty much no longer able to do anything on her own- last night WB and I had to run out there at 1am (she couldn't get my Dad on the phone, who was sleeping in the next room) to cover her with more blankets...blankets that are situated on a chair beside the recliner she sleeps in. That's about where we're at now, she can't even reach right next to her to get a blanket when she's cold. Sitting upright isn't even always doable- she's been doing the world's best leaning tower of Pisa impression lately. Dad says that she fell out of the wheelchair today and now needs to be strapped in. I don't even know what to say...its more heartbreaking than you could ever even imagine, and to be going through it while on the verge of becoming a mother myself...well, needless to say my emotional state is pretty damn fragile.

At the beautiful blessingway that was thrown for me last wed (which I totally wanted to get to write about), I feel like I created a space for joy amidst all the grief. It has been incredibly challenging to maintain that space and not let it be overwhelmed by grief and sadness. I don't want to birth my baby in sadness- I don't want his story to begin that way.

Fuck, I don't want any of this story to be happening this way.

I guess I don't really have a choice, do I?

38 1/4 Weeks (But Who's Counting...)

2008-01-08T10:55:00.001-05:00

The estimated due date is in less than 2 weeks folks! Of course, the reason its called estimated due date is it certainly isn't an exact science. As our midwife says, babies pick their own birthdays, we really can't control the process. So basically we could birth this monkey anytime between now and 3 1/2 weeks from now. Umm, I'll take now, please? The stats as of our midwife visit last Friday (for those of you in the know as to how women's bodies work) are as follows: 70% effaced, 1cm dialated, and the LFM is at -1 station. For those of you to whom this sounds like a science fiction novel, it basically means that the process has begun. We're not in active labor yet, but my body has begun doing the work it needs to do. This could last 2 weeks or more, however, so don't get your hopes up. Our midwife says that the more work my body does now, the less work it will have to do in labor so I shouldn't want to rush this period. Good point.

The annoying thing is that my body seems to be doing the majority of its work at night only. While the contractions aren't painful (they're like very mild menstrual cramps at this point, accompanied by some back pain and the occasional stabbing pain, but really I'm more uncomfortable than in pain), they do wake me up all night long because with every contraction comes the extremely urgent need to pee. Does this mean I'll spend labor on the toilet? (which is great for letting gravity help move the baby down and put pressure on the cervix to open, but I hadn't envisioned all of labor in our bathroom...) So I sleep in the mornings and generally feel in a bit of a fog these days. I'm exhausted, huge, uncomfortable, and I swear to you I STILL LOVE IT! Every single moment! I must be a masochist.

What I am not enjoying is the interweaving of birth and death. The two are so closely connected now, each so much a part of the other. I was telling Kindness Girl, who's name could not be more fitting and who's kindness work has touched the lives of many (including myself) in huge huge ways, that one day I will see this as a beautiful experience but that day isn't today. Now, in the thick of it, sometimes its a struggle to get through the day. This weekend was definitely like that. The car broke down on the side of the highway on the way to pick up the birthing tub, prompting a massive waterfall of tears and a phone call to Dad to pick us up. As he was driving me to get the other car while WB waited for the tow truck, he told me that Mimi had fallen again that morning. She had fallen several times in the past week and a half, and had even been stuck on the ground for an hour and a half unable to reach a phone and get help.

Last week I talked to her about hiring someone to come help out, because she really can't be left alone now. This conversation happened right after I had stupidly driven her home alone, and had to catch her as she was going up the porch stairs and her body decided it couldn't support her anymore, and basically carry her up the rest of the way. Nine months pregnant. That's not doable at all, physically speaking. When I proposed hiring someone, she said "But the only person I want around all the time is you!", and I had to tell her that I couldn't do it. You have no idea how hard that was to say. But the truth is that I physically can't do it right now, and then how would I take care of both her and a newborn once the baby is born?

Fast forward back to the weekend, where we decide to go and check on Mimi after getting the car towed. As we pull up in the driveway, I see the neighbor leaving, which can only mean one thing...something happened with Mimi. Sure enough she had fallen again, the 2nd time that day. She fell again on Sunday. These falls are happening with the use of the walker that I made them get. Her brain is still swelling from the Gamma Knife Radiation that they used to attack the 6 new brain tumors, and that's most likely what's causing the falls. But I wonder if she's going to be able to get her strength back from this one or not. I'm having trouble staying positive the more she falls and the weaker she becomes.

Today is the first day with her nurse...I'm about to go over there and check in on her before going in to work. It will make her feel nurtured and protected. I get my nurturing tomorrow night in the form of a much needed and oh so beautiful blessingway ceremony that these amazing women from our birthing community are throwing for me. The timing couldn't be better- this is so much exactly what I need in this moment that when Kindness Girl phoned to tell me about it all I could do was sob incoherently and blubber "Thank you so much! This means so much!" I can't even put my gratitude into words.

Its unbelievably hard to have everything happening simultaneously. I feel torn between birth and death, like I haven't been able to give as much to either as I would have wanted to. That breaks my heart. This isn't the way I would have wanted either experience to be. I know deep down that this is exactly how it should be or it wouldn't be happening, but I can't say that my trust in the universe runs all that deep these days.

Full Term, Full Tank, and Rearing to Go

2007-12-30T07:09:00.000-05:00

I was 37 weeks as of yesterday, which is officially full term. This means we're good to go at any time, even though the due date is officially 3 weeks away. I'm voting sooner rather than later, though I'm not presumptuous enough to think my vote carries any weight in the matter really. As the food source both of present and to be, however, could my thoughts perhaps be slightly considered in the decision making process?

I have turned the corner into pretty damn uncomfortable territory, and it really seems to me by the pokes and prods I am constantly receiving that the LFM ain't but so comfy in there either. There seems to be a discernible lack of room for the both of us, and of course he's little so he always wins out. I'm also getting contractions all the freaking time, most of which are benign but just uncomfortable as hell. Yesterday I got the added bonus of the feeling of mild menstrual cramps and slight back pain, but it went away, so don't get all excited that anything is happening. Nothing is happening but awkward discomfort. Lots and lots of it. And as for sleep? That's most definitely not happening.

For the record: I still love love pregnancy. I absolutely adore being pregnant. I think its a beautiful journey and I think I'll actually really miss it when he's out.

Not that I don't want him to make an appearance...soon. As in before family flies in from all corners of the globe, so that we get a little time to ourselves, just the three of us before being overwhelmed and inundated by foreign languages and filial obligations. I'm a definitely finding myself a little anxious about the postpartum period. As if standing at the gateway of both life and death while learning how to be a new mother and breastfeed were not emotionally and energetically taxing enough, I get to do all that, with crazy hormones, no sleep, and company! Yay! Sounds like fun, doesn't it? I've always been a huge people person, but I find that the closer I get to birth the more anxious I am about protecting my space; defending my den so to speak. None of this may end up being an issue at all, and how I will feel is one gigantic question mark at this point, but for right now its a definite fear I'm trying to work through. I'm sure it doesn't help that I've never met WB's parents before. It also doesn't help that my Spanish skills have sadly not progressed at all during the last 9 months and his mother doesn't speak any English. It also doesn't help that my own mother is dying. Gee, why do I feel like the china shop itself watching a bull approach? Hmmm, can't think of any valid reasons really...

Speaking of Mimi, this is why I have not written in decades. To be very brief about it all, she had been falling a lot and was very weak and we brought it up at a doctor's appointment. They immediately did a CT scan and found 6 new brain tumors...and when I say new, these cropped up since the last MRI done in October. Yeah, fuckin cancer moves fast. When my parents met with the doc upon first finding out, he was all gloom and doom and basically there was a question as to whether or not Mimi would even make it to see her grandson born.

As she now tells it, when the doctor said the magic word, hospice, she suddenly burst into action. That was what she needed to hear to get her ire up, collect her inner resources, and motivate the troops to fight. She had gamma knife radiation, which they're hopeful has killed off the new brain tumors, is now on new meds and walking with help of a walker, and will begin a new injection chemo around the 11th of Jan to help buy some time from the 50 million other non brain tumors throughout her body. Its not only her choice, but now her passion to continue fighting with every ounce of her being. Her new goal is not the birth, but 2 1/2 years from diagnosis, which will put her at next December. She's a pretty stubborn lady- she just may make it! On a very selfish note, I'm so relieved not to have to experience both new life and death at the exact same moment. While it is clearly a very definite reality that she is dying, I'm so thankful that its not simultaneous to birth. Grateful for both of us.

So now you see why I have been away for so long...it really wasn't that WB's snoring finally got the better of me. Life's challenges and grief did.

In the midst of all that, I had two amazing and beautiful baby showers thrown for me by two very wonderful friends, and got to have just a teeny tiny bit of light amidst what was otherwise a bit of a dark time. I desperately needed that, and I thank you from the bottom of my being, Coco and Muffinface. Thank you as well to all our wonderful friends who helped make us feel so loved and supported- this monkey couldn't be birthed into a more loving environment.

There was , sadly, one very horrible snafu wherein a friend felt very hurt and offended that WB and I did not get to talk with them enough and did not introduce them to other guests (disclaimer: we didn't introduce anyone to anyone else, and as we had been through the emotional ringer the previous week, which had been shared with said guest, we were understandably more than a little overwhelmed). The manner in which this friend chose to share their feelings was cruel rather than constructive (I had two witnesses to the events and conversation who can attest to that) and the friendship has definitely been irreparably damaged, to say the least. That was a very heartbreaking and supremely disappointing turn of events, but I don't even have the energy to deal with something like that amidst everything else that is going on. Its not a priority, nor should it be.

For the present moment (and I can only live in the moment right now), my priorities all revolve around birthing my baby. We've completed and organized everything we need and/or want for our home birth, I'm ruthlessly nesting (when not horrendously uncomfortable) and we're just excitedly waiting. So LFM, if you're listening, you can come anytime...Maman and Papa are ready and waiting with open arms!

Sleepless in Hippoland

2007-12-01T05:31:00.000-05:00

The 3rd trimester insomnia/uncomfortableness is killing me here. I'm just getting over a horrible upper respiratory infection and a week of being a walking snot faucet and now I can't sleep. At all.

Also, did I ever happen to mention on this blog how WB got that particular moniker? It stands for Wild Boar...which is exactly what he sounds like when he sleeps. Seriously. I am not exaggerating at all. The first time he ever spent the night and slept (evidently he stayed up all not a few times, knowing just how terrifying the first exposure could be), I woke up in the middle of the night convinced there was some sort of wild animal in my bed. While that can be a good thing in the waking hours, when you're trying to sleep through that sound in your ear (night after night) it can try even the calmest and most patient of nerves.

I am all the way across our huge floor through apartment and he is in the bedroom behind a closed door and I hear him loud and clear right now. And even 1000 feet away (I totally made up that number, I have no idea how far it is, just far enough that any normal person's snoring would not be audible) its incredibly annoying. No, really. Trust me. I'm cringing as I type this.

Every night I wear the highest decibel blocking earplugs I can find in the drugstore and he wears a nasal snore strip and one of 3 things inevitably happens at some point in the night:
1. I ruthlessly kick him out of bed and force him to sleep on the very uncomfortable couch. When he carries the next child, he can kick me out of bed.
2. I scream out desperately at the top of my lungs "WB! PULEEZE STOP! JUST STOP! HAVE MERCY ON MY POOR MISERABLE SLEEP DEPRIVED SOUL!"
3. I try and smother him with a pillow.

This nightly cacophonous racket, compounded with an already difficult period sleep wise does not bode well for our little family. Either I will end up a Benadryl addict shivering and alone in an alley somewhere sniffling for my fix and crying that "I just need a little sleep man, just a little!" or the first ever adenoid removal surgery performed in a bedroom just might take place. I'm gazing longingly at the kitchen knives right now.

[Great! Guess who just decided that now would be a perfect time to start to use my abdomen for boxing training? If you need to find me, I'll still be here....awake and miserable all night folks. That's right! 24 hours a day of guaranteed fun!]

Spagyric experience

2007-11-27T08:56:00.000-05:00

I'm rather thankful for the path I've chosen here as well. And this beautiful alchemy that we managed to bring forth to our reality. We managed to transmutate our energy gathered from our past and present experiences into this wonderful new state of being. Now we are beyond excited to meet this third entity that will embody what is us!

"This is the miracle that happens every time to those who really love: the more they give, the more they possess."
-R. M. Rilke-

Here, Have Some Thanks, On the House

2007-11-26T19:23:00.000-05:00

So this Thanksgiving was a little different than all other Thanksgivings, needless to say. Different in that this year I feel completely overwhelmed with gratitude. Not only am I incredibly thankful that Mimi is alive to see another Thanksgiving (something we weren't sure would happen last year at this time), but I'm also unbelievably thankful for the new family I am building. This sturdy little tripod that is my everything. Its something that's completely beyond words but which fills every single cell of my being. Something than is innate in nature, but beyond that is built upon the backs of many a loss, many a violation, many a life challenge. And you know what? If it all brought me here, to this place here and now, its all completely worth it.

[editor's note: to the bulbous bloody mass of mucous that used to be my nose, for the record, I am not thankful for you. You are making me miserable. Please stop throwing tantrums and running all over the place. Can't we live together in harmony? Please?]

30.5 Weeks

2007-11-14T14:28:00.000-05:00

Why do I decide to take pics after an exhaustingly long day? So that I can look this bedraggled. It takes effort you know.

All Belly (and a little lipstick to look a little less like death)

the park across the street from our apartment this morning

So as I promised, here are some long overdue belly shots...and what a belly to shoot, huh? I was thinking the other day how much I'm going to miss it - how much I have grown to love this baby belly and what's inside it. I will miss the kicks and pokes and squirming around that have become so much a part of every day. I actually miss it when he's asleep now! I will also miss this wonderful little bit of time when its just us- it will never be just him and me again. I feel like its something so special and wondrous and beautiful.

That is until he jumps on my bladder, ramming it with all the force he can muster.

Which happens at least twice a day, if not more.

Still, I am remembering to enjoy this fully.

I think he likes it best when I speak to him in French.

Taking Ownership of Our Birth Experience

2007-11-13T23:25:00.000-05:00

My blood pressure is down. Way down. And in hindsight, it wasn't really that high to begin with, its just everyone overreacted and panicked.

I just thought I should start with that since I totally left on a cliff hanger and disappeared into the scary world of hospital panic never to be heard from again. Only that's not really quite how it happened. Its more like I found out the following Friday that I did not have preeclampsia and thus was given the all clear to fly to New York for a deposition that was scheduled for the following Tuesday. Which I did, the next morning. Yes, after a week of partial bedrest, I was then immediately thrown into the mayhem of last minute travel and four fairly nonstop days in the city that is determined to raise your blood pressure at any and all costs. Not to mention the stress of a 6 hour deposition followed by more scrambling to get to the airport and fly home. And yet, after all that, my blood pressure was significantly reduced the next day upon my return home.

So what changed?

Well, my attitude, for one. I decided to stop worrying about it, plain and simple. I think it also helped immensely that WB and I had decided to call the home birth midwife and just investigate our options.

This isn't something I've even written about here, because frankly I didn't want to hear any one's opinions on the subject (for the record, I still don't), but for a great majority of the pregnancy I've been struggling with this major decision between home birth and hospital birth and failing miserably at trying to come to a place of peace regarding a hospital birth. This is due to a great many factors including my great mistrust of the medical model of care (I was misdiagnosed with Graves Disease 4 years ago and was harassed and made to feel like a completely irresponsible moron for not agreeing to let them fry away bits of my thyroid with radioactive iodine when it turns out the whole time it would have been completely unnecessary as it was an erroneous diagnosis). But really the main issue here is rooted in the fact that we've spent so much time in hospitals over the past year and a half with Mimi, that we are beyond tired of hospitals. Hospitals are where you when you're dying of cancer. And I'm not dying of cancer, I'm not even sick. I'm just having a baby- the most natural thing in the world that women have been doing for thousands of years with their wise women midwives without the aid of technology.

So last week, whilst my entire brain leaked out through my sinuses (what fun, especially when 30 weeks pregnant) we took the leap and are now hoping for and shooting for a home birth with the legendary home birth midwife here in River City. This is what I have really wanted, at the core of my heart, for many many months now. In taking this step, I took ownership of my birth experience, and honored myself and my needs. And wow is it empowering! And relieving! I can't even begin to explain the euphoric waves of relief that poured over me once it was finally done. Am I a bit scared? Yes, of course, labor is hard work and it will be painful, but a home birth is far less scary to me than a hospital birth. So much fear and anxiety just simply evaporated once the decision was made.

There is still a chance that we will end up having to be transferred to the hospital, but we will cross that bridge if and when we get to it. And if that happens, I will trust that it was absolutely necessary, and not overreaction or mere protocol. In the meantime, we look forward to welcoming our son in the warm comfort and peace of our own home.

Our own home that I'm frantically nesting in.

Yup, the nesting instinct seems to have magically kicked in, with only 10 weeks to go and a huge laundry list of things I'd love to do. This week's fun has mainly consisted of asking WB to frame and hang artwork...about 10 million different times, since every position I vehemently insist upon then seems totally wrong to me and must be rectified immediately. I am very lucky that WB is an infinitely patient man. Luckily reinforcements are on their way, and Chanteuse will be coming in for a long weekend in early December. I'm already planning on putting any and all holiday decorating in her expert hands, as well as help with the nursery. Also coming up in early December are 2 baby showers. I'm fairly certain I'll end up offending someone, if not multiple people, by completely forgetting to put them on the list to invite...not intentionally, of course, but because I am just that scatterbrained these days. That is my huge ridiculous fear.

I am now 30.5 weeks....only 9.5 weeks to go! And I am uber emotional! And I am HUGE! Belly shots will be coming soon. Hell, baby will be coming soon too! Can you believe how fast the time has flown?

Speaking of time, I'd better get to bed. I need all the sleep I can get these days.

Whisper Soothingly Around This Blog

2007-10-30T14:48:00.001-04:00

So I had my 28 week Centering Pregnancy appointment yesterday. The good news is that I don't have gestational diabetes! Yay! I can continue my shameful practice of mixing in strawberry quick with my skim milk. Shhh, don't judge, its the only way I can stomach milk (though the odd thing is that I never drank that pre-pregnancy, but WB loved it so much as a child that he had a stuffed animal of the quick bunny that is still lurking somewhere in Puerto Rico threatening to make its way northward).

Ok, yes, there is some not so good news that I was vainly attempting to couch with my oh-so-distracting strawberry quick confession. I have very high blood pressure. High blood pressure in pregnancy is not a good thing. Like really not at all good. Especially if it develops into preeclampsia. They're testing the amount of protein in my urine this week to make sure it isn't preeclampsia, though the fact that I gained 12 pounds in the last 4 weeks doesn't look great. Neither do the headaches I've been getting. But we're being positive and will contemplate bridges as we approach them only, and not before we even know of their existence.

So I'm taking this week and laying low. I'm laying lower than I ever thought imaginable. I'm working half the hours for now and on bed rest at home for just this week, trying to see if we can lower it by relaxation, positive thinking, and the power of Netflix. So send good thoughts and positive comments only please. Whisper gently around here, we're trying to lower the blood pressure, not raise it.

Happy Halloween

2007-10-29T10:00:00.000-04:00

I always know the LFM was a work of art! This is a creation (body paint on baby belly photographed by the artist) of the incredibly talented Noah Scalin, who is currently working on a project to create a new skull in any medium every day for a year. Its called Skull-A-Day and not only addictive, but very inspiring to any artist! So get out there and make some art, be some art, and see some art!

27 weeks

2007-10-18T14:03:00.000-04:00

We're now officially in the 3rd trimester, which so far involves some discomfort, some more discomfort, and then some discomfort to ice that there discomfort cake with. The LFM's latest party trick (and clearly, its always a party in my uterus...that's the hipster spot du jour for the umbilically attached set) is to try and remove himself Houdini style, through my right side just below my ribcage. I'm not sure what he's pushing with... a head, a butt, a chainsaw, Ann Coulter...but whatever it is, it is in no way comfortable. And this happens pretty much whenever he's awake. Its become a constant battle wherein he pushes out with mystery body part and I push back in with my hand or any available blunt metal object. He usually wins though, sad as it may be. He's also been hanging with the Beckster, clearly, because his kicks now have more power than the TGV and score a perfect goal every single time...right into my bladder. This constant assault on something that wasn't that strong to begin with has been a barrel of laughs, as you can imagine, and sometimes so painful its hard to walk. My uterus feels much much heavier, and sleeping or even lying down can be quite uncomfortable if I'm, oh say 2 degrees off from optimal body placement. And optimal body placement seems to change every 2 seconds. This makes a good night's rest the stuff of which dreams are made.

And as I write this he's mauling my insides, pushing and kicking and have a grand old time in there with the roiller derby bout of the century: the LFM vs. Synge's uterus.

WB and I have been taking the awesomest birthing classes ever, which are about to end this Sunday evening, much to our dissappointment. Because of the awkward timing of the LFM's imminent arrival, what with the holidays and such, we began the classes much earlier than most other folks (everyone else is due in November)...so now, here we are, ready and willing and excited and we have 12 1/2 weeks to go! On the one hand, that seems like an absolute eternity and on the other hand, ummm...where the hell did the 2nd trimester go? How can it already be the third trimester? I haven't even ever sent WB on a midnight run for weird cravings or gotten my share of massages! I was too busy moving and readjusting and taking care of people with cancer to rteally enjoy it all and now it feels like its sped by without me even knowing it and that makes me sad.

But not sad enough to remain this uncomfortable for that much longer.

The other thing that's occupying what precious few functioning brain cells there are that haven't been obliterated by hormones is that we don't have that much stuff. We have some, and we're getting the crib this weekend (thanks RKKS!), but there's this whole huge scary world of baby consumerism that frankly frightens me to no end. WB and I went into Babies R' Us a month ago or so, and were so scared off by that beige and pastel world of unoriginal mediocrity that we haven't ventured back since. RKKS is going to go with us this weekend and help us register for all the things we don't know we need. Like the basics. I'm truly frightened. Though I think I found the one crib set in the world that doesn't make me want to vomit, so that's a start. But my one question is, where the hell are all the primary colors people? WB and I are not pastel people, and the LFM, at least judging from his in utero personality, certainly isn't either. We want to stimulate our child, not eradicate any creativity which may be blossoming in those early months by surrounding him with bad taste and nondescript color schemes! So far the nursery walls are going to be designed by our wonderful friend and incredibly talented artist Noah, and the floor is covered by an antique Tunisian baby carpet in the most vivid of colors and design that my parents got when they first met in North Africa 39 years ago. As you can see, its not your typical nursery.

Then again, we're not your typical family are we?

Mimi Toujours

2007-10-08T19:11:00.000-04:00

Grandpa took Mimi to the doctor today, as I had suggested (though he's now claiming the idea, criticizing my French relatives for not thinking of it before, when he never would have thought of it either had I not suggested it...oy, men...). The doctor gave her the okay to travel home tomorrow, and did find something that the American doctors never did- her blood pressure is plummeting every time she stands up, which is one of the things making her less than mobile and definitely dizzy and disoriented. The American docs had her on meds to lower her blood pressure, and indeed when she was sitting her blood pressure was normal. However the French doc took the next logical step and took it when standing, and voila! Yet another example of teh superiority of the French national health care system- they actually take time with their patients, and really explore vs. the two hour wait my mother has for every appointment at her cancer treatment center which is then slightly rushed. The blood pressure is not the entire problem, but at least its one thing out of the way and she will be able to come home tomorrow as planned.

And I did get to speak to her, and yes, she did sound pretty horrible...but I'm not going to buy into everyone's panic. Cancer is full of ups and downs, and a down moment in the midst of a long and tiring voyage does not necessarily signify a huge turning point. It signifies that perhaps this trip was a bit much for her weak body. I'll panic when its time to panic (actually, I'll probably panic when its all over), and in the meantime I'll pick her up form the airport tomorrow night and stay with her probably until I have to leave for New York on Saturday. And WB, being the amazing supportive partner that he is, will be right there with me despite an uncomfortable bed and 30 to 40 more minutes of driving time to get to work. Because he is just that wonderful.

In the meantime WB just arrived home with the pizza that he got for me, only to discover that it was pepperoni instead of cheese. And this, dear internets, this sent me into a fit of tears screaming that I didn't want anything and I wasn't hungry. Yes, this is the beauty of pregnancy. Or maybe pregnancy combined with a stressful moment in time. Who knows. I just know that for some reason I just can't handle pepperoni pizza today.

Mimi Part Deux

2007-10-07T11:33:00.000-04:00

I just phoned France again, and spoke briefly with my aunt who said that Mimi was really not doing well. Yesterday she couldn't eat anything and was vomiting up water. Today she is eating but the exhaustion is probably the worst its been yet.

Then I talked to Grandpa (my Dad).

He's been in Tunisia during this time and just got back to France today, and he's probably pretty exhausted which certainly heightens the emotions, but it was scary as hell. He's in panic mode, talking about 24 hour care etc. I, being ever the rational one in these situations (when did that happen, and where does that come from, I wonder? Sometimes its truly surprising to me) reminded him that cancer is full of ups and downs and that we can't assume its time based on extreme exhaustion after a long and voyage. The trip was probably too much much for her, but it was important to her and the long term effects are not something we can know right now while she's still caught up in it all. I told him that if he was too worried about the return trip, to take her to the doctor there, just to get the okay to fly home. I told him she isn't dying right now. He asked how I knew, and i said I just know. She's going to be here for the birth of her grandson, I just know it.

But is that a gut feeling or wishful thinking? Is Dad panicking, or is it really one of those radical shifts that happen in cancerland? I can't really know until I pick them up from the airport on Tuesday night and see for myself. But his panic definitely scared the shit out of me. I'm not ready for her to die now. Not yet. I know I'll never be ready, but I want her to get to hold her grandson. That's important to me.

In the meantime, I calmed Grandpa down, and reassured him, because I can't be there to be the together one, so he needs to be together.

But I sure could use a parent somewhere myself, because I'd like a little reassurance too.

The Mimi Model

2007-10-05T10:21:00.001-04:00

I just spoke with the LFM's "Mimi" (the variation on the french Mamy or Memere that my mother liked best), who is in France visiting her family for what she says is the last visit to her home country, and she sounds absolutely horrible. The mixture of chemo built up exhaustion and a very long voyage are pretty combustible, and she actually sounded worse than she has in a very long time. The last time she sounded this bad was when she was getting 2 blood transfusions a week because the chemo was attacking her blood...that was a fun time. Now the chemo isn't attacking her blood, its attacking her kidneys, and she's pretty anemic to boot. All of this means that she sounded horrible and my heart hurts to hear her like that. She kept telling me in French that she didn't want to speak French because French was much more tiring to her, and yet she kept getting confused with which language she was speaking and kept alternating languages, not really aware of which she was speaking.

Lately I've only begun to realize that perhaps Mimi's cancer does have something to do with the fact that this pregnancy has been so emotionally difficult. I haven't wanted to factor that in, but in truth its a huge influence...how could it not be? And somehow being pregnant and transitioning into motherhood myself, I find myself really wanting my mother around...wanting my mother as she always was, not as she is right now. As she is right now, she isn't super capable of mothering, and mothering is what I need in this time of transition. I want her wisdom that she isn't really capable of accessing right now, and I want to share this experience with her, but she doesn't always have the energy to really be a part of it.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for every little bit that get, and I realize that these are stolen moments that I am so incredibly lucky to have. Its just that now there is an added desperation to hold on to her instead of letting go...a desperation to have her around for the LFM's childhood and beyond. A desperation on behalf of both of us to keep her here.

And desperation or not, she's not able to stay for as long as I'd wish for.
And not able to usher me through these changes as I'd wish for.

But at least she'll be able to be a Mimi, for whatever time she can.

More Sensitive Than an Festering Abcess

2007-10-03T10:54:00.000-04:00

I'm having one of those days when I'm having the hardest time not taking everything super personally and I'm on the verge of crawling under my desk and crying. That's one of the really difficult things of pregnancy that you're not generally warned about- sometimes I'm so uber-vulnerable that I can't even take a joke at all, even if I know its meant as a joke or light teasing. Me, the queen of sarcasm, can dish it but I most definitely cannot take it...at least not today.

Especially not when its related to something I fucked up and then fucked up in the fixing of it. I hate fucking up.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words and Some Good Old Fashioned Groundedness

2007-09-27T11:50:00.001-04:00

How embarrassing for the LFM that his Mom is already posting nudie pics on the internets! (follow the arrow)

So not only did our beautiful son show all, but he did so in such a spectacular manner that everyone who has seen the ultrasound picture (ie the blackmail shot) has been incredibly impressed. Yup, that's our boy...and his gigantic no-mistaking-it-for-anything-else penis. We also got to see his other brain, which is also huge, and his face with his chubby little cheeks and WB's full round lips. He actually gave us quite the tour, thanks to the caffeine I had about an hour before hand, and it was nothing short of magical as we watched him open and close his teeny little hand (undoubtedly waving at the silly parental gawkers...he's a total ham, just like his Mama) or stick his teeny perfect little footprint right up to us. He looks healthy and the weight they estimated for him (1 pound 7 ounces) is right in the perfect range for his stage of development at 23 1/2 weeks.

We have a wonderful healthy beautiful (and well hung) baby boy!

We definitely made the right decision (for us) to find out now instead of waiting- its the little extra grounding force to make us feel more rooted in the pregnancy and our journey towards parenthood. What with all of the stress from the move and Mom's cancer, I feel like we needed that extra little something to make us feel even more solidly connected to our child and to each other....as a whole funky family. And boy did it! Even though I've known all along (I kept saying I thought it was a boy, and I just couldn't envision a girl at all...somehow I just knew) somehow this just makes everything so very real and beautiful in a way that supersedes the sucky stress of cancer and moving pains....in a way that supersedes absolutely everything else. All I can think or say or do is "We have a son!".

And that's a truly wonderful thing!

**I tried to scan the ultrasound photos and haven't been able to get any decent quality pics...I posted the money shot for now, but hopefully will be able to get a better pics soon.

The Interminable Wait AND My Beautiful Surprise

2007-09-26T11:46:00.000-04:00

We have our 2nd trimester ultrasound today at 3:20pm. Yes, this is the ultrasound where we potentially get to find out the sex of the baby, providing the LFM complies and decides to reveal all. If it takes after its mother, it certainly will; if it takes after its father then modesty will undoubtedly prevail. Come on, LFM, be Mama's little monkey, just for today. After that, please adopt the easy going nature of your father, or we'll all be in trouble.

In the meantime, I'm trying desperately to hold on to my sanity until then, amidst a virtual standstill of time. Amidst a virtual standstill of time combined with a slightly stressful day at work, I might add. This is not fun. I think my head exploded an hour ago.

At 2:00pm I'll go get a little bit of coffee (our fabulous doula's suggestion), so that hopefully the LFM will be nice and active and not stubbornly showing us his or her butt only. That will take up, oh, about 10 minutes. Great. And as for the other 160 minutes???

I received the most wonderful surprise the other day, from one of the women in the Birth Circle that I go to (its a support system for women seeking natural birthing experiences- mostly for women doing home birth-which we'd love to do, but can't afford this time around, as insurance doesn't cover it and we don't even have monopoly money to spend after the move and all). At the last birth circle I was talking about how I would love to have a positive self image during this time (I believe my exact words were "I want to feel like fertile goddess") but how difficult I was finding that to be when faced with the plethora of not-so-wonderful comments I receive on a daily basis from total strangers and your average thug on the street with his pants around his ankles. The Nurturer had suggested that I designate a candle for positive thoughts and self affirmation, and light that candle whenever I was feeling negative about myself or life in general.

When I arrived home from a particularly upsetting day on Monday, I found a gift bag that had been left on the porch for me, containing a large pear scented (my favorite!) candle hand painted with a circle of women's faces superimposed on beautiful orange yellow flames. It even has glitter! The card accompanying the gift talked about how the circle of women in the candle represents the circle of women supporting me through my birth journey.

And it was just what I've needed. I have lit the candle every night and spent at least a few minutes by myself, feeling more centered and supported, and all from this one little surprise gift from someone I barely know at all. Sometimes the universe just hands you these wonderful experiences when you need them most. Thank you, Nuturer. You have, in a very simple way, given me a little extra peace of mind. That is invaluable.

My Co-opted Body is Turning Against Me!

2007-09-20T09:54:00.000-04:00

My new top favorite super fun pregnancy symptoms of the week (excluding the 45 minutes spent violently sobbing in a grocery store parking lot Tuesday night, because while the moodiness is a barrel of laughs and all, its not really new) include:

*My nose is now slowly but surely emitting any and all pieces of its bloody self every time I blow it, which is frequently because pregnancy swells your mucous membranes to epic proportions thus giving supreme dictatorial power to your sinuses to reign unchallenged over your entire being. Its like having the bloody snotty nose of a cokehead, but without all the extra energy (which I could sure use) and teeth grinding.

*Braxton Hicks contractions, which I've actually been having for several weeks now and thought it was quite possibly a re-enactment of the scene in Aliens where the alien pushes out through someone's stomach, until I checked with my midwife at the last appointment and she assured me that no, it is indeed the BH contractions. Not that I'm disappointment, mind you, but that really is kind of what it feels like. I keep wanting to shout, "No! Wrong way! That's not the way out! Head South and bear left at the cervix!" Its not painful at all, its just super uncomfortable and pretty damn creepy. And I get them multiple times a day every single day. Whew, jealous yet?

*My tailbone has started to hurt. Not my ass, but my tailbone. Its the oddest sensatuion and incredibly uncomfortable (read painful, I just don't want to admit it). I can't find a comfortable way to sit at all. Or stand. Or lie down. Or breathe and exist. Other than that, I feel great.

*The famed lower back pain of pregnancy has begun. Thank god for yoga, that's all I have to say.

New Year's Dinner

2007-09-17T18:17:00.000-04:00

Me and My Two Honies

I Adore Him...(most of the time)

Maman Kissing the LFM

We had a wonderful belated New Year's celebration last night at Mim's, and it was a perfect gathering of family (both real and adopted). The LFM was particularly into the yummy radish spread, Mama Synge was particularly relishing the glass of wine it took her 12 hours to finish.

Goddess of the Hippos

2007-09-12T16:08:00.000-04:00

2 days ago (before the nice New Year's haircut I got last night, which makes me feel much more attractive)

a few weeks ago, wearing the shirt WB's parents sent me for his birthday

Bless your sweet 'ole heart kind old woman at the health food store! Bless you for being shocked when I said I was 5 months pregnant, and bless your heart even more for saying I was tiny. You are my new best friend. In fact, I'm moving in to the Honey Shop, just so you can tell me every day how small I am. I like you more than my father, who loudly proclaimed the other night, to the detriment of my fragile ego, "Wow, you sure are getting fat there aren't you?". I like you much better than the playwright who came into work the other day and said "You're what, 8 months?" to which I of course assumed he must be joking, so I replied "Yup, 8 months...that's me..." and then upon realizing that he was indeed not at all joking I amended, "No, not at all. but thanks a lot for making me feel great." His way of rectifying the situation was to say "Well [female director] is about your build and she wouldn't have looked like that until 13 months!". Wow, glad you added that qualifying statement in there, makes me feel even better to be compared to a 5'10" super thin woman when pregnant. Let me go drown my sorrows by eating 10 tubs of straight lard, because you know, that's how I got to be this gargantuan...my top secret diet of straight lard and sugar.

Even strangers at random campgrounds have told me, "Wow, you are carrying quite large!" and these are mothers, people! These are women who have been through the oh-so-fragile process of pregnancy and who have presumably known how awkward it feels to be waddling around like a gigantic hippo! How could they ever think that would be a good thing to say to someone who might not be feeling their most attractive ever? The only proper response, even if I call myself ginormous, is to say how lovely I look. And small. Even if you think I need to have a permanent tattoo reading "WIDE LOAD" drawn across my ass and can qualify as a high occupancy vehicle all on my own, the only proper comment is a flattering one. Really. Because let me tell, I do not feel like the gorgeous fertile goddess that I want to feel like. And maybe, just maybe, if people stopped being thoughtless in how they speak about my new changing body, I could enjoy it a little more, and love my new hippo shape.

So thank you, awesome lady in the Honey Shop, (who has birthed 5 children and ushered 10 more grandchildren into this world so probably knows a lot about pregnancy) for giving a pregnant goddess exactly what she needs. I walked back to work with my head high, feeling wonderful about my big 'ol belly and ass the size of Canada.

Happy New Year to all the Jewish monkeys out there - may you have a sweet and joyous new year! WB and I are going to Synagogue tonight, where I'm sure everyone will have some sort of opinion about my belly, and since many have known me since age 3, will feel quite at liberty to express said opinions. However, this is the most exciting Rosh Hashanah for me ever, with many exciting new beginnings happening this year.

The Kitchen Sink and Beyond

2007-09-05T03:04:00.000-04:00

Its 3:30 in the a.m. and I can't sleep at all. I can hear WB snoring very clearly from the other side of our very large apartment (that is after all how he got named the Wild Boar), I've already eaten the requisite midnight ice cream, and still I don't anticipate sleep arriving at any point soon. Don't get me wrong, I'm exhausted. I just can't sleep.

The Little Funky Monkey is awake too.

Then again, the LFM is awake much of the time these days, and is quite the active baby. I've been feeling movement for about 4 weeks now. It began at a little over 16 weeks when I felt what can only be described as someone tickling me from the inside, but very briefly. Just like this little tickle tickle and that was it. That progressed into what I call the "bloop" phase, because I decided that if the kicking had a sound effect, it wold undoubtedly be a "bloop!". Now it feels much more like a kick a lot of the time and its kind of also this weird dropping feeling at the same time, like when you're in an elevator and your stomach drops, only this is much more localized in the body. Its such a weird wonderful crazy feeling...it happens all the time but still kind of takes me aback every single time. Its kind of like this weird thing that's taken over your body - mysterious and wonderful and truly bizarre all at once. It also feels like this wonderful secret between the baby and I - its just us communicating solely with each other during this time, and it feels so special and sacred, this dance that's occurred between mother and child in utero throughout the ages. It makes me feel humbled, even when its slightly annoying or quite strong and distracting.

We have our first midwife appointment here in River City (not its real name) on Thursday. I'm anxious to meet the woman who will be guiding us through this process and even more anxious to schedule our 20 week ultrasound (we turned 20 weeks on Saturday) and find out whether its a boy or a girl. I'm so impatient I can't wait for the ultrasound - I don't know how I'd ever wait through the whole pregnancy! Not to mention the fact that every single person I know as well as every stranger in the grocery line keeps asking me when I'm going to know the sex. Its driving me crazy! If one more person asks me (especially my dear mother who asks me every single time I talk to her, which is often) I'm going to lose my shit on them. Seriously. I'm just as eager to know as you people are - more so, because dammit its my kid - and getting asked every 6.3 seconds only makes it worse!

And that's it for my middle of the night posting - I have much more to update considering I've been a blogging slacker, but I really should try and get some sleep. Also I just don't feel like writing - that seems to be a rather constant symptom throughout this pregnancy, at least since the big move. Then again, I've certainly been more than a little down in the dumps and having a very hard time with the whole transition, so I guess its no surprise I don't feel like writing. Its not exactly fun to write about feeling depressed, and its certainly no fun to read about it. I try and save my pity parties for truly special occasions, like this evening, wherein I laid in bed paralyzed and staring aimlessly into the middle distance while convincing myself that nothing will ever be okay. See? I told you it was really not that fun. Ah, these are the joys of pregnancy that you're not supposed to write about or talk about..doesn't really fit in with the whole glowing thing. I could write post after post about the hormonally inspired mood swings (I'm sure WB could write an entire novel)..but its late and I don't want to scare you off from ever reading this blog again.

Really I'm usually much more entertaining than this. I promise.

18 (and a half) Weeks

2007-08-22T23:52:00.001-04:00

Here it is...the long overdue enormous hippo belly - though its so big I'm sure its probably reached out from your computer screen and whacked you upside the head...that's how ginormous this belly is. This is at the end of the day, mind you, after eating copious amounts of food...which actually does make a difference in belly size, and Muffinface has the photo evidence to prove it. Please ignore the droopy boobs and backfat...humor the pregnant lady, and just pretend that these things don't exist.

(I Move Several States Away) With a Little Help From My Friends

2007-08-21T14:10:00.000-04:00

(photos taken by Mica, who was smart enough to know we'd probably want the whole thing documented)

sad me with our life in a truck

WB and I on our old stoop, for the last time...

the microwave goes in the kitchen?? what?? shocking!

So we're here, safe and sound, and actually have been for a whopping three weeks (what??), all three of whom have disappeared into the nebulous cosmos somewhere because I certainly don't remember them. They were most likely a whirlwind of crying, unpacking, the search for the perfect shower curtain, more crying, and then maybe some crying. After that, I believe I cried.

But we're here, and the apartment is wonderful and WB and I have each other, which is the most important part of all. We also have the most amazing friends - on both sides of the mason dixon line - without whom we never ever could have done this. We had friends helping us through every stage of the process, from packing, to kidnapping me while packing and spiriting me away on an adventure involving lunch and the central park zoo, to the actual moving day (in which I would have lost my shit completely were it not for said friends who lovingly took over the entire process and forced me to sit and watch the truck as they hauled our life down 5 flights of stairs) to the unloading here in River City, Dixieland, as well as the unpacking, and the providing of watermelon and hugs to the freaked out pregnant lady. Our friends realy must love us or be very well paid by my parents, because they carried us so beautifully through the whole process from start to finish, all the while indulging me in my hormone induced fits of crying. That's friendship for you.

Moving day itself began on a rather ominous tone, as we were rear ended en route to pick up our moving van way the hell out in the Bronx. It was really such a minimal impact that the most damage it did was to my anxiety level, because of course I was terrified that the seat belt tightening below my womb would cause a miscarriage. Luckily I was wearing the seatbelt correctly, but of course it still scared the pants off of me. And that was just the begining. We had yet to even arrive at the U-Haul from hell.

Let me tell you that the customer service at the Riverdale U-Haul is, oh, less than stellar. Sp much less than stellar that the woman behind the counter could only have been ruder had she spit on us, which she was probably about to do had we stayed there 5 seconds more. The wait in line from the time of arrival onward was an hour...an hour people! there is no need for that! The U-Haul people are not building the trucks, they're just filling out the damn paperwork to rent them out! The worst blow, however, came when WB went to hand in his driver's license to complete the process. WB is from Puerto Rico, and he has a Puerto Rican driver's license. WHICH IS TOTALLY VALID IN THE UNITED STATES! Puerto Rico is a territory of the US! My father was able to out him on the driver's insurance of his car with a Puerto Rican license! Everyone knows this, clearly, except for U-Haul, who would not rent the moving van to WB.

I was less than thrilled about the prospect of driving a 10 foot truck for 7 hours, especially considering I had only slept for 2 hours the night before, so needless to say I asked to speak to the manager. The girl told me "He's outside". I has been waiting outside during the hour long wait in line (to refrain from screaming like a madwoman), and has seen the manager outside. With a bluetooth thingie stuck in his ear, talking on the phone. So I replied "Yes, I saw him outside, and I know he has a phone. So I'd like you to please call him on that phone and ask him to come in here to discuss this with me." She refused, claiming she didn't know the number, and besides, her "supervisor" had said it wasn't doable. That's when I started writing down names, or at least attempting to...our lovely lady behind the counter also refused to give me the name of her "supervisor", saying "She's right there, ask her yourself." Finally WB and Shaby-baby had to calm me down, before we were given the worst truck in the lot.

I did have one little lovely moment of revenge, however, when the rude rep told us that our 10 inch truck was ready. WB and I started laughing out loud, and he asked "Our 10 inch truck?" and she said, with quite the attitude,"Yeah, that's the size you ordered". I said "I don't think that's the size we ordered, at all. " and she said "Yeah, it is! It says right here, a 10 inch truck. That's what you ordered." and WB asked again, "Are you sure its a 10 inch trcuk?", as we continued to laugh the entire time. Rude Rep was more than a little peeved and said "Yeah, I don't know why that's so funny, cuz that's what you ordered!". I finally stopped laughing enough to say "No, I really don't think that's what we ordered. A 10 inch truck would only be about this big [showing the size with my hands]. I think we ordered a 10 foot truck." Rude Rep got all huffy and puffy and thoroughly embarassed and could only reply "Whatever." Revenge is sweet indeed.

A million thank yous to everyone who helped, even when they had shows to run to afterwards, and jobs waiting for them, and law papers to write. You are all wonderful people.

And now I must post this or it will never get done, its overdue enough as is.

In the Thick of It

2007-07-24T17:28:00.000-04:00

I'm in the thick of it...surrounded by boxes and mess (and stress!) everywhere I look. So far my brain hasn't exploded, but I know its only a question of time really. I just wanted to take advantage of a quick moment in which I am neither packing or sobbing (a rare moment to find, really) to let you know that I am still breathing. That seems like a feat in and of itself right now. Lets hope it continues.

Home Sweet Home (To Be)

2007-07-18T21:38:00.000-04:00

We found the best apartment ever. Its in a revitalized historic district, with most buildings dating to the very early 1900's. Its got loads of character, loads of storage, and best of all.....its HUGE!!! We're going from an 8 X 8 living room to an entire floor. We have central air and heat, a washer and dryer in the apartment (now I really feel spoiled!) and a dishwasher whose name is not WB. (Though we still have a cook whose name is Synge)

I circled the whole gigantic area of the space that is our apartment in red, just because I am that much of a show off. Also it makes me very happy to see.

This is our entrance and ours alone. The apartment downstairs enters from a side door, so we have a front porch all to ourselves. Nice.

In addition to having a front porch all to ourselves, we have that humongous 2nd floor side balcony for fun summertime barbecues...its a little slanted, so drunk people can just slide right off.

This is the park directly across the street from the apartment. There are several fountains and lots of benches and some really nice flowers in this little park. If you walk about a block, there's this huge hill overlooking the river. Gorgeous.

This is the master bedroom. The photo does not do it justice. It alone is much bigger than our entire apartment now. WB got lost in this room alone, it was so huge.

This is the master bathroom. Two sinks. Count 'em. One...two! Right now our bathroom sink is smaller than an 8.5 X 11 piece of paper. The mirror shot is just for Mim.

This is the nursery, which we referred to as the "office" in front of the fabulous man who showed us the apartment. It has this great little super sunny nook (where WB and my adorable mother are looking) which is perfect for a rocking chair. I've already dubbed it the breastfeeding nook.

This is one of the 2 huge windows in the breastfeeding nook. Though I guess technically its a door, but whatever. Window, door...its still incredibly sunny.

This is the great room. and believe me, it is great. Its a living room, kitchen and dining room (eat in kitchen) all in one...with 2 working gas fireplaces!!! I peed in my pants a little when I heard that one. The kitchen is all redone with bamboo floors (a renewable resource, so that makes me happy) and counter tops made from recycled hardwood. I was impressed that they made an effort to be green.

My incredibly handsome WB in the kitchen space offering everyone gum, because he's just super polite like that. Also, he's super handsome and smart and funny and perfect.

Oh yeah, and all the appliances in the kitchen are new.

One of the working fireplaces in the great room, on the living room side of the kitchen island. The floors here are antique and the built in bookshelves are screaming to be filled with our many boxes of books.

Behold the miraculous machines which will make our lives blissful and about 90% easier. Also note the storage space. We're going from an apartment with one closet (and I use that term loosely, mind you) to an apartment with a downstairs hallway closet, 2 closets in the master bedroom, one in the nursery, and storage space above the closets in addition to this utility room. I can hoard sentimental crap to my heart's content! Also not pictured is the 2nd full bathroom...that's right, two full baths...with bathtubs! do you know how of longed for and dreamt about having an apartment with a bathtub? And now I got me 2 of em! I'm never leaving home again!

And the best thing about the apartment? Its 4 blocks from my good friend Muffin Face (who I adore beyond belief), and Muffin Face loves to cook. A lot. Could we be any luckier?

12 1/2 Weeks Posted at 13 1/2 Weeks With 13 1/2 Weeks Update (Confused Yet?)

2007-07-18T20:07:00.000-04:00

So we're now closer to 14 weeks than we are to the 12 week shot I wanted to post...so much for being on top of things with this blog. In my defense, I'm training 2 people at 2 different jobs, packing (well, some packing and a lot of stressing over packing, which takes up a lot of time you know), and growing a baby. The last one's the most tiring by far.

So here it is in all its weird brightly veined glory. The scar is not recent...it was a crepe related accident incurred while trying to impress WB's borther and sister in law the first time we went to their house for dinner. That's what I get for trying to impress anyone! Though I was super tough and didn't let on for a second that I had just seared my flesh to the second degree.

Anyway....I'm definitely looking more pregnant these days, and getting fun new symptoms. I've been getting more cramps (my uterus is growing, and well, its just not always comfortable) and I was kept up all night the other night by heartburn (which was loads of fun, let me tell you. Poor WB, I finally woke him up too and made him join in the vigil of misery). My ankles and feet are swelling like nobody's business - especially my left foot. I had to take off my left shoe today because it was swelling right out of my shoe! The mood swings are no fun either, let me tell you...especially combined with moving stress.

All of which is making me want sugar as comfort. That's bad. That's so so bad. (And so so good)

Boobs, Blessings and other Blabbering

2007-07-13T17:46:00.000-04:00

There comes a time in every woman's pregnancy where she looks into the mirror at the blossoming essence of womanhood that her body is exhibiting more an more each day, and thinks "Oh my God! Did I get a boob job in my sleep and not know about it? Was I kidnapped by a group of rogue gypsy plastic surgeons dedicating their lives to the breast enhancement of all womankind? Where did this gigantic rack come from, and how did it get on my chest without me noticing?". That day, folks, was today. Mark your calendars. The Bleu Bust Explosion of 2007 is now officially underway. I'd include pictures, but this is a family blog, and WB would be forever horrified, as would most, if not all, of you readers. Suffice it to say, the carnage is great.
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And in another vein totally unconnected by anything but alliteration, WB, the Little Funky Monkey and I got blessed by this amazing woman, (click here for the trailer of the film made about her) who is not only known as India's hugging saint, but is also widely respected for her tireless and expansive humanitarian efforts. We waited until 2:30 in the morning for this, but it was well worth it. I've felt much more of a sense of peace since we received darshan, and I love the fact that we got blessed together as a family. WB actually got blessed twice, as he received a hug and a kiss alone, as well as our family hugs and kisses and blessing. He also heard her say "There is no pain" in Spanish while holding us in her embrace, so I say whether or not this is what she actually said, this is our blessing. It was a beautiful gift to us as a family, and a beautiful gift to the pregnancy. Her devotees who kept the line moving are very protective of her, as it certainly takes a lot of energy to hug and kiss thousands upon thousands of people for hours upon hours without taking a break. So they are quite diligent about keeping those going along, and it was almost a bit aggressive to me as they pushed us on to her bosom and pulled us away. This only slightly marred the experience, however, and despite being pretty exhausted from the whole event and waiting until 2:30am, I'm still so very glad we had this opportunity, It brings good energy to the baby and to our little family. (And WB really dug the chanting.)
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And now for the long awaited blabbering. We move in 2 weeks. 2 WEEKS PEOPLE! ARE YOU PANICKING? I SURE AS HELL AM! As of this moment, I have officially packed...one crate. Yes, one whole crate. Amazing, I know. This is a cause of great stress in my world, though as a friend of mine said the other day, it will get packed. Whether or not it gets packed how I want it to be packed is another thing, but at the very worst we'll just start randomly throwing shit into boxes and will move that way. It will get done no matter what. And my mother brought up a very good point, that I work best under pressure. Hmmm, 2 weeks to make a major interstate move and a big life change...nah, no pressure there.
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Yesterday on the subway a seemingly nice woman gave up her seat for me on the subway, despite the fact that she had an entire apartment's worth of stuff in about 6 enormous bags with her. She said she'd been there; she understood. I thought that was incredibly sweet of her, and we began to talk about pregnancy, and this woman, who has evidently been there before was evidently giving birth to a microscopic organism before, because she guessed that I was 6 months pregnant! 6 months! I felt far too ashamed to tell her I was only half her estimate, so I lied and told her I was 4 months along. Then I got off the subway and cried. I'm definitely showing now, and I'm showing rather early (we're 13 weeks tomorrow), but people...I DO NOT LOOK LIKE I'M 6 MONTHS ALONG! So I'm including some crappy cell phone pictures (which do not accurately reflect the awesome boobage that is going on here), to prove to everyone that I am not that much of a beached whale...yet. (That would be your cue to leave nice comments about how perfect I look for 3 months...)

(Fear not...although many unexpected things have indeed issued forth from there due to pregnancy, despite all appearances to the contrary I have yet to produce an electrical outlet from my ass)

(Bellies clearly make me happy. And blurry, but I'm not supposed to talk about that in public.)

Oh, I also think I forgot to mention that I cut my very long hair in what was probably a hormonally inspired move wherein I woke up one morning and decided that I could no longer tolerate even one more second of my long wavy hair and that I had to get it cut that instant! Fortunately, WB convinced me to wait a few hours until I could get an appointment at this place in our neighborhood, where I walked up to my fabulous stylist and told him that I was pregnant and needed him to "fix me". After explaining to me that he really had no interest in all that, he got to work on creating what is actually a very adorable cut when my hair is actually, oh say, washed and maybe even combed?

And just for the record, I don't usually wear flowers or other girlie things. This is a borrowed maternity top (albeit one that I picked out - but I picked it out for a friend, not me) and its very comfortable dammit! I am not turning girlie, I'm just pregnant. There's a difference, I promise.

And now, I must go eat. Right this second! When the 6-months-along-looking-belly calls, I must answer. There is no other choice.

2007-07-09T19:18:00.001-04:00

Oh my god, I want to write a nice long post but I'm just way too exhausted to say anything other than "mmmppphh."

Mmmmmppppphhhhh. mmmmmppppphhhhhh. mmmmmpppphhhhh.

I think I'm sleep typing.

And I can feel my uterus growing as I type this...yeah, that's fun.

We hit 12 weeks this past Saturday...I'm just waitiing for my Golden Trimester to begin any moment. Really, any time now would be great! Especially with all that packing to do and a move in less than 3 weeks now....
Hello?
Is this thing on?
Hello?

A Beatle in the Belly?

2007-07-08T11:24:00.000-04:00

I thought this was too funny not to share....my dear friend Jessica has brought it to our attention that we are gestating a rock star. Please note the similarities below :

Little Funky Monkey - young George Harrison...can you tell which is which?

Presenting......

2007-07-06T19:15:00.001-04:00

Why won't this let me post a title? [editor's note: this seems to be a weird Firefox only problem, as I was able to post a title later with Safari] Oh Blogger, not even you can ruin my good day. And you know why? Because, ladies and gents of the internet, may I formally introduce you to the Little Funky Monkey!

These were my 4 favorites of the 9(!) our super awesome ultrasound tech printed out for us. The whole process was rather quick - minus the customary wait in the waiting room due to lack of anything that might remotely resemble organization. We went in, she squirted about 2 gallons of the very cold ultrasound fluid on my belly and then proceeded to put huge amounts of pressure on my abdomen right by my hip bone, which was not really a very pleasant feeling. She then took a bunch of pictures of the neck, explaining to us (if one can really use the term "explaining" here) that the first trimester screen measured the baby's neck. Ummm, ok. No explanation as to why or what they were looking for. But the neck was duly measured and then she turned on the sound and we got to hear the heartbeat! It sounded like a huge herd of galloping horses and instantly brought to mind the famous Chincoteague Pony Penning, which I always wanted to go to, but never did (though we did go to the Eastern Shore several years in a row for vacations)....I guess that's what I imagine it would sound like. Like a fetus' heartbeat.

Ok, don't make fun of the pregnant lady, even if her connections ain't that tight.

Though WB had seats front and center and even backstage passes, I myself was unable to see a thing for the whole exciting process up until this point. Finally, I suppose my barely contained (read not at all) enthusiasm won her over and she turned the monitor towards me and I got to see the baby again, in far better detail than we had before. She fired off pictures to be printed in rapid succession while I, of course, cried like a blubbering sentimental fool. The coolest part was definitely when she did a sort of closeup on the head and face with one hand sort of waving (see the very bottom picture), and internets, I swear to you that baby has one enormous schnoz. And that enormous schnoz must definitely come from its father (though genetically speaking I must admit that both of my parents have pretty large noses and both of my grandfathers could fit a grand piano in each nostril so who knows). I like the idea that we can start attributing features to one parent or the other while the child is in utero, even if later we end up finding out that that is a butt and not a head.

And folks, this baby is right on schedule developmentally...lord knows where it got its punctuality from, certainly not either of us! I'm just happy to know that its healthy and that there are a million very strong sounding horses stampeding in my uterus as I write this.

(Actually, it does look a little monkey-ish in these pictures, doesn't it? I swear this child is human, I swear!)

The Most Magical Moment Imaginable

2007-07-05T19:12:00.001-04:00

Last Thursday (yes, my blogging procrastination is indeed that bad) we had our second official prenatal appointment. This was the big exciting visit where we were to possibly hear the heartbeat through the doppler (though I never thought we'd be able to... 10 1/2 weeks is a bit early, after all, and the baby's heartbeat just isn't that super strong yet). I was prepared for disappointment (and by prepared I mean I was totally freaking out and biting the hell out of my newly grown fingernails) and I was ready (and by ready I mean trying not to cry about the possibility) to have to wait another week to even know if there was a real honest to goodness baby in there or not. Somehow I had pretty much convinced myself that I was Mary Tudor and was having a hysterical pregnancy, because really my symptoms have been so mild, and also because clearly I'm bat shit crazy.

But not that crazy. I know (....now). I got me some proof.

My midwife (who by the way was so totally confident she could get the heartbeat) tried valiantly for quite a while to find the Little Funky Monkey's heartbeat. We did hear quite a bit of my heartbeat, which if I may just flatter myself here a little, sounded so soothing and comforting. I was actually a little jealous of the LFM that it gets to hear that all the time (except it can't really hear yet, but shhh....don't tell WB, I love that he talks to LFM every day, its really so sweet). I actually would love a recording of that to fall asleep to...in fact it was relaxing me there up on the table at the midwife's office. But while I could have listened to my own heartbeat for hours, it wasn't about me, and we were seriously bummed not to hear the LFM's heartbeat.

That is until our rockin' midwife rolled the portable sonogram machine into the office, dimmed the lights (clearly the baby needs mood lighting to overcome its shyness), and began the show. And what a show it was! Oh my god, the appropriate words aren't even in existence, much less the proper combination therein, to describe what we felt. It was magic, pure magic. We were both struck completely dumb, mouths agape in awe, squeezing each others' hands as the tears rolled freely. I'm still tearing up at the thought of it, one whole week later. We saw the Little Funky Monkey Monkey! We actually saw it! And folks, not only is there definitely a baby in there, but that little sucker was dancing for us and I swear it waved. The midwife was definitely stoked that the LFM made her look so good and moved on cue. She also showed us the heartbeat (which was pretty darn cool to see) and said that it looked to be right on schedule developmentally and was the right size for 10 1/2 weeks.

I think we're still glowing from it all. Its the most magical wondrous thing imaginable. Its better than unicorns and kittens and ice cream. Its like being in love to the nth degree (which is a dizzying high, let me tell you)...not only is our bond strengthened between the two of us, but we're both totally head over heels in love with the LFM already!

And the best part is, we get to do it all again tomorrow! We had a previously scheduled appointment for the first trimester (which is almost over...hooray!) screen, where they will measure the baby and check everything out and best of all, if we're really good and behave very well, we get pictures! Yay!

(We also did find an apartment that's about 500 times better than the one we didn't get last time, but that's for another post. One celebratory post at a time, lest the excitement be too much for you to bear)

10 Weeks and the Story of the Out of Control Belly

2007-06-27T18:10:00.000-04:00

This is me at the end of the day, and not first thing in the morning before eating or drinking a single thing with my arms raised high in the air. And no, I am not sticking my stomach out, that's just the real deal, gassey bloating and water retention in all its glory. No wonder I feel so very attractive these days.

I think I would feel better if my uterus had already tipped and I was showing...then I could say I had a right to look pregnant. As of right now, I just look fat, and can't really say I'm showing. Its just not all that great for the 'ol ego to say "no, its not my uterus or the baby, its just gassey bloating and water retention. "

Though Sarachkah did teach me a wonderful little trick of sticking out my stomach even further and putting my hand on the top of the mound 'o bloat, thereby effectively convincing people that I am pregnant and not fat. For some reason only pregnant people put their hands on their stomachs. But hey, it worked! I have now had 3 people give up their seats for me on a crowded subway car thanks to the old hand on the belly trick. This is very exciting! I'm going to do this even when I'm not pregnant!

Paradise Lost? Found? In Search of?

2007-06-25T19:02:00.001-04:00

Its been a little while since I've updated here...I've been very very busy napping 3 hours for every 10 seconds I'm awake. And somehow the computer makes me infinitely tired upon merely turning the damn thing on.

The other thing (besides, you know...growing a baby and all the hard work of incessant eating, sleeping, burping and farting which it entails) that has kept me away from the blogosphere is stressing out about our impending move and obsessively checking craigslist every 5 minutes just in case our dream apartment has suddenly been posted - lord knows we wouldn't want to lose our dream apartment in the 5 minutes of hypothetical negligence that my neurotic self imagines to be our ultimate downfall in life.

Just to backpedal for a moment...there's some key info that I may have failed to mention in this here blog...WB and I are planning on moving to my hometown way down in dixieland, where we both have family (WB is from Puerto Rico and ironically his brother has lived about 15 minutes from my parents' house for about 10 years now...the world is teeny tiny, really!) and a vast and wonderful support network awaiting us. Also awaiting us is a much cheaper cost of living and the opportunity for my mother, who is very sick with cancer, to enjoy to the fullest extent whatever time as a grandmother she may have. So the move makes a lot of sense for us crazy kids just setting about starting our own little monkey family.

Unfortunately, I found out a little too late that things ain't necessarily done the same down south as they is in this here big city of ours. Namely, apartment hunting. In New York, you look the month before you move. Period. That's just how things are done. And then you get cutthroat, beat up the other people trying to throw cash at the broker and lay money down immediately.... the person who gets the money in the broker's grubby little hands first wins. Its simple. I found an incredible deal on our Hell's Kitchen apartment when I came up to look before moving to New York 4 years ago, and grabbed it immediately. It was the first place I saw, and I lucked out.

Such is not to be the case in River City (*not its real name), where it seems all the good apartments and awesome deals seem to go several months in advance, and they only show apartments on a waxing moon at 3:37pm on Tuesdays. That's it. If you can't make it then, you're screwed. In New York they bend over backwards to show you apartments and call you back no matter what hour you call. In River City they don't call you back half the time and many don't show apartments on weekends and no, they're sorry but they can't accommodate out of towners because they just don't show apartments on weekends. Period.

We actually found the perfect apartment for us that we completely fell in love with only to have it snatched out from under us by someone who got an application in before us (though we think it may have had something to do with the fact that my mother blurted out something about the Little Funky Monkey's impending arrival. While it may be illegal to discriminate against expecting couples, I'm certain its done; most people don't want their other tenants complaining about the noise of a crying baby).

We're heading back down south this Friday, and I have created a gigantic monster excel spreadsheet of apartment info - a 3 volume series we will lug with us from exhausting showing to exhausting showing. And we will pick something, dammit. Even if we move in a year, we will pick something this weekend, because I need the security of knowing that something is set and done and solid amidst all this scary change. I need to dream about nesting as I delve into the terrifying mess that is our current apartment (read closet) in the hopes of eventually making some sort of packing sense out of it. I need an image to envision us in our new life we're embarking upon. And most of all, I need to know what size bed we can get (I'm hoping for king - while I love my Wild Boar, I do not always love his snoring).

The good news of the day in between craigslist apartment hunting induced brain explosions, is that I found out in my 10 week email from Baby Center that we no longer have an embryo...our Little Funky Monkey has graduated and is now a full fledged Fetus! I plan to celebrate with lots and lots of Krispy Kreme doughnuts (which we can't find in New York and which I have been dying for) once we get to River City. As for right now, its seriously time for a nap.

Called Out

2007-06-19T11:36:00.000-04:00

A co-worker just asked me if I'm pregnant. I said "Why do you ask that?", and she replied "Because you look a little bloated there..."

Wow. A little over 9 weeks and I'm already being called out on it.

(I kind of totally loved it though!)

The (kind of) First Appointment

2007-06-14T16:36:00.000-04:00

Today we spent the entire morning at the midwife's office. It was kind of the first appointment - it was the first official prenatal appointment. I had been 2 weeks ago to see the midwife for what turned out to be a glorified gynecological appointment in which the only real pregnancy related thing that happened was that I got a prescription for prenatal vitamins. The rest was the usual..pap smear, breast exam, and a student who evidently skipped too many classes of speculum 101 and couldn't seem to figure out how to work the damn thing. That was fun. Today, however, was a different story. And I got to keep my pants on, which is always a plus in almost any given situation...almost.

The (kind of) first appointment was very long and very uneventful. There was a lot of paperwork, a lot of questions, a lot of blood taken, and a lot of waiting. And then I got hungry. Which is never a good thing, because if I reach a certain point of hunger, which occurs about 15 minutes after I realize I'm hungry, I become a total and complete bitch. [editor's note: I tried vainly for a full 10 minutes to think of an alternative to using the word "bitch" but found I just couldn't, because really nothing else fully encompasses the state I achieve when hungry. Nothing else does it justice] And I did, oh believe me, I did. Right about the time we were forced to wait 30 minutes just to pay the damn $20 co-payment because we were sent on a wild goose chase due to a missing form. Lovely.

The practice we are with seems to be rather crowded, harried and overrun with patients. Of course, this being New York, its probably par for the course. However, how this translates into the practical mechanics of the day to day running of the place is that shortly after the office opens, all hell breaks loose and within 10 minutes it has devolved into a gigantic clusterfuck. A gigantic clusterfuck with long waits where no one can find enough labels for your blood despite there being a virtual novella printed out consisting solely of your name and date of birth cut into sticky white rectangular forms.

But I do think our midwife is really pretty cool. We ran into her as we were walking back to the waiting room after the consult with the HIV counselor - don't panic, its a mandatory consult to let you know that every pregnant woman in New York City must be tested for HIV twice during pregnancy and then you have to sign a form saying that's ok - and she recognized me and asked how things were going and what the endocrinologist had said (I am slightly hyperthyroid and had to go get my levels checked to see if it needed to be managed medicinally, as thyroid disease can cause miscarriage...my numbers look good, by the way, and all is well metabolically for me). She also took a moment while rushing about (which seems to be the only modus operendi there) to shake hands with WB and engage in a little friendly ribbing. I like friendly ribbing, especially when its not aimed at me. Points to the midwife for that one.

I also greatly appreciated the fact that she made sure I didn't have to see the bitchy nurse that I had previously had a bit of a telephonic altercation with when I called to make them aware that I had a thyroid condition and was concerned about it and she said "Well what can I say? You weren't worried about it fours years ago [when I was misdiagnosed with Graves' disease] - now you're pregnant and all of a sudden you're worried about it? Maybe you should have been worried about it then!" Wow, what a comforting thing to tell a frightened first time mother. Well done indeed! I told the midwife about it when I saw her 2 weeks ago and asked that I not have to see the bitchy nurse for this appointment, which I knew had to be with one of the nurses, and the midwife made it happen. She scored huge points for that one.

So the appointment basically consisted of obtaining my medical history and the family histories for both WB and myself, getting about 6 thousand vials of blood drawn, a very silly meeting with an HIV counselor in which she signed many many forms while we watched her juggle papers and telephone calls, all of which could just as easily have been done without us in the room, and a lot of talk about what I can't eat, all of which made me want to eat those foods she was mentioning because I was getting hungry. That and the nice but very ditsy nurse telling me about her pregnancy with her son. Not about her 2 daughters, just the son. I think she plays favorites, not that its any of my business.

The list of forbidden contraband includes:
1. Fish with high mercury content, including shark,swordfish, mackerel, tilefish, tuna, etc.
2. Cold cuts. any and all of 'em, even fresh from a deli. If I absolutely must have cold cuts or I'll die convulsing and crying out for ham and turkey on whole grain bread, then I have to microwave them. Sounds delish.
3. Hot dogs: must be boiled extensively. Considering pre-pregnancy I was a vegetarian, you'd think this wouldn't be a problem, but actually one of my first cravings was franks and beans...what can I say? It made me think of camping!
4. No salads with mayo, like at picnics, unless they've come straight out of the fridge and are less than 2 days old. No salads with mayo like tuna salad or egg salad form the deli because you don't know how old they are. This makes my lazy ass very sad. Now I have to make my own egg salad. Damn.
5. And the worst the absolute worst is no soft cheeses and no stinky french cheeses. Just shoot me now. I'm relegated to the Swiss, Cheddar and Parmesan only corner, left alone to weep at my sad sad fate of tasteless hard cheeses. My only hope of redemption is to ask about Machego, but I'm sure its verboten as well.

The good news is that I get out of scooping kitty poop and changing litter for 9 months and WB has to do it pretty much as soon as it exits the kitty cavity, even without my nagging, so that toxoplasmosis spores don't get in the air I breathe. Yes! There is a god!

Oh, and the other best part of the really long day? We got 3 free diapers. Just 3. No more, no less. Clearly 3 is the exact number every new parent needs.

I think we should hang them on the wall as art.

Hormones...Or The Not Always So Fun Side of Pregnancy

2007-06-13T19:23:00.000-04:00

Hormones are making me miserable at this moment. Especially the ones tied to emotional states of being. And if you've never been pregnant, I don't think you can really get exactly how much of an effect these hormones do have on your emotions, which you suddenly feel are completely out of your control. Even if you don't always show it or never really convey the depths to others, the boiling cauldron of emotional turmoil can be such a difficult thing for the person experiencing it. I'd say hell pretty much sums it up accurately. Everyone always has pity for the partner, who is the usual recipient of whatever emotion du jour happens to pop up, but let me tell you, being the one that has to experience it firsthand is anything but a picnic.

While it is a joyous miracle, pregnancy certainly doesn't always feel like one.

I am having an incredibly sad moment. Like gutwrenchingly sad. If you look at me, I will probably cry. Heck, if you think about me, I will probably cry. So please don't think about me, okay?

The Booty

2007-06-12T10:58:00.000-04:00

(look at the teeny tiny shoes! Awww!)

As in Pirate's booty, not the other non-g-rated kind...this is a family blog after all (or at least will attempt to be..I can't make any promises).

Last not WB and I babysat for the 9 month old of my dear friend ZuZu. I had spent most of Saturday with Zuzu and her baby, whom I call Mr. P, and he was definitely going through a phase of being really attached to his parents. He would reach out to me while simultaneously crying at my very existence, which was really not only adorable but totally hysterical. He's also teething, so he's sometimes in pain and lets you know it. Needless to say I was expecting Monday's babysitting gig to be a bit of a rougher ride than the last time we had babysat for them, and tried to prepare WB accordingly, warning him in advance that it may not be a super fun evening.

Remind me to always make such assumptions with our own child, that they may be proven wrong as spectacularly as these were.

Mr. P was a complete angel from start to finish, and we had a wonderful evening. I loved watching WB interact with him, and loved the fact that when WB left the room, Mr. P even cried for him. I have never had a doubt that WB would make a wonderful father, and spending this time with WB and Mr. P simply confirms it for me. I'm sitting at my desk smiling like a fool at the mere memory of the two of them, both adorable in their own way, playing together on the floor. I don't even know who was cuter. I do know that I fell in love with WB just a little bit more, if that's even possible. Just as I do every time he talks to the Little Funky Monkey (which at least once a day, if not more)...its amazing how each moment of this journey plunges us even further into the depths of a truly beautiful intimacy.

But I got a little off track there with my sappy sentimentality...it happens. Blame it on the damn hormones.

Zuzu has been an angel from the get-go, helping me with everything from lending me maternity clothes to helping me when I thought I was going to have to change midwives due to a particularly nasty interaction with a particularly nasty nurse at her practice. Last night, after offering me a half gallon of milk to take home, she busts out this rather large plastic baby tub overflowing with baby clothes and says its ours. What?! We won the baby clothes jackpot! And they're boy clothes, which means we can use them no matter what we're having (I have absolutely no problem dressing a girl in blue, in fact I like the idea). There is so much booty in our treasure chest, its super exciting! Of course when we got home I had to take out and examine absolutely every single item of clothing that was in there, cooing and ooohing over everything in sight.We also got a Snugli and a portable chair that attaches to a table, to take to restaurants from Zuzu as well...we totally scored the good stuff.

8 1/2 weeks and we already have baby stuff! Wow!

WB says that the Little Funky Monkey isn't even born yet and already owns more clothing than he does, which is probably true. (And its much cuter...)

8 Weeks and Slightly Cheating or The Great Bloat

2007-06-11T00:06:00.001-04:00

I'm really kind of cheating here, because I took the photo in the morning, before eating a single thing and with my arms raised straight into the air. Really, I'm actually bigger by the end of the day after all the meals have collected in my tummy and are lying there waiting for my sluggish digestive system to turn off the TV, get off the couch, and start processing some food dammit! But if this is empty tummy bloat...well, just use your imagination.

I saw my dear dear friend Mr. Artsy Hotpants yesterday and the first thing he said to me was "Oh! You don't really look pregnant, you just look like you have a fat stomach!" I loved him infinitely in that moment for being the one person to actually admit the truth. Later he was on the phone to our mutual friend Vixanne, and said "Either Synge is showing already or she's just sticking out her stomach", to which Vixanne promptly replied, "Maybe she's just bloated"...and indeed I am. According to the pregnancy books, my uterus is still way down deep inside me, so what you're seeing is all bloating and gas. Lovely, huh? I feel oh so attractive, let me tell you.

Long Overdue

2007-06-07T18:40:00.000-04:00

This post is long overdue, not the baby. Don't worry, we have some time yet....we're only about 8 weeks along (technically, we will be 8 weeks this Saturday) .

However I've been meaning to create a baby blog for some time now, and have just been far too exhausted and/or lazy to do so yet...but hey, I'm building a baby here...that's hard work you know! I actually did write one post about finding out we were prego - its oh-so-usefully sitting at home in a file on my computer awaiting judgement day or perhaps a decent stolen wifi connection, and its any one's call as to which of those will happen first. In the meantime, I've decided to plunge right in, in my hodge podge kamikaze style, and inundate you with all sorts of details and observations you probably won't want to hear, but things that I'd very much like to record so that one day they can be used to embarrass the teenage version of our wonderful little blessing.

Pregnancy so far...

My first thought was that pregnancy is like a bladder infection, because you just have to pee all the time. I might as well set up camp in the bathroom, complete with a little stove and pillow and sleeping bag for all the time I spend in there. And our bathroom is a teeny tiny refashioned hallway that you have to enter and walk through sideways...not an ideal place to suddenly be spending the majority of my time.

Now, I have amended the earlier analysis to say that pregnancy is actually like having mono (which I have had a whopping 3 times, so I'm pretty familiar with it). The exhaustion is that complete and all encompassing. For those who have never had mono, imagine you've been run over flat by a herd of stampeding elephants. Now imagine that one is sitting on your entire body and not planning on moving, oh, for another month or so. Yup, that should just about do it.

Luckily, the whole nausea thing isn't all that bad thus far. I mean, don't get me wrong, I've had my share of feeling like rats are clawing the inside of my stomach, but so far it hasn't interfered all that much with daily life and I've really only vomited once and then I was in a feverish hell of strep throat torture so I'm not sure that counts. Now I must go knock on wood and throw salt over my shoulder and not walk under any ladders just because I think I just tempted fate a whole lot by even writing this paragraph. If you don't hear from me for a while, you'll know why.

The rest is pretty standard stuff - sensitive breasts (and by sensitive I mean one night the Wild Boar was cuddling me and accidentally put his hand on my breast and I screamed like a woman being attacked by ferocious hyenas. you know, just slightly tender...), insane appetite, food aversions for unhealthy things like orange juice, oranges, and fish (my body is protecting me from these harmful products, clearly), perhaps a little moodiness (and by moodiness I mean bursting into tears if I breathe), you know...standard stuff. Also, I seemed to have developed what the Boar refers to as my pregnant superpower...that is the amazing ability to smell anything and everything within a 3 state radius, and generally become nauseated by it. While this superpower can be fun when accurately pinpointing exactly what your partner drank when he went out after work, its not so ideal when you live in New York City and people urinate in the street on a somewhat regular basis. Plus its summer, and that means the garbage on the street gets to cook all day long long in one gigantic smelly crock-pot of sewage. Yummy! What endless fun!

Don't even ask about the gas...trust me, you don't want to know...

And now, despite wanting to write much more, I must go crawl under my desk and nap while sobbing profusely, because you see, there's an elephant sitting on my entire body so I'm exhausted, and really, the office stinks..

5 Weeks

2007-05-20T18:36:00.000-04:00

Just what I've always dreamed of...posting a picture of my not-so-toned stomach on the internet. I'm sure my mother is so so proud.

The First Purchase

2007-05-19T19:06:00.000-04:00

Ah yes, at 5 weeks we'd already fallen prey to the consumer baby machine. We got this at the Hell's Kitchen street fair on the same day that we told our families (I backdated the post to that date), as a sort of commemorative celebration.

I should add that an adult version of the very same thing was later viewed on a very crazy and very smelly man furiously mumbling to himself while walking down 9th avenue. The legacy we're creating even now at such an early age... I felt so proud.

Proof Positive

2007-05-16T05:45:00.000-04:00

(Post Backdated to the exact moment we found out)