Breaking news.

Lily peed on the potty for the first time today. Mark called me at work and sang a song about it. I think he rehearsed before calling. We are all a little too proud.

I never fail to amaze my husband.

We took Lily to a baseball game last night at our new stadium. Had they not been comp tickets I wouldn’t have gone. I’m still bitter that we got a new stadium when our downtown library is falling apart. Priorities, people!

Anyway, Lily loved the Trolley ride there and thought the clapping was brilliant. She’s a very good fan, my girl. I don’t think I saw a single play as I was either off spending $15 on a hot dog, nachos and a drink, watching the girly climb around and giggle, or laughing at her as she pointed and clapped and jumped up and down at the slightest provocation. She was wonderful (but hey, what’s new?). We decided to take off at the 8th inning to beat the crowds back to the Trolley. Mark was all ready to start the “excuse me, pardon me,” routine to pass the people in our row when I stepped up and over to the row behind (which was conveniently clear of people) and headed out that way. This HUGE grin broke across his face and he said, “Now how many seven-month pregnant women can do THAT!” Nice to know I can still amaze him.

On the Trolley ride home (packed, but a nice guy got up and let all of us sit together... there are still good people in the world) the gentleman sitting across from us all of a suddenly says to Mark, “Let me guess, Scottish and Norwegian!”

“Nope. Mostly German and English.”
“But you’re so tall!”

The two got into an interesting discussion about the tallest man on record (from England). He then turns to me and says, “Well, clearly you’re Irish!”

“Nope. Mostly German. A little bit of French and a whole lot of mutt in there as well.”

Cracked my ass up, because this guy either thinks he has a talent for guessing peoples origins or he’s found a really interesting way to engage people in conversation. Either way, we had a blast and Lily got lots of complements on how good she was, how pretty, etc.

An exhausting night, but a good one none-the-less!

Toddler loving.

My daughter started sleeping in her own room when she was around a year old. To be honest, it broke my heart. I loved having her in our bed; waking up next to her warm little form was one of the greatest delights of my life. Nursing a baby in the quiet of the night may be tiring, but it’s also some of the tenderest moments you get to share with your child. I would lay there stroking her soft head, listening to her daddy breathe slowly and evenly beside us in our bed, feeling the cat turn circles at the foot of the bed and smiling at the exaggerated sigh randomly issuing from the dreaming dog on the floor. Sometimes I’d watch dawn creep into the bedroom and slide across the walls, warming the beams on the ceiling and changing Lily’s face subtly as she happily nursed, hands stroking my face or feet pushing into my squishy, post pregnancy belly. Then there were the times I would swim up from sleep and roll over to see my daughter snuggled up in the crook of Mark’s arm, her thumb in her mouth and one of his big hands resting firmly on her chest. Occasionally they’d be comically arranged in the exact same posture, both with an arm thrown up over their heads, one knee bent outward and twin expressions gracing their perfect faces. I loved these mornings. They made up for the sleepless nights before we discovered what was causing the colicky symptoms and she would scream for hours before finally falling asleep, exhausted and red. These mornings made up for so much that we “suffer” when we become new parents.

Last night Mark mentioned that he needed to be up before the sun got to high on one of our exterior walls so he could deal with a bee problem. Lily must have heard him and was babbling awake in her room by 6am. She sounded happy at first and we lay there listening to her giggles through the intercom. When she started calling for her daddy, Mark went up and collected her, struggling through her twisting and turning and hollering at him in protest over getting a dry diaper. He then dumped her into bed with me and I pulled up the covers so she could scramble happily beneath. There she turned on her side to face me, nose to nose and stroked my face, babbling her toddler speak. She lay for a while in my arms as I rested, quietly sucking her thumb and twirling her free hand above her. Then she sat up and helped me locate my eyes, nose, teeth, etc. Good thing… I’d been wondering where they were all night! She pointed at my eyebrow and made her questioning noise. “Eyebrow” I told her. “Braaa?” she asked. “Eyebrow.” We went on like this for a while and she still didn’t get it, but she seemed happy to be working on it. She got down from the bed and chased the kitty into the bathtub and then ran back to report to me that the kitty was in the “bass.” She reminded me what it was to awake with a child. She made my morning and made my day full of joy. I can’t wait until this new baby is born so I can wake to that warm sweet neck and that perfect smile again. I am so lucky. I am so blessed.

We're selling our van... don't tell Lily, she loves the darn thing. Spent most of the morning hanging out and "driving." Both she and Mark are gonna weep the day it sells.


We got a package from KB! The books are for Lily and the blanket for the new baby. I just want to know how she knew Mark is a big fan of frogs... the card is perfect! Big fat thanks to one of the fabulous blogging mamas!

Conversation with Mark after Lily’s first swim lesson:

Me: “So, how’d it go?”
Mark: “Well, if you like crying and screaming for a half hour, it went great!”

Grandma’s going to have a BLAST on Wednesday.

Hunting for eggs at Aunt Betty and Uncle Bob's.

Checking out the goods.

The family visit was great. Lily, her Uncle Mike, Mark and Grandma Heidi had a blast together this week and we can't wait for the next chance we get to see them again.

An even bigger idea than the toilet duck.

There are three other pregnant ladies at work and let me just give you one guess where I run into them most frequently: uh huh, that’s right, THE BATHROOM. I swear I spend more time in that little room than I do at my desk. I actually asked our tech guy if I could just move my office in there. He and I figured if we just get me a laptop and run a phone line, I could get so much more done in a day. AND I’d get fewer interruptions from those silly reps I manage. He toyed briefly with the idea of just installing a toilet at my desk (slacker was trying to make this maintenance guys problem I suspect), but I vetoed that plan right quick. I know I admitted that us pregnant ladies don’t get to have dignity, but that was just taking it too far. The toilet office really is a perfect plan. The only problem I can foresee is that I’d want to use the handicap stall and then we wouldn’t be ADA compliant. That, and the other preggo ladies might find out and want toilet offices of there very own, and then nobody else would be able to pee as there are only four toilets in the administration section of the complex. So, I guess it’s a slightly flawed plan… but then what plan doesn’t have a hole or two?

Fishy Lily and happy nuptials.

Little Miss Lily is starting swim lessons on Monday! And get this: she’s going to the same swim school I went to at her age. It’s three lessons a week (MWF) for three weeks AND my mom is paying for it! Mark will take her on Mondays, my mom on the other two. I’m thinking I’ll sit in on Friday’s so I can get some stellar pics. If I can find a bathing suit that fits me, I might even be able to get in and enjoy the 95 degree water with her! ‘Course then I’d have to deal with the fact that I’m a huge, preggo, hairy legged lady in a funky mismatched swim get-up. Us pregnant ladies, we don’t get dignity. We even have to be careful so as not to pee on ourselves when laughing or sneezing.

I have really fond memories of swimming there (what limited ones I do have as I believe we stopped that school when I was about six) and love that they take kids as young as 6 weeks old. Mark and my mom brought Lil by the school the other day and she was very excited about all the kids splashing in the water. As they were leaving, she pointed back at it and made happy questioning noises, so I’m hoping that when it’s time to get in the water she’ll be into it. My big worry is that she’s kind of a freak about getting her head wet, but I’m sure they are used to dealing with sensitive toddlers.

Can you tell how excited I am about this? Can you tell that I over think things, just a bit!

In other news: Daphne and Bryan are getting hitched tomorrow in Vegas and while I know it’s totally out of the realm of possibilities to attend, I’m really going to miss being there. I’ve only known these people for a short period of time and only actually spent a total of about four hours in their company, but feel like I know them so much better than all that. I feel like they are part of my life and am pissed that I can’t get myself out there for the nuptials. Especially with the huge bomb they dropped on all us blogger folks. Have a blast you two and do something ridiculous for me!

Gotta get back to work, my lunch is consumed and I have way too much to accomplish before I go on maternity leave, so I really ought not pitter (is that a word?) away anymore!

Lily’s Left Foot.

First of all, you should know that Lily hasn’t seen a pediatrician since she was about three-days-old. The woman we took her to handled her roughly, told me that you cannot allow a baby to breast feed more often than every two hours or your breast would never “fill up” with milk and you’d end up having to supplement with formula, and generally pissed me off. She helped deepen my distrust of western medicine.

We’ve treated Lil's few instances of illness with Chinese medicine or good old fashioned loving. We once resorted to prescription drugs when she had a really nasty eye infection and half her sweet little head swelled up. She goes with us to the chiropractor once or twice a week and gets gentle adjustments. She’s always been in great health and since we don’t exactly believe in the power and glory of vaccines, we haven’t missed an MD one little bit.

To get back to her left foot: we noticed when she was only a few months old that her left foot is constantly turned in. Dr. Joe (our chiropractor) checked her out and determined that her bones are where they should be and we all concluded that when she started walking, it would probably even out as the muscle strengthened. It hasn’t and despite the fact that it makes her walk in such a manner that is so freaking cute you just want to eat her up, I’ve started to worry a bit recently. Visions of my spirited toddler in a leg brace and entering the whole medical system make me quake with fear.

While talking to my MIL this morning we were chatting about how much Lily has her dad’s tall/thin body type, his finer hair, etc and she pointed out that Lil gets her left foot from her. Whaaaa? Yeah, turns out she had one foot that turned in all the time and after she started riding bikes, swimming, running, etc it corrected itself.

So I guess the next question is, do I assume that this will be true for my daughter or do I enter her into the world of Western medicine: get her x-rayed, manipulated, braced, drugged, etc? (and what is with all the "etc" here?) Obviously I have no concept of middle ground. Do you see how little trust I have in MD’s? It’s not that I believe they are bad people, hell no! I just don’t have a lot of faith in their methods and feel they are way to invasive. I’d rather leave well enough alone… her left foot doesn’t cause her any pain and it certainly isn’t hurting anyone else. But does that make me a bad mom? Does a “wait and see” philosophy imply an “I don’t care” attitude? And hey, is it wrong for me to think her little defect is adorable? Am I going to hell for just calling it a “defect”? Lily, if you’re reading this later (and I do hope you will one day), don’t read anything into that word that isn’t there. I love you, you big nut. And if you look back on some of the videos of you walking around, you’re gonna have to agree with me about how cute your gait really is!

What does the internet think?

My knife toddler and her jews

Lily has started calling me “My.” As soon as I’m out of her sight, she’ll start calling “My? My?” and then when she sees me, she’ll pat my chest and say “My!” Apparently, I am hers. And you know what? I’m down with that. Sometimes she’ll call me “Mine,” just so that there is nothing left to consider. Her language skills are rocking my world. She’s all over the talking gig and while you can’t understand a vast majority of her words, she’s rolling them out like nobody’s business. Mark understands more than I do as he spends more time with her these days. I actually had to make a hysterical call to him the other day to demand he tell me what the hell she had been asking for over and over again for the last twenty minutes. I was at the end of my rope and if I didn't figure out what she wanted was going to go screaming into the canyon.

Some of her latest versions of words you and I should all know (to avoid a trip into the canyon that would frighten even the coyotes):
Booze: her version of “Boof” which is Mark’s word for a fart.
Poon: “Spoon” or “Fork” or any object with which you would shovel food into your mouth and an insanely messy rate.
Cheese: “Please” or, if the conditions are just right, “Cheese”
Bass: “Bath.” Will also work nicely for “Shower”, but don’t even think about trying to rain water down on her head… totally unacceptable. In fact, just keep water away from her head and all is well.
Knife (with a bit of a shhh sound at the end): “Nice” always said while stroking my cheek after she’s just hit me and I’ve told her she needs to be nice.
Jews: “Juice” a word heard about a BILLION times a day. It’s a demand, a question, a statement of fact… Jews rules her world. Seriously.
Bows: "Bubbles" she's insane for bubbles... but only on her own terms. For instance, you can blow bubbles from a wand, but don't make it a bubble bath unless you want her to react as though you've poured acid all over her body. Just a little tip for ya.
Nap: "Snap" as in what she has on her clothing. She'll say "NAP!" with each one you snap together.
Tank poo: “Thank you”

I’d have more for you, but it’s time to give Lily a bass, where she will giggle as she boozes in the water, begs for jews and bows, drinks the bath water from a poon, politely says cheese and tank poo after stroking my cheek and whispering knife just after getting into her jams with the naps.

We’re back, and better than EVER!

Our trip went really well; I’m officially exhausted and happy to be home. Lily LOVES traveling and does really well on airplanes. My toddler kicks some serious ass, baby and is a freaking delight! Put that in your pipe and smoke it you grumpy old people that take one look at you getting on a plane with a toddler and give you nasty looks.

I’m a bit too tired to write much and need to be at work early tomorrow, so I give you our trip in photos:

Lily loved the luggage cart at the airport. It’s almost midnight when this photo was taken and she’s obviously appalled that we’ve kept her up so late past her bedtime. Bad parents.

This is the before mentioned dress that Allyn made Lil. Not the best shot for seeing the brilliance of the darn thing, but so freaking cute we went with it. Daddy has cool shoes.

We had dinner at the Olive Garden, a total surprise to the birthday boy. Mark’s Grandpa turns 90 on Tuesday and that was the whole reason for our trip. This was after a bunch of wine…

Lily’s new favorite past time. She LOVES swinging with a passion and will cry while waving and calling out “BYE” as we drag her away from the park. We’ve found a way to add to the joy of the swinging by allowing her to dramatically kick Daddy. Guess Mark’s former career as an actor had to come into play some time in his life.

Lily has big aspirations. She discovered one of my bras and had blast “trying” it on. Cracked my ass up.

That’s all I got for now, folks. Mark’s brother from England and his mom will be visiting for most of the week; I’ll try not to be too much of a stranger, but will likely fail. Work, family, fatigue… it’s a good life!

On the Road Again.
My dad was late picking us up for the airport because the freeway onramp was shut down, but it wasn't much of a big deal because our flight was delayed. Lily didn't sleep a wink, but was delightful and cheery the whole flight. She finally crashed after midnight when we finally got in our rental car and the rest of us we're out after a light dinner, by about 1am. Our dear sweet baby slept until almost 9:30am (BLESS!) and we had a delightful breakfast at "Ruby's Can't Fail Cafe." Allyn made Lily a cute little dress (I'll post a photo when we get home) and all's good, baby.

Just thought I'd check in and say Hi! and tell you to go check out the one entry Coffegirl's been able to get into the Bitchen Kitchen (breakfast). It rocked my world with it's bitchen potential. We're accepting submissions now, so CLICK the link to the right and SUBMIT to the Bitchen Kitchen Babes.

Pissy Purple People Eaters.

Woke at 8:38am this morning and was scheduled to be at work at nine. I made it by 9:15. Mark made me an asparagus omelet, forbidding me from even thinking about walking out the door without food. I threw some water on my hair to tame the wild locks and grabbed the closest set of clothing without toddler snot all over it. I was supposed to pack for our trip this morning, instead I threw a bunch of random objects on the bed as I dressed and will hopefully add to them later. As I’m leaving Mark says “Hey, we need someone to give us a ride to the airport.” Ummmm, YEAH. That would have been something to think about earlier, not blindside your wife with as she walks out the door. OH, and apparently it’s my job to find someone?

Now I’m stressing about the fact that our flight is after Lily’s bedtime. Will she sleep or will she be wide awake and PISSED OFF because she’s so tired? We won’t get to Allyn’s house until almost midnight and I’m hoping there will be no screams to wake her neighbors. Lily will be sleeping in the closet (it’s a big one, RELAX) and I just really want a shower. I’m grumpy.

Last night I dreamt a couple of weird things: first I was laying across a bunch of people I don’t know watching a ball game and some idiot kept leaning their elbow on my pregnant belly and it hurt like a mofo. I kept having to tell them to stop it! Then I dreamt that we were living somewhere where we had to use a public shower and I was very exposed. I got all freaked out because I saw these two guys heading towards me and I was naked and thought they were going to do something nasty and instead it ended up being these two women who were there to offer their help. Strange. I haven’t the energy to dissect either one of these, so go for it blogging mamas. Tell me what it means. Extra points to those who come up with crazy stuff that tie in with my mother. Or gremlins. Or purple people eaters. You pick.

The post where the * is longer than the actual post.

Mark’s grandfather is turning 90 next week and so we are making a trip up to the Bay Area to join in the festivities.* It will be Lily’s second trip on a plane and I am THRILLED that Mark will be with us this time around. She did great last trip, but it was the most stressful set of plane rides I have ever experienced. We’ll get to spend a day with Allyn and Erich, who we adore (Allyn is Lily’s Fairy Godmother and was the one who stayed with us for a month when Lil was born to cook us dinners and help me not freak out – we seriously love this woman) and then get to see Mark’s big brother Mike who flew in from England for the big event. We haven’t seen Mike in years and he’s never met Lily, so we’re really excited to spend some time with him. He’s even coming down to see our half demolished house with their mom so not only will Grandma take over Lily (Lil LOVES her Grandma Heidi) but the boys will get to hang out and drink too much beer together… always funny.

In any event, Zacco will be thrilled with all his adoring fans and we’ll get to see the whole gang. We’re looking forward to a fun, but likely stressful weekend. Wish us luck!



*If my mom reads this, this will be the point at which she throws a major worry fit as I have just announced to “the whole world” that we will be away from our home for the weekend, therefore guaranteeing that we have just left our home open to all the bad guys in the world who read my blog and are stalking me. She is now envisioning a weekend of dirty, nasty men, pawing through my underwear drawer, doing ugly things on my sheets and stealing every object of value we may have. OH, now she’s imaging the bad guys meeting each other and, after a short skirmish over who is the number one stalker, deciding to hide out in the closets until we come home, where they will then spring out of said closets and murder us in our sleep. What she doesn’t yet know is that our former frat boy friend, who works in the construction industry AND our dog will be there the whole weekend, so she can just chill out and stop freaking. And “the whole world” reading this: you have been warned. No, not about the dog and big friend, but about my mother. You mess with us and that woman will get in your head for all times and work you into such a lather, you will never be able to pass a DAY without worrying about something you don’t need to actually worry about. Seriously folks, I love my mom, but she is IN MY HEAD.

Update on the hitting and a little something for the giggles.

I went and reported the accident to the police today, who let me know that they can’t actually do much. Terry, the officer who took my report, told me that they would contact her and tell her to be responsible, she’d agree who-heartedly and then I’d end up having to take her to small claims to get any money out of her. My insurance agent Kim was a little more confident. She told me she writes one hell of a nasty letter and had some good luck with this. She also told me the lady’s name: Victoria Flowers. What kind of name is Victoria Flowers? An evil hit-and-run COW name, that it is!

Everyone (other than the evil hit-and-run COW lady) has been really great about this. The officers that took my report cracked me up with their dramatic interpretation of the IDES OF MARCH (tomorrow people, beware); insurance Kim who was all ready to kick some ass on my behalf; Jordan the avenger, who made me giggle with her description of the evil hit-and-run COW lady as a blonde bitch on a cell phone… they’ve all been great and I feel like most of the world is decent and agree that the evil hit-and-run COW lady should suffer in some way or another.

I’ll let you all know if I have to haul her ass all the way to small claims… which I will do, ‘cause I don’t wanna give her any idea that she can get away with such irresponsible, disrespectful, COWISH behavior.

On another note, here’s one of my daughters new favorite past times:




She’ll touch all the bottles and jars, talking to them. She’ll eventually select something and we’ll have a snack. Sometimes, she just tastes a little bit of everything. You know what she likes? COD LIVER OIL… in peach flavor. My baby girl is a freak.

This just in.

I’m at work today and I just went out to my car to run an errand for work (and to pick up some henna for my locks). As I’m approaching my car, I notice a piece of paper stuck under my windshield wipers. This is never a good thing. Either someone is trying to sell you some crap you don’t want or someone has left you a note about how un-American you are for having a bumper sticker that says “Hatred is not a family value.” I guess to them, hate is something they think of when they think family… poor bastards.

This time the note said:
Hit & Run
Plate # 4UBN658 silver car
We saw hit & run.
Jordan & Shilpi
Their phone number

I walk to the back of my car and sure enough, big ass swipe that clearly wasn’t there when I parked that morning. OK, so it's not huge, but it's not tiny either! The space that the woman tried to get into was a motorcycle spot, clearly marked as such and will not fit a car… unless you hit the innocent vehicle to your right. In this case: ME! I called the woman who witnessed the whole thing and she told me it was some blonde lady talking on a cell phone that hit my car, backed up and DROVE AWAY without a thought. Jordan and her husband thought it best to leave me a note (bless them) and she assured me it would be fine to pass along her information to the police and my insurance. Not that the police are going to really DO anything other than give me a record number to give to my insurance. Doubt they’ll even break a pinky. Maybe I’ll get lucky and they’ll at least write her a ticket. One can only hope.

When I was pregnant with Lily I got hit in a parking lot, but that time I was in the car (rather than blissfully unaware and macking on too many Thin Mints in my office). This happened so close to Lil’s due date that when I dropped off my car for repairs I was pregnant and when I picked it up I had a baby in my arms. Man, did that lady’s insurance JUMP when they realized how pregnant I was. It was funny. I guess this is the universes way of saying, “HEY, get knocked up and we’ll knock your car around!” See? See how the universe can be such a bitch?

Hair.

I have spent a lot of my life tied up in my hair. Sounds kinky, I know, but I don’t actually mean it that way. I was born with a full head of curls and my parents tell me that as they walked me down the street, people would glance in the stroller and do a double take when they saw all those curls. They were constantly stopped on the street due to those curls and people would stand and stare in wonder at the tiny little girl with the big head of hair.

As I grew older my mom would cut our hair; me, Matt and my Dad all had the same cut. I was a tomboy and looked a lot like a boy with that cut, something the other kids at school would tease me unmercifully over. When I hit the preteens, I officially banned my mother from ever touching my hair again, especially if scissors were anywhere in sight. I let it grow and when some punk ass kid at school showed up with Lice and shared the wealth, I remember sitting on the floor of my mom’s office while she picked nits out of my hair. The second time it happened she told me that one more case and she’d cut all my hair off. I think she was just frustrated, but I took it for the threat it was and even the tiniest itch would send me running to hide in my closet, tears flowing and mouth silently cursing the gods for being so evil to my pretty hair. She never had to carry out her threat. The gods must have listened to my curses and took pity on me.

My hair grew long and beautiful for the next 15 years of my life, with only occasional flirts with short styles. And by short, I mean shoulder length at the worst… nothing more dramatic than that. The first photo Mark ever took of me, he spread my hair out on the floor and climbed a chair to snap a shot of me giggling on the floor, looking up at him from this crown of locks, stretching out from my head like fingers of the sun. He loves my hair, loves my curls and we were both thrilled when Lily’s own curls started to swirl atop her head and twist around her ears, playfully tickling her.

Last summer, just weeks before we left for a three week road trip, I cut off all of my hair and donated about a foot of hair to Locks of Love. See here for the before shot (sexy pose, no?) and here for the after. It was a big shift and one I have never regretted for a minute.

But here’s the latest. I’m going grey. My temples are shot through with the offending color, adding years to my face. I’m not yet 30 and I am rapidly going grey. I always thought I’d go gracefully into such a transition, but um NO! I find myself standing at the edge of a metaphorical cliff, holding up a righteous fist and screaming “I will not go quietly into the night!” I can’t stand it. Mark says it’s not a big deal, that he doesn’t even see it but I see it. Every photo I see of myself, the grey jumps out and assaults my under 30 eyes, mocking me and causing way more distress than it should.

Yesterday, I sent Mark off to the store in search of henna as the regular hair dyes are a little too intense for my sensibilities while pregnant. He came back with something he claims is all natural, but it’s still too intense. I’ll have to go on a henna mission of my own if I really want to do this. And you know what, I really do. I always prided myself on my lack of vanity, but here it is folks: VANITY! I embrace and welcome it as I am just not ready to go grey. I don’t know what age will be “OK” to go grey, but I’m not convinced it’s in my 20’s (even if this is technically my last year of my 20’s).

I’ll post a photo after the deed is done and I have my self confidence back… assuming I find the stuff I need and it doesn’t do something crazy to my hair (I’ve heard that coloring while pregnant can have unexpected results) and I don’t have some weird hormonal attack, or I don’t have a total change of heart, or…?

Warning: vomit talk upcoming.

As Mark and I head to bed in the evening one of us (usually me) will stop by Lily’s room and check in on her. She’s usually slumbering peacefully, nowhere near her covers and with some random object inserted in her ear. So, I’ll throw a blanket over her, remove and inserted item(s) and yes, check to make sure she’s still breathing. What is it about parenting where we believe our children will simply stop breathing or their hearts will cease if we are not ever vigilant?

Last night, as I checked in on her, I was pleased to see that she was still under cover, one hand resting lightly on piggy and breathing as expected. I listened to the gentle sounds of her slurping away on her thumb and just stared at this perfect peaceful being that I have the honor of calling my daughter. I tiptoed out of the room and was ready to head off to bed when something in me said “stop!” So I waited for a moment.

Lily coughed.

Then coughed again.

And then I heard the noise that strikes terror in any parents heart. Lily started choking. And I’m not talking about that cough-cough choke, no. This was clearly the sound of my baby choking on something wet… drowning in something as yet unseen. I spun around and dashed through the door just in time to see her pushing herself into a sitting position, vomit spewing out of her in record amounts. She burst into tears, the side of her head wet and sticky, her shirt beyond use and lifted her arms to her mom.

When I was a child, the sight of vomit… no, the mere sound of someone vomiting or the ever so pleasant aroma of it would set me off. I’d start a yack fest of my own and then the lucky adult nearby would have the pleasure of two vomiting children to comfort and clean up after.

But when it was my child? Not even a flutter in the tummy. What is that? Why is it suddenly OK if it is our own child’s bodily fluid? Maybe for some it is not.

Anyway, I let Mark know I needed help and he came up to strip her bed and remake it with clean blankets while I washed Lily’s head off and stripped off her jammies. She settled down quickly and laid against me for a bit, sucking her thumb and recovering from her ordeal. She was very happy when I whipped out the dinosaur shirt and put it on herself (inside out and backwards, of course). Mark took her to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then plopped her back in bed where she immediately settled down and slept peacefully until almost 7am. She was ravenous at breakfast, eating everything in sight. She’s happy and silly this morning, so I guess the offending food item was properly ejected. It’s really a brilliant system when you think about it. Something doesn't agree with the belly? GET IT OUT!

Brilliant.

I’ve had a good nights sleep and am less insane.

Turns out that what I thought was Braxton Hicks contractions was actually preterm labor. Very mild case brought on by dehydration. I had that stupid sore throat on Tuesday and so didn’t drink enough liquid, thus the baby slapping me down all night and telling me to get myself together.

Had a really good visit with our midwife this morning and she assured me that second pregnancy’s can be harder (especially when they are so close together) and it’s not at all surprising that I’m more sensitive this round. I got a lecture on liquids and exercise and being good to myself. We also talked about state disability pay, which I’m pretty certain I’ll be taking a couple of weeks before baby is due. I have to stop thinking of myself as weak for taking what I need. That, my friends, is the joy of growing up as the only girl on the block: any sign of weakness is a bad bad thing.

Well you know what I say to that?

Thupt!

Don't read this one. It's just crap.

OK, so I changed the name of the blog. We’ll see if I can deal with it or if I have a moment of brilliance and come up with something else. Maybe I’ll totally freak out and switch it back. Who knows, I’m emotional and hormonal. It’s a bitch.

Last night was a blast. Had Braxton Hicks contractions all night long and was up about a million times to pee. Each time I’d awake, I’d find this hard, tight belly attached to me and while it wasn’t that uncomfortable, it wasn’t conducive to a good nights sleep. And it shouldn’t be possible to pee THAT MUCH in a single night. Where did all that fluid come from? I actually woke up dehydrated, I kid you not. I called in sick to work as I just couldn’t function without being very rude. On Tuesday I actually said this to a rep when discussing our boss’s birthday cake:

“OK, sure so you won’t be here on Thursday, how about we do cake on Friday then when the BIRTHDAY girl isn’t here?”

This rep may be the bane of my existence, but geez, a good boss would have handled that with just a smidge more tact.

I totally romanticized pregnancy after I had Lily. It was an awesome experience. Easiest birth you could imagine. And she is one easy going kid. So here’s my question: if this baby is giving me such a bitch of a time*, what does this mean for the rest of this? Am I doomed to a more difficult birth and a child that will cause people to pity me? Is this the beginning of the end? Am I blogging while under the influence of ragging hormones? A LITTLE BIT! Ignore this whole thing. It’s clearly a load of crap.

*Before the stories of horrid pregnancy’s start, let me assure you that I know I have it easy. Even with the minor complaints, I am still aware that my body does great with pregnancy. Most of what you see here is my brain being evil, not my body. Please, no horrid pregnancy or birth stories… I just can’t deal with that right now.

Blah, blah, blah and some photos.

I've got a sore throat and feel like crap, so amuse yourself with the following photos, if you will.


Apparently, Daddy needs a pedicure and Lily's just the gal to give him one.


How many years bad luck is it to open an umbrella inside? She had a blast with this thing, so maybe the gods will let this one slide.


We call this guy Sancho. He's not our dog and yet he shows up everyday and stays all day. Maya (our actual dog) has lost weight as these two adore each other and frolic about all the day long. We'd adopt him if we could, but don't know who he belongs to as he never wears tags. He's been picked up by animal control and returned within two days, so someone claimed him. He's a GREAT dog, so sweet and smart. Love him, just a little bit.

90 miles to the fabulous blue.

Woke up this morning and thought, “Crap, I have to figure out what to do with Lily all day so that Mark can get some work done.” This is not a thought most mothers have. Most mothers spend every day with their children. I don’t. This makes me just a little sad, but that’s another story. To get back to the point, it suddenly dawned on me that Daphne_Blue is only 90 miles away and why not inflict myself on her family? She called me back after I emailed her and was actually agreeable to the idea of being descended upon. We met up at the coffee shop that she and Bryan met at and let the kids run wild. OK, so when I say kids, I mean Lily and Bryan, those two chased each other stupid. Phoebe doesn’t walk yet, but she and Lil still had a blast poking each other in the eyes and sharing cheerios.

And here’s the really wild thing: you know how when you go to meet someone you don’t really know there is this worry that you will have absolutely nothing to talk about? These people were too damn fun to hang out with. We had no shortage of chatting and spent the better part of four hours taking obnoxious photos, eating too much sugar and making fun of idiots. It was a blast. At least for me. They may have a whole nother story.

OH. And when I got home, Mark had completely cleared out the office and painted it! I should run off with Lily more often.

Here are some photos to make you all jealous that I got to actually meet the famous Daphne.


Yes, I do believe Phoebe is saying "Help me".


You all thought she was kidding when she makes jokes about stealing your babies...


Phoebe may not be able to walk yet, but she can still chase Lil with a little help from her da!

Update.

While I was at work today, four new teeth (her canines) poked through her gums.

Mark had a very hard day.

The post about poop.

So many people I know have great poop stories. Most of them have something to do with their children. As of yet, Mark and I have blissfully laughed at these tales, never really appreciating them at their core. Can you believe we’ve gone 20 months with our child without a spectacular poop story? It’s about as astonishing as the fact that our daughter has never had an ear infection, something that seems to plague infants everywhere.

We now have a poop story. Mark slept through it, the bastard. It goes a little something like this:

Last night around midnight, Lily awoke with great drama and tears. She normally sleeps through the night, so when she wakes up, we’ll both bolt wide awake and Mark will hit the floor running. He had mentioned that she hadn’t pooped all day and for our ultra-regular child, this was unusual. Mark fully expected that when he arrived at her side, poop would be everywhere (those of you paying attention know this could not be the case... otherwise, I wouldn't be calling my dear husband a bastard above). Instead, he found snot. Lots of snot. He changed her wet diaper, wiped down the snot river and snuggled into bed with her for the night. Neither one of them managed to sleep much from then on; Lily due to her discomfort from the snot factory running in her head and Mark due to the flopping, fussing toddler that alternately kicked and hugged him while whimpering pathetically. I, however, enjoyed a full nights sleep… well as full as it can be whilst waking every couple hours to pee or because I can hear her fussing or because the dog has decided she wants to go out or… you get the picture.

I got my butt out of bed this morning and sent Mark back to bed as he had that look that meant trouble was a-brewing if he didn’t get a-sleeping. Lil was in rare form, alternately giggling happily while sitting on the dogs back and hugging her fiercely around the neck and then bursting into tears… presumably because the folks at the snot factory had a surplus and needed to move some product. I kept trying to make some breakfast but had a great deal of trouble as some part of my body was draped with a flailing, slick toddler. She stripped naked, put on a lime green dress and pink pants… then peed on those and stripped naked again. Diapers were OUT of the question, mind you. Naked seemed to be working for her so I let it be, choosing to ignore the fact that she was exploring her genitals with great gusto while I chatted with my cousin in Chicago over the phone. She kept throwing herself against the dog, then running around, then crying, then giggling. I swear, she got into some crack or something, ‘cause she was acting like a junky on a bender. All of a sudden, she throws herself against the dog, butt out and starts pooping like a mad woman. She sticks her hand in it, then her foot, then wipes her snotty face with the poop infested hand, then rolls over and starts screaming as though the world is ending; after all, she was literally SHIT FACED. The dog gets into the excitement by trying to eat the poop, I’ve got a prefold and am trying to clean her off after a hurried “Oh, Oh, she’s pooping. OH!! Not the face, I gotta go!” to my now laughing cousin. Lily’s shrieking at the top of her lungs while the dog is all over her and I’m trying to keep it from getting any worse while running for the wipes. She’s pointing to the various poop covered bits of her and babbling something incoherent, which probably translates to “SHIT! SHIT! I’M COVERED IN MY OWN SHIT, WOMAN!” AND she’s trying to cling to me and there a part of me that is screaming (in my head) “SHIT! SHIT! SHE’S COVERED IN HER OWN SHIT!” while trying to keep everyone as calm as possible. I get the worst of the damage under control and she throws herself towards her room, where I struggle her onto the changing table and attempt to get her into a diaper as she is grabbing at her back end and I’m just not up for another round. While we battle the diaper the ketchup bottle of wiper solution tries to make a run for it (wouldn't you?) and whacks her on the head. This sets off a whole new round of ear splitting screams and I snap the last snap on the diaper, give up on the cover and bundle my hysterical daughter into my arms and take her back to the living room where she clings to me as though the world is ending, pops her poop-free thumb into her mouth and shudders to a stop.

And breathe.

In with the cleansing breath.

Out with the poop-screaming-panicked-end-of-the-world breath.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Despite the fact that it is past the time I need to go wake Mark and get ready for work, we sit quietly for a bit until Lily pops up, points at the cat and starts babbling “kiddy!” happily and excitedly… scooting off my lap as though nothing bad has ever happened in her entire young life. We found Mark dressed and ready to take over Lily when we went downstairs and she happily rolled over and over both of us while trying to dig out my belly button with the scoop from the cat food bin. I’m at work now and feeling lucky that I am. Sometimes that child scares the hell outta me and this morning was one of those times. If I never see poop smeared across my child’s face again, my life would be complete.


In with the cleansing breath.

Out with the poop-screaming-panicked-end-of-the-world breath.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Elle won't be doing any photo shoots at our house.

Mark and I feel that it is very important that everyone in this house be allowed to express themselves (except the cat who seems to express herself by pissing on the dog bed… we’re not a big fan of that sort of self expression). As such, we allow our 20-month-old child to dress as she pleases. She either unloads all her drawers and forms amazing and startling works of fashion from the pile or we hold out a series of items and wait until she stops saying “NO” and pushing away the offending item. Much to my dismay, she’s a HUGE fan of pink and thinks that combining different types of stripes is the height of fashion. Now, I am the FIRST to admit that I have very little fashion sense, but this child… she takes the cake. For your viewing pleasure, I offer you a snapshot of my daughter as she heads out to spend a day with Grandma:




P.S. For the record, I had to talk her into the shorts. She wanted to spend the day JUST in the tights. Pants were a big fat NO as those would have clearly hidden the fabulousness of the striped tights, but the shorts with the butterfly design seemed to be agreeable after much chasing about the house. We have MOUNTAINS of hand-me-downs, so the combinations really are endless and astonishing.

Bitchen Kitchen

We're on! Coffeegirl has agreed to design the web aspect of the cookbook if I collect the entries. I'm new at this, so if you have a suggestion about info I should ask for inclusion or whatever, please let me know. Don't ever assume I know what I'm doing here.

Here's how you submit:
Email the following info to BloggerCookbook@gmail.com
1) Subject line of your email should be the name of your dish
2) Send a link to your blog
3) How you'd like to be credited (i.e. your actual name or your blog name)
4) Indicate your category from the following: Appetizers, Breakfast, Brunch, Desserts, First Course, Hors d'Oeuvres, Main Course, Side, Snacks
5) You must write the recipe yourself... by that I mean it must have your own slant to the story (see this post for some examples of what we're looking for).
6) Please credit where you got the original recipe, if you know.
7) If you can, we'd love to have a photo of the dish. Coffeegirl says 250 pixels x 250 pixels would be max for now. So clickity click, folks!
8) Spread the word; we'd love to have a BUNCH to choose from.

I won't share your email address with anyone other than Coffeegirl and only so she can contact you if there are questions while she's designing. Selling, sharing, etc of your personal info would totally piss me off and it won't happen because of me or Coffeegirl. Period. That's just freaking wrong and icky and I would have to hurt someone who did it to me.

We'll try to include everyone's submissions, but special consideration will go to those who write things that crack us up AND are yummy to eat. I don't intend to limit the number of entries, but then I only expect two people to submit...

Looking forward to it? I know I am, 'cause I'm a big ol' dork!

Eat it.

I’m thinking about a project that I don’t actually have the time or skills to do. But it makes me giggle my ass off, so I’m posting it here in hopes that someone will think me brilliant and run with it.

First read this.
And this.
Not to forget this.

Anyone sense a theme here?

Now I want you to think about those annoying church cookbooks that “the ladies” put together every couple of years.

What would you all think of a Blogger Cookbook, written by our very own freakishly funny mamas in our own irreverent tone? If someone had some mad web skills, we could even avoid the actual printing part and just post it somewhere.

Any takers? Anyone with web skills? Anyone not having another baby in the next three months? Bueller? Bueller?

Ah, the subtle yet provacative aroma of socks!


sock girl is happy!

Lily helps Mama make Daddy's birthday cake.


My daughter and the fit of dispair.

Finding Mark.

My life is so uninteresting lately, I thought I’d talk about how Mark and I fell in love. If the subject is just too sappy, you can blame it on Daphne Blue and her sappy getting-married post. All complaints go directly to her.

The summer after I turned 18 I was dating a juggler I met in the park (seriously). He was performing in a musical downtown and my girlfriend and I would hang out in the lobby during the show and act like idiots. The first time Mark saw me, I was trying to learn how to turn a cartwheel while wearing ridiculously short shorts and a tank top. He was in town visiting Chrissy, who was also in the musical and I remember seeing his standing on the landing smiling at me. He was working down in Mexico on a private sailing yacht and was just in town for a couple of weeks. I only saw him one other time during that trip. I ran upstairs to use Chrissy’s bathroom after dropping her off after a show and he sat up in the bed, his hair disheveled and his eyes all squinty and I felt my heart skip a beat just looking at him.

About a year later, the juggler and I broke up and I dated this absolute idiot. That relationship ended with separate flights home from a vacation and an unsightly bruise on my body. I went back to the juggler, but the magic (ha!) was gone and I was with him mostly because I was afraid of the other guys out there. The juggler didn’t have much to offer but at least he never left bruising.

Fast forward about one more year and Mark has returned from his life at sea and is living next door to Chrissy, his old friend and my current one. Chrissy is from Switzerland and would frequently make trips back. I’d house sit and this man, this sweet, quiet, funny man would check in on me in between gigs and we’d talk… endlessly. We started hanging out at opening night parties while the juggler and Chrissy would go do the actor thing and schmooze the donors. We made up our own game show and would giggle like teenagers.

Once, we were invited to a movie party and the juggler couldn’t attend. So Mark, Chrissy and I went together and I remember looking at him sitting on the floor in front of me and I had this insane urge to put my hand in his hair. We went out to dinner shortly after, just as friends as I was still dating the damn juggler. He kissed me that night and then told me he’d never touch me again if I didn’t leave the juggler… tonight. So I did. He left for a one week gig and when he returned, I had moved the juggler out of my life and grew an inch taller (seriously, the juggler was only 5’4” and I wouldn’t stand up straight around him. Mark’s 6’3” and I always stand at my full height with him).

Within about six months we were living together and four years after that, we married each other in a kick ass ceremony in the park. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me. So far, no regrets.