Nichole is here!

She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. My sister was AMAZING and powerful and birthed naturally (something that can be very hard to do in a hospital) and she’s is radiant and happy and the world is a very good place.

May I introduce you to Lily and Anya’s cousin?



Eight pounds, six ounces, 21.5 inches long. Born today at 11:49am after about 11 hours of labor.

YAY!

My niece was born today! We get to see her this afternoon! I’m so excited! YAY! That’s all I got, I’m too atwitter to write more! YAY! FRESH BABY GIRL!

I officially quit my job today

Dear appropriate people at my place of work:
I wanted to take a moment and let you all know that after much consideration I have decided not to come back to work at this time. I whole-heartedly hope that when my girls are a little older and the time is right I may be able to return to the [place of work] and work with all the wonderful people I have been so lucky to share company with over the last year. I appreciate how supportive and understanding you all have been during my pregnancy and maternity leave and sincerely look forward to being a part of the [place of work] family again.

I did not sign it with an evil little icon of a smilie doing a happy dance while tearing up employment papers… I simply signed off tastefully and let my life as an employed person disappear.

Now for my next trick…

Three-months-old

Dear Anya,
This last month has been a challenging one for me, but not because of you. Despite dealing with a touch of PPD, the death of your great-grandmother, adjusting to life with multiple children, and making the decision not to go back to work, I have felt through each step as though you make the dark bits glow just a little bit brighter. I delight in being able to read you. I love that I know what your different sounds mean. I didn’t get that with Lily; she was always your daddy’s child. He could take one look at her and tell me what she needed and I would stand there, tears in my eyes feeling like such a fool for not being able to understand her. But it’s not like that with you. I know that when you make a hooting noise like an owl you are saying, “I’m tired, dammit!” I know what your face looks like when you are hungry and understand the way you whirl your arms. I know how much you love to stand up on my lap and wave your arms around like a seasoned boxer while I whisper, “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” I watch others hold you and anticipate the moment to tell them to face you outwards as you start to fuss.

You are working very hard at rolling from your back to your front, spinning around as you push your hips over, rotating your face into the floor and manically rocking towards your goal. You are SO close with just the problem of that lower arm getting in the way at the final stage. Daddy filmed you tonight as we watched you try over and over again, giggling as you would let out a frustrated howl and then quiet down so you could try again, a look of concentration creasing your brow. Your dad commented that you would likely break-dance before you crawled with all these styling moves you are making.



You also have discovered your hands in this last month and take great delight at shoving them into your mouth and making loud slurping noises into your fists. They still occasionally whack you in the face and you look at me shocked and betrayed… “Why, mama? Why would you hit me?” your little face asks. I don’t know, baby. Why would I do such a thing?

But the truly joyous thing this month has given us? Your smile has become a regular part of our day. This morning you were nursing while we lay in bed waiting for the day to get hot, your little eyes closed lightly and your fingers dancing across my flesh. Your daddy and sister came downstairs to wake us and you opened your eyes, not letting go as you grinned at Daddy’s beaming face from around my nipple. Your daddy and I laughed and you looked startled but delighted from such a response, your grin growing ever wider. That smile makes the world for me, bursting into flame when the darkness gets oppressive. I can’t thank you enough for that toothless grin but I do try with smiles of my own, happy whispered words and raining kisses all over your face as you squirm underneath my affections, cooing with delight.



We left you for the first time Saturday night and I was pleased but not really surprised at how well you handled it. We went to see a benefit production of The Two Gentlemen of Verona by New Village Arts and were thrilled to sip wine (your dad) and Italian soda (me) while snacking on exquisite food under the stairs; Shakespeare before us and the sun setting over the Pacific to our right. Your dad and I giddy with freedom but eager to get back to our girls once the play had ended and we had made the required rounds. Luckily for us, Vikki and Jeff had came to care for you and your sister and you both behaved so well that I think they might some day come back. I asked Vikki if she would be your fairy goddess mother and she was happy to accept. Had you both been monsters she might have said no!



We started a wishing book in which we write all the things we want for you, ourselves, our home, our life as a family. We are manifesting for you and Lily a future you can grow in; a future in which your parents will play a very active part. There may be times when you are older that we wished we gave you more time alone but know we will have strived for the balance, doing the best we can. Nothing is as important to us as being able to share your childhood with you. We want so deeply to shepard you through your youth so that we may not have to carry you through your adulthood. We want to raise strong, confident children who love their life and believe in our hearts that being with you as you grow is one path towards your future happiness. We apologize if we have it all wrong, but this is the foundation for all we have done and will do.



With your sister, this was the month that we finally started getting our night rhythm down and we started to flow through nocturnal feedings without really waking, enjoying her warm sweet body pressed to mine throughout the night. For some reason I feel like you and I have always had the rhythm… like we’ve been through this before and it’s old hat. Each night as we ready ourselves for bed, I light a candle and watch the light flicker across your sleeping body, marveling at the beauty that is my child. I wake for your first feeding in that light and it warms me as I know my wishes for you and for Lily are burning with sacred intent in that flame, going heaven ward to the Great Spirit, conveyed in Mother Earth’s fire. Lily taught me how to be a mother and to her I am forever indebted for such a wonderful gift. But to you my little love, I am so grateful because from you I am learning how to mother with grace.



Aho,
Mama

P.S. Thanks for easing up on the desperate hatred of the car seat. I know you still think it evil, but at least you’re not protesting quite as loudly or as long as you once did. I'll take that as a gift!

Disneyland

That’s right, folks: we’re going to DISNEYLAND!

After Zebrabelly’s excellent suggestion of spending my 30th running through happyland, we took ourselves over to the good ol’ AAA and booked us a fabulous vacation package. We’ll be spending two nights and two days gallivanting around the happiest place on earth with a toddler and an infant. Wooo! Seriously though, we’re going to have a blast and can’t wait. I think my mom is going to come up too, which will make the whole toddler-infant factor that much easier. Mark and I may even be able to whoosh around on a big coaster together.

But you know what I’m really looking forward to? I’m really excited to see Disneyland through Lily’s eyes. What will Toon Town look like to her? Will the big costume characters freak her out or make her giggle? Will she traipse down Main Street with a smile on her face or clutch my hand and wonder what the heck is going on? And most importantly, will she try to make Mark buy her everything? Oh, and even the greater question… will he give in to her big brown eyes and her curly top?

So, if you need to find me on September 6-8, I’ll be wondering the streets of Disneyland with an infant strapped to my chest, toddler at hand and husband at my side.

Anyone wanna come?

How your baby's body is like a map of your soul

My tiny daughter has a strange bruise on her body. Not strange as in it looks like an image of the Virgin Mary having pie with Superman; strange as in it exists. I have no idea where it came from and it makes the mama bear in me want to scoop her up in my arms, pad her with extra dense foam and never let her go out in the world where she could get hurt.

I have several theories as to the origin of the bruise, one of which involves a curly haired toddler, but the reality of the matter is that I will never know. How did this happen? I keep asking myself. How is it that she was hurt and I didn’t see it happen? Did I see it happen and simply not realize that it would leave a mark? Did I actually do it? Did I accidentally hurt my tiny girl without even knowing it? I know that she will have countless bruises in her life, but the first big one always makes you a little dizzy with guilt and wonder.

Meanwhile, my toddler has bruises all over from rolling around with the dog, running through sprinklers, trying to fly, etc. Those I stopped obsession over ages ago. But there was a time where I puzzled over each one, trying to decide what it looked like, where it came from, and most importantly, upon whom I was going to have to exact my revenge. Now she just looks like your average two year old.

It’s kinda sad really, how our perception of the same event can change as our children grow. How, in their infancy, every inch of their body is a story, a question or a concern. And how, as they grow and laugh and rough house with you on the floor, you simply take their knocks for what they are. Healthy? Absolutely. And yet, it somehow makes me sad in a nostalgic kind of way. Anya will likely be my last newborn, my last infant, my last teething child, my last everything. There’s a part of me that wants to always eat her up with my eyes and always puzzle out a bruise.

For now I will go lay on the floor next to my infant, close my eyes, run my hands lightly over her body to make her squirm in delight and I will smile as I loose myself this moment.

Sink. Underwear. Table. ALL FUNNY.

Last night I went to brush my teeth and THIS happened:



I solemnly swear I was NOT up to no good! All I wanted was to brush my teeth. Mark put it back into place so it would stop leaking, but I will no longer allow Lily to sit with her feet in my sink, playing with the water. All I can say is we are so lucky she wasn’t in it when this happened! As it is, we were both in stitches, cracking up over the absurdity of it all.



Today, I decided to indulge in a little retail therapy:



Yes, I DO love nerds (although I’m not terribly fond of scrabble). And now you’ll all get to sit around and wonder, “Is she wearing her Supergirl underwear today or her Oscar the Grouch ones?” YAY for fun underwear!



And finally, something that made me clap a hand over my mouth and giggle with glee. This table was for sale on eBay. I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt that it is for sale by a man. How can I be so sure? Take a couple of minutes to look at the photo and let me know if you can figure it out.

whaaaaa?

I just found a feather in my bra. Anyone care to explain?

My new love, SAM

My appointment with my midwife last week went really well and she gave me a whole bunch of tools to help with the PPD as well as giving me an acupuncture treatment. One of the things she suggested is a product called SAM-e.

SAM-e is believed to raise the levels of specific neurotransmitters, especially that of dopamine, which is important for mood regulation. Higher SAM-e levels in the brain are associated with successful improvement of mood. While not as powerful as antidepressants, a study published in the Journal of Psychiatric Research showed that SAM-e takes effect within one week, quicker than that of drug antidepressants, as well as St. John’s Wort. And unlike antidepressants, SAM-e does not lead to such typical side effects as weight gain, headaches, and sexual dysfunction.

One week? I was feeling more like myself after only 24 hours. Freaking brilliant, that is. And hey, no sexual dysfunction is always nice. Seriously though, this stuff didn’t make me feel high or crazy happy, just normal. And right now, normal is one heck of a step. I’ve also been able to channel all this emotional crap into proper grieving for my Grandmother. What I mean is that instead of feeling crazy and angry and out of control, I just feel loss. And loss is something I can deal with, you know? I’m still getting imbalanced sometimes, but now I have ways of recognizing and coping with these little outbursts. I take my homeopathics (Chamomilla and Ignatia Amara), or another dose of SAM-e, or press on one of the acupressure points she showed me, or realize I haven’t eaten in a while and get some food in my body, or I just leave the room and chill for a minute if I can.

End result? Mental health is a good thing.

OH, and check out how very cute we are and Christa’s kick ass wares at the new Planet Zebes website, designed by our very own Solistella.

Self Portrait Sunday

Looking good, feeling happy and sporting a cute little trinket from Christa.

"I wanna smack it."

Yesterday we took a trip to the lake. They have a big kid park (read no slides or swings) up above the shore that Lily and I climbed all over while Anya cruised around with us in the sling. Lily kept saying, “I swing?” so we went ahead and hiked the length of the lake (about ½ a mile) to go check out the tiny toddler park with a view. On the way we passed many runners, cyclists and power walkers, not one of which could refrain themselves from commenting on Lily’s cuteness. One guy even jumped up and down while giggling “hi!” and waving manically. I think he was a little off, but seemed totally harmless. We crouched down and watched a Japanese Beetle as it dug around in the sand, people smiling at Lily’s wonder as they passed. Lily bopped along and sang songs as we walked, periodically stopping to ask, “I swing?”
“Yes, Lily. We’re almost there. Look!” I pointed down the trail to show her the top of the twisty slide and she took off at a clip, running that fantastic toddler run: a cross between a pony trot and a seizure. She headed straight for the swing and I hoisted her up and answered the hollered demand of “PUSH!!!”


Your arms can get pretty tired of pushing a toddler who likes to really fly while trying to keep an infant snuggled safely in a sling. I gave up after a while and insisted she try out the slide. Big hit. Cries of “Weeeeee!” abounded as she spun manically down the slide to proclaim, “Again!” Since all I had to do was stand around and help her off the slide at the end, it was all good for me. Eventually she started showing signs that nap time was coming, so we settled in for the hike back. We left the main trail and headed down to the edge of the water, on the hunt for ducks. We found an abandoned hunk of bread and Lily eagerly tore it up into chunks, flung it into the water and yelling, “DUCKS!” Sadly, there were no ducks at the shoreline and since her throws only got the bread about a foot away from her, none of the ducks out in the lake even knew there was old, kinda moldy, now totally soaked bread to be had.

We kept going, Lily strolling along behind me as I tried to keep us headed in the general direction of the car. I had to turn around though when I head, “I wanna smack it” from my toddler behind me.



I never did figure out what she wanted to smack… or who taught her such a phrase. Since neither myself nor Anya took a smacking, I let it be and she eventually lost interest in smacking anything, dropping the stick along the way.

We saw a mama duck with her juvenile ducklings and talked about how that mama was taking care of her kids. She would dip under the water and come up with moss for the kids to eat. They were just like human adolescents and snatched it out of her mouth without so much as a thank you. Then they’d be all, “I don’t need your freaking moss, I’m going to get my own!” and dip under for a while, sometimes coming up with food, sometimes not so much. Seriously, look at the one on the left, he’s totally mouthing off.



When Lily started coming this close to falling into the lake because her feet kept going somewhere her brain had not intended, I announced it was time to go home. Since she wasn’t so thrilled with that idea I ended up hiking back to the car with one child in the sling (Anya) and another whining/crying/kicking/lamenting her luck on my hip (that would be Lily). That, by the way, is only one way to work off your baby weight.

Lessons for next time:
Park less than ½ a mile from the swings.
Bring bread but don’t give it to the girly until ducks are in the general area.
Stay clear of the “smack it” stick.
Juvenile ducks are punks.

Saying goodbye

It’s been a crazy couple of days and I haven’t had any time to write about my Grandmother’s funeral. But there are certain things I’d like to remember about it, so I’m carving out a couple of minutes to make it happen (in actuality, a bunch of minutes spread out over the whole freaking DAY! Thus the somewhat scattered post).

It’s about a two hour drive up to where they live and Anya wailed all but 20 minutes of the ride there and pretty much the whole way back. So my nerves were a little frayed by the time we arrived at the church. Lily, mostly because of the wailing, hadn’t had a nap all day so she was slightly insane throughout. Overall, my kids made the whole experience that much more stressful, but I cannot blame them. They are, after all, sensitive beings and probably were feeding off the stress I was already feeling.

We arrived a couple of hours early hoping that we’d get a chance to relax, eat and get Lily to nap (ha!). The church had been kind enough to set their youth group room aside as a family room for all of us traveling in from out of town. On the wall someone had scrawled this across the white board: “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.” My first response was to think, “Unless you’re spending two hours trapped in a car with a screaming infant… then it’s ALL about the destination.” But it was so fitting for why we had all come together. We weren’t there to celebrate Grandma’s death; we were there to rejoice in the life she shared with us. I put those words into my head and tried to just breathe for a moment.

One aunt and her daughter and granddaughter showed up shortly after we arrived. I am not close to these people at all. They kept calling me Elena. A nice enough name, just not mine. They are overly dramatic people at times and I sat listening to my cousin telling her mom about how her boyfriend didn’t want her to come because he feared she’d “freak out” when she saw Grandma laid out in the coffin. Um, did she know this woman at all? Grandma would NEVER allow an open casket. Period. She wanted to be cremated and that’s what was gonna happen. No viewing. Good enough for me, thanks!

People kept showing up and after a short time my Grandfather arrived and started saying his hello’s. He looked tired, sad, older than I remembered him from only a few weeks before, thinner and like the world had just shattered a little bit. Heck, his wife of 63 years had died, the world DID shatter. When I got my chance to greet him he pulled me in for a hug and instinctually my hand went up to stroke the back of his head, something I do with my girls when they are distraught. With my head right next to his I heard a little whimper escape him, like a sob caught in his throat. We didn’t let go for what felt like a long time and I felt something inside of me snap loose and let go; all the stress from the day went away and I just found myself in this moment with Grandpa, just trying to support. I told him how thrilled I was that Anya got to meet her and he agreed, both of us a bit teary.

My brother was there and it was so good to get a chance to talk with him after not seeing him for… I don’t know, a long time. Unfortunately his wife and son were not able to come and I was so disappointed to miss out on a chance to see my growing nephew. But Matt was there and that meant so much to Grandpa, my mom and to me.

When it was time to head into the service, Lily lead the way, thrilled with the rows of chairs, the stained glass and the beautiful flower arrangements. She went and sniffed them all despite the fact that they were up in front of the whole congregation. She was simply delighted. She was also very tired, so she didn’t last through the opening greeting. Mark had to take her back to the family room so I could pay attention to the service and my family. Anya stayed in the sling and slept most of the time.

Several people eulogized Grandma, but I only really knew one of them (and not that well). Fred has been a part of their lives for years and is one of the guys my Grandfather goes out to movies and dinner with on a regular basis. He talked about how Grandma was, “Kind and stubborn. Generous and stubborn. Open hearted and stubborn.” I watched my grandfather laughing and I started to cry. Seeing my tears falling onto my daughter’s sweet sleepy head… that made me cry more. But I was happy watching Grandpa smile as his friends remembered Grandma. It was good.

The reception was nice with some lovely food and a chance to talk to all the family and friends. We did a bunch of group shots of the different generations, although by that point Lily was loosing it and refused to be in most of the pictures. I was reaching the end of my rope as well and so we headed for home.

If you are so inclined, you can see a couple of pictures by clicking the photo of Lily below. They aren’t very exciting unless you know the people, but there they are.

I also wanted to say thank you to all the support my blogging posse has given me during this time. It’s been so comforting to have you in my life and though I feel like the world is still a little too big, I know I have strong hands holding me safe. I know it’ll just keep getting better and I have you all to thank for reminding me of this.

Kissing strange men

We went out to dinner tonight at this fabulous little burger joint in OB called Hodads. The best freaking French fries on the PLANET, I kid you not. There are booths around the edge, a window bar from which my friend Kiki once saw a bum put on one hell of a show with his blow up doll girlfriend, a front end of a VW bus you can eat in, and down the center is a surfboard that seats about twenty. We usually sit at the nose of the surfboard as there is enough space for all four of us and Kiki, who is often our Hodad buddy. Tonight a couple and their eight(ish)-year-old son sat down next to us and I overheard this conversation:

Dad: Yeah, I used to smoke, but I quit.
Kid: Why’d you quit?
Dad: Because I love you.
Kid: Huh?
Dad: Smoking makes you sick and you’ll likely die earlier than if you don’t smoke. It can also hurt those you love. The first time I looked at your face I knew that I loved you so much that I didn’t want to hurt you and I wanted to be able to look at your face as long as I could. I didn’t want to die early.
Kid: But wasn’t it hard to quit?
Dad: Yes.
Kid: Then how’d you do it?
Dad: I just looked at your face.
Kid: That’s it?
Dad: That’s all it took. One look at your face and nothing else mattered.
Kid: Really?
Dad: Yep.
Kid: ‘Cause you love me that much.
Dad: That’s right.

I did manage to refrain from kissing the man, but it was really hard.

Big Fat Three Ohhhhhhhh!

My birthday is coming up. It’s a bigie. What should we do? Our house is still a disaster area because of our deck being all torn up and the various projects in random states of done-ness. So, I’m not really hip to the idea of having a bunch of people over. However, whatever we do has to be at least baby friendly as I’m not really ready to leave Anya with anyone yet. I can probably ditch Lily (what a good mom, she speaks of “ditching” her child) but don’t feel as though I need to in order to have fun. Not a big drinker, so no keggers for me. Hmmm… old standby of going out to dinner? Seems so blasé for a rather significant birthday.

I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

Help me, internet. Tell me what fun you would have with two small children on a big birthday.

And why do I always end up planning this stuff?





P.S. Pretty!

Money musing

Being an active part of our children’s lives is really important to us and we’re happy to cut corners to make it a reality. We feel it’s important for us to have one parent at home with the kids and don’t want to have to put our kids in daycare. I understand that for some families daycare is the only option, but we’re willing to do just about anything to avoid that scenario. That’s why when I went back to work last year, Mark stayed home and picked up gigs when he could.

But imagine if you could both be at home with your kids while making a decent income?

We have a business opportunity that is scaring the crap out of me. If it works out even minimally, Mark and I could both be stay at home parents and work for pleasure rather than for food. If it works out the way it’s projected to, we could do the remodel, buy the yurts, send the girls to good schools (or really live up the homeschooling) and get the minivan without much trouble at all. But if it doesn’t work out, we’re out a substantial chunk of change. Mark wants to go ahead with it and so far, his ventures haven’t sent us to the poor house. In fact, his last one was the reason we were able to buy this home on all this land. I’m inclined to go for it so we don’t have to sit around thinking what if. But man is it scary to hand over that much money.

Keep your good intent focused for us over the next couple of months as we see how this pans out. I’ll be in the corner, rocking just a little.

Happy to be here

I am lucky in my life that whenever things seem to get extraordinarily challenging, I have some silliness to fall back on. Courtesy of Mizz Jenny over at Three Kid Circus, we had way too much fun with the little chesses that come wrapped in red wax. Thank you for the inspiration:



I also am accepting the fact that I married Spiderman and we’re making little spider monkeys:



And if all else fails, I just have to gaze upon the beauty that is my infant as she snoozes in dappled sunlight, warmed by the crisp grass with a cool breeze ruffling what little hair she has:



All of this to say: I may be hitting a rough patch but I have NEVER been so happy to be in my life.

True Love

My grandfather first laid eyes on my grandmother when she 12-years-old. She was a new student in their little town and he fell in love with her immediately, going home that same day and telling his mother he’d met the woman he was going to marry. They courted through the years but never really settled into each other. My mom says she saw Grandma’s diary from that time and it read like this: “Went out with Paul last night. Had a date with Harry. A fellow named Rueben took me out.” And then it was blank for about six months. The first entry after the silence says, “I married John.” Grandpa confesses to taking more than a few girls out dancing before the marriage as well, so they were both foot loose and fancy free there for a while. But through it all, he knew he’d marry Margaret. It was never a question in his mind.

Grandma is pure spitfire. She’s a selfish brat and always has been. Not one of those grandma’s you cuddle up to in a big rocking chair while she knits you a new sweater, god no! When I was about ten-years-old I remember finding a stick of gum under the sofa and putting it on the kitchen counter among some of her things. I knew she’d never let me have it if she knew I found it under the couch so my big plan was to “discover” it there under her papers and ask if I could have it. She ripped me a new one for lying... sometimes I think she planted the darn thing there just to test me. I never even thought of trying to pull one over on her again.

She’s been having trouble for years and her heart has forced her to be a softer person. I’ve really enjoyed her lately and delighted in my daughter dragging her around to look at the rain on our recent visit. But she has hated being unable to do what she wants. When she climbed up on a chair last week and had what should have been a little owie, I just knew. I just knew that this was it, somehow. She went in for surgery and they were forced to remove about half of the skin of her leg. She was looking at months and months of convalescent care and she’d likely never share a bed with Grandpa again.

This morning… This morning my grandfather, a man who has loved one woman for over 70 years… This morning my grandfather said goodbye to his wife, his lover, the mother of his children, his best friend in the whole world. This morning my grandmother died. My mom got to be with her most of this week and was there within an hour of her death. I have been blessed to know this woman. She may not have cuddled me, but I know she loved me with all her heart and I saw the look in her eye as she allowed my child to share the wonder of a summer thunder shower with her. She was loved. She is gone. May she finally hurt no more. May the next life allow her peace. May she recognize that she lived a life full of passion and with a man who would do anything for her.

I love you Grandma. Good bye.

There's always a little more room

Mark and I were talking today about the fact that when Anya was born, I felt an emotional disconnect from Lily. I wasn’t too worried about it as she is very connected to Mark (and he to her) and so I knew she’d continue to get what she needed emotionally from her father. I figured it was nature’s way of making sure my newborn got what she needed from me and is kept safe from the foot flinging wildness that is her toddler older sister. “Lily, stop. Be careful. Do you see where your feet are? GRRRRR!” The growling gets her every time. It’s not that I have shut her out; I’ve just focused my affection on Anya. Mark admitted that he felt way more connected to Lily and feels like he doesn’t really know Anya yet. We both acknowledged that things would shift and our emotional connections to our children would even out as needed.

The other day, Lily asked me about my milk (which she calls “elk”), indicating she’d like to see where it comes from. My midwife had told me that if Lily asked to nurse she was likely asking if it was forbidden to her, rather than expressing a real interest in nursing. Denying her would only lead to trouble, I concluded; so I showed her how the milk comes out and let her have a good look. “Do you want to nurse, Lily?” She nodded silently and leaned in, stopping herself short and grinning “no.” This morning, she laid herself out in Mark’s lap, in perfect nursing position, said, “elk!” and pulled up his shirt. She was ready to nurse, but from her daddy... a man practically devoid of nipples. He told her she’d have to go see mommy for that request. She didn’t. I love that she assumed she could get that from Mark. I love that they are so smitten with each other that she would think to ask. I don’t begrudge her not coming to me, I don’t mind the idea of tandem nursing, but damn would it be great if he could nurse Lily and I, Anya!

My emotions have been coming back online as of late (sometimes a bit too intensely) and I have had the pleasure of sitting in the big chair, Lily snuggled in my lap while she quietly sucks her thumb and twiddles my ear. She’s a wild child, but she also needs time to be wrapped up in her mother’s arms and I am happy to oblige when able. She still wants to cuddle with Mark first if he’s available, but I’m OK with that. I’m allowing her to shepard the way, showing me how to fall in love again and allowing her curiosity and affection for me to open my heart. It so often feels so very full, my heart, but my children constantly amaze me by showing that there is always room for just a little bit more.

Tu Wyga

What the heck is “Tu wyga” you ask? I would love for one of you to tell me, because Lily ain’t giving over. She sings this little ditty over and over and over again in such stunning tunes as:
Tu wyga, tu wyga
Tu wyga, tu wyga
Tu wyga, tu wyga
Tu wyga, tu wyga
Tuuuuuuu wy-GA!

This is usually done while twirling around a bit and flailing the arms. Sometimes she grabs our arms, holds them out as far as her toddler arms allow and whispers “tu wyga” directly into our face in her sing-songy way. Most toddler nonsense words shift over time, but this one has stuck. I’m thinking it is like so many of the great answers to the universe: we’re simply not asking the right question.

PPD? Bite me.

On my favorite message board today, I had a bit of awakening. I was telling them about my evil evilness and despair crap that’s been going on as of late and one of them suggested that what I am actually dealing with is postpartum depression (PPD). I was quick to assure her that my feelings are not that of weepy sadness and drowning my kids, no. I just wanted to throw things at my husband for no apparent reason, have been irrationally angry in general and well, am basically a loose canon. So another mama posted this list which asked you to take a moment and ask if you are:
- sad, irritable, angry, frustrated? All but sad (OK, sometimes a little sad).
- feeling like you are a terrible mother? Sometimes it seems the only possible conclusion.
- guilt, not feeling worthy? All the time.
- trouble sleeping, always exhausted? I’ve been awake more times at night than the baby is; so yeah, that would be a yes.
- thinking there is no light at the end of the tunnel? Oh, I know it’s there, it’s just so tiny and far away and I clearly didn't wear the right shoes.
- an extreme change in weight, or loss of appetite? I’m not actually feeding myself so well these days. I know I am hungry, but it’s just too much bother to make something.
- you can't concentrate or remember things? I’m sorry, what did you just say?
- constantly worrying about things? Yep.
- you burst out crying for no apparent reason? No, but only because I am clinging onto that thread for dear life. My throat is almost raw from the pressure of holding it back.
- anxiety? Yep.
- do not want to talk or be with friends and family? A dark, quiet room with a stack of books sounds so inviting… especially if there is a nice blankie.
- your baby does not make you feel happy? Nope, my baby makes me whole. My toddler on the other hand…
- blaming your baby for your feelings? No.
- wanting to hurt yourself or your baby? Absolutely not.

Hmmm… that’s an awful lot of affirmatives. So, I emailed my fabulous midwife and will go be a good girl and talk to her. I don’t know what she (or anyone, really) can do for me, but I am obeying my message board friends, Daphne (thanks for the chat tonight, girl, I totally needed it) and everyone else and I am opening my mouth. And you know what? Everything I write, every call I get, every time I think, “this may all be explainable” I feel like the stone on my back gets chipped a little lighter. I’ve been through this once before and I did it alone and silent last times. How much better will it be to do it within the company and support of friends? And while I am struggling with the feeling of utter and complete embarrassment that there could be something “wrong” with me, I’d rather have it be something that millions of women deal with and overcome rather than something millions of schizophrenics are medicated for everyday. Besides, a thing looses so much power over you when you put a name to it.

And really, if I know I am in the company of mothers, I know I cannot fall to far; not without strong and caring hands to pull me back.

I really love my blogging chicas!

I swear, you all are the best therapy that a woman could hope for. Your comments coupled with me getting it all off my chest have made me a happier girl. Much less insane today. Mark and I even sat down and had a good talk about how I can be a little less frustrated.

In recent events, I finally found a bunch of photos from before Lily was born and then from her first year. Click on one of the photos below to take a gander. It is FREAKY how much the girls look alike at this age.

Sometimes it’s like this…

Sometimes it’s like this: you wake in the middle of the night to find your nursling nestled asleep in the crook of your arm, warm downy hair pressed against your skin and her little mouth working in sweet little puckers as she dreams of her fabulous num nums. You look over to see your husband dreaming silently, a smile on his lips. Your dog is asleep at the foot of the bed, paw twitching in her own doggy dream world and the kitty purrs happily at your feet. The air is perfect; just cold enough to warrant the light blankets covering you and the smell of rain adding a crispness and promise of fall. On these nights you know that you could do this forever. You know that this moment was made for you to drink in, embrace and cherish. You know that if this is truly what life was, you could sit in this space for the rest of your life and never want for anything.

Sometimes it’s like this: you wake in the middle of the night as you kick the sweat soaked covers off your body and elbow your husband to get him to stop snoring, hoping that as he turns over he’ll somehow get the dog to stop snoring as well. The cat is trying to sleep on your face. The sweet nursling is awake again and is not happy and you know you must resign yourself to no sleep or you will be bitter and unforgiving in the morning. During the day, you want to complete a task but you know there will be countless interruptions and if your husband is home he will likely be napping during one of those times and you will be required to suddenly wake him from his slumber by demanding help. You will feel guilty for asking. You will feel guilty for hating that he is napping. You will feel guilty for wanting a whole day to do as you please. You will feel guilty for not making a perfect meal every night and presenting it to your family on matching plates with perfectly ironed napkins ready to swipe at their perfectly clean faces. You will resent that you have to call a friend in joy when you are out of the house all alone and you will resent that you have to be back at a certain hour, feeling like a child again who must abide by a parents rules. You wonder when your husband will learn to love your body as is and not say things like, “You’re not getting old, honey. You’re just out of shape; what you need to do is…” You realize that he will never learn. He’s a man and this kind of thing is not within his reach. He can tell you what every tool in the garage is called, how it works, what to do with it and what it sounds like when it goes bad; but this he cannot grasp. You know that if life is like this you could easily give it all up and run off to join the circus. Any circus, just as long as they allow you to sleep once in a while and spend a quiet day with a book. For a fleeting moment you even irrationally consider leaving your husband. As though that would somehow make your life easier, but in reality you know it’s just the anger and the resentment and the frustration of having very young children and a strong will of your own. You will feel so guilty for wanting to be away, knowing you will be in love with him again tomorrow. You will feel like a failure and no amount of being told you are not will erase the panic in your heart that you are just doing it all wrong.

Sometimes it’s like this: you realize that you have it good. You also realize that just because others have it worse, it does not diminish your own issues and insecurities. You accept that you are human and fallible and that you don’t have your shit together and likely never will. You hang onto those moments of perfectness and you allow yourself to be pissed off or happy or scared or crazy or silly or awake or selfish or Martha Stewart or whoever you need to be. You cling to the smell of your daughters damp head in the middle of the night and cry a little at how perfect she is and pray that you just don’t screw her up.

Sometimes it’s like this: you write it all down and wonder if you should just delete the whole thing. You think about your children reading this when they are becoming mothers and you realize that they will either be better at this than you or they will feel the same conflicting emotions and burry themselves in guilt and shame. You hope they will read this and think, “hell, if that woman could get through this, then so can I.” You hope they will never have to feel this way, but if they do you hope they will not feel alone. You hope even, for a moment, that they will call you up and pour out their emotion so that you can say, “I know, sweetheart. Hang in there baby, it’ll get better, I promise.”

Coiffure a go-go

Here you go folks. As promised, my new short do:

Hair cut, fever, today isn’t so fabulous

I got all my hair chopped off today. It is SHORT, ladies. I’d show you all, but right now I look and feel like death. I have a fever and have spent most of the day in a coma. So, no pictures for you until I don’t have couch creases on my face.

The cut makes my head look all small… and the rest of me, so not small. Yeah, yeah, I’m only about two months postpartum, but I’m definitly starting to feel like the fat girl. Now I’m the fat girl with the tiny head. Totally Brazil.

I promise to take pictures before it all grows out. By the way, anyone else notice a rapid hair growth after baby comes? It’s like my body is trying to get enough hair to feather the nest. Freaky.

I’m brilliant (actually, it's just that I can read)

You’ve all heard my lament of the One Bite Diet and how my toddler can drive me insane by demanding food every five minutes, only to eat one bite of it and be “all done.” So I finally decided to just go with it and I created for her an entire tray of bites using an ice cube tray. You may think I’m brilliant for coming up with this, but the truth is I didn’t. It’s one of those ideas you read about in just about every book that touches of toddler nutrition. The only brilliance I can claim is that I finally put it into practice and well, considering how long it’s taken me to get here, I don’t think brilliant really would be the proper term.

ANYWAY, she was thrilled. “Ah! Rapes [grapes]! Look, O’s! Mama, cheese! Ummm, hot dog! YAY, Na [banana]!” and so it went as she pointed to each item. Those she didn’t know the name for got a, “Oh! THIS!” and at the end, she clapped while hollering “YAY!” and then she ate excitedly. Right now she’s off in the kitchen after stating, “I want a fork!” She’s started using the “I want…” phrase to excess. It’s really her first reliable sentence, so we’re all gushing with pride that it’s a phrase of desire. That’s my little consumer.



Now… we just have to see how long this little scheme goes before it looses its charm.

In need of some silliness

Bad Grandma, BAD!

My Grandma has always been a stubborn lady. She’s also just a little unreasonable at times. Last Friday she thought it might be a good idea to try to tape down some curled up contact paper in the home they are getting ready to sell. So this woman, who has had numerous small strokes, heart issues and is on many different medications, climbed up on a FOLDING CHAIR to take care of this task. You see where this is going?

She didn’t fall, rather she scraped her leg while getting down and got what they refer to as a skin tear. Grandpa suggested they take a trip to the doctor. Grandma thought not. So they patched it up with band-aids and gauze and she went about her day. One of the medications she is on is Coumadin, which is a blood thinner. Consequently, the darn thing wouldn’t stop bleeding and by the time my mom got up there on Friday night, Grandpa was wrapping it in towels trying to keep the blood at bay. Grandma insisted on going to bed with this mess and after taking a couple of Tylenol, did just that.

It was still bleeding Saturday morning and my mom suggested they go see someone about this wound. Grandma’s cheery reply, “We can’t go to the doctor, he’s not open on Saturday’s!” Mom muscled her into the car and took her to the ER where they quickly brought her back to an exam room. The whole leg was swollen and the flesh was a dark blue, almost black. The wound was open and raw. The doctor looked her in the eye and told her if only she’d come in the day before it would have been a simple matter of stapling it shut. Now? Now she’s going to have to have daily dressing changes, antibiotics, and won’t be able to walk on it for months. And today her doctor decided to admit her as it doesn’t seem to be healing.

She could loose her leg over this. And that my friends… that’s just going to piss her off. Keep her in your thoughts. She’s an ornery old bird, but we happen to love her dearly.

Just who are these Wannabe Hippies?

First off there’s me.


Some of you know me as Ginger. Some know me as Elaine. Some even call me snookem’s but that’s beside the point. To put it bluntly, I’m a wannabe hippie. I started this blog when my daughter Lily was born and my whole world flipped up-side-down. I was suddenly introduced to the very visceral world of parenting and discovered the only way to survive was to follow my instincts and just try to keep the kid alive. We started doing things the only way we could and before we knew it, we were practicing a type of parenting most commonly called Attachment Parenting. I was thrilled to discover that all this stuff had been studied and the word was what we were doing was A-OK, daddy-o. Co-Sleeping actually lowers the risk of SIDS when done correctly. Baby wearing leads to more independent children. Home birthing is *gasp* safe! Breastmilk is truly the stuff of goddesses and cloth diapers were not only economical but better for baby. Holy crap, thank goodness for instincts and having the balls to follow them (not so easy in this “just let them cry it out” world). This kind of stuff has labeled me a hippie, but in reality I’m just a geek trying to find her way. So far my kids are turning out ok.

Next up is my partner in wannabe hippiness, Mark.


Mark is a kick ass dad and a damn sexy partner. We met in 1996 when he was back in country after several years traveling the Caribbean as crew on a private sailing yacht. This is the man who, when a bunch of armed Mexican navy dudes drove up to our plane, casually leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, they’re just here for our bags.” And he was right. He had a wild upbringing and has turned out to be an amazing man because of it. He’s fearless, honest, intelligent, sexy and the best mate I can imagine.

First we made Lily.


Lily is our independent toddler with a wicked-fun attitude and the best hair we have ever seen. It grows straight out of her head and just keeps curling into these wild, fantastic corkscrews. Seriously great hair. I write about her all the time. She and her sister are the sun and the rest of us are just these crazy planets whirling around in space trying not to collide. She’s already becoming wildly independent and will holler “MYSELF” for every damn thing we try to do for her. This is the kind of behavior that will eventually spin her out to her rightful place in the universe as a planet. Who will be the sun at that point? I donno, I didn’t work the metaphor out that thoroughly. Just take a quick glance through the years and you’ll fall in love with her; she’s that cool.

Then we cooked up Anya


Anya is the newest member of our family and if you don’t want to just eat her face off, then you are clearly not looking at her cute pudgy cheeks and edible toes. She’s so damn cute I actually got this comment from a friend, “Put that baby away, she’s making my uterus hurt!” She’s super mellow, sleeps beautifully (yes, that is wildly important) and has the best baby giggle I have ever heard. She was born in a tub in our bedroom and I am so blessed to have had my homebirth with her. She popped out of the water, looked around and settled in like she’d been on this ride a 1000 times. An old soul she has and I can’t wait to talk to her about where she’s been.


We also have a couple of pets.


Maya is the pooch and Millie is the pretty kitty. Before we had kids I could have written pages about them. Now they are just pets. Sounds harsh? It happens. I can tell you that they are awesome pets who enrich our lives. Maya is a little too friendly, but then, she’s a LAB. And Millie could be more friendly, but then, she’s a CAT. So there you have it.

And finally, we have a funky home.


If you look back in the archives you can find the whole story about this place. We managed to snag an original designed home on two acres in one of the most expensive cities in America. And no, we don’t come from old money or have jobs that make us filthy rich. We are lucky, tenacious and just a little stupid. The house and the land is a brilliant compromise between us two. Mark – the country mouse – gets lots of land to roam around and build things on and I – the city mouse – get to be in the city in 15 minutes. To me, this place kinda symbolizes our marriage: compromise, hard work and lots of room to play.

So that’s us. If you made it through this whole thing, you’re either a good friend or a stalker. Cheers either way.

You're welcome to write us some love letters by clicking the link on the sidebar but be forewarned: you write me hate mail and I reserve the right to either ignore you or make fun of you, reprinting your email in part or in total, publish your email address and basically having a bunch of fun at your expense.

Ranting

I understand America’s lust for reality shows. We are all voyeurs and since crawling around in the bushes spying on people stops being cute after you turn seven and starts being decidedly creepy, we count on our TV producers to keep our knees clean. But here’s what I don’t get: why these people sign up. Especially for this new “Trading Spouses” gig. I have only ever caught snippets of this drivel and it seems it’s vitally important to the shows success that the families involved be radically different. As a mom, this offends me to no end. Do these mothers really have such disrespect for their children that they think it’s OK to allow another mother – a mother who must be so different in parenting styles that everything she believe in would be tossed out the window – to take over their children for a week (is it a week?) and thrust upon their fragile minds a whole ‘nother way of being? These are your CHILDREN, people! Your husband can handle it, or at least if he’s not a big ol’ baby he can. But your kids? How dare you thrust your children into the arms of a mother who has been selected for how different her beliefs are from your own. Not a fan of time-outs? You better bet your ass your kids are going to be sitting in them all week. Working hard at learning to communicate with your children instead of yelling at them? Guess this week there will be yelling at your house. I just can’t imagine some woman in here treating my children in the exact opposite of what I think best. I couldn’t allow it. How can these other mothers? Is their need to be on TV so great that they would compromise everything they believe in? Do they not believe in their way of parenting? Do they not care?

I guess the bigger question is: why do I care?

The art of the lie

She insisted that her face was perfectly clean.

Bad mom. Good dog.

You know how they say you should never walk away from your kid, even for a moment while they’re in the bath. I’m a bad mom. I let the dog watch her while she’s in there.