Dropping the Baby Weight- I Hope

I started back on the Weight Watchers. It's time. It's actually WAY past time. I have found some co-workers/girlfriends at work to do it with me- Ghetto style, as one of them deemed it. We are weighing in in the nurse's office. We are reporting our food diaries through school e-mail. We are talking about points and how much THIS is worth and THAT is worth. We are holding each other accountable.
I have only been doing if it for three days- but feel tremendously better already- just to have set the ball in motion. I feel motivated and ready to tackle this fer reals this time.
I attempted to "do" Weight Watchers the day I got home from the hospital with Jake. Those efforts proved futile. I was too tired. Too bloated. Too new a Mommy to really stick to it correctly. Plus, now I can exercise. And sleep sometimes- which helps.
I have never been this heavy before- so the road ahead of me seems long- but I know I can make a difference if I maintain the program. I am uncomfortable and really- feel so much better when I don't have to be so worried about the "draping of the cloth" ( aka- getting dressed ) each morning.
My first goal is Feb. 14- date night for my husband and I. The goal? To feel better so I have reason to celebrate. My next goal is summer weather. I don't want to buy a new summer wardrobe- but will have to if I don't get my weight down. My third goal is July. We are going on a beach vacation and I will need to don a bathing suit. I don't want to spend Jake's first beach outings concerned about my spare handles-
At any rate. The way I see it is that I need to lose 40 pounds by July. Do-able. Just have to keep reminding myself how worth it it will be.

Six Months In

There has been little to report around here lately other than Jake finally cut his first tooth- which was... well, not my very FAVorite part of parenting and at the same time not the WORST part. He was just.. not that fun is all. Meaning he was not happy. Which in turn meant that he was fussy and therefore I was not happy. And when I say not happy, I do not mean depressed and eating chocolate and listening to sappy music- I just mean up a lot, and cry-y, and generally not in a very jovial mood. And so that is/was that.

In other six month news, he can almost sit up for more than two seconds at a time. He prefers standing and jumping to most other positions. So my arms tend to get a work out. He hates all foods green and likes pretty much anything that will constipate or stop him up. He will learn.

Speaking of which. He's not a big fan of eating... so I can foresee mealtime might be a struggle as time wears on. He would much rather stare at pretty much anything ( ie- a power cord? a pencil? a crumb on the floor? ) rather than eat and tends to get a lot of food everywhere since he likes to first stick his hands in his food, and then on his bib/eyes/hair/feet/nostril etc.

He is learning how to talk- sorta, and has "found his scream". Which means bath time and bed time can be pretty loud. But, for now I am in love with his noises. I am sure I will get over that, but for now it brings me joy.

He's fairly interested in holding his own bottle. He likes a good ride in the car or a toss in the air. He doesn't care for any activity that indicates crawling might independently occur. He prefers instead to sit on laps of big people and lunge at whatever he so chooses- meaning unless you have a fairly tight grip he could fall any which way but loose.

His favorite toy is his Globie- which I suspected he would and so purchased it at Wal-mart on a whim. He also likes soft, chewy, small cloth books that crinkle and beep and jingle and rattle.

What does this all mean? It means that I have become fascinated with his poo color and his puke and his butt rash. Which means that since I am so wrapped up in what HE'S doing, that I have little time left to care for much else. I do not say this begrudgingly- I say it lovingly with a teaspoon of matter-of-fact added in.

I have managed to get myself up at 4:45 in the morning several days a week for a walk on the tread mill. I went to Target the other day all by myself and I did squeeze in a pedicure. I have a ladies brunch and a girlfriend's baby shower on the horizon- so I do not feel super out of the loop.

I think I have just fallen so in love with my little guy that the world as I previously knew it has melted into the background a little bit. I think my husband feels the same- so the fact that we are spending our day off tomorrow shopping at Babies R Us for new bigger-boy car seats does not irritate me as much as it excites me.

We have come a long way these last six months. Happy six months little Jake!

What the ???

Where has the time gone?
Christmas and the New Year, come and gone, and me, nary a post to document Jake's first of these. Well, maybe I could do that now- sit, watch, eat bottle, be excited to be held by so many new people, be annoyed to be held by so many new people, sleep fitfully, get off schedule, etc. etc. I guess upon reflecting there is little to document. He's sorta still just along for the ride. And while all the excitement of the holidays certainly didn't get past him- he didn't really have a lot to say about it. And after a few fits and giggles and what not- he was squared away again.
And it's evident that we - meaning his Dad and I, have created a very structure-loving son. I cannot say I blame him. I get it. It's important. It feels good to know what's coming.
He got so many Christmas presents that I ended up spending the majority of my Christmas money on a new shelf for him. And then also read Nineteen Minutes so insisted we buy a gun safe as well to polish off a good portion of the rest of the cash. Is it obvious our lives revolve around him yet?
Then there is me. I weighed myself yesterday morning... after I motivated and did day two of the 5 am wake and tread mill. I couldn't believe the number that glared back up at me- chuckling and menacing. It was like a death sentence. I wanted to muster the energy and garner the sadness it would take to cry like a Biggest Loser contestant- but since I was SO not surprised that was lost on me. Pretty much could only resolve to keep plucking away at it. Anti-climactic if you know what I mean.
In total I have a whopping 35 pounds to shed. That's a lot of weight still hanging on for dear life.
I have to act fast or come bathing suit season I could potentially lock in some unwanted stares. It strikes me as hilarious how the weight I was PREVIOUSLY suddenly seems acceptable. It's all about switching up our standards, no? Because if we were banking on the goal weight from then, well, then I would have a whopping FIFTY pounds to lose! That's like.. a LOT of weight! I would be gaunt... but I bet I would stop bitching. And getting off the couch and functioning altogether- but HEY, I would be skinny!
Anyway- I need to shed a few pounds. I need to post more often and I need to read more books. Resolutions? Maybe. Perhaps. I don't want to go commitment "wild" or anything- as that's never been my thing ( oddly, I tend to rebel against my own SELF ???), but I have some attainable goals.
Life is good.

Setting it Up

Is it me or does blogspot sort of suck lately? I attempted to grace you with my writing three different times- however- there were technical issues. And since it was a passing fancy- I didn't use Word to write and save- I just played Farmville instead.

Things around here have been all about Christmas. The fake tree is up. And while most of my holiday decorations sit in the garage in boxes this year- there is enough holiday spirit in a tight enough space that we are not lacking in Christmas cheer. Most of the gifts have been bought- all via one giganto Target trip and hours perusing the internet. I love how the gifts keep rolling in. One UPS truck after another. It makes me feel sort of popular to have my door buzzing all of the time. I can see how one could get themselves in to dilly of a pickle with the on-line shopping channels.

Anyway- I figured that with a new baby in the house it would be hard to stay behind the eight ball, but actually it's quite the opposite. I am so bored most evenings while trapped, I mean, while sitting at home that it's relatively easy to let my fingers do the shopping.

While shopping and decorating and RSVP'ing NO to all of the Christmas parties has put the season into full effect around here, I feel pressure to come up with at least ONE holiday tradition. And last night, while drinking a bottle of red and wrapping Christmas gifts while BonJovi sang their version of Jingle Bells in the background, I thought of it.

Aside from copying my mother's tradition and buying Jake his very own themed ornament every single year (he's starting out with Snowmen ) I have decided to buy a stocking for Jesus, and will hang it in addition to ours... in order to keep the idea of the season in focus.
I am wondering if other people have any ideas?

Holiay Recharge

Between work and mothering and preparing for the Thanksgiving holiday, I have had little to no free time. Blogging has taken a severe back seat to pretty much... everything else. Part of the issue, I believe, is that I have not had time to think. Not enough time to watch crappy rom-coms and read poorly written British chick lit. No unwinding time on the treadmill or in the bath- or even a two hour solitary trip to Target. All of these things being, of course, my favorite ways to unwind. Which was why yesterday was such a treat.
I spent the better part of the week and the weekend anxiously preparing my litany of Thanksgiving dishes. I spent so much time cooking that our evening family time was relocated to the kitchen. My husband casually remarked, " I am really sick of hanging out in the kitchen." I hear you my dear, oh, I hear you.
That being said, I rather enjoyed perusing the internet last week for holiday fair that was not of my usual variety. I want to especially thank Martha Stewart and Paula Deen for sharing a nice variation of a Fall Salad, a crunch top old fashion apple pie, and chocolate pumpkin marbled cheesecake bars. That being said. The food I created was fine. No raves, no complaints. ( Perhaps next year I will try to drink less wine while baking?? - On second thought.. nah. )
The actualy holiday- between packing all of the said dishes, and the baby, and the baby's "stuff" and then relocating from one family to the other family 45 minutes away mid-day, left me... exhausted. Don't get me wrong, the holiday was delightful as it usually is... but for reasons afore-mentioned, it was not exactly what one would deem... relaxing. Which is what I am trying to tell you I have been craving these days. ( By the way- a revamping of the holiday schedule is on the docket for next year---).
So yesterday- with a refrigerator full of yummy leftovers, signaling a day off from the kitchen, and the hubby out doing his thing.... I relaxed. I swore to Billy as he was exiting the house that, " I am not doing jack today, just so you know."
And despite my declaration I found myself scooting my brand new Bissell around the house ( boy did we ever need a new vacuum... gross!! ), and I couldn't resist tackling the overgrown laundry pile, I did manage to squeeze in plenty of cuddle time with Jake and to rent Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon and my favorite celeb to trash on, Vince Vaughn ( because I waited on him while waitressing years ago and he was a total asshole). But despite his smarmy grin I enjoyed all 96 minutes of the poorly rated box office bomb, as it epitomized what it is I have been craving... down time.
Today I feel emotionally recharged. Ready to tackle Old Navy with gusto and to reconsider my former promise of NO CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS. Because last night when I glimpsed the shiny glory of all of the eager beaver neighbor's Christmas finery, I couldn't imagine Jake's first Christmas with a scroogey Mom sans sparkly white lights.
It's amazing what a little rest can do.

Home

Shockingly, I am surprisingly okay with the commitment of having a baby. I miss Lauren Conrad more than I miss my night's out.
Perhaps this is just becuase I was ready for this phase of life.
I have often even found that having a baby is an incredible escape excuse. No one questions the choice to "stay in" because the "baby isn't feeling that great" or whatever other BS excuse I can so easily blame on my 14 pound, speechless, bundle of love.
My husband and I have been incredibly and increasingly anti-social over the last couple of years. The infant just catapults us into a completely new realm of staying in. However the baby allows us to no longer feel the need to "go" just because if we didn't it would be rude. Rudeness is practically a way of life at this point. Sorry Emily Post- it's just the way it is. Guilt free "no's" to every R.S.V. and P.
Don't get me wrong- it's great to see a lunch in my schedule once in a while. An evening dinner with just the girls. A morning spent pampering my under-pampered self. But I really don't miss the commitments to bars and parties that require us to wear anything aside from sweatpants after 4 PM on the weekends.
On the flip side- I am seriously considering piling up the debt just to have DVR access- which has suddenly turned into an almost necessity... ALMOST. TV has become extremely important as of late. I have actually even considered writing letters to the networks... to "voice my thoughts" on this or that ( I cannot believe the filth on cable before 7 PM or that SOME shows make me pay a DOLLAR just to catch up on a little half hour comedy ! BUt thanks Bravo for finally getting Hosewives On Demand... sheesh! It's taken long enough! ). I know... big time stuff here. Hard to grasp, isn't it?
So today- another day spent in the 1000 square feet of comfort that has become so part of me that I don't even see the dust.

Scared

When people told me to make the baby sleep on his back, use ONLY sleepers and above all else, put NO TOYS or bumpers in the crib. I listened. I listened because I am a new Mom and I didn't want to make a drastic mistake. Over the last week, as we leave month three happily behind us ( gimme me a break, I had a rought start ) and enter month four ( thank you God of rice cereal ), we have made the swing a part of Jake's past and introduced him to his new one and only sleeping spot. His crib.
It's been fairly easy, as the timing seemed right. Well, that, and since he was teething he was on some doses of Tylenol so once that kicked he didn't give a rat's patootie WHERE he was sleeping.
In order to smooth his transition into his "big boy bed", I allowed him one eensy teensy tiny itty bitty allowance. His eight inch by eight inch square binky. Silky on one side and fuzzy wuzzy soft on the other. He loves the thing and it helps him fall instantly to sleep once the cool, shiny silk is placed lovingly against his cheek. How can a mom say no?
Last night, while home alone, I put him down for a late afternoon nap. Binky and all. Suddenly I heard his guttaral screams and at first, figured he was spoiled and his pacifier fell out... again. But then something about that cry made me run like the wind towards his room. I flung the lights on and the poor little guy had gotten his binky somehow stuck across his face. The more he tried to breathe in, the more stuck he felt. Since he was screaming, I knew he was okay, but when I leaned in to pick him up, he went limp in my arms and immediately snuggled his head on my chest. It took him a good twenty mintues to calm down and breathe at his normal rate. It took me at least twenty four hours. Well, actually, I don't think I am over it yet. I don't think I will ever be "over" it.
Tonight, he went to sleep withOUT his special binky. I actually want to throw the darn thing away, but figure he will grow into it.
Now that my first scare is over, I feel more like a mom than ever. As I buttoned my big-sized pants around my rounded middle this morning, I thought how lucky I was that I heard him. How lucky I am to even be graced with his life. How quickly things can go wrong. How horrid it would be. I am a humbler Mom today.

Calling Me Crazy

SOMEone stole the little white pumpkin. SOMEone threw rocks at my window. SOMEone threw mud balls at the bricks. Then I had a baby. And when SOMEone threw more rocks, eggs, and water balloons at my windows, I got mad.
Because there is a baby in the house and I am one protective Mama. And thoughts of the glass cracking and letting in all the hot air or cold air or the elements come into my house... my BABY'S house...and possibly inhibit his comfort? Well... now... I don't THINK so.
So we started calling the cops. Yep. 911. Well, not exactly. We called the local non-emergency line. And then they would transfer us to the police. We would and well, DO, wait patiently on the patio for them to show up. And because of our property taxes and the town we live in, they did. Show up, that is.
The first few times, we were... uncomfortable. I mean, it's highly UNlikely that any REAL harm will result from any INTENTIONAL crimes here. Junior High pranks at best. I know.
But try mixing a protective Mama, a TIRED Mama, and a wife who FINALLy got to sit down to a nice candlelight dinner of homemade burgers and a Caprese salad with her husband for the first time in months, and have a laser beam shining into her face shortly after hearing some kids say... "This one.. this one.. THIS is the one".
That is where THIS woman throws her fork down already. Because quite honestly? It was at THAT moment that I knew. I knew that for whatever reason we were the neighborhood "target", and I was DONE DONE DONE.
And while we had been reporting the last FEW transgressions, the officers seemed to care little to none, and we assumed our efforts were an effort in futility.
However, this police officer was very nice. I started off with my usual description, a white kid, a black kid, an asian kid and an hispanic kid. His response? Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. I knew right away that THIS Officer might be the first to "crack the case".
His phone call within the hour confirmed my confidence. After talking to one of the "followers", who sank like a rotted ship and narced them ALL out, he was able to identify and visit each home. Not so great if you are the parent of a Junior High aged child, I would guess.
When I thanked him for his efforts, he warned me to "not get too excited" as the parents played nice but only agreed to "work on it with their kids"... he sounded pessimistic.
I, however, am excited. I am excited because I feel validated that even though these are childhood pranks, they are becoming increasingly frequent, aggressive, and intrusive. They are preventing me from feeling safe and comfortable when I am home with the baby.
I am not excited that there are some families out there that had a pretty bad night. Or some kids today, for example the narc, that probably get beat up. My husband said late last night, after we both had spent some time contemplating the series of events, "You know, I have been thinking, this is the kind of thing that creates a fork in the road. These kids are going to be making a decision because of this. This is where they say ef it, or ask themselves why they are doing this kind of stuff ".
Truer words could not be said.

Precious Life

Before Jake was born, and before I was even with child, it was just Billy and I. It was then that we somehow managed to illicit friendships with the neighbor folks. A lot of them. The octogenerian set. That is what you get in a condo building in our part of town.
When our friends found out we were expecting, much excitement was felt throughout the courtyard. Stopped frequently by enthusiastic congratulations and talks and memories of raising their own little ones many years ago. We were gracious for thier gifts. Not only of the standard onesies, photo albums and recieving blankets, but also the advice, support, and cheerful smiles.
When Jake finally arrived, we could barely sit on our front patio without feeling somewhat accosted by the curious and happy-for-us neighbor friends who wanted to stop by and meet our little bundle and of course, bestow MORE gifts and wisdom. That with the colic we most surely needed, appreciated and accepted.
In the days and weeks that followed, a few of our most eager friends seem to have disappeared. I missed the quick chats in the parking lot, on the patio, and under the apple tree in the courtyard. The invitations to come by with the baby or if we needed some support or a break.
And then yesterday happened.
Neighbor Rich banged on our door with his cane. Insisting we open up immediately so he could rest his eyes on the peanut. If you didn't know him better, you would surmise that his gruffness translated into insensitivity, however we knew better. He then went on to tell us about his pain. The arthritis that has taken over his body and left him virtually immobile. How it was so severe that he was going to be asking the doctor to kindly unplug his heart defribulator pumping inside his body so that he could die peacefully within two weeks of a massive heart attack. Luckily, he told us, there was a renewed hope as his newest medications seemed to be easing it a bit.
Then there was neigbor Dorothy. We were laying on the couch with the baby finally asleep restfully after his first round of shots. I rolled my eyes when I saw her approaching, annoyed that my first real time to relax was being interrupted. She knocked ever so gently and with such timidity that I was ashamed at my initial annoyance.
She came in and of course, was looking for the baby. It was then she told us that she was blind. Suddenly. Seems as if some strep had settled in her one good eye leaving her blinded. The good news was that she was going to be able to keep the eye. If it had happened when she was fifty she is pretty sure she would have killed herself, because now, literally overnight, at the age of 78, she cannot do anything. Drive, cook, dress, read. She cannot SEE. It's no way to live, she tells us. Her own grown children are devastated for her. WE are devastated for her. She was sad that she couldn't see the baby that she had so anticipated watching grow.
Once she left and we settled back into our places on the couch, it sunk in more fully.
As I looked down at the precious bundle in my arms, I thought about the beauty of life, as well as the horror of it. I hope Jake knows one day how much he was loved by so many people without ever having to try. I hope he knows that there were some special people that loved him as they were leaving this world and he was entering it, and how those people calmed us, soothed us, supported us and helped us get his life started.
Mostly, I hope he learns to respect life, and the life cycle and how precious it all is.

Operation Get Things Back On Track Day

I am getting snowed. I am getting taken for a ride by my 10 week old, hook, line and sinker. Seems as if the little peanut has noticed that he gets a lot more attention if he chooses to eat little 2 ounce snacks every couple of hours instead of some decent sized 5 ounce meals.
Last week we had managed it all but good, getting him up to 5 ounces at a shot- leaving us with beautifully long slumbers and lots of pleasant adults in the house.. and then we went to Grandma's. It's not her fault. Not by a long shot- but with several three hour road trips in front of us, we were desparate to get him to play nice and sit in his car seat and shut up, I mean rest peacefully, for the duration. Which also means with barely a whimper to be heard we were running like a Jamaican to get him his bottle, pick him up, change him... you name it. It was a very short-lived, but princely time in his life.
It wasn't until yesterday that I noticed the severe regression from all the chaos and his lack of ability to get back into the swing of things.
Today? Operation Get Things Back On Track Day.
Armed with several "How to do this" and "How to do that" baby books in my arm and a newfound reisistance to the peanuts yelps and squirms for MORE MORE MORE- I started the day with "The Plan".
"The Plan" consists of little more than extending the time between his feedings and not picking him up when he's needing a good long nap. Somehow- this has ended up involving lots of pacifiers getting shoved into his tiny, adorable, sweet little pie-hole. Mommy of the Year anyone?
It seems to be working and we have already made some progress. And as I tell my husband... it's actually good for the WHOLE family, namely ME- as I am much more pleasant when the diaper changings are interspersed with quiet moments in which I can put the peanut's scrapbook together already.
Which as of today, is actually coming along quite nicely- thanksverymuch.
The only real fear is the "big debate"... which is him resisting his encouraged bedtime tonight of 7 pm and pushing it to his usual 9- which has majorly interfered with my prime time television watching. Thank God for OnDemand.

The Heart Beats Fonder

How can it be that in baby time an hour goes on for DAYS and a week flashes by in a second? At least that is how it has been for me.
Now that we have Jake's colic under control ( I finally had the nerve to ignore Doctor's orders and switched his formula ) it's like we returned our old cranky baby and got a new one. Since then we have had the chance to watch the beginnings of his personality blossom from amongst the dirty diapers, bottles, and burp cloths.
He's still what one might deem "particular". However, he's also very contented to sit back and watch the world. Of course, that is when he's not exercising those strong little legs of his or craning his hulkonian like neck about. He loves the outdoors and car rides and severely dislikes his crib and the sun shining on his face. He likes to eat in snack portions and he prefers his Dad to his Mom on most days. He's a sucker for having his head scratched and the bouncy seat but can tell in an instant if you lift a finger off his carefully held into place pacifier.
I know, nothing too out of the ordinary or shocking- but a real blessing for us. After navigating through several surreal weeks of non-stop crying and feelings vascillating between frustration and helplessness, we cannot help but feel in awe of his every non-crying movement.
Admittedly, not every moment is steeped in blissful Mommy and baby sentiment, however, it's so much easier now to peer into his tiny little face and fall deeper and deeper into love with him. It's these moments that seem to take a lifetime, but yet pass me by in seconds. I wish I could bottle the feeling and market it... or at least save it for myself to relish some other time... like when he gets his first speeding ticket or stays out past curfew...
But for now I will try to remember what these moments feel like. How a day can slip by and all I have to show for it is a deeper, stronger love.

Sunshine

I must say- the last week has been a whirlwind. Ironically, I took a break from having a baby to go back to work for three days. Not just any three days- the FIRST three days of SCHOOL. Which just happen to be about the most stressful three days of the year. Well, aside from the LAST three days of the year- but that's a different story.

There were curriculum projects to complete, lesson plans to prepare, classrooms to decorate, supplies to be bought and organized, memos to be written and sent, and of course, people to greet, among the myriad other tasks and tedium. And as much as I was frustrated that the chaos was interfering with my time at home, it was a good place to have to be. Not many people can say they love their jobs- but I can.

To make matters even better, my husband stayed home with the baby. Meaning there were no drop-offs or pick-ups to juggle. And especially no worries about leaving my baby with a babysitter, as I knew he was in good hands with his Dad.

The three days flew by with surprising speed, and during that time, we went against the doctor's orders and went with gut instinct and changed the baby's formula to a more sensitive version to see if that would help with the colic. Lo and behold a miracle has happened.

It's like we have a new baby. He doesn't cry. Ever. He's so... good. I am shocked that this is what it's like to have a regular baby. Completely shocked. Life is so much... easier.

We can actually find him a regular bed to sleep in - some semi-normal routines. We can teach him to sleep on his back, play with him, read to him, leave the house with little to no concern. We can even SIT DOWN sometimes! I don't think we have even grasped the full scope of our new capabilities yet. The fog has begun to lift and despite the rain, the sun is shining a little brighter in our world today.

Colic + TV =

So this...... PLUS THIS....

Lots of late nights holding the baby lately. And with that- comes some tied up hands- meaning the remote- while within reach- is useless. Because once you get that colicky baby into a sleeping position- you work quite hard at maintaining those gates to hell that will break loose if you so much as wiggle your thumb. The last few nights have found me dozing on the couch- with the baby snuggled on my chest. Because even though I said I wouldn't do that- it's what works. Yes- I know... keep your told-you-so's to yourself. I promise to apolgize when I come up for air. In the meantime- I woke myself up the other night dreaming of the Daisy Sour Cream jingle with my own words

Do the colic. Do do the colic... Cra-zyyyyyy...

Bedtime Stories

Looks like I am already proving to be a bad mother sometimes. While on-line searching for more colic cures, I have come across millions of suggestions. I have been trying them all. The other night, while sitting through hour two of the "cry", I recalled some advice recommending that sometimes telling a nice bedtime story in a soothing voice while rocking the infant on your chest would soothe them. I know, not exactly rocket science, but then again, it was hour two... I was sort of grasping at straws here. Even if it did seem rudimentary.... At any rate, with a renewed surge of hope that I could still quell this bout of wails, I heard myself tell my son this spectactular tale:
Once upon a time there was a beautiful little prince. He was a special and handsome little boy, and people across the country heard of this extraordinary prince and wanted desperately to meet him. He became very educated and was skilled at many things. He could build a house, ride a horse, scale the tallest mountains, and swim the deepest seas.
One day, it became evident to the queen that it was time for him to marry. A bulletin was posted and ladies throughout the land came to vie for his hand in marriage. After a series of tests were administered, a group of special and beautiful ladies, that were purported to be a good match, were introduced to the prince. The prince then chose carefully the lucky lady that would be his wife.
So they married and had a bunch of annoying babies that had the worst colic anyone had ever seen.

After finally getting him to sleep, and then myself to sleep, I awoke groggily remembering my "bedtime" story, feeling what I am sure is to be the first of many guilty pangs I will experience as a mother. Luckily for all of us, due to some formula adjustments, I suspect the colic is subsiding. Hopefully his bedtime stories will start to have some happier endings.

Re-Set

I keep having to remind myself that I am NOT in prison. Even though I know that some prisoners ARE getting outside more than I am these days ( believe me when I say that). I know getting outside should be or seem easy- but "outside" has taken on new meaning these days. I think it is most evidenced by my plants. Which after three days in the hospital began to look whithered. But with my Mom here got revived but now with my Mom gone again have shriveled back to basically brown leafy remnants of their former growing selves. Sorry future cukes and tomatoes. Sorry you didn't stand a chance. Things have gotten so pathetic that even though watering these said plants requires only a sliding open of the glass doors, I have resorted to writing "WATER PLANTS" on my Very Important TO DO: list- and it's STILL not getting done. I would rather spend THAT five free minutes, apparently, doing just about anything else. I am getting pretty used to the air condition.
There are other things around here that also are getting neglected. Myself for starters. I don't particularly like the shade of pink I chose to paint my toe nails. I stare at it's Pepto Bismol grossness all day- and even all night- and think--- I should change that out. It had looked so pretty in the store. And then it was like "Project of the Century" to get the nails actually clipped, cleaned, preened and painted. It took an entire weekend to do it and I am not even exaggerating on that. So changing it out seems likes a gargantuan undertaking and I could only wish for two free hours of a salon variety pedicure at this point. But really, that seems next to impossible to organize. In due time on that one... due time.
My house has managed to stay relatively together- because I spend virtually every waking free minute trying to keep it that way. I exhaust myself scrubbing the counters and doing the laundry and making the bed ( I don't know why I need to make the bed at this point- considering there is really no "day" or "night" in my world- so it's just a random series of making and UNmaking it ). I will admit, however- that I have let the floors get ahead of me. I don't tell guests that the smudge they see by the couch is actually some spilled breast milk ( DISGUSTING- I SWEAR I keep meaning to clean it up but it never seems to transfer into the hard drive long enough for me to actually go and GET the product, bring it back and actually USE it ), or that the clump of grease on the kitchen floor is from last weeks burger fest ( of which you can still sorta smell the hamburger grease... ewww. ) But really, other than the nasty floors, and the less than average dinners I manage to half-heartedly throw on the table sans any fresh veggies, things are under control there...
Life has become of series of squeezing things into capsules of time, or what we deem 'round here as the "Morning, Afternoon, or Evening Window"... I am okay with it. I am trying to accept a new set of reorganized priorities that I can live with.
There are snippets of time when I look at the baby and think confidently that this is all totally worth it. I keep hearing those snippets of time continue to get larger and longer until one day you can't even imagine life without your child. Until that time, I will wait patiently- or as patiently as I am wired to be- I will serve unhealthy meals and never walk in the house without shoes and paint my toe nails over long weekends when my Mother is here and never EVER plant a garden again- we will watch Bravo for hours on end in our dirty little condo and just be happy waiting.

What I Didn't Know

Aside from the fact that I have not really had time to write a blog, I have also been uncharacterstically undecided on what to write about- even when I DO have five minutes of free time.
As I go about my daily activities ( sleep, eat, pump, hold baby, change baby, feed baby, look at baby, burp baby.... ) and my head mentally composes what just could very well be the next blog- I am stopped mid-point by either A. the incredible mundaneness or B. the sheer volume of complaining I hear myself doing. It's rather ridiculous and I would prefer to spare the readership and myself of boring whiney drivel. So instead, I have chosen to join the land of the new Mommy-barely sleeping and functioning set- and this group strictly forbids any blogging- particularly of the upbeat "things are going great variety". Mostly because it's a lie and also because even it if WERE true, the other new Mommies would become crazy jealous or self deprecating or any number of other horrible sleepless and emotional reactions to someone else's well-being.
I will say, however, that there are a "few things" that were spared me during my pregnancy that I really thought I should make mention of...
For example... WTF on the "after-contractions". Such BS! No one told me, nor did I ever remember reading about such things. But yes- the "afters" are SO not fun. I know- SMALL price to pay- but would have really liked to have known about those suckers.
I also had no idea about the continuation of the "maternity garment". I figured I would just be wearing size 16 jeans or something horrendous like that... but no "real clothes" really fit. In essence, you are still pregnant. At least in the mirror. Which is sort of a mean spirited joke by the man above if you ask me, because you FEEL about a hundred pounds lighter- so really, you THINK you are looking fab and really you have NEVER looked worse. Never. So don't mistake that "thin feeling" with actual thin-NESS. Big difference and the drive thru lady will make comments about you in her head as you pay for your Big Mac.
Moreover- everyone who offers to help, or is willing to help, or IS actually a great help will NOT, and I repeat, will NOT be up for the new child's two AM feeding. So while you might be disillusioned by the fact that you will be "helped"- you need to know that you will be helped most frequently when you don't need it, like when the child is sleeping peacefully or when his diaper has JUST been changed. No offense to MY help- because it DOES help, it's just not really the "HELP" you might fancy yourself getting- because really, nothing quite says "Mom" like a poo-ey diaper and a starving crying infant at 3:25 AM, and really, it's this kind of thing that is needed for you to "earn your stripes" so to speak and why Hollywood Moms just don't get the respect.
This is of course not to discredit that MASSIVE amount of help we have recieved from my Mother or the GINORMOUS amount of food we have gotten from the SIL or Rachel or Vanessa, or the flowers or the baby clothes or the gift cards or the money from every Tom, Harry and Dick and from here to tomorrow. Really, the dresser is overflowing as is the freezer and the bank account. Haha! JUST KIDDING on the bank account- we spent his college fund on dipars already- sorry baby Jake- you were born in a recession year!
Hopefully, as things find themselves more routine and I am able to catch my breath the blogs will get back to being slightly more forthcoming. In the meantime- if you do not hear from me, considering it a favor unless you want me to list the number of diapers I am changing each day.

Dear Unborn Child

Dear Unborn Child,
This journey of ours together is about to be over. Over the last nine and 3/4 months, I have gotten to know you better than anyone else. I understand that you like chocolate and hiccuping, and detest sausage. I have done my best to be compliant. I also know that you like to wiggle around at 11 PM, and 2 and 4 AM. Much to my chagrin, but okay. I know you like the sound of your Dad's voice, and that's cool, because so do I. You do not like my long walks, but tough buddy- I have given up a lot of my favorites for you and walking was NOT going to be one of them. More than anything, I have given up my body for you- which while is certainly my pleasure and totally worth it, I am not always gung-ho about it. I have gained a lot of weight on your behalf, and it's rather uncomfortable. I mean, when I went to the movies the other night- the seat actually felt small. Granted, I was trying to lodge a bucket of popcorn between my legs, but my butt has gotten really huge for you. I have also given up caffeine binges and glasses of wine. A couple of my other favorite things. I miss them terribly and as the end of our time together in the same skin draws nearer, I must admit, I am looking forward to a little space here.
I realize you will be needing me beyond belief while on the "outside", but at least when I sleep at night it will not feel like I am trying to sleep with a medicine ball tied to my waist, squishing my lungs and flattening my butt. And really, it WILL be nice to eat a tomato after 4 in the afternoon without "paying the heartburn price" already. With every pillow in the house tucked up under my back and propped along my sides, I am thinking it's time for you to be living on your own a little bit. I know, I know, you won't be far away. You won't let me sleep and all of that. You will put me through another torturous exercise in proving my love for you via lack of sleep and making sure I have absoutley zero sex appeal as you use my body as a feedbag. It's all good- I am ready for the next phase of proving. If we were playing a video game I would say I am bored of this level and feel as if I have conquered it. Let's move on! Level two! LEVEL TWO!
Any which way, I am looking forward to getting you out and on your own, putting YOUR skin to some good use. I am excited to meet you and don't begrudge you any of the time we have spent together, it has been very special and I have already fallen in love with you. See ya Wednesday!
Love, Mom