Every once in a while I have one of those awful days where everything seams to be stacked against me. I did not sleep last night. Not because of my bundle of joy who only woke up about 4 times, but because I was stuck in the bathroom with things that are far too disgusting to even write about in an anonymous blog. Morning came far too quickly, and Alice must have picked up on my moaning and groaning because the sweetest baby in the entire world spent her morning fussing and screeching at the top of her lungs (her new favorite game). I had finally got her to fall asleep for her morning nap when the doorbell rang - not once or even twice, but 50 fucking times!!!! Alice wakes up screaming, and I rush downstairs convinced that there must be some sort of mandatory evacuation order that I somehow missed in my sick induced fog and the police had come to take us away. It was not the police. It was our friendly mailman delivering a package. Why he felt it necissary to ring the bell over and over and over is a myserty that may never be solved.
Obnoxious Mailman: You need to lay gravel down and then flatten sand on top it it. (He gestures to our patio that we have litterily spent every weekend of the last four months working on. Granted, it does bring up the image of waves when you look at it, but hey we never put in a patio before).
Me with screaming baby in arms: Yea, we did that. Its harder to get it to go flat than you might think.
OMM: You need to put sand on top of it.
Are you fucking kidding me!!!! You are a fucking mailman! You drive in a truck all day and deliver mail. What gives you the right to criticize my handy work. I don't see you putting a patio in. So, to be fair, I don't actually know if you have ever put a patio in or not, but the point is moot. This is my patio, and I know it looks like some sort of bumppy slip and slide, but do you really think I want to hear your imput right after you have woken up my baby girl?
Me (through gritted teeth while juggling Alice to my other side): Thanks!
The package is a carrier that I ordered weeks ago that (I sadly discover once I pull it out) requires TWO people to put on!
Alice has no intention of going back to sleep and the bathroom beckons. Its days like today that I wish I worked at some boring office job. Don't get me wrong. I love every second that I get to spend with Alice, but being able to call in sick and spend a day in bed is a luxergy that I miss terribly.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thoughts on being a celebrity
I've always been a shy girl. I used to sit in the back of class and look down at my desk in an attempt to avoid eye contact with anyone who happened to enter the classroom. Walking down the street, I would count the lines on the sidewalk or stare at the buildings overhead so that I wouldn't accidentally make eye contact with people I was passing. Parties are the worst. I hate making small talk with strangers - I instantly feel self conscious and want nothing more than to curl up with a book alone. Like most shy people, I have trained myself to function in this society. I force myself to return smiles when I see them, and I've memorized a list of questions that I use when mingling with strangers or trying to get to know new co-workers. I've gotten very good at pretending - my friends look at me like I'm nuts when I admit to them that I'm shy, and my boss used to shove me in leadership positions "because I was so good with people." Despite my advancements, I still posses the skills necessary to make myself all but invisible when walking down a crowded street or in a room full of strangers.
I took Alice on a walk today through downtown to visit SDN for lunch. She was in her favorite position - in the MOBY facing outward. If you've never seen a baby in this position, it really is quite a site. Alice loves to watch the world safely strapped to my chest, and everyone we meet goes nuts over how adorable she is.
We were walking through downtown, and within my carefully constructed bubble of anonymity, I began to notice that strangers were not ignoring me as they usually did when I avoided eye contact and tried to be invisible. They would casually glance at me, but before their eyes had a chance to slide away, their pupils would widen and they would purposefully look from Alice to me. They would force their eyes into my bubble, making sustained eye contact as giant grins erupted all over their faces. Hardened city dwellers melted at the sight of little Alice. "What an adorable baby," old women exclaimed. "Look at that hair," about a dozen people commented. One man even went so far as to have an entire conversation with Alice as I politely nodded and smiled. "Hee, hee, hee. Are you enjoying your ride, buddy? I wish someone would carry me around like that. You got some hair on your head. I wish I had hair like that. You goin' off to work? You work around here? Where do you work? Ha Ha Ha! That's one cute baby you got!" I thanked him and continued on.
I never know what to say when people tell me how cute Alice is. I guess I can take some credit for it as I did pass along some mighty cute jeans, but "thank you" doesn't quite seam like the best response. If I had half the guts I would like to have and twice the honesty, I would proabably just say, "I know," but that would really throw people, and I try to avoide making people uncomfortable if I can. Now that I think about it, though, I'd bet people would really get a kick out of it if I responded with "I know" instead of "thank you". Sure, I might offend a few old women, but most people would probably laugh, and isn't that what Alice is all about: making strangers happy.
I took Alice on a walk today through downtown to visit SDN for lunch. She was in her favorite position - in the MOBY facing outward. If you've never seen a baby in this position, it really is quite a site. Alice loves to watch the world safely strapped to my chest, and everyone we meet goes nuts over how adorable she is.
We were walking through downtown, and within my carefully constructed bubble of anonymity, I began to notice that strangers were not ignoring me as they usually did when I avoided eye contact and tried to be invisible. They would casually glance at me, but before their eyes had a chance to slide away, their pupils would widen and they would purposefully look from Alice to me. They would force their eyes into my bubble, making sustained eye contact as giant grins erupted all over their faces. Hardened city dwellers melted at the sight of little Alice. "What an adorable baby," old women exclaimed. "Look at that hair," about a dozen people commented. One man even went so far as to have an entire conversation with Alice as I politely nodded and smiled. "Hee, hee, hee. Are you enjoying your ride, buddy? I wish someone would carry me around like that. You got some hair on your head. I wish I had hair like that. You goin' off to work? You work around here? Where do you work? Ha Ha Ha! That's one cute baby you got!" I thanked him and continued on.
I never know what to say when people tell me how cute Alice is. I guess I can take some credit for it as I did pass along some mighty cute jeans, but "thank you" doesn't quite seam like the best response. If I had half the guts I would like to have and twice the honesty, I would proabably just say, "I know," but that would really throw people, and I try to avoide making people uncomfortable if I can. Now that I think about it, though, I'd bet people would really get a kick out of it if I responded with "I know" instead of "thank you". Sure, I might offend a few old women, but most people would probably laugh, and isn't that what Alice is all about: making strangers happy.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Good Dads
I am married to an amazing husband and wonderful father. I know a lot of people say this, but SDN really is quite extraordinary.
We went to SDN's company picnic last weekend and SDN was carrying Alice around and playing with her while I ate. We have become a well-oiled machine at taking turns playing with Alice while the other one eats - its almost second nature. SDN becomes almost like a child himself when he plays with Alice. He talks to her in a high pitched baby voice and makes funny faces and farting sounds. Its quite a sight - especially among a bunch of professionals.
When we were getting ready to leave, one of women we had met approached SDN. "It was good to meet you. I can tell you really love your daughter."
SDN: Thank you. I do really love her.
Random woman at party: No, I can tell you really care for your daughter
SDN: Thank you...
This woman almost had a tear in her eye when she said this. She was so amazed to see a father so devoted to his child. It got me thinking. Is is really so rare in our culture for dads to take an interest in their children? It is almost expected that mothers love and care for their babies, but is it a rarity for a father to take that kind of interest? As a teacher, I knew every single one of my students' mothers, but I only knew about 3 fathers. When I asked for parent volunteers, it was the mom's who took time off work to help. Only about 1 in 10 fathers even bothered to show up for parent teacher conferences.
I know from reading blogs that there are some involved, wonderfully caring fathers out there, but maybe they are more rare than I thought. Growing up, I hardly ever saw my father - he worked so much. I want to think that my generation is different. That now fathers are interested in being part of their children's lives. I guess I'm just grateful that I lucked out marrying one of the good ones.
We went to SDN's company picnic last weekend and SDN was carrying Alice around and playing with her while I ate. We have become a well-oiled machine at taking turns playing with Alice while the other one eats - its almost second nature. SDN becomes almost like a child himself when he plays with Alice. He talks to her in a high pitched baby voice and makes funny faces and farting sounds. Its quite a sight - especially among a bunch of professionals.
When we were getting ready to leave, one of women we had met approached SDN. "It was good to meet you. I can tell you really love your daughter."
SDN: Thank you. I do really love her.
Random woman at party: No, I can tell you really care for your daughter
SDN: Thank you...
This woman almost had a tear in her eye when she said this. She was so amazed to see a father so devoted to his child. It got me thinking. Is is really so rare in our culture for dads to take an interest in their children? It is almost expected that mothers love and care for their babies, but is it a rarity for a father to take that kind of interest? As a teacher, I knew every single one of my students' mothers, but I only knew about 3 fathers. When I asked for parent volunteers, it was the mom's who took time off work to help. Only about 1 in 10 fathers even bothered to show up for parent teacher conferences.
I know from reading blogs that there are some involved, wonderfully caring fathers out there, but maybe they are more rare than I thought. Growing up, I hardly ever saw my father - he worked so much. I want to think that my generation is different. That now fathers are interested in being part of their children's lives. I guess I'm just grateful that I lucked out marrying one of the good ones.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
Night LIfe
I think my husband is leading a double life (I mean apart from his Ninja escapades). During the day he is "super dad extraordinare," but at night he turns into a completely different person. It started with the sex. He would initiate sex (and sometimes even engage in it) without remembering any of it in the morning (that alone is enough to hurt anyone's pride). It is becoming more than just that, though. Last night, SDN, opened his eyes and stared at me for five minutes straight.
Me: What are you doing?
SDN: Moving my throwing stars
Me: Sweetie, you don't really have throwing stars
SDN: I know, but I need to move them off the bedside table.
Me: Are you awake?
SDN: What are you talking about?
Me: What am I talking about? I don't think you are really awake.
SDN: I need to move these.
He then proceeded to lean over the bedside table and move his arm around and around without touching anything. I couldn't help it, I started laughing.
SDN: What?
Me: Nothing...I think you should go to sleep now.
SDN: When we get there, I'll let you know.
Me: You do that.
He finally closed his eyes and rolled over. While it was all very funny, I was thinking about it later and actually got a little freaked out. He didn't remember any of this in the morning. It was like I was talking to a complete stranger in the middle of the night in my own bed. I have an overactive imagination and, of course, started to imagine the worst. What if his night time persona is really a serial killer. What if he really sneaks out every night to hunt down unspecting victims? I guess its a good thing I don't have time to watch thriller movies anymore. I might be forced to make him sleep on the couch.
Me: What are you doing?
SDN: Moving my throwing stars
Me: Sweetie, you don't really have throwing stars
SDN: I know, but I need to move them off the bedside table.
Me: Are you awake?
SDN: What are you talking about?
Me: What am I talking about? I don't think you are really awake.
SDN: I need to move these.
He then proceeded to lean over the bedside table and move his arm around and around without touching anything. I couldn't help it, I started laughing.
SDN: What?
Me: Nothing...I think you should go to sleep now.
SDN: When we get there, I'll let you know.
Me: You do that.
He finally closed his eyes and rolled over. While it was all very funny, I was thinking about it later and actually got a little freaked out. He didn't remember any of this in the morning. It was like I was talking to a complete stranger in the middle of the night in my own bed. I have an overactive imagination and, of course, started to imagine the worst. What if his night time persona is really a serial killer. What if he really sneaks out every night to hunt down unspecting victims? I guess its a good thing I don't have time to watch thriller movies anymore. I might be forced to make him sleep on the couch.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Hunger Strikes
My beautiful baby is brilliant. She has successfully discovered the secret to keeping mommy near her at all times. All she has to do is refuse the bottle...no matter what. By doing this, she ensures that I will never leave her for longer than three hours at a time.
SDN and I went out for our bi-monthly date to celebrate our 2 year anniversary. We had hoped to eat dinner at one of those "fancy" restaurants - you know, the ones where the tables are too close together to fit a stroller and the atmosphere is quiet enough that a screaming baby would disturb more than a few people - then see a movie (the kind of movie that doesn't begin at 10am and include a theatre full of other screaming babies). After a luxuriously long dinner (90 minutes!) we called home and discovered that Alice was refusing to eat. We walked around downtown - saw a sunset on the water - and called home again. By this time, Alice was hungry (it had been over 2 and 1/2 hours since she last ate) but was still treating the bottle as if it were poisoned. That kid defiantly has my number. There was no way I could leave her for another two hours when I knew that she was hungry.
When we got home, Alice looked at me like, "oh, back so soon. Since you're here, you might as well feed me." She wasn't upset in the slightest, but she drank like a drunk frat boy on a Saturday night.
Maybe this is just a stage that she will grow out of. Maybe she will wake up one day and decide that the bottle is a good thing. Maybe I'll win the lottery and buy a house on the beach with a cleaning service and a personal cook and a little blue fairy who will grant all my wishes...
SDN and I went out for our bi-monthly date to celebrate our 2 year anniversary. We had hoped to eat dinner at one of those "fancy" restaurants - you know, the ones where the tables are too close together to fit a stroller and the atmosphere is quiet enough that a screaming baby would disturb more than a few people - then see a movie (the kind of movie that doesn't begin at 10am and include a theatre full of other screaming babies). After a luxuriously long dinner (90 minutes!) we called home and discovered that Alice was refusing to eat. We walked around downtown - saw a sunset on the water - and called home again. By this time, Alice was hungry (it had been over 2 and 1/2 hours since she last ate) but was still treating the bottle as if it were poisoned. That kid defiantly has my number. There was no way I could leave her for another two hours when I knew that she was hungry.
When we got home, Alice looked at me like, "oh, back so soon. Since you're here, you might as well feed me." She wasn't upset in the slightest, but she drank like a drunk frat boy on a Saturday night.
Maybe this is just a stage that she will grow out of. Maybe she will wake up one day and decide that the bottle is a good thing. Maybe I'll win the lottery and buy a house on the beach with a cleaning service and a personal cook and a little blue fairy who will grant all my wishes...
Friday, August 8, 2008
8/8/08
I am such a geek. At least that is what my 8th graders used to tell me in one of those affectionate "we like you but we're still going to make fun of you" sort of ways. I have been looking forward to today for years. Not because it is the first day of the Olympics (although I am following the woman's soccer - go Hope Solo), but because it is 08/08/08. 8 has got to be one of the coolest numbers in the world. It is infinity sideways, it is a cube number, and it is the atomic number for oxygen (which we all need to survive), as well as a many other reasons. Today there are three eights!
Alice couldn't agree with me more. One of the most wonderful things about having a 3 month old daughter is that I can tell her anything and as long as I say it with a smile, she smiles back and agrees. Its like having your own personal "yes" man by your side 24/7.
SD: Alice, did you know that today is a very special day?
Alice: (smiles) I didn't mama. Tell me more.
SD: Today's date is 08/08/08. Isn't that exciting?!
Alice: (laughing) Is it really? That is so cool! You are so cool, mama!
SD: Really. You don't think I'm a geek?
Alice: (in fits of laughter) No way, mama. You are the coolest person alive!
Just to prove her point, she decided to stop whatever she was doing (including crying) every time she saw me today to give me an enormous grin. I guess I'm doing something right to deserve that kind of devotion. Although she could have just been happy that today was 08/08/08.
Alice couldn't agree with me more. One of the most wonderful things about having a 3 month old daughter is that I can tell her anything and as long as I say it with a smile, she smiles back and agrees. Its like having your own personal "yes" man by your side 24/7.
SD: Alice, did you know that today is a very special day?
Alice: (smiles) I didn't mama. Tell me more.
SD: Today's date is 08/08/08. Isn't that exciting?!
Alice: (laughing) Is it really? That is so cool! You are so cool, mama!
SD: Really. You don't think I'm a geek?
Alice: (in fits of laughter) No way, mama. You are the coolest person alive!
Just to prove her point, she decided to stop whatever she was doing (including crying) every time she saw me today to give me an enormous grin. I guess I'm doing something right to deserve that kind of devotion. Although she could have just been happy that today was 08/08/08.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Ups and Downs
I am feeling low right now. Up until this point, I was fairly secure in my belief that I was doing everything I could to be the best mother possible for little Alice. I had read all the research - I even studied infant development in college. In an attempt to be the perfect attachment parent, I carried Alice with me wherever I went. When the Moby wrap was so completely covered in spit up and drool that I couldn't possibly ignore it any more, I would quickly throw it in the wash and carry Alice with me in my arms for the next two hours. I've catered to her every whim - brilliantly stopping cries before they had a chance to begin based solely on her cues. I guess I'm telling you all this so that I don't feel so guilty.
I took a survey today on-line about parenting, and one of the questions was "how much time do you spend with your child (not counting driving, TV, computer, or talking with other adults)?" Looking at this questions, I realized that for all my good intentions, I hardly spend any time during the day interacting with just Alice. I'm always trying to clean the house, or driving us somewhere to meet other mommies, or talking with my friends about how challenging it is to raise a child. I probably spend at most and hour or two a day playing with Alice without all those other distractions.
I know its ridiculous, but I really feel like an awful mother today. I haven't been interacting with my daughter enough. I look around the house and it is a mess - all that time that I had spent cleaning (with Alice firmly attached to my front) is wasted. There is always so much to do and there is no way that I am ever going to get it all done. I don't want to look back on my life and realize that I missed my daughter growing up because I was too busy trying to clean up that was determined to stay messy and chatting with friends.
I remember when I would have bad days teaching. When I could tell that my students didn't understand a word that I was saying and they were bored and miserable and I was bored and miserable. I always used to think that no matter what happens today, there is always tomorrow. I guess I get up tomorrow and just try harder.
I took a survey today on-line about parenting, and one of the questions was "how much time do you spend with your child (not counting driving, TV, computer, or talking with other adults)?" Looking at this questions, I realized that for all my good intentions, I hardly spend any time during the day interacting with just Alice. I'm always trying to clean the house, or driving us somewhere to meet other mommies, or talking with my friends about how challenging it is to raise a child. I probably spend at most and hour or two a day playing with Alice without all those other distractions.
I know its ridiculous, but I really feel like an awful mother today. I haven't been interacting with my daughter enough. I look around the house and it is a mess - all that time that I had spent cleaning (with Alice firmly attached to my front) is wasted. There is always so much to do and there is no way that I am ever going to get it all done. I don't want to look back on my life and realize that I missed my daughter growing up because I was too busy trying to clean up that was determined to stay messy and chatting with friends.
I remember when I would have bad days teaching. When I could tell that my students didn't understand a word that I was saying and they were bored and miserable and I was bored and miserable. I always used to think that no matter what happens today, there is always tomorrow. I guess I get up tomorrow and just try harder.
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