Stupid rotten weekend end

Mastitis is mean.

Now that Bird and I are finally nursing like a team, we've switched our nighttime feedings to the side lying position. I was getting more sleep at night, he was enjoying sleeping right up next to me, and all seemed to be good.

Unfortunately, the side lying position leaves me with clogged ducts by the morning. Twice now, these clogged ducts have developed into mastitis before I can get them unclogged.

It hurts. I get a fever. It feels like the flu, and it feels like someone kicked me in the boob really hard. I don't like it.

That was the first half of the weekend. The second half of the weekend consisted of Guy getting a ticket in my Jeep because I totally forgot to renew the registration. It was due in January. I was a little preoccupied and never got around to it. It couldn't be me that got the ticket though, it had to be him. Fair.

Topping it all off? I got one of my high school students to come take care of the dogs while we were away a few nights. I was paying him to come over four times a day. He was to let them out, feed them, play with them, and clean up any messes that poor old Pupstar might have made. She's older and has a bladder issue. It's mostly controlled with medication, but she still has the occasional accident.

I don't know what he did, but it wasn't what we agreed on. We came home to a total disaster. The dining room floors are ruined because dog pee soaked into them. There were days of dog mess all over the floors. We could tell by how much food was left that he hadn't been feeding them. How we knew he had been there at all was because the door to the music studio was open when we had left it closed, thereby allowing the dogs to pee and poop in that room as well.

When I called him, he said that he had been here that morning and there was no mess.

I don't know what to do about that. He isn't being honest. I've taught him for almost 10 years, and I love him dearly, and now he isn't being honest with me. There were days of mess in the house. Days.

It's so very disappointing.

And Guy's floor? Ruined.

I will have to talk to the boy more about this. I haven't paid him yet, and I'm waiting for him to tell me how many times he came over until I do. I think I'm going to pay him based on his word even though I'm pretty sure he is going to lie to me again.

I expected so much more from him. I've always gotten so much more from him. It could just be a stupid teenager mistake.

But Guy's floors. And my poor dogs who missed I don't know how many meals, missed their medication, and were relegated to pee and poop where they knew they shouldn't. They tried. It was all up next to the back wall of the house - as close to the backyard as they could get without being able to be there.

So disappointing.

In a way, I'm really glad this weekend is over. Another post is due about the wonderful parts of the weekend. There were many wonderful parts. But tonight is just for the whining.

I should be shushed

See this? This is a happy, laughing baby. This is my happy laughing baby. This is what I get to hang out with for most of the day.

There is another side to him though. Something new has transpired.

Bird hates to go to sleep.

I know when he is getting sleepy. He makes it very obvious. When the signs occur, we move to his nursery, I swaddle him, and we either walk or rock until he is out. Sometimes we nurse to sleep.

Since Friday though? As soon as he realizes that I'm about to swaddle and walk him? He breaks out into panicked wailing. It escalates to a wail-gasp-wail-gasp frenzy faster than I can shush and walk.

I rub his little head. I kiss his cheek. I shush him in his ear. I hold him tightly so he can't flail. I rock him. I walk him. I sway with him.

He screams.

Tonight? I yelled at him. I yelled "stop" and I yelled his name. I would like to say that I had to yell to be heard over him. That would be true, except that deep down, I know I yelled out of frustration. It did get his attention, but is that really how I want to start getting the attention of my child? By yelling at him?

I'm not a yeller. I hate yelling. I grew up with lots of yelling. I don't want to live in a yelling house. And yet, I yelled at my baby.

He's just a baby. He can't help it. The problem is, I can't help it either because I don't know what is wrong. He's dry, he has been fed, he is clean and has been played with. He is tired. Tired and unwilling to go to sleep.

The frantic wailing? Is going to send me over the edge I'm afraid.

It hasn't felt like this since he was 10 days old and was crying nonstop for hours. I just sat in the rocking chair with him and cried right along. It was all I could do then.

I thought I had grown past that. Instead I found myself sitting in that rocking chair again tonight, rocking and crying right along with the wailing Bird. Hating myself for having raised my voice at him already in his young life.

I feel like a monster. Yelling at a baby.

Mother of the year, I am.

My family. I love saying that.

I love them so much that just looking at this picture makes me burst into tears while simultaneously feeling like the corners of my mouth are going to split wide open up to my ears from smiling so much.

It should be noted that about an hour after this picture was taken, Bird had the biggest diaper blow out to date all over his daddy's good shirt and pants. Of course.

Because most people hate George Crumb

One more gig is history.

My calendar is dotted with gigs in the past and in the future. Good gigs. Gigs with the North Carolina Symphony. Gigs in front of 10,000 people. Gigs that get filmed for television. Gigs that take me to little places in the state that I wouldn't see otherwise.

There is a build up to each one. The anticipation and preparation that come with making sure everything is ready for that call time are a huge rush for me. Some people get nervous, I get excited.

I love the focus that I feel from sound check onto the stage. It is when I feel most capable.

Last night, I had another gig where we were backed up by an orchestra. We used the two arrangements I did in 2004 and I also scored two new ones. It is an opportunity that most "pop" musicians don't get, and I'm grateful for it.

It's interesting, how the orchestra musicians treat "the band." Even though I have a lot of the same training that they do and have a Bachelor of Music in composition, they look down their fretboards at me. It bothered me at first.

Only at first.

Now, I feel a little bit sorry for them that they can't enjoy what they are doing unless it is "serious" enough. A pops concert is below them, and they resent having to do it.

But the audience loves it.

That is one thing I've learned from playing with The Dude. I've learned that being a musician isn't just about the study, the practice, and the perfection of it all. It's about connecting with other people.

I liked being liked.

Mixed in with my training, there were years of dragging myself through the rock circuit only to be met with mild appreciation left me tired and a little bitter. I gave it my all, even when performing in a stupid sports bar in front of a 100 foot TV screen showing a hockey game.

But playing with The Dude is different. People buy tickets and come because they like his music. Then they get to the concert and they listen. Without a beer, a cigarette, and a conversation on the side. They applaud. They even want to talk to you and get autographs afterwards.

It's very satisfying, honestly.

I could hold my own with the orchestra. I have a deep love for modern music that works its way into my "pop" arrangements (yes, Mr. Trumpet player, I was perfectly aware that you were holding a minor second against the horns for an entire measure. I like minor seconds.). I could play it as snobby as the concert mistress did last night.

But where is the fun in that?

What is wrong with putting your effort into creating music that a broad base of people actually enjoy?

Nothing at all.

Had to change the title of this one

This summer, we will head to the beach with Whymommy and her family. For a celebration. Not a goodbye. I cannot put into words how thankful I am for that.

Susan has always been my "see it from a different perspective" friend. The friend who makes me think outside of my box.

In high school, my box was very very tiny, so that wasn't a hard thing. One foot in either direction had me reeling outside of my box. She was very patient with my tiny little private school mind.

Over the years, we have talked, traveled, cried (but not much because we are oh so strong women who really need to get more comfortable with a tissue), laughed, and learned together. She lasted in the learning part far past I did. I bored easily with school, and she tackled it with a vengeance.

She was on the same trip to Mexico which generated the most embarrassing story of my entire life. And she still loves me. I don't know why.

She read my angst filled, totally rhyming poetry in high school. And she still loves me.

She listened to my angst filled, I'll never be Debbie Gibson or Amy Grant, songs in high school. Even sang the harmony. And she still loves me.

She stood up for me at my first wedding even when she knew it was a mistake. Even when her grandmother had just passed away. Even when the dress I made her wear was distinctively pink. And flowy.

She told me the truth about those first weeks of motherhood. She called to check on me, not just the baby. She coaxed me through the darkest days with wisdom and compassion. And she still loves me.

Blogging is funny sometimes. I sat down to write an entirely different post. A post about getting Bird prepared to go to the beach with little hats and swim trunks. And yet, when I let my fingers go, freely typing without thinking (which gets me into trouble more times than not), this is what appeared.

After almost a year of holding my breath and praying for a miracle, here we are planning to meet up at the beach. To celebrate.

It's clear to me that she is worth celebrating. It's clear that I'm lucky to have her as my friend.

It needs to be said that I am so thankful for her treatment and results.

So very very thankful.

Night night Little Bird

I sleep to the hisses and hums of a baby monitor now. It seems too soon to have my son in the next room, his own room, in a big crib all by himself. I miss him.

Truth be told, he sleeps better. He sleeps longer. And Guy and I have some time together after he goes down for the night. It is working for us.

There are still some nights when he wakes up an hour later and I bring him back into our bed. He fell asleep between us last night with his arm thrown up onto my chest. His face was still nestled into my breast and he slipped back into his little baby dreamland by giving up a shaky, nasally sigh.

Tomorrow night, Guy will be away for work again. Instead of nervous, this time I am a little excited that Bird and I will have a slumber party. We can climb into bed as early as we like and snuggle up.

I thought we would be co-sleepers for much longer. In a way, we still are. Bird stays with us after he nurses the first time in the night.

But putting him to bed now means that I lay him in his crib, stroke his little head, turn on his magic bear, and then leave the room, closing the door behind me.

It is so hard to leave him. Even just in the next room.

I'm in big trouble. I can see this already.

Mr. Richard's unwavering curiosity

It's not even 10:00 AM and I've already had my Mother's Day card, present, and breakfast. Gone are the days when a celebratory breakfast didn't even dream of starting until after CBS Sunday Morning.

Bird was a very sweet boy and got me a card and a trip to the Aveda Spa. Smart little guy.

We tried to go to the Farmer's Market for breakfast, but they weren't open yet. That's how early we were out and about this morning. Making the most of Bird's awake time.

Instead, we ate at the iHop near the college campus here in town. Usually it is slammed on a Sunday morning, but we learned that it's still pretty empty at 7:00.

Our waiter was a ridiculously friendly man whose nametag read "Mr. Richard." He cooed over Christopher, commented on our sling, and asked how much he weighed at birth.

In fact, he had many questions about his birth and other things. Throughout our breakfast, he asked:

"Was it a difficult birth?"

"Did it take you a long time?"

"How much did you dilate on your own?"

"Why didn't you dilate all the way on your own?"

"Did you get some of the spinal drugs?"

"What did they do to make you dilate?"

"I thought women were supposed to do that on their own. What makes them dilate?"

"Is this your first baby?"

"Are you two going to have another one?"

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Oh. Is he a lot older than you?"

"How old are you?"

At one point, I started to get pretty irritated that I was being barraged with all of these really personal questions. Mr. Richard would not let up on us one bit.

As I started to bitch about it, I couldn't help but laugh. Guy raised his eyebrow at me and asked what was so funny.

I said, "I'm bitching about a stranger being all up in my business."

"Yeah, so?"

"Dude. I blog. I put my business out there for strangers everyday. Why should it bother me that Mr. Richard has some weird sort of curiosity? Like I care?"

I blog.

So go ahead. Ask me anything, Mr. Richard.

Daily melting

Today, Christopher and I lay on a blanket in the front yard and looked at the clouds while Guy put up our new mailbox. I propped up on my elbow and looked down at my son. He looked up at me and laughed.

He laughed and laughed and laughed.

His daddy makes him laugh every night. After his bath, Christopher lies on the bed and his daddy snarfs on his belly, making him squeal in delight and laugh his little head off.

He hadn't laughed with me though.

He talks to me. He smiles at me. He coos at me and reaches out for me. But he hadn't laughed yet.

Today, I looked down at my son on the quilt that so many friends put together for me and my heart melted into complete and total unconditional love for this little boy. Melted all over again, just like it does at some point everyday.

Shout out

Just a little shout out to Wife #1's little sister who is reading this blog from her state government office in Greensboro.

Hope I'm not boring you.

Who exhumed Kathie Lee and put her back on TV?

Heather doesn't need another person defending her. I'm sure she can stand her own ground just fine. Plus, there are plenty of us out there who love her, and I'm sure she is used to the occasional rude person.

So I won't defend her. She does it quite well with this beautiful post.

However.

Kathie Lee Gifford is a complete git.

Her "interview" of Heather on the Today show this morning was the worst excuse of journalism I've ever seen. Even for a morning news show.

Starting out by bragging about how little she know about computers and how she doesn't even know what a blog is? That is just plain rude when you are interviewing a blogger. She should have done her homework and found out what a blog is. She should have pretended to have some knowledge on the subject.

Instead? She stumbled around a few questions, barely let Heather answer them, and then interjected her unfounded reservations about how Heather blogs about her daughter and posts her pictures.

It might have had some semblance of relevance if Kathie Lee had done that homework and read Heather's response to that accusation. She wouldn't have tried that line of attack, for sure.

It also might have had some semblance of relevance if Kathie Lee hadn't spent years on television sitting next to Regis boring the world with stories about her children.

Instead? She hadn't read it, and when Heather tried to respond on air by pointing out that Kathie Lee takes her children out into public where strangers see them everyday, Kathie Lee interrupted her to gloat about how she did not, in fact, live in New York City.

Then she tried to segue that into outdoor furniture.

She was a trainwreck.

And she looks like something that CSI had to put back together before placing her in front of the TV cameras again.

So even though this isn't something that she will ever see, I'm posting my support for her right here. Thanks, Heather, for sharing your family and your thoughts on motherhood with us.

And the pictures of Chuck. Because I love those.

I'm friends with her ex

Bird and I went downtown yesterday. We went to close a safety deposit box, to vote early, and to go up to the floor where my old office is and visit people. He was a big hit, of course, and I got to eat lunch with a friend who I see far too infrequently.

My friend and her husband have been talking about selling their house and moving closer into the city. They have been talking about this for years, actually. I asked her how the house hunt was going and she had a story to tell me.

They had been to an open house in the neighborhood of a couple who my ex and I went to church with. Turns out, Ann was at the open house with her two boys and recognized my friend. At first, they couldn't place where they knew each other from, but finally figured out that it was through parties at my old house when I was married previously.

My friend mentioned to Ann that I had just had a little boy.

At this point, it would be interesting to note that when I was married to my ex, I spent more time with Ann and her husband than my ex. I was the one that Ann called franticly one night needing to meet and cry out her pregnancy hormones over her husband to someone. I was the one who taught Sunday School with Ann. I was the one they could count on to be there for them. My ex, as always, was the comic relief.

So, my friend mentioned to Ann that I had just had a little boy. She replies to this fact that she didn't know that, but that they were friends with my ex. That was sort of a conversation ender.

Ann was the one I called when the first adoption possibility fell through. It was her kitchen table that I sat at and wept. She was the one I turned to when I first split with my ex.

I knew that she and her husband had chosen him over me a long time ago. After I met her and told her the news, I didn't hear from her again for awhile. My phone calls weren't returned, and I honestly was too busy and too stressed out to think about why.

When we finally got together several months later, I learned the answer. She and her husband had become my ex's new caretakers. Over dinner, she told me that I didn't need to worry about him. They had helped him get his life together and he had a solid plan to move forward.

I sat across from her with food, unchewed, clogging my mouth. Which is better than the alternative spewing that could have easily occurred.

After I chewed and swallowed, I put my fork down, placed my napkin on the table, and I said,

"Congratulations. You have accomplished something with him that I tried for 10 years to do. Why don't you get back to me in a year and let me know how far he's progressed on your little plan."

Then I asked for the check. While we waited, I told her that I was with someone and really happy. She wanted to know if I still wanted to have kids. I told her that I most certainly did. Then she said that she really wanted to see me pregnant because she just knew I would hate it like she did.

Time and time again, I look back on the choices I made for friends before I met Guy.

All I can say is that my self-esteem must have sucked complete donkey balls.

I mean really? Who says those kinds of things to someone who has been to the line for you? Someone who called you a friend?

There were casualties of friendships after my divorce. I'm not sorry about it, because they were friendships that obviously needed to end anyway. The ones that thrived on the part of me who never thought I deserved to be loved.

But some days, sometimes, it just stings when I hear that someone like Ann couldn't even be happy for me and my child. I thought that we had been friends. I trusted her enough to share the down and dirty part of adoption with her, and now that I finally am a mother?

She's friends with my ex.

Congratulations, Ann. It doesn't take a lot of effort to be friends with someone who so easily makes you feel better about yourself. That's the comic part.

You like him out of part pity, part relief that he isn't your husband. I know this, and I forgive you because it's sad that you need that in your life. I hope that one day you are happy enough to not need that crutch anymore.

In the meantime, I guess I can be glad that she has made me even more thankful for the couple of friends who stood by me and the new friends I have made.

Or I could quit trying to find a damn silver lining for everything and just allow myself to be sad about it for a little while. That's probably not a bad idea.

Maybe they are for your Barbies

I'm linking to a post that is a month old, but what can I say? I'm behind on a lot of my blog reading.

Doesn't matter though. This is the funniest thing I've read in awhile. Made me actually snort out loud.

It also reminded me very much of myself some days. There was this one time that Guy and I were in Target in the outdoors section. On the top shelf, there was a row of tiny tents and tiny sleeping bags.

I made the mistake of saying something out loud that I had thought in my head for a long time. I said, "What are those tiny tents for anyway? I mean, who really needs a tent that tiny?"

Guy just looked at me in horror as he realized that he had fallen for a true ditz.

All it took was the expression on his face and the words, "Um, honey, nobody uses those tents, they are for display," and I got whiplash being yanked back into the world of people who aren't idiots.

Me and Unkempt Mommy can just go hang out in our land of tiny tents where there are no bowling pins allowed.

It's the World Beer Festival, Baby

This past weekend was the World Beer Festival here in our hometown. A city square was fenced in and a couple hundred different brewers were present to pass out 2 ounces samples of their craft. Guy and I were interested in going, but not motivated to do so.

Not motivated, that is, until Boo called Saturday evening and offered us 2 tickets to go that night. Turns out it was $40 per person to get in, and they had 2 tickets that were going to go unused. We couldn't let that happen.

I strapped on the Moby and we headed downtown with Bird.

Yes, we took our 3 month old son to the World Beer Festival. We've both been to beer festivals before, and they were civilized events with a few drunk people here and there. Because really? It's completely lame to get plastered on 2 ounces of beer at a a time.

Little did we know, the people in our town are lame. And going to a beer festival in Europe? Slightly different than going to one here.

It was a drunk fest. As we made our way through the tent, some guy tried to offer Bird some beer. Even though he was just kidding, he got way too close for my comfort and my hand and arm came flailing up in defense. I was figuring out quickly that Bird and I needed to get out of the crowd and into the open night air to listen to the band while Guy got his tastes.

Outside, it was a beautiful night. It was warm, but there was a nice breeze blowing. The band sucked, but we were enjoying them anyway. As long as we stood away from the smokers, it was nice being out and about with Guy and Bird.

The strangest part of the whole night though was the varying reactions I received for having a 3 month old strapped to the front of me at the World Beer Festival. Most people were friendly and just cooed over him as they passed. A couple of moms stopped to talk baby and tell me about their kids that were at home. A few people got to hear Guy's joke that Bird was our designated driver.

What really got me though, was the drunk 20 something who stood with her friends and sneered to them as we walked past, "Is that allowed?"

I was being judged as a mother. I know it won't be the last time. It pissed me off, but not enough to waste any energy on it. I knew that I was taking care of my baby and doing something that Guy really wanted to do all at the same time.

If we had known how the event really was going to be, would we still have gone and taken Bird with us? Probably not because we both hate crowds. We got there, stayed for about 45 minutes, and then headed back to the house. It was a fun outing, and I'm proud of us for being spontaneous.

I hope when Miss Sneerybutt grows up and has kids of her own, she will remember that she is still allowed to go out and have some fun. I already feel a little sorry for her future children.

Three months is a lifetime

Christopher is 3 months old now. It his lifetime in its entirety, but it feels like that is when my life started too. Becoming a mother hasn't been a graceful transition for me, but my boys have been very patient, and I feel like we are totally over the hump now.

Yesterday he weighed 13 pounds, 13 ounces and was 25 1/2 inches long. Here are some pictures of my little man to help you reach your cuteness quota of the day.

Because I'm not that important really

So I've been thinking a lot about this blogging thing, and I've decided to stay put. Too many wonderful things have come from it, and I don't want to take everything down and start over again.

They are my words. My thoughts. Shared here because it's something that I enjoy.

Besides, Andria is right. She would just find it again anyway, and I'm not going to switch to an invitation only format. There are too many of you that I don't know who are here, and I'm glad you are.

The bottom line is that it's not my responsibility to change Wife #1, nor do I want to. She is an adult that makes her own decisions. Lovely is her daughter and she chooses to treat her however she wants to treat her.

My blog has nothing to do with that. If it weren't the blog, it would be something else. Apparently there is some deep need to know as much as she can about what is going on in our lives, and even without my words as information, she would be grilling Lovely like she is now.

There is the off chance that she isn't reading the blog (off chance meaning that Sitemeter would be a big fat liar), in which case, she is following us again. I'm sure the sheriff I talked to the first time she was following us would be happy to know if she was at it again.

I want for Lovely to have a good relationship with her mother. It is best for her that she does. Until now, I have made decisions not to attend events, answer my own phone, and other things just to try and protect Lovely from embarrassment at her mother's behavior or from the yelling she has to endure when she returns to her mother's house.

Today is when I stop doing things just to try and control an outcome at her mother's house. It doesn't work. Regardless of what I do, she is who she is, and Lovely has to learn to handle it. She loves her mother very much, and hopefully, that will be enough.

So the blog is staying put, and I'm going to go back to writing about my life. Which doesn't include Wife #1.

Here's the can and there are worms everywhere

I have always read mommyblogs. The first two that I started reading were Kristen and Zoot. From there, I just followed links and made my way through the mommyblogosphere finding other blogs that I liked as well.

I wasn't a mommy then. I wasn't even pregnant.

After several months of blogging for me, my friend Bach, and Susan, I did get pregnant. Somewhere along the lines, other people started reading here, and when I had my miscarriage, out came the comments of support from people I didn't even know were there. I soon discovered sitemeter and technorati and the fact that there is a whole community of bloggers who can become your friends.

Now that I am a mommy, I find myself at a loss for words in this space. I've talked extensively about breastfeeding, and it was extremely helpful to have everyone supporting me through that. I wouldn't still be nursing today without it.

But really, I don't know what else to say anymore. I'm not sure I can find my voice as a blogger who has become a mommy. I'm not sure that my voice as just me can speak freely either.

There is a problem. Lovely's mother reads these words and then plays Spanish Inquisition with her about the bits and pieces she learns here. That is completely unfair to Lovely. I try to not let the knowledge that Guy's Ex comes here factor into my writing, but of course I do put a censor on some things because of it. Now that a simple post about house hunting caused Lovely pain upon returning to her mom's house, I question whether or not even having the blog is worth it.

Of course, the Ex claims not to read it. She claims not to be here. So I'm banking on the fact that if she really wants for her daughter to believe that, she won't hold this post against Lovely and be angry for her telling us that she is tired of getting yelled at and having questions about us fired at her. Because if she does, then Lovely will know that she is lying when she tells her she doesn't read my words.

It's hard to know what to do.

I don't want to keep up a boring blog just to have it simply exist.

I don't want to give Guy's ex-wife information to hold against her daughter.

I don't want to quit writing though.

By the way, while I'm outing the Ex, I should mention that she prefers to go by "Wife #1" which is okay with me. I would much rather be Guy's second and last wife than the first wife anyway. Out of respect to her wishes, I'll stop calling her the Ex and make the polite switch to Wife #1. That should make her somewhat happy.

Edited to add:
Please don't leave disparaging comments about Wife #1 since this isn't her space and she can't really defend herself here except through leaving a comment. I don't want it to turn into a comment war. Besides, I know what you cats are capable of with your words. Hissssss.

Weeeee-nors, as my brother would call them

I held a couple of contests a million years ago. You might not even remember. One was the "Bird Pool." The other was the "Guess how big my knockers are going to get."

Thrilling, I know.

The long awaited announcement is before you.

Katy, who I'm assuming is the wonderful Katy from Mom22Teens is the winner of the Bird Pool. She was eerily accurate. Much more so than even my Turkish psychic friend. Katy, if you will email me, I'll send you a lovely Sirius radio as your prize. You have to activate it, but if you do, it might give you access to the outside world unheard of in your land of dial up and mountains. Hee hee.

The winner of the Boob Pool is Stephanie from Lawyer Mama. She has probably forgotten that she even rendered a guess, but she was pretty close. My nursing bras have settled in at a lovely 38H. WooHoo! Stephanie, if you will email me, I'll send you the Pennyrich Bra Patch t-shirt I promised.

Thus endeth the contests. Congratulations, ladies, and thank you to everyone who participated!

The baby who doesn't sleep

Here he is. Mr. Kickypants. Mr. I Need No Sleep Baby. Stinkybottomus. Squirtapottomus. Mr. Bippy. Sir Kicks-a-Lot.

Bird.

I love him.

Haunted house hunting

We've been doing a little house hunting. Guy's commute is killer, and as much as I love where we are and love this house, it's not worth having him on a dangerous stretch of I-40 in stupid crazy traffic day in and day out. He wants to move, and I'll of course, go with him.

Yesterday we saw some great houses. They aren't exactly where we would like for them to be, but they had the lay out we need and were reasonably priced.

With the exception of two.

The first exception was the very first house. It was in a newish subdivision and had everything we wanted down to the double ovens (once you've had double ovens, you can never go back). The only issue was getting in to see it.

Our realtor had made an appointment, but when we arrived, there were people there. Tenants. Tenants with very little English vocabulary. They refused to leave so we could see the house, and our realtor refused to leave without seeing the house. A stalemate.

A few moments of staredown and our realtor moved in. It was unnecessary, as the house was run down and smelled of all kinds of smoke. The master bedroom was locked and they would not let us in to see it. We decided it was where they were growing their pot. Turns out, those tenants have been evicted, and are currently just squatting in the house, refusing to let it be shown. Nice.

The other exception was a house not on our list, but in the same neighborhood as one we liked. It was the same price, so we went in for comparison. The outside was quite lovely, and showed no signs of the creepiness to follow.

The first thing we noticed when we walked in the house was the smell. Whereas the unruly tenants were probably growing weed, this homeowner must have been growing nasty silk flowers drenched in cheap perfume in some closet with blue lights.

The next thing you noticed was the music. The house featured an intercom system that was piping the creepiest modern choral music I've ever heard throughout the entire house. It was as though there was someone on the other side of a screen shouting at us, "Don't go in there! Don't go in there!"

Instead of looking lived in, the home had been staged. The pantry was eerily posed with two boxes of cereal placed at an angle. The dining room table was set with fine china and a giant floral arrangement that featured tropical flowers and artichokes. There were even clothes in the closet, but arranged like a catalog, not like someone actually dressed there daily.

The horror flick was complete when we went upstairs and found two disturbingly staged bedrooms. Each bedroom had a twin bed and a nightstand with no other furniture. In one room, there was a stuffed dog on the end of the bed like a child had just tossed it there. There were uncompleted puzzles left on the floor, with the boxes stacked at the same carefully placed angle as the cereal boxes. The other bedroom was full of scary scary dolls. The dolls combined with the creepy choral music were enough to send us scampering quickly out of the house.

I wish I knew what notes our realtor will leave for that seller.

"Creepy house with a choppy layout. Evidence of children who met an untimely and tragic death particularly turned off the buyers."

Weird.

Survivor

In case you missed the news, my best friend kicked cancer's ass.

Please go congratulate her.

Woot!

Flying solo

I lacked confidence as a mother. I guess I shouldn't use the past tense there. I lack confidence as a mother, but have more now than I did a month ago.

It didn't seem like something that would be that hard. While I was nervous about impending motherhood while I was pregnant, deep down, I knew I could do it. I had confidence that I would figure it out.

Then came that day in the pediatrician's office when Bird was only 10 days old. The day that doctor looked at me over the top of his glasses and said in a shame inducing voice, "Your baby is crying because he is hungry. You are giving him enough to eat."

That was all it took for the wall of confidence I had to come crashing down around me.

Of course we know now that Bird was probably hungry, but more than that - much more than that - he had painful gas. He was crying because he hurt. His tummy hurt. Stupid doctor.

After that day, I dreaded being along with Bird. I just knew that I was missing all sorts of cues and misinterpreting the ones I did hear. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to console him. I was nervous about being able to put him down for a nap. Everyday tasks became huge events that I had to build up to starting in the early morning.

Then, Guy left for Korea. For a week. I was flying solo.

I cried every night the week before he left. I had nightmares about involuntarily pushing Bird off the bed. I had nightmares about dropping him. I had nightmares about having to take him to the ER for a sky high fever. I worked myself into a general frenzy.

No matter what state I was in, Guy still had to go to Korea. There was no getting around it. So a week ago Monday, he left. Bird and I dropped him off at the airport and drove home to our house full of dogs to figure what on earth we were to do next.

Something quite amazing happened. We found our rhythm.

I've been waiting since the day we brought him home to feel like we had found our rhythm. People kept telling me it would come. I'm so glad they were right.

All the things that Guy had been doing to keep the household running fell to me. Taking the trash out. Feeding the dogs. Holding and playing with Bird while I cooked dinner and did the dishes. All these things, which seem like little things, seemed like a giant void to me.

But we did it, Bird and I.

Bird can sit up in his slings now and face forward. That helped tremendously. Turns out, he loves riding around and doing chores. He likes feeding the dogs and the bird's eye view he gets of them dancing and drooling right before we put their bowls down. He likes watching me chop different colored vegetables. He likes being outside and the sound of the trashcan rolling on the driveway behind us.

We missed Guy most at bathtime. I love the hour or so we take in a bedtime ritual for Bird. Getting him clean and dressed for bed and then playing for awhile before he goes to sleep is the most perfect end to any day. But we even managed this on our own and I found myself enjoying the quiet alone with Bird to close out the evening.

It turns out, Guy's week in Korea was a gift. It forced me to step up and stop worrying so much. It allowed me to start to be myself again instead of being just a scared new mom. And I like that. I like that I'm starting to feel like my old self, just with the added bonus of being Bird's mom. I've missed me.

The best part of the week was still when we watched Guy pass through the gate and head towards us in the airport. I might have found a reason to be grateful for my time alone with Bird, but that doesn't mean I wasn't glad to see it end and have Guy back where he belongs.

Consumer baby report

Christopher is getting to be a real pro at riding around in his sling. We like our Peanut Shell the best right now, but still use our Lucky and our Moby. The Peanut is just easiest to get in and out of, so around the house I like tossing it on, putting him in, and getting some stuff done.

He can ride facing out now, so he can see the world. That's the part he really likes I think. That, and being snuggled up against his mom. I like the snuggly part.

Now that he's gained a good bit of head control, I'm going to order a Baby Hawk. I say that, but I haven't done it because I keep picking out fabric and then changing my mind. Too many choices.

It's been interesting figuring out what we need and what we don't need. I thought we wouldn't need a lightweight stroller because we got a jogging stroller and I planned to wear him out and about. Turns out a lightweight stroller moved over to the need column when we figured out that going to the mall or to restaurants was much easier if we could put him down in the stroller sometimes.

I didn't think we needed a bouncy seat or a swing because again, I had planned on wearing him while doing housework and such. That's a fine plan, but the bouncy seat we have in the bathroom is divine although hideously ugly. It's nice to be able to pee or put on makeup without a baby strapped to you. The swing we have in the dining room allows for Bird to be part of mealtime without having to be in someone's lap, forcing them to eat with one hand.

Something I have but don't use are baby pants. For some reason, I never put pants on Bird. We have some baby leggings that I made from knee socks, and he wears those if it's cold enough outside. His dad hates them, but I think they are adorable. They also make for much easier diaper changes. Mostly though, we just pop on a onesie and some socks for the day. I love his chubby little thighs.

We got the Moses basket, but don't really use it. He likes his cradle that his dad refinished much better. The crib is used for naps, but we are still mostly co-sleeping at night. The rocking chair gets used for book time, but we swaddle and walk to fall asleep.

I didn't think I would use a breast pump because I thought I would just nurse. My Sil talked me into buying one at an incredible deal at Target. I have used the heck out of it. Turns out he likes to eat a lot in the afternoons. Exactly when I'm teaching.

We are using gDiapers mostly. His dad hates those too, so I keep some disposable on hand for when he's on diaper duty, but I love the gDiapers. They are reusable diapers with flushable inserts. I haven't been flushing the inserts because we have been under a serious drought, but even throwing them away, they only last for 3 days in a landfill. Or you can compost the wet ones. I think it is a great compromise for someone who doesn't want to do cloth diapers but doesn't like the thought of disposable diapers hanging around the planet for 500 years.

A friend came to visit two weeks ago and commented that our house was not overrun with baby things. That made me happy. We have ended up with more baby gear than I anticipated, but overall, it is still our family's house, not just the baby's.

And the rice milk ain't bad either

Somewhere along these last couple of weeks, breastfeeding quit being a chore. I stopped crying over it. I stopped watching the clock, dreading the next time I would need to nurse my child. He stopped screaming and thrashing about while nursing. He stopped needing to be nursed several times an hour during parts of the day.

I meant to blog about it. Come here and share with you the success story. To be honest, it feels so natural now that I just forgot about it.

Then, this weekend, that all came crashing down.

Bird was screaming and thrashing again. He had painful gas that I couldn't seem to help him release. He needed to be nursed, but when I nursed him, he chewed and twisted my nipples until I could barely take it anymore. His diapers were full of green mucous poop, and he was generally miserable.

I remembered then, that I needed to write about the success. Having a weekend like that made me so grateful for the peace we had been experiencing and the lack of discomfort in my child.

I tried my best to figure out what I had eaten that had the evil dairy in it. All I could come up with was a handful of potato chips with some cheese flavoring. It didn't seem like enough.

Yesterday afternoon it hit me. Bird's nanny came an extra day last week because of my students' recital Friday night. I hadn't pumped enough milk for the extra time away, so she pulled some out of the freezer like I had instructed her to do weeks ago.

The milk from the freezer was from when I was still eating dairy.

There is no guessing now. I don't have to just wonder if cutting out the dairy was what helped him or something else. I think it is pretty obvious.

Today, Bird is back to what has become his normal bubbly little self. He is nursing without hurting me, and I'm nursing him without hurting him.

For everyone who told me their story
For everyone who told me not to give up
For everyone who told me that I was doing a good job
For everyone who told me it just takes time
For everyone who told me that it would get better

Thank you. You were so right.

Goldilocks needs a t-shirt

On the off chance that a bored fashion designer might read this post, I have a request.

I would like to have some fitted t-shirts that allow for a large chest. I'm stuck wearing t-shirts that still look like maternity shirts, swimming all around my midsection, just so I can fit my boobs in them. I am ready to look put together again. Please.

These t-shirts would be more generous in the bust. The arm holes would be adjusted so that the shirt isn't stretched out of shape in the armpits. The shoulder line would fall a little lower to give the illusion that my shoulders are wider than my breasts (which they aren't).

The cute cap sleeves would be a little bit longer so that they at least reach my bust line. Bare arms next to boobs accentuate them even more.

Most of all, these t-shirts would be longer so that they don't ride up over the top of my pants. My boobs take up so much of a t-shirt that the poor shirt that I need little suspenders at the bottom of the shirt just to keep it from constantly climbing up my belly. I got over showing belly exactly 12 weeks ago today.

I am 35 years old. My postpartum body is alright with me. Really, it is.

I would like, however, some t-shirts that fit.

Maybe they exist already and I just haven't found them? If you know of any, please leave me a link. I'm due to be locked up by the fashion police any day now.

Adding to the staticstics with me

I am such a dork. The days when Christopher doesn't nap, I long for a respite. I want for him to go down so badly, just so I can cook something or type with two hands for a moment.

Now? He's been asleep for almost 2 1/2 hours, and I desperately want him to wake up. I miss him.

An old friend came over for dinner tonight. She and her husband are splitting. They have two little girls - twins who are almost five. It is not easy for her now, putting it mildly.

We met because my ex-husband and I used to play in a band with her soon to be ex. Our then husbands were cut from the same cloth really, except I always thought hers had more drive. Hell, a broken down tractor had more drive than my ex. The four of us used to do things together, but had drifted apart through the many changes in our lives.

Our dinner conversation was interesting. Her soon to be ex-husband has a girlfriend. My friend and I talked some about how she deals with the fact that this woman will be in her girls' lives. Coming at it from a stepmom's perspective, I think she will handle it very well.

No two situations are ever completely alike though, and I don't know this girlfriend. What I do know is that if she is smart, she will never try to fill the role of mother for these girls. Daddy may have a new wife, but the kids don't need a new mother. It doesn't work like that. My friend is confident enough that she isn't threatened, and she wants for her girls to be happy and like this woman no matter how she feels about her. I'm really proud of her.

Looking back on our marriages, we both felt like we were holding everything together on our own. I didn't have children, so it was easier to let go when I finally realized that was an option. For my friend, she wanted her family to stay together, and I understand that. What I saw on her face tonight though, was the same happy-sad relief I remember, when she talked about how much easier it was on her own. I understood that.

She was there for me so many times when I was desperately trying to have a family with my first husband. She was so supportive.

I really hope that I can now return the favor. She deserves to be happy. Facing this new life, she especially deserves to be happy.

And maybe I'll miss her ex from time to time because we used to be friends. But I remember how it felt when all of my friends except one dumped me for my ex. The martyr. The fun one. The one who needed more help. Her ex will be just fine without me as a friend.

I'll be standing by C and reminding her of how strong she is and cheering her onto the happiness that she deserves.

Cloudy and a chance of rain

My daddy called me last night. I have a confession. I have been avoiding talking to him on the phone.

It's not that I don't miss him and don't want to talk to him, I do. But talking to him on the phone doesn't make those feelings go away because it doesn't feel like my daddy I'm talking to.

Last night, I couldn't understand much of what he was saying. He has been to speech therapy, and from what I've been told, it has helped. However, at the end of the day, if he is tired and on the phone, he is still very hard to understand.

He gave me the weather report for where they live. He always tells me about the weather. There is a chance of storms this weekend, and he is worried about them. He always worries about things now.

He and Momma are coming back for a visit and Christopher's baptism in June. He knows they are coming, but not when, so he always tells me that it will be soon. Sometimes he'll stop and ask my momma when exactly it is, but usually he will just say soon.

The confusion is disconcerting on the phone. It makes me uncomfortable some days. Whereas I used to enjoy talking to him for the conversation, now it's different. I'm not saying I don't ever enjoy talking to him. He's still my daddy. I still want to talk to him.

I worry about him though. I worry about whether or not he realizes how he comes across on the phone to me. I worry about whether or not he realizes how confused he sounds or how I can't understand what he is saying. I worry about if it suddenly occurs to him later that he called my youngest niece a boy and used male pronouns all the way through his story.

I worry because I think he would be embarrassed and I don't want him to be.

It's hard to not see him daily. I think that it would be easier to deal with if I saw him more often.

But I don't and I can't.

I sit over here, 12 hours away from him, wishing that I could pick up the phone and talk to him 10 years ago. I miss the advice. I miss the jokes that made sense. I miss the stories that I understood. I miss having a conversation that doesn't have anything to do with the weather.

I miss him. He's still here, and yet I miss him. I hope he doesn't know I feel that way.

Monday Monday

What a very typical Monday.

I put my husband on a plane to fly to the other side of the world and be gone for a week.

When I get home, I get to clean up dog pee from my geriatric pooch.

Right now? I should be working on the symphony scores that needed to be completed some time last week. I should be starting the second one that is simply an empty score right now. I should be being productive.

Instead, I accidentally plugged the headphones into a video jack. Freaked my little Viao right out. The screen looks like it gained 80 pounds. Everything is fat and wide now. And there is no sound.

In case you were wondering, having NO SOUND on your computer doesn't make it a good tool for music composition.

And my computer man, my main IT hot babe, my pc hottie? Is somewhere over the Pacific Ocean right about now. Dammit.

To top it all off, his ex-wife is calling the house leaving screaming voice mails. Someone really should tell her that screaming at people doesn't make them want to return the phone call. Especially from another country. Hey wait, I just did. Excellent.

I'm ready for some warmer weather full of sunshine. Bird and I have some more walking to do. The baby weight is gone. That's not a lot to celebrate though. I would like to put these size 14 jeans away for good. So walk we must. Plus, Bird digs it, and so do I. We like a good long walk.

Tuesday, I have higher hopes for you. An early morning visit from a friend, and later we'll have lunch with Bach. It will certainly be a better day.

So very quiet

Bird has been asleep for two hours now. The little boy hates to nap. Unless, of course, he's just eaten and using my boobie as a pillow. Most days I beg him to nap so that I can get something done. Today? I miss him and wish he would wake up now.

The house is so quiet. It was like this when Guy went back to work last year. It's too quiet.

He walks through the house singing silly songs, talking to the dogs, and calling out random thoughts to me. Having Guy around means continual, comforting noise.

In five minutes, he takes off from Atlanta and will land in Seoul. I'm uncharacteristically uneasy. Anxious. Worried. He will be in the air for 15 hours. There has never been 15 hours that I have not been able to be in touch with him. I feel terribly alone.

There are things to do this week. Packages to mail. Thank you notes, long overdue thank you notes, to write. Friends to visit with. Quilts to sew. Bird to feed and care for. It will pass.

I assure you though. One thing I will get done this week is getting passports for me and Bird. We don't want to be left behind again.

When you're having fun . . .

The pollen is out. I thought we were having an early spring with all this warm weather and sinus nastiness. Then I realized that it's April.

Where has the time gone? For months, it seemed like January would never get here, and now here it is April. And the taxes are due. Crap.

Next week, Guy will be in Korea. All week. Lovely will be at her mother's house. It will just be me and Christopher. And the dogs, of course. Every night this week, I've snuggled onto Guy's shoulder and waged a losing battle to fight back the tears. I don't want him to go.

Not only will I miss him, but I'm terrified of doing this baby thing alone. When it's 11:00 PM and Bird hasn't had a nap longer than 20 minutes all day but is still refusing to go to sleep? It's Guy that can get him snoozing. We have a bathtime routine that we do all three of us together every night. He gets up with the dogs in the morning and feeds them. He takes Bird while I clean up dinner and feed the dogs at night.

We have our thing. I don't know what I'm going to do without our thing.

Like pumping. Christopher somehow knows when I'm pumping and will pitch a royal fit until I stop. It doesn't matter if he just nursed. It doesn't matter if he's asleep. Somehow, it always happens that I can't pump unless someone else is watching him.

I need Guy. Or, you could just say that I really really want Guy around. Korea is not exactly around.

If anyone would like to come hang out with me next week, you are more than welcome. I'm not nearly the basketcase in person that I am when I write. Well, maybe I am. But you're still here, so I can't be that bad.

Little Miss Cheetah Pants

This is Hayleigh.

Today, Hayleigh is having her third heart surgery. Hayleigh is a very strong little girl who battles health issues that would put grown-ups to shame. She is amazing.

If you have a moment today to say a prayer or send a thought out West, please do so.

You could even send a comment her way at her mom's blog, Ladybugs and Lizards.

We are all rooting for you, Hayleighbug!

If you can let go

If the clothes make the man, what do they do for the woman?

I'm not much of a hoarder. My momma is worried about passing certain family things to me because I will clean out every now and then and get rid of things that she might consider too sentimental to lose.

However, when it comes to clothes, I'm a terrible hoarder.

I have skirts and blouses from 10 years ago. Classic pieces that were budget breakers at the time. I have jeans in size 10 to 16. I have dresses that haven't been worn in 8 years. I have high heels that have never ever been worn but were a good sale on a 9 1/2 AAAA, so I bought them to have when I needed them.

I keep these things, stuffing my closet, afraid to get rid of any of it. You never know when I might need it again.

This past week, I purged. Three garbage bags full of clothes were taken to Goodwill. Not only don't I need them, it was just way time to clean out and start fresh.

I don't work in an office anymore. I don't have to give grant presentations. I don't have to be interviewed on TV. I don't have to convince people to part with their money for a good cause. And I am quite sure I will never be back in the White House again, accepting an award from the First Lady (although it was quite cool at the time).

I don't need clothes for any of that, and I don't need to keep the ones I had just because they cost me a lot of money at the time.

My first marriage was all about how I needed to hold onto what I had because I didn't know if I would be able to replace it.

And that is the point. Without carrying on and beating around the literary bush, that is the point.

It was freeing, taking those clothes to Goodwill, knowing that I don't have to hold onto to them. Knowing that sometimes, when you let go of the only thing you think you have, it just makes room for something better.


P.S. I got rid of the size 16 jeans and kept the 10's. I was feeling rather positive that day. We'll see if I regret that decision later!

Two months

Yesterday Christopher turned two months old. In a way it seems like he has been here forever. In another way it seems as though I still have no idea what to do with him.

There are still days that I do nothing that doesn't involve him. Nurse him. Change him. Hold him. Stare at him while he sleeps. The miraculousness of it all has certainly not worn off yet.

Then there are days that I relish in the time the nanny is here. If I'm not teaching while she is here, it becomes a delightful challenge to see just how much I can get done in the moments that she is looking after Bird. Dinner is down to a science, and loading the dishwasher takes all of about 45 seconds now. It's a game.

At his two month checkup yesterday, the PA said he was gaining weight just beautifully. He's growing just fine she said. She also said that she didn't think I needed to be using formula. She thinks I need to cut the dairy out to help his gas, and that way, he will be able to stay at the breast long enough to get full without thrashing about and mutilating my nipples.

I cannot describe to you how much dairy I eat. Cheese and I are best friends, as is the big glass of milk I drink before dinner every night.

However, I chose this PA because she is also a lactation consultant, and I'm choosing to listen to her. Besides, I really should cut out the ice cream and it certainly won't hurt my waistline to cut the cheese and milk.

We went ahead and got his two month vaccinations on schedule. With the traveling we expect to be doing for Guy's job, it is important that Christopher be vaccinated on schedule.

I knew that I would cry when they gave him his shots. I just didn't know I would cry before they gave him his shots.

The needles were so big, and he was so happy before she stuck his little leg with them. He was having a great time kickypantsing on the table, making the paper rattle. His eyes were wide and he was all grins.

Then she stuck him.

He looked stunned. Then she stuck him again. He looked up into my eyes, turned purple, jutted out his bottom lip, and began to scream.

I was already crying by then, so when the nurse was done, Bird and I just held onto each other and cried.

Yesterday and today he has had a low grade fever, tons of gas, and been generally feeling miserable. Somehow he still manages to smile at me some. I can tell he feels badly, but he still is cracking a grin or two every now and then. Tonight, he gave his Papa big full face grins for the first time. You could see a little puddle on the floor where Papa's heart had just melted.

Two months and it's all starting to feel real finally. I don't feel like I'm just getting through minute by minute or hour by hour anymore. This feels like my life. I'm not sure if that makes sense or not. What I mean is that at the beginning, it felt like I was just going through the motions, trying to make it from one moment to the next. Now, though, it feels more a little more comfortable. More normal.

I have a hard time remembering life without Guy and Christopher. I know it happened. I know there was another life before then. Another marriage. Another possible ending. That otherness is what doesn't feel real anymore.

I was made to be Bird's mom and Guy's wife. I think I've known that for longer than two months, but these past two months have certainly solidified it for me.

One of the family

We just got back from Savannah. The whole family got to go down, see the city, and meet some of my relatives. The ones where Christopher's middle name came from.

They are my mom's family. My grandmother's sister is still alive and just turned 90. She and her late husband were like parents to my mother. Her red velvet cake is a legend in our family, as is her strength and grace.

They are what you would call country folks. That doesn't mean that they are backwards or uneducated, it means, quite literally, they live in the country.

My great aunt's land looked very different on this trip. The cow barn that was a stone's throw from the house is gone. As is the chicken coop. There is nowhere for pigs right across the road, and I couldn't see where there was a fishing pond now. There is no more farm.

Her oldest daughter is like a sister to my momma, and so even though we are cousins, I have always called her "Aunt." She takes in family like her momma did for my momma. My cousin J always had a home there when he needed one, and Uncle C was like a father to him.

Extended family in the very literal sense.

Although I've always loved them, I haven't been very close to them. Mainly because of the distance, but I think also because some of my cousins expect me to be snooty like my grandmother was to them. They expect me to look down my nose at them.

Funny thing is, the opposite is true. I look up to them - especially the women - more than any other family I have.

I spent a good deal of the visit it seemed, with my shirt pulled up and a little bird attached. This opened the conversation about nursing with my aunts. It turns out that the doctors told both of them, my great aunt and my Aunt J, that their milk was "too weak" and wasn't enough nourishment for their babies.

My great aunt fed her babies with glass bottles filled with boiled water, Carnation evaporated milk, and Karo syrup. There was commercial formula around for Aunt J's babies.

It made me wonder though, what exactly the doctors meant by "too weak." Was there too much foremilk? Were the babies just not gaining weight fast enough? Did they never seem to get full?

Whatever it was, my aunts determined that it was passed through the family, and I was the same. My milk just isn't strong enough. Aunt J was so relieved when I whipped out 2 ounces of formula on Sunday afternoon when Bird just wasn't going to nurse but was obviously still hungry.

She told him it was about time his momma gave him some real food.

Guy held his breath. He thought I would lose it.

But I didn't. I just smiled. Who am I to say? Maybe she knows something I don't. Well, she certainly knows plenty I don't about a lot of things. It was funny, what she said, and she wasn't judging me, she was just teasing me. They are a family of teasers. Hard teasers.

So there it is. Apparently, it's a Carter thing. Weak milk.

I could care less if there is science behind it. I could care less if it's even true.

I just thought it was cool to be included in the lineage. I liked them considering me to be one of "their women." I was proud to be another generation for whatever reason.

It is, however, too bad that I didn't get the hair gene. My grandmother, my great aunt, and my Aunt J didn't and haven't grayed. My grandmother's hair was a beautiful chestnut brown until the day she died at 97. My aunts' hair is lighter, but none more gray.

They are beautiful women, and I'm proud to be one of them now. And thank God for Enfamil, because the whole Karo syrup thing just sort of freaked me out.

One small step

Today I nursed my child in the waiting room at the car dealership. There were exactly four men, one woman, and one toddler in the room with me. Two of the men had just separately asked me how old Bird was and commented on what a good baby he was. That is because he had been asleep for almost an hour while we waited on the Jeep to be serviced.

Then he woke up. He wasn't supposed to do that. We were supposed to be in and out of there in time for me to get back home, collect my 83 pillows and lay down to nurse him. Unfortunately, there were more things that needed to be done than just the oil change I expected, and we were stuck there almost 2 hours.

Bird needed to eat.

So I fed him. I slouched down in my chair, getting as prone as I could without falling out of it. I put a blanket over my shoulder, which really was more a polite gesture than a shield, since I haven't yet mastered the trick of getting him latched on without both hands and staring down, waiting for the biggest open mouth he makes.

It wasn't the most comfortable thing I've ever done, but it worked alright. He fussed a little bit until I found a good spot for him, but then he did his bit. And when he was done, he came out from under his blanket and smiled at me. I felt like we had really accomplished something.

It seemed silly at the time - for me to be so proud of myself and Christopher for being able to nurse in the waiting room. However, tonight, as I read over the comments on the J&J post (Thank God some people still know where their caps lock button is. I was beginning to think no one knew how to use it anymore in this overly polite blogworld. I LOVE ME SOME CAPS LOCK), it occurred to me that it's not silly at all.

Bird and I have worked our butts off to even still be breastfeeding. Yes, STILL, at 8 weeks. I've been pretty tied to the house due to my insecurities of nursing and more recently, the need to be prone while doing so. I think that has something to do with how pissed I am at the audacity of suggesting a mother could just leave her 8 week old at home for a few days and pump. Or just don't go. JUST STAY HOME where you belong.

Today though, Bird and I joined the ranks of all the moms and babies before us WHO WILL NOT just stay home because they are nursing. We didn't go sit in the john to do it. We didn't move to the corner of the room to do it. We didn't blush. We didn't apologize. We just did it, and honestly? It wasn't that big of a deal. No one really cared.

It was only a big deal for me. It means that I'm one step closer to being able to get out more. I need that. All moms need that.

That, and the freedom to scratch that itchy CAPS LOCK pinky when you can't think of the right words, only some capitalized ones, to use.

Thinking twice about Johnson & Johnson

Late to the game again. I stay about a day or two behind in blogland these days. But if you haven't heard, Johnson & Johnson is holding a little getaway called "Camp Baby" for the influential mommybloggers. People you read probably got invited and will have a lovely time at some sessions on how to braid hair and parallel park their minivans. Whatever.

Aside from the carcinogens that Johnson & Johnson likes to use in their products, I now have another reason to hate them.

Julie, over at Mothergoosemouse, was dis-invited from this little soire once they found out she was planning to bring her baby. To Camp Baby. Go figure.

Oliver was born just a few days before Christopher and is breastfed.

So no Camp Baby for Julie.

I do not understand though, all of the remaining willing participants. Sitting around and writing about how uncool it is that they dis-invited a nursing mom from Camp Baby is one thing. Everyone still showing up and having a lovely time at hair braiding and minivan parking? That shows them nothing. That shows them that they can totally get away with this.

We are so quick to boycott Myspace and Facebook when they censor pictures of breastfeeding mothers. What about now?

Julie is very polite and states that she understands that J&J is hosting and setting the rules, so she will play by them. Well, the same thing can be said of Facebook. It's their website, so play by their rules and don't post breastfeeding pictures.

I really hope that at least a few of Julie's friends and moms who care about breastfeeding reconsider Camp Baby. And while you're at it, be sure to read some of the ingredients of the J&J stuff you might be slathering all over your baby. J&J and their products are all full of crap.

Where we are today & other randomness

Nursing. Today we nursed. All weekend we practiced getting into new positions. We worked on relieving Bird's gas better. We nursed whenever and however long he wanted to do so.

And things are better.

The poor little dude is such a gulper though. He fills up with gas before he's full of milk, so a few good burps and 20 minutes later, he's hungry again. That works on the weekend, but not so much when I have to work during the week.

So we'll do what we can.

************

Guy finished his cradle and the mattress finally came in. It's really beautiful. He refinished it to match our bedroom furniture and we bought some bedding that also matches the room. Now if we could only get him to sleep there.

He will sleep there for his first stint of the night, but after he wakes up and nurses, I'm not about to try and put him back down. Besides, I really love spooning with my little man.

************

Guy was finally made an official employee today. It only took 13 months, but hey, that's the state for you. He'll be working for the university, and it might just be that I have to root for a team besides Mississippi State from now on. Unless of course the university plays Mississippi State in something, in which case all bets are off. Go Dawgs.

************

Getting back into teaching hasn't been as hard as I thought it would be. In fact, having the nanny here is actually getting me back into my sanity. I have 15 minutes here and there to put on some makeup, put in a load of laundry, pull something out of the freezer for dinner, or just to walk to the mailbox without Bird.

The only part I hate is that Christopher is so much more interactive now. He's actually gotten to the point where he's fun. Smiling, laughing, cooing, and playing - he is more like a little person now, and I find myself wanting him to wake up and spend some time with me. It's okay though. We still have the mornings.

************

I miss my community though. Nursing in prone positions has been a great change for us, but of course, it cuts down on the internet time considerably. There isn't even any one handed typing when you are nursing laying down. Well, not that I've figured out yet.

I miss leaving comments even though I'm still reading. I miss the ladies on my mom's board. I just miss "talking" to people. But I'm doing what I have to do for the moment. Things will change again. Like Susan said the other day, change is the only constant from now on. So true.

************

I wasn't exactly watching the Montel Williams show today, but admittedly, when you don't have cable, daytime TV pickings are slim. So Montel was on, and since that crazy psychic he always has on, wasn't on, I just left Montel jabbering away while Bird and I nursed.

Lo and behold, it was an episode about supermoms, and who was on it but the lovely Liz of Mom 101?

Even though I missed officially meeting her at Blogher, she has long long been in my feed reader, and I was so proud of her today.

I only wish I could have watched more than the first 15 minutes. I'm sure she was great all the way through.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Almost late. Mr. Kickypants wanted to wish you all a Happy St. Patrick's Day in the cute outfit from his Aunt Shelster. Hope you all enjoyed a green beer and a good time.

Music Together

Today Bird and I went to our first Music Together class. I had registered for an infants' class that was to be held in Chapel Hill; not close to the house. However, it was the only infant class I could find. It didn't make.

The woman in charge suggested I try out the mixed age class and just see how it went. So we did.

He loved it.

So far, I've been doubtful as to whether or not Christopher is smiling on reflexes or because of stimuli. Today, it was clear that he was having a good time.

He lasted about 25 minutes of the 30 minute class before I had to put him up on my shoulder and "shush" out some of the other noises. He got a little overstimulated.

But man, he had fun. His eyes were open wide and he kicked along to all of the music. We had a blast.

I'm liking this mom thing more and more already.

Still loving Liam

Remember when I posted this on Props and Pans? No? Well go read it and come right back. I'll wait.

Last week, I was catching up on some Dooce and she had posted this video:


Now you can all enjoy the magic of Liam Finn. You really have to watch this and see him work one guitar, some pedals, and a drum kit all on his own. Ignore the chick with the cowbell. I don't know what she's doing there.

If I were a much younger woman, I would be in love. With Liam. Not cowbell girl.

When laying around isn't lazy

It's 11:00 AM. I'm still sitting in the bed. I have had someone or something attached to my boobs since 9:00. Bird has some gas issues. Possibly reflux. Might explain the thrashing and crying during feeding. The doctor said I just had to be patient and keep holding him to the breast. Let him work out the gas.

It's a new doctor. He's miles better already. Although, it's not like the old doctor made that a challenge of some kind.

My boobs are crying "uncle," and Bird has finally drifted off after an ounce from a bottle.

It's going to come down to time I bet. I just won't have all morning long forever. New doctor says though, that very soon, he should be outgrowing some of that gas and I should notice nursing getting significantly easier.

I like him. He offers hope along with his analysis. I hope he's right.

Bird's got a nanny

I have to start teaching again next week. It's time. I'm more ready now than I was a couple of weeks ago, but there's part of me that's still a little sad.

We hired a nanny for Bird for the afternoons. She is a senior in high school and started with us yesterday. I wanted a week with her when I wasn't teaching to get to know her better and be available to answer questions or what not.

Yesterday? Bird didn't cry at all. Until Nanny handed him back to me right before she left.

I've got to learn how to not take things like that personally.

Today, he did cry with her some. And I felt better. Because he cries with me a lot. I know that I try to get too much done when it's just me and him, but I can't help it. Sometimes, I have to put him down to pump. It's just time to do it, and I don't have a choice. Sometimes, I have to fix myself some lunch, and I have to put him down if I'm at the stove or oven. Sometimes, I have to pee, and I have to put him down to wash my hands. It happens.

Nanny's sole responsibility is Christopher though. He has one person in his life that when she is with him, the only thing she has to do is take care of him.

And I find myself wondering how I missed that the first 6 weeks of his life.

Every thank you note I wrote. Every meal I cooked. Every load of laundry I did. Every shower I took. Every blog I read. Time away from Bird. What was I doing?

I had these 6 weeks with Bird where no one expected anything of me except to take care of him, and I'm so damn restless that I found 100 other things to do. So typical.

The nanny is lucky. She is lucky to just get to focus on him. To watch him so carefully that she feeds him before he cries. She has time to sit and rock him and then let him just sleep in her lap.

I'm jealous of the nanny. I will miss the naps and the playtime and the dancing whenever we felt like it. I'm a little jealous.

However, at the end of the day, Nanny has to go home, and Christopher stays right here with me. Because I am his mom.

Stepping back, I think that makes me the lucky one.

Superbaby

And Superdaddy too.




















The Bird, he flies. . .

Welcome to parenthood

I had my 6 week postpartum check up this week. It went just fine. Green lights all the way around.
I texted Guy before I left the parking lot with a simple "Bow chicka bow wow."

He responded, "That's mean to do while I'm in a meeting."

That evening, we got Bird settled in for a nap and climbed into bed. A couple of kisses and a cuddle later, we realize that 3 hours has passed and our son is waking up. And so were we.

We had fallen asleep. Slept right through the window of nookie.

I hear this is what it is like to be parents.

Dang.

Starting early

Future and current bloggers. On the family blogging bed. With the blogging bear. And the blogging Boppy. My blogging boys. Wow. I need sleep.



















Thank you so much for all of your comments. I actually pulled them up on my Blackjack early this morning when I was nursing Bird, and I read them all over again.

If you don't think your one little comment matters? I'm here to tell you differently. Thank you so much - each and every little word matters very much.

The truth

The truth is, it still hurts.

The truth is, I don't love it yet.

The truth is that I wrote this post to remind myself that there was at least that one time that Bird was able to satiate himself to the point of bliss at my breast. Because it rarely happens.

I pump, trying to store away breastmilk for when I start working again in a week or so. I do this after I nurse him, but inevitably, he will wake up right after I'm done pumping and be hungry again. So I give him what I just pumped in a bottle and in turn, have nothing stored for him.

He and I aren't gelling. Our schedules are off somehow. I feel my biggest letdowns when we are out on a walk, or when he is sound asleep. When he is nursing, he gets fussy. He claws at my breast. He thrashes his head about. He pops on and off uncontrollably until my nipple feels as though it's been run through a cheese grater and I have to give up and go get a bottle.

Fixing those bottles makes me feel like the widow that Elijah visited. Her oil never ran out, remember? That's what my milk feels like. I always have just enough to give him, but no more. No extra for when I start teaching. And that has me stressed, unlike the widow who just took it as an opportunity to trust. Not me.

I wanted to be a mom who loved to breastfeed. And I refuse to quit until I've had a more positive experience, but damn. I need some positive reinforcement here.

I keep hearing different time frames.

"Just give it two weeks."

"At a month, you'll see a turn around."

"After six weeks, the two of you will have the hang of it."

"It took six months for my little one to finally get his latch right."

The thing is, I don't know if any of these will be our timetable. If I just knew that there really would be a time when he wouldn't seem to hate it, and I wouldn't be in constant pain, then it would be easier to tough it out. Not knowing though, is driving me crazy.

Days like yesterday and today have me beat. He cries, and so I cry. I cry because he's not happy. I cry because it hurts like hell. He cries because, well, I don't exactly know why.

Don't tell me anymore that "if you do it right, it doesn't hurt." I know that a bad latch will hurt, and I know how to get a good one. What I don't know is how to help Bird understand that if he rolls his tongue all around in his mouth and clamps down with his gums??? That it hurts me very badly.

This is why I haven't been blogging. Because this is all I think about. And it's got to be a boring read by now. But then again, I write because I need to. I need to get it all out.

One thing I didn't know before Bird was that a lot of moms combo feed. That means that they breastfeed and they use formula. I see this as where we are headed, and I'm trying to reassure myself that it's alright. I know that it is - there are women who have been hugely inspirational to me to keep going, and they are combo feeders.

But the stigma. I won't feel like I can put a little ticker under my signature that says how long I've been breastfeeding. I won't feel like I have a "Booby Baby." I wanted a "Booby Baby" so badly.

So we keep trying. And tonight when he is ravenous and I'm exhausted and the milk blister on my right nipple is bleeding again and my left one is as flat as a pancake still? Well, tonight just may be the night I join the ranks of the combo feeders. Giving my child as much breast milk as I possibly can, and then unashamedly giving him the formula he needs to break out of the 10% of weight.

Little skinny 10th percentile Bird. He's a cute little skinny Bird.

Man. I didn't think it would all be this hard.

And for the record? I'm wearing the same clothes now that I put on 48 hours ago to sleep in. Two nights and two days.

Gross.

Ding dong

My buddy Tara over at Two Lines on a Stick is an Avon lady. Because I like her so, I'm giving a little shout out for you to get your Avon stuff from her. She ships it to you fast, and you in turn are getting good stuff from a SAHM. I love that.

If you don't want to buy make up, you can always buy her really cool cards at her Etsy shop. She can do custom cards or announcements or calligraphy for you. A WAHM really.

Just sayin'.

Here's my loot from the Avon shop. I adore new makeup. I'm such a girl. Which is a huge change from when I was eight. I mean, I was a girl then too, but I was a girl who hated dresses and wanted to be the first female player in Major League Baseball. Which probably wouldn't have required that I wear any of this:













For the record, I wanted to play third base for the Phillies. Just like Mike Schmidt.

Goodbye, old girl. You were a good Volvo

The Volvo is gone. Sold. Taken away. No more.

My Volvo was the first thing I did to step away from my ex-husband. He didn't want me to buy it. I did anyway, telling him that I didn't ask to discuss it with him. He was driving a rental car, a new Maxima, being paid for by insurance, and loved it. He wanted to buy a new Maxima. Not a 12 year old Volvo. I refused to take out another car loan for him.

I got $4000 from the insurance company when some jackass totaled my car while it was parked in front of my house. It was my grandfather's car. My family had given it to me after he died because my ex had wrecked his car and not had it repaired. We needed a second car.

It was a Ford Contour. Not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was paid for. It was 7 years old, and only had 11,000 miles on it. Granddaddy didn't go very far in it.

When it was totaled, I received far less money than the car was actually worth to me. That's the way it was though, and no amount of fighting with the insurance company could change that.

I had asked the Ex not to park it on the street. He did anyway. Some jackass plowed into it. And just like that, it was gone.

The smell of my granddaddy? Gone. The little pieces of him I would find in the glovebox or between the seats? Gone. My granddaddy's car was gone.

I was beyond livid. The Ex had already wrecked his Golf. For which I held the car loan and title. Now, the Contour was wrecked. In about a month from then, he would also wreck the Jetta, which I had just paid off about 4 months prior to that.

I was not about to get a new Maxima for a man who couldn't afford it and couldn't be trusted not to wreck it.

So I bought an old Volvo. Paid cash. Drove it with pride because it was paid for. I loved that car. It was more than a car. It was a turning point.

Buying that Volvo was the first step in my decision not to put up with the crap anymore.

In December of 2006, Guy bought me a new car. Something that I could fit my gear in and still close all the windows. Something that my keyboard could ride in and still be in its case. Something that we could take Lovely and Papa along in to gigs and still be able to haul my stuff. I accepted it begrudgingly.

It felt like I was giving up this independent streak. This piece of "piss on you, world" that had allowed me to come up for air in a drowning marriage. I was sad to give up driving my Volvo.

So I didn't. Not at first. I would still take her out for errands and such. But the more I drove the new Jeep, the less I needed to drive the Volvo. It was enough to just have it in the driveway.

But this week, I knew it was time. It was time to see her off to a new home. Guy wanted to salvage it, but that made me too sad. So I posted it on Craig's List (I know, I know, will I ever learn?), and asked for someone to come and save it from the salvage yard. I had people lined up around the block.

$350 later? My Volvo has a new home, and I have a new outlook.

Giving up that car to me signifies that I have given myself over completely to this new life. To me, it shows that I am 100% comfortable now being completely connected with Guy. Still an individual, but not completely independent.

It's like I finally understand what my mom told me so many times.

She wouldn't buy a piece of clothing if she thought my dad wouldn't like it. I thought when I was younger that it was because she didn't think for herself. Didn't stand up on her own two very un-feminist feet.

Now I know how wrong I was. She didn't wear something he wouldn't like because she loves him. It made her happy to make him happy. She liked the things that he liked. She trusted his opinions. And she valued what he thought of her. I get that now. I love Guy like that.

So goodbye, Volvo. You were a good car. You were a good move for me, but I don't need you anymore. I'm part of a team now.

And I'm desperately happy about that.