Dear All Vanity Breast Feeding Moms,
Don't be mad. I know the VBF world is an exclusive world only few are allowed into, but the way the stars are going the public is going to catch on sooner or later-especially since Brad & Angelina's interview in W.
So here is my story about my life as a VBF.
I hope you like.
And, if you don't, then you probably shouldn't read my article coming out in Parenting about it.
http://www.orato.com/health-science/2008/10/23/i-was-vanity-breastfeeder
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Desperately Seeking Help
And another night goes to...Nugget. I don't know why I'm so shocked by it. Did I actually think that just because he slept the past two nights that I was out of the teething woods? Yes,I did. So for my punishment I received a night of crying and so far a morning and afternoon of no sleep either.
It began at 7, he'd been asleep for half an hour, just as I was sitting to have dinner (my husband works late so I eat by myself when Nugget goes down). Nugget awoke crying, I rocked him, soothed him, sang to him, yet he refused to go back down. Now I'm wondering if he's having a personal battle with his crib? Maybe his crib did something to offend or frighten him? Whatever it is, he does not want to go in it. And he loved it before. He was never even a rock to sleep kind of baby. If you tried he'd squirm in your arms and cry out in pain. He wanted to be put down, and as soon as you did that he'd roll over on his side and go to asleep-without another word. But now. Sigh. Now, somethings wrong.
The battle to get him to go down lasted until 9, when he finally passed out, and I finally got to eat. But at 11 o'clock he was back up with vigor. Kicking and screaming and throwing his pacifier out of his crib. ??? I'm so confused as to what to do at this point.
My husband came home and took over, rocking and rocking, but again nothing worked. By 1:30 my husband surrendered and brought him into bed with us, now you know the talks we've had about this and how against it I am, but almost instantaneously he stopped crying, curled into my husbands chest and fell asleep. I awoke an hour later, softly picked him up, laid him back in his crib, and paid the price when he awoke 5 minutes later madder than ever. Sigh.
Long story short, Nugget slept with us until 8 o'clock this morning. (If you call what we got sleep). He went down for a 20 minute nap at his normal morning time (which is normally an hour or more nap)and is currently crying in the other room-refusing to take his afternoon nap (which is a 2 hour nap or longer).
Nuggets eyes are all red, he's rubbing his eyes every second, unhappy and not sure what to do with himself. Frankly I feel the same exact way, only I have the feelings of lost, hopelessness and exhaustion to accompany me.
What is wrong with him? I am doing the right thing? Will letting him come into the bed with us during this difficult period spark an everlasting trend that won't get him out of our bed until he's 5, I read that in a horrible Parenting true story. Or does he just need to be with us during this hard period in his life?
I'm afraid my time, and energy, have been cut short at this time to make another trip to the Baby Guru for advice. But I'd appreciate any other.
Sincerely,
A tired, sleepless, struggling mother at this point
It began at 7, he'd been asleep for half an hour, just as I was sitting to have dinner (my husband works late so I eat by myself when Nugget goes down). Nugget awoke crying, I rocked him, soothed him, sang to him, yet he refused to go back down. Now I'm wondering if he's having a personal battle with his crib? Maybe his crib did something to offend or frighten him? Whatever it is, he does not want to go in it. And he loved it before. He was never even a rock to sleep kind of baby. If you tried he'd squirm in your arms and cry out in pain. He wanted to be put down, and as soon as you did that he'd roll over on his side and go to asleep-without another word. But now. Sigh. Now, somethings wrong.
The battle to get him to go down lasted until 9, when he finally passed out, and I finally got to eat. But at 11 o'clock he was back up with vigor. Kicking and screaming and throwing his pacifier out of his crib. ??? I'm so confused as to what to do at this point.
My husband came home and took over, rocking and rocking, but again nothing worked. By 1:30 my husband surrendered and brought him into bed with us, now you know the talks we've had about this and how against it I am, but almost instantaneously he stopped crying, curled into my husbands chest and fell asleep. I awoke an hour later, softly picked him up, laid him back in his crib, and paid the price when he awoke 5 minutes later madder than ever. Sigh.
Long story short, Nugget slept with us until 8 o'clock this morning. (If you call what we got sleep). He went down for a 20 minute nap at his normal morning time (which is normally an hour or more nap)and is currently crying in the other room-refusing to take his afternoon nap (which is a 2 hour nap or longer).
Nuggets eyes are all red, he's rubbing his eyes every second, unhappy and not sure what to do with himself. Frankly I feel the same exact way, only I have the feelings of lost, hopelessness and exhaustion to accompany me.
What is wrong with him? I am doing the right thing? Will letting him come into the bed with us during this difficult period spark an everlasting trend that won't get him out of our bed until he's 5, I read that in a horrible Parenting true story. Or does he just need to be with us during this hard period in his life?
I'm afraid my time, and energy, have been cut short at this time to make another trip to the Baby Guru for advice. But I'd appreciate any other.
Sincerely,
A tired, sleepless, struggling mother at this point
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Please, Don't Let Nugget Be A Holly Hobie
Every night before I put Nugget to bed I talk to him about his day. I tell him I'm proud of him and I tell him how I want him to be himself.
"Don't change who you are for anybody. Do what makes you happy and never compromise yourself."
It's important for me to reiterate this to Nugget every night. I want him to grow up strong, to stand up for himself, to have fun wherever he's at no matter what he's doing and to never take shit from anybody.
In other words I want him to be the person I wish I could be. I hate the fake smiling "Holly Hobie" side that oozes out of me. Creeping up when I want it to draw back, laughing and smiling in its phony way when I want to lash out and tell people which way I think they should go, my "Holly Hobie" side dominates me and leaves me hating myself for letting it rule me. Inside I want to yell at the lady at Starbucks when she makes my drink wrong, instead of slumping away sipping on a scalding hot coffee when its a hundred degrees out and I ordered iced. There's the bossy friend who tries to tell me what to do, the people who say inappropriate things and the ones who are just plain rude, that I want to tell to @@@@ off and remove from my life, but I'm to afraid. I don't want to create rifts, break up a team of 13 girlfriends who've been together through thick and thin, start a fight in a family or cause a crack in the system that leave people questioning if I've finally fallen off the deep end. But I'm starting to get to old for this. I'm starting not to care, getting to tired to make the effort and wanting to cut off all my hair, shred my trendy clothes and let the world see me. This is who I am I want to shout, and if you don't like it you can kiss the two fingers I'm waving in the air.
"Don't change who you are for anybody. Do what makes you happy and never compromise yourself."
It's important for me to reiterate this to Nugget every night. I want him to grow up strong, to stand up for himself, to have fun wherever he's at no matter what he's doing and to never take shit from anybody.
In other words I want him to be the person I wish I could be. I hate the fake smiling "Holly Hobie" side that oozes out of me. Creeping up when I want it to draw back, laughing and smiling in its phony way when I want to lash out and tell people which way I think they should go, my "Holly Hobie" side dominates me and leaves me hating myself for letting it rule me. Inside I want to yell at the lady at Starbucks when she makes my drink wrong, instead of slumping away sipping on a scalding hot coffee when its a hundred degrees out and I ordered iced. There's the bossy friend who tries to tell me what to do, the people who say inappropriate things and the ones who are just plain rude, that I want to tell to @@@@ off and remove from my life, but I'm to afraid. I don't want to create rifts, break up a team of 13 girlfriends who've been together through thick and thin, start a fight in a family or cause a crack in the system that leave people questioning if I've finally fallen off the deep end. But I'm starting to get to old for this. I'm starting not to care, getting to tired to make the effort and wanting to cut off all my hair, shred my trendy clothes and let the world see me. This is who I am I want to shout, and if you don't like it you can kiss the two fingers I'm waving in the air.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
2 Nugget 1 Me
It's like a battle. A night time never ending battle. I put him down at 6:30, his normal bedtime, and by 11 o'clock Nugget's popping up, screaming his head off. Give him a bottle-he doesn't want it. Change his diaper-he doesn't need it. Rock him back to sleep-that works until we place him back down in the crib. Then it's scream city. Nugget will lay in his crib and cry and cry until we pick him up. The only thing that seems to work is bringing him in our bed with us. And I'm so against that. I know there's nothing wrong with it, and that laying next to your baby can feel so euphoric-watching him sleep and toss his little hands above his head, but I'm afraid of it sticking. I read this article in Parents Magazine about a couple whose child slept in bed with them until he was 5. 5!! The article went on about ways they tried to get him out of bed, but every time they ended up bringing him back. I love my son, but I love my sleep, and being able to cuddle up next to my husband as well.
So what are we to do? I consulted the Baby Guru to find out.
"Sounds like it might be his teeth. Are the coming in?"
She was right, the top ones were. The next thing she told me was to call my pediatrician and ask if Nugget could start taking Baby Motrin. Apparently Baby Tylenol is a strong comparison to water. When they're tiny it knocks them out, but as they grow bigger it hardly touches them. Is this news to you as well? Well, my pediatrician agreed and I have to say Nugget only got up a few times that night, instead of his normal consecutive 3-4 hours straight.
However, I wasn't as lucky the following nights. Night after night I've gotten up, rocked him, held him, sang to him and bounced him for hour after hour to no avail.
I felt like it was a battle, Nugget vs. His Mother. Who would win? I was older, stronger and smarter. He was younger, smaller and almost as smart. But he had one thing up on me-everlasting energy. Here I was near tears wishing he would go back to sleep and here he was crying, screaming and no where close to giving in. And I have to tell you bringing Nugget in bed with me was like that one cigarette you want to have. "Just one," you tell yourself, followed by the promise that you'd never puff another one again. But as soon as that cool delicious martini rolls down your tongue and coats your throat you realize how well that cigarette would go with it. Ah, it takes delicious, smells delicious and exhausts that fighting desire that you'd been battling at the bar. But then morning comes and you regret it. You think of how hard you've made it for the next time you go out. How that martini isn't going to go down without a cigarette, how you've set yourself up for another battle for yet another night and how much you hate yourself for giving into it.
So I've been keeping count. This weekend I was 0-2, but as of last night I'm 1-2. A major score on my part. A night where I didn't bring Nugget into bed, a night where he and I got a full night sleep, a night where I didn't have to contemplate the pros and cons of giving in.
It could be that Nuggets two teeth finally broke, oh and did I forget to mention the most important discovery I found on Sunday afternoon-the one about Nugget and his four teeth, that's right Nugget's not only getting his top two teeth in, he's getting all four top teeth in! And, as of this morning, his other tooth broke through as well. So as for now I'm just praying. Praying that Nugget will sleep again tonight and I can regain some of the sleep I've been missing.
So what are we to do? I consulted the Baby Guru to find out.
"Sounds like it might be his teeth. Are the coming in?"
She was right, the top ones were. The next thing she told me was to call my pediatrician and ask if Nugget could start taking Baby Motrin. Apparently Baby Tylenol is a strong comparison to water. When they're tiny it knocks them out, but as they grow bigger it hardly touches them. Is this news to you as well? Well, my pediatrician agreed and I have to say Nugget only got up a few times that night, instead of his normal consecutive 3-4 hours straight.
However, I wasn't as lucky the following nights. Night after night I've gotten up, rocked him, held him, sang to him and bounced him for hour after hour to no avail.
I felt like it was a battle, Nugget vs. His Mother. Who would win? I was older, stronger and smarter. He was younger, smaller and almost as smart. But he had one thing up on me-everlasting energy. Here I was near tears wishing he would go back to sleep and here he was crying, screaming and no where close to giving in. And I have to tell you bringing Nugget in bed with me was like that one cigarette you want to have. "Just one," you tell yourself, followed by the promise that you'd never puff another one again. But as soon as that cool delicious martini rolls down your tongue and coats your throat you realize how well that cigarette would go with it. Ah, it takes delicious, smells delicious and exhausts that fighting desire that you'd been battling at the bar. But then morning comes and you regret it. You think of how hard you've made it for the next time you go out. How that martini isn't going to go down without a cigarette, how you've set yourself up for another battle for yet another night and how much you hate yourself for giving into it.
So I've been keeping count. This weekend I was 0-2, but as of last night I'm 1-2. A major score on my part. A night where I didn't bring Nugget into bed, a night where he and I got a full night sleep, a night where I didn't have to contemplate the pros and cons of giving in.
It could be that Nuggets two teeth finally broke, oh and did I forget to mention the most important discovery I found on Sunday afternoon-the one about Nugget and his four teeth, that's right Nugget's not only getting his top two teeth in, he's getting all four top teeth in! And, as of this morning, his other tooth broke through as well. So as for now I'm just praying. Praying that Nugget will sleep again tonight and I can regain some of the sleep I've been missing.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Mommies, Get Those Smiles Ready
To all the mommies out there with the most beautiful children, which is all of us, there's an open casting call at the Gap. Think your child's Gap ready? Then log on to www.gap.com/castingcall to enter your little one.
Good luck! Or, as they say in the world of child models, loose a tooth.
That's a little computer humor for you.
Good luck! Or, as they say in the world of child models, loose a tooth.
That's a little computer humor for you.
Addiction Or Religion?
Some say it's bad. Some say it's good. But whatever the outcome my morning, afternoon, and sometimes late evening coffee is somethings I can't get rid of. I love it. The aroma that pours through my machine and wakes me in the morning brings a smile to my face. It reminds me of being little and waking up to the smell of my grandmother's peculating coffee, which by the way-if you have a peculator and peculate your coffee you'll never be able to get me out of your house, I'm absolutely in love with it.
As I glide from my bed, with Nugget in tow, I anticipate that cup of coffee like it's a return home kiss from my husband. I slowly pour my coffee into my favorite mug and stick my face above the warm steam that flows up and wrap my hands around it's heat. But that first sip, that warm, delicious, soothing sip of heaven, purges my heart. Everything I've thought about, worried about, or dreaded that my day was to bring, melts away in that first hot trickle of coffee gliding down my throat.
So how bad could my morning addiction be?
Even if my husband's worried that I've upgraded my coffee to the 'Holy Cow' at my favorite coffee shop. But it's so delicious, and heart warming, how could I ever say good-bye to that delightful part of my life?
Besides, what's up with those non-coffee drinkers? How in the world do they accomplish everything in their day? I think a study should be done-coffee drinkers vs. non-coffee drinkers. Who's got more on their schedule? You can't tell me Martha Stewart does all she does without a couple of mugs of Joe!
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Everything I Loved about the Fall Festival
What a perfect weekend for the Fall Festival to debut. The weather was beautiful, the air was crisp and the scrumptious food warmed my autumn soul.
I saw the cutest costumes and fell in love with some of the parents creative ideas. I'm a sucker for original ideas. I never forgot the interview with Mike Myers on the Ellen DeGenerous show last year. Every year his mother used to design his costumes, but she always made him go as puns. For example, he told Ellen he went as a "Bad Taste In Your Mouth." The interview cracked me up, and I couldn't help but visualize the neighbors reactions to the costumes his mother dressed him up in. In my mind he was the kid that the neighbors looked forward to seeing every year. I bet they sat and contemplated what he would be at dinner parties and tried to figure it out when he was at the door.
One of the costumes that I loved was a young girl dressed as the Queen, she had the large white wig and everything, and I'm hoping she won. My girlfriend told me about a baby who was dressed as Elvis that I wish I saw and another told me about a baby dressed as a chick coming out of an egg. Halloween has to be one of my favorite holidays, right up there with Christmas, and I can't wait for all the Trick-or-Treaters to come so I can see more outfits! Note to self-maybe Boardwalk Babies should do a Halloween walk of our own next year. How cute would that be!
But back to the multiple things I loved, I must say that I started my morning with a cup of Starbuck's new Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate and practiaclly swallowed it whole. Delicious and a must try for all!
Soon after walking into the festival I saw a woman pushing the most gorgeous stroller that I couldn't stop myself but say Hi and ask her about it. This stunning cream and blush colored stroller looked like it was straight out of a doll house. The woman pushing it, bearing a strong and intriguing Italian accent, said she's received it as a gift from her family in Italy. And when she went to show me her newborn baby I was blown away by the soft blush colored curtains that blocked the light from the baby. I can't express how stunning this stroller was. I snuck in a picture in the Fall Festival albulm for you to see as well. Don't worry, I got you covered.
Eventually I made my way into the Wine & Food tent where, though I didn't get to sample the wine, I must say the food sampling I did do was remarkable. The one that I thought about, and returned on Sunday for one more taste, was Lola's. Ahh, the chili, the pulled pork sandwhiches, I'm telling you I went home thinking about it. That makes me wonder, does Lola's have this on their everyday menu. If so, I'm in trouble. The owner, Marco, even came out to greet me and Nugget and talk about some of the great things his new restaurant is doing. This is definately a babysitter worthy place for a night out. One that my husband and I will be venturing on as soon as we come back from Upstate this weekend.
In the crafts tent I fell in love with some of the cutest frames! They were called "Designs By Elisa," and I thought they were so cute, almost like a scrapbook on a picture frame. But one of the splerges that I wish I made, but being a mom, felt to guilty spending the money on, was the photography book of Long Beach by Christina Tisi-Kramer, www.visionsoflongbeach.com. I thought this book was just gorgeuous and a perfect coffee table book for my guests.
But, to make my guilt surpress and make myself feel better, I headed back outside for a refreshing glass of lemonade and basket of sweet potato fries. And though they were good, the man who shouted for my order made my day. He made me laugh and left me walking home with a mouthful of warm fries and a smile.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Pumpkin Picking
$31.oo. That's what we spent on pumpkins yesterday. This may not be a big thing for some people, but for me, a girl who moved here from Upstate and would have paid less than $20 for three big pumpkins, it was hard to swallow. Especially when another mother passed me and whispered, "You know, LB is having a Fall Festival this weekend and pumpkins are only a dollar. Look, don't buy."
Possibly paying $3.00 for three pumpkins and saving $28.00, which I could have blown on fudge, cookies and all the other crafts and goodies that are sure to be at the festival tomorrow, haunts me. But for the day I had with my family at Dee's I'd have paid ten times more.
As you know I'm a huge farm stand lover. I trekked through all the stands out East last summer, and again this summer. I promised myself that I'd come back with my son to get our pumpkins. But life happens, people get busy and you end up trying to squeeze memorable moment into an afternoon. So instead of missing defeat, and passing on the pumpkin patch all together, we headed on down to Dee's, paid to much for pumpkins and spent a great hour placing Nugget between piles of pumpkins, showing him the fish in the ponds and taking him through the haunted aisle inside Dee's-together. That has to be my favorite word when it comes to doing things with my husband and my son-together.
Tomorrow I'll voyage on over to LB's Fall Festival with my friend coffee bean and her son and check it out. I'm sure I'll buy a few more pumpkins to decorate the apartment with, feasts on lots of sweet treats and take a billion pictures of what should be a great Fall afternoon. But best of all I won't feel guilty about experiencing a Fall Festival with pumpkins and kids things and sweet treats while my husbands off at work and not with us, because we did it together first.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Time Passes Email was More than 2 Words
Okay, oops. Time Passes wasn't the email. There were actually several other words besides those two, I was just apparently to busy to notice. So here it is, pasted below, for you all to read. I guess now I do want to call my friends, family and think about Nugget getting old.
Time passes.
Life happens.
Distance separates.
Children grow up.
Jobs come and go.
Love waxes and wanes.
Men don't do what they're supposed to do.
Hearts break.
Parents die.
Colleagues forget favors.
Careers end.
BUT.........
Sisters are there,
no matter how much time and how
many miles are between you.
A girl friend is never farther away
than needing her can reach.
When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you
have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life
will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on,
praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on
your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the
valley's end.
Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk
beside you...Or come in and carry you out.
Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters,
daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers,
Grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended
family, all bless our life!
The world wouldn't be the same without women, and
neither would I. When we began this adventure called
womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or
sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we
would need each other.
Every day, we need each other still.
Time passes.
Life happens.
Distance separates.
Children grow up.
Jobs come and go.
Love waxes and wanes.
Men don't do what they're supposed to do.
Hearts break.
Parents die.
Colleagues forget favors.
Careers end.
BUT.........
Sisters are there,
no matter how much time and how
many miles are between you.
A girl friend is never farther away
than needing her can reach.
When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you
have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life
will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on,
praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on
your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the
valley's end.
Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk
beside you...Or come in and carry you out.
Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters,
daughters-in-law, sisters, sisters-in-law, Mothers,
Grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended
family, all bless our life!
The world wouldn't be the same without women, and
neither would I. When we began this adventure called
womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or
sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we
would need each other.
Every day, we need each other still.
Time Passes
My friend, we'll name her cheese-because she lives across the street from a cheese store, sent me an email last night that only contained two words-Time passes.
I shrugged this off, busy making dinner and putting Nugget to bed.
Later, indulging myself in a ridiculous large bowl of deluxe ice cream (deluxe includes caramel, chocolate, peanut butter, fudge, etc) the two words came back to me. Time passes. I took this to mean something other than what it was probably meant for. Instead of thinking about the time that's passing with my son, my husband, my family and the friends I've been reluctant to reach out to, I thought about all the projects I've started and said I'd get to later. Like the screenplay I wrote when I lived in Manhattan. The one where I set up a professional (well as professional as my friends apartment could be) reading where friends and family gave me positive feedback. So what did I do with it? Well instead of seeking out an agent and sending it off to a production company I stuck it a drawer and promised I'd get to it later. The same went for the novels I've finished, short stories, poems, sea shell necklaces, organized recipe notebooks, rolls of film and empty photo books for Nugget, writing portfolio and so on. I've been procrastinating my future and time has passed. My career, my future, all sit in a box or in a computer file with a "will do later" note. Yet, here I sit fantasizing about the house I'd like to one day live in, the large family I'd like to have, the yard, the feeling of going to bed without worrying about where my next PAID writing assignment will come from, when the answer and future to all these worries and desires lay in notebooks, or even one notebook in particular that sits across the room from me, that I'm to tired or lazy to pick up and work on. What am I afraid of? That I might miss what's on TV tonight? That I might over exert myself? That I might actually become successful? I start with so much vigor and dwindle down to water when it comes time to put up. Even now as I sit in front of my computer, to lazy to walk across my minuscule living room and get my writing notebook that contains the play Green Bean and I are working on, I'm letting time pass me by. I'm pondering why I don't go after things with avengence and complete them, instead of logging off this blog and working with Green Bean. Who am I kidding. That new show after My Name is Earl is coming on in a minute and I want to sip on a diet coke and eat some Cheese Doodles while I watch it.
I'll work on the play tomorrow-I promise.
I shrugged this off, busy making dinner and putting Nugget to bed.
Later, indulging myself in a ridiculous large bowl of deluxe ice cream (deluxe includes caramel, chocolate, peanut butter, fudge, etc) the two words came back to me. Time passes. I took this to mean something other than what it was probably meant for. Instead of thinking about the time that's passing with my son, my husband, my family and the friends I've been reluctant to reach out to, I thought about all the projects I've started and said I'd get to later. Like the screenplay I wrote when I lived in Manhattan. The one where I set up a professional (well as professional as my friends apartment could be) reading where friends and family gave me positive feedback. So what did I do with it? Well instead of seeking out an agent and sending it off to a production company I stuck it a drawer and promised I'd get to it later. The same went for the novels I've finished, short stories, poems, sea shell necklaces, organized recipe notebooks, rolls of film and empty photo books for Nugget, writing portfolio and so on. I've been procrastinating my future and time has passed. My career, my future, all sit in a box or in a computer file with a "will do later" note. Yet, here I sit fantasizing about the house I'd like to one day live in, the large family I'd like to have, the yard, the feeling of going to bed without worrying about where my next PAID writing assignment will come from, when the answer and future to all these worries and desires lay in notebooks, or even one notebook in particular that sits across the room from me, that I'm to tired or lazy to pick up and work on. What am I afraid of? That I might miss what's on TV tonight? That I might over exert myself? That I might actually become successful? I start with so much vigor and dwindle down to water when it comes time to put up. Even now as I sit in front of my computer, to lazy to walk across my minuscule living room and get my writing notebook that contains the play Green Bean and I are working on, I'm letting time pass me by. I'm pondering why I don't go after things with avengence and complete them, instead of logging off this blog and working with Green Bean. Who am I kidding. That new show after My Name is Earl is coming on in a minute and I want to sip on a diet coke and eat some Cheese Doodles while I watch it.
I'll work on the play tomorrow-I promise.
Daily Fantasy
I don't wish to be a princess, pampered wife or even a massive celebrity. My wish is simple. I want to come home and have someone make me dinner, all laid out, prepared and ready for me to eat, then I want to be taken into a warm bath where I lay there while I'm washed (nicely people-stop thinking so dirty), toweled off, hair blown out, powdered up and finely put into the softest p.j's and tucked into my bed, which had nice crisp sheets on, with a soft kiss on the forehead.
Anyway, back to the real world-and a son who has started to spit his food out at me. Not on purpose, well I guess on purpose, but because his new thing is blowing raspberries. My face just happens to be there when the food comes out in the raspberries.
Anyway, back to the real world-and a son who has started to spit his food out at me. Not on purpose, well I guess on purpose, but because his new thing is blowing raspberries. My face just happens to be there when the food comes out in the raspberries.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Anxiety Follow Up
So, you've read my anxiety encountered train escapade and you're wondering-is she crazy? Did she make it? Was she alright?
Yes, I am crazy-always have been, but that's what makes me so great. And yes, I made it and was alright. I didn't throw up, pee my pants, or have massive diarrhea. Instead I got caught up in the old city the I love, had a delicious meal, a wonderful evening, laughed and got a great start on Just Water.
Standing in the subway, waiting for the 1 train to pick me up later that evening, made me think about my early experience. I felt so different now. Positive. Happy. Assured. I didn't think anyone was going to steal my phone, or that I would die. If anything I stood there, lost in my thoughts, and reflected on how much my life had changed. My life in LI, as a mother and wife, seemed so far away from me at that moment. I felt like me again. Me the writer, adventurer, quirky character and vibrant girl. Yes, I was very happy with my son and my life at home, but in all my June Cleaverness I forgot about me.
As I looked down at my ripped jeans, old flip flops and plain brown t-shirt, I thought back to the girl who used to love to dress. Just for the fun of it-and most importantly the feel of it. You know that feeling ladies. A great pair of jeans, hair-do or outfit can make you feel like you rule the city. Now my long curly hair is always in a bun, since my son's obsessed with pulling it, I never wear make-up, something I never would have left the house without-especially when you look at these dark circles and pale coloring, and cute shoes were my delicacy-now I strictly wear flip-flops, sneakers, lets be honest dress shoes don't exactly complement my sweats.
I know it sounds selfish, but what about me? I give everyone 24 hours of my day, isn't there 2 hours that could be just for me? After all, I might have had-and still do have-the vision of June Cleaver in my head, but in my head June Cleaver's hair is done, outfits are sharp and shoes are cute. Is there a reason why I can't manage to incorporate this in my life?
Maybe I'll spend today sorting through my clothes and finding some cute, suitable, outfits that I can play dress up in-even if I'm just around the house. Wait, I have to feed Nugget breakfast, take him for a play date with three other kids next door, walk to the Farmer's Market, make dinner, pick up the license plates from my car, make some follow up phone calls, arrange what day I can meet with a photographer for an article I'm doing on the NYC cart stands next week, give my son a bath, do laundry, and oh-forget it-who has time to look for clothes! Or get a hair cut, did I mention that my hair is inching closer and closer to my butt every week? I'm officially a mess. I need a mom intervention over here.
Yes, I am crazy-always have been, but that's what makes me so great. And yes, I made it and was alright. I didn't throw up, pee my pants, or have massive diarrhea. Instead I got caught up in the old city the I love, had a delicious meal, a wonderful evening, laughed and got a great start on Just Water.
Standing in the subway, waiting for the 1 train to pick me up later that evening, made me think about my early experience. I felt so different now. Positive. Happy. Assured. I didn't think anyone was going to steal my phone, or that I would die. If anything I stood there, lost in my thoughts, and reflected on how much my life had changed. My life in LI, as a mother and wife, seemed so far away from me at that moment. I felt like me again. Me the writer, adventurer, quirky character and vibrant girl. Yes, I was very happy with my son and my life at home, but in all my June Cleaverness I forgot about me.
As I looked down at my ripped jeans, old flip flops and plain brown t-shirt, I thought back to the girl who used to love to dress. Just for the fun of it-and most importantly the feel of it. You know that feeling ladies. A great pair of jeans, hair-do or outfit can make you feel like you rule the city. Now my long curly hair is always in a bun, since my son's obsessed with pulling it, I never wear make-up, something I never would have left the house without-especially when you look at these dark circles and pale coloring, and cute shoes were my delicacy-now I strictly wear flip-flops, sneakers, lets be honest dress shoes don't exactly complement my sweats.
I know it sounds selfish, but what about me? I give everyone 24 hours of my day, isn't there 2 hours that could be just for me? After all, I might have had-and still do have-the vision of June Cleaver in my head, but in my head June Cleaver's hair is done, outfits are sharp and shoes are cute. Is there a reason why I can't manage to incorporate this in my life?
Maybe I'll spend today sorting through my clothes and finding some cute, suitable, outfits that I can play dress up in-even if I'm just around the house. Wait, I have to feed Nugget breakfast, take him for a play date with three other kids next door, walk to the Farmer's Market, make dinner, pick up the license plates from my car, make some follow up phone calls, arrange what day I can meet with a photographer for an article I'm doing on the NYC cart stands next week, give my son a bath, do laundry, and oh-forget it-who has time to look for clothes! Or get a hair cut, did I mention that my hair is inching closer and closer to my butt every week? I'm officially a mess. I need a mom intervention over here.
The Anxiety Came Back To Kill Me On The LIRR
(Yesterday I had to leave my son behind and go into the city. It's something I never get to do, and below is my freak out text that I typed into my phone for you all to read. Please excuse any errors you might find. In order to keep you in the moment and feel what I was experiencing I didn't edit a word. I just hope you still like me after this.)
Just when I think I've conquered it, it pulls me back in. But why? I've been on Xantax for four months now, you know for the Post Partum thing, but I haven't popped a pill in 3 weeks-the last episode was for a family function that I knew I was going to have fun at-go figure. So it strikes me as odd that I'm sitting on the train on the way to the city and I'm panicing.
I love the city. I need the city. I've missed the city.
Before Nugget came I was here once a week, including right up until the week I went into labor. The city is my other lover. It fuels me and feeds my desire for me. I can still remember the first time my mom brought me here. The lights, the vendors, the chaos and of course the smell of roasting nuts because it was Christmas time, sent a ripple through my blood that made my heart leap. That night, as we drove away on the bus, I strained my neck until I could no longer see the beautiful skyline that lit up my window pane. I waited with strong anticipation for our annual NYC trip every year, and every year I fell in love a little more.
I got the courage to pack my bags and tackle the city on my own when I was 21. Filled with vigour and determination I auditioned for the Lee Strasburg Theater Institue and was accepted. I moved into the Women's Only residence in Gramercy Park, hey for a chick who moved to Manhattan without a lot of money and knew no one it wasn't that bad. I got a job at the Friend of a Farmer restuarant down the block as a coffee/pie girl. I loved it. I made my friends and future roomates there, see I didn't stay in the Salvation Army hotel for long, and managed to survive on what I made-and all the coffee and cookies I wanted. It was here, in NYC and at F.O.T.F that I realized my calling-something I had surpressed after being repromanded in my Catholic grade school for what they considered twisted and even called my parents in to ask them if everything was okay at our home-I didn't want to be the one on stage reciting lines to the audience. I wanted to be the one who wrote the lines that brought the audience to tears or left them in fits of laughter. I wanted to be the writer.
Ten years later and here I am, going back into the city for a day as a writer, working on a play that should be Off Broadway this time next year-it's called Just Water and it's a musical about working in a restaurant that's sure to crack you up-Plug Plug. Yet I'm freaking out. My stomach is so twisted that I'm sure I'm about to have massive diarhea all over the place, or vomit, or pee my pants. I'm sitting next to the bathroom, but that doesn't appease my anxiety or my senses. I'm still afraid I'm going to loose control.
Oh God! Someone just sat down next to me, trapping me by the window. His long legs block any chance of a quick escape and I just heard someone go into the bathroom. Oh God! I really think this is it. I'm crossing my legs as tight as I can, yet I know I'm going to pee my pants. Oh someone please stop the train from rocking! I'm not going to make it.
Wait did our train just stop? Why did it just stop? Are we stuck, am I trapped, oh God. Wait-we're here!!! The train's in Penn Station and I didn't even realize.
Ah, it feels good to be back in the city-to be and feel myself once again. The girl who nine months ago wouldn't have been able to disect what it felt like to have anxiety even if you explained it.
Man why is the long legged guy who decided to block me in not getting up yet? MOVE! I want to scream-LET ME OUT!
Did I mention I'm texting this all into my phone in case I don't survive. In case the long legged guy next to me sucks in all the air through his loud breathing nostrils. GET UP!
Ah, I'm out and still texting through the crowd-someone just cursed at me because I bumped into them and I yelled right back. That felt good. A little to good maybe, the guys face dropped and people all turned to stare at me. Well F them. I'm stressed and I don't care if I look crazy. This is a long stretch from how my baby home life would see me, I think, as I wait in the ridicoulous line of a bathroom. Don't these people know I have to Pee!
Oh crap, I just realized, I have to get on the 1 train and go all the way to 103rd Street, which will be crowded and won't have any bathrooms! What if I get diahrea, what if I die? What if someone steals this phone and I can't get this message through? Oh god! Wait, breathe, think, where's the girl who jumped into the back of a van in the back of an alley to get a stolen Louis Vetton bag-I must say it was premium, without a second thought?
Oh yeah she had a baby, got Post Partum and became to fearful to leave the house.
But what am I saying, that I'm going to turn around and go home without a fight? Hell no, I'm just promising myself to be on the 9 o'clock train by the latest. I don't need my anxiety about being sleep deprived to add on top of this. Trust me, you don't even want to go There!
Just when I think I've conquered it, it pulls me back in. But why? I've been on Xantax for four months now, you know for the Post Partum thing, but I haven't popped a pill in 3 weeks-the last episode was for a family function that I knew I was going to have fun at-go figure. So it strikes me as odd that I'm sitting on the train on the way to the city and I'm panicing.
I love the city. I need the city. I've missed the city.
Before Nugget came I was here once a week, including right up until the week I went into labor. The city is my other lover. It fuels me and feeds my desire for me. I can still remember the first time my mom brought me here. The lights, the vendors, the chaos and of course the smell of roasting nuts because it was Christmas time, sent a ripple through my blood that made my heart leap. That night, as we drove away on the bus, I strained my neck until I could no longer see the beautiful skyline that lit up my window pane. I waited with strong anticipation for our annual NYC trip every year, and every year I fell in love a little more.
I got the courage to pack my bags and tackle the city on my own when I was 21. Filled with vigour and determination I auditioned for the Lee Strasburg Theater Institue and was accepted. I moved into the Women's Only residence in Gramercy Park, hey for a chick who moved to Manhattan without a lot of money and knew no one it wasn't that bad. I got a job at the Friend of a Farmer restuarant down the block as a coffee/pie girl. I loved it. I made my friends and future roomates there, see I didn't stay in the Salvation Army hotel for long, and managed to survive on what I made-and all the coffee and cookies I wanted. It was here, in NYC and at F.O.T.F that I realized my calling-something I had surpressed after being repromanded in my Catholic grade school for what they considered twisted and even called my parents in to ask them if everything was okay at our home-I didn't want to be the one on stage reciting lines to the audience. I wanted to be the one who wrote the lines that brought the audience to tears or left them in fits of laughter. I wanted to be the writer.
Ten years later and here I am, going back into the city for a day as a writer, working on a play that should be Off Broadway this time next year-it's called Just Water and it's a musical about working in a restaurant that's sure to crack you up-Plug Plug. Yet I'm freaking out. My stomach is so twisted that I'm sure I'm about to have massive diarhea all over the place, or vomit, or pee my pants. I'm sitting next to the bathroom, but that doesn't appease my anxiety or my senses. I'm still afraid I'm going to loose control.
Oh God! Someone just sat down next to me, trapping me by the window. His long legs block any chance of a quick escape and I just heard someone go into the bathroom. Oh God! I really think this is it. I'm crossing my legs as tight as I can, yet I know I'm going to pee my pants. Oh someone please stop the train from rocking! I'm not going to make it.
Wait did our train just stop? Why did it just stop? Are we stuck, am I trapped, oh God. Wait-we're here!!! The train's in Penn Station and I didn't even realize.
Ah, it feels good to be back in the city-to be and feel myself once again. The girl who nine months ago wouldn't have been able to disect what it felt like to have anxiety even if you explained it.
Man why is the long legged guy who decided to block me in not getting up yet? MOVE! I want to scream-LET ME OUT!
Did I mention I'm texting this all into my phone in case I don't survive. In case the long legged guy next to me sucks in all the air through his loud breathing nostrils. GET UP!
Ah, I'm out and still texting through the crowd-someone just cursed at me because I bumped into them and I yelled right back. That felt good. A little to good maybe, the guys face dropped and people all turned to stare at me. Well F them. I'm stressed and I don't care if I look crazy. This is a long stretch from how my baby home life would see me, I think, as I wait in the ridicoulous line of a bathroom. Don't these people know I have to Pee!
Oh crap, I just realized, I have to get on the 1 train and go all the way to 103rd Street, which will be crowded and won't have any bathrooms! What if I get diahrea, what if I die? What if someone steals this phone and I can't get this message through? Oh god! Wait, breathe, think, where's the girl who jumped into the back of a van in the back of an alley to get a stolen Louis Vetton bag-I must say it was premium, without a second thought?
Oh yeah she had a baby, got Post Partum and became to fearful to leave the house.
But what am I saying, that I'm going to turn around and go home without a fight? Hell no, I'm just promising myself to be on the 9 o'clock train by the latest. I don't need my anxiety about being sleep deprived to add on top of this. Trust me, you don't even want to go There!
Monday, October 6, 2008
Horrible Mom Moments
We all make mistakes. We've all done something that we later looked back upon and asked ourselves what we were thinking.
My first moment was the time I left my son unattended in the tub. I know-Gasp! It was a quick lapse-in-the-brain judgement that I've been ashamed of ever since. Nugget loves his baths, and it was during his bath that he sat up for the first time. He was captivated by the running water and pulled himself up so he could run his fingers through it. In my excitement I ran out of the bathroom to grab my camera, which was just a few feet away on the kitchen cabinet-but I know that doesn't matter. I got caught up in the moment, snapped a zillion pictures, called my husband and praised my son. It wasn't until I was rinsing him off that I realized what I had done. Immediately my smile melted, my stomach dropped and the brace I had around my son grew tight and apologetic. You always watch the news about some woman who had left her kids unattended in the tub and they drowned or burned themselves and wondered what kind of mother could do that, now here I was one of those mothers. When I think about what could have happened. Ugg! For crying out loud it was the first time he ever sat up, he could have tipped over and fallen back into the water unable to breath while I trotted off to get my camera.
That was 5 months ago and I still cringe when I think about it.
The second horrible mother incident came a month later. You would have thought I'd have been on my game since the tub night, but in another not-to-bright afternoon my son rolled off my bed. Rolled is actually to loose of a term, flew off the bed is more like it. Bending down to pick up a quick basket of laundry I'd been sorting, I suddenly saw something fly through the air out of the corner of my eye, heard a loud thud and then shrilling screams. I picked up my son, held him tight and did a thorough check for bruises, broken bones or brain damage. I phoned the Pediatrician, who after several questions, assured me that my son was okay and that I was very lucky. Don't worry I received a scolding by him about leaving a baby alone on high surfaces. That I had already known and been normally very good at doing. But to be frank, I was naive enough to think that my bed was to big for him to roll from one side to the other.
Poor Nugget, he wouldn't let me put him down for the rest of the day. Whenever I tried he'd scream at the top of his lungs and clung to my shirt like a cat. I felt so guilty that I held him close and nuzzled him while he took his two hour nap in my arms. I didn't dare set him down, even as he snored. I just sat there in the silent room and kissed his head. I was a scum mother yet again.
But yesterday I did something stupid. Something that left me wondering what I could be thinking and what my problem with reality and the true consequences of a child, could be. After returning from swim class, and almost falling asleep while pushing the stroller again, I placed Nugget down on the floor with his toys and walked back down the stairs to bring his stroller in. As a Halloween fanatic my husband and I decked out our house, particularly the hallway, with witches, goblins, glow in the dark eyes-and most importantly a hanging skeleton chandelier that shakes, laughs and blinks blue and red colors when you walk down the stairs. Nugget thinks this chandelier is fantastic. As soon as we walk down the stairs he shouts at it, he thinks this is what makes it go off-not that we're walking under it, and twists his whole body in my arms so he can stare at it and shout some more. It's funny actually. Until, as I'm pulling the stroller in the hallway, I hear him shout. To my horror I whip around to see Nugget and his dog at the ledge of the stairs. One movement and he would have went head first. All because I stupidly didn't shut the door behind me. Without another thought I dashed up the stairs, I think I actually leaped on air, and caught my son before he went down. Oh My God! How stupid could I be? Why on earth would I even think that my son couldn't crawl from the living room to the kitchen doorway? I felt horrible. I feel horrible. I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about what could have been.
The one time that something horrible didn't happen, but had large potential. It's moments like these that make me question what kind of mother I am. Sure I care about Nugget. I love him, play with him, feed him and make sure he is utterly taken care of. But, how could someone who is a responsible mother have such lulls in judgement? Sigh.
I kissed Nugget and held him tight all day today, but it still didn't take the sickening feeling in my stomach away. At this moment I want to pull him from his crib and pull him into my bed with me, where I can hold him tight and breath in his faint baby scent all evening. But I'm afraid that with all my lapse I might get him caught up in the sheets or roll over him in my sleep.
My first moment was the time I left my son unattended in the tub. I know-Gasp! It was a quick lapse-in-the-brain judgement that I've been ashamed of ever since. Nugget loves his baths, and it was during his bath that he sat up for the first time. He was captivated by the running water and pulled himself up so he could run his fingers through it. In my excitement I ran out of the bathroom to grab my camera, which was just a few feet away on the kitchen cabinet-but I know that doesn't matter. I got caught up in the moment, snapped a zillion pictures, called my husband and praised my son. It wasn't until I was rinsing him off that I realized what I had done. Immediately my smile melted, my stomach dropped and the brace I had around my son grew tight and apologetic. You always watch the news about some woman who had left her kids unattended in the tub and they drowned or burned themselves and wondered what kind of mother could do that, now here I was one of those mothers. When I think about what could have happened. Ugg! For crying out loud it was the first time he ever sat up, he could have tipped over and fallen back into the water unable to breath while I trotted off to get my camera.
That was 5 months ago and I still cringe when I think about it.
The second horrible mother incident came a month later. You would have thought I'd have been on my game since the tub night, but in another not-to-bright afternoon my son rolled off my bed. Rolled is actually to loose of a term, flew off the bed is more like it. Bending down to pick up a quick basket of laundry I'd been sorting, I suddenly saw something fly through the air out of the corner of my eye, heard a loud thud and then shrilling screams. I picked up my son, held him tight and did a thorough check for bruises, broken bones or brain damage. I phoned the Pediatrician, who after several questions, assured me that my son was okay and that I was very lucky. Don't worry I received a scolding by him about leaving a baby alone on high surfaces. That I had already known and been normally very good at doing. But to be frank, I was naive enough to think that my bed was to big for him to roll from one side to the other.
Poor Nugget, he wouldn't let me put him down for the rest of the day. Whenever I tried he'd scream at the top of his lungs and clung to my shirt like a cat. I felt so guilty that I held him close and nuzzled him while he took his two hour nap in my arms. I didn't dare set him down, even as he snored. I just sat there in the silent room and kissed his head. I was a scum mother yet again.
But yesterday I did something stupid. Something that left me wondering what I could be thinking and what my problem with reality and the true consequences of a child, could be. After returning from swim class, and almost falling asleep while pushing the stroller again, I placed Nugget down on the floor with his toys and walked back down the stairs to bring his stroller in. As a Halloween fanatic my husband and I decked out our house, particularly the hallway, with witches, goblins, glow in the dark eyes-and most importantly a hanging skeleton chandelier that shakes, laughs and blinks blue and red colors when you walk down the stairs. Nugget thinks this chandelier is fantastic. As soon as we walk down the stairs he shouts at it, he thinks this is what makes it go off-not that we're walking under it, and twists his whole body in my arms so he can stare at it and shout some more. It's funny actually. Until, as I'm pulling the stroller in the hallway, I hear him shout. To my horror I whip around to see Nugget and his dog at the ledge of the stairs. One movement and he would have went head first. All because I stupidly didn't shut the door behind me. Without another thought I dashed up the stairs, I think I actually leaped on air, and caught my son before he went down. Oh My God! How stupid could I be? Why on earth would I even think that my son couldn't crawl from the living room to the kitchen doorway? I felt horrible. I feel horrible. I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about what could have been.
The one time that something horrible didn't happen, but had large potential. It's moments like these that make me question what kind of mother I am. Sure I care about Nugget. I love him, play with him, feed him and make sure he is utterly taken care of. But, how could someone who is a responsible mother have such lulls in judgement? Sigh.
I kissed Nugget and held him tight all day today, but it still didn't take the sickening feeling in my stomach away. At this moment I want to pull him from his crib and pull him into my bed with me, where I can hold him tight and breath in his faint baby scent all evening. But I'm afraid that with all my lapse I might get him caught up in the sheets or roll over him in my sleep.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
They're Going Down
I've always wanted to be June Cleaver. Don't ask why. It's just a vision I've always had of myself since I was little. I know what my house looks like, my kitchen's white and my writing room is a cozy little loft/attic that's filled with sunshine and a L-shaped white desk. There's also a tree outside the window in the loft that looks out onto the green yard beside my writing seat. I will have at least 3 children, 2 boys and 1 girl, a successful writing career, a craft station where I doddle and make things for the home and best of all I will have warm hot chocolate and fresh baked cookies ready for my kids when they come home from school. We'll sit around and talk about their day, I'll help them with their homework, I'll horse around with them and enjoy my time, cook warm suppers that we'll all sit around the table and laugh and tell stories, and finally we'll all congregate in the living room, where I'm knitting or making someone, and watch television and movies together.
I guarantee 90% of people reading this are laughing out loud, while the other 10%, being my friends and family, who am I kidding they're probably the 90% who's reading this, are scratching their heads and saying, "What?"
You see, that's because pre-Nugget I was a wild, reckless character who talked loud, played hard and never slowed down. And now I'm talking about being June Cleaver?
That's right, but I've found the twist. Little by little I've been thinking of ways to manage my time better. I've pondered the question, "How can I be June Cleaver, but still be myself" and I feel as if I'm getting closer to it. It goes right back to the saying quality not quantity. Each day I do something small. I may have 5 other projects that are lying around the house to be done, my husband is so ready to kill me, but one by one I'm knocking them out of the park and creating a June Cleaver world that's going to be more than fun.
To name a few things that I've accomplished, I've made my own baby food from fruit and veggies at the local Farmer's Market (enough to store for weeks on end to save me time and hassle), I've made my own tomato sauce from local Long Island summer tomatoes, you've never tasted anything as delicious as the fresh taste of homemade summer sauce (again, I made enough to fill my freezer and give away to neighbors and friends as a nice thank you gesture), made homemade chicken and beef soup (enough again-running out of freezer room), begun to organize my recipes (I'm dividing them up in separate notebooks marked Deserts, Sides, Entrees and Others), started collecting sea shells for a home craft project I'm in the mist of and best of all-I've made and successfully completed Nuggets first Halloween costume. That's right-I made it!! And better yet, I thought it turned out so cute that I took the scraps and made the same one for my dog so I can put them together next week for photos, which I will send out with a 'Happy Halloween' label to all my friends and family.
As someone once said on TV that stuck with me, "I'm becoming the woman I always hoped I'd be."
And it's true. I finally feel like I'm on my way. I've found a balance in my crazy life that allows me to write, cook, craft, complete the million phone calls and errands I have and raise a healthy and happy son who's with me through thick and thin. I am now on the way to becoming the woman I want to be-and it feels right.
I've been overlooked
It's a long folklore with Italians, you have to protect yourselves from others who wish you harm. It can come from jealousy, anger, spite, etc. but for whatever reason someone who wishes you evil or improper thoughts can 'overlook you.' You can feel the results of being overlooked many ways, one of which can be an aching headache. There are blessings that Italians do to ward off Overlooker's and there are protective charms they wear around their necks, the symbol of a hand with two fingers pointing downwards. My grandmother gave me mine years ago, but I can't remember what I did with it. Well, I better start thinking quick because someone has wished me evil injustice. My son, a well sleeper thanks to the Baby Guru(I will definitely be introducing you to her soon),has suddenly started popping up in the middle of the night to play. I'm talking waking around 11, going back down at 12 and then getting right back up at 3am to talk, play and cry and cry until we can get him to go back down-we've yet to manage to do that in less than an hour.
At first I thought it was because I switched his formula. Maybe he was hungry, not getting enough nourishment, etc. So I tried to give him a bottle he didn't want. Next I thought it was because he was sitting up. It was kind of humorous actually, as humorous as one can be at 3 in the morning, I'd walked over to his crib and there he'd be sitting up crying. Only his arms would be down by his side and his chin was resting on his chest.
"I think he sits up accidentally and then can't figure out how to get back down," I told my husband one night.
As cruel as it sounds we actually peeked in on him for a few minutes as he sat and cried, his body limp and tired, and giggled. It was so cute! And we couldn't laugh in front of him. We try not even to make eye contact at night, because once we do he interprets that into play time. Then someone told me it's because my sons crawling, and once they're crawling and active they have a harder time sleeping because they want to taste their freedom again and again.
But now I think that's all malarkey and I'm admitting the truth to myself-I've been overlooked. And for probably good reason. My son goes down every night at 6:30 and sleeps until 7 or 7:30 am. I know, I'd probably overlook me to.
But to the Overlooker out there who wished me harm, aka a son who keeps popping up in the middle of the night for the past week, I'd like you to know that it wasn't always this easy. My son was a son who didn't nap, took forever to sleep through the night and cried a lot. But, then I met the Baby Guru and that all changed. She showed me what I was doing wrong, taught me how to put my son down at night and best of all she got him to take two 2 hours naps in the day and go down, in the day or night, without being rocked, rubbed or soothed. I simple kiss him on the forehead, lay him in his crib and smile to myself as he drifts off into the night, or day.
I'll introduce you to the Guru soon enough, but for now I have to find someone to take this Overlook off me!
At first I thought it was because I switched his formula. Maybe he was hungry, not getting enough nourishment, etc. So I tried to give him a bottle he didn't want. Next I thought it was because he was sitting up. It was kind of humorous actually, as humorous as one can be at 3 in the morning, I'd walked over to his crib and there he'd be sitting up crying. Only his arms would be down by his side and his chin was resting on his chest.
"I think he sits up accidentally and then can't figure out how to get back down," I told my husband one night.
As cruel as it sounds we actually peeked in on him for a few minutes as he sat and cried, his body limp and tired, and giggled. It was so cute! And we couldn't laugh in front of him. We try not even to make eye contact at night, because once we do he interprets that into play time. Then someone told me it's because my sons crawling, and once they're crawling and active they have a harder time sleeping because they want to taste their freedom again and again.
But now I think that's all malarkey and I'm admitting the truth to myself-I've been overlooked. And for probably good reason. My son goes down every night at 6:30 and sleeps until 7 or 7:30 am. I know, I'd probably overlook me to.
But to the Overlooker out there who wished me harm, aka a son who keeps popping up in the middle of the night for the past week, I'd like you to know that it wasn't always this easy. My son was a son who didn't nap, took forever to sleep through the night and cried a lot. But, then I met the Baby Guru and that all changed. She showed me what I was doing wrong, taught me how to put my son down at night and best of all she got him to take two 2 hours naps in the day and go down, in the day or night, without being rocked, rubbed or soothed. I simple kiss him on the forehead, lay him in his crib and smile to myself as he drifts off into the night, or day.
I'll introduce you to the Guru soon enough, but for now I have to find someone to take this Overlook off me!
Friday, October 3, 2008
In Loving Memory
Today is a sad day my friends. I never thought I'd feel as sad or remorseful as I do about my loss. I had know it was coming for over a year, but I hadn't planned for the day when it would arrive-that phone call that would give me the terrible news and for that I am heart broken.
At first I accepted it, rolled it off as something that was inevitable, but today, as I get ready to attend the funeral I can't stop the memories from flooding my head. We'd spent so many nights driving around when I lived Upstate. We'd crank the radio as high it could go, roll the windows down, or turn the heat on depending on the season, sing at the top of our lungs and clear our head-not returning home until the gas tank was low. College was a struggle. Should I write or teach writing? Should I move back to NYC and pursue what I wanted or get a degree? Would T.S. Elliot really help me through life? Whatever my doubt was my friend held my hand and got me to class everyday until I eventually graduated. Then there was my wedding. She went with me to all the halls, church appointments, florist appointments, dress fittings and of course my bachelorette party back in NYC. She waited for me when I came back from my honeymoon, delighted in the excitement that moving to Long Island brought, got my husband through the first two years of his job in Garden City and last year got me through the daily trips to the doctor during my pregnancy.
Sadly, nine months have passed since I really had time alone with her. I can't think of the last time I rode around, cranked the music and let the wind blow through my hair. We used to be two peas in a pod and suddenly she was brushed aside, left waiting for me to beckon her, need her or want her-and I didn't. She was no longer an asset in my life. And to be honest, my husband had found someone else. Someone who got us home from the hospital with our brand new son, helped us through doctors appointments and brought us closer to our family. I know she watched me from the sidelines, hoping I'd see her sadness and need to be with me, but I was oblivious. And now, as I walk over to Friendly's Automotive Car Service to get the belongings I left behind with her, I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to her? Does she go to heaven? Will her parts be put to good use? Or will she rot into the ground blaming me for leaving her?
I loved my green Daewoo more than anyone else. I stood by her side and came to her rescue when others mocked or ridiculed her. And I hope, for the sake of the new driver, or parts holder, that they will be as good to her and give her the love and attention I've failed to give over the last year. And, if she's to far gone to be assisted, I ask that she be given a proper burial among the other junkyard cars who've also been pushed aside and forgotten.
My heart and memory will always be with her. So today I dedicate a day of morning for my Daewoo. She was a beautiful car, who may not have had a company backing, a name anyone heard of or a transmission that slide into gear without the help of my sunglasses wedged in between, but she was fun, vibrant and caused honks from other random Daewoo drives along the road. She will be miss greatly and will never be forgotten. RIP Daewoo.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Something Smells Fishy....
In a random celebration, a celebration of the end of summer, a healthy child and a dog who's anxiety seems to be decreasing towards the baby, my husband and I indulged ourselves in one last clam bake on Saturday night.
Splendid Jordan's was still open. So with one swift phone call we ordered a clam bake for two, got some Corona's and sat and feasted on a meal fit for kings. Definitely not one fit for parents who were supposed to baby proof and slacked off, but that might be the bad karma that has seemed to follow to meal.
You see, after we ate, licked our fingers, sucked any remaining meat out of shells, wiped the nuggets of corn from our mouths with our sleeves and went to bed I awoke to the retched smell of fish. Bad fish. Stinky fish.
I'd thrown all the shells outside before we'd went to bed, but the house still stank. I cleaned, scrubbed and eventually threw away anything that the lobster or butter may have touched, but I still smell it. Like a skunk hiding in the bush, I walk into the apartment and get a whiff of something that makes my stomach curl.
My husband thinks I'm deranged. He smells nothing. But it's there-lingering in my kitchen, my living room, my bed sheets-haunting my dreams, my day and reminding me of the vast punishment I'm facing. Like Poe's beating heart under the floorboards, my lobster stink is the creeping guilt of what I was supposed to do for my son. but indulged myself instead.
Baby Proofing Take 3
So we got the cabinet links, toilet seat lock, wooden gates and all the other fun baby proofing tools, only they're not as easy to set up as one would have thought. Who knew you had to drill these locks into the insides of the cabinets? I imagined they were attached with sticky things or magnets. Needless to say, after a full day of grocery shopping, baby proofing shopping, and mommy jean shopping (need I say more?)my husband and I got the energy to lock the cabinet under the sink-and that was all.
I know we're not rich or famous, but at this moment I truly wish we were so that someone could just come in here and do this for us, because at this rate our baby proofing apartment is never going to get done!
By the way, do you think that same person who could baby proof our house could organize my cabinets and sort through the junk that's cluttered up some of my drawers?
I know we're not rich or famous, but at this moment I truly wish we were so that someone could just come in here and do this for us, because at this rate our baby proofing apartment is never going to get done!
By the way, do you think that same person who could baby proof our house could organize my cabinets and sort through the junk that's cluttered up some of my drawers?
The Morning Dwellers Are On Park Avenue
My S.I.L Pucker uses the best scenario to describe motherhood. "What do you mean the mall doesn't open until 10?" To others this story would probably raise a questionable brow, but to mothers it's answered with a knowing giggle and a "What's up with that," conversation.
Becoming a mother means so many things, things like sore nipples, sleep deprivation, dark circles, stained clothes, early bedtimes, missed late night television programs that everyone talks about and a world that seems vacant until after ten am. But to those mothers who seem lost in the morning, searching for any type of human contact due to the child who gets up at 6am when even the Today show isn't even on yet, I've found your cure. It's known as Park Avenue. There in the mist of the coffee shops, diners, gyms and churches you'll find a sea of people getting ready for work, running to the train, ordering x-large coffees and working off those late night drinks they may have consumed. But more importantly you know what you'll find-mothers pushing their children in strollers! That's right, just like you other moms whose children get up at 6 am are seeking human comfort-it may not be in the form of verbal discussions, but sometimes being among the crowd and seeing the scene unfold is enough to make you feel like your part of the rest of the world. For that, and the window shopping that I do everyday, I love Park Avenue. Even when I'm alone it can make me feel as if I'm surrounded.
Becoming a mother means so many things, things like sore nipples, sleep deprivation, dark circles, stained clothes, early bedtimes, missed late night television programs that everyone talks about and a world that seems vacant until after ten am. But to those mothers who seem lost in the morning, searching for any type of human contact due to the child who gets up at 6am when even the Today show isn't even on yet, I've found your cure. It's known as Park Avenue. There in the mist of the coffee shops, diners, gyms and churches you'll find a sea of people getting ready for work, running to the train, ordering x-large coffees and working off those late night drinks they may have consumed. But more importantly you know what you'll find-mothers pushing their children in strollers! That's right, just like you other moms whose children get up at 6 am are seeking human comfort-it may not be in the form of verbal discussions, but sometimes being among the crowd and seeing the scene unfold is enough to make you feel like your part of the rest of the world. For that, and the window shopping that I do everyday, I love Park Avenue. Even when I'm alone it can make me feel as if I'm surrounded.
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