JUST MARRIED

Eat it, Bitches!

2009-09-16T20:27:00.004-04:00

I seriously have to stop with the sarcastic swearing. My two year old recently said "it's hot up in here, bitches" and though I deny fervently that she learned that from me...I'm going out on a limb and thinking it maaaaaaaaayyyyyyy have been something I said as a joke once (or five times) after hearing it on the Real World Cancun.

Wait. Did you hear that? I have a TWO YEAR OLD. How was this allowed to happen? I mean, I remember having a baby, but I don't remember ordering a two year old. Well regardless of her growth and ever expanding hysterical vocabulary and adorable Shirley Temple esque-ness, I seem to fall deeper for that kid each and every second of each and every day. Except when she does this low growl thing when she doesn't get her way...then my ears start to bleed and I want to stick a fork in my eye, but the only fork I have handy is inevitably her toddler fork and frankly, it's too dull to really cause any permanent injury. Besides, even blind I would still be able to HEAR the low growl thing, so I guess that instinct isn't that well thought out. But I suppose instincts aren't really ever well thought out are they.

But I digress. Do you remember when I was a newlywed and I told you about my mixer? Yeah, well I conquered that bastard (again with the swearing) this weekend. I did it in honor of my baby's second birthday. So who's laughing now kitchenaid? Me. I'm laughing now (mainly because I am overly exhausted from the making of the cake, and delirious from the lack of sleep and sheer stress of making the cake)! Seriously, I made this you guys:

Myself. From scratch. It involved cocoa powder, finely chopped semisweet chocolate, coffee, flour and tears. Oh, so many tears. Plus, I pulled my eyebrows out almost completely and had to have a stress test on Monday morning, so that was an added bonus!

Two weeks before her birthday, I made the mistake of telling my family that I was going to make a Bert and Ernie cake for the baby's birthday. I even went so far as to buy the vintage Wilton cake pan from ebay. The response was totally supportive. If by supportive you mean laugh in your face at the mere suggestion of baking a cake, then quickly compose yourself when you realize I am not, in fact, making a joke, and then offering to order a "backup cake." Yeah. So once I said I was doing it out loud and had been disrespected like a west coast rapper, I knew there was no turning back.

So I baked my ass off people. It was for my little baby. I had to do it as a labor of love and a sign of my affection for her. But more importantly than lovingly making her second birthday cake, I wanted my family to have to BITE ME...errrr...I mean, bite into the moist chocolatiness of the best birthday cake ever.

It started out fine. I mixed and chopped, and sifted, and separated and brewed. The batter was heavenly and the baby got to enjoy the time honored tradition of licking the bowl (which frankly, is another post onto itself). But despite greasing the bejeebus out of the Bert and Ernie pan, the cake stuck and was ruined when I tried to get it out. And I can honestly say, with total sincerity, that it was one of the lowest points in my life. Right up there with the cancellation of West Wing. There were tears, and there was cursing. I'm talking serious, non sarcastic, drunk truck driver fighting a drunker sailor cursing. And the hope was gone and I wanted to end it all. Just call the bakery and order a rush cake. I was lower than Britney Spears circa 2008.

But then I heard the echoes of laughing of those that claim they love me and are related to me. And I dug deep y'all (see totally lower than Britney). Deep to the depths of my soul. And I pressed on. And I made the best cake that ever was made in the history of family parties in my family. And I was proud. Possibly prouder of myself than the day I passed the Bar Exam. Possibly prouder of myself than the day I graduated college. No definitely prouder than the day I graduated college, I mean, it wasn't really like a graduation since I just resumed going there in the fall for law school, but you catch my drift right?

As I pulled a muscle patting myself on the back for making the WORLD's BEST CAKE EVER...my mom reminded me that I still had to frost it. That woman can be cruel sometimes. But whatever, I wasn't going to let that get me down. How hard could that be right?

Well SIX hours later, hands stained from the coloring, fingers numb from the decorating bags, sweating, neck cramped from concentrating and hunching over the mother f-ing cake, and getting frosting into places that one should never have to deal with frosting in, the cake was done. IT WAS BRILLIANT! I almost woke the baby, long after sending her to bed, just to show her how much her mommy loved her.

I mean it was a MOMENT, a MO. MENT. My Moment. I just sat back and looked at my masterpiece. And promptly told my husband that I am never. under. any. circumstances. doing. that. again. Then I gave the kitchenaid mixer the finger and went to bed.

The next day, I soaked in the praise of all the naysayers who said I couldn't do it. I seriously reveled in the glory of them having to "EAT IT!" But then do you know what those so called family members wanted to do...what they had the audacity to say to me after all that hard work, after the epic universe shifting battle with the mixer and the blood sweat and tears that went into that cake?

THEY WANTED TO KNOW WHEN WE WERE CUTTING IT! Can you believe that crap? Cutting it! AS IF. I mean if you want to eat cake, I suggest you go out to your car and get that backup cake you ordered.

just kidding, I let them eat it, those thankless trolls!

2009-09-02T19:08:00.003-04:00

I am sitting alone at 7:00, normally the crazy dinner hour where everyone eats something different unless I find the time to cook something. Then we eat together, the baby saying "something else", my husband trying to keep a smile on his face and sincerity in his voice when he tells me what I made is good. And I just give the run down on what I didn't do right, and what I would change the next time I make this. Which will inevitably be a long time from now because to be honest, I don't really cook that much.

But not tonight. Tonight I am alone, sitting on the red check couch I foolishly picked out right after we bought our first (and only) house. Back when I was young, on the verge of getting married, on the verge of grown-upedness. Back when I thought I knew what I wanted. Now I sit on this couch and wish I could go back to that twenty something, and tell her a thing or two...least of all not to buy the damn checked couch, to listen to Nate from Oprah and buy a solid neutral couch. Tastes will change, and disposable income will be sparse in the future, and you will regret the red check. But in a way sitting on it reminds me of all those stupid things you have to learn the hard way-the things countless others who have been down the road before you warn you about, but somehow you are compelled to make the decision on your own and learn not from advice, but from making the mistake on your own. It's not just you, you know it because you have told those coming down the road behind you to go for the beige couch, and they are, this very night, probably sitting on their own funky blue paisley loveseat having similar regrets. A right of passage I suppose.

And it's okay with me. All these stupid mistakes that turn out to be life lessons. Some small, like the red check couches, some larger, like quitting my job right before the economy goes down the sewer. But none devastating, none that can't be righted eventually. None leave a lasting scar, and most provide endless entertainment in the form of "remember how stupid we were when..." stories.

But in my solitude, and on my check couches, I am restless. I am not often alone, and the quiet makes me uneasy. My mind races. The baby, who is no longer a baby, is at my mom's for the night. My husband is teaching at his alma mater until late, and the house sits still. Her little chuck taylors are strewn on the floor, with puzzle pieces and little people barn animals and bike helmets and baseball gloves. I don't pick them up until right before my husband comes home because they comfort me and remind me of her. When she is here, I consider it a mess, but when she is gone, even if only for the night, the 'mess' is my reminder of her.

I am lonely without them. Which is ironic because I so often wish for a night alone. But I need their noise and screaming delights and 'get my hiney' chasing games. I need the chaos that they bring because it is what calms me most of all. And though the red check couches were a disastrous choice, I think they were meant to be in a way. I don't care that she leaves a half eaten apple on the cushion, or spills a little milk when I grab her off to tickle her in the mornings. They are getting worn, and I see the beginnings of fray, and there are some chocolate like substances on the arm cover. But it doesn't bother me, because I think "this is my life. These couches are broken in, comfortable, lived in" like my life.

I am itchy and can't sit still. I want him to come home from his class, fill the house with sound. I want her to ask me for a treat after not eating her dinner. I want to feel them both, smell them both. She has inherited his exact smell, and I miss it now. I want to tell him sternly that it is time for her to go to bed, and to have him plead for 15 more minutes with her, drag out her bath time even against my direct instructions not to. My heart swells when I think about them, and I miss them more than is reasonable given it is one freaking night. Just 7 hours of solitude that I routinely wish for... be careful what you wish for, because you may not really understand what you want.

Once I wanted red checked couches. Once I wanted a night off from them.

I sit on the red checked couch and wish I could go back and tell my twenty something self that she doesn't really know what she wants, that times change, tastes change. Don't get those ugly country bumpkin couches. They won't go with anything.

And then it occurs to me that when I am fortysomething, and my baby is too big to hold, when she takes her own showers, and doesn't need to be rocked and sung to sleep, when she doesn't require so much of my time and my energy, when she doesn't call out to me through a monitor at an ungodly hour in the morning, I will sit on my (hopefully pale gray neutral by that time) sofa and wish I could go back to my thirtysomething self and tell her to soak it in, because these are the best of times.

And my thirtysomething self, will say, "I know."

MAMA, THAT'S A REALLY BIG BUNNY!

2009-04-13T09:49:00.003-04:00

We had gone to see the Easter Bunny at the Mall about a week before Easter, and having talked up the Easter Bunny for about a month, she ran right up to him knowing what to expect basically. However, in all my preparation telling her about Easter and the Easter Bunny, I guess I neglected to tell her that the bunny was about the size of an average adult. The consequence was her complete surprise at how LARGE the Easter bunny was.

She ran right up to the Easter Bunny, looked at him, and promptly turned around to face me, yelling "MAMA THAT'S A REALLY BIG BUNNY!" Then the Easter Bunny laughed out loud. You know, the same bunny that isn't supposed to make a sound? Yeah, well, Mall Bunnies. What amateurs.

Until on Easter she encountered the Easter Bunny again at a lovely brunch down the shore (at the beach for those not in the know about New Jersey Lingo). And RINSE. REPEAT. Again; "MAMA THAT'S A REALLY BIG BUNNY, BIIIIIIIGGGGGG BBUUUUUUNNNNNNNNYYYYYYY!" And again, the bunny laughed out loud. Is it me, or are bunnies really not what they used to be?

It was hysterical though. So I don't really blame the Easter Bunny. But I gave him some of my best lines, and he didn't even chuckle...

I just don't get bunny humor I guess...

But we had a great Easter: THE HIGHLIGHTS...

A basket that was heavy on books, bubbles and balls, but conspicuously light on the candy...

Dying Easter Eggs...Did you know that if you allow your child to dye eggs the night before Easter, the coloring won't come out for the fancy Easter Brunch the next morning?

And the brunch in our Easter Best

Ebay

2009-04-08T20:58:00.003-04:00

Obviously, I don't have a personality conducive to ebay. Clearly I have a problem with the competition aspect of an auction. So I am banning myself from it before my husband finds out I have spent the equivalent of our mortgage on summer clothes for the baby.

It started innocently enough...I love to dress her in clothes from Janie and Jack, but their line this summer just isn't doing it for me. I LOVED their stuff from last year though and through my resourceful nature, figured out that you can get never worn items on ebay from last summer. I mean, resourceful right? One might even say economically responsible in these hard times.

So I went on and found the most darling outfits, all new, all discounted because they were "so last season." I was happily patting myself on the back for being the world's best bargain hunter and wondering why I hadn't thought of this before, when I placed my first bid. Little did I know thats all it would take to be sucked into the smarmy underworld of online auctions and ebay addiction.

That my friends, is when I lost all sense of reality...suddenly it was me against "them". "Them", no doubt being other mothers like myself who were innocently looking for a bargain to cloth their child in an adorable Lilly Pulitzer summer shift. I mean, I now realize that. Hindsight is 20/20 I suppose. But at the time, I turned into some form of high rolling bidder who just wanted to WIN. They couldn't beat me...who do these moms think they are kidding? And why can't I get more information on them, like their home addresses so I can threaten them with bodily harm if they place one more bid on that dress from Janie and Jack's Paris line?

I don't know what is sadder, that I turned ebay, and shopping for my 18 month old, into a blood sport, or that I only stopped because I realized I had spent $300 on LAST SEASON'S clothing.

Like all addicts, I am so ashamed.

I'm not entirely familiar with the 12 steps, but I think one of them is contrition isn't it?

To the person who wanted the pink searsucker Ralph Lauren bathing suit in a size 2t, I apologize for bumping up the price out of spite and in retribution for your stealing....I mean winning....the Lilly Pulitzer shift. I mean, my Buddha doesn't even fit into size 2t. I humbly apologize.

And I assure you, I will be shopping for bargains somewhere that doesn't implicate the competitive edge that appears Incredible Hulk style when I am in situations that have hypothetical "winners" and "losers".

Also, I am pretty sure that for the good of my marriage, I should never, ever go to Vegas.

Sweet Sassy Molassy

2009-04-07T14:26:00.007-04:00

Where was I...umm you know before the whole, "I quit my job to take the summer off, and then the economy imploded so I am still staying at home with my baby who is no longer a baby because HOLY CRAP she talks and walks and knows her alphabet and how to count to 15 IN SPANISH!"

(well I think she knows how to count to 15 in spanish. I only know how to count to 10 in spanish, so I am giving her the benefit of the doubt on 11-15.)

Oh, and we might be moving into a van down by the river soon. You know, because of the whole no job thing. But we are happy, and I am not stressed at ALL-unless you count the spanish speaking number counting thing. Then I am a teeny bit stressed, because honestly? I CAN NOT WATCH ANOTHER EPISODE OF DORA. Seriously. I can't.

Are you sensing how glamorous my life is?

So to catch you up in a nutshell...

First, she turned one.
Then she learned how to talk. Like really talk. Today she said "Help me, Help me, I'm falling mama" and then laughed hysterically as I ran in to see that she in fact did NOT need help, but was instead seeing how fast I could move.

Also, I went on a bunch of interviews. Then I drove to New York and punched AIG and Merrill Lynch and Bear Stearns in the face. I couldn't find DORA or I would have punched her while I was handing out knuckle sandwiches.

Then she turned 18 months...I mean, before I even knew it. She just flew right through being a baby and moved on to toddler.

Then the winter was over and the spring sprung.

So what's up with you?

Who AM I?

2008-06-30T11:20:00.002-04:00

Day one of stay at home "mom-dom". We went on a walk for an hour, and I vacuumed the downstairs and did all the dishes. Now she's napping.

Ummmm...I know I should be thankful for this time, and that I should soak her up like crazy...but....ummmmm....

Seriously, who am I anymore? I feel likeI have no identity without working. I feel guilty for not bringingin any money, and so think maybe I should be cleaning the entire house, doing all the errands, tuning up the car. How do I earn my keep around here?

Does anyone else feel this way? I know I shouldn't, my husband certainly doesn't feel that way about my new role. But still....

Is this going to get easier? Am I going to figure out my place in this family now that I'm not bringing home the bacon? OH GOD, am I going to have to COOK the bacon my husband brings home? Because I am half Jewish, and I really don't think I could stomach cooking bacon.

The smell alone. Eeeewwww, God. I hate bacon. Wait. What the hell was I even talking about? Oh yes, being a stay at home mom. I can see this will be a tough transition. What I am most nervous about is being so preoccupied with worrying about not getting another job, that I don't enjoy the time off I do have with her.

Well, that and housekeeping. I have a total fear and revulsion to housekeeping.

Still on Vacation...

2008-06-26T18:05:00.003-04:00

I have to get back to more substantive posting. The documenting of her life is passing me by.

But then, the actual living of her life is keeping me occupied at the moment...

I am sure anyone who has ever had their kids photographed can appreciate the above picture. I'm not proud of the dancing that ensued on the beach, but thankfully, the photographer's back was to us.

Unemployed and on Vacation

2008-06-25T09:35:00.003-04:00

Qutting your job is great! We have been doing alot, like this:

and oh! Slightly more exciting:

and a whole lot of this:

I just want to soak them up as much as I can...

CLAP FOR ME! (could also be titled, Grandma doesn't make me wear pants to nap!)

2008-06-17T11:19:00.003-04:00

Seriously? We need to stop cheering every time she takes a breath. The kid looks for applause each and every time she pulls herself up. Look at her, she is raising her arm up all like "I am TRIUMPHANT! Everyone CHEER for me!"

(By the way, does she rock the bed head look or what?)

I QUIT

2008-06-16T09:25:00.003-04:00

My job.

The lack of posting has really been a testament to how stressful and overwhelming...and decidedly NOT FAMILY FRIENDLY my job has been. After giving me the stink eye for a few months every day when I left at 5 or 5:30(despite coming in a full hour before everyone else), and mentioning that I never come in on the weekends, and then finally telling me that although they agreed to let me work from "home" one day a week, "yeah, we aren't going to let you do that anymore"...I said F.U.

Actually, I politely told them I thought it wasn't working out, and I was going to have to resign with a heavy heart, but could I have a recommendation for any future gig I might try to get? Thanks so much. I will totally miss you guys, thanks for being such great bosses!

But on the inside, I was totally "F.U. A-holes, you totally suck it and you have been resentful and mean since I got pregnant and have treated me poorly now that I have a baby and I'm pretty sure all the shit you have been heaping on me rises to the level of discrimination and I should sue you people because the whole thing has been unfair since last August right before I gave birth and you were emailing me while I was in LABOR and every day on my maternity leave...THEY CALL IT MATERNITY 'LEAVE' FOR A REASON you know, Jackass...and thanks for even asking about the baby ONE SINGLE M-Fing time...would that have killed you? You can take your "old school WASPY boys club firm" and shove it up your fat A$$.
I'm out Bitches!"

Pretty much the last straw came when they told me that I couldn't go on my already planned family vacation, for no particular reason other than they thought I didn't really need a vacation because "you had four months of maternity leave last year didn't you?" Oh, and the fact that they kept asking me if I was planning on getting pregnant again soon, and when did I think I would?

I'm sorry, I thought you were lawyers, and so would actually know the law. You know, like laws about not asking women when, or if, they are going to have kids...

Whatever, I'm over it. Friday's my last day. Then we head off to Cape Cod (which I just call "the Cape", but did you know that people from New Jersey think that "the Cape" could mean any number of locations?")

I am officially jumping back onto this blogging band wagon...starting July 4th!

I am BACK!

*also, let me preemptively tell you that I am not quitting to be a stay at home mom. Much as I would LOVE to do that, we simply can't afford it. So I'm taking a few months off (which we can afford) and then I am going to look for another job. So while everyone I have told about quitting has congratulated me and told me how nice it is that I am staying home with the baby...I am still a horribly guilty working mom who is just temporarily stepping off the treadmill of full time employment. But while I'm off - does anyone want to be in a playgroup with me and the baby? Because I am going to sign up for every single mommy and me thing I can possibly squeeze into the summer.

Being the mommy is my new gig. And yes, I will be happy to work late and on weekends.

Little Girl Blue

2008-04-07T09:19:00.002-04:00

Blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. That's how I feel. I mean, I am totally in love with my baby, and my husband, we live in a house that I am in love with. My job, although I am torn about leaving the baby everyday, is one that I like for the most part. We have great friends, and my family is wonderful. But I feel like as happy as I should be, I have been in this cycle of complaining and being negative all the time.

It's starting to wear on me. It's starting to wear on us. I notice that my husband likes me less...I feel like he does. I feel like this negativity cloud is created entirely by me and I don't know why. Why?

I feel like we had this baby and she was the light of my life, born entirely of our hearts. My God, I just want to eat her with a spoon. But as wonderful as she is, she takes alot of work. There is no time for myself, no time for my husband and I to really talk. I feel like I am going through the motions of life, but not really living it. Just trying to keep my head above water. Wake up, feed her, hug her, go to work, come home, feed her, play with her, hug her, put her to bed and go to bed myself from being so tired. And I watch a tv show sometime in all that chaos...while my husband watches the game (whatever game, it doesn't matter) on a separate tv.

Rinse, Lather, Repeat.

I'm missing out on this wonderful life that I'm living. Like I'm not present for it...does anyone understand? I can't explain it well, but I know how I feel.

And in the midst of it all, I complain about everything. "I'm tired, so and so is an asshat, work is driving me crazy, I'm tired (that's really a big one!)..." I feel like I am losing myself, losing my husband. Overreacting to everything. And it needs to stop. This constant cloud of negativity and complaining has to stop.

I have excused this behavior under the guise of the life change of having a baby. But seriously? No. Just no. I can't let this go on much longer or it becomes me. Becomes who I am. And I don't want to be this person. I know that person. Hell, we all know blogs like that (KidKate knows who I'm talking about!) I don't want to bring people down that way. I don't want to be the human equivalent of a Counting Crows CD.

So tonight, I am going home and dragging my fat behind out for a run with the baby in our new jogging stroller. Then I am going to kiss my husband and make some dinner, which we will eat together at a real table. And the TV? Well, that's what DVR is for. I think I'll start reading again. And You know what? What the hell? I'm not even going to utter a word on the ride into work tomorrow as he attempts to drive "Dukes of Hazzard" style over the bridge.

I'll just bitch about it on my blog...

Teething

2008-04-02T09:20:00.004-04:00

Dear Buddha's teeth:

I couldn't help noticing that you seem to be performing most of your work at night. Because people in our home need to go to work and function at a relatively high level during the day, this is proving to be less than conducive to our lifestyle. Therefore, if you could kindly refrain from any nighttime work, it would be much appreciated. Also, if it is possible to speed up the process with regard to the lastest growth of the two top teeth it would make a significant impact on the quality of our lives.

In the event that you continue to be contrary, we will be forced to take appropriate measures. Although I am not familiar with any options I have in dealing with you, I assure you that I will research avenues to thwart you -while I am up for the fourth consecutive night in a row. However, I would like to avoid any protracted battle, and therefore simply request that you freaking break through already and stop being such a bitch.

Well...that was uncalled for and I do, in fact, apologize for the preceeding language. I am normally more professional, however a lack of sleep has caused the appearance of an unattractive side (in more ways than one).

In short, I am confident that we can work together to resolve our disputes amicably. May I suggest the following agreement: should you need any orthodontia work in the future, I will be happy to agree to pay for same provided you work with me in the instant matter. I feel that this is a fair deal and will save us both considerable aggravation in the long run.

Thank you for your anticipated cooperation, and I look forward to a cooperative and productive relationship with you in the future.

Sincerely,

Newlywifed

The Dreaded Stat Counter

2008-04-01T16:00:00.003-04:00

I don't know if other people know that you can tell that they are reading your blog through statcounter. I can even tell how many times you come on and how long you stay.

So, 'yes'. I know you are reading this. Why not leave a comment...? trust me, I am not writing anything that I would keep secret or don't want anyone to find out. I am mindful that this is public and therefore post accordingly (except that last post. I mean, talking about one's female functions is probably not a good topic to have floating around out there right?).

And if you are reading this and thinking "does she mean me?" Yes, I mean you. We know each other...most of these stories I have probably told you in person! So the anonymous checking and rechecking of this blog is ridiculous. Just leave a comment! Or tell me when we see each other. Or call. This whole, "I know you know about the blog, but you don't know that I know that you know" thing is getting out of hand and kind of awkward for me.

To everyone else, who is reading and thinking "does she mean me? I mean, how does she even know me? Oh, my God, does she stalk me, and think we have some type of relationship...I only pop in to read some light hearted fare once in a while. Holy crap, I don't want to be KNOWN!" Relax. I don't mean you. Carry on as you were. But totally leave a comment if you want, and I will befriend you! You know, if you want to. Easy Breasy. Whatever. No pressure. This is really about the other person, who I do know.

Yes YOU...OVER THERE.

PS: The very least you could email my husband and tell him to stop by once in a while...I mean, would it KILL the man to read what I am writing? HE WAS THE INSPIRATION after all.

PPS: Could I flog the dead horse of my husband ignoring my creative genius over here any more?

What is all the YELLING about?

2008-03-27T11:50:00.003-04:00

I believe she has found her voice. And it is a shrill shreek of glee (unless no one is paying attention to her at that moment, then it is a loud elongated grunting type of sound). Alicia Keys she is not.

It is cute. For the first 3 minutes. Then it slowly wears on you, driving you deep into the throes of insanity. Just a constant wailing...

I can not stifle her, or quiet her. I am aware this new yelling is a developmental thing and probably a phase. I love that she is enjoying herself and learning how powerful her voice can be. But we are on day 4 of it, and I don't know if I will survive to day 5.

This morning at 5:30, the gleeful yelling lurched from the monitor on my nightstand. And I will admit that rather than go get her, feed her and start our day together (like usual)...I simply turned down the volume and rolled over. At 6 when I woke back up, she was still happily, and loudly, playing alone in her crib.

Can someone please tell me this will be a brief phase? LIE TO ME IF YOU HAVE TO.

ps: She went through the rasberry already...at the time, I complained...but I would give anything to be covered in baby spit right now! There won't be anything that will make me fondly remember the screaming will there? AGAIN, LIE TO ME IF YOU HAVE TO.

Getting Ready for the Beach!

2008-03-25T21:38:00.004-04:00

Am I showing too much skin here? Can you see my rolls? You can tell me. Seriously. I'd hate to be one of "those" babies...

Easter Bonnets and Bunnies

2008-03-25T21:15:00.005-04:00

Turns out, the Easter Bunny can find you even if you head down to the Jersey Shore...

Also turns out the Easter Bunny will agree to hold you, even if you are just 6 months old and have a nervous mother who is staring at him and a first time father who doesn't quite know how to figure out the camera...

And who would have thought that the Newlywifed's could shine up so nice for a fancy Easter Brunch?

It was a good 1st Family Easter...

Six Months! Half a Year!

2008-03-17T11:37:00.003-04:00

Buddha,

Each month I proclaim to daddy that "yes, this month is my favorite so far." And each month, daddy agrees. What I'm saying here is this: Kid, you just keep getting better! I mean, it sounds so cliche, but really...you just keep getting better and better. And the love! It is a total love fest with you. Eventually, it has to wear off, we can't keep looking at each other and announcing how beautiful you are. I'm pretty sure after your baby reaches a certain age it would be plain obnoxious to keep talking about how beautiful she is. But you, yeah, you are one beautiful baby. Daddy agrees in case you are wondering.

So where were we? Oh, right, we left off at 5 months...well, six months is great. This past month you learned to sit up, which makes a HUGE difference. You can play with us, with toys, with my blackberry. You love my blackberry. I worry that I am too obsessive about work and am on that damn blackberry too much. So I try to act easy-breezy and let you gum it or play with it if you want. And you know what? It works. You love to play with it, and it is a reminder that work comes after you on the priority scale. So I like to let you grasp it, push the buttons, suck on it...drop it. It gives me tangible proof that you mean way more to me than anything work related ever could. It is reassuring when you play with it, like proof that I will never let you feel neglected because of work.

Having a Kid has Made Me Weird. Hasn't it?

We have been having so much fun with you. You are all smiles and laughter all the time. You are peaches and cream embodied. Your dad has asked me several times in hushed tones if it is normal love you so much that he wants to actually bite you. And I answer, "Yes" I want to bite you too.

You have been eating all different vegetables and fruits. You love anything we give you. We weren't going to start you on fruits so soon, but you got constipated and in a panic, I gave you some apple juice and prunes. (I don't want to relive the nightmare that was created by this rookie mistake of overreaction to the constipation, so let's just block it out and pretend it never happened. Except to say, it was decidedly NOT peaches and cream).

This has been a wonderful month. You are older and more aware, more playful. More fun. We have loved being with you always, but this month it appears that you feel the same way. Particularly about daddy. If daddy is in the room, you are focused on him. Always looking to him, for him. Smiling, laughing, flirting with him. You are all about daddy. Except for the morning. In the morning, if it's daddy peering over the crib rail, you lose it. You are seriously pissed if you don't see me.

And secretly, that makes me feel good...

I love you Buddha baby,

Love,

Mommy

On the Drive Into Work this Morning

2008-03-04T09:30:00.004-05:00

Every morning we drive in to work together so that we can spend some time alone, relaxing.

Except sometimes my husband drives full speed toward the car braking in front of us, and either brakes at the last second, or switches lanes like crazy to avoid said braking vehicle. Either way, he seriously acts like it would be painful to use the DAMN BRAKE ALREADY!

It is very relaxing.

ME: When we get a new car, I am getting one that has a brake on the passenger side of the car. And I'm going to use it.

HUSBAND: That's fine, as long as it also has an EJECT button on the driver's side of the car.

ME: (Staring At Him)

HUSBAND: Actually, I would settle for a MUTE button.

Livin' the Life

2008-02-27T10:11:00.005-05:00

Are we the only ones? Is it this way for millions of people and I just didn't realize it before? Methinks not.

It is 5:30, maybe 6:00, maybe 6:30 if I'm really lucky. She wakes up and one of us goes to get her. For the next hour or two (depending on how early she rises), I feed her and we play with her for about an hour while we both get ready in the morning. Then we are out the door for work, a short 20 minute car ride with my husband, the only alone time we will get all day. I get to my office by about 8 or 8:15.

I work all day. Sadly, trying not to think too much about her or I start to get sad. So I focus on the ball in front of me, but always in the back of my mind, she is there. She is the reason I no longer take breaks to chit chat around the office, or take a long lunch. I am here to do 5 days worth of work in 4 days so that my Friday "work from home" will be all her's. So I jam through my day at breakneck pace.

And it is tiring.

When I look up, it's 5 o'clock. How does it come so fast everyday? Why am I always surprised by it? I don't even have time to marvel at the phenomenon. I have to go. I have to get home to her. I run past the looks of the partners in the office. It occurs to me that I am off the partnership track because of this mothering thing. I suppose I could have it all, but at what cost to her? Partnership isn't worth walking in the door at 8 every night, not worth only getting a half hour with her.

So it is an all out sprint to the train, and then home. Most days, that 20 minute train ride is the only time I have to myself all day. The only time I am not rushing or doing or taking care of something or someone.

I use it to shake off the stress of work. To calm down. By nature, my job consists of fighting with people all day. It's adversarial. I don't want her to pick up on any stress or conflict. She is a laid back, happy baby and I want to keep it that way. Perhaps my career choice doesn't mesh well with being a mother, I think to myself often. "laid back" isn't really an option for me at work.

It's my stop, and I run-walk the two blocks home. I take a breath as I climb up to the porch and reach for the door. On the otherside, she is waiting for me. She will give me a huge grin and reach for me to pick her up...smiling coyly, and nuzzling into my chest. She will want to nurse, not because she is hungry, but because she misses me. Reaching for the door, I know that once inside, I will not get any time alone to decompress. I feel like I want that time now, as I am on this side of the door. But once through the doorway, that need is forgotten.

It is like the heavens opened up and dropped her down just for me. These first few moments with her everyday are my reward. These moments are now where I find meaning in life. We are intimate and quiet and loving with each other. I nurse her and talk or sing softly to her. I feel the exhaustion set in as she quietly relaxes in my arms and eats.

My husband will come home, and she will abandon nursing...she is much too excited to see him, and I can see the heavens opening up again...this time for him. I know he feels the same way about his first moments with her, although he has never said it. He doesn't have to, I can see it in his face. And that look makes me feel so loved, I am sure she can sense it too.

The three of us will hang out together, playing and lounging in our bedroom while we both get undressed and shake off the workday completely. We will both put on pajama pants and turtlenecks...getting comfortable and cozy for the night...and nuzzle into each other. Nuzzle into her.

The next hour is busy work. Dinner, cleanup, feeding her, bathing her, changing her. One of us is holding her all the time. We are soaking her up. Finally, it is time for her to go down for the night. He takes us both up to her room. We soothe her together and do her nighttime routine together. Finally, it is time for her to nurse to sleep. I nurse her and rock her and put her down. Some nights are easy, some involve crying and repeated climbing of the stairs back and forth into her room until she falls asleep.

Now it is 9:30. We have not watched tv, we have not paid any bills. Nothing has been accomplished outside of taking car of her. We need to talk about whether he likes the television console I saw online at Potterybarn, but that discussion is going to be at least 15 minutes long, and I am too tired to stay up. So is he. but he needs to take out the trash, and will meet me upstairs.

When he comes up ten minutes later, I am half asleep already. I find him under the covers and we connect. I can't really sleep well unless he is against me, I can feel his warmth. He knows this and so climbs in right next to me. I roll over and show him the console in the catalogue I have by the bed. He says, "I don't know" and we don't really discuss it in any more detail. This decision, like so much other stuff, will be put off for another time. When? I don't know. It'll get figured out eventually. And we both can't stay awake any longer. Not even to find out the score of the Villanova game.

In a few hours around 2, I will wake to pump so she has enough food for the next day. Around 2:30 or 3, I will be back in bed, and praying she grants me till 6 a.m. before waking...

when it will start all over again.

PETA friendly

2008-02-25T09:13:00.003-05:00

Don't worry, it's faux print...

Does this Come in Beige?

2008-02-21T09:32:00.005-05:00

Who knew that with her would come so much stuff? Seriously, it looks like a circus tent blew up in my otherwise neutral toned house....

2 and a half hours

2008-02-20T09:21:00.002-05:00

Of sleep.

Finally at 4:30, i gave up trying and just took her downstairs to play. After struggling all night from 8:30-ish to 4:30, I surrendered to the exhaustion and gave up the rocking, nursing, cajoling, singing and general lulling to sleep attempts and went down stairs.

I am not ashamed to tell you I cursed the fact that spongebob squarepants was not on at 4:30 this morning. That's right, I was going to turn on the tv and let her watch. I am a horrible mother.

Horrible, and tired. VERY tired.

5 Months...or...MY BABY! MY BABY IS GROWING UP!

2008-02-11T15:16:00.001-05:00

Buddha,

Sweet little Buddha, you are getting so big. Too big. Please stop. Thanks.

Okay, okay. I know you can't stop growing, but this month you just started becoming a little person with a personality all your own. It's wonderful, but I fear you are growing up too fast. And you do stuff. I mean totally do stuff-on your own. Not like "take the car and go shopping" stuff, but "sit in the jumper and jump like crazy all the while not even noticing that we are not right there playing with you, talking to you, paying 100% attention to you" stuff. Which is actually nice because aside from the time in the jumper you are fairly demanding about the attention thing, as in "you better be talking to me and entertaining me at all times" demanding. So your father and I would pay $5,000 for that jumper as ransome if someone stole it is all I am saying.

More than once over this past month your dad and I have remarked that you are no longer a 'newborn' but a real baby. Like, all baby like and all. You look older, and cuter, and pudgier. You have mastered grabbing, and in the last week you can remain sitting up unassisted and OH. MY. GOD. You got a tooth about 3 weeks ago! Sweet Pea! You got your first tooth! I am so proud of you! Seriously, your dad and I were totally proud of how advanced you are with the tooth thing...

(Except the teething is killing us. You didn't sleep all night for 3 nights in a row)...but your big gummy grin makes you look so much like your father when he smiles a big goofy smile, I have to laugh every time you do it.

Unfortunately for you, getting the tooth resulted in our inability to sleep in the same room with you any longer. Sleep deprivation was making everyone I had contact with at work want to kill me, so 4 days before your 5 month birthday, we put you in your crib...IN YOUR OWN ROOM! And can I just say that all that worrying I did over you being alone and lonely in your room was for nothing. If you could speak I swear you would have said "well thank god I don't have to share a room with you two anymore." You love your room and sleep through the night, once you finally go to sleep. I say "finally" because you have been hard to put down lately, but it isn't anything we can't handle. I hate to see you cry, so I rock you to sleep in my arms each night until you fall asleep before putting you to bed. You inevitably wake up once or twice within the next hour, and we repeat the rocking. I don't mind, I just can't let you cry ala the "Ferber Method"...oh well.

You have gotten very strong this month. You bounce like crazy in your jumper, and you love to stand up and sit up for long stretches. But you still have not rolled over. I asked the doctor last Friday about it, and she said you "weren't motivated" to roll, but you were very very strong. Despite putting toys just out of your reach, and practicing and praising you like crazy for rolling, you won't do it. It is a glimpse into your little personality. Your little stubborn streak. Although I have to say, I secretly suspect you have rolled over for one or both of your grandmothers, and they just don't have the heart to tell me.

You also started to eat cereal this month. GOOD LORD do you love the cereal. You would eat half a box if I let you. And we did give you peas once, which you loved...but in a stunningly great parenting move that will surely win us awards, we decided to forego giving you any more peas once we changed the peas diaper a few hours later. So it's just been cereal for now. You may be ready for peas, but your father and I are not ready for the (literal) fallout from such a milestone.

This month was a little hard because I have worked all month. I was just getting the hang of everything with you, when I had to go back a few days before your 4 month birthday. It has been hard, and tiring for me, but you have made it easier and less stressful each step of the way. You love being with your grandmothers, and clearly reward them with going down easily for naps and eating every 3 hours like clockwork. When I am with you Friday through Sunday, you eat irregularly (sometimes every 1 1/2 hours even) and rarely nap for very long. And save for the last few days that you have been in your crib, I have to admit that your sleeping habits have just...how should I put this? Ummmm...sucked.

I am officially a working mom now, and I am dealing with the guilt and strain of that. The sheer amount of hours I have to put in at work and with you, in addition to all the pumping in the middle of the night, have left me bleary eyed tired on some days. And for most of the month I have been horribly sick (a cold which you gave me, might I add. You were over it in 3 days...I have had it for going on 3 weeks. Obviously I need to pull it together) but we have struggled through alright, and I think you still love me despite my absence.

As I write this I am at work. Taking a rare break to do this for you, even though I don't really have the time. I am making an effort to keep up this journal, keep doing the little things that moms do. I don't want you to miss out on anything because I work. I don't want you to feel the loss of anything because your mom has a busy job. So I take care of everything I still can for you. I bathe you even though your grandmothers would love to, I feed you cereal every night with your dad. I don't miss a night putting you to sleep, and when you wake, it is me who comes to get you. The thought of not being there when you need something, anything, is a weight that feels like it is crushing me. So I burn at both ends for you.

And I promise you that everything I do is for you. Every breath I take is for you, each waking moment that I am away from you my heart aches. And every moment that I am not at work, or making my way to you, I am with you. Holding you, playing with you, reading to you. Rocking you to sleep in my arms until your body goes limp, happy and safe and content in my arms each night. Picking you up each morning when you open your eyes.

I wish I could say I am doing all this for your sake alone, but really, it is for me. I am learning how to be away from you. To be a working mom. It isn't easy, and the guilt is almost as overwhelming as missing you is. But I will figure it out. I will learn to let go a little more, and you will be fine.

Right? You'll be fine won't you?

Just know that I love you more than there are stars in the heavens.

Love,

Mommy

THE RACE

2008-02-06T09:49:00.000-05:00

I spent the summer between college and law school interning for then Vice President, Al Gore. It was the summer of Monica Lewinsky so although I was supposed to work at the actual White House...when I showed up as a 22 year old brunette who was relatively attractive, I was banished to the Old Executive Building. Que Sera Sera.

I say all this to lay a foundation, which is that I got to meet the Vice President and the Clinton's at numerous events. I worked closely with people who worked closely with them...and I can tell you that whatever you think about the Clintons, when the dust settles, their policies and positions support the downtrodden, the poor, children, and those who usually don't get a voice. With regard to their policies, I have to say: They are the real deal. Truly.

She is a polarizing figure. But I don't really get why. She isn't a hateful person, she doesn't espouse hateful things. Why does she inspire so much hate then? No one has ever given me a good answer. My husband claims she is too harsh, too aggressive, that she is a political machine that runs down whoever is standing between her and the prize she covets.

Really? I asked for an example of something she did, that another candidate had not. I haven't heard one yet. And frankly, she may be aggressive. But she is a woman who has been the target of people out to literally destroy her and her husband for years. I think anyone attacked that way would come out swinging. The fact that she survives at all earns my respect. What has she done that is so hateful? What has she done to deserve it?

I voted for Obama. I voted that way because despite her obvious qualification for the job, despite having a daughter and wanting her to see a woman president, despite actually liking her, I think it is time to put the vitriolic politics to bed in this country. The thing is, she is a victim of this rather than a creator of it. She should be our next President. She has every right to it. But Obama represents a message of hope, one our country needs right now. He will be able to unite the country and gain back some of the shine we have lost under our current President. I agree with that, and it has been my husband's pitch for so long, that I finally caved into it.

So instead of building up and supporting a fellow woman, one that is qualified in any reasonable sense of the word, a woman whose policies mirror what is important to me; and instead of voting for a President that would help my daughter grow up never thinking twice about a woman as President...well I let my husband sway me a little. I voted for Obama.

When I stepped out of the booth last night after hitting that button, I looked down at her bright little face and couldn't help feeling that I had let her down. That we are letting our daughters down.

I promise, this is the last post that I will mention breastfeeding. I should just get over it already. I KNOW!

2008-01-30T11:33:00.000-05:00

Last night, the Buddha bit me while I was breastfeeding her. See previous post wherein I informed you she had a tooth.

See where this is going?

This morning on the way into work I told my husband I think the breastfeeding days are numbered now that she is getting teeth.

Husband: I think we should really aim for six months.

Me: Okay. How about this...every time she bites me on the nipple, I will bite you on the nipple. Then we can decide together when to stop breastfeeding.

Men are such wusses, that he probably would call off the breastfeeding after the first bite. Pansy. I, at least, will probably give her three strikes until she's out.

PS: and by "three strikes," I mean I will no doubt keep killing myself until 6 months because I am easily guilted by the breastfeeding nazi's. Remind me when she is graduating from college, to congratulate myself for the extra two months of breastfeeding which no doubt will have been the key to her success in life. Thanks.

Immunity

2008-01-29T11:40:00.000-05:00

The Buddha got sick this weekend. I was thinking it had to do with teething because on Friday, she sprouted her first tooth and another is right behind it. Is there anything worse than a sick baby? her little nose was runny, she had a sad little cough, and her eyes were watery. She spent most of the weekend, listless and in my arms snuggled up.

Oh, and in case you were wondering about the immunities babies get from breastmilk? Yeah, they apparently don't work in the reverse. The little phlegmball gave it to me, and I am now dying of her "teething" cold.

True Love

2008-01-22T13:48:00.000-05:00

After a particularly rough start in the morning that involved Buddha crying and pooping and spitting up everywhere right as we were trying to get into the car, my husband and I finally got on the road...frustrated with eachother for no reason other than the stress of getting out the door amist the crying and chaos.

Me: Do you feel like punching me in the face right now?

Husband: Yes.

Me: Me too. I feel like punching you right in the face.

Husband: mmmm. Yeah.

Me: Do you think it is normal to want to punch each other in the face sometimes?

Husband: Yes.

Me: So other couples feel the same way?

Husband: Definitely.

Me: If you don't want to punch each other in the face sometimes, you aren't normal. Don't you think?

This Can't Possibly Make That Big of a Difference...

2008-01-17T15:46:00.000-05:00

I breastfeed the Buddha. I win. I have been waiting by the mailbox for my medal. I get first place! Because everyone knows that if you give your child formula instead of breastfeeding you are no better than Britney Spears as a mother and your child will never amount to anything. In fact, I heard that if you give a baby formula they have a 90% chance of going deaf from all the ear infections they will no doubt get.

And this is how I felt after going to my first (and last) breastfeeding meeting.

I don't think anyone can deny that breastmilk is better than formula. And I truly love the bond that the Buddha and I share because I nurse her. She is comforted by it, and so am I. But formula fed babies are just as healthy, just as bonded to their moms. Someone once described breastmilk v. formula as the difference between getting an A+ and getting an A. Breastmilk is better than formula...but not by much.

The thing is, at a certain point, it becomes impractical to exclusively breastfeed the baby. People go back to work; they have to take medications; or get sick; or frankly, it just gets too demanding. And these mothers who either couldn't breastfeed or can no longer breastfeed are made to feel guilty, like they are purposefully depriving their child of something that could make or break their children's futures.

I call the people who do this: The Breastfeeding Nazi's. And they are all members of my local breastfeeding club.

I went because while I am a great nurser, I am what you would call an "unproductive pumper." meaning, despite lugging the electric pump with all the accessories back and forth to work every day and pumping for 30 minutes 4 times a day at work while trying to maintain my billable hours and getting up at 3 am every night to pump, I have only just enough milk to get her through a work day. Which means all of that work only gets me three feedings for her. I nurse her before I go to work, and all night once I get home. I nurse her when she wakes around 4 in the morning too.

I love nursing her. But the pumping is starting to kill me. I should just let go and cave into giving her a single God Damn bottle of formula a day. But I can't. I can't because I am too guilty. I drank the cool aid, and even though I know it won't make a hill of bean difference, I just can't let it go.

If she has to have formula, I feel like I failed her.

And that meeting I went to...to try and see if I was maybe pumping wrong, or get some tips on production of milk... Those women made me feel like I should go to the ends of the earth to breastfeed my Buddha. That I should do it at all costs, because "you love her don't you?"

I would go to the ends of the earth for that child, if she needed me to. But does she need me to for this? Does some formula really make a difference?

There was a woman who was adopting a child. She wanted to breastfeed her. SHE WANTED TO BREASTFEED THE ADOPTED CHILD. I didn't even know you could do that. Apparently, you can take hormones and herbs and pump like crazy, and you can trick your body into producing milk. Everyone at the meeting praised her. She should get a medal. She was a real mother, they said. "That's what motherhood is about!"

Is it? Because I have to say: I don't think that is what motherhood is about. No one is keeping score, there are no prizes (except the end result of raising a well adjusted and loved child). I looked at that woman and thought "You are a freaking idiot." Get over yourself. You and the woman next to you that breastfed until her kid was 8 and who still comes to the meetings even though that was 15 years ago! GET THE HELL OVER YOURSELVES.

And yet, I continue to get up each and every night at 3 am. I continue to lug the pump to and from work. I continue to sit for a half hour at a time, four times a day while on conference calls with judges with my boobs hooked up to a milking device. Just to avoid giving her a single serving of formula a day.

I'll let you know when the mailman delivers my first place trophy!

Another Month, Another Birthday

2008-01-15T23:01:00.000-05:00

We need to keep things exciting: this month, we went with the cupcakes.

Still Going Strong on the Celebrations! (and no, we did not feed her the cupcake...who am I? Britney Spears?)

4 Months

2008-01-14T13:28:00.001-05:00

Buddha,

Before I had you, people would ask me how much time I was taking off from work to be with you. They would always smile when I said 4 months and explain that the fourth month is the month you would really start to be someone, start doing things, getting a personality.

Month four has been magical, and wonderful, and beautiful. Month four was the holiday season, and you and I were out and about enjoying ourselves. You got more substantial in month four, more of a baby and less of a newborn. It was easily the most transformative month so far. You were a different baby from the beginning than you were at the end.

You started to laugh. And it is hysterical. Your laugh is a little stilted cackle, and when we laugh at you laughing, it makes you laugh all the harder. We must look like a family of idiots laughing at nothing...You also started grabbing and mastering your hands more. And you play with us. You react when we talk to you instead of just stare blankly at us.

I drink alot of water, and recently let you try some straight from the water bottle. You LOVED it! Now, everytime you see a bottle of water, you reach for it. I know I shouldn't let you drink out of the bottle, but I do. It is so funny, and you can amuse yourself for 15 or 20 minutes just sipping water.

The other day I was eating a snack pack of mandarin oranges. I put one to your lips so you could taste it. You were licking it like crazy, and I was holding it to your lips when all of a sudden, you sucked it in. I panicked and opened your mouth to get it out, but you had sucked it right down! Aside from scaring the hell out of me (and I will not give you another small orange to try) you seemed to enjoy it, and cried for more.

We had so much fun during the holidays with you. Of course, you didn't have the slightest idea what was going on a Christmas, but for the rest of us you made it wonderful. The entire tree was packed with things for you from Meme. She went crazy buying you stuff. So did Uncle Peter and Grammy and Papa Ooch. I only bought you one dress...but Daddy saved the day and got you your first Winnie the Poo. He also got you a "little piggy" outfit and a frog teether. Daddy was so proud of his presents for you.

The real present from Daddy is that he was home for two weeks. It happened to be the last two weeks of my maternity leave. We spent two weeks basking in eachother. And you started to become 'in love' with Daddy. It's like it occurred to you who he was, that he was just like mommy only without the milk. You had such a good time with him. And he really loved being with you. He was infatuated with you before, but now that you return the feeling, it is a gift to watch you both together. To see how uninhibited Daddy is around you. No matter who is around, you are the center of all his attention, of all his love.

You are the object of his affection.

As for me, this month was amazing, and certainly my favorite for so many reasons. But at the end of the month, I had to return to work. It colored the month for me. I enjoyed every second I could with you, but always in the back of my mind was the fact that I had to return to work. It was easily the hardest thing I have had to do yet.

I was devastated over it. I ached for you even before I left you. For the month of December, I kept you close to me, in my arms. Wanting to hold you enough to make up for leaving you. I wish you knew how much I wanted to stay with you, how much I want to be there every single second of all your days...but we simply can't afford it. So back I went. And it felt like my heart was being squeezed all day. I have so many pictures of you in my office...I look at you all day. It still hurts to leave you every morning, and I run home to you (literally, I run) each night.

But if it was hard for me, you seemed not to even notice. You are all smiles in the mornings, and happily play all day with your grandmothers. They both reported that you eat and sleep on a basic schedule, and hardly fuss. And when I come in the door at night, you are content and relaxed. You look at me as if to say "Oh, Hi Mom. Where have you been?" and then return to whatever it is you are doing until I come over and pick you up for a thousand kisses. You are a happy baby. You are doing wonderful.

You are doing wonderful without me. That is the rub. Because it stings a little. I am relieved that you are doing well, and happy that you are so content and at peace with life, but the fact that you are so wonderful in my absence hurts me. It is the curse of mothers I suppose. That the very thing you hope for your children is to be happy and content in and of themselves. But to do so, means you don't really need me, and that crushes me a little every night when I walk in and each morning when I walk out.

But most of this month was spent together, with you in my arms and Daddy giving us an endless hug. I have fallen more in love with you this month. We all found our groove with each other. Our places with each other. Yours is at the center of the love your father and I share. You are that love now. And you seem to know it. To know us. This month you, Daddy and I just soaked eachother up before "real life" got going. This is the month I will remember us becoming a real family.

I love you Buddha

Love, Mommy

Last Christmas

2007-12-25T02:49:00.000-05:00

Last Christmas, you gave me the greatest gift I ever got. Last Christmas, we found out that we were expecting a baby. And that news changed our lives together forever. It was a path we had always been headed toward, but actually travelling it with you was one of the happiest times in my life.

Some women say they love being pregnant. Some hate it. I fall into the former category. To be sure, I had an easy pregnancy, but I loved being pregnant because for those nine months, we had never been so much in love. Each time you looked at me, it was as if I was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. Your unadulterated happiness at the fact that I was giving you a baby filled me up each and every time we looked at eachother. I have never felt more special in my life and I don't know if it was Buddha growing inside me, or the way you looked at me. I think it was a little bit of both.

So for those nine months, you never let me forget that I was performing a miracle. Each and every day you would touch my belly, or hug me tight, or stroke my head; making that entire nine months a magical time for both of us. And I am sure that after living a lifetime together raising our children, finishing our careers, when the dust settles and it just the two of us looking back on our amazing journey together, that first pregnancy will have been the happiest year of my life with you. I am sure we will have other, happier times that involve the children or eachother, but for nine months in 2007 we were in the unique position of being on the verge of change, strattling a divide between our old lives and this new life. In a sort of long lasting moment where everything that came before had led to and prepared us for what was to come but hadn't yet. It was nine months of just being in love and creating our own miracle.

And if the way you looked at me for those nine months was heart bursting, the way you look at her changes my life in and of itself. Your infatuation and love for our daughter literally swells my heart so that I feel it beating in my chest when I watch the two of you together. And watching you with her or looking at her and seeing you in her, looking back at me, is something I can't describe in words. It is in those moments that I know I have figured out the meaning of my life.

I watched you run around this past week, getting ready for Christmas. Doing your 'secret' shopping for me and the baby. I know this first Christmas with her will be incredible and fun and one to be treasured. It will no doubt be one of the many memories that will make me smile when we are old and gray and I will not forget it, ever.

But whatever it is that you are buying us, won't ever be as good as what you gave me last year. That gift is one I open up each and every morning all over again. Last Christmas, you changed my world. And it was Last Christmas' gift that makes life so sweet. It was last Christmas that we started what we were meant to do, the beginning of our family, the center of my heart.

Last Christmas, you gave me the gift of all the Christmases to come. You gave her to me.

And they don't sell that at the Gap.

I love you, I love us.

Love,

me

Our First Christmas Card!

2007-12-21T19:38:00.000-05:00

Oh, you thought we had forgotten about it?

2007-12-19T20:08:00.000-05:00

We are still going strong on the monthly birthday celebrations!

Jingle Bells

2007-12-18T09:58:00.000-05:00

The Buddha baby loves singing. I must sing at least 5 hours of my day. And I assure you that I am not a singer.

Tis the season, so I have been singing her Christmas songs. Jingle Bell Rock is her absolute favorite. Which is fine, except I don't know the words. Neither does my husband.

I sing to her when she starts to fuss, and it always calms her down. The other night, we were travelling home from my in-laws at night and the Buddha started to cry in the backseat. So I started belting out the tunes. I saved Jingle Bell Rock for emergencies...I don't want to delude its power by overuse.

When all else failed, I started the Rock...

"Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Jingle Bell Rock. Jingle Bells sing and Jingle bells Jing. Dasher and Dancer and Blah Blah Blah Blah...In the frosty Aiiiiir..."

Husband: What are you singing, that isn't Jingle Bell Rock?

Me: I don't know the words. And I could be wrong, but she doesn't either. So it works out.

Husband: I do. "Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock. Jingle around the way. A mix and a mingle and a Jingle of fun, now the Jingle Rock has begun. Jingle Bell Jingle Horse, pick up your feet, Jingle around the bloooooooock. ummm.....a wingle bejingle and jingly jing...Buddha baby I love you."

Me: That's what I thought.

Mid Morning

2007-12-12T12:12:00.000-05:00

Please note that I am blogging at 12:13 pm...

Yes. I have stepped away from the baby. She is in a bouncy chair (that by the way, vibrates and doesn't bounce so what gives with the term?) amusing herself with some linking plastic rings. That were not made in China. I am all over this mother thing!

It really all culminated yesterday when my husband came home and for the third day in a row, I was wearing the same white turtleneck. I hadn't showered, and frankly, I was disgusting. I realized...I have to put the baby down. I am no better a mother for not putting her down to shower...in fact, I am pretty sure I am a worse mother for failing to take care of my basic hygiene. I know I am a lesser wife for it!

And so people last night, I put her down to bed and took a shower. While in said shower I heard her starting to cry. And you know what I did? I continued shaving my legs. When I got out of the shower and went to check on her, she was still crying...but you know what? She was totally fine. And this morning she woke up and smiled at me, so clearly she isn't holding a grudge.

So today I continue my new found independence by putting her in the bouncy/vibrating seat and blogging.

But now she is starting to fuss, so I gots to go...

Baby steps.

3 Months (and I am aware I skipped Month 2, but in my defense, month 2 went by really, really quickly)

2007-12-10T21:30:00.000-05:00

Dear Buddha,

In the last two months, Daddy and I have taken to calling you Buddha in light of the chubby legs and cheeks. I must say "Buddha Baby" a thousand times a day. And you have started responding to "Buddha" and different variations on it. This is worrisome and annoying to both of your grandmothers, but I am the mommy, and so I can do whatever I want when it comes to you...so Boody Buddha Baby, it is.

In these past two months, the major change is really that we have eased into each other. I feel more like a mommy now with you, more sure of myself when it comes to keeping you alive day to day. And you have grown in the last two months in leaps and bounds. You are so chubby now, so filled out. And you started cooing and talking to us. Just in the last couple of weeks you have figured out how to grab things (which you immediately pull to your mouth). And you went from looking so much like me, to being the spitting image of your father. I see him in not only your face, but your demeanor. You sleep late and are slow to eat. You are so good natured and easy going...you rarely cry or fuss outside of telling me you are hungry. You are your father's child.

The best part of the last two months is that you have learned I am your mommy. You prefer me to everyone else. You are good with others, and are an easy, good natured baby who loves to be held by anyone, but when it hits the fan, you look for me. I am the one who makes you feel safest and most calm, and you light up for me in a special way that no one else can really evoke. I can say that in my limited experience with motherhood, that is the best part. The closeness we share, even at this young age, is amazing to me, wonderous really. And fills me like nothing else I have ever done. So thanks for that Buddha...

You did go through a case of the "mommies" where you wouldn't go to anyone else but me for about a week. It was tough on me, but I think toughest on your daddy who was visibly hurt when you cried if he took you from me. They say all parents love their children, and I think each one thinks no one can love a child more than they do...but I can honestly say, I have never seen any parent as taken with a child as daddy is with you.

If daddy is home, he plays with you almost from the moment he comes in until it is time for you to go to sleep. He insists on changing all your diapers just so he can stare at your chubby little leggers. And he has a running commentary on how beautiful you are that I have to listen to for hours on end. He is smitten with you in a way that I have not seen him ever. Grammy and Papa Ooch notice it too. He really is over the moon.

He stopped to get a coffee at Dunkin Donuts on our way to the mall, and you were sleeping in the car seat. I waited in the car with you only to have daddy come out of the Dunkin Donuts 5 minutes later with the manager in tow who he forced to leave teh counter in order to come to our car and look at you. I am hoping, for your sake, that this adoration wears off...otherwise, you might have to take him to the prom.

You are happiest in the mornings and are all smiles when I look into your bassinett to get you. You wake up anywhere from 9-11, depending on how you slept, and then sometimes fall back asleep for a while after nursing. There are alot of days when we don't even make it out of the bedroom until noon. You love to laze around in bed playing with me in the morning and ease into the day. And I oblige you because it is my favorite part of the day...

This is in stark contrast to the nighttime, when we try to get you to sleep. You refuse to go to bed before 10, and rarely get to sleep before 11. Putting you down is a process that takes about an hour. I nurse you in bed, and you inevitably fall asleep only to awake when I put you down in the bassinett. And the crying ensues. The doctor told me to let you cry yourself to sleep and lean over to pat you only every 5 minutes. I never make it past 20 minutes of this, and on the rare occasion that I let you cry longer, it is clear that you are digging in your heels and will not stop until I stroke your head and sing you to sleep. It is difficult at night, and takes alot of work, but each morning when I peer in to your bassinett after hearing you start to coo, you give me a big smile and all is forgotten from the night before.

We play all day long together, you and me. I worry that I am doing you a disservice because I hold you all day long, even during your naps. I rarely put you down, and never put you down and walk away from you. I want to soak up as much time as I can with you before I go back to work...I know Grammy and Meme dissaprove of the constant holding, but I can't help it. We have such a connection you and I...it is as if all is right with the world if only you are in my arms. I don't ever want to put you down.

But I know I have to let go a little. I fear that if I don't ease you into being separated from me a little more, the transition of my working will be hard on you. So I have left you twice in the past couple of weeks. Both times I returned to you crying. Both times, you stopped once I held you. And so the very thing that makes me not want to leave you again, is the very reason I really have to...it isn't good to be so attached to me that you can not be happy without me. So I am starting to leave you with your grandmothers a little here and there. And I think you will get used to it...

But I don't know if I will. I don't know if we will ever have two months like these past two. Two months where we were together almost every minute...soaking each other up, breathing each other. I want to always be this close to you. But I know it wouldn't be healthy to continue on this way. And I have to go back to work anyway...but I will always remember these two months as the months I had you pretty much to myself.

There are moments in life that you remember always. I mean really remember. And those memories bring back the intense feelings that were coursing through you when they were made. When I think about the moment the church doors opened and I saw your father waiting for me at the end of the aisle on our wedding day, my heart stops and just the memory of it takes my breath away.

I will remember these two months that way. I will remember you staring into my eyes for an eternity while I sing you to sleep. Never looking away until finally your lids were to heavy to stay open...and it will take my breath away.

I love you more than yesterday but not as much as tomorrow.

Love Mommy

I am going to need references

2007-12-08T06:33:00.000-05:00

We are the center of each other's universe. I gave this child life for the love of God! She was literally ripped from my body, where she seemingly wanted to stay for all of eternity, and she'll be damned if she is going to let a little thing like birth stand in the way of her being enveloped by me. And who am I to stop such unadulterated love? So I indulge her...and envelop away...

We spend our days swirling around each other, in constant contact. She naps in my arms. She only agrees to be put down if I am right there, talking to her, playing with her, engaging her. She will go to others and lets almost anyone hold her...she likes to be in a crowd but she likes to know I am around...And frankly, when she is out of my sight she isn't the only one uneasy, nervous, and probably a millisecond away from all out terror and panic, if you know what I am saying.

As long as we are together there is peace for both of us. She is a happy, content baby and I am a surprisingly laid back first time mom (you know, except for the part about not letting her out of my sight).

I am her mother, she is my child. We should be the center of eachother's universe...but to the exclusion of all else? I can see where this leads, and it isn't good. I can't go on job interviews with her when she is 22 years old...and I am pretty sure her first date should not have to pay for my popcorn too. Frankly, I don't even want to think about what the wedding night would be like. Although given the course we are on a wedding night would be highly unlikely.

What I am trying to say is: I think I am a smother mother (huge gasp)!

I know that I should leave her. For God's sake, I know I should at least put her down for five freaking minutes and walk away. I deserve to not have to sprint my way through every bathroom break don't I? And should be able to email Amy or Kid Kate without feeling like I am neglecting her. I know all this. It isn't healthy, and I fear it is about to get a whole lot worse...

I am going back to work on January 2nd. The clock is ticking and I feel like my world is starting to crumble slowly around me. I don't want to go back with such intensity that it shocks me. I love my job, I don't mind working, and I certainly never saw myself as the type that would want to be a stay at home mom. But I look at her and I think she is too little to leave, and there is no way my boss is going to let me keep her under my desk. A million fears hit me all at once and it is all I can do to stay on my feet. She won't be okay without me. Her grandmothers won't hold her all day like I do, they won't know how to soothe her like I do. THEY MAY EVEN PUT HER DOWN FOR A NAP! Or, God Forbid...let her cry!

(Hard to believe that I am somehow the best caretaker of the child right? I am surprised she didn't revolt against me...)

What I am saying is that I don't trust those two. What the hell do my mother and mother-in-law know about taking care of babies? I haven't received any references...and I suspect both may have criminal backgrounds that we don't know about. I mean, do we really know these women?

And it was that thought process, which I actually vocalized to my husband (honestly, the fact that he didn't take the child and run from his crazy wife is a testament to his love for me), that has me wondering if perhaps I am not being a little...ummmm...what's the word? INSANE?!?

There is a part of me that knows I need to put her down. That it is better for her if I leave her once in a while. But that part gets crushed in my ovewhelming fear of leaving her for 8-10 hours a day four days a week. I Think I am so attached to her because I know this time will end. It has to if we want to send her to college...or, you know...eat three meals a day...we just can't afford for me to stay home. It's a reality, but one that is making me so upset and crazy that I never want to leave the child, with anyone, EVER. And that simply isn't healthy. For either of us.

And I know there are other mothers who work out there. That their children still know who they are. They are working and are still the mommy, their children are still thriving...but I don't know them. I can't see them. They don't write blogs do they?

I need someone to tell me that they did it. That their 5 month old still loved them. That they remained the center of their baby's universe despite being away. And most importantly, that the baby remained content and happy. Because that is what I need to know.

Will she be okay? Okay without me?

And also, will either of her grandmothers listen to a God Damn instruction that I give? NO JUICE! I don't care if we drank it all damn day long...modern medicine has figured out a few things since you two had babies. I AM THE MOMMY NOW...YOU MUST LISTEN TO WHAT I SAY!

Those two old grannies better get it together...can you yell at the help if you aren't paying them? And how amenable do you think they are to giving me a set of fingerprints for a background check?

Another Birthday Marked

2007-11-14T13:49:00.000-05:00

Is it clear from this picture that we woke her up to celebrate so that we could eat the chocolate mousse cake and in the process revealed that her birthday is more about the cake? No? Good, because that is totally not what happened.

We had a wonderful second month birthday.

Family Time

2007-11-11T04:26:00.000-05:00

My husband has two sisters. I have written about them before, but always hesitate a little because well...they did not sign up to be talked about on the internet.

But the blog is really a chronicle for butterbaby (since it didn't pan out so well with my husband, who doesn't read this thing...aren't I like a dog with a bone? Can't. Let. It. Go...just READ A SINGLE DAMN POST for the love of GOD...I am witty and funny about OUR lives! ARE YOU NOT INTERESTED IN OUR OWN LIVES?) Okay, got off track there yelling at my husband. And really, can't I just yell at him in person? It seems silly to yell at him over a blog, THAT HE DOESN'T EVEN READ FOR PETE'S SAKE! (pun intended).

AHEM (clearing throat). Anyhoo...my sisters in law. Yeah. Where was I? Oh, yeah. I don't like to go into too much detail about them on this internet blog so as not to upset them and their privacy, but I do like to mention them from time to time because they are a part of butterbaby's (and our) life.

Is anyone even still with me? I am getting to the point. I swear.

One of my SILs had a baby a month before I did. And we both had girls! I know right? Great! They can play together and we can bond and be total BFF's who go for long carraige walks and playdates...because, HELLO?!? We both have babies, and isn't that all that matters once you actually HAVE a baby? (I was being sarcastic there...).

Except not so much. She lives in Baltimore, which is two hours away from where I live outside of Philadelphia. And the truth of the matter is that even though I love her, we aren't as close as we could be, mainly because of the distance. But right at the outset of the pregnancy, she and her husband decided to move to our town, which boaded well for my plan.

When we first got pregnant, I had this whole thing in my head about how we would totally bond and be so much closer through this whole thing. She would move up here, and we could have the babies...join play groups, go to Gymboree...hang out at the local coffee shop where all the moms go with their kids for story time. Forget that I actually will be working, and don't know of any good playgroups, and I don't think she drinks coffee. Details. Just details.

The main thing was that we would totally bond and get closer. It would be almost instantaneous, and we would be bestest friends.

Only we hit a few bumps in the road...first, there was a big issue that created some tension for a while in the beginning of the pregnancies. And then, even more devastating to my plan, she couldn't sell her house and so she hasn't moved up yet (does anyone want a Martha Stewart pristine house in a lovely suburb of Baltimore?). The other problem with the plan? We probably wouldn't rank high on the compatability test. She is one of those women who just naturally have it together all the time. I, on the other hand, went out the other day with one side of my nursing bra undone. She is great at all things domestic. I made a Boboli pizza two nights ago and my husband praised me like I had just made a five course dinner because, come on...a Boboli actually required me to use the oven...Oven Usage people! Her house is always beautiful, and is decorated like a Restoration Hardware catalogue, only better. My husband tripped over the breast pump which was by the door on his way in from work the other day.

To be fair, I have my own strengths. I do have some parts of life together. Let's just say that she is no better or worse than I, just different. And I don't know that we would have chosen to befriend each other if we met in college (although I was pretty fun in college...) but we genuinely like each other, and I know that we could be great friends. And even with the differences, we both have some things in common...like she is really funny, and have the same tastes in alot of things. It's just, I think we need to try a little in the beginning...probably like most in-laws.

Which is where my plan comes in. But the plan was complicated by the aforementioned problems and the bonding has not been instantaneous. Plus, I am pretty sure she would be horrified if she found out about my insane plan and probably fake some sort of ankle injury to avoid any playdates or long carraige walks. But she doesn't know about my plan, which is good because I have not abandoned the plan, just modified it a little. Sure, it will take more time, but I think it is still viable...

(Does my insanity come through too much in the above paragraph? I think maybe yes. I should ask my husband if I sound too insane before I publish this post. Oh, wait. That would require him to read the blog! Is this horse dead yet?)

Especially after yesterday. Yesterday, she was up at my in-laws house with the kids, so I brought the baby over to hang out. And it was just her and I and the kids (and my mother-in-law, but she is really unassuming, so it was really like it was just her and I and the kids...go with me here.) When I came in, she was holding my niece, and put her down in her carrier to pick butterbaby up out of her carrier. And I picked my niece up.

And we just talked about the kids for a while. Standing there, rocking the babies. She was holding mine, and I was holding hers. And the conversation was easy and it was just...nice, you know? Nothing fancy, no big playdates. I didn't break out the bugaboo...just her holding our babies and talking. It was everything I had pictured when I got pregnant. It felt really nice.

And I thought to myself: I am totally ROCKING this plan! (God I hope she doesn't find out and suddenly come down with some kind of ankle condition).

Month One

2007-11-06T19:36:00.000-05:00

So you will notice I am posting this a mere day before your 2 month birthday, but as God as my witness, I simply could not pull it together until only recently...I really hope this is not indicative as my future performance as a mother.

The first month came and went while I blinked my eye. You arrived in a whirlwind of emergency hospital/medical craziness, A WEEK LATE! And I really hope that was not indicative of your future punctuality (like your father, who, let's face it, could not be on time to his own funeral...so much so that he took his sweet ass time getting to your birth for the love of God).

Because you wouldn't come out short of the doctor slicing me open and forcibly taking you out, I was very sore for the first 3 weeks of your first month. As a consequence, I now can justify why I couldn't pull it together for the first month, so really it was a win-win (or not).

That aside, you have been the joy of my life since the moment you arrived. True, I did think you were a boy, and did not believe your father when he told me you were beautiful, a beautiful girl...twice. But once the doctor assured me that you were, in fact, a girl...I could not have imagined having any other child but you. Your father and I think you were just waiting up in heaven for us. You were meant to be ours. And after living with you for a month, I am sure of it. You look so much like us (more like me at this point, but honestly looking more like your dad every day).

There was not a single second in this first month that you caused me the least frustration or grief. Exhaustion, yes. But not an ounce of anything other than pure joy. I just can't believe you are here, that you are real. We have been waiting forever for you! Dad likes to tell you he has dreamed of you his whole life. But honestly, I am thinking Dad probably didn't give you too much thought before he turned 30...but let's not knit pick.

You were so tiny in the Hospital, we brought you home at 6 lbs, 10 oz. But by the month's end, you were up to 9 lbs 4 oz. This is probably because you eat every hour and a half. Basically, if I had one word to sum up the first month of your life, it would be "BREASTFEEDING". It is really all I do, and it is taxing. But I don't mind. Really I don't.

After you were born, we stayed in the Hospital for 5 days. Daddy stayed with us the whole time. He slept on what I believe to be the Hospital's way of having men go through a token amount of pain to appreciate what their wives have done to give them a child. It was the most uncomfortable looking pull out chair/bed contraption I have ever seen. Poor Dad. But before we get too sympathetic for Dad, may I remind you that Dad does not have to get up in the middle of the night to feed you every hour and a half in light of the breastfeeding, and truth be told, most of the time he sleeps right through the commotion. So yeah, he comes out ahead.

While Dad slept on the pull out chair/bed/torture device, I stayed awake and held you all night and day. I stayed up for almost a week straightsimply because I couldn't bear to put you down. I didn't want you out of my sight, and wouldn't let the nurses take you unless the doctor needed to see you. So I stayed awake and held you all night (since it was dangerous to sleep with you in my bed). I would have kept it up too, except Dad ratted me out to your doctor who insisted I not do that, and Dad put his foot down and made me give up and put you in the bassinett. So if you later discover in therapy that you were traumatized by being wrenched from my belly and then from my arms-blame your father for that one (not everything will be my fault.) After that, you slept with us sometimes (when you wouldn't stay in the bassinett) and sometimes you slept directly next to the bed in the bassinett (where I obsessively listened to every single noise/grunt you made all night).

You were born on a Monday. We got home on a Friday afternoon, and the whole neighborhood came out to see you. It was crazy! And sweet. They literrally all came out of their houses like they had been waiting for us all damn day. There were also signs welcoming us home and a huge stork that Grammy got to announce your birth to the world. Once we got you inside(after about 25 minutes of the neighbors ooohing and aahhhing while dad asked everyone if they wanted to hold you and I burned fire from my eyes warning them not to take him up on the offer or suffer my wrath), I started to cry. I think it was just so emotional for me. I was in pain, and felt so overwhelmed at having to take care of you all by myself (without the nurses!).

But it only lasted a minute or two, and then Meme and Grammy and Papa Ooch came over. And that began the march of a thousand visitors. We had company non stop! Dad took 2 weeks off from work, and we just entertained the whole time. Everyone who saw you fell in love with you. Especially your grandparents. (Zaydi flew down from Boston just for the day to see you!).

Then the vistors died down and Dad went back to work. And I struggled for the next two weeks. In fact, this first month was very hard for me. I couldn't get my footing with you at all. I had no idea what I was doing, and didn't feel well on top of it. I cried alot...for no reason other than the hormones. Dad was worried, I could see it in his eyes. But I was fine, just a little emotional. Each day was hard, and it never seemed to get any easier...you never really got into a routine at all. And neither did I. I needed your Meme to come over almost every day to help out. Which is a testament to how much I loved you, because although she is your meme, she is my mother, and therefore uber annoying at almost all times to me (although I love her like crazy...see previous post). She did all your laundry, and she brought over meals and cleaned the house and even helped me shower. Someday I will repay the favor when you have your own children (who I hope come out of their own volition, UNLIKE you).

Three days after you came home, you spit up. You had never done that before and given the force with which you projected the spit up, I freaked out. And the next morning, after you had spit up what I believed to be most of what you were eating, I called the doctor. Once we got there, the doctor explained to me that it was normal: Babies spit up. Happens all the time.

Oh.

I took you to the doctor three days after you came home because you spit up. Yes, I have a post graduate degree, why do you ask?

At about two weeks old, you developed baby acne. To my credit, this time I played it cool and recognized that it was just run o' the mill baby acne. I was determined not to be the new mother who runs to the doctor every time her kid spits up...errrr...ummmm...well you get what I mean. Unfortunately, your father didn't get the memo and insisted I take you to the doctor lest you be dying of some flesh eating rash. So a week after the spit up doctor visit, I was back at the doctor. And, yes, it was just baby acne. "Totally normal Mrs. Newlywife, babies sometimes get acne." And that is why your doctor probably thinks I am a raving lune. I blame Dad.

Beside eating non stop, you grunt. I mean you grunt like a 50 year old man trying to keep up with the 20 year old lifting weights next to him at the gym. And it is constant. You never coo or make other baby noises, just the grunting. It is weird...and freaks out your grandparents. Papa Ooch and Grammy call you the Gruntster. Dad and I call you Grunty MacFarland. It is the craziest thing I have ever heard a baby do.

Can you guess what I did about the grunting? Correct. I asked the doctor about it. Can you guess what he said? Turns out "It's normal Mrs. Newlywife, some babies grunt." Yeah, I Figured, I was just checking...and I wouldn't want to break the crazy new mother paranoia streak I have going. (Please note that I asked him at your scheduled checkup, and was not neurotic enough to bring you down just for the grunting).

And last but not least, just as I was starting to feel better, I developed Mastitis. A breast infection...which I got from you. Meme had to come over and help with you all day. It was the only day this month that I let someone else hold you outside of my presence. The only day I let you leave my sight. And only because I was so, so, so sick. But let's not even talk about it, I don't like to remember that part. The part where you were out of my sight for an hour when I napped.

This first month was hard. And I measured success every day by a single standard: were you still alive at the end of the day. God, this month was hard, and lonely, and emotional. Not to mention, I felt crappy from the c-section. But I loved every single minute of it...really, I did.

Which I think is the most surprising thing of all. People used to tell your father and I that parenthood would kick our asses (it is totally kicking our asses by the way). And then they would always follow that up with how great it is, how much we would love it (Which we do. We totally love it). I never understood how people could tell you how hard, brutally tiring and difficult something is while simultaneously grinning and saying it is the greatest and most fun thing you will ever do. The two things seem mutually exclusive.

I get it now though. You are simultaneously the hardest and most fun thing I have ever done.

This first month was hard. I cried alot. I was in serious pain. I don't think I slept for more than 3 hours total a day, and I was never so unsure of myself or my abilities.

So yeah, if I had to call it, this first month was hands down the greatest month of my life. Thank you so much, my beautiful baby girl.

Love,

Mom

There is a New Girl in Town...

2007-11-04T17:11:00.000-05:00

And my husband is in love with her. In a slightly maniacle way. Yes, his love for our daughter rides a fine line between endearing and psychotic. Not sure what I mean? Let me give a "for instance":

Endearing in that he looks at her constantly and says at least 10 times a day "isn't she just the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?" I think it is endearing when his sister is holding her (or anyone is holding her for that matter) and he points out all her features..."look at her leggers"; "did you see her little hands?"; "aren't her lips adorable?" He is prouder of her than he is of anything he has ever done. And more in love with her than I thought the human heart was capable of. His love for her is one of the greatest joys of my life.

but every once in a while, he goes overboard. Like when we went to a sandwich shop last Saturday, and as I came back to the table after ordering, he looked upset. When I asked what was wrong, he said "none of those guys even commented on how cute she is." and I said "What did you want them to do?" Apparently, I was the only sane person who realized that the immigrant sandwich makers were not really interested in my abnormally cute daughter.

Then, completely seriously, without kidding in the slightest, he said "I want them to stop what they are doing, come out from behind the counter and tell me how beautiful she is."

Back away slowly from the Papa Bear...Do not make eye contact...just look at the baby and keep repeating how cute she is. Eventually, he will accept your compliment and move on to the next unsuspecting passerby which must comment on her beauty or suffer a serious stink eye...

Seriously people? I think she is probably the cutest baby I have ever seen. And I am pretty sure she is objectively beautiful. But I do leave room for the possibility that perhaps I may be biased. My husband does not appear to have given that possiblity a passing thought.

Therefore, all who we encounter must adequately oooooo and ahhhhh over her or he is not pleased. Not pleased at all. Lucky for him she is adorable.

The night before Halloween, we marched in our town Halloween Parade (which is actually just 600 parents and kids marching a few blocks down main street all dressed up). I had her in the stroller. Just like all the other parents of stroller aged children.

As the parade started, he decided to pick her up and carry her facing out toward the "crowd" (which consisted of approximately 20 people who were not so much spectators as people who happened to be out running errands down town at the same time as the parade). As he explained to me, "No one will be able to see her if she is in the stroller. No one will see how cute she is."

And that, my friends, is how I found myself navigating an empty stroller in a traffic jam of strollers while my husband pandered to the crowd...which incidentally, oooooed and aaaahhhhed over her the entire length of the parade route.

Thank God! Because I would have hated to have to talk my husband down if such an outpouring of attention had not been received. And I simply didn't have the energy after a half mile of the stroller derby.

My Little Pumpkin

2007-11-01T20:02:00.001-04:00

She has hands, I just mitted her for the town halloween parade...

Dear Mom

2007-10-20T03:52:00.001-04:00

It's four in the morning, the day AFTER your birthday. I had meant to send this to you on your actual birthday...I had also planned to make you a wonderful lobster dinner for your birthday, and actually purchase the pedicure gift certificate. But two obstacles could not be overcome: First, I can't cook and have no idea what making lobster entails, or even where to get them. And more dire, I have a 5 week old and who did I think I was kidding? Most days I consider myself successful if I can get a shower before my husband comes home from work. So I hope you liked the Chinese takeout and the Coldstone Cake. You deserved the lobster, but it was the best I could do.

I wanted to take the occasion to tell you some things, to tell you everything. Not as a daughter to her mother, but as a daughter who is a mother herself. I don't know that I could have understood before-all the things that mothers feel, all that they have to do and be for their children. I don't know that I really understand the totality of it now, but in the moment Katie was born, the moment I laid eyes on her and heard her cry, I got it. I get it.

And so I wanted to tell you how thankful I am for you. To tell everyone how thankful I am for you. To celebrate you on your birthday.

Before my own daughter was born, I worried that I wouldn't know what to do, how to take care of her. People kept telling me instinct would carry me through. And some things did come instinctually...like the overwhelming feeling of wanting to break a stranger's arm when they innocently reached into the carraige to pinch her chubby leg. Or knowing which cry means she's hungry and which cry means she's tired...(they all seem to mean she's hungry, for the record). But really, the true taking care of her part. The parts that matter, like how to love her; how to help her feel secure and safe; how to help her grow up confident and happy...those things don't come instinctually. Those things are there because you did that for me. I watched you do it daily for the past 32 years, and now I just hope I remember enough of what you did to pull it all off.

Because I did grow up secure and confident and happy. I have a wonderful, doting husband, and I ended up becoming a lawyer, like I always wanted to be, and now I have a beautiful daughter that I can see my beautiful husband in (except the hair, please God let her have my hair!). And I am happy.

And I owe it all to the luck of the draw: Getting you for a mother.

So while I am thankful that you changed your whole life and moved down to New Jersey, thankful that you will take care of the baby while I have to work, thankful for the countless dollars you have spent on me over the years...all the laundry you have done for me, all the meals you have cooked for me...and the daily visits to hold the baby so I can get a drink and eat something, I am most grateful that you have been a truly wonderful mother.

Because that gift is what will allow me to pass it on. It is the gift that your mother gave you in order that you might be able to give it to me, and I will hopefully be able to give to Katie.

This past week, Katie started to smile. And while she has smiled for her dad and her Meme, she smiles most often for me. Her mother. I think she somehow knows that her mother is the one who will love her, and soothe her and champion her more than anyone else ever will...and those extra smiles are mine for what I am slowly realizing will be the hardest job I ever have to do for the least recognition or reward. Knowing that she smiles for me that way, being the one who can make her do it, well that takes my breath away and brings tears to my eyes. Those smiles make all of it worthwhile. Those smiles are everything to me, they are what I am doing all of it for.

So on your birthday (work with me here...I realize it is technically the day AFTER), I wanted to tell you what a wonderful mother you are. Because you are. And I will try and remember to save my extra smiles for you, because you deserve them (and the lobster. You definitely deserved the lobster).

I love you. Happy Birthday.

Too Much?

2007-10-11T10:06:00.000-04:00

The Arrival

2007-10-03T15:29:00.001-04:00

Alright. I realize that most new moms are able to pull it together quicker than I, but in my defense...

This child does not let me put her down.

And in her defense, I really didn't put her down for the first ten days and can you blame her for getting used to being held? So draw your own conclusions as to who to blame for the lack of posting around here.

She is beautiful, and I have many a funny, sad, heartwarming, scary, wonderful story to tell about motherhood, and my entry into it. And I want to tell them all...to keep a great journal so she can look back and read it someday and get a feeling of what it was like for me. (or, she could do what her dad did after I chronicled the first year of our marraige with the same purpose-ignore its existence entirely, and not read it at all...) Whatever, I'm not still bitter. Let's move on.

First thing is first. I totally didn't go into labor! She just wouldn't come out. I have no idea what a contraction is like...but before you go getting all jealous, please note the following two words: EMERGENCY C-SECTION.

So remember I told you I was going to get my fluid checked on Monday, September 10th? And if it was low, then on Tuesday, the doctor would talk to me about my options regarding inducement. The key to remember here is that I was getting the fluid checked on MONDAY, and we were discussing my options on TUESDAY. So you could see how one would assume that on MONDAY, we were just checking fluid, and not doing anything regarding any options...because we were saving the option portion for TUESDAY.

On Monday morning I told my husband not to come to the ultrasound to check the fluid. It was a court day for him, and he really couldn't miss it, particularly because he was on the verge of taking several weeks off once baby butterman arrived. And this is the story of how my husband missed the single most important appointment I had the entire pregnancy, after attending every appointment, no matter how insignificant, for the past 9 months. Ohhhh, the irony.

So I went to the ultrasound with my mom, and was told "Go up to labor and delivery, you are going to have a baby!"

WHAT THE....?

Ummm, my husband isn't here...

Thankfully, the inducement process takes some time, and he was able to get there within 3 hours. THAT'S RIGHT...I SAID 3 HOURS. I think my mom summed it up best when she likened him to the Slowski's (the Comcast turtles from the commercial). Anyway, they gave me some cervadil to soften the cervix and ready me for the pitocin, which they would administer 12 hours after the cervidil was in. So my husband's 3 hour arrival time didn't end up mattering.

We were in this great birthing suite with a flat panel tv, movies, games, internet. It was great. We amused ourselves for a few hours taking video of me dancing (when the nurse let me get out of bed to stretch my legs), and watching tv. But all the while, I kept praying...please don't let this baby be born on September 11th. And the doctor kept saying...The baby will probably be born on the 11th because of the length of time inducement would take (I didn't get to Labor and Delivery until about 3 pm on the 10th).

At around 9, the nurse told me it looked like every mild contraction registering on the monitor coincided with a drop in the baby's heart rate. At 9:30, the doctor confirmed that, and started telling me I may have to have a c-section. At 9:31, I was telling the doctor that I really didn't want the c-section...REALLY DIDN'T WANT IT, and would only do it as a last option.

At 10:55, the doctor said he was recommending a c-section. I had not dialated at all, and my cervix had not thinned. The baby's heart rate was too low with every mild contraction on the monitor. My husband and I didn't want to agree, so we asked for 5 minutes to discuss it (there was a proposal of doing something else that was a longshot, and in the doctor's opinion a complete waste of time). At 10:59, we decided to do the longshot option, provided it was safe for the baby.

At 11:00, the doctor and 10 nurses rushed into the room, pushed my husband out of the way, and started telling me the decision was no longer mine, the baby was in trouble and they needed to get her out. An anethesiologist began asking me questions about allergies, the doctor was doing an internal exam, someone was drawing blood, and another nurse was trying to get an IV in my hand. I looked past all of these people and saw my husband in the corner...holding a pair of scrubs to his chest and looking for me in the middle of all the commotion.

And the sound faded away in the room, and all I saw were his blue eyes, and the fear filling him up. In that moment, I became a mom.

I looked at the doctor and said "okay, let's get Butterman out" and buried all the fear rising inside. Then I looked back to my husband and smiled to let him know it was fine. This was going to be fine. Nothing was going to go wrong, and I was fine. "Call our parents and tell them to get over here, we're having a baby" I said.

And then they wheeled me out of the cozy, plush birthing suite to the Operating room. Without my husband. The hardest moment in our marriage was watching him still standing there, scrubs still clutched to his chest, as they wheeled us apart.

"Why isn't my husband coming? On A Baby Story, the husband always stays with the wife..."

"This isn't A Baby Story honey, he'll come in right before we start."

Which was just as well, because I really was scared, and I didn't want him to see. I needed him to be okay, for this not to ruin the birth of his first child. And after about 10 minutes, he walked in and sat by my head on one side of a curtain barrier.

"Are you okay?" I asked him, trying not to sound scared for his sake. "Yes, are you okay?" he asked me, trying not to sound scared for my sake. "I'm fine. We're having a baby." and we both smiled at each other.

By 11:34, we had a daughter. She was born on September 10th. And she was absolutely perfect.

The Doctor yelled to my husband: "If you want to see Dad, now is the time." and my husband stood up and looked over the curtain to see her be born. Through tears, he said "she's beautiful, it's a girl" to which I replied "NO, IT'S NOT!" and he said "yes, honey, it is." And I said "No, It's NOT!" and the doctor said "actually, it is..."

Then I put my head back and said "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!" It had never occurred to me that it would be a girl. But I got a two second look at her before they took her away, and I was in love. The way a mother loves her child. The kind of love that defies words.

She was born on September 10th, but emergency c-section. And she was everything I ever wanted.

Katie

2007-09-20T15:11:00.000-04:00

Dear God,

Thank you for sending her to us.

He is already the Father I knew he would be only hours into parenthood.

She has beautiful eyes...Just like her Dad. She also loves to sleep, Just like her Dad

Ready to leave the Hospital and Go Home!

My whole world sitting in a rocking chair on my front porch, together.

PS: Sorry for not updating. It has been beyond exhausting!

She Finally Came!

2007-09-12T03:55:00.000-04:00

She came on September 10th at 11:34 pm weighing in at 7lbs 4ozs and measuring 18 1/2 inches long.
She is beautiful.

She is the greatest gift I have ever received...

I will post more later (with pics) when we get home on Friday.

P.S.
We can't believe it's not BUTTERman!

A Little Britney and A Little Butterman

2007-09-10T09:01:00.000-04:00

I used to love Britney Spears. And although I am on board with the rest of the country in thinking she is a total train wreck, the 22 year old buried deep inside me was rooting for her last night. I wanted her to pull it off. Truly, I did.

Clearly no comeback is going to occur.

On a good note, I think the horror of her performance sent me into pre-labor! Today, I had a sign of impending labor (it is a gross sign that I will not discuss, but a sign that made me call my husband who was pulling out of our driveway for work and tell him to come look. He did, and he was thoroughly disgusted) (for those of you who have been preggo, you can probably guess what happened this morning. For those of you who have yet to experience pregnancy in all of it's glory, better not to tell: no one told me until it was too late!). Let's just say that I know I have dialated at least a little! YAY me, and THANK YOU BRITNEY!

Today I go for an ultrasound to check on amniotic fluid. If it's low, we will talk turkey. If not, I will have a complete meltdown in the doctor's office tomorrow at my appointment, and it will not be pretty. Much like Britney's performance at the VMA's.

See how I brought that around full circle?

Rushing Out the Door for Work

2007-09-07T10:39:00.000-04:00

I finally stopped going into the office as of last Friday. Notice I didn't say that I stopped working, only going in to the actual building in the big city. I am still working, just now, I am doing it in my underwear and night shirt in the comfort of my home office, while the View plays in the background!

I took last Friday off because it was my birthday. My husband had it off because, well because he has the best job ever and they have days that aren't even holiday's off. Days off just because they are ADJACENT TO HOLIDAYS on the calendar. So we ended up spending Friday through Tuesday (which he took off to be with me...you know, back when we thought our baby was actually going to come when they said it would...) together non-stop.

The weekend was uncomfortable, but fun nonetheless. We did think the baby would come, but it didn't happen. We were anxious all weekend, but in good spirits for the most part. On Tuesday, my due date, I had a doctor's appointment. The one where they said nothing was happening, and they wouldn't induce me, you remember? Right?

As we left the doctor, dejected and miserable, I could sense the immense shift in our collective mood regarding the baby. It was a rough night, and we were both cranky. I could tell it was hard on him too. He has been doing everything around the house. ALL the cooking, ALL the cleaning. The kid helps me put on socks for the love of everything holy...he gets me drinks and basically waits on me at this point, so painful it is in the pelvis for me to move!

On Wednesday, he had to go back to work.

Let me say this: Since we have been together, our morning routine has consisted of a 30 minute process of getting him to get out of bed. EVERY. DAMN. MORNING. I mean, the number of times I have heard "five more minutes?" would drive the average person insane.

But Wednesday. On Wednesday, this man shot out of bed, got showered and dressed and practically skipped out the door, so happy was he to be getting away from it all. (and by "it" I mean me, at 40 weeks and counting, pregnant).

You know what? I wasn't even mad. I WAS JEALOUS!

The Nursery

2007-09-06T11:31:00.000-04:00

Butterman's Room: A Pictorial

This is the door to Butterman's room. I wanted to get a sign that said "you wake him, you take him" but we don't know if its a boy yet so my husband wouldn't let me...

This is obviously the doorway. I warn you now, take a breath and suck in, because there is not alot of room in here! Butterman unfortunately is the victim of an old house...small rooms...

Anyway, the crib is Pottery Barn via Craig's List, as you may remember...And the color isn't really coming across right, it is more of a honeydew.

I love this rocker! Also a Pottery Barn find on Craig's List! Notice the blue and pink lampshades (again, despite my positive feeling that Butterman is a boy, my husband insists on keeping our options open...)

Closet door. I love all the bath towels and receiving blankets! Aren't baby things adorable?

The changing table, another Pottery Barn find on Craig's List. I feel like I have conquered the evil empire of Pottery Barn, it feels like I am STEALING from them, even. And it feels GOOD TO STEAL FROM POTTERY BARN!

Inside the crib. Guess who bought the baby a soccer ball? I can take credit for the Boppy and the little lambs...I can't wait for this baby! What do you think of the Green check and toile bedding? neutral enough?

I love that we have window seats in all the bedrooms! It almost makes up for the tiny rooms themselves! Once we know the gender of the baby, we are going to get curtains a rug and a pad for the window seat. Pink for a girl, Blue for a boy. Don't tell my husband, but I already have the blue patterns picked out!

Finally, we are prepared to bring baby home...Pink or Blue...

This all assumes that Butterman decides to come out. But the doctor did assure me that she has never seen a pregnant woman who didn't deliver the baby! So I have that consolation.

D Day

2007-09-05T09:20:00.000-04:00

The first lesson I am going to teach this child is punctuality. When you make an appointment to meet someone, you should be ON TIME! I don't care what your father says, or how late he is to each and every appointment.

BUTTERMAN. THIS IS YOUR MOTHER SPEAKING: YOU COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! NO. NOT IN FIVE MINTUES...NOW! YOU LISTEN TO ME WHEN I AM TALKING TO YOU!

The due date is a cruel joke that they play on pregnant women. I realize that they tell you it is a rough estimate, but I defy any woman not to hang her hat on that date. I was a happily pregnant (except for the month of July) until September 4th came and went. Now, it is a whole new ball game.

I did my time. I paid in full. I am owed one baby please, and I have come to collect. Let's settle up here already!

Last night at the doctor's office, I asked her to check and see if anything was happening. In retrospect, not knowing would have been better. Nothing. No dialation, no effacement (I don't even know what effaced means, but it didn't seem a positive thing that I hadn't done it). I calmly explained that I was no longer willing to be pregnant, so could you please let me know my options.

Apparently, I am no longer a citizen of AMERICA. Because I have no options. I am a prisoner! They will not induce unless medically necessary for a minimum of a week. AND EVEN THEN they will only induce if your ultrasound shows low amniotic fluid. If your fluid is fine THEY LET YOU GO ALMOST ANOTHER WEEK! Excuse me, but I thought this was a free country...what are we fighting for if not the freedom to induce labor?

To my credit, I explained CALMLY that really wasn't going to work for me. I would like to have the baby on Thursday morning so that I could be home by Saturday morning. That way, I could coordinate the cleaning person (who comes on Thursday afternoon) with the barrage of company I will surely get once I bring home Butterman! The house will look great, my husband won't have much to do at home to prepare for us, and the company can walk on clean floors and use clean bathrooms on the WEEKEND! The timing would be excellent!

That sounds reasonable doesn't it?

No?

Are you sure?

Yeah, they didn't think my explanation was good either.

Well how about this explanation then: I WILL FREAK OUT THE LIKES OF WHICH THIS NATION HAS NOT SEEN. IT WILL BE TRULY NEWSWORTHY. I WANT THIS BABY OUT! YOU TOLD ME SEPTEMBER 4TH, AND I AM HOLDING YOU TO IT. NOW WHERE DO WE STAND ON THAT BABY?

We apparently stood firmly within the bounds of their inducement policy. What good is this law degree if I can't sue someone for this?

Update

2007-08-29T10:22:00.000-04:00

Nothing. I have nothing going on right now (except Butterman's head is trying to burrough under my pelvis in a painful, but seemingly unproductive manner).

I am going to stop working tomorrow. My husband says I should take Friday off and make it a four day weekend. (I'm due Tuesday, September 4th)...how about making it a 4 month weekend? I think I am going to start my maternity leave Friday, regardless of whether Butterman feels the need to make an appearance or not.

Is that wimping out? I feel like it might be. But when I broached the subject at work with the partners...I got an all smiles response. Clearly, even they are weary of dealing with a 9 month pregnant lady. That or they are worried about the carpet in the new office space. Several times, I have been asked if I would mind putting a plastic mat under my chair "just in case"...

Law firms are bastions of political correctness are they not?

Wax on Wax off

2007-08-27T10:06:00.000-04:00

There comes a time in every woman's reproductive life when she finds herself at a crossroads. That time is different for every woman. Some find themselves at that crossroads before the idea of pregnancy even hits. Some must stand there soon after finding out that something is growing inside. Each decision different, each decision personal. Each decision that woman's alone.

I was at that crossroads this past weekend, on the cusp of being 39 weeks pregnant. A little late in the game, I know. But nonetheless, I found myself faced with a decision I knew would eventually have to be made. One I have been putting off for so long...But at 39 weeks, I had run out of time. I had to choose which path to follow:

To get a bikini wax, or to not get a bikini wax.

Part of me thinks that of all the times you would like to be neat and trimmed, it would be the one time when a host of people will be in and around that area. The other part of me thinks that given the fact that a human being will be coming out, no one is really going to notice my new "haircut".

It is my body, my decision. I made the appointment.

In my defense, when I called, I informed the woman taking the appointment that I was 9 months pregnant and felt awkward. She assured me that tons of pregnant women do this, and I shouldn't think twice about it. This reassured me. Until I got there, and the waxist (waxicologist? waxer?) took one look at me and said she couldn't do it.

Let's just say I felt like a monster at that point. And it only went downhill from there.

Regardless, another woman came to take me back, and when we got back there, it was evident that I couldn't get onto the table. At that point, I felt like I was a deformed quasimoto. And no the table didn't have a lowering system like a massage table normally does. So this woman wanted me to jimmy sideways onto the table, while she hoisted my leg up. All while I was in my underwear.

Yeah, I don't think so. I asked for a step stool. The best they could do was an overturned bucket. Great. This was clearly going to be luxurious! I have no idea why I thought it would be awkward!

I eventually got on the table. I will spare you all the details, but let's just say I was in there forever, and she asked me several times how I thought it looked during the course of the procedure.

Lady, if I could see beyond my girth to tell you what it looked like, I wouldn't be here in the first place.

The thing about crossroads, once you start down the path, there is no turning back. So I sit here today, a neatly trimmed woman. And to all those that will follow in my footsteps, I can not tell you what to do. My place is only to relay my own experience for your consideration in making your own life decisions. It will be up to each one of you.

Good luck and God's speed to you all.

PS: You may want to bring your own step stool.

Update

2007-08-22T11:15:00.001-04:00

Still no baby.

WAIT! What was that pang?

Yep. Still nothing.

My life is so exciting, I often think a movie should be made...don't you?

False Alarms and Then I Punch My Husband in the Face

2007-08-21T09:41:00.000-04:00

The pain and pressure in my pelvis was incredibly intense. And it would wax and wane. Finally, I said "I think I might be in labor." And his eyes went wide, and his face went pale. But I have to hand it to him, on the outside, he remained cool and collected.

Then it occurred to me that I hadn't felt the baby move for about an hour and a half. I know a girl who knows a girl whose baby was suffocated inside her by the cord. So the not feeling Butterman thing-totally freaks me out.

Do you think we should call? Ummmm...I don't know do you? After some debate, we called. The doctor said to come on down, in much the same way Bob Barker did on the Price is Right. Surprisingly, Bob Barker is not that reassuring of an impression to do when speaking to a pregnant woman.

My husband stayed collected and packed our bag. I packed him some snacks and took a shower. His eyes stayed wide and his face stayed pale.

I knew I probably wasn't in labor. I was just worried about not feeling Butterman. I kept repeating "Are you going to be mad?" He kept repeating "No." everything he said to me was in a sweet, soothing tone that calmed me down. He was being so understanding and nurturing.

Within an hour, we were hooked up to a monitor where Butterman was passing with flying colors, moving all over the place, heart beating strong. The doctor told us everything was fine.

"Are you mad?"

"No, it's good we know the baby is okay. Do you feel better?"

"Are you aggravated?" "Just a little?"

"No. I figured you would have two false alarms. So we got one out of the way tonight!"

"So what you are saying is 'I know my wife is a crazy overreacting pregnant woman?' Figures."

That sweet, soothing tone? The understanding and nurturing manner? It's the same way people handle the crazy bag lady who has you cornered on the train...no sudden moves in front of the looney woman with ten coats on in 90 degree weather.

As God as my witness, the next time I think I am in labor, I am going to take myself to the hospital and confirm it before calling him. He won't be able to accuse me of overreacting or being dramatic again! (unless perhaps he reads this last paragraph)

Fire in The Belly

2007-08-19T06:34:00.000-04:00

I am taking a cue from Amalah and reeling you in with a picture! 4th of July (waiting for the parade) in my town...almost worth the exorbitant taxes, don't you think?

I really cranked out there for the past month, huh? The going got a little tough, and instead of the tough getting going, well...the tough (or not so tough) got bitchy. I blame it on the lack of sleep, really. Oh, and the heartburn. There is definitely more heartburn in the last month. And did I mention the braxton hicks or the fact that my back seizes up two or three times a day in the most painful 30 second intervals (the term "most painful" should be interpreted as a relative term as I have yet to do the actual labor...which I think might hurt a little...)? Also, I would love to be able to wear shoes, I really miss shoes. How quickly does the swelling go down?

Basically, I am blaming this all on Butterman.

Really though? I am going to miss this mess we call pregnancy. For most of the time, it was great. I felt great, my husband was infatuated with me, and truth be told, the whole thing made me feel kind of special in a way that nothing I have ever done before has. Allow me to be a total sap (which when you are pregnant, people give you leeway to do) and declare: I think this is the purpose of life...Butterman may be my calling. Someone alert OPRAH! Seriously, alert Oprah. And ask for tickets to the "my favorite things show." A girl could really use a cashmere Ralph Lauren V-Neck sweater for her and her dog.

Now that this process is winding down, and I only have two weeks left until my due date, I am starting to think that I will miss having Butterman be inside me. I will never again be so close to this little baby. Butterman will come out and start the long, but blink of an eye process, of growing up and becoming independent. He will by necessity pull away from me and my husband. We will give him everything we have, all of our love, attention, patience and most likely money. In exchange, he will grow into a what we had hoped, a man (or woman)with a bright future. And before I can take two breaths, I will be dropping him off at Harvard for his freshman year, with a mini fridge, a laundry basket and two pints of my blood to sell for money for books. Then he will promptly meet the girl of his dreams who is no doubt from the Boston area...and in the biggest display of karma kicking me in the ass THAT UNGRATEFUL BUTTERMAN WILL STAY IN BOSTON TO MARRY HER! Relegating me to seeing him on Thanksgiving and every other Christmas. Hopefully this girl will be Jewish and I can see him every single Christmas...

Well that kid is not going to Boston, I can tell you that much. Villanova was good enough for me! He won't get one by me...I invented that move...going away to college to meet the man of my dreams and never going home again! PLEASE! Don't even try it...been there, done that. One step ahead of you. Just because you are going to Harvard doesn't mean you can get one past your old mom...

Wait. Where was I? Oh yeah, I am getting nervous about letting this Butterman out. I like him close. And although my husband feels like I have been pregnant for two years, lately it feels like the time has flown by. Butterman will be here before we know it. And our lives will change in ways I can't imagine or ever really know.

But something tells me, it won't be too long before my husband and I are driving back from Harvard, all alone in the car...after having dropped off our first born. I will think back to these last moments of having him so close, so dependent on me, so little and wonderful and beautiful. It will not be lost on me that I have taken that very drive myself all these years, in the reverse, after having left home in Boston to go to school in Philadelphia; and I will understand what it must be like to be a parent.

And I think in relative terms, that just might be "the most painful."

WE INTERUPT THIS BLOG BREAK FOR BREAKING NEWS: A NEW BABY!

2007-08-09T08:35:00.000-04:00

My Beautiful New Neice (yet to be named...)

Born at 4:26 am, August 9, 2007.

*Picture credit to my sister-in-law who stayed by her sister's side THROUGH THE ENTIRE LABOR and snapped this with her cell phone a little after delivery! To the average person, this picture may look a little grainy. To my husband and I at 6 this morning, opening it on our blackberries and getting our first glimpse through glassy eyed tears...it was the most beautiful picture ever taken.

Welcome to the world little baby!

I am officially out!

2007-08-02T14:03:00.000-04:00

Honestly, I think I am too pregnant to blog.

The last week has been extremely hard. I am waaaaay too stressed and emotional, and mainly, I am waaaaaaay too tired. Sleeping in the last month of pregnancy is ridiculous.

I have been cranky, but worse than that, I have been pretending not to be cranky for the sake of those around me. And so, I turned to you, dear internets...and in an attempt to sheild those around me in real life, let off steam. I exposed you to the crank the other day. Not fair, I know.

And I felt bad about doing it. No, that's a lie, I didn't. I didn't think it was a big deal to vent on my own blog. So I exposed you all to the crank and then went about my business, never once thinking of how it would impact you.

Then I got the negative comment, telling me how out of line and harsh I was, and how my husband must be afraid of me.

So I have to take a break. I think it's time, don't you?

God, I disgust even myself at this point, so I am going to spare you the ugly finish to this pregnancy.

You can thank me later!

Broken Promises

2007-07-31T13:35:00.001-04:00

Remember that post from this morning? And I said I was going to try and not be cranky for the sake of my husband, and enjoying the last few weeks of what is surely going to be a twice in a lifetime (tops) experience?

Yeeeaaaahhhhh...about that.

See the thing is, there is this guy who joined my firm not long ago. And he is weird. I'm not one to judge (well I am, but go with me on this one) but he is just kind of weird.

He doesn't have cable. He plays on-line gaming games or something. And he has a my space page which frankly, is embarrassing for him (pictures of him in costumes flash on the screen and some Weird Al Yankovich song plays in the background).

All of this, I could deal with. Or, I could at least ignore him and just say 'hi' politely when I see him. BUT. BUT there are some things I have no tolerance for, not now at 8 months pregnant, not EVER.

He is a low talker.

And he talks about work in the lunch room.

Did you catch that? AT LUNCH PEOPLE! HE TALKS ABOUT WORK AND CASE LAW AND JUSTICE ROBERTS HAVING SOME TYPE OF SEIZURE AT LUNCH. Also, I feel compelled to tell you all that he wears a three piece suit to work everyday...and we are a business casual office. Honestly, I didn't realize they still sold 3 piece suits and pocket watches. I half expect him to wear a derby hat to work one day.

So that's the background. Let's get to today at lunch:

I was in the middle of talking about Big Brother 8, and Evil Dick, and he interrupted to: #1 say he has never seen Big Brother (see aforementioned lack of cable tv) and #2 ask if anyone had heard the news about our Cheif Justice having a seizure.

Only it took me a while to figure out why he was interrupting because I couldn't hear a DAMN WORD HE SAID BECAUSE HE TALKS SO SOFTLY!

I wanted to scream "SPEAK UP JACKASS!" but then I reigned it in a little and just said "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" in a nasty tone. he then went on a ten minute rant about the ramifications of the Cheif Justice's seizure and what it would mean for the high court.

What? WHAT? WHO CARES? I just want to eat my bologna and cheese sandwich with mustard and my peach (with cool whip...that last post really gave me a hankering).

I don't care about Justice Roberts and his seizure that is apparently no big deal anyway. I mean, I would prefer that Roberts be off the court, but seriously? It's lunch, and Big Brother 8 is way more interesting of a topic.

And secondly, this guy is a weirdo. I hate to get all highschool cool kids here, but on-line gaming?!? REALLY? He doesn't have cable? I can't work with that. I just can't. And for the record, Big Brother 8 is on CBS...NOT CABLE.

So get off your intellectual high horse you three piece suit wearing ass, and speak the hell up when you are talking in a room full of people. And oh yeah, in case you didn't notice...we are eating lunch...AWAY FROM OUR DESKS and metaphorically, AWAY FROM WORK. So no one gives a shit about the time you read Justice Roberts opinion and found a typo.

So I wasn't kidding when I wrote this morning that I would try to be less cranky...just, well, ummm...I will try: STARTING NOW!

The Butterman Cometh...but not yet

2007-07-31T09:43:00.000-04:00

I like being pregnant. I mean, don't get me wrong, it isn't all peaches and cream (ooooh...I could totally go for peaches and cool whip right now!). But the fact is, it is exciting, and even though the last 2 weeks have been completely uncomfortable, and I haven't slept in a week and a half, at the end, I will have Baby Butterman.

Plus, I have to say, my husband is totally in love with the pregnant me. I am not looking hot ladies, not by a long shot, but this kid keeps touching me and hugging me and kissing me, and telling me how cute and beautiful I am. And here is the kicker: HE TOTALLY MEANS IT! I'm not kidding...he really loves me being pregnant.

And that my friends, makes all the difference in the world. He loves it so much, he makes me love it. Swollen ankles and all.

But I feel the shift. It is getting harder, and I am not hopeful for the last 5 weeks of this 9 month marathon. I can't sleep and it is making me irritable. I am stressed out beyond belief at work (I don't even want to talk about the fact that they denied my request for extended maternity leave), and frankly, Butterman is starting to get bigger than the house he is currently in...which is not pleasant if you are that house.

So I have been slightly cranky lately...particularly about the sleeping thing. And that saying about if mommy isn't happy, then no one is...yes, I think that may be true. I notice that it is getting harder on me, but also harder on him. So I am going to try and make a super human effort to not crank out so much, and really enjoy these last few weeks of torture...I mean, the miracle of life...

Yesterday, after a long day of work, we went grocery shopping. I think the term "know your limitations" would be appropriate here. First, I had to pee the entire time we were in there, despite however many trips I made to the bathroom. Second, I got incredible heart burn while we were there. After trying to just get through the heartburn, we walked to the pharmacy aisle and bought tums, which I promptly opened and ate.

Then I sneezed.

Then I turned to my husband and said "I just peed a little bit"

Then he looked at me. This man who has been so excited for so long with the pregnancy, the same man who can't keep from kissing me and hugging me and touching my belly all the time. And with a resigned look on his face said:

"Alright, this is getting tough huh? You are a real mess right now."

Indeed I am.

.....ummmm? I'm at a loss for words

2007-07-19T08:26:00.000-04:00

The air conditioner in our car broke.
Last Monday.

If my husband does not get it fixed today, I can not be held responsible for what I might do.

I Have Seen the Future.....and it freaked me out

2007-07-17T09:09:00.001-04:00

When you are pregnant, people with small children love to give you "advice". If by the term "advice" you mean laugh at you and your ignorance of what is in store for you once that baby makes a prison break out of your belly. Usually, this "advice" comes in the form of sharing stories about their children. You know, little 'anecdotes' of how cute they are. Right. And while they are laughing and getting a kick out of the funny story about little Joey and that time he barfed so far it hit the opposite wall of the bathroom, and...(well I don't remember how that story ended because I think I blacked out at how gross it was) you politely laugh along with them the whole time trying not to run screaming out of the building.

Now some people, are genuinely sincere when telling their cute little story. These people tell you how much you will grow accustomed to waking up at 4 in the morning because you sense something is in your room. When you open your eyes, there is a small person standing 2 inches from your face and asking you for a donut. And there you have it: that is parenthood.

These people invevitably end their story by telling you "It's hard, but it is the greatest thing you will ever do" and you can tell they mean that. You can tell by the way they tell you without a trace of anger in their voice, that being woken up at 4 in the morning because you feel a 3 year old's eyes burning into your skull, only to have that 3 year old ask for a donut, is actually the greatest thing in their life.

But then there are those that will tell you some story about how "oh my god, the breastfeeding almost killed me, and he never slept, NEVER...and you are doomed to a life of pain and sleeplessness..." And you listen, waiting for the inevitable ending comment of "but it is so worth it, we love little Johnny" which never comes. It is almost like these people want you to be as miserable as them, and they want that misery to start RIGHT NOW, because they can't even wait another second for that baby to be born so you SEE WHAT I'M GOING THROUGH WITH MY LITTLE MONSTER!

Yeah...what is it with those people? Those people are annoying. Incidentally, these people are the very same people who think it is acceptable to ask when you are due and then act all surprised because GOOD LORD YOU LOOK LIKE YOU WERE DUE YESTERDAY AND ARE YOU SURE YOU AREN'T HAVING TWINS? OR A 15LB BABY? Ummmm...yeah. So these people really wonder why their kid is such a monster? Apple, Falling, From Tree. It isn't far.

But back to the people who tell you the funny anecdotes...and they are funny...but really? This is going to happen? They get that close to your face and breathe on you to wake you up? And ask for a donut? At 4 in the morning? Because I have to tell you: more than one person has told us a story like this. But they all seem to be happy to tell it, so I am going to go with the flow.

And maybe sleep with one eye open at all times.

A long drive in...

2007-07-13T08:11:00.000-04:00

This morning my husband and I got into a huge fight, with raised voices on the drive into work. First, we rarely raise our voices when we disagree, but more than that, the fight was about my firm's softball game last night.

Which neither of us went to, or had anything to do with.

Yes. We are in that stage of summer heat/aggravation/pregnancy.

My firm has a softball team. I play sometimes, but in light of the bowling ball in my stomach, I am on the disabled list this season. Sometimes I go to cheer them on, but lately...well, lately I'm all "eeehhh, who cares about softball?" So I didn't go to last night's game. A game played against the Federal Judges.

FEDERAL JUDGES. Who we appear in front of and ask (sometimes beg) for their discretion regularly. Yes, those federal judges.

And while my husband likes to say "on the softball field, everyone's just another guy", these judges are, ummmm, how do I put this fairly?...these judges are serious about the game and winning. Do you get what I am saying? No? Fine then, be that way. I'll just come out with it. These judges are jackasses. They try to impose the same power they have from the bench on the softball field. And they cheat, or try to take advantage of other teams because of who they are off the field.

Which isn't fair is it? But what are you going to do about it?

According to my husband (and my firm's male associates on the team) you should tell them where to stick their robes and gavel, and fight them on every bogus call.

Which would be fine, if the next day you didn't have to go before them and ask for a continuance of the trial because your expert witness isn't available next week. A request that they can grant or deny at will with no oversight or recourse. A request that is not appealable. A request that literally impacts your entire case, and the case of your client who is paying you an exorbitant amount of money to do everything you can to win.

Which was the only point I was trying to make. I agree that it isn't fair that they act that way, and I agree that it would be wrong of them to base their decision on how you acted during a softball game and their personal feelings toward you...but where does that get me in light of the fact that it actually happens. So while it isn't fair...what's that saying?....oh yeah. LIFE ISN'T FAIR.

Do you think your client will care how unfair it is when you tell him the reason you have to try the case without your expert witness is because you stood up for yourself when the judge tried to call you out at second during a softball game? That depends...will you think it's fair when your client doesn't pay his bill because you mouthed off to the judge the night before you had to ask him for something?

Whatever, the point is...my husband and I were screaming at eachother over this on the drive in. Did I mention neither of us was involved in this game in any way? Yet it clearly made sense to have a blowout on an otherwise beautiful Friday morning.

Also, in our morning stop to Dunkin Donuts, my husband, driving like an ass because he was angry, pulled a Dukes of Hazard style manuever and drove into the parking lot from a major 4 lane highway without slowing down...effectively jumping the car in the air over the curb and squealing into a space.

Nice. Because that's what every uncomfortable pregnant woman needs: To be Luke Duke at 7:00 in the morning on the way to a tough day at work. I seriously considered rolling down the window and jumping through it when he pulled over to let me out in front of my building. Trust me, if it was at all a logistic possibility I would have done it simply to make a point. Sadly, I can barely roll out of the car as it is.

The End.

**Really, I have no cute ending to this story. But I won't leave you hanging. My firm won by a single run. Now you can sleep tonight...

Correction: The sun did not explode, for it still burns brighter than a thousand suns

2007-07-11T11:25:00.000-04:00

Oh. My. God. The heat. I would love to describe in detail the absolute swelling in my feet, but I fear words will fail me. I need to take a picture, but I don't want to scare small children who may have access to this blog.

I realize I am harping on this feet swelling issue, and truly, it is so far the only real problem I have had in this pregnancy, but sweet sassy mollassy, I have seen nothing like this swelling, and no books really describe it as being this dire of a situation. I may just be paranoid, but I could have sworn the doctor looked a little nervous and horrified as he said "no, that's normal..." and trailed off while staring wild eyed at my feet.

Because I don't have a picture of my feet, I will describe it (accurately I must say) in this way: My feet and ankles look like Shrek's. Yes, Shrek's feet and ankles...only not green, and with a french pedicure (which I wrongly thought would actually make my feet look more normal, but really just freaked out the peducurist). Basically, it looks like I am wearing Shrek's actual size feet on my 5 foot frame.

ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? SHOULD I CALL 9-1-1?

Clearly, I am the only one truly alarmed by this issue. This is what pregnancy has done to me. I am a raving lunatic about my feet.

ME: Honey, Look at my feet! (for the 100th time inside of an hour)

Husband: (not looking)

ME: LOOK AT MY FEET!

Husband: (Exasperated) I have seen your feet okay? I have been looking at your feet all night long. I UNDERSTAND that you have swollen feet!

ME: I don't give a damn if I ask you to look at my feet one thousand times. YOU SHOULD LOOK AT THEM EVERY GOD DAMN TIME I ASK! I am pregnant, and my feet are swollen. I have done everything for this baby and you have done nothing. NOW LOOK AT HOW SWOLLEN MY FEET ARE DAMMIT! (I actually may have growled like a tiger at this point).

Husband: (rolling his eyes) WOW, those are some real swollen feet you have there!

ME: (Acting like no yelling had taken place) I know! Can you believe it?!? I mean, look at them!

I think we may both be sick of me being pregnant...

The Day the Sun Exploded

2007-07-09T11:42:00.000-04:00

It is ninety seven degrees outside. 97. Three degrees shy of 100 degrees. Am I the only one that thinks if it is going to be 97 degrees we might as well just go for 100? I mean we are so close, why not just go for it?

Also, there is this:

Apparently, my new office is situated across the hall from the WORKOUT ROOM! Do you think they are trying to tell me something? Well I'll show them. I will go into the workout room everyday at 4, sit on the bike, and watch Oprah on the flat screen tv...Now whose laughing?!?!

Lastly, I just got an email saying that snack machine won't be hooked up until Friday. Do they not realize I am 32 weeks pregnant? The snack machine is pretty much all I have going for me at this point. What am I supposed to do?

I am seriously rethinking the whole "work right up and until the baby is born" thing. I mean, I was willing to try, but you gotta meet me half way here people. Can I get a Baby Ruth at least?

Wedged In

2007-07-03T08:50:00.000-04:00

My office is moving. Two blocks. And lo, the aggravation that two measley blocks in the city is causing us...

Just like when you move homes, you have to pack up everything. Is there any torture more torturous? I am going to go out on a limb here and say, "NO." Apparently I have unwittingly accumulated over 6 paris of shoes under my desk. How did this happen? May I remind you that I no longer fit into a single pair of shoes due to the swelling in my feet? So the shoes, yeah, they don't really seem necessary. Flip flops are really the only relevant footwear for me now. Thank the sweet Lord it is summer!

So where was I before I got off on a rant about the CRAZY swelling in my feet? Oh, that's right, the office move. Due to the impending move, we ordered a bazillion (I am not kidding, we actually asked for a 'bazillion') plastic orange crates approximately the size of a large laundry basket with a lid. We were told to pack all our files and belongings into said crates, stack them three crates high on a wheelie thing and lable each crate with a specially numbered tag representing our office. So far you are following me right? Well you would be one step ahead of me, because I had difficulty with the corresponding number/office tag concept.

After my secretary explained it to me for the fifth time, we started packing. She is older, and I didn't want her lifting anything too heavy. I am pregnant, so she didn't want me lifting anything too heavy. Fighting ensued. We clearly made a great packing team. You see where this is going right?

We packed the crates, one crate at a time, one file at a time. Then we would call in someone to stack them. Because I have difficulty bending due to the human being inside my stomach, I sat on the floor and packed the crates as my secretary handed me the files. That way, I didn't have to bend, and neither did she. The crates began to stack up all around me. I stayed put, and my secretary would just bring an empty crate and put it next to me where the full crate that had gotten stacked had been. It was really minimal effort on my part.

Pretty soon, I had stacks of crates all around me. I was facing the window, and my back was to the door. My secretary organized the stacks so that she left a pathway directly behind me so we could get to the door. Then, unbenknownst to me, she walked out to the copy room or something. Who knows where she went, but she didn't tell me. Shortly after her departure, I finished packing the crate next to me and decided I had to go to the bathroom. Executing this task required that I get up.

Immediately to my left was a stack of crates. Immediately to my right was a heavy crate freshly packed and up against a stack of crates. Does anyone see the problem here?

In order for me to get up, I needed to roll from a sitting position over onto my hands and knees and then most likely with assistance, pull myself up. There was no room to roll over, and no one to assist.

I yelled to my secretary to come into my office. There was no reply. Clearly she was not at her desk. Then and there, I mentally assured myself that if I found out she was downstairs smoking a cigarette, I would strangle her with my bare hands...assuming I was ever ambulatory again.

I sat there, wedged in between the crates for a minute, contemplating my situation. Butterman was kicking, and I was just sitting there. Kind of relaxing once I gave up hope for myself, actually.

But then I remembered that I had to pee. "Guys, anyone?" "Help me, I'm wedged in" "I can't get up" each statement made with more urgency.

In the office next to mine, is a name partner. He is older, and kind of stodgy. Definitely WASPY would be a good word. Anyway, he came running in and before I could say anything, he superhumanly pushed over one of the stacks of crates in a total panic. He obviously thought I had fallen. Then I rolled over and grabbed his arm to pull myself up, and he almost fell over.

I just looked at him and said "thanks, I was stuck down there" and then went to go to the bathroom. It occurred to me later that this partner was probably counting down the minutes to the move when his office would be far, far away from mine...

What NOT to say to make a pregnant woman feel better...

2007-06-21T18:12:00.000-04:00

Husband: What are you talking about? You are beautiful!

Me: No, I am huge!

Husband: You are pregnant, I love you pregnant...you look like a keg with legs.

Me: ....

Husband: What? You are so cute, you're my little cute tubby butterman!

Me: ....

Husband: I love you.

Baby Shower

2007-06-18T10:55:00.000-04:00

This post could also be titled..."Where I am I going to put all this stuff?" or "Could I possible get any fatter?"

It was such a beautiful shower. My mom, my husband's mom and his two sisters really did such a wonderful job. I am thankful to them all, but my sisters in law? They truly were amazing. All three of us have alot on our plates right now, life is overwhelming for a variety of different reasons. My older sister in law is pregnant 8 months pregnant, not to mention trying to sell her house and buy a new one. And the younger one has been having a hard time lately with something. To have so much going on, and still be so loving and supportive and...I don't know...sisterly. I can't think of what to say. Who am I kidding, I can ALWAYS think of things to say.

They got me all the clothes you see on the line, plus a laundry basket filled with toys and books and Dreft (which apparently is what you need to wash Butterman's clothes in...who knew? And to think I was going to just use Tide!). PLUS, they got me the infant car seat and an extra base. Plus a ton of other outfits and onsies and bibs and a big stuffed bear that isn't pictured...

Sometimes, I want to cry and hug them and let them know how important they are to me. (Other times, I want them to eat cheesecake and have pimples, I mean, could they get any more beautiful?) But they are my support in so many ways, which is weird, because I don't think they really know how important they are to me, I don't know if I have ever really told them.

I write alot on this blog about all the funny little stories of acclimation to being married. There is no greater part of getting married than figuring out and fitting into another family. And though I have a few stories I could tell about my inlaws, they have not once made me feel like I wasn't part of the clan. They are my family, and they make everything about the 'deal' of marraige so much sweeter.

My younger sister in law moved about 5 minutes away from us a few months ago, and soon my older sister in law is moving to our small town. I can't think of a better gift to give Baby Butterman than to have them move their families close to ours. To have Baby Butterman grow up close to his cousins, running into each other's homes for a quick cup of coffee, or to drop off a care package and give some hugs because something bad has happened...or to meet downtown at Gracie's for ice cream on a hot summer weeknight after soccer practice. Just to live our lives together, one big happy family. When the dust settles, isn't that what we are all striving to give our kids (and ourselves)? Butterman will be surrounded by this big, goofy, loving, crazy family.

So could they get any more beautiful? Yeah, actually, they could. Because while the picture shows you how pretty they are, how well put together and dressed they are...it doesn't show you everything they do for me and for each other. It doesn't show you what kind of sisters they are.

I always knew I would marry him, I just didn't know how lucky I would be to get all of them in the process.

Scaring Kids and Kicking Puppies

2007-06-13T10:32:00.001-04:00

The following email was circulated by the managing partner of my office when I got back from court yesterday after winning a trial:

TO: ENTIRE FIRM
FROM: MANAGING PARTNER
RE: CONGRATULATIONS!

Hi Everyone!

It has been a banner day for Newlywifed. She just won her trial after demolishing an 8 year old on the stand. Everyone make sure to congratulate her!
Great Job, Newlywifed!

-----------------------------------------------------------------

TO: ENTIRE FIRM
FROM: NEWLYWIFED
RE: RE: CONGRATULATIONS!

The eight year old was a formidable opponent…I eventually won after she pointed to my stomach and asked if I was pregnant, and I told her "no, I ate the last kid who testified against me." After that, she folded like a house of cards.

Clearly I am trying to win mother of the year as a rookie. It's going well so far, don't you think?

*It should also be pointed out that the partner was joking (she isn't that insensitive as to think it is great to make a child cry) she's 8 months pregnant right now...and the child not testifying had very little to do with my win.

An Eternity of Happiness

2007-06-04T09:10:00.001-04:00

Two Years, a beautiful wedding, a happy home, and a baby butterman on the way.

It has been the two of us, moving through life, stopping only occassionally to smell the new landscaping we almost died (or killed each other, depending on perspective) trying to put in. We have built a home together that, at the end of every day, is where we are trying to get to. Sometimes desperately. I don't try to get to a place, so much as get to him. He is home to me now, no matter where he is.

He has grown into the husband that I knew he would be all along, and I think I have become the wife I didn't know was inside of me. Somewhere along the way, the 25 year old who never called me back to plan a Friday night out because he got caught up with his friends, has turned into a 35 year old who drives his pregnant wife all the way to work every morning rather than have me take the train that is a block from my house, effectively tripling his commute.

We have stood next to each other, as we promised to do, in good times and in bad. There have been times that standing has not been enough, and we have had to carry each other. I held this man's hand when he buried his grandfather and he carried the casket of mine. I passed him a tissue when his baby sister got married, and together we welcomed my niece into the world on a sunny bright day one March.

I have watched him run into an emergency room, looking frantically for me as I sat in a corner hurting, and felt instant relief when his clear blue eyes found mine. I have hopped off an emergency room table, despite being the patient, to help him as he started to faint. He has brought me juice and water during the throws of the worst kind of flu, and I have unwrapped the bandages of his knee surgery wound and felt the pain it must have caused him as if it were my own.

We have gone through loss, and life together.

I have had the pleasure of watching his expression when he first saw his child on an ultrasound, and felt his hands waiting patiently on my belly for a sign of the life inside it.

In a few months, it will all change, and our family of two will become a family of three. It is part of our plans and hopes and dreams, and I wait anxiously for the arrival. But part of me knows that these first two years...these years it has been just the two of us, together figuring out how to move through the world, will have been some of the happiest of our lives. These two years are the foundation we will build all the rest on. And years from now, when we are rocking on our porch together, alone again after children have grown, I will measure the success of my life by whether or not I have earned the love he has given me.

Two years ago today, June 4, 2005, we stood facing each other, before God and all our family and friends, while the priest asked us to live life from the center. And we promised to do it. To be each other's center, and to live life from that place we would create. And while life has swirled around us, sometimes at breakneck speed, the center has always been calm. The center has always been home. It has always been us.

Thank you for all the lemon waters, all the laundry, all the driving, all the pizzas, every home improvement project. Thank you for working to make the world safer every day, for being my moral compass. For tucking me in at night, and holding me every morning for "five more minutes". Thank you for protecting me always. Thank you for laughing at all my jokes, and being my biggest fan. Thanks for telling me I'm beautiful just when my feet are most swollen and the shirt isn't buttoning.

You have been everything that I ever wanted and needed. You have been my center.

Happy 2nd Anniversary

love, me

THE GREAT DEBATE

2007-05-15T08:26:00.000-04:00

Mother's Day: Does it count for those of us who have the baby on the inside? According to my mother, who did not even let me finish the question before she firmly answered "NO", pregnancy does not qualify you for a free rose at the mother's day brunch, where included in the price of $60 per person is a free rose for all mothers.

Well I took the rose.

That's right, I said it. I took the rose. I think it should count. Kind of. I mean, when in doubt shouldn't we err on the side of caution? Plus, even if I wasn't pregnant, I organized that monster brunch for 15 people spanning both my family, my husband's and my sister-in-law's inlaws. So if anyone deserved that wilted scraggly rose, it was me dammit. And I took the last pink one too, so everyone else can...well use your imaginations as to what everyone else could do. So, yeah. Don't mess with a stressed out pregnant woman.

The brunch was supposed to be one of the nicest in the area. We had been before on a normal Sunday and it was wonderful. Apparently for mother's day, they decided to double the price whilst giving you half the service and a quarter quality on the food. Yes, while I did get the last pink rose, I was cut off in line by a pudgy 12 year old girl who had to have the last waffle. Do you think it was wrong of me to trip said pudge ball on her way back to the table, causing her to fall and lose the waffle? Just kidding. I only thought of doing it, I didn't actually trip her. (She was too quick for me anyway).

Even though the brunch itself was really kind of pathetic, the real stress came from wrangling all those people together and trying to enjoy brunch while monitoring about 12 different conversations going on to make sure my family didn't say anything they weren't supposed to say in front of his family, or my sister-in-law's inlaws. you get the idea...

By the time it was over I had yelled at my brother for wearing completely season inappropriate pants and shirt (which I am convinced he did on purpose just to piss me off); snapped at my mom for blurting out that my sister-in-law is pregnant in front of a table full of people who didn't know yet; given the evil eye to my father-in-law for telling the entire room that no, I shouldn't be using salt on my potatoes; and shivved the waitress who told my entire family that I had paid the check mid-meal and left (I had attempted to discreetly pay the check before it was dropped at the table to avoid the certain free for all that would have ensued as to who was going to pay for what...I have no idea why she would tell everyone I left?!?). And quite frankly, I think it is a testament to how stressed I was, that when I returned to the table, my husband was actually surprised to see me because he thought that maybe I had left because of how stressed I was.

But then! Then we said goodbye to everyone and headed home, where we sat on our front porch in rockers, reading magazines, sipping lemonade and holding hands, while music from a barbecue down the street wafted through the perfect summer afternoon. It was two hours of sheer mother's day bliss...a last relaxing mother's day before the baby gets here and I can never sit for two consecutive hours, pleasantly holding my husband's hand uninterrupted again.

Until our neighbor broke out his weed wacker and the buzz became deafening and the smell of gass filled the previously lavendar scented air...

It was wonderful while it lasted anyway!

*ps: my husband also bought me a gift certificate for a pregnancy massage, which I am sure will look pretty good to me once August rolls around and I am 8 1/2 months pregnant!

Glowing

2007-05-01T13:36:00.000-04:00

My Husband: You know, you are really glowing, you are beautiful. Your whole persona has changed now that you are pregnant.

Me: You mean I am sweeter and less bitchy?

My Husband: No. You are still bitchy. I just mean your complexion is glowing. But you are totally still bitchy.

Hey, at least my complexion is looking good! And I'm glad I am still the same person on the inside!

Blowing Up...and not in a good way, like Britney's comeback album.

2007-04-29T20:43:00.000-04:00

This is a picture of me on my wedding day. I did not lose alot of weight for my wedding, and no one would have accused me of being "skinny" by any means. But certainly, small children would not have run from me fearing my obesity. I was pretty happy being a little pudgy.

But dear Lord...What the hell has happened?!?

I don't look like I am with child as much as I look like I ate a child. And am I also giving birth to a pair of boobs? Sweet Mother of Pearl...what is the deal with the boob growth?

And this is going to get worse?!? Consider this post a public service announcement. I am not commenting one way or the other for those deciding to have children or not. I am just offering some information to assist in the making of an informed decision.

And does anyone know...will my bra size go back to normal? Lie to me people...lie to me!

Unadulterated Happiness

2007-04-18T20:01:00.000-04:00

I just didn't realize how much love we were capable of until I saw this little person.

Criag's List

2007-04-17T16:25:00.000-04:00

So I love Pottery Barn. Who Doesn't? But $700 for a crib? Come on people. That house in New Jersey didn't come with a money tree in the back yard. So my cheapness and intelligence teamed up to come up with a solution. And that solution is called Craig's List.

I got a crib:

Retails for $700 at Pottery Barn (plus shipping and handling)
Retailed on Craig's List for $250 (my husband didn't charge me for shipping and handling).

I also got a Changing Table: Which came with 4 of the Pottery Barn Sabrina Baskets and 8 Liners for those baskets.

Retails at Pottery Barn for $250 (changing table); $128 (baskets); and $80 Liners
Retailed on Craig's List for $200 total (plus, again, I got the husband discount on shipping)

Not to be stopped there, I got a BRAND NEW IN THE BOX POTTERY BARN ROCKING CHAIR:

This retails at Pottery Barn for $600
Retails on Craig's List for $300 (did I mention that it was BRAND NEW IN THE BOX AND NEVER USED?) I was so excited I almost carried this home myself! But that free shipping from my husband made that unnecessary.

And Finally, a Bassinett (Mine is with Green trim)(do you sense the green theme?) Also, this was unused! BRAND NEW...I am getting sweaty just thinking about it!:

Retails for $350 at Pottery Barn
Retails on Craig's List for $100

Prior to the nursery purchases (each separate finds), I have never used Craig's List before. Where have I been? I'll tell you where I have been...going broke in Pottery Barn, that's where. I can't be stopped now! I will conquer the world through Craig's List!

Well until my husband puts his foot down. Which he did last night when we picked up the crib and the woman told us she still had all the Pottery Barn bedding and just as my eyes lit up and I was about to yell "HELL YES!" my rational husband politely declined and then said to me:

"I draw the line at sheets. We are getting the baby NEW SHEETS"

Fine. Whatever. Be that way. Besides, I can afford nice sheets what with all the money I saved on Craig's List.

Sudafed

2007-04-12T08:38:00.000-04:00

To take Sudafed or Not to take Sudafed. This is the question.

The doctor (who I am not that thrilled with) has come down on the side of taking the damn Sudafed already and stop calling me with questions about things you read on the internet.

But the internet, and another pregnant friend of mine have said Sudafed is dangerous. Although this friend is not a doctor and the internet was inconclusive...

While the debate rages on, I am in a state of super sickness. Holy Crap Sickness. The kind of sickness where your own mother comes in the room and says "Ew...you don't look good." I mean, you expect it from your queasy husband, but your own Mother? Et tu Mater? But the woman makes a mean matzo ball soup, so I am going to let her slide just this once.

I have decided not to take the Sudafed. As a result, I am white knuckling my way through this cold/flu/plague/death march of germs. I think my inability to get out of bed is directly related to the lack of Sudafed. Is it wrong to want to give the baby to my husband to carry for the remainder of this cold?

I never take a sick day from work. I don't know why, but I really never do. I can't say that it has ever been that much of an issue since I rarely get bed ridden sick on a weekday (lucky me!). But for the past two Sudafed deprived days, I laid in bed...unable to move or to see (Let this be a lesson to all you contact wearers out there...do not leave contacts in when you are sick and have weepy watering eyes. An infection will ensue the likes of which will make your eyes crust and swell shut. And your husband will be disgusted by this. But on the good side, you won't be able to actually SEE his disgust - what with the being swollen and crusty and BLIND).

Today I feel slightly better and so braved a monsoon to come to work. Where the receptionist promptly pulled what will heretofore be known as a "mom" by saying "Eww...you look HOOORRRIBLE!"

Et tu Receptionae?

PS: KidKate, can I take a Sudafed?...Please feel free to weigh in on what our European counterparts think!

Nose Hair

2007-04-03T09:01:00.000-04:00

On a warm spring morning almost two years ago, I was in our bathroom when I noticed a small mechanical device that looked like a pen. When I asked my husband what it was, he told me it was a nose hair trimmer. I questioned no further, and he offered no additional explanation.

Two days later, I used it. I did not read the instructions, nor did I ask for a tutorial. I had never before trimmed my nose hair...but who amongst us wouldn't have tried that out?

I have had no nose hair for the past two years.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me at the time, you are only supposed to lightly trim the hairs that are at the edge of the nostril. I, however, living by wits alone, decided to trim EVERY LAST HAIR from inside my nose. Right...yes...those school loan payments are really seeming worthwile now!

Did you know that nose hair doesn't really grow back? Now you do. Did you also know that nose hair serves an important purpose of keeping our noses relatively unstuffed? Well you do now. Needless to say, it has been two years of hell which has included extensive noseblowing each morning.

Early on in my pregnancy, I learned that pregnancy makes your hair grow thicker and longer...I found this to be true. My hair is like a weed at this point, and the shaving is required more often...but I do not notice it any place more than in my nose.

There is a definite upside to preganancy. I just never figured it would be related to nose hair.

High School Cafeteria

2007-03-29T15:19:00.000-04:00

I have lunch lady arms. I am fairly certain pregnancy will make this condition that much worse. Because I will not be giving birth to Baby Butterman (we are starting to call the baby "baby Butterman" and my husband is calling me "tubby Butterman") until around labor day, I am assuming that I will be very hot this summer.

What can I do about covering up my lunch lady arms? Because no one wants to see that. Trust me.

While other mothers to be are concerned about eating healthy and exercising...I am panicked about my flabby Butterman arms. Clearly I have "Mother of the Year 2008" all wrapped up.

Staying Positive

2007-03-27T08:27:00.000-04:00

There is alot going on right now. I mean aside from the human being inside my body. Except nothing is ever "aside" from the baby inside is it? I feel like everything that I do, or eat, or feel, or think has an impact on this little person (who, did I mention, is INSIDE MY BODY? And also, did I mention, HOLY CRAP, a PERSON is living inside my body? Not that it freaks me out or anything).

There is something personal going on for me right now. And it permeates every. single. part. of my life. What started out as a situation that upset me about a month and a half ago, has grown into something so huge, that I feel sick about it every day. I don't sleep well, and sometimes I lose my appetite. I don't know if it will ever resolve itself. It doesn't seem like it is going to at this point, but then again, these things always feel like they won't ever resolve and they almost always seem to. But this single issue has made me so sad, for so long, that I can't imagine myself ever really getting over it. And I suppose it is the fact that I may not ever get over it that makes me so sad in the first place.

What specifically is wrong is irrelevant for the baby. I am worried that this little person will somehow sense that something is wrong, that the world is somehow not happy, and in turn will feel a sense of unease. I want this child to feel comfortable, and loved and protected. I don't think a baby should know "unease" or sadness or worry. I never did. What if my constant state of upset and sadness affects the baby, even as it is inside me? I can't help feeling that you can't hide things like this from your children, that they pick up more than we think. What if that starts when the baby is inside you?

And this thought only makes the whole situation worse. So much worse.

I was a happy kid. I was never anxious or worried. I didn't fret over things and never really was overly sensitive. I think because my parents were happy, and never let themselves get too anxious or worried or angry. I was raised to be confident and happy because my parents were confident and happy. I want that to be the case with my child.

My husband is easygoing. He laughs easily and is openly affectionate. He rarely gets angry. We have alot of fun together. Our house is very happy. In general we are both positive people. And I want my child to be like that.

But lately, this problem I am having is such a negative force. And I worry that the negativity impacts the baby. I have to think it does. And GOD, that kills me. I haven't even really started yet, and already I am failing at this motherhood thing. Failing at protecting this baby from the strain of something so upsetting and stressful.

So in the spirit of motherhood, what else can I do except pull it together? My mom would have.

Pregnant, But Still Newlywifed

2007-03-22T08:42:00.000-04:00

All your comments from the last post were so WONDERFUL! Thank you, Thank you...I would like to thank all the bloggers out there who supported me in my early days...wait, no one supported me in my early days. Well no matter, now I have a wealth of friends from this whole blogging thing, and it is as if I have hit the powerball (only I can't purchase a trip to Paris or a Volvo SUV with your comments, so not really like Powerball per se)(but if any of you drive an SUV or live in Paris, can you come pick me up and take me home with you...in which case you are exactly like winning powerball!).

So here we are. Together again. What to say? How to start? After the initial splash of good news and welcome backs, now I suppose substance will be required.

I slaved over this blog for a full year as a first anniversary present to my husband and he didn't read it. Can you believe that? Well I showed him! I quit the blog...see if he reads what I don't write once it isn't there to ignore! Or something like that....So, yeah, that didn't really make sense to me either after a while, or ever. And now I am back. With substance. Kind of.

Drumroll please...................
(Jazz Hands) SUBSTANCE (Jazz Hands again)

Yeah. I got nothin.

Does anyone know how much a baby costs? No seriously, just a round figure, nothing I will hold you to. Anyone? Am I going to be able to afford this? And also, we only have one car (for environmental purposes, we are down with Al Gore! And also because I haven't won powerball and can't afford the Volvo SUV or the gas to go in it) am I going to need a second car? I mean do they really take up that much room? All the babies we have seen seem pretty small in person.

And most importantly: how do pregnant women wear pantyhose? Mine keep rolling down my hips and making a break for my knees. This obviously hampers movement, not to mention it makes me uncomfortable (not that pantyhose were comfortable before...).

"What to Expect When You're Expecting" is woefully lacking in the everyday information category. Can you help a Pregger out?!?

Apologies and Explanations

2007-03-20T13:45:00.000-04:00

I have been busy lately, creating life. What have you been up to? Oh, posting on your blog? That's nice. I haven't had alot of time what with the whole making of another human being from scratch. So I haven't been keeping up the blog.

Wait, don't leave. I didn't mean to sound defensive! It's the hormones, I swear. Please don't leave me! I am just overcompensating because I have failed so miserably with the blog lately. I am sorry. So truly sorry. I haven't been kind, and I feel bad about it. I will treat you better, just stay, you'll see!

Hey do you have any cookies? I could really go for a cookie right now.

Alright, all kidding aside, I am officially 4 months pregnant today. I haven't written because I can't figure out what to do about the blog. I mean, I am not really newly married anymore, and obviously the topic of "first year of marraige" is stale at this point. But do I rename it? What? What can I do?

SERIOUSLY, SOMEONE GET ME A COOKIE!

Okay, that was easier than I thought. I am back. The first post is the hardest right? I mean, it was awkward there between us for a while, but now I am back, and you are back, and we can move on as if this never happened. From now on, I will keep you updated. You know, on the pregnancy thing. And the marraige thing. And the cookie...where do we stand on that cookie?

The Obligatory Thanksgiving Recap

2006-11-28T21:43:00.000-05:00

My Thanksgiving was gloriously chaotic, filled with way too many people in way too tight a space, and the babies...oh, the babies were all over the place. It was wonderful. I mean, if you like babies, and family in tight quarters, and sweating your ass off because did I mention 35 people in 400 square feet of space? But still, so good!

I made a sweet potato casserole with a brown sugar and pecan crusted top. I used white sweet potatos instead of the orange ones I used last year. As I made the casserole, my husband commented that it looked good. Once he tasted it, he told me it taseted like potato cake batter. And it did.

I informed him it was the same recipe as last year.

"you remember last year's right? I spent two hours making it and you didn't even try it!"

"this is the same as last year?"

"Yes, I figured you had a mental thing with the fact that the sweet potatos were orange, so this year I tried white."

"I like the taste of the white better."

"they taste the same, you like the COLOR of the white better."

Does anyone else have a husband that won't eat vegetables unless they are disguised as dessert?

mmmmmm....Just as I suspected. Sometimes I know him so well, I scare even myself!

Note to Self

2006-11-22T19:48:00.000-05:00

Dear Self:

If you ever spend an entire year painstakingly, lovingly, and consistently chronicling your first year of marriage in a well thought out, and perfectly planned first anniversary present (and in a clever way that stays within the guidelines of the 'paper' anniversary etiquette no less) which you are sure will knock the socks off of your husband and win you wife of the year...please know that depite your dreams of his eyes filling with tears, and a lazy morning in bed together, laughing while reading and remembering this wacky year, he will instead make a big, but brief, fuss over it, tell you he loves you, loves the journal 'bloggy' thing, and then promptly read approximatly only 1/2 of the entries (while you stand over him expectantly) before never EVER looking at it again.

You will know he never looked at it again because you will have spent over 2 hours figuring out 'statcounter' for just such a reason. And you will never get those 2 hours of your life back.

But Self, what I really want to tell you is this: You may feel like you no longer want to blog because, "what is the point really?" I mean you were doing it for him weren't you? And that unromantic son of a bitch can't even click on it every once in a while even though he spends hours, and I mean HOURS, on cbs.sportsline.com. Well Self, don't give it up. Don't give it up, because regardless of whether or not it's important to him now, it will be...when you fall into a coma and he glimpses life without you and while sitting by your side in the hospital remembers the blog and uses his blackberry to re-live all the great memories over and over again, all night...until dawn, when you wake from the coma (unharmed, and with amazingly fresh breath) and he takes you into his arms because he only just now realized how much you mean to him...like really mean to him...

Alright Self, you're not going to fall into a coma, but you will be sorry you gave up the blog thing. You'll miss your friends from blogland, and really you were on the verge of convincing Eliza to actually hang out with you in person...to give it up now would crush that dream forever. Besides, even if he doesn't know it yet, it will be nice to have this journal of your young lives together.

Plus, when you quit blogging, the terrorist win. Or something like that.

Oh, and Self, he may not read the blog, but other than that, he is everything you ever wanted, so you might want to give him a pass on the blog thing (and also, you might want to log onto his fantasy football page, and release Peyton Manning as the quarterback...depending on how hurt you were).

Love,

Me

P.S. You also might want to ease up on the run-on sentences, I am having trouble following myself.

We Married off My Sister In Law

2006-11-21T16:27:00.000-05:00

And coming in as a close second for most beautiful girl of the day: My neice!

Yawn

2006-09-23T08:47:00.000-04:00

I warn you ahead of time that this post is not about anything. Like Seinfeld, but without the humor. I haven't been posting alot lately because work has been busy and blah blah blah...I am boring even myself at this point.

Therefore, I give you the following conversation with my husband:

Me: I think the curtains should be 14" long

Him: (measuring the 14" so I can see where they will fall to) Here? Noooooo...too long...

Me: No, I think they are fine there. Any shorter and they will look weird.

Him: The dining room curtains are shorter-

Me: (interrupting) and they look weird.

Him: You don't like the dining room curtains?

Me: Where did my life go wrong? We used to talk about where we were going to meet up with everyone on Friday night. Now I'm talking about curtains. What happened to spending all our free money on beer and hanging out with our friends. And what about The Gap. Are we too old for The Gap? Suddenly life is just going to work all the time, saving our money, overfunding our life insurance for investment purposes, which rug do you think looks best in this room, permits for additions to the house...and timing when we have sex for optimal baby making. Why does everything have to be so complicated? WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT CURTAINS!!!! I don't want to think about what college is going to cost in 18 years and the best plan to prepare for it-I ALREADY WENT TO COLLEGE! And I have to tell you, I wouldn't mind going back.

Him: (looking seriously upset and concerned) We're not too old for The Gap. Are we?

I have not met her

2006-09-11T19:29:00.000-04:00

She is a girl that I have not met. But I feel inexplicably linked to her. I don't know why, because what binds me to her is nothing that I have ever experienced. Nothing that I have ever known. The things she has gone through are things I pray will never touch me. She has seen the face of evil and been to the depths of a true hell that although I imagine, I can not ever really understand.

I have not met her, but I cry for her. And though I feel for her, feel with her, I never reach out to her. She will never know me, never know the nights I have thought of her, prayed for her. Never know the pain I feel for her. It would be hard to introduce myself, let alone tell her I somehow understand. Because maybe I don't understand. It would seem impossible to know what she feels, what she goes through, but I can't help thinking that I do know, I do understand, in some small way.

We are, in so many ways, alike. She is my age, she has dreamt my dreams, and hoped my hopes. We were on the same path a few years ago. But today, my life is a reminder of what could have been for her. She should be where I sit today. But she is so far from where I am, her life so drastically different.

She is a bride whose groom was taken from her on 9/11...a few months before the church doors would have swung open and she would have made that long walk down the aisle to the man that would take her as his wife with tears in his eyes. They would have danced, like we danced. They would have opened presents like we opened presents. They would have honeymooned, like we honeymooned. And she might have kept a blog of all the insignificant moments that make her marriage wonderful.

But she has no insignificant moments. She has one moment. A moment in time that changed not her life, but her very being. And while write a blog about things I don't want to forget, insignificant things he says or does, she struggles to remember his smell, the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand on the small of her back.

I have not met her. She is a friend of my husband's from college and she is my September 11th. She is my touch stone of how bad it can get, how much hurt there was. But she is also a reminder of resiliance, how strong you could be if you had to. She is a reminder of what my life could have been but for the grace of God. And in a strange way, she is what I imagine the grace of God to be.

I think about her more than I would admit to anyone, even my husband. It sounds too crazy, I know. I thought of her when we were shopping in Williams Sonoma for the wedding, and again when we picked out halloween costumes last year. And each time she floats through my thoughts, it hurts deep inside me...a fleeting sadness that is deeper than anything I have known. And I am acutely aware that while it is fleeting for me, that pain is never gone for her.

I thought of her when I stood alone, in a side room waiting for my Dad to come tell me it was time to walk down the aisle. I haven't ever met her, but I know her.

She is me, but for the grace of God.

The Post In Which I Explain To Those In The Southern California Real Estate Market That They Too Could Afford a Beautiful Home If They Moved To JERSEY

2006-08-19T10:36:00.000-04:00

I couldn't help noticing that people commented on my "cute" house:

And the LOCATION! I think the word is "Quaint":

The grass seems greener, does it not? But upon closer inspection:

But maybe you guys won't be bothered by the 1,983,879,342,076 hours of blood, sweat and tears involved when you buy one of those charming old victorians...and lest you think I was kidding, blood was shed, Oh. My. God. the sweat, and there were DEFINITELY TEARS.

Maybe those of you in the Southern California Real Estate Market are saying, "I'm not afraid of a little hard work, it is worth it in the end." To you I say, you are right! For us, it was worth it in the end.

But please do not forget, with New Jersey prices, comes Northeast Weather:

How "cute" does our house look in this picture?

Rocky part VI

2006-08-18T09:19:00.000-04:00

Mawwwwiage is what bwings us here today...a dweam within a dweam.
-The Princess Bride.

As I mentioned in the previous post, on the same day I cranked out on my husband for his broken promise of bed time, the train home caught on fire and stopped running. Forcing me to have to call him to come get me...IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC. Which he did without blinking. Therefore, I give you: ODE TO MY HUSBAND

Marriage is the hardest and easiest thing I have ever done in my life. There are days when it feels like from the moment I step off the train to go to work until the moment I walk in the door at night, life becomes a slug fest. Most days I feel like I am fighting for a title in the main event, and home is the the corner I go to when the bell rings. And being married is like having the guy with the water bottle standing there, telling you "it's going to be fine, your doing great, throw your left more because he looks like he's coming from the right." He's the guy that takes me out in Vegas for a good time after the fight...win or lose.

I hear people say "life is a grind" and I think that it probably can be. But when you have someone grinding it out everyday with you, it doesn't really seem that way. It feels like there is a purpose, something greater than you, something your are building together. Working towards "it" together. And it is fun, it feels like it's what you were meant to be doing.

My husband? He is a great corner man. I tell him so all the time. And so I'm telling him now, here on this blog.

Thanks for being a great corner man.

*I would be remiss if I didn't let the internets know that my husband does not normally wear shirts like that, but we bought matching shirts in greece...which I make him wear sometimes. Another example of how good he is to me...

I'm Cranky

2006-08-15T14:11:00.000-04:00

"Cranky pants" for those of you not in the know (or not in a marraige with me) is a condition which is marked by irritability after a poor night of sleep. The condition is normally caused when a husband promises his wife two nights in a row that he will come to bed early with her, then does not come to bed early with her on either night, thereby keeping her awake until approximately midnight despite the fact that she has specifically told him that she is EXHAUSTED, and needs to go to bed early. Said wife will let it go on the first night, but then on the second night, she will restate her desire to go to bed early, and in a nonaccusatory way, mention the fact that she had wanted to go to bed early the night before, only didn't get to do so because he kept her up doing god knows what in the kitchen.

When said husband again agrees to come to bed early, only to break the agreement at bedtime, the result will be a wife wearing cranky pants upon waking the next morn.

My advice to those who may encounter this phenomenon in the future:

When you say you are going to come to bed and do not do so, and it keeps your wife awake on a span of nights on which she has specifically informed you of her desire to retire to the bedroom early due to exhaustion, then do not be surprised if when you bend down to kiss her awake the next morning she wordlessly shoves her open palm into your face, giving you the universal signal for five more minutes. And I suggest giving her the five extra minutes and not trying to pull one over on her by waking her up again in four minutes, because she will know that she was short-changed and it will only make the situation worse...for you.

Also, do not look surprised in any way whatsoever if, when you try to tell her good morning, she growls at you like a bobcat and closes the bathroom door in your face.

If you find yourself in this situation, it is best to remain still and make no noise. Eventually she will let you in the bathroom to put your god damn tie on (And although this seems to be something that goes without saying, I would not recommend asking her which tie she thinks looks better because I assure you that the only consideration she is giving your ties at the moment relate to which tie she would use to strangle you). I would also suggest going to bed with her that night even if you have a soccer game that does not start until 10 pm, and even if the team needs you to show up so they have enough guys. Because one more night could intensify the cranky pants syndrome elevating the condition to a much more dangerous and lethal condition known as "bitch-ass" sydrome.

And we would ALL like to avoid that.

*editors note: The cranky pants syndrome lasts only 20 minutes in the morning. I love my husband and am not entirely a shrew. Also, the train I take home from the big city wasn't running last night, and he came all the way in to pick me up IN RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC...certainly a cure for the cranky pants. And there was never a question that he would go to the soccer game...I don't pretend to be his mother and tell him things he can't do. So can we stop with the mean comments saying I am a horrible person and wife?

Oh, so now that you're married, you don't give a damn about bridal showers?

2006-08-07T16:14:00.000-04:00

That is correct. I don't. Quite honestly, aside from getting alot of kitchen and bath stuff, I didn't really care about them when I was the bride. They are a type of torture that women inflict on each other. Why? Well I don't have all the answers...did you think I did?

So my husband's cousin is getting married. To a woman. Which is fine, as he is a male. Not that it wouldn't be fine even if my husband's cousin was a female. I mean, I'm liberal...I voted for Gore and Kerry. I AM FROM MASSACHUSSETTES FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Plus, I have a gay brother. See? You can't trump that can you? I am definitely all for equality and civil rights and I am totally down with the gays. Obviously. Geez. But I digress.

Anyhoo, where was I? Oh yes, my husband's cousin is getting married to his long, long, long time girlfriend, and I was invited, along with my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law to the shower. I will take this opportunity to point out that the bride to be is quite possibly the sweetest human being on the face of the earth, and in no way am I talking about her shower in particular. Well, I mean, I am, but...not just her shower...all showers. So again, not mean spirited (and also down with the gays, in case we are keeping score).

The shower was hastily thrown together because she is pregnant. They were engaged before she got pregnant and have been dating forever, so it actually just makes the whole thing more special, and quicker. Again, I digress.

The shower was at a place near my house. A well known place. A place I have been to many times. I wouldn't have gathered that from the invitation however, because my invitation was illegible. Nor did it state the address, nor did it have the time the shower started. Pay attention people...it was a rush job. So I was completely aggravated by the shower. Which let's be honest, even if you had printed out directions on gold leaf paper, I would have been aggravated. I hate showers.

In light of my not knowing where the shower was, or what time it started, I called my mother-in-law, who told me the shower was in a shopping center called "ABC CIRCLE SHOPPING CENTER." She also told me the shower started promptly at 2:00. She told me this on Saturday morning. The shower was on Sunday.

I was proud of my proactivity. Normally, I am totally disorganized and have no idea where the hell I am going on any given day. But not this time! This time I was prepared. Much like our military. Well, much like our military under Clinton, as opposed to our Bush military which is woefully ill prepared and under funded, and poorly supplied (and before some republican starts calling me unpatriotic...that gay brother? Yeah, well his boyfriend is a serving marine...so I am not unpatriotic. I totally support the troops. Especially my gay brother's boyfriend, to whom I send care packages regularly, so shut your republican fear mongering trap). Alas, I must digress again.

On Sunday, my husband starts trying to figure out where the shower is. This is not unusual, but rather typical. This is our dynamic. I never know where I am going, how to get there, or what time anything is. I usually don't have everything I will need once I am there with me. Normally, this drives him crazy, but as previously explained, the invitation was useless and therefore my complete lack of knowledge about what is going on around me was excused just this once by him.

Until I stepped in to tell him that I knew where the place was, and what time to be there, and shouldn't he be proud of me because I am basically as prepared as the army...under Clinton, not Bush. And he agrees with me about the distinction between CLinton and Bush militarily, and we discuss it for a while, before we get back on topic and he says, "are you sure you know what you are doing?"

"I talked to your mom yesterday" I said. He said "what is the name of the place?" "I don't know, but its in the ABC CIRCLE SHOPPING CENTER."

A roll of the eyes. I mean seriously? He is going with a 'roll of the eyes' response? I am getting ready to attend a thousand year old torture tradition for women (no doubt thought up by a man) and he is rolling his eyes at me?

"There is no restaurant in the ABC SHOPPING CENTER"

"Look, that's what your mom said"

"Then you heard her wrong"

"As opposed to her actually BEING wrong?"

He proceeded to call everyone under the sun trying to get anyone to pick up their phone so that we could determine where the shower was. Despite the fact that I already knew where the shower was.

Finally, we got a hold of his sister, who informed us that it was indeed NOT in the ABC SHOPPING CENTER, but was at a place nearby. My head exploded. I broke out in an anger rash, and then fire came out of my eyes.

"See aren't you glad I checked into it for you?"

"No, I am not glad. I am aggravated that your mom told me the wrong thing!" I think my husband rolled his eyes at me, I don't know because all the fire coming out of my eyes blinded me.

10 minutes later, I am at the place (told you it was close by!) and fuming because my husband is blaming me once again for not knowing what is going on, when in fact, I had done my due diligence and determined time and place of the shower. HIS MOTHER WAS WRONG, NOT ME! God forbid he blame anything on his MOTHER! Which I am aware is a cliche, and I am also aware that he actually did concede that it was his mom's fault, but still...

I have absolutely no ending to this story. I wish I could say that I was furious with his mother when I saw her and poured soup in her lap. But frankly, I saw a lemon meringue pie and got distracted from being mad. What can I say? I am easily distracted.

So in conclusion:

I am down with gays.

I support our military.

I also support gays in the military.

My husband's mother is trying to sabotage me.

I love America.

Our president is a schmuck.

My in-laws are republican, and I am down with republican's that can admit our president is a schmuck.

I like pie.

I hate bridal showers.

*as a side note: I do in fact have a gay brother, whose boyfriend is a marine. I do send him care packages, but not as often as I should.

Oh, and just in case, you love our president, and totally agree with everything the republican party says, and have lost all ability to either 1) laugh at yourself and your beliefs in good fun and/or 2)recognize that our president is an idiot:

Look at this:

And don't be mad!

BLACKBERRY

2006-08-04T18:30:00.000-04:00

I got a blackberry and am testing it out! Hello 2006, it is nice to meet you...

Also, it's nice to know that I will never be unreachable to my job again. Technology will bite you in the ass sometimes right?

As the World Turns...

2006-07-12T09:57:00.000-04:00

Thank you for being such a comfort anonymous internet. Truly. Thank you.

In an effort of self preservation, I took down the last two posts. I will put them back up once this whole thing is not so raw. But in the meantime, life keeps going.

So...

We have not done laundry in FOREVER! Actually, since I never do the laundry, I should say "My husband has not done laundry in FOREVER!" That would be more accurate. I have no clean underwear, and my husband had no clean shirts, undershirts or underwear.

Obviously, we were tied up on Monday night. And last night, my husband announced that he had a softball game and a soccer game back to back. It was a rare night when all the planets align in the worst possible scenario. We were going through something upsetting, he had not one, but TWO league games, and I had no clean underwear for the next day. The overwhelming tragedy of it all shook me to the core and before I knew it, I had decided to do some laundry myself.

And briefly, the world stopped spinning on its axis. Did you feel it last night around 7:30 pm EST?

I mean, do the laundry myself? Was I ready for such an event? Particularly in my condition? And not just do the laundry, but do HIS laundry. And not just do HIS laundry, but do his WORK SHIRTS...

You can sense where this is going right?

The attention and concentration I gave to doing his laundry was somewhere around the level of attention and concentration I had given the bar exam. And just for context, I devoted 2 1/2 months of my life to doing nothing but studying for that exam: because my livlihood and ability to have a career depended on my passing that exam. Obviously the comparison to laudering my husband's work shirts is apparent to you, no?

Once all his shirts were properly hung (color coded and all facing the same way in the specific part of the closet designated for work shirts), it occurred to me that my husband's obesession over the laundry is getting a little out of control. Considering.

And in the end, I had done the shirts exactly right. With care and attention anything is possible.

However, in the brew ha ha, I forgot to wash any underwear for myself. I am now wearing a pair of dark purple satin underwear, ripped on the waistband and frayed in one leg band, circa 1992.

At 11pm, when my husband walked through the door, tired from the sports, tired from the events of the past two days, and weighed down by life in general...I announced:

"I washed some work shirts and underwear for you!"

He looked at me and kissed me and said without a trace of worry "Thanks sweetie"

And it was in that moment, I knew that we were going to be just fine.

Of course, it was also in that moment that I decided that the work shirts just weren't worth the aggravation.

Happy Anniversary, With All My Love

2006-06-04T00:00:00.000-04:00

There is no greater gift that you could give me, than making me your wife. And there is nothing more I can write or say about the depth of my love for you than this journal of our first year can express. So happy anniversary, I hope you like my version of the story of us.

Thank you for all of it. Every last day. You have made me the happiest wife in the world.

I love you more than I did yesterday and less than I will tomorrow.

Love,

Me

The Winds of Change Can Blow Hard Enough to MakeYour Eyes Tear

2006-06-02T23:51:00.000-04:00

I am not good with Change. I cried every. single. day. my freshman year of college and was so homesick that I took the next year off. I eventually went back, and was fine. But when it came time for lawschool, I just continued on at the same University and lived with a roommate from college. I would say that I am worse than average with change. I am a change crier.

So me and change...yeah, not so much. It's always been hard, but what are you going to do? It's inevitable right?

When I changed jobs the last time, I cried for two months that I hated it. Eventually, I realized that I didn't hate it, I hated the newness of it. So this time around I promised myself to keep in perspective that even though starting a new job is tough, it's just the starting part that sucks. To that end, on Tuesday I began my new adventure.

And the tears, they wanted to come, but I held them back. On day one, minute 5, I was told that my secretary resigned. Okaaaaaaayyyy...I can deal with it. They'll get me another secretary. No biggie. Then the person in charge of orienting me to the computer and various timekeeping/billing programs had no idea how to do any of it because "I'm not an attorney". So I was floundering around while people were giving me new assignments because I couldn't even log onto the computer. All little administrative things that are hard at any job. Figuring out where the bathroom is, finding the printer, learning to work the copy machine. Everyone's been there.

And I kept the tears at bay.

UNTIL TODAY.

On Tuesday, the managing partner sent around an email informing everyone that they were throwing me a "welcome" lunch at an upscale Irish Pub in the city. The email said "Please join us in welcoming Newlywife to the firm! We will be celebrating at Irish Pub on Friday at 12:00 sharp!" First, oh shit, holy crap. I am not good in groups. As outgoing and totally chatty as I am, in groups I am shy's twin sister. I clam up. I hate it. So the lunch was not really my idea of fun. But true to my promise, I was going to really make an effort not to let the newness of the job get to me, and to be open...force myself not to be shy...and get to know these people.

Tears, still sealed back.

Friday 12:00 - I am in my office. I see a few associate attorneys walk by. I make eye contact. They don't say anything. Alright. I check the email again...no, no, I have the right day and time. Well, often with a big group, by the time you get everyone together, it takes a while so...I'll just wait for someone to stop by.

Friday 12:02 - Email managing partner letting her know I am ready whenever, just buzz me.

Friday 12:06 - No email, no one has come to get me.

Friday 12:10 - Take a loop around office and don't really see attorneys around.

Friday 12:12 - Get back to my office and start to panic. What if no one shows up to my lunch, what if no one is going? What if they all forgot?!!!

Friday 12:12 and 30 seconds - Check email to see if managing partner has returned my email.

Friday 12:15 - Still winning the battle with the tears. The sweat however, is an entirely different story.

Friday 12:25 - My office phone rings. It is the managing partner asking where I am. They are all there and waiting for me.

Friday 12:26 - Officially give up my crying pledge and begin to cry.

Friday 12:27 - Immediately stop crying because, Oh my God, they are all waiting for me and I have to RUN FIVE BLOCKS TO THE PUB! IN HEELS!

What the Fuck (pardon the language but clearly I am really uspet and frankly I think it deserves an F-bomb, but I digress)?

So just so we all have this straight, myself included, these people organized a lunch for me, and then no one stopped by my office to get me when they were leaving for it? They all walked there together, and waited for 25 minutes before calling me because they thought I would meander over myself? What the FUCK?

And when I got there, they acted annoyed that I had kept them waiting. No one apologized for not getting me, they just kept asking "didn't you get the email?"

All bets were off. No more trying to fight it. I sat there, not speaking, completely mortified and trying to hold back from crying. I probably said two words the entire lunch. No one seemed to notice anyway. Then they all got their food. AND I HADN'T EVEN ORDERED YET.

Apparently while waiting they all ordered and told the waitress not to put in the order until I got there. When I got there, someone signaled her to put it in. But no one said anything to me, so I just assumed that the waitress would come and take my order IN THE NORMAL COURSE OF BUSINESS WHEN SHE TAKES EVERYONE ELSES...you know, not being privy to the pre-order and all...

When the waitress brought out the food, I was in a wild panic. Seriously on the verge of hysteria. And I swear to you, when our eyes met, she instantly understood everything I was going through. It was like she knew the situation entirely. And she leaned in to me and said "I can have a Ceasar Salad ready in 30 seconds, don't worry" and I nodded fine, because if I uttered a single word, the thread holding me together at that point would have snapped and I would have lost what little composure I had going on.

When everyone finished their lunch, we headed back. I walked alone. Which, to be honest was for the best anyway because as soon as I got back, I shut my door and began to cry. What kind of people organize a lunch for me and forget to bring me? Then, instead of apologize, they make me feel like I should have just met them there! Why would I meet people somewhere 5 blocks away instead of in the lobby of the office we all work in? Is it me?

P.S. It all worked out. I think the managing partner got back and saw my email from 12:02 and realized that the mistake was not mine. Truth be told, I think she always knew the mistake was not mine. But whatever, she apologized as I was leaving. Really, it was all just a big misunderstanding. Nothing fatal to the job, just...well, just really sucky right now.

Often on days that are hard, I get myself through by telling myself "you just need to get home...just make it a few more hours and you will be home." I like my home, but the actual house is not what I am talking about. I need to get home, not to my house, but to my husband. My husband is my home, and he makes me instantly calm. He makes things okay, and the horrible day melts away as soon as he hugs me. And he always hugs me right when he sees me. So needless to say, tonight, I ran home, to my husband.

Who was promptly late because he was futzing around the office while unbeknownst to him I was hysterically crying and waiting for the hug. He gave it to me when he got home.

Project Baby : Phase I

2006-05-29T15:15:00.000-04:00

Being on the cusp of starting to think about maybe possibly trying to start having a baby, is a cautious and confusing time indeed. Phase I for some people may include prenatal vitamins and doctor's appointments. Perhaps the purchase of a basal thermometer.

No, silly people. These things may prepare you for conception. Phase I is more about preparing you for parenthood. Phase I is a contemplative time, a time in which you must determine and examine exactly what you are getting yourselves into. Phase I involves borrowing a toddler for the day and seeing if you have the proverbial mettle to do this thing.

Meet our Phase I: Our only niece. She is cute...and I believe that is one of her weapons. Nay, I know it is. This child can do the pout like no other...or perhaps like all others. The one year old as a species is crafty. This much I have learned.

So we borrowed my sister-in-law's kid. We had not been on the approved list until she turned one. I am thinking now that it may have been more for our safety than hers. But regardless, we are now officially on the approved list and therefore took her for the day. It was mission we accepted voluntarily, requested even.

The plan: Take her to the aquarium, then back to our suburban utopia for a walk downtown for ice cream at the very quaint mom and pop "Gracies". How hard could this be right? Oh, I laugh heartily at my past ignorance.

Babies, they come with baggage. A ton of it. Never let it be said that you have no idea why a soccer mom has to drive a big SUV. Trust me. Gas prices be damned. She needs the storage space. So we were wide eyed and sneaking looks of disbelief to eachother as we loaded up a stroller, pack and play, baby backpack thing, HUGE diaper bag with three changes of clothes and six diapers, three fruit packs, a bottle, goldfish and crackers, a bib, a spoon, several books, a toy piano, baby wipes, some butt cream stuff, a sippy cup of water, an extra pair of socks, and not one but two blankets.

It was an aresenal of baby stuff. As my mother-in-law was packing it, I kept thinking to myself, alright, enough already. I tell you now, that each of these things was used. ALL THREE OUTFITS...The kid needs to be changed more often than Celine Dion.

After $50 on tickets to the aquarium, $7 for parking and $35 for food...her favorite part was the staircase. Yes, you read right. Despite the shark tank and the hippo room, she was enthralled with going up and down the stairs holding on while her aunt on one side and uncle on the other swung her up and down the stairs at least 25 times. The gym is less strenuous.

But we love this kid. Love her like we didn't think we could love someone...I mean, I wouldn't climb the stairs 25 times for anyone else, trust me. And to finally be on the approved list. To have made it to the promised land. It was amazing. We had been on the approved list briefly once before, but had let her fall while we turned our back for a second five minutes after being approved. Needless to say, our privileges were revoked and only now have we begged our way back on.

It was as if this child were the holy grail. We watched intently, were with her every step she took. We could not have been more careful if we were holding $1 million dollars worth of precious crystal. We navigated the danger zone of a crowded aquarium and breathed a sigh of relief upon strapping her into her car seat unscathed for the ride back to our safe, controlled home.

Two minutes after walking in the door of our house, she fell and got the world's biggest egg on her forehead. It was huge, the size of a golfball, and I am not exaggerating. It looked alot worse than it was...she cried for less than a minute. But the evidence was there, and it was undeniable. We would be off the approved list and may never get back on it again.

We took her for ice cream. It seemed to be going down. As we sat and watched her as she slept in her stroller, we discussed that it may not even be noticeable. We might be able to get away with it after all.

Just as we convinced ourselves that the huge black and blue golfball on her head couldn't even be seen with the naked eye, a passerby peered into her carraige to look at how beautiful she was and said:

"OH MY GOD, WHAT HAPPENED TO HER HEAD!"

Indeed.

We did the only thing we could. We brushed her light hair over the bump and prayed no one would notice until we were long gone. And it worked for a while. But eventually we had to come clean. We needed a plan B, quick. Being removed from the approved list was not an option after having spent the day with this angle/devil. Plan B worked out. My in-laws took the fall. They were high enough up on the approved list to take the hit and survive, we were not. Someone had to be sacrificed, and I am happy to report. It wasn't us.

On to Phase II, recovering from Phase I with a 12 hour sleep. Seriously, is it possible to do this on a part time basis? Because this stuff is TIRING!

Total Relaxation

2006-05-28T21:48:00.000-04:00

MEXICO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

2006-05-19T23:30:00.000-04:00

Life is going 100mph. Everything is changing.

After 100 hours of work in the last 10 days, I left my job. No gold watch, but they did take me to lunch.

I got a rueben. It was good.

And now, I am off to Mexico for a week.

And my anniversary grows closer with each day. Only two more weeks and I reveal the blog to my husband!

Only two more weeks and I am no longer a newlywed. Having survived the first year of marraige, I am now just another old married hag...

On to operation baby!

This Can't Be Normal

2006-05-15T11:11:00.000-04:00

I was pissy yesterday because it was Mother's Day, and we weren't with my mother, we were with his mother. And it isn't fair that we live so close to his family and not close to mine and I am aware that we chose to live here and that I love it and I know. I KNOW...but it's mother's day and my mom is 350 miles away. Ahem...

On the ride to dinner with his family for Mother's Day, I was cranky due to the above mentioned proximity issues. And so I was cranking out in the passenger seat, and my husband was being very understanding. Telling me it was okay, and normal to feel this way. After about a half hour of crank ass:

Me: Do you ever just want to punch me in the face?

Him: No.

Me: Do you ever want to choke me?

Him: Yes. I do feel like choking you sometimes. But never hitting you.

Me: Do you ever want to push me down on the ground?

Him: Like backwards so your feet fly up over your head?

Me: So you have given this some thought then?

I am starting to miss the newlywed year already......

Vacation All I Ever Wanted...

2006-05-11T10:27:00.000-04:00

My husband is taking me to Mexico! I mean, I planned the whole thing, and picked the place, and got the airline tickets and right at the end he freaked out because it wasn't the vacation he had in mind...but doesn't it sound so much more romantic to say "my husband is taking me to Mexico"?

Well hello there 1950's, glad to see you. Could I borrow an apron?

Last night my husband commented on the terrific timing of the vacation. We will be there for his birthday, our first anniversary (which is the reason we are going) is right around the corner, and it works out perfect for the job change.

Him: The timing of this vacation couldn't be better. Could it? (said as if we are the luckiest bastards in all of the world and the timing was a sheer coincidence)

Me: Yeah, it really all fell into place for us. Imagine that? (trying hard not to point out the obvious fact that I had been planning this for months and had to move heaven and earth to line everything up, including the added stress of working the vacation into negotiating a later start date with the new firm)

Whatever, I'm going to Mexico! Thanks for taking me honey...

The Inevitable Freak Out

2006-05-09T23:03:00.000-04:00

So remember in the beginning? Remember the stress I told you I felt about becoming someone's wife? Of course you don't...no one was reading this pitiful little blog back then. I mean it was before I was hugely popular with like, ummm, eight readers.

Holy Crap. I quit my job. I was all "I quit my job for a better gig, a better opportunity" yesterday. Today, I am all "Stop. Back this rig up, I am not ready to change! I hate change. Change is making me want to wet my pants right now."

Okay, breathe deep. No, not you...I'm talking to myself. I am breathing deep. It is a much much better job. The pay alone. The benefits and the type of work are just gravy. This is a no-brainer. Only, if it were just little old me that I had to worry about, I would never change jobs just because of the whole "OH MY GOD, SOMETHING NEW, SOMETHING UNKNOWN...RUN, RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN FROM THE NEWNESS OF IT ALL!" Which would be totally understandable if I didn't routinely tell my husband "I have to get a new job where they let me do what I want to do, and pay me more."

But its good right? Somehow I have convinced myself that I am doing it for us. For the family that we will one day have. I am taking this job, jumping into the volcano of the great unknown, because I love my husband and want the best for him, and this job will make a difference in our lives.

How good a wife am I?

Oh, the drama. It is in my blood, and I have woven a tapestry of lies.

The truth is, I am taking this job because it is good for me. I will get to do what I love, and the firm is better for me. It's another rung up the ladder. And that husband? If it wasn't for his support and making me feel like I can do anything, and coaching (or coaxing) me through it, I wouldn't have had the courage. So I ask you again...How good of a wife am I?

This is the second time I have changed firms since I started. The first change resulted in my crying every single night for 2 months. And that move, like this one, was a good opportunity for more money at the time. And Now I am leaving that opportunity for another. Change is a bitch, it will bring you to your knees. Or at least make you call your boyfriend 5 times a night to tell him how much you can't bear going to work because all your friends are at your old job, and "MY GOD, I DON'T KNOW ANYONE HERE!"

And I got through it. The job became a place I liked. And the boyfriend...he asked me to marry him 4 days into that job. Now he is my husband, and he is being very supportive, telling me how good I am, how proud he is and he may have mentioned in passing:

"I am not going to go through the crying again. This time around, you get a week, and then its over."

Hence why I am now crying on the internet. SHHHHHHHHHH. Don't tell him.