the travel never ends

Gabe and I arrived late last night from another trip to California, where we've been for the last 10 days. It was a looooonnggg trip, and both of us are relieved to be home. I could tell by the way Gabe kissed each of his toys as he pulled them out of his toy basket, and the squeals of glee when he saw the dogs. I could tell how relieved I was by the way I threw myself at Josh when we got off the elevator at baggage claim. What can I say? It was a long trip, followed by a long flight with Gabe on my lap the whole time. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

We were in California dealing with some family issues, and also attending the wedding of a law school friend. The wedding was this past weekend, and I had the best time I've had in quite some time. My law school girlfriends and I met up at the wedding locale and went out on Friday and Saturday nights until the wee hours of the morning. My mom took care of Gabe while I lived it up at restaurants and tourist spots and karaoke bars. Why did no one tell me how fun karaoke is? I don't think I've laughed that hard in months. I spent most of the time during karaoke doubled over in tears from all that laughing.

I really needed the release, because the truth is that things on the home front aren't great. My parents appear to be in the process of separating, and there are painful, raw emotions running all over the place. I don't want to talk about it much, because it is complicated and difficult and I'm very sad about it, but that is what is going on.

Gabe, as seems to be the norm around here, is sick again. He has been up coughing for the last few nights and was running a low-grade fever for several days. Tomorrow we have his 15 month visit, and I'm hoping they can shed some light on what is going on with him. Besides this sickness, though, he is cuter than ever. Now I understand how you can stand to see your baby grow up, because the person they turn into is just as adorable as the wee babe they were! He is scrumptious.

He is running around like a maniac, climbing on everything, jabbering nonsensically in the cutest possible way. When he wants you to sing him a song, he moves his fingers as if he were singing the "Itsy Bitsy Spider". He does that sign ALL THE TIME. Once I've shown him a trick once, he almost always remembers how to do it the next time. He can throw things in the garbage, put toys away, give hugs and kisses on command, go up and down stairs, feed himself with a fork (somewhat), open and close doors, retrieve things by name, throw a ball and kick a ball, share a bite of food with you, and the list grows constantly. It is a lot like living with a tiny monkey that learns things instantly, a little like a sponge. And it is so much fun.

So despite all the sadness, life is still really great. We are still really lucky. In the meantime, I'll be enjoying life at home while the three of us are together. At least until we have to leave again for Florida next Tuesday. Ugh, someone shoot me now.

my split personality

So... It went well. I'm totally conflicted about this situation, so it's hard to get very enthused about a potential job, but I'd say it went about as well as it could have gone.

Apparently there are a few different options at different law firms that might work, but most of them want me to come into the office, rather than work out of the home. This leads to the always present problem of working out the economics of having to hire a babysitter or finding a daycare. The starting pay for contract attorneys isn't that high, although they assured me that the rates go up as you go along. Josh and I need to work the numbers, because it is possible that tutoring in the evenings and on weekends might even pay more than doing legal work because I wouldn't need childcare. How crazy is that?

My headhunter did make one comment that introduced a whole new idea into the mix. She has tons of contract work that requires a full-time commitment, but they are short projects. One week, maybe two, tops. It is conceivable that I could go in for one intense week per month, or two intense weeks over a couple of months, rather than a smaller amount every week. I don't know why, but that resonated with me. I might find it easier to leave Gabe for 40 hours in one week, knowing that I wouldn't have to leave him again for another 3 or 4 weeks. Is that nuts?

Basically, I'm waiting to hear the final word back from the headhunter, and in the meantime, I'm scouring my own brain to see if this is what I want. Do I want to take a break from law and jump somewhere totally new and fun? Or am I not ready to make that decision? Should I do contract work just to keep law on my resume and figure it out as I go along?

Ugh, decisions, decisions. For now, I'm taking a break from thinking about it and snuggling this adorable boy on the floor while he points at everything in the room and calls it a "cahhhhrrr". Maybe a babysitter could teach him some new words?

let's hope those skillz are impressive

Well, I finally did it. I revised my resume and sent it into a couple of places, and I have an interview tomorrow afternoon for some legal contract work.

I am intermittently excited and depressed about this. We need the money, and frankly, I'll be relieved to stop worrying about money for a bit. This could turn out to be a great situation, because allegedly all of the projects we are going to discuss could eventually turn into a working from home gig. I'll need to come into the office in the beginning, at least, so that the employer can see that I am a qualified and capable attorney. But the hope is that I can continue working from home once I show my "skillz".

On the other hand, I'm still going to have to leave Gabe, even if it is just for a little while. I wish there were parts of being at home that I hated, just so I could feel relief at leaving for a while, but there just aren't. I really never thought I'd love this pace so much, and I certainly never thought I'd love hanging around with a 14 month old as much as I do. He isn't the best conversationalist, and he doesn't have the best table manners, and he sometimes exhibits some crazy grumpy behavior, but I would never want to spend my days with anyone but him. His kisses and smiles make my whole day worth it.

I have a new mantra- it isn't forever. It isn't forever. Maybe it'll be great, and if it isn't, well, we'll figure something out. But wish me luck, anyway.

now we need to address the leftover cellulite

I have two goals to accomplish before I am ready for us to start "trying" for baby number 2.

The first was to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. I cannot believe I gave birth 14 months ago and there is still pregnancy weight lingering around. I dropped most of the weight within just a few months, but couldn't shake those final 5-8 pounds, and I cannot believe what a difference 5 pounds makes in the fit of my clothes.

The second goal is to have 6 months in which I am neither housing a child, nor nourishing a child, with my body. I just feel like I need a tiny bit of space for my own mental sanity, and I want to give my body a chance to recover from any kind of nutritional deficiencies. I stopped breastfeeding Gabe right around his first birthday (a story for another post), so six months from then is around July.

I am happy to report that yesterday was a monumental day around here, because as of 10am, I am one pound below my pre-pregnancy weight. Hurray! One goal down!

I was rather surprised by this turn of events, because a few weeks ago, I'd accepted the fact that maybe I wasn't ever going to get back to that weight. I thought maybe my body had changed and this was my new "normal" weight. And to tell you the truth, I was okay with that. Having Gabe has changed my life for the better in a million different ways, and if a few extra pounds is all I have to sacrifice, I'm happy to do it. Plus, pregnancy and labor and motherhood have given me so much confidence in myself, I've noticed that I place much less emphasis on the physical side.

As I came to this realization, though, I decided to make a few "spring resolutions" that I thought might improve my life in general, rather than focusing on the number of the scale.

My new resolutions are:
1. Watch less television. I am ashamed to admit that I tend to turn on the television first thing in the morning to watch the news, and then leave it on all day long as background noise. I don't let Gabe watch any television, but I still hate that he is going to get used to seeing the television on all the time, even if he doesn't pay much attention to it.

2. Have some form of exercise 2-3 times per week. We joined a gym in January, but getting Gabe dressed and out the door, over to the gym, and then back in time for nap time was proving impossible, so I was going to the gym less than I'd hoped. In the afternoons, Gabe wakes up late and there is barely enough time to work out and get dinner on the table. I end up feeling harried more than anything else when I find the motivation to get over there. When I couldn't make it to the gym, rather than feeling motivated to try some exercise around the house, I would feel defeated and just sit around for the rest of the afternoon. With this new resolution, I have made an effort to throw Gabe in the stroller most days and take a walk around the neighborhood. I figure, even 15 minutes is something.

3. At the risk of sharing too much information, have sex at least 2-3 times per week. I think I don't need to elaborate on this one.

4. Go to bed by 11pm during the week. This one will have a direct impact on Goal #3, I think. I am a night owl, and love to stay up late watching movies or recorded television shows, but it really impacts Josh and my time together. I stay up late, then I wake up late in the morning, and we end of being on totally different schedules. If I can get myself to go to bed early during the week, then I'll save up the staying up late for Friday or Saturday nights, and both of us will be happy.

I made my resolutions a couple of weeks ago, and I really think the walking during the week and turning off the television during the day were what pushed me to lose the final few pounds. So I guess that old saying of 9 months on, 9 months off, doesn't really apply to me. 9 months on and 14 months off is more like it. I'll take it, though. I'm happy to have accepted my weight for what it was, but I'm also selfishly happy to fit into a few more outfits in my closet.

a round of naps for everyone

I am clawing my way to the surface amidst piles of snotty tissues and Infant Tylenol bottles and dirty diapers.

Yes, yes, Gabe is sick AGAIN. This is coming on the heels of a cold while we were in California. It is starting to feel like he really is sick all the time, and it makes me crazy because he isn't even around that many other kids! He isn't in daycare, he doesn't have daily play dates, he doesn't run around outside licking sick people. He does take a music class every Friday, and another developmental class on Mondays, but we didn't even attend this week because he was so sick.

He is moaning and groaning around the house with nose running and huge unhappy sounding coughs. He doesn't want to sleep during nap time and he doesn't want to go to bed at night. He is perfectly content to play downstairs indefinitely, but once we hit the bedroom and get near the crib, the screaming starts. Last night he stayed up until 11:45pm, refusing to sleep. I was desperate and exhausted after a loooong day of no napping and lots of whining, and when he refused to sleep at bedtime, I was close to tears.

I sat up in his room rocking him in his rocker, singing song after song, but he wouldn't calm down and just kept gesturing toward the door and throwing his pacifier back at the crib in a show of "take me out of this room now!" I finally put him down and walked out, amidst hysterical screams, and a few minutes later the screaming stopped and he lay down and slept until 10am this morning. I felt horribly guilty for walking away from a sick baby, but I didn't know how to help him give in to the sleep. He was sad and overtired and couldn't seem to let himself relax.

This morning we headed into the pediatrician's because I wanted some confirmation that he was fine, and OF COURSE, it turns out he has an ear infection. We're not going to jump in with antibiotics just yet. I'd rather treat the pain and see if maybe he can get rid of it on his own. We'll be doing another ear check on Monday, and in the meantime, I'll be hoping for some relief for all of us.

As the day has continued, I've started acquiring an aching body, a sore throat, and a general feeling of ickiness. Now at least I have an inkling of how poor Gabe feels. I hope Josh feels good when he gets home from work, because it looks like he has 2 patients to take care of tonight.

pants on fire

Is it just Gabe, or do all kids make liars out of their mothers? It seems like every time I make a statement about him, whether it be what he likes to eat, or what he does, or what tricks he can accomplish, or words he says, he turns around and does the opposite of what I said.

Evidence #1:
Gabe knows how to moo like a cow and woof like a dog. If I ask him in front of people, though, he'll just look at me blankly.

Evidence #2:
I told my mother in law that he didn't like broccoli. That night for dinner, he scarfed down all the little chunks of broccoli we put in front of him.

Evidence #3:
I told friends at dinner the other night that Gabe likes almost everything except pasta. Of course, when a friend offered him some penne alfredo, he ate it happily and then begged for more throughout the rest of the meal.

Evidence #4:
Josh went into the bathroom today, and clear as a bell, Gabe ran toward the closed door and called out "Dyosh!" I was cracking up and told Josh the story when he came back out, so we tried to get him to say it again, but he kept sweetly looking at us and saying "Da da".

Evidence #5:
When we're not paying attention to him and music comes on, Gabe boogies down to the beat. He bends his knees up and down, shakes his booty from side to side and bobs his head. If you put on music to show people his rhythm, though, he acts like he's never heard music before.

Evidence #6:
Gabe naps every day, Monday through Friday, like clockwork, for three and a half to four hours. When Josh is around on the weekends, though, and we could use some time to do things around the house, he'll nap for an hour, tops. Josh thinks I'm the hugest exaggerator ever, but I think it is all part of the conspiracy against me.

Evidence #7:
Gabe's vocabulary is skyrocketing by the minute. On most days, he'll surprise me by repeating words I've said to him earlier, but never in front of Josh or his grandparents. The other day, I finished getting him dressed and told him in a teasing voice, "Oh Gabe, you look so pretty!" He smiled at me and said "dyat dyoo" (thank you). It was the cutest thing ever, but he won't do it for anyone else.

Is Gabe particularly gifted at making me look like I tell tall tales? Or is this a regular occurrence among children? Maybe it is the same gene that tells him to stop doing whatever cute thing he was doing as soon as the camera comes out. He has a special gift for that too.

nightmares about work is a step too far

On Sunday and Monday nights, after the last post, I spent hours tossing and turning in bed. I was up until the wee hours of the morning with insomnia, most likely attributed to my anxiety about the employment and money situation. It is getting a little ridiculous, I'm starting to wonder if I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from work or something crazy like that. I know it sounds silly, but I can't explain why I have such extreme anxiety every time the topic of work comes up.

Thank you for all the advice. I'm still not sure what to do, and one of the questions I'm wrestling with is whether I should jump right into something serious, like starting my own practice, as some of you suggested, or start simple. I've been tossing around the idea of tutoring, or even working part-time at a local Spanish program for kids. If I started with something very temporary, I'd be able to better decide whether I want to take the plunge into something more.

Starting a practice out of my home, or looking for clients of my own, is a hefty undertaking. I would need some kind of insurance, and I'd have to create a special account required by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in which to hold client funds. Not to mention that my chosen fields, international financial transactions, securities, venture funds and private equity, don't necessarily lend themselves to working out of the home. Still, people have suggested real estate closings or wills and trusts as an easier choice, and I could certainly find a way to get trained from someone and then go out on my own. These are all great ideas.

I guess what I really need to do is embrace the anxiety and take the leap. Maybe if I update my resume and start sending out feelers, my fear will lessen and I'll start to worry less about working. Or maybe once I start working, I'll finally calm down. Who knows, but I need to do something because I can't keep feeling like this. It is way too stressful for me, and it is way too stressful for Josh to listen to me complaining about the stress. Wish me luck!

decisions, decisions, decisions

We've been doing some number crunching lately, and the bottom line is that money coming in is not equaling money going out. Even when we spend zero dollars on non-necessities, we still aren't making enough to cover all of our expenses. To be fair, we knew this was a possibility, and before I had Gabe and while I was on maternity leave, we saved as much as we could so that we could have a cushion to cover our expenses. Of course, now that we have the money saved up, it is painful to watch it be drained away by expenses like groceries or gasoline.

Don't get me wrong, Josh makes a good salary, but it is still less than half of what I was making at my law firm. We bought our house based on my salary, not his, so our mortgage takes up a monstrous chunk of our income. We've considered making all kinds of changes, like selling our house, moving to a less expensive suburb, getting rid of a car, or losing our cell phones or cable television. The housing market isn't what it used to be, so selling this house doesn't make much sense, and we really can't survive without both cars. Josh works long hours, and I'm responsible for the bulk of errand running, so I need a car to get around during the day. We're trying to cut our costs wherever possible, like eating only at home, not making unnecessary purchases, taking hand-me-downs for Gabe from friends where possible.

In the end, though, I really think I'm going to have to get a part-time job. Josh is adamantly against it, mainly because he sees that I hate the thought of having to leave Gabe. We're also hoping that this May, at the one year mark of employment for him, he'll receive a raise that will make all the difference. Once we make enough to cover our expenses, enough not to drain our savings, I'm more than happy to live like a pauper. Our parents are extraordinarily generous and are happy to cover our plane tickets to visit them, and all of our expenses once we are there. My mom bought me some new clothes and Gabe some new books while we were visiting. My in-laws help us out with household projects, including putting up new fencing when our old fencing fell over from the weight of a snowstorm. My mother-in-law also provides sporadic babysitting so we don't have to pay someone else to watch Gabe. In short, we are very very lucky, and living like a "pauper" is really not bad at all, even when I haven't been to Starbucks in months. Oh, the tragedy.

It feels so irresponsible to be pulling money from our savings, though, especially when I am perfectly able to work just a few hours a week and give us a little bit of protection on the money front. The problem is that every time I sit down in front of the computer to look up available jobs, I feel paralyzed with the prospect. I left work in such a bad state at the end of my maternity leave, and the idea of putting myself back into a situation like that, is enough to make me nauseous. Logically, of course, I know that not all jobs are the same, and I won't be working at a law firm, I won't be working 70 hours a week, it will be different. But that terrified part of me screams as I revamp my resume, what if it isn't?

Maybe the best thing for us is for me to jump back on the work horse and try something out. It could be good for me emotionally, it could help me face my demons, and it will definitely be good for our budget. The jobs I've been considering are far from full-time, and have flexible hours. I could try it for a while, and if it works, then great. If it doesn't work, we'll reconsider and readjust. Plus, maybe I'll love it. Maybe I'll realize that I've missed the interaction and stimulation of the work force. If I don't, well, let's keep our fingers crossed that May brings a huge raise for Josh.

the joys of travel

We're back!

I am literally kissing the ground of my own home, with my own childproofing, and my own toys for Gabe, and my own gates, and my own television, and my own bed, and my own crib that is in a SEPARATE ROOM FROM WHERE I AM SLEEPING. Phew. I'm tired. It was a long and exhausting 10 days, that followed a long and exhausting preparation for the trip of 10 days. We had fun, despite the fact that it rained every single day we were in California. Every single day, except for yesterday morning, the day we left, when we woke up to sunny skies and 70 degree temperatures. Now of course, I'm back in Boston where it is snowy and freezing and I'm a little bitter about the fact that I didn't get even one 70 degree day to take my child to the park.

The week before we left, as you'll recall, I was having some trouble with the preparation part of the trip. I was overwhelmed and exhausted, and I assumed things wouldn't get any worse. Well.

How about a baby screaming and throwing up all. night. long. And when I say all night long, I mean ALL NIGHT LONG. From 12-4am, we had nonstop screaming with some vomiting intermingled. This wasn't just normal baby vomit either, this was grown-up adult, stinky, chunky, awful, had-to-be-scooped-off-of-the-mattress-and-the-baby, makes the mom gag, vomit. The night before you are supposed to leave on a trip to California.

During this nonstop screaming came the lowest point in my parenting thus far, when I became so angry at Gabe's behavior, what with the screaming and the throwing of objects and the demanding to be read to even though it was the middle of the night, that I had to place him in his crib and walk away, because I was THAT ANGRY. I sat him in his crib, screaming pile of goo, and then slammed the door to his bedroom before crawling into my bed and whimpering to Josh that I just couldn't take another minute of his screaming. I actually slammed the door to a 13 month old's bedroom, as if that would do anything to help, as if he even remotely understood what that meant. I sat in my room crying for 10 minutes, pulled myself together, and then went back to his bedroom to face more of the screaming once I was sure that I wasn't going to scream back. Unfortunately, Josh had already been up for hours with Gabe and I, but by 4am, we were looking at him having to go to work with less than 2 hours of sleep, so he couldn't just take over for me.

The screaming finally did stop, and I scheduled a doctor's appointment first thing in the morning, where the pediatrician confirmed that nothing was wrong with Gabe, except maybe for a random stomach virus. So we came home and packed some more. Gabe was beat from his night of no sleep and lots of screaming, so when he consented to taking his afternoon nap, I decided to avoid packing for just a little longer and take a hot, relaxing bath.

I've been using an all-natural bubble bath for Gabe that allegedly includes relaxing scents for less crankiness and whining and easier bedtimes. I figured, heck, I definitely need some of that crankiness correcting stuff, so I poured the bubble bath into the bathtub and settled in for some relaxation. After 20 minutes, I decided that I was ready to tackle the packing again. Shortly thereafter, I found myself feeling itchy. Then decidedly itchy. Then really tremendously itchy, including in places that you certainly don't want to be itchy. And then, because obviously this would happen to me, I realized that I am allergic to Gabe bubble bath and I was having an allergic reaction that including lots of itching in all kinds of unpleasant places. Because THAT is what you need when you are going to be flying across the country for 10 hours in just a few hours. Argh! I took some drugs, found some creams, and dealt with the itching as best I could.

I did do laundry, I did finish packing, I did get the dogs ready, I did get Gabe out the door. I did not clean the house, or get our nephew's package out the door, but Josh ended up begging me to please stop stressing about the house and leave it all for him, as all of you had recommended. So I made it to California, and I'd only forgotten a couple of useful things, like a thermometer, since Gabe ended up being totally sick in California.

He didn't throw up on the plane, thankfully, but he did throw up several times over the first few days we were in California. My parents had planned a trip to Monterey for all of us, and Gabe's sickness put a slight dent in our plans, but we powered on nonetheless. We went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where Gabe called every fish he saw there a "car" or more like "cahhhr ", such was his excitement at seeing these new creatures. We walked through Carmel, ate good food and played on the beach, even in the drizzle. We explored Monterey's Fisherman's Wharf, and visited the Monarch butterflies in Pacific Grove where they hibernate. We had fun, even with a runny nose and hacking cough.

We spent the rest of the week in Sacramento, where my parents live now, and relaxed at home while my mom worked, visited old friends, did some parentally funded shopping since I have no clothes that fit me, and spent quality time with the grandparents. Gabe got to really know my parents, got to give them tons of hugs and kisses, he even learned how to say "Nonna" and "Nonno", and if that doesn't make for a successful trip, then I don't know what does. It was a good trip, but I really am terribly relieved to be home. We missed Josh desperately, and I can't wait to settle back into the routine.

Now, on to the task of unpacking. Gabe wouldn't go to bed last night until 4am, he was just so excited to revisit all his toys and furniture, so we're pooped around here and hoping that tonight turns out to be an easier night for everyone. I'll keep you updated.

on the road again

This Thursday, as in 36 hours from now, I am off to California again. I am traveling with Gabe and the two dogs (as carry on), and I am unhappy to report that I am completely and utterly overwhelmed today.

These are the things I need to do:

1. Pack
2. Do laundry, so that I can pack
3. Pick clothes, so that I can pack
4. Buy diapers, to pack when I pack
5. Purchase, wrap, get card, and mail package to our nephew for his birthday- which is tomorrow
6. Get diaper bag prepared, including food and toys for the flight
7. Prepare dogs for trip
8. Go get vaccine certificate from veterinarian for dogs to travel
9. Write out Valentine's Day card for Josh since we'll be gone for Valentine's Day
10. Clean kitchen
11. Clean bathrooms
12. Vacuum whole house
13. Take care of my child who has refused to take a nap all day, doesn't want to eat anything, and prefers to whine continuously. all. day. long.
14. See #13 for why #1-12 have not been completed
15. Stress stress stress about all of the above and how I will possibly be able to get through the airport with a toddler and two dogs and a diaper bag
16. Get so stressed that I sit on the couch paralyzed into inaction
17. Call and vent to husband about list of to-dos and inability to do them
18. Call and vent to friends about list of to-dos and inability to do them
19. Drink a cup of Dr. Pepper to make myself feel better about the list of to-dos and inability to do them
20. Eat a cookie to make myself feel better about the list of to-dos and inability to do them
21. Cry a little about list of to-dos and inability to do them, and also cry a little about my fat ass and the fact that I just had Dr. Pepper and a cookie and no wonder I can't lose the last 5 pounds
22. Blog about the above

Needless to say, it has been a tough day around here. It is 6:45pm and I'm just now getting pushed into action. Josh is working late tonight and tomorrow night, so he isn't available to help, and my little compadre over here is very very grumpy due to the no nap situation. Improvement is not on the horizon. Anyone want to come over and pack for me? Or at least bring me more cookies?

earning my stripes, I guess

The other day at the gym, I'd dropped Gabe off in the daycare and gone off to do my speedy 30 minutes on the elliptical. I was 4 minutes in when all the fire alarms throughout the building went off in a screaming mess. It took me a few seconds to register what was happening, and to realize that while I was downstairs in the cardio room, Gabe was upstairs and across the building and I had no idea what the fire plan was in the daycare. Do they usher all the kids out? Are we supposed to come get them? What if I made it outside and discovered he was still inside?

I started pushing past the people working out to get to the stairs to go to the daycare. Meanwhile, a swim meet had been taking place in the pool area, so hundreds (it felt like) of kids in soaking wet bathing suits with towels around them and parents who'd been standing on the sidelines cheering came pouring out of the locker rooms and pool deck. I could barely move due to the crowd, much less move in the opposite direction of everyone else. I finally made it to the stairs, and found that getting up the stairs looked like an impossibility because all of the after school programs that take place upstairs were streaming down the stairs.

In that moment, even though logic told me this was likely a fire drill and not the real thing, my heart clenched and I thought for one terrifying moment that I might throw up from the very real fear overtaking me. The only thought flooding my brain was that my baby was upstairs and he was surely scared, and I didn't know how I would reach him. How would the daycare people be able to get multiple children out at once? How would they carry Gabe when he can't walk down stairs alone yet?

Those questions were enough to push me into action and I shoved my way up the stairs, fighting the crowd the whole way, who were all obviously anxious because it had been several minutes since the alarms started and we could hear the fire truck sirens arriving outside. I made it to the second floor and started jogging down the hall, and all the way at the opposite end, I saw one of the teenage daycare helpers following the crowd down the other stairway struggling to carry Gabe and another toddler while also helping preschoolers down the stairs. She glanced up and saw me running down the hall toward her and hesitated so that I could catch up. As I ran by the daycare room, I ducked my head inside and grabbed Gabe's coat, shoes and socks because she was carrying him without them.

I reached her and lifted him out of her arms and as he wrapped his arms tight around my neck and looked at me with the most serious look on his face, I felt the choke hold of fear begin to loosen itself. We made it outside into the freezing cold and rain, and I tugged his shoes and socks and jacket on while we waited to hear the verdict. All those poor children in wet swimsuits and towels were also outside, barefoot, with lifeguards passing out additional towels to wrap themselves up as best they could.

It was just a fire alarm, as we all knew it would be, but I have to tell you... In those moments, when I couldn't see how I would possibly reach Gabe through the crowd, and I didn't know whether he would be taken care of, I was more scared than I think I've ever been. It was panic, pure and simple. Unreasonable. Irrational. Panic.

I can't imagine how you feel when it is a true emergency and not just a drill. This must be what drives people to race into burning buildings and lift cars off of their children. This also teaches me a serious lesson. I'll never drop Gabe off anywhere without going through emergency procedures with them or at least asking basic safety questions. Just in case.

rocking the toddler vote

Gabe and I walked to our polling location on Tuesday to cast our vote. We both walked, which was a notable occasion since those 3 blocks were the farthest Gabe has ever walked. It took 45 minutes, but still, it was exciting. He tried to go inside every house we passed, and if there happened to be people outside putting out trash or getting into their cars, well, that deserved 5 minutes of waving and yelling at them and waiting patiently until they left.

I'd come prepared with crackers in case the voting took too long for Gabe's patience, but the process took less than 5 minutes. I did notice, however, that when they looked up my address, Josh wasn't listed. At first I thought maybe it was because he categorizes himself as Independent, but that wasn't it because all parties were listed on the sheet. The polling people told me to have him come down that evening to sort it out and probably they could find him on the "Inactive" sheet and he'd still be able to vote.

Now, for the last month, Josh has been saying that he needs to sit down and review the candidates to better make a decision about who he'd like to vote for. In the meantime, I've done my own campaigning about who I think he should vote for, which isn't fair, but whatever. I'm pushy.

I called him at work after I voted to let him know about not being on the voting list, and he said he'd go down after work. Again, he casually mentioned that he needed to review the campaign websites to decide his vote, ON SUPER TUESDAY. So he's had months, and still hasn't decided.
Whatever, I just let the comment slide because I didn't want him to get annoyed with my harping.

I have a class on Tuesday nights, so when he got home, we airkissed as I ran out of the house. Josh loaded Gabe into the stroller, because another 3 block walk would have been too much and went to the polling location to straighten out the registered/not registered issue and vote.

When I returned that night, I harassed him about who he'd voted for, and he didn't want to tell me! I kept leaning on him and finally he admitted it. Who did he vote for?

HE ABSTAINED. Abstained! From voting! He went down there, registered himself, corrected the error, asked for a ballot, took it over to the voting booth, and then filled in the bubble that asked if you'd like to abstain! He says it doesn't really matter to him who wins, and that he didn't want to make an uneducated vote since he never had time to do the full research on the candidates.

This is the kind of thing that makes me want to claw my eyes out. I'm letting it go, though, because if not, he'll never talk to me about politics again. Sigh.

taking a break from the breastfeeding and the gestating

I didn't even know this could happen to men. I've seen it happen to my female friends, I remember what it felt like when it happened to me, but I never expected this to happen. I've asked around, and I still haven't found anyone who has faced the same situation.

Josh has caught it. And he's caught it BAD.

He has the baby bug.

Josh has undertaken a serious campaign to convince me to have another baby, ASAP. This campaign started a little over a month ago, right around the time that Gabe turned one. Josh decided that he is ready to have another baby, and he won't take no for an answer.

He has tons of good reasons for it. He wants the kids to be close together in age in the hopes that they will be friends. He wants to make another that is as cute and amazing as Gabe is (as if that is even possible). He misses the baby baby stage. He doesn't want to be having babies for years and years on end (his words, not mine). Plus, he wants another baby. NOW. Just because he does. Is that clear?

I'm tempted, don't get me wrong. I miss the baby baby stage too, and I don't feel overwhelmed with Gabe, and I think that emotionally and physically, I could have another baby and be ecstatic about it. But here's the thing- I am LOVING being with Gabe right now. He is so much fun and so exciting and interesting and just delicious, and I want to eat him up. I am truly enjoying this period in his life, and I'm not ready to take away from that. Once I get pregnant, the pregnancy is going to take time away from him, what with the nausea and the vomiting and the general ickiness that I'm sure I'll feel, plus 9 months later, there will be another little human that wants to breastfeed 27 hours a day again and never wants to sleep and wants to take up every second of my time. I just stopped breastfeeding a month ago, I need a little bit of time to enjoy my there-is-no-person-relying-on-me-for-nourishment life!

On the other hand, there will be another glorious amazing little baby. And maybe having them closer together will make them closer friends. Maybe Gabe will be fine, maybe I will have an easier pregnancy, maybe it would be awesome, maybe I won't be burnt out with the nonstop breastfeeding and gestating.

I don't know, though. For now, I'm undecided, and trying to hold Josh off for a few more months at least. When I got pregnant with Gabe, I was ready to have a baby, like, yesterday. I wanted him so so so badly. I want that same excitement and anticipation for any future babies I am lucky enough to have. I think we should wait just a little bit longer. In the meantime, I'm keeping an eye on him. He better not start poking holes in condoms or anything crazy like that.

hot hot hot sex

Did I get your attention? New post on this very topic over at Pumpkin Products!

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I can't even make this stuff up

Josh and I are nosy people, and we especially LOVE to check out our neighbors' homes. So when Josh spotted an open house around the corner from us, we jumped on the opportunity to see what the house looked like from the inside. We were eager to examine the interior decorating style, plus we like to compare house details to see what we might be able to ask when we eventually sell this house.

The house, on the outside, was respectable. It had a nice entryway, nice details, good front lawn. The interior, on the other hand, was almost indescribable. You know in thriller movies, when the cops storm a hideaway for a criminal, the house always looks trashed and beat up? Well, then you've seen this house. The realtor greeted us at the door and began a quick speech, I suspect to distract us from looking around at the disaster too closely. He told us upfront that the house had fallen into disrepair because the owner had been hospitalized and there were tenants at will living there now. He also said that his estimates were that the house needed us to put in about 1 or 2. 1 or 2 what, you ask? HUNDRED THOUSAND. Clue #1 that the house wasn't for us.

We started our tour, and were stunned to find ourselves stepping over trash, dirty clothes and old dishes marked with chunks of forgotten food. The rooms were terribly cluttered, to the point that we could barely squeeze through the doorways because furniture was blocking them.
The bones of the house didn't seem to be terrible, and behind the mess I could see nice moldings and interesting architectural details, but it needed serious work. The kitchen was disgusting, and the hardwood floors looks damaged, where we could see the hardwood floor, that is. Clue #2.

We headed upstairs to look at the bedrooms, and were pleasantly surprised to find good sized rooms. They were a disaster, for sure, with piles of clothes and junk and beds unmade, but each room was a good size with a decent closet. I don't even want to talk about what the bathroom looked like, because really, I'm a little traumatized from it. But I haven't even gotten to the worst part of our tour yet. Clue #3, but trust me, you ain't seen nothing yet.

We headed to the final bedroom, a room at the back of the house, and walked all the way inside to see the closets and dimensions of the room. As we turned to walk back out, we discovered piles of syringes. SYRINGES. Needles. With caps on, but still, SYRINGES. Not just one, but a pile of them, inhabiting every available surface of the room. I turned to Josh in stunned silence, and he assured me, "it has to be for diabetes." But I ask you, when you find piles of syringes lying around in a room, would it assure you that it was probably diabetes? Because I have to say, it didn't make me feel better. I started having visions of finding an uncapped needle and getting accidentally stuck by one, as I shoved Josh down the hall and out the door. As we were walking toward the stairs, I realized that we'd missed looking at the hallway floor on the way in, where more needles littered the carpet. I feel sick just thinking about it.

We thanked the realtor and ran out the door as fast as we could, stuffing the house sale sheet into the first trash can we passed. The house wasn't all bad, it was a good size with a nice level yard and a large lot. The basement was finished, with a kitchen and bathroom downstairs that were basic, but reasonable. The price they were asking was crazy high, but they can't be serious about that considering the state of the house. And we aren't opposed to doing work on a house if the price was right- we did tons of cosmetic stuff to ours before we moved in. We love the neighborhood, of course, and we'd be thrilled to stay near this elementary school and our neighbors.

Beyond all that, though, I don't think I could shake the bad feeling I have in my stomach every time I remember what the house looked like. The dirt, the clothes, the trash, the syringes (!) and the general feeling of unhappiness and disrepair. I don't know if old houses have souls or what, but this one was sad, and I'd hate to move in and discover that the feeling went beyond the decoration. For now, we'll be sticking with our cluttered and small, but happy, colonial.

nope, not risky at all

Scene: Kitchen. Halloweenlover is making banana bran muffins (d-e-l-i-c-i-o-u-s, by the way) while Gabe eats pre-dinner snacks in his high chair. Josh arrives home from work and walks in to survey the scene.
-------------------------------

Josh: What are you doing?

HL: Making banana bran muffins for breakfast tomorrow.

Josh: Why is the computer on the counter?

HL: I got the recipe off of the internet, so I'm reading it while I'm making the muffins.

(surveys mess surrounding the computer, including banana peels and egg shells beside it and two bowls of dry and wet liquids a couple of inches away)

Josh: Gabe, Mommy sure is being risky by having her computer on the counter!

HL: No I'm not, this is your computer.

should certainly know better

I went to the movies tonight to see Untraceable with my college roommate. We grabbed dinner earlier with Gabe at a nearby restaurant, and then Josh swung by after work to pick Gabe up and take him home while we continued on to the movies. By the way, the movie was entertaining but very disturbing. Rather sick, frankly.

And then, GASP, my friend convinced me to sneak into another movie after the first one! EEEK! This is theft! I'm not even in high school! Worse, I didn't even do that when I WAS in high school! We were the worst perps ever, since we were freaking out about getting caught and kept running up and down the hallway nervously and going from movie to movie trying to select which one we would see.

Appropriately enough, we settled on Mad Money. The stress was too much for me, though, my stomach hurt every time a theater employee would walk through the theater. I think that was enough excitement for me for the foreseeable future. Let's all agree not to tell Gabe about this little incident.

shhhhhh

I have a confession. I think daytime television generally stinks. I don't like soap operas, I don't like courtroom shows, I don't like talk shows (much). Don't get me wrong, I'll turn on Regis and Kelly or the Martha Stewart Show in the morning while I'm munching on my cereal, but I don't love them the way I love nighttime shows.

I do, however, love the show "A Haunting" on the Discovery Channel. "A Haunting" is a docu-drama that tells the stories of actual people who have been haunted. I love it. LOVE IT. I eat this shit up, seriously. My DVR is set to record all of the episodes, so when Gabe goes down for his nap, I grab a snack or lunch, curl up on the couch with my mug of coffee, and watch my recorded shows until my skin crawls and I'm paralyzed with fear on the couch.

The show re-enacts the stories of people whose houses have been haunted, or their children possessed, or some other crazy scary stuff that makes for excellent stories. The real people who have supposedly been haunted come on the show and intersperse their commentary between the recreations, which truthfully, are sometimes really frightening. It's gotten to the point that when Gabe wakes up, I'm sometimes afraid to go up the stairs in case something grabs me from behind.

I don't even know why I watch the show when I get so scared, but I can't resist. I guess I enjoy the heart racing and blood pumping and cheap little thrills from being terrified, but it is getting a little bit out of hand. I've been watching so many of the shows that I'm almost surprised when I look in the bathroom mirror and don't see a spirit behind me. If Gabe wakes me up in the early morning for a bottle, I almost expect to see some ghost walking around our kitchen with me. We've lived in this house for 3 years, I'm confident it isn't haunted, but this show is making me a little jumpy.

Let's keep this our little secret, okay? Josh might send the DVR back if he finds out that I'm actually terrified.

nomination for this week's worst mommy ever

Our record of no accidents on my watch is over. It is a very sad day today. My moral superiority over Josh is officially done.

We were getting ready to leave the house to meet a friend for lunch and I put Gabe's puffy jacket on him and got our stuff ready to go. Gabe is walking well these days, so I picked him up, carried him down the front stairs and put him down on the sidewalk while I went back to lock the door and grab the diaper bag.

He took a few steps down the walkway and tripped on the concrete face first. Normally, he would have put his hands down to break his fall, but the puffy jacket made it impossible for him to move his arms fast enough and instead he hit his little face on the concrete and scraped his nose on the cement. The screaming started before I'd even gotten back to turn the key in the door, and I turned around to find him face down with a mouth full of dirt and long scrapes on his nose and mouth.

At least all his teeth are still in place and we have nothing worse to show for the fall than some scrapes, but I still feel terrible. It occurred to me as I put him down that he might not be able to stop a fall with his jacket but I thought he'd be fine and we were in a hurry, so I thought the risk was worth it. Not anymore, obviously.

Ah well, Josh didn't lord it over me too much. I'm sure that like most other things in life, Gabe will be over it before I will.

Also, why didn't any of you tell me how glorious the move to one nap is? He's been sleeping 3 hours every afternoon and I spend the time running through tons of chores and then sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee to enjoy my guilty television pleasures. It's awesome!

strudel and beer and shopping, oh my

I have to preface this post by saying, we had the BEST time. Amazing. Unbelievable.

But. And this is a big but, when I tell you about everything that happened whilst on this trip, I think you are almost going to think I'm lying about having a great time. We hit a bit of a string of bad luck surrounding the trip, and I'm not even counting the sinus infections and ear infections and Coxsackie and germiness. Anyway, let's get down to the stories.

We flew out of Boston, via Amsterdam to Bonn, Germany. Unfortunately, on those flights, we seem to have encountered the rudest airline employees known to man. These airline employees refused to allow us to bring a car seat onto the flight, even though the seat next to us was open, they yelled at us about how "Americans don't know how to form queues," they spilled water all over the guy next to Josh without apologizing, they snapped at me and actually muttered "Oh my God," when I spilled my drink in my efforts to keep Gabe contained during the 8 HOUR FLIGHT, and were generally unpleasant and unhelpful.

Gabe refused to sleep, refused, for the entire red-eye flight. He threw his pacifier down approximately 79 times in protest. I'd brought lots of snacks and bottles and toys, but certainly not enough to keep him entertained for 8 hours. By hour 5, I discovered that the individual television on the seat in front of us carried Baby Einstein movies. Now, I have an ardently held belief in no television for Gabe, but when my ears starting bleeding from all the whining, I decided that one flight of television wouldn't hurt. We spent the rest of the overnight flight with our eyes glazed over watching video after video. I could have kissed the monitor, truly.

As our flight was nearing Amsterdam, it became apparent that we were at risk of missing our connection to Bonn, Germany. This meant that Josh would miss his business meeting, and that we'd be stuck in Amsterdam for several hours until the next flight. The plane landed, and we RAN. You have to picture us madly dashing through the airport, with a stroller, a car seat, a child, two coats, one snowsuit, one briefcase, two carry-ons, and a partridge in a pear tree. Most distressing, as we are running and searching for signs on which terminal to run toward, there were time descriptions of how far the terminals actually were. We had 20 minutes before the flight was scheduled to take off, and the first sign we encountered, before Customs, said that terminal C was 21 minutes away. I almost cried.

We didn't lose hope, though. We raced through Customs, ran through 3 terminals, and hoped that if anyone made it to the plane before us, they'd tell them to wait for the poor fools who were traveling with the 11 month old and all the accompanying gear. Finally, terminal C was close, and in front of us, a beacon of hope dressed in an airline uniform holding a walkie-talkie gestures wildly toward us and asks if we're on our flight, we say yes, and she starts yelling in Dutch over the walkie-talkie "blah blah blah baby blah blah blah". We made the flight, with seconds to spare. We walked on, and they shut the doors behind us and were taxiing before we'd even gotten Gabe's car seat strapped in.

As you may have guessed, though, our luggage was not as fortunate. Josh attended his business meeting in jeans and a tee-shirt, and Gabe and I spent a day running around Bonn in our slept in, spit-up on, dirty clothes. We also had to buy German formula and German baby food. It was quite an adventure, trying to deduce what the packaging meant in German. I just hoped I wasn't feeding him anything random! The bags, thankfully, arrived in the middle of the night. Most importantly, Josh's suit and my formal gown arrived in that bag prior to the holiday party for which we'd flown to Germany. It would have really stunk to have to attend the party in my stretched out jeans and filthy t-shirt.

Bonn was lovely. Adorable and charming and clean and full of German Christmasness. There was a Christmas Market scattered throughout the center of town, full of food stands and art stands and sweet treats and gifts and people, oh my goodness, the people! Germans apparently love their Christmas markets, and the town was bustling. We arrived on a Thursday morning, and Josh's schedule was jam packed with meetings and dinners and social functions until Saturday morning, so Gabe and I contented ourselves with shopping and eating and people watching.

This child, unbelievably, was a saint. After not sleeping on the overnight flight, being thrust into a strange situation, strapped into a stroller for hours while we prowled the city, he never complained. Not even once. He was wrapped in a sleeping bag in the stroller with only his hands and head peeking out while he sweetly looked at all the sights. After surveying the moms and babies in town, though, I realized that Gabe was sorely lacking a good hat. We didn't see a single baby whose head was uncovered, so I sacrificed and bought him an adorable German cap. Ok, two adorable German caps. I also bought him a strap for the pacifier that I could attach to his clothing so that we wouldn't have a repeat of the pacifier throwing incidents on the return flight. Those Germans definitely know how to make good baby products, I had to restrain myself for all those hours by myself. I wanted to buy everything in sight.


Since the company hosted the party and the trip, we were sharing a room with Gabe. A not so big room with two beds, a desk, some chairs and a portable crib. Also unbelievably, this turned out not to be a problem. Due to the time change (6 hours later), Gabe was falling asleep much later, so we all settled into bed around midnight, shut off the lights, and although he peeked at us over the edge of a crib a couple of times, he went to bed without any problems. The first night in Germany, we did wake up around 3am to play for an hour or so. I just got up with Gabe and complied because it seemed a little selfish to be very strict with him after everything we were putting him through. After that first night, though, he slept through the night with no problems. We kept him on that later schedule for the whole week and it worked out well, again, unbelievably.

Saturday night we attended the holiday party, with Gabe down the hall with a babysitter provided by the company. I checked in on him every 20 minutes or so and tried to enjoy the party. Dinner was fantastic, the people were interesting, and we had a great time. I finally dragged myself out the door with Gabe on the 1am bus, and Josh stayed until close to 4am, enjoying the dancing and the band. I was tempted to stay, but the buses only ran at 1am, 3am, and 5am! I suspected that the hours between 1 and 3am might be a couple of REALLY LONG hours, so I opted to head back to the hotel instead. 1am, 3am, and 5am, can you believe it? I don't know how people kept their eyes open for that long, I was falling asleep on my feet by the time I hit the bus, but of course, when we arrived at our room, Gabe was practically ready to go out to the clubs. I'm wondering if maybe there was caffeine in the German formula I selected.

Our flight to Prague left on Sunday at 1pm, so after a rough wake up and speed packing, we made our flight to the Czech Republic to start the actual "vacation" part of the trip with no business meetings or functions. Bonn was amazing, though, and I am definitely forcing Josh to stay with his company (not a difficult task since he loves it) at least until next year. I can't wait to go back!

Vacation Installment #2 To Come: Prague and Amsterdam (Take Two).

almost like a tornado, only cuter

I so needed Gabe's nap today. I mean, I love this kid to death, but today has been one of those days where I was really to weep just a tiny bit by the time I settled him into his comfy crib.

Gabe is a path of destruction in our house.

While I put away laundry last night, he opened drawers in my dressers and threw clean clothes onto the floor. He opened the linen closet and dumped out plastic bins of lotions and batteries. He opened up a toiletry kit and quietly disassembled and chewed on tampons. He used our wicker laundry hamper as a walker across the upstairs hallway. He pulled baskets off of shelves, dumped out trash cans. He moved the dog bed into a different room. He crawls under the beds to pull out shoes and magazines. He pulls books off of book shelves.

And of course with his own toys, he takes puzzles apart and scatters pieces around the rooms. He slides blocks under the couches, he hides balls in the corners of the rooms. He has a new play kitchen with lots of play food that are marvelous to throw all over the place. Worst of all, he hides my keys and my cell phone and our remote controls.

It's exhausting. He is relentless. Sweet, loving, adorable, but RELENTLESS.

All of this happens while I'm standing there watching him, but what can I do? It is a full-time job just following him around and putting stuff away. I feel like the house is always a disaster, even when I'm trying so hard to keep it neat.

I'm overwhelmed by life these days, and I think my little path of destruction is no small part of that. I just can't keep up with everything that needs to be done, and I'm exhausted all the time. It feels like the house is always messy, the laundry is always piled high, there is always a long list of things to be accomplished. Ironically, when Gabe was a newborn, I felt more in control of our lives, I think partly because I didn't feel badly letting things like neatness go. Now that Gabe is a year old, though, I think I should be an expert at home organization and meal management and errand running.

When naptime comes along, I'm so exhausted all I want to do is collapse on the couch and have a snack, forget about throwing in a load of laundry, but I need to come up with some way to finish all the things that need to be done.

I don't know if it is the fact that Josh has been traveling nonstop for the last couple of months, or that when he is home he is working late and on weekends, or that Gabe got those ear infections, or that I got sinus infections and ear infections, or that my mom was visiting and then my mother-in-law was visiting and then my law-school roommate was visiting, and then my parents and in-laws were visiting or maybe it's the weather, or maybe it is the fact that Josh has been too tired to help at all when he is home. It could also be the non-stop diarrhea that has been plaguing this house for the last 4 days. That could definitely be it.

Am I missing something? Is there a secret system that some people know to get things accomplished? Or does it just take time and effort? Clue me in, por favor!

turns out that germs carry over into the new year

Happy New Year!

I have so much to tell you, I don't even know where to start! We're back from Germany and the Czech Republic, my parents visited for 10 days, we had a family birthday celebration for Gabe, he caught some crud going around and we had to cancel his "friend" birthday party, and today was a stressful day filled with a lot of crying. His, not mine, although by the time bedtime rolled around, it was a close call.

Before we left for the trip, I owed you an update on what was going on with the Coxsackie/Hand, Foot and Mouth virus. It seems that your well-wishes and positive thoughts did make an impact, because by the time we left, the blisters had cleared up. Unfortunately, the day before we left, I was diagnosed with a sinus infection, and Gabe was diagnosed with double ear infections. TWO. In his ears. Exactly what you need when you are taking a baby on a plane for 8 hours the next day. His crazy diaper yeast infection turned out not to look so much like a diaper yeast infection and more like some kind of crazy response to the Coxsackie virus. That whole area was swollen and blistered and looked incredibly painful for most of the trip, and only started to get better about 2 days before we came home. We had a lot of diaperless time in hotel rooms. I left apologies to the cleaning staff.

The kicker about Gabe's ear infections, though, is that I never suspected them. We went in for the diaper check because the rash was rampantly worse since the yeast diagnosis the week before. The pediatrician agreed that it was probably not yeast and decided it was likely Coxsackie just taking an ugly turn. He chatted with me for another 30 seconds and then rushed out of the room. I was putting Gabe's diaper back on and realized that he hadn't checked Gabe's ears, which were a source of concern for me given the flight and the fact that the week before the physician's assistant said he had fluid in his ears.

I called the nurse over and told her that I'd forgotten but wondered if the doctor could check his ears for just a second. She looked at me blankly and said that she didn't know where he was but she'd see if she could find him. She came back a minute later and said matter-0f-factly, "Oh sorry, he's on the phone." End of statement. So I suggested that perhaps I could wait for him, and she said she'd see if he was available soon. 2 minutes later, she comes back and says, "He can't see Gabe now, he's actually going in with another patient."

I was a tiny bit stunned, given the fact that it had now been 5 minutes since he'd been in to see Gabe, and HONESTLY, how long does it take to look in his ears? I asked if someone else could see him and she said everyone was busy.

Now I'm pissed, so I said, testily, that I would wait. She left for another couple minutes and then came back to tell me that one of the nurses had agreed to look in his ears, as if she was doing me a favor.

The nurse comes in, looks in his ears, and exclaims in surprise, "He DOES have ear infections!" She writes out a prescription, and as we're packing up to leave, I asked her if she wouldn't mind mentioning this to the pediatrician since I felt like he thought I was being ridiculous by insisting on an ear check. And she said, "Yes, I think so too." As in, agreeing that the pediatrician thought I was ridiculous! So first he refuses to come back in to check Gabe's ears, despite the fact that it was literally 30 seconds after he walked out, and THEN he expresses annoyance that I'm asking???

Anyway, we're walking out, and all the nurses are crowded into the front office, and one of them looks at me questioningly, and I say, "He has double ear infections," and they all gasp in unison and I hear a chorus of no ways, and wow, and I didn't believe it. Meaning, of course, that they were all up there having a little gossip fest, I assume, about what a pain in the ass I am.

I was rather taken aback, and rushed out of there fuming, and then called Josh and my mom to see if I was overreacting or if they agreed that I had a right to be upset. I had to talk Josh off the ledge of calling the pediatrician and pitching a fit, so I made the decision that despite my hatred of confrontation, I owed it to the pediatrician to give him a call. I did, and they connected me right away, and he was relatively apologetic. I say relatively, because he pushed most of the blame on his staff, and claimed that he didn't refuse to come back in and was already in with another patient when the nurse came in to ask him about the ear check, and he only asked if I could wait a couple of minutes. I'm trying to see it from his point of view, but still, I'm pissed. I think it was rude and unprofessional not to come back in when I'm asking for an ear check, and although I understand that I should have remembered to ask him, I don't think it is an acceptable response to refuse to come back in!

The lesson learned, though, is that it is my job to stand up for Gabe. On three instances, the nurse tried to get me to leave, and three times I had to insist that someone look in his ears. If I hadn't insisted, we would have boarded a plane to Europe with no antibiotic and a baby in a ton of pain. Now I know. I have to push back, even if I hate doing it. I owe it to my child.

The other hanging topic from before the holidays is the dog. The dog continues to have issues, but I am choosing to ignore his issues until we settle down with everything else on the health front. I'm being extra nice and offering treats and keeping an eye on him, but I have too much on my plate to find him a doggy psychologist just yet. Since we've gotten back from our trip, he has been better. Maybe having us away for 10 days scared him into better behavior. Or maybe he just needed a break from us or Gabe and now he is feeling better. I hope.

I also have so many stories about our trip, and about the amazing, unbelievable child that emerged while we were away, and I'll post them as soon as the screaming stops around here. With pictures! I have tons of our little world traveler and his trusty stroller.

I hope you all had great holidays and very happy new years. I can't wait to catch up.

attention: snowy drivers

If you ever face snowy and icy mornings, or have to scrape ice off of your car, the new review on Pumpkin Products may be right up your alley.

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I made it a whole year!

A year ago, I entered the hospital looking like this...

















15 hours of labor...














and came out with this.














It's been the best year of my life. Without a doubt. Not even close.

I wish I could slow time down, or maybe hold that tiny newborn again for just a little while, because the baby that newborn has turned into doesn't have much time for sitting still. He's busy, and sweet, and wonderful, and amazing, and brilliant, and so, so, so funny.







I wish all of you an extraordinarily happy new year, filled with as many wonderful memories, laughter and joy as we have had in the past year.




Happy birthday to Gabe!

like my own personal outbreak monkey

You'll recall that on Gabe's first Halloween, he was also diagnosed with his first ear infection. It caused several days of crying and complaining and whining (on both of our parts), but he recovered. Then I started feeling like crud, and it turned out that I had a sinus infection and double ear infections. There was more crying and complaining and whining (this time only on my part), but the antibiotics helped and I slowly recovered.

We went to Florida for Thanksgiving, and there were a few shining days of good health, where I wasn't blowing my sinuses out or struggling to clear my ears and all I had to worry about were the mosquito bites I kept getting all over my legs.

On the last day in Florida, though, Gabe's nose started running again and I mentally begged the world not to let him get sick again. We came home, and although the runny nose continued, it also didn't get worse, until last weekend. On Saturday a faucet turned on in Gabe's nose and I was forced for the first time ever, to whip out that evil nose sucky device that I'd carefully avoided for 11 months. Still, this was still a cold, it was doable.

And then.

I tipped Gabe back on Sunday morning as I got ready to feed him and saw a strange sight- something white along the inside of his lips. I took a closer look and saw... blisters. Lots and lots of blisters and white patches all along the inside of his lips. I called the pediatrician on call, who assured me that he was fine, but had a highly contagious virus called Coxsackie virus, otherwise known as Hand, Foot, and Mouth. A miserable virus, but nothing dangerous. As long as he continued to drink fluids and continued producing wet diapers, we could just give him pain relievers and not worry.

The next day, I started to feel like a steamroller ran over me.

The day after that, the vomiting and diarrhea started up on Gabe's part. Then a cough was added into the mix, and the coughing and vomiting encourage each other to add to the fun. Then the coughing and vomiting would happen right at bedtime or naptime, so there was no sleeping to be had around here. Lots of laundry, though, LOTS of laundry.

Yesterday his mouth started bleeding where some of the blisters burst, and my heart ached a little for how bad he must be feeling. Surprisingly, he has been relatively cheery despite the illness, and the only indication that he doesn't feel well is a bit of clinginess, a reduced appetite and night wakings. Also the cough that sounds like an 80 year old emphysema patient.

Today on a repeat trip to the pediatrician, we found that the diarrhea has given him a yeast infection. The holiday spirit is really rampant in our house these days.

To top it all off, Tango (the dog) started acting strangely over the last couple of days, as if he is in pain or extremely upset over something. He doesn't want me to pet him and flinches away from you if you try to scratch him or rub his back. Today he ran away from me and tried to hide when I went to pick him up, and when I called him back, he was so worked up that he pooped on the floor. A rush trip to the veterinarian, $65 later, and he thinks it is psychological. Maybe something happened to him a few days ago that was painful, maybe Gabe hit him or a toy fell on him or something, and he is reacting to that stress. Or maybe the baby learning to walk is pissing him off and he is trying to show me that he is upset. Who knows, but according to the vet, nothing is physically wrong with him.

All of this was enough to send me over the edge this afternoon, and after tearily asking my neighbor if she would watch Gabe while I ran the dogs to the veterinarian, I had a good little moping fest in my car. It's just a bit much. I'm sick, Gabe is sick, Josh is working long hours, and now the freaking dog is sick too?

I'm going to make a small request here, friend to friend, that you would take one teeny moment to send us good thoughts for improved health by the time I have to load my 11 month old, his stroller, car seat, pack and play, and luggage onto a flight to Germany on Wednesday. We can use all the help we can get around here.

what happened to my baby?

In the last two weeks, in no particular order, Gabe did the following:

1. Got another tooth, bringing his running total up to 8 teeth.

2. Learned to lift both arms in response to "How big is Gabriel?"

3. Said "Dada" with a big smile when Josh walked into the room.

4. Learned all the hand movements to the "Itsy Bitsy Spider".

5. Learned the sign for "all done".

6. Started doing the sign for "milk".

7. Sticks out his tongue when you ask him where his tongue is.

8. Hugs on demand, in both Spanish and English.

9. Kisses on demand, in both Spanish and English.

10. Took his first steps! Two toward me (of course trying to get my lunch) and then a couple that night for Josh!

All of these changes are exhilarating, don't get me wrong, but at the same time, they break my heart a tiny bit. Every day Gabe looks less and less like a baby, and more and more like a toddler. He has more hair, more teeth, more personality, and I feel babyhood slipping away from me faster than I can hold it in. Is this what the rest of my life will be like?





Oh, and he climbs slides also. By himself. Yikes!

flareglo, minus the fires

I have a new product review up at the other blog for Autolite Flareglo Safety Lites.

If you like products for your car, or you're a safety nut, or if you're just interested, check it out!

thanksgiving recapped

I mentioned a couple of entries ago that we were heading to Florida for Thanksgiving, but I failed to mention that we were heading to the mecca for all children who are destined to behave like miniature demons, especially on airplanes and in public places. ORLANDO.

My sister in law inhabits a suburb of Orlando, and although her suburb is perfectly nice and cute and not filled with the demon spawn that we witnessed the rest of the time, it was clearly a less than stellar idea for us to plan to fly down to Orlando during Thanksgiving break. Apparently graduate degrees are good for some things, but not common sense decisions, that's for sure.

On the flight down, the wonderful, kind, generous, blessed people at Delta gave us the only empty seat on the plane after I begged them shamelessly, and I had the pleasure of strapping Gabe into his car seat for the whole flight. It. Was. Awesome. Almost awesome enough to entice me to spend the money that I don't have to buy him his own seat in the future. We were able to strap him into his little seat, from which he took a lovely nap, ate a lovely lunch, played in lovely ways with his toys, and only started to throw things at the other passengers while we were landing. Whatever, I consider it a success if the woman in front of us only gets hit once with the miniature car 3 minutes before we touched down. Isn't that the measure of an excellent flight?

All around us, people talked in loud obnoxious voices about their net worth and how much they paid for hotel rooms, and which park they'd be attending, and NO JAKEY, NO, IT'S MY TURN, NOOO, MY TURN, MY TURNNNNNN!!! But my child was strapped in, and quiet, so I smiled when someone kicked my chair for the 7th time in 10 minutes and cranked up my ipod.

The airport in Orlando was a madhouse of children and large groups of people and screams of Disney! Disney! Disney! But my sister in law's house was fine and the weather was warm, and we stayed away from malls and public places and we had a great time. Something magical was in the air, though, and Gabe slept through the night, completely, every night except the first night we arrived. He hasn't done that in, oh, I don't know, MONTHS, for sure. It was amazing, except that Josh had volunteered to do all overnight wakings during our vacation week, and I was only slightly pissed that he didn't have to get up at all. It would have been nice for him to feel my pain, but it's fine. I'll remember that when Gabe is old enough to ask for a new toy.

We did have plans to venture out of the house to Sea World on Tuesday, until we looked at the prices and holy shit, the tickets are $67.95 for adults, and children are $57.95! I want my child to have a good time as much as anyone else, but he is satisfied by the fish tank at our local sushi restaurant, so I don't think we need to spend close to $200 to get into a park. My niece and nephew were pretty disappointed, until we told them that Shamu wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her family. They understood, grudgingly, so we took them to the zoo instead.

We also had a little conversion ceremony for Gabe while we were in Florida. In Reform Judaism, which we practice, Gabe is Jewish because we say he is Jewish, because he was circumcised and because we behave as if he is Jewish. We didn't need a special ceremony to proclaim something we already know. But for more conservative sects of Judaism, Gabe needs to have an official conversion because he wasn't born to a Jewish mother. If Gabe decides to practice a more conservative type of Judaism, or wants to marry someone more conservative than we are, we didn't want him to be encumbered by my not being Jewish. So we went ahead and did the stricter conversion, just to be safe. It was sweet and short, with a simple dip in a ritual bath at my sister in law's temple. Josh took him in and he was a champ and then we all clapped and sang and had a lunch afterwards. Josh would tell you that most importantly, Gabe got his first Red Sox yarmulke. It was a day of milestones.

Thanksgiving was uneventful, except for the exceptional quantity of food Gabe consumed. My stomach hurt just watching him inhale turkey and mashed potatoes and green beans and stuffing. Gabe is my miniature garbage disposal these days. All food is good good good.

The flight home, however, on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, turned out to be a nightmare and a half. Children were screaming, the people in front of us thought it was acceptable it play a movie at full volume on their DVD player with no headphones, and the people behind us must have been hard of hearing because they screamed their conversations to each other. We had to ask the DVD player people twice to turn down their movie, they refused, and we finally called a stewardess who was also unsuccessful in her attempts to get them to (a) use headphones, (b) turn down the volume, or (c) turn off the movie. I ended up listening to the whole The Little Mermaid movie, loud enough to hear each and every word and song. Somehow that 2 and a half hour flight felt like 6 hours, seriously. It was unreal.

Now, we're safe and sound at home, and after one painful night, Gabe has slept through the night for the last three nights. I'm in disbelief at not being exhausted. It feels marvelous. I haven't unpacked yet, because it seems like so much work to unpack just to repack again for our trip to Germany and the Czech Republic in another 2 weeks. I refuse to think about what that time change is going to do to our sleep situation. Denial is a useful tool these days.

It almost doesn't need to be mentioned what I am thankful for this year. I think we all already know.

thankful for sex

Shocking, I know, but having a baby puts a damper on your sex life.

(Are you laughing yet?)

When I was pregnant, I listened to friends complain about how pregnancy was disrupting their, um, frequency with their husbands, and I smugly thought that since it hadn't happened to us, we were immune. I felt great, generally, throughout the pregnancy, and we were still having regular sex up until a couple of days before I gave birth. I felt certain that this boded well for our postpartum period. I'd recover quickly, and we'd go back to our regular routine.

And then I squeezed a human, a tiny human, but still a human, out of my BODY. Along with that came stitches and pooping problems, and bladder pains, and general soreness, and well, lots of excess weight, and I felt like someone else. Definitely not the me that existed before December 28th. Plus, I felt consumed by this fiery new love for this defenseless little thing. That, coupled with exhaustion and the round the clock breastfeeding, and I couldn't imagine anything I'd rather do less than have sex.

But time changes everything, I guess, and slowly things got better. We worked out the new kinks, especially those associated with breastfeeding, and when I got my period again, my libido made it's lovely return appearance. Libido wasn't quite the same as the last time I'd seen her, but we were happy to see her nonetheless.

The truth is, though, Gabe still wakes up once a night, more often than not, and by the time Josh gets home at night and we put Gabe to bed, I'm beat. Exhausted. Grumpy. And definitely not in the mood. I try to rally for the team, but I need tips on how to get myself off the bench and running the bases more often.

I read an article recently on trying to figure out what makes you feel sexy, and trying to do that as often as possible. So I got my legs and bikini waxed, I bought cute pajamas, I'm trying to go to sleep earlier. Oprah says you should read romantic novels, but it isn't really my thing. I'm willing to try anything, though, so if you see me at the library picking out trashy novels, please look the other way.

At the risk of having Josh kill me for exposing our whole life to the Internet, what else should I do? What has worked for you?

And be graphic, please. I'm begging you.

I've had a gag order until now

I'm not going back to work.

I guess many of you already figured this out, since I haven't mentioned work in quite some time, and I have mentioned activities Gabe and I have been doing. But there it is, out in the open. I've been dying to write about it, but I am paranoid, and fearful, and I wanted to give my notice first, get all my boxes shipped to me, and complete any final paperwork that might need to be done.

Deciding not to go back to work has been a long and painful process over the last 10 months. It started with taking 6 months of maternity leave, or 5 months and 3 weeks worth of leave, to be exact. I was supposed to go back at the end of May, and my mom had agreed to come to Boston for the summer to watch Gabe while I transitioned back to work. Then in September, I'd find a nanny or a daycare, or I'd use our in-building daycare until the end of 2007, at which time my mom was thinking about retiring to come and take care of Gabe for me, in lieu of a nanny.

I thought I'd be okay with that plan. I was convinced I'd be okay with that plan. I figured that I'd work part-time, even if part-time at a law firm was practically full-time everywhere else, but we need the money. We really need the money. Plus, I went to school for a long time to get here. I worked hard, and on most days, I liked my job. I kept telling myself that I'd be ready to leave my baby by 6 months, and I'd be grateful for the grown-up time and stimulation.

What really happened? I had panic attacks at the thought of leaving Gabe, even with my mom. I would burst into tears whenever the subject came up. My stomach would tie up in knots when I thought about being away from Gabe for more than a couple of hours. It was rather pitiful, to tell you the truth.

So I asked for a leave of absence, until Labor Day. Now I had another 3 months to psych myself up for leaving him. Plus, I kept telling myself, he'd be 9 months old! Totally old enough to be with someone else! He'd probably treasure it! He'd be sick of me by then.

And then something remarkable happened. Gabe became even more fun than he'd been up until then, and I realized that although I'd previously thought Gabe needed me the most from months 0-6, he still needed me and there wasn't going to be a magic date where he'd need me less. Well, maybe when he leaves for college, or maybe high school, but probably not at 9 months. I just didn't want to go back to work, at least, not a work that required me to be there for 50 hours a week, and on call all the time.

It's funny, though, you think that deciding to go back to work is the hardest decision to make, but sometimes deciding not to go back to work is just as hard. Especially when you've lived your whole life following a certain life plan, with certain expectations and ambitions for yourself. Deciding to stay home felt like a sort of failure, as crazy as that sounds.

In some ways, it felt unbelievable and amazing, and like such a relief. In other ways, it feels so strange to think that this is my life, and that I'm not having reviews and deadlines and all-nighters. It has also been surprisingly hard to sit back and watch Josh wrestle with the work stuff, and feel powerless to help. I have to keep reminding myself that he'd have to deal with the difficulties of a new job and new coworkers, whether or not I was sitting in an office. But it is hard.

My not working is a huge financial hit for us. Seriously, huge. Our lifestyle has to change 100%. No more ordering in, going out to dinner, no more new clothes, no big vacations, no new toys for Gabe. No house renovations, no closet remodels, no new windows and doors, even if they are leaking our heat out and you feel wind when you walk by the front door. It is totally, utterly, absolutely worth it, but it still takes some getting used to, I'm not going to lie.

So that is the deal. I'm not working, at least for now. I keep thinking about getting something part-time for 10-15 hours a week, but when I think about my reasons for wanting to find a job, they are all tied up in guilt and worrying that Josh wants me to work, rather than actually wanting to work. And the truth is, I love love love being home with Gabe. Love it. Even when he throws his pacifier out of his crib for the 7th time, or when he eats the dog's bone for the 12th time, or when he whines endlessly from 6-7pm, or when he refuses to eat any form of pureed fruit, even when it is mixed with other things. I love it.

I think this is the best job for me, with the best little tyrant, bi-polar, crazy little boss in the world.

Now if only I can convert kisses into mortgage credit. Maybe I'll call the bank in the morning.

keeping it simple

Do your New Year's resolutions involve getting organized?

I have a new review (plus some products to give away) on Day Runner's new Family Matters organizational system on the reviews blog.

Come check it out! Free stuff! Plus who doesn't need more organization in their lives?

the sweetest sound

Gabe looked up at me Friday night, lifted his little arms toward me, and said, clear as day, "Mama". I thought it was a fluke, but he's said it lots of times since then, even with an audience.

It is particularly ironic, because just that afternoon someone had been telling me about a baby around the same age as Gabe who already says "light", "car", and "daddy". Isn't that advanced? At 10 months? Anyway, in true Type A mommy fashion, I was starting to wonder if perhaps I should be encouraging him to talk a bit more. So we get home from dinner and I am asking Gabe if he is ready for bed, and voila! He said mama! And the heavens opened up and angels sang. It was glorious.

This parenting gig is totally worth it.






He talks/grunts on the phone too, that is pretty much the second cutest thing ever.

maybe we should have a weekly awards ceremony

I think I can claim the Worst Mother Award this time.

For the few days before Halloween, Gabe started getting up at night. Repeatedly. Sometimes with screaming. We happened to be visiting my in-laws at the time, so I assumed that all of the screaming could be attributed to a new place, a new bed, different routines.

Then we came home, and the screaming continued at nighttime, and during the day he would occasionally tug on his ear.

I know, I know. Right now, you're thinking, DUH.

But the thing is, I'd already taken him to the pediatrician twice in the last couple of weeks because he kept tugging on his ear and both times it was teething. Teething! So I didn't want to be the idiot mother who takes her kid to the doctor AGAIN for teething.

You know the end of this story already, I'm sure, because when I took him to the doctor this third time, he had an ear infection. I am properly ashamed of myself, and as I sat rocking Gabe the last few nights, I also feel appropriately guilty for making my sweet baby suffer unnecessarily.

I suck.

Gabe has been on antibiotics for 10 days now, and appears to be feeling better, and had his ears checked again and all is clear and healthy. Thankfully.

The same can't be said for me, though. As Gabe has improved, I have been getting sicker and sicker. First a runny nose, then a cough, then a stuffy head, then unending snot, then pounding pain behind my eyes, then inability to clear my ears, and since yesterday, pain in my teeth. Weird, right?

Turns out, I have a sinus infection and double ear infections. Fun, huh?

I guess karma is a bitch. Next time, I'm taking him to the pediatrician 17 times, even if I get sent home 17 times for teething. I'll send our pediatrician a letter of apology in advance for being annoying.