"Due to Illness"

Spencer is trying to walk around. He can sort-of climb down off a couch. He can pull himself to standing in his crib. He says "DaDa" a lot. That gets my goat. Language specialists say babies more often form the "d" sounds first. That's justice, isn't it? If there is a God, he really has a seriously mischevious sense of humor. A woman can give life to a child, carries it in her body for 9 months, grows it from her own flesh and blood, and the first word the child says is "DaDa".

Our family has been sick for the last 20 days or so. Spencer had his ear infection come back and had a wicked cold that produced snot the consistency of oatmeal. Guy got it after him, and it turned into the flu and sinusitis. I took Airborne until I couldn't stand it anymore and then it got me. I do recommend Airborne though. I think it kept the germies at bay for awhile. Didn't taste too bad either.

I think I also got some kind of inner ear thing, because days after I finished dosing myself with Alka Seltzer Cold & Flu, I was still loopy like someone had pumped me full of antihistamine.

I went on two job interviews like this. During the last one, I had a coughing fit that must have made my interviewers think I was terminally ill. It was the kind of cough that is mostly an itch, but it's the kind of itch that comes when you stop sucking down lozenges, and comes on intensely to the point that your eyes water and you can't even open your mouth without coughing. Oh thank you Ricola. Thank you.

It happened again in CVS while I waited for prescriptions for Spencer and myself - more antibiotics for both of us -I forgot to keep chewing a Ricola and suddenly near the refrigerated section in the back of the store, the itch came back. If I could have reached down my own throat to scratch, I would have. Instead, I quickly grabbed another lozenge and began coughing like an emphysema patient. I had to sit down in the pharmacy waiting area and huddle over while I coughed. I looked pathetic and was totally debilitated. Customers must have thought I had SARS. It was almost comical. I had to ask the pharmacist for a squirt of antibacterial hand cleaner (the alcohol based crap that eats your skin) so I could hand them money for the prescriptions. Why someone didn't offer me a surgical mask is beyond me. Talk about skulking...I tried to be as small as possible upon my exit. By the time I sat down in my car, I was exhausted.

Now Guy says he's getting sick again. If I get sick again, I'm going to go ballistic. I'm sick of giving all my money to Kleenex, Proctor & Gamble, and doctor co-pays.

This is an ugly shoe. For some reason, I am madly in love with it.
Moccasins are IN right now! So are mocs with a wedge heel. I have been looking for wedge heel shoes forever! Will be buying some very soon.

See what happens when I get tired? I start reverting to shopping fantasies.

...may cause irritability...

Contrary to popular belief about the City of Brotherly Love, it is NOT a city that has perfected "The Choke", nor is it a city doomed to defeat for all time. We did well, considering we were facing a "dynasty-in-the-making". Fans didn't erupt into mass rioting, and there were only a few drunken fan-throws-beer-bottle-
at-random-inanimate-object arrests. I guess they were rioting on the inside.

I confess, I'd love to know what the hell my team was doing on the field during those last 4 minutes...what was with the huddling while precious moments slipped away? I'll never know.

What I would also like to know what it is that happens in the human brain when we've "had enough" that makes us feel like we need to suddenly smash something or throw something.

I don't mean a prolongued tantrum or a planned visit to a hall closet for a primal scream. I'm talking more like when you dropped the toothbrush behind the toilet, ran out of hot water midway through your shower, you couldn't find a sock and then finally, when you went to brush your hair, the brush got stuck and kept pulling so you snapped and threw the hairbrush at the wall. You might also yell or cry after doing so.

Tonight it happened while I was trying to wrestle some defrosted salmon out of its plastic wrap and bag to place in a pan. I could envision myself slipping and throwing the salmon right out of the bag onto the floor. Then Guy started talking with me about something - I don't even remember now. I was so focused on trying to get the stupid salmon out of the bag/wrap without making a mess, that when Guy spoke to me, I nearly hissed at him. I was told to go sit down.

It's late and I'm not feeling particularly like smashing anything, but I confess I am really tired and itchy on my arms. I saw on the Real World/Philadelphia that one roomate got Scabies. I hope I don't have scabies! Eeeew yuck.

Of Discipline and Madness

It's 1030, Tuesday night.

There's some ridiculous creepy movie on called Secret Window.
Johnny Depp is in it. It's about a writer whose fictional character comes to haunt him and kill people to set him up, only it's really him losing his mind. Some poor bastard sheriff is about to get it...with corn cob holders, I think. Ok, no, just the "crazy writer" showing us he likes sharp things. He kills his wife by first dragging her out of a Saab she can't seem to get in reverse cause the parking break is stuck. I wonder if the screenwriter knows us or has a Saab.

One of the most often repeated nugget of advice I've seen by successful writers is that any aspiring writer must write every day. I have been trying to figure out when I can do it regularly, because that is supposedly the key: Frequency and Regularity. However, I wonder...is it possible that this strict guideline causes aspiring writers to lose it a bit? OR is the writer mostly kooky anyway and it's just a matter of time before the cracks become apparent? Why do writers have such a tendency to write about being victimized by their characters, or about being driven to madness by isolation (isolation they actually prefer in order to create)?

Ok, frankly I'm not really pondering. It just seemed a good place to start tonight since I've been struggling to find time to write and then there's this silly movie on about a writer going nuts.

Mostly I've been conquering fears: Fear of the job market, Fear of motherhood, Fear of coffee & donuts becoming my favorite breakfast, Fear of Spencer crawling, Fear of the ski slope, etc.

This past weekend I skiied for the first time in two years. Ok, the word "skiied" weighs heavy. I don't like the presence of two i's like that anywhere. It's weird.

So I skiied. Crabbing the whole time about my crap skii boots.

OH speaking of crap, I got rid of the Ford Focus and I have my Beetle back. Only problem is, I don't have turn signals. A simple call to the dealer will have that resolved in a week or so.

Anyway, back to skiing.

This is almost the exact likeness of the boots I wore last weekend.

If you're in a rental situation and they put something like these up on the counter, tell them NO.

I think the damage to my shins from those boots is worse than what happened to my knee when I rammed my Beetle into a streetlight pole. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I'll get a little bill from the city for that little accident. I can't IMAGINE they'd just write it off and replace it.

Ok, it's now 1144pm. Some creepy show called Carnivale is on HBO. It's about God & the Devil and freak shows and dust. Sheesh. What's with the horror theme tonight? I'm scared I'll fall asleep right here.

Ok that was funny.
So is "Giraffe-Cat"

Tootleooooooo

Hair-brained Schemes

I wanted to post Friday night, but I was exhausted from my travails.
You see, when one highlights one's own hair, one is responsible for reaching areas of the head that require the kind of dexterity reserved for yoga gurus.

I want to show you a picture of how I looked at 10:30 p.m. Friday night.
Here's a sketch of what I had on my head:

Nice, eh? I can't tell you how contorted I was. We have a dressing room which is populated by 3 giant Ikea closets with full length mirrored doors. I stood with my back to one mirror while reaching around behind my head - these caps have holes all over the head, all the way in back. Everywhere. Without help, it's a pretty intense amount of work. I felt I was up to the challenge. I am a MOM now, afterall. What can't I do?

I'll tell you what I can't do. I can't do that again. I think I spent 90 minutes just pulling strands of my hair through that cap. I learned how to work using both hands, and backwards in the mirror. It's a lot like crossing your eyes too long and putting one arm over your shoulder and the other up behind and trying to touch fingers behind your back...and then standing that way for 90 minutes. I do believe by the end, I was hallucinating. The most torturous part is knowing that you still have to mix the creme, put it on your hair and sit around like a chemical accident for 30-60 minutes while it strips the color from your follicles.

I took a break after the plucking all these pieces of hair and checked to see what Guy was up to. Also, I had to sit, because I felt like I'd been strapped between two boards for a whole day. It was like I could barely stand anymore. I descended the stairs and when he saw me, he laughed and laughed. Ladies, it was then that I realized how stupid we all are. There I was looking hideous with my little plastic bonnet with my hair sticking out of holes like little seedlings. I spent a decent chunk of precious "me" or "us" time, creating this "look" in order to make myself look prettier. I had to explain to Guy that it was the sacrifice women have to go through...he was still laughing at how I looked in my bonnet.

I got him to help me wrap the rest of my hair in tin foil (more confusion resulted from this. I had to explain why tin foil and not a towel) and then Spencer started his 10:30 crying jag from the crib. Guy went to him, so I finished the whole dye job myself.

It looks great for someone who's no professional. At least, I'm happy with it.

Spencer just smiled alot today, I don't know if he noticed. He did try to grab my hair a little more than usual. I wonder if he was checking for damage.

Oh, for the record, I haven't actually gone anywhere since Friday. We got a good ole' blizzardy storm Saturday into today, so the only time I spent outside today was to finish cleaning off my car. Guy dug out earlier - dug an extra space and put a trash can there. He promptly shooed away some lecherous college students who attempted to usurp the space. Spencer and I will venture out tomorrow when the temperature rises a little. Guy actually took pics of the Xmas lights that are still up outside, so it looks like we had a White Xmas. Silly.

Hats off to the all NFL teams who played in the Northeast today. They should be commended. It is friggin COLD out there. Oh wait, if I was getting paid millions to run around in spandex and shoulder pads and get smacked around a little, I'd probably be willing to do it in the cold too.

Oh, I have a cold. There needs to be a new cold medicine that treats Stuffy Head, Cough, Congestion, Sore Throat, aches and pains and Post Nasal Drip itch. It should also moisturize your lips and nose so you can withstand the effects of tissue erosion.

Final thought:
EAGLES 35, Patriots 24
Superbowl XXXIX

Yeah!

Thou Shalt Not Worship False Idols

Ok, in my last post, I marvelled at and extolled the virtue of the Ugg Boot.
The messiah had come and it was shearling.

Uh, Melbourne(or wherever they make em down undah), we have a problem.

I believe my very lovely warm and fuzzy boots may have caused me to smash my VW Beetle into a streetlight pole yesterday while trying to dislodge a trashcan lid from beneath.

Because they are so large on my feet(as you may recall, I recommended buying them snug because they stretch. I did not take that advice in the store), it may have been the suede-like, soft shearling that wedged itself between my right foot, the gas pedal and the brake. My most revered Ugg boot caused me to accelerate and crash while trying to turn into a neighbor's driveway.

My knee is banged up a bit, and my car is quite smashed. I have a rental car while the insurance company decides how to fix the car as cheaply as possible.

Now pay attention: DO NOT EVER accept a Ford Focus for a rental. The "basic" options are from like 1994. Manual roll-down windows. Manual locking doors. Yes, you have to lock each door separately. You can't even turn the key in the driver's door just to lock them all. Can you imagine buying that car? YIKES! Oh and they're terrible in snow. I almost got Spencer and me killed trying to stop for a red light while driving only 20 mph in second gear. I had to run the light because I couldn't stop without going into a spin. Stupid car.

Oh, and speaking of worship, the new season of American Idol began last night(Tuesday). The best part is the bad singing. Here's the sad part though: Thousands of hopefuls wait and wait to be seen. They go through a screening process well before they get to see the three top judges (that's Randy, Paula and Simon if you didn't already know), which means at least two rounds of judgement. If you're a stinker, but you're funny or newsworthy in some way, they might just let you keep going until you get to the big three. It's misleading because then the bubble is broken. Someone who might really think he has talent will be encouraged all the way to seeing Randy, Paula and Simon and then his world comes crashing down. That's not really fair.
BUT IT' S GREAT TV.

Now, a little more about idolatry and the like...
There's a presidental inauguration tomorrow.
I believe the "parade" route will be underground in a secured tunnel guarded by big robots with missiles. There's a fear of a terrorist attack. Wouldn't that be intense? What if all the cabinet people got it? Who would be president? Karl Rove, perhaps? He hides behind a curtain anyway.

God Bless America.
God Bless Ugg Boots that fit correctly.
God Bless my Beetle all alone somewhere in some garage.
God Bless the uniqueness of vocal talent(or lack thereof) and it's exploitation for my amusement.

Today's Lesson: Buy Uggs that fit snug, don't accept a Focus in place of your Bug, some people's mics should always be unplugged and the next four years are gonna be hell so start doing drugs.

Thank you and goodnight.

Salvation
(the sound of an angelic choir should be playing here)



Ok, guess what? I finally got Ugg boots. The REAL ones, not some fakey fake version like I was gonna settle for. The style I bought is pictured above.
GET THEM NOW. When you do, one hint - get them to fit snug - they will stretch. You must wear them barefoot! That's right, I'm serious. Barefoot.

I wore them all weekend. I felt like I was breaking the law when I went out - it's like wearing slippers in public. I swear to God that's what it's like. I thought everyone knew I was barefoot in my boots. It was like getting to be deviant and comfortable all at the same time. I felt like I had a little secret: Hey world, I'm barefoot in my boots! It was 26 degrees out today, but my feet didn't know it.

I do have a little problemo: I got them too big expecting to wear socks and they look it and I already have big feet to begin with. I'm 5'3 and I'm wearing size 9 in some shoes. I think it's why I've got pretty good balance, now that I think about it.

I am totally sold on these things. Oddly enough the guy in the store (The Walking Company at the Plaza @ King of Prussia by the way) said I should buy more than one pair. He was just trying to sell shoes, but I'm considering buying another pair. I am. They are awesome and I am wearing them until spring.

In case you were wondering, Spencer is better and has learned to play "tug" with his daddy's sock. That boy. We buy him every toy under the sun, and he loves socks, ripping up magazines, wrist watches and plastic water bottles.

Oh, and he needs new pajamas. We have two sleepers that I think were irregulars I bought at Costco - I think he's wearing them backwards, but when you put them on the other way, you can't get them off to change his diaper and the snaps are all down his back. We've debated the issue repeatedly, and have settled with them looking backwards. He's about to outgrow them, so I don't really care. That's another caveat of childrearing: Shopping repeatedly because of growth every month or two. I love it!

Parting message: Go buy your Uggs, people. Go buy them now. Just don't buy all the other accessories - what a joke. I mean really, who needs a shearling purse? Don't answer that, Ms. Hilton you cheeky tart you.

Fear of Poop Itself

There are dark blue towels all over the floor in our living room.
I have them down around Spencer's play area in case we have repeat performance of yesterday.

He just sucked down a little formula and burped. I'm scared.
I have post-traumatic-barf-syndrome.
Earlier today he got the hiccups and I thought he might be heaving, so I carried him into the bathroom and held him over the sink in case he was going to throw up again. Nothing happened. I think he giggled a little.

I wish I could dress him in a plastic outfit.

Cleaning up poop is the most bizarre task ever.
How can you really CLEAN it? I mean, it's like the filthiest filth ever.

He's sitting next to me on the floor dragging his bottle of formula around. I wish he'd drink it.
We have another bottle of Pedialyte here too. I can't say we're overly-impressed with their choice of flavors. There has to be something more appealing to a little one. He doesn't drink OK or grape juice yet, so why would something flavored that way be of any interest?
How about Banana flavor?

Illin' In Philly

Yo Yo Yo. Mom in da house...
Uh, all month long. I can't get out.
If it's not the boy, it's me.
He started off 2005 with an ear infection, I acquired strep throat last week, and now he's contracted some sort of stomach thing that's made him expunge every last drop of everything from both ends. Pleasant, huh? I'm drinking tons of water now, just in case it happens to me too.

During my time of respite, protected by the poofy, synthetic-y feel of a faux down comforter (purchased no doubt from Kmart or some other purveyor of fine home furnishings), I managed to watch almost all of Live Aid and found solace in cherry jello and hominy grits.

Apparently, when you recover from illness, the gods of mockery send down another for you to dodge by putting it in your child. So we're back on major doses of hand sanitizer and then following up later on in the evening with A&D ointment on the hands to soothe the cracking skin on the knuckles.

I feel like a boxer.
"Down goes Fraser!!!"

Dashing Through The ... holidays

Oh wait, it's OVER! Christmas and New Years are OVER!
I can't believe I let this go so long without writing. Ok thats a lie. I can too. I'm lucky I got the Xmas cards out.

I bet you're dying to know how I did on my first Xmas as a mommy, so here are the highlights:

• I baked nine dozen meringue cookies for a cookie swap. I am now an EXPERT at whipping up egg whites.
• We had a friend watch the baby so we could buy him Xmas presents (as if he'd have known if we took him along).
• We found a near perfect tree and it was up and decorated in two days or less. And down in two days or less after New Years. Unprecedented.
• Our ceilings were covered with big dangling snowflakes and our son now has an intimate relationship with all our nutcrackers. They talked to him from the mantle (with our help) every day. Any idea how hard it is to communicate on behalf of a nutcracker? They don't lead the most exciting lives you know.
• We rented a minivan and believe it or not, my HUSBAND thought it was God's gift to travel ("You could play FOOTBALL in here!"), and travelled to New York twice in 3 days.
• My husband bought an electric train from some mystical shop out on the Main Line. I bet if he tries to go back it'll be some abandoned ole' storefront.
• My son saw Santa for the first time at the mall. Santa was sitting in his picture-takin' chair, and I was holding the baby about 5 yards away. He smiled pretty big, but I can see we're going to have to try him in doses. Santa can be scary when you're really little.
• We had the longest Xmas morning in memory. Babies take a LONG time to open their presents.I can't imagine how it will be when he can actually speak and walk and tell us he doesn't like stuff Santa brought...
• The baby had his first ear infection that caused him to stop eating all together before New Years, so we stayed at home and had lobster and filet mignon after he went to bed. It was DELISH.
• Dick Clark had a stroke this year so Regis Philbin was in charge of New Year's Rockin' Eve and to quote another New Yorker: He's FIRED.
• The world's worst natural disaster in modern history occurred and killed probably 250,000 people. (And I was cranky cause my son was up in the middle of the night. Nice)
• We've had above normal temperatures for the last week. Seems there is no global warming problem afterall.
• Some fellas from Monty Python have adapted The Holy Grail for the stage. I am proud to announce that barring dismal failure and early closing, we will be going to see it in March on Broadway.
  
• So that's about it for the holidays. We got some great pics though!
  

On other fronts:
I finally caved and bought some high waisted khakis. They work for me and are actually stylish so I don't look like a dork. I also bought my first "track suit". It's pink. I look like a cute, comfy mommy. Couldn't you just barf?

AND BIG NEWS HERE....I will be seeing my favourite teen crush band ever: Duran Duran. We have 5th row seats. If that isn't incentive to lose that last 10, I don't know what is. Heh, and I was actually considering Weight Watchers...

Tragedy of 2005: No new diaper bag. I'm all in a twist about it. What's a mommy to do? I need a storage saviour or something.There must be someone out there that can help me find the best bag. Who are you? Where are you hiding?I MUST HAVE RESPITE FROM THIS TORTURE!

Tummy Time

Ok, there was this mock ad on SNL from May of '03 for a product called "Mom Jeans".

You know you've seen a woman wearing 'em. You know you've laughed or cringed and thought, "Oh my god, can't she see how bad her stomach looks in those?"
I used to laugh.

Until it happened to ME.

I know why they wear them. I know why ALL jeans look like "Mom Jeans" on moms.
It's the pouch. Whatever happens to your stomach after the birth of your child once most of the baby weight is gone and you're starting to wear some old clothing again.

There may be a temporary solution: High waisted jeans.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeew! High-waisted jeans are for moms!
I hated them all my life and when low-waisted and low-rider jeans became the norm, I was ecstatic. I remember in highschool and college, trying to wear my pants low and it looked ridiculous because they were mostly all highwaisted so there was all this extra fabric in the crotch.

The low-waisted jean was my salvation. Couldn't get enough of 'em and when Levi's introduced "Super Low", I was beside myself with glee. What took them so long? Yippeeee!

They're sitting in a storage bag along with some Tilt and Gap jeans I'm not wearing.

Two weeks ago I found myself in Kohl's wanting desperately to go into the Women's section to try on some "regular" jeans. Wait is it called Misses ? "Woman" is for plus-size women. See? I don't even know what department is what. I just know where the high and low waisted jeans can be found. But I always shopped in the Juniors section.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't go there. I didn't look for a comfortable, nice looking pair of jeans. I fought with myself the way you see an actor arguing with his/her computer generated twin or imaginary friend and ended up buying a pair of boots.

I'm 7 months postpartum and everyone says you need like a year to get back most or all of your old body (or whatever's salvagable?). I don't want to give in and go get something safe until I really know what my body is going to look like! But I'll tell ya, if I saw me walking around with my belly potentially hanging precariously close to "over" my low-jeans, I'd want me in a pair of Lee jeans, tout suite!

And you know what else? It's not just how they look. It's what they mean.
Your old clothes don't fit quite right, do they?
You don't really want to wear them either, do you?
Somehow, it doesn't feel quite appropriate to wear a baby doll t-shirt that says "Kitten". I'm a "Mom" now. It looks a bit childish to wear such a thing when I'm responsible for this little person who depends on me for everything except breathing and pooping.

It feels awkward to wear a low cut top. You risk flashing the world anyway - I don't know about your baby, but mine has started pulling on my clothes and sticking his hand down my shirt when I wear a V-neck. And seriously, even though I can kind of wear some low waisted jeans under long shirts, I resist. All the bending and squatting to lift, carry and move the baby around can potentially result in more crack sightings than at a plumber's convention.

When I was in the hospital why didn't they show me pictures of what my tummy was gonna look like and instructions or a pamphlet on "Your New Mommy Body"? They had no problems grabbing my breasts and poking me and throwing Spencer at me (not literally) and invading my room at all ungodly hours of the night, so why not tell me what I might expect after my incision healed and I was up and at 'em?

So many questions...

A Diaper Bag Haiku

Satchel that eludes;
Carry our stuff with ease
Look like a million bucks

Kvetching...

I now have maybe 4 different bags going.
I am deeply tormented.
Could it be a distraction from the rest of life? Who knows.

But here's the new dilemma:
Spencer is growing and growing.
How much longer will I need this bag?
I'll freakin' buy the bag and then I won't need it anymore.
I'm sick from it. SICK I tell you!

Oh no wait, I'm stir crazy because Spencer has been sick since his 6 month appt on 11/29. He had diarrhea (I hate that word. I can NEVER spell it right the first time) and then got a cold too. We've been home ALOT lately.

In the meantime, if you or anyone you know has any information about that Kalencom bag or you've seen a review, PLEASE contact me immediately!

Of Diaper Bags and The Blow Out

Ok, one quick thing about a diaper bag, cause I think I may have found IT.
I need help though.
Here's the bag:




It's by a company called Kalencom. I linked to it in case the image doesn't show here.

I really like it, but I don't know anyone who has one, nor do I know where I can go see it for myself. I don't wanna order it and then not like it and have to return it!!!

SO, if you know someone who has this bag, or you've seen it (do not confuse this with the Mothership Bag by Fleurville - see my other post about that one) in person, PLEASE contact me IMMEDIATELY! Thank you.

Ok, now on to the Blow Out...

I don' t have a whole lot to say, cause it's just gross and I don't feel like rehashing how my son's butt burned out my nasal passages, but I think I have mastered removing the diaper without getting poop on clothes. Here's what I did, for those who seem to be doing way more laundry than they'd like:

• Carry the baby to the changing area like a football - don't hold her up in your arms with arms around under her butt - you're going to smush it all around in there!
• When you get the baby there, keep him standing up (if standing) and take off shoes, socks, pants/bottoms and unsnap onesie if wearing one. Pull up any shirts and/or onesie.
• Put wipes down on changing surface under baby while holding her still standing. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT her sit or lie down now(on back or tummy!). You're still risking major nastiness.
• Carefully undo his diaper. If you have to hold his arms down, just keep your arms around him as you do it (my son has a habit of grabbing his "boys" whenever the diaper comes off). Since you can't see what's in there yet, it's better safe then sorry. Pull the diaper down and away.
• Grab another wipe, try to get what you can off the baby and then lay her gently down on the changing surface with her butt on the wipe you laid out.
• Get to work and clean up that baby!

Ok so I'm all impressed with my new skill. I bet I'm the only one who hadn't figured it out. This week was the first time he ever had it happen, so I have an excuse. Wish I could put one of those idiotic toothy smiley faces here now. Instant Messenger has messed me all up for good.

Oh, a passing thought...
Does the pediatrician's office keep a record of every time you call, even when nothing comes of it? Just wondering...

The Perfect...
Part I: Diaper Bag

I can't find it. I simply cannot. How can childbirth and childrearing be the oldest institution next to prostitution and the bag does not exist?
Could it be that Google is imperfect and does not know how to find me this wondrous contraption? Is it only created for haute couture runway shows and bigtime celebrities?
Does Madonna have one? If she does then so does Gwynneth.
Then Julia will have TWO for her twins. Bitches.

I bet if Oprah did she'd have given them away to her whole audience by now.
Well actually, she did give one away - I think it was the "Mothership" bag by Fleurville

I warn you, I am obsessed. I am likely to ramble on here, so if you don't give a toot about diaper bags, move on.

Here are the problems with that bag:
1. Flap closure - too much work when you need to get to something fast.
2. No zipper closure to main compartment - Not secure from prying hands
3. Non-adjustable strap - We need that flexibility for different activities
4. No separate compartment for mom's stuff OR detachable bag for mom
5. Price - It's $160.00. I'm sorry but that's discouraging

These 5 things in variation are usually the main deficiencies in all bags. And if it's not one of these things, it's size or style. Some of the most organized bags are REALLY ugly and boring.

This is about the closest thing I've found so far: Loom Bandicoot
It's still too small though!

Here's the one I have: Skip Hop
It's not bad, but there are zipper compartments at the top and anything wide inside those pockets makes it hard to get to anything inside the main compartment. Also, it's taller than it is wide so everything sits on top of eachother. I think that makes the bag feel heavier, and it doesn't stand on it's own very easily.

I could go on and on about this. I usually do every night - I've found myself online just searching. Last night I even went international - looking for Nappy Bags and Changing Bags (that's the terms for them in the UK). I need help. I really do.

I have figured that by the time I actually find this bag, Spencer will be done with diapers, so is there even a point?

With a bit of a mind flip
You're into the time slip.
And nothing can ever be the same.
You're spaced out on sensation.
Like you're under sedation...

Let's do the time-warp again!

Well, that about encompasses my life from my last post until some time in September.

I may start a separate "chapter" about the lovely effects of Post Partum Depression, but I've decided that in this journal, it doesn't have a place. There are too many ridiculous events, anecdotes and observations for me to spend time bemoaning the loss of my mind for two or three months due to hormonal imbalances.

Some say having PPD (that's the cool way to say PostPartum Depression by the way) is just like having a disease or broken bone. You treat it and you get better and it heals. Well I think I'm off the crutches now and out of bed. I just get some soreness and when it rains I can feel it in my joints...?

Well since I don't remember all that much about the end of the summer, let's start fresh, shall we? I'm sure I'll have flashbacks as we go along.

Stay tuned for My Adventure with Spencer.

Glad to be back!

Blues Clues

I read that 60-80 percent of moms get Baby Blues - mild erratic behavior and crying in the first few weeks postpartum, and that another 20 percent will develop some version of full on depression. I figured the Baby Blues was inevitable - remember the scene in Look Who's Talking when Kirstie Alley is watching a Hallmark commercial and is crying? I was sure that would be me. I actually did cry once at a commercial during my pregnancy.

Now it's 10 weeks later and I cry because I let my son watch "Elmo's World" on Sesame Street. I cry because I miss palling around with my dog. I cry because I don't look like a cute, sassy 34 year old in my Beetle - there's a teddy bear mirror in the backseat for the carseat. I cry because the only going "out" I do is to the supermarket. The other night, I was so mental, my husband sent me to Borders to get a book about Buddhism. I'll be "reflecting" on things for awhile.

Here are a few things to watch for if you haven't already been frequenting Postpartum Support Web sites...

• A feeling similar to stage fright that happens after someone else has been watching the baby and is now leaving you alone
  
• Jealousy when your partner seems to be getting more smiles from the baby than you do
• Guilt feelings over things like letting the baby sleep "too long" after a feeding because you were doing something around the house or taking "too long" a long shower when your partner is clearly home and happy to be with the baby
• They say rest when your baby does and you laugh maniacally because when will you get the laundry done, shower, eat, pee, etc?
• A physical urge to run as far away from your house as you can and never look back
  
• A compelling need to powwow with other moms

What's funny is that I'm trying to think of more clever things to say but they appear really serious, so what I think I'm trying to say overall is that it may not just be "Blues".
Sheesh, that's serious too.

I think what I can say at this point is that the way I feel now will be alot funnier in a few months. How's that?

Tick Tock

I'm afraid to write right now. My son is asleep in the next room, but I hear noises through the audio monitor and I'm terrified he'll wake up before I've had a chance to take care of a couple of other things I have to do. I'd like to get a nap in too.

It's 950pm. Guy is working - he has a hearing, a brief due and union negotiations tomorrow. Spencer and I have Yoga. Seems like nothing doesn't it?

I was just reading over my posts from BS - Before Spencer. It seems like years ago. We had family over today and were talking about an email Guy sent to our respective mothers a couple of days after we came home from the hospital. He said it seemed like years ago.

My concept of time has changed forever. There isn't any. There's too much. It moves too fast and it moves too slowly.

If I don't have plans I go crazy, if I have plans, nothing gets done at home. I have to prioritize what I can do now and what I can do with a baby in my arms. I have to estimate when I can pump or should pump in relation to when Spencer might need to feed at night or when I can put him someplace for 15 minutes.

I need to start tracking when he eats and sleeps because in a week he starts daycare twice a week. I'm going back to work mid-August, but I'll have 4 days where he'll be out of this house for 6 hours and I have nothing planned for myself. What will I do during that time?

We spend most of our time now discussing him or my mental state - I'm dealing with some postpartum issues and that's time consuming too...

It's amazing how anxious I was to have my son. I was in such a hurry to get him out because I was so uncomfortable. I have lost a good deal of my pregnancy weight, carpal tunnel gone, I can wear my wedding rings, and I can almost fit back in most of my old shoes. Time is slowly bringing my body back...I don't know if I'll ever look the same, but at least I'm feeling a little more human now that I can wear regular underwear again.It's time to dump the "granny" panties.

I've spent 10 + minutes writing. I made the choice to take my precious free time and use it to document the changes of the moment - although there are so many I need much more time to get into what's happening. Cryptic, eh?
No time to elaborate. Maybe when he starts truly sleeping through the night...

New Parent Central UPDATE!

A coupla weeks ago I listed some helpful tips, etc.
I mentioned the use of Kleenex as a good pee blocker for your new little man.
Well, it couldn't be more timely...one of the gals in the playgroup I joined recommended this little product: The Weeblock.   

It's hilarious and I think I need one.

Just thought I'd get it on here quick for anyone who's discovered WMU (Weapons of Mass Urination) in their homes.

:)

"Who Is They?"

Pregnant women pay attention:

When you have information to discuss with your significant other about advice you've been given, or research you've found, or helplful hints you read in a magazine, BE PREPARED TO BACK IT UP.

During a "playgroup"** walk with some other new mommies yesterday, I learned that I was not the only one forced on the defensive when trying to tell my husband something we should or shouldn't be doing for the baby.

Guy is an attorney - more specifically a trial lawyer, so it isn't surprising that he can be argumentative when I try to present other ways of doing things. But, when I heard that all the other moms present were experiencing the same thing with their partners, I realized there must be more to it than professional background.

Noone wants to be told they're doing something wrong. Now add a "with a baby" to that sentence. Now change it to "with THEIR baby", and it's pretty hot stuff. If you try to tell your mate it's not a good idea to mix milk and formula and feed it to the baby, you better know clinically why, and where you got the information and you should probably know how recently the source reported it.

If you don't have the facts, you better be prepared to eat your words and go back to playing "i got your nose" with the baby for now. Your mate will look at you like you're nuts and tell you there is no justification for what you've said and you will be dismissed. Invoking "a Mother's Intuition" is useless here and will only be acceptable when you've solved something without your partner's involvement, so don't even go there.

You'll be tired and cranky and emotional and post-partumed and feel like it's not fair for your partner to treat you with such disdain, but it's only your partner's way of trying to feel in control of the situation, seeing as how you carried your baby for 9 months and may have a stronger connection in some ways. Plus, your partner may have had more sleep than you and may be more able to think clearly, so it's not necessarily a bad thing to be challenged.

Ugh, when did this become an advice column?
Anyway, just be careful when presenting new information. That's all I'm sayin'.

_______________________________
**"Playgroup" - All of our babies are barely old enough to keep their heads up and can only focus on us for about 10 minutes straight; they can't even really see other babies yet. The term "playgroup" is used here to define a group of new mothers getting together with their babies, who are in strollers. The mommies walk and talk while the babies nap and look cute.

Preparing to Merge

Yesterday was my first social/learning activity with Spencer with other mommies. We started YogaBabies class. It's down in South Philly and it went really well despite the wicked standstill backup on 76 (typical and sucky).

Imagine that - I'm on my way to yoga class for spiritual and physical improvement and I'm challenged by insane traffic patterns on the way. A real test of fortitude for sure. Not to mention that Spencer starting crying 'cause we weren't moving.

Have I mentioned I have control issues? It's becoming more and more evident.
If I get anything out of motherhood besides all the standard stuff, it'll be an overhaul of my...hmmm, what do I call it? My...psychiatric state? My well-being? Ah, I know...My capacity to tolerate the unknown.

What's really funny is how desperate I am to talk with other moms - to commiserate on topics far and wide, to trade tips and advice, to make plans to get together more often with our little ones to while away the hours as they grow and learn. When I got to the class and a fellow classmate asked how old Spencer was, I was elated. I felt like I was someplace I was supposed to be. The other moms looked like me! I've really been in the house too long.

Last week we went to a local park and I spread out a blanket and put him on it with me while I read, etc. Another mom showed up with who I think was her mother and a little baby... I found myself sitting up to check out what was going on - they were like 100 yards away. I wondered "Will they see me? Will they come over?" I mean nothing could be more ridiculous; I was sitting in the middle of the park on the grass under a tree with Spence, and they were yards away on the walking path, sitting on a bench. There was no reason at all for there to be interaction, other than my curiosity and need to interact. I held Spencer up to look around and in the back of my mind was going "I wonder if they'll see that I have 'one' like they do and come over" -like I was showing him off like a little prize or a beacon.

Then I started wondering about protocols when meeting other moms. When is appropriate to approach one? How long do you talk before you decide you want to meet for a playdate or something? How do you know you even have anything you want to socialize about other than your babies? Do all new moms have these questions and feel this way? In class yesterday the one mom who asked about Spencer was really cool and in the back of my head I was thinking "I'd like to ask her to hang out" ...and I'd JUST met her! This doesn't happen in life regularly when you're out. I think it's a mom thing, or something. Or, I'm just insane.

Well, today I'll get to find out jusst how insane I really am. Today we're going to a "playgroup". Hilarious really because the most playing Spence is doing these days involves staring at the overhead fan in the kitchen and smiling and half-laughing like a fiend.

Spence had his first giggle on July 10. It's so friggin cute - his little mouth opens, lips thin out and form a heart shape, his tongue sticks out a little and his eyes squint and this little "HA" sound comes out - and he wriggles his body. He's so cute. I can't stand it. He's cuter than the kids in the yoga class. I can't help it. Do all mothers think this? I mean other kids are cute, but he's just SO cute. He's the perfect baby. I'm sorry, but he is. Maybe when he's older I won't feel this way, but right now I'm really convinced.

He's sleeping right now - friggin cutie. I love my little bug.