She Likes Purple

Recharged

My god, has it really been a week since I last posted? That can't be right. This is not because May has been slapping me around some more, thankfully, but because, bottom line, our wireless Internet went out at home, and I can no longer write blog posts in front of a Gilmore Girls marathon or an episode of "House Hunters." I have to walk all the way to our computer room to write there, and, COME ON, that's just so normal and lazy-free.

Let me update you, though, as if that's what you've been waiting for. 

May has started behaving, THANK GOD. Things are better on all fronts, and I hope to have good, solid, concrete things to share with you soon, but until then, know I have not slipped into an alcohol-induced stupor or jumped off a bridge or gone certifiable just yet. Part of this is because things have turned around and part of this is because Mike and I got away for the night this past weekend and, WHOA, nothing recharges one's batteries like a full night's sleep. We stayed in a hotel in downtown Fort Worth for the night, while my mother-in-law watched Kyle (and got up in the middle of the night with Kyle, which is all the proof I need that she loves Kyle). We were celebrating our two-year anniversary, and celebrate we did. We saw "Star Trek" (surprisingly good), we drank and ate at a and we ordered a bottle of champagne from room service and crawled into bed before midnight. When I rolled over at 11 p.m. to drift off to sleep, I could not stop smiling. Of course I missed my kid, but you know what else I have missed? SLEEP, THAT'S WHAT. I know it's the oldest parenting cliche there is -- how ridiculously exhausting raising a kid is, how little sleep moms and dads (BUT MOSTLY MOMS) get those first few months, BLAH, BLAH, SHUT IT PARENTS, I KNOW -- but it's not the amount of sleep that's so depressing about having a baby (I sleep, I do), it's that the sleep isn't certain. You know that feeling, right before you drift off to sleep, that feeling of, Ahh, I can sleep until I wake. Perhaps you only get that feeling on the weekends or every other weekend or just randomly when life lightens up a bit? Yeah, parents miss that feeling. Parenting has robbed me of, not sleep, but sleep, lovely sleep, guaranteed sleep. Anyone can adjust to five or six hours of sleep a night, even if those hours are broken up and disjointed, but sleep isn't as enjoyable as it once was, and that's what I miss. Enjoying sleep. For every time I've laid down and gotten four or five straight hours of sleep, there's a time I've only gotten 10 minutes before having to re-insert a pacifier or make an unexpected bottle. All this to say, it was a nice night away, and if you're a new parent and can leave your still-waking-at-night baby with someone willing to put in a hard night's work for you, DO IT. Leave the baby. Sleep for a full night. Enjoy a bottle of champagne with your husband. My god, you both deserve it. Although, you deserve it more, I'm sure. Kidding! Sort of!

Here are some pictures from our quick-but-lovely night away (add me as your friend on flickr to see them).

And because I think my mom will enjoy this, here's a video of Kyle jabbering. It's his new thing these days, talking incessantly, and it's my favorite thing he does. He goes on and on and on and most of the time, I just sit and listen because, my god, that boy can tell an engrossing story. Or perhaps I'm biased. Either or. 

We're off this weekend for baby's first road trip (wish us luck) and back just in time for a visit from one of my very best friends. Cherie is coming to stay with us for a few days and she's bringing her twin boys. I'm going to force Kyle to become best friends with both of them because HOW CUTE WILL THAT BE? He has no choice in the matter and it's just one of the many ways I can get back at him for all the neediness of his infancy. You require me to provide every necessity for you at your demand and on my dime, son? WELL, THEN I WILL FORCE FRIENDSHIPS ON YOU AND ALSO GRAPHIC ONESIES.

Onesie says "My Dad is Rad." I'm not looking forward to the day he refuses to put on something I hand-picked for him to wear. Something far cuter than what he chooses. 

Shine

Of all the things I didn't expect about my child, his personality tops the list. I wanted so badly for him to get his dad's red hair, his dad's deep laugh, and it hardly occurred to me he'd come out with his dad's ability to whine and pout and utterly exhaust me.

I found this picture tonight, a picture I hadn't seen before, and I laughed for 30 seconds straight.

He was pouting when he wasn't even a full ten minutes old.

Although I don't quite understand why life is so tough for the men in my life, why they need constant back rubs and comforting, I don't mind being the one they turn to for a little love and understanding. In fact, it's a job I'm kind of ridiculously proud of.

Sometimes, even in the midst of a month that will not stop giving me reasons to bitch and moan, I have to catch my breath from the coolness of it all.



They're shiny silver linings, aren't they?

I still reserve the right to complain and roll my eyes endlessly because of them, oh yes. And the right to insist they fetch me drinks and snacks and new shoes in return for all the patience I have to muster to not bang my head against the wall after dealing with one or both of them.

***************
Thanks for all the nice thoughts and comments, also. You folks aren't so bad yourselves.

***************
Oh, I have a new post up over at Bodies in Motivation Go on over to read about an "enough is enough" moment I had recently. Have you ever had one?

Come pick me up*

I think May is the month I'd most like to never talk to again. I'd like to put May behind me and ignore all of its future calls and emails. I'm so going to talk badly about May behind its back.

Why, you ask?

BECAUSE MAY IS A BITCH.

That's why.

First, Kyle has entered into a really difficult period over the last few days where he can no longer put himself to sleep. He screams and cries the moment I put him in his crib, and nothing I can pinpoint happened to bring on this monster-ish reaction of his. He can be up and smiley and chatty -- the moods usually best suited for bedtime -- but the moment I lean him over those rails he FLIPS out. What's even better, picking him up after the initial flip-out DOES NOTHING. How, how can it do nothing? How can that not instantly comfort him? WHY DON'T YOU ASK HIM, BECAUSE I SURE AS HELL DON'T KNOW. The only thing that seems to calm him down after he begins to have a pre-bed meltdown is a bottle. EVEN IF HE JUST ATE. (Note: This post is shaping up to have quite a few words in all caps. OH WELL.) I know that I shouldn't give him a bottle and let him doze off while eating, but when a girl is at the end of her rope, a girl will sometimes throw rational thought out the window and just do whatever the hell it takes. (And then the bad habits form. Score!) The last few days/nights have been really hard because of this new development, and I don't know what to do. Can you tell me what to do? I'll even allow the prickly kind of advice -- you know, the kind that drips in judgment and superiority -- because I miss our easy bedtimes THAT much.

(Oh, for those who are dying to tell me to let him cry it out, know this: that doesn't seem to work for him. Like at all.)

Next, Mike missed out on a promotion he deserved. I don't want to say too much more because I don't know if Mike's co-workers or higher-ups would really appreciate all the questionable language I would end up using, but he was rightfully bummed, and so was I. And he deserved it and worked for it and DESERVED IT OVER WHO GOT IT. Did I mention he deserved it? HE DID.

Finally, and most disappointingly, it looks like we're going to lose our dream house because of something that has nothing to do with us whatsoever. Because someone didn't do their job, we're going to suffer, and I'm disappointed in this person specifically (that they can just go screwing with other people's dreams in this way) and in the general situation. I'm disappointed because we tend to believe that things work out the way they were meant to, that things are ultimately going to be OK and that with every sour circumstance comes a silver lining. I AM A VERY GOOD SILVER LINING SEEKER, YOU SHOULD KNOW. But, here, I don't see the silver lining. I am down today. I'm at a loss. We thought this place was a dream come true, and, unfortunately, it's turned into someone waving the dream in our face before THROWING THE DREAM INTO THE RIVER.

I will find the silver lining tomorrow. I know we'll eventually be OK. I also believe fiercely in a saying Holly first introduced to me (well, as her reader; I unfortunately don't know her personally), and it goes: "Nothing very, very good or very, very bad lasts very, very long." So, yes, I know that this will pass, that we'll eventually see the brighter side. I know we still have each other, we still have this beautiful, amazing little man and a roof over our heads (BLAH, BLAH, BLAH), but tonight, I'm down. I'm blue. I'M OVER MAY.

So, cheer me up, would you? And not by telling me something lovely that's happening in your life. No, I'm in no mood to be happy for you. (Sorry.) Instead, tell me something horrifically embarrassing or just funny or a messy, awful situation that you're now out of and can look back on with a sense of humor. Or just come join me in my misery and tell me why you want to kick May's ass, as well.

We'll go back to baby pictures and fun tomorrow. Today, pick me up by commiserating with me. 

*I'm stealing Jonna's brilliance here and using a song title as my post title. Ryan Adams, for anyone who cares.

More

I could sit here for hours waiting on your arrival / I could sit here for days hoping you'd come out and play / I could die in a minute and the one chance for survival / would be the sound of your beautiful name. --"Mountain" by 5591

I have a freckle in my left eye. It's a fleck of brown against blue-gray, and it's something I had never even noticed about myself until I met Mike. Early in the days that dripped with hope and awkward glances, Mike looked over at me late one night and said, "I like the freckle in your eye." He did this, often, back then. He would point out things I had gotten complacent about, stopped noticing or never noticed at all and he would turn those things into gems. I had never noticed that freckle before, but I have noticed it every day since. 

This has been quite the year for Mike and me. Just a few weeks after our first anniversary, we conceived our son; our difficult, beautiful, stubborn, suspicious, smart, adorable boy. Since that night, when we made him, Mike has had to do a handful of things that were never specifically outlined in our vows. Things like: holding my leg up near my chin as I gave birth to Kyle, helping me to the bathroom (ass exposed) minutes before I was given an epidural, running to the store at 3 a.m. to get me root beer or Reese's peanut butter cups or a different kind of bottled water, helping me roll over in bed when I was hugely pregnant, grimacing through my SCREAMING at him about bringing plants into the house. And, no, I'm not kidding about that last one. He has handled it all with much grace, some eye-rolling, more patience and humor than one person is really expected to bring into a marriage.

One of the early days of Kyle's life, one of the really dark days when I physically couldn't remember when I slept last and definitely couldn't remember when I last applied lip gloss, I stood in the kitchen, crying, contemplating leaving the dishes piled up as they were for the rest of time, thinking about what I could shove down my throat before my son woke up from his nap. I sniffled and sighed and said to Mike, who was just in the other room, "It'll be OK soon. I know we'll be OK, and we'll get through this." He was watching something, I remember that, and he didn't even pause it or even turn towards me. He simply said, as if it were second nature, as if it took no thought at all, "Of course we will, baby. We can get through anything." Thank god for that man, for that man who saw the freckle in my eye when no one else could, who has done more for me than he ever thought he'd do for anyone, who has seen me skinny and fat and in various in-between stages, and who has always, always, always looked at me as if I am just as I've always been, just as I was in those easy-yet-hard-yet-perfect early days when I never screamed or cried or got irritated with him.

Two years ago we were beside ourselves with joy as we took our vows and then got good and drunk at our reception. Two years ago it was all before us and it all looked bright and spotless. Two years later, we've been through more together than I thought we'd face in a lifetime and, yet, the view is still pretty OK, the company is still pretty great, the drinks are still pretty strong.

Our wedding day was perfect, a day you dream of, a day that seems surreal in hindsight because there was not a bad moment from sun up to sun down. There have been plenty days since then that have been less than perfect, that have been hard and painful and tear-soaked. Yet, today, on our two-year anniversary, I love that man -- that difficult, beautiful, stubborn, suspicious, smart, adorable man -- even more than I did back on that too-perfect day.

And I will love him always, always, always.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Survived, just barely

Mike was out of town this weekend on his first trip away from home since Kyle was born. He went exploring the open roads of Arkansas on his motorcycle. When he would call home to report in each night, he would lament about how tired and exhausted he was, and I would reach through the phone and smack him. Thank god my mom came to stay with Kyle and me most of the weekend, but because she didn't give birth to Kyle, it wasn't her responsibility to get up with him at 3:30 a.m. or 6 a.m., so I felt like a single mom in the wee hours of the night, and, wow, if you think parenthood is exhausting and trying, take out half of the equation and see what sort of patience you have left after just two days. You can imagine how sweetly I talked to my child when he was up screaming FOR NO GOOD OR OBVIOUS REASON last night. I may have said to him, "I am so over your behavior right now." I may also have put him in his crib to cry for a few minutes while I walked around the house searching for patience. (Found none, unfortunately; did find quite a few dust bunnies.)

We're both beside ourselves to have Mike back today and not only because he's the better swaddler, although, yes, that's part of it. (I would watch Kyle on the video monitor break out of my swaddle for the 85th time, and I'd literally cry because HOW, HOW IS MY THREE-MONTH OLD CHILD SMARTER THAN ME?) Mike also makes us both laugh, a lot, and he washes all the bottles when I ask him to. I'm always kind of excited to have the DVR to myself when he leaves town, but 24 hours in, I can never remember why I didn't ask him to stay. Life is simply sweeter with him around.

We did venture out Saturday afternoon, and Kyle did his best golfer impression for the outing. Also, MY GOD, where did that belly come from? My skinny little baby has been replaced with CHUNK.

He hit 14 weeks this past Thursday, and during our 14-week photoshoot, he couldn't keep his hands out of his mouth, which made the photo shoot like every other minute of every other day. I can't tell you how disturbing it is to think of how much fuzz/hair he's already ingested in his 14-week-old life. Good news is, he doesn't seem to mind.

Yesterday, the boy went on a fun little nap strike until he collapsed on me late afternoon and snored his way through a few "House Hunters" episdoes. It was tricky getting this shot, but I'm so glad I did. Also, I didn't pierce his nose over the weekend; that's just a scab from a self-inflicted nail injury. I have to cut his nails daily in order to prevent those scratches, and sometimes I simply forget until I realize it looks we own a cat based on my son's face.

 
This is his "come home now, dad" face. I have one too, but it's not nearly as cute.

If you're not busy

I've been in need of a vacation since, um, my last vacation. I had hoped BlogHer -- happening this July in Chicago -- would be my solo getaway, where I could meet up with some of my favorite people/writers/bloggers and sip on many glasses of champagne since last year's trip to BlogHer fell right smack dab during my first trimester. But, I'm in a very important wedding for Lauren, one of my best friends and bridesmaids, that same weekend, and while most of you will be in Chicago, I'll be in Portland (seeing another best friend, hopefully meeting a blogger who has quickly become a favorite read of mine and meeting up with this insanely talented photographer for a family photo session).

So, my solo blogging getaway wasn't meant to be this summer. Thank god I quickly got pulled in the loop and invited to another blogging meet-up with my favorite Internet person and a couple other funny, talented, awesome women.

We'd like you to join us, as well.

If you're not busy September 25-27, join us in Sacramento. Many details are still up in the air, but here's what we know for sure:

There will be wine.

Elizabeth is quasi-hosting the event because she's as awesome as they come. She's opening her doors to any blogging friends and offering up her patio as the go-to place for wine consumption. (She's also offering up her hammock for lounging and child-free relaxing, but I've called dibs on that, so do you like to snuggle?) 

Many people find this online writing hobby weird. But I've met Elizabeth, and I can honestly say she's my friend, online and off. I can't wait to escape for a few days to hang out with her and relax with a magnum glass of wine or two.

If you're interested, live close by, would like to meet up with us for a wine tour or just a meal, please email me (shelikespurple@gmail.com) to be added to the email list for this fun weekend event. And if you need some assistance with room booking in the area, please contact me, as well. We'll do our best to help you make your plans.

Counting down the days.

Stress relief

Oh, man. AGAIN WITH THE STRESS. This week is shaping up a lot like last week, and this irritates no one more than me. I don't enjoy hand wringing or heart palpitating or annoying blog posting any more than you do, trust me. But, let me just reiterate one little thing -- for anyone who may think I was exaggerating for comedic effect last week -- BUYING A HOUSE IS SOUL-CRUSHINGLY STRESSFUL. And I won't go on. I could go on (OH, HOW I COULD GO ON), but that language is only suitable for biker gangs and, apparently, home buyers.

In addition to home buying, the A/C in our car went out, and, HA HA, we live in Texas, which will become SOUL-CRUSHINGLY HOT, um, last week. So, that's been fun. What with a vulnerable, precious little newborn and all. Seriously, how did anyone raise babies in Texas before cars came regularly equipped with air conditioners? Even more, how did paranoid, worrisome moms raise babies in Texas before cars came regularly equipped with air conditioners?

On, and the gnats are still lingering (although the status has been dropped from borderline infestation to slight annoyance), and ants have joined the gnats. Random, sporadic ants, which makes it very hard to find their origin. One will show up on the counter and then another in the sink and then one on the fridge and of course we'd get the lazy, unorganized ants. OF COURSE WE WOULD.

(A segue would usually go here, if I was good at that sort of thing.)

Back when Kyle was born I became depressed almost the instant I walked through the front door from the hospital, and I didn't really shake that sadness until he was around eight weeks old. What surprised me most about that period of depression was how physical it was. I hurt, physically, and not because I had just given birth. I tell everyone that in terms of those pains, I was incredibly lucky. Both labor and the physical aftermath of labor were perfectly manageable discomforts with the help of an epidural and a little Motrin. But the hormonal and physical sadness of those first 6-8 weeks were really shocking. Coming out of that stage was like a gift, like someone had turned on the lights after weeks of being kept in the pitch-black darkness. All it takes for you to appreciate feeling normal is to feel not very normal for a certain length of time. 

As I was sitting at my desk at work today, just beside myself with the stress levels, I thought of Kyle, across town at school. Parenthood changes you in totally predictable ways like being OK leaving the house with spit up on your shirt -- because, hey, at least you took a shower -- and in totally unpredictable ways like breaking down into a sobbing, snotty mess because your three-month-old made you a Mom's Day card at school. (And by "made" I mean "had absolutely nothing to do with creating except for screaming his way through offering a paint-smeared hand print.") But, what I'm most thankful for when it comes to having my kid is that I now try to actively work my way out of these down times for his sake. I do what I have to now to rid myself of stress and anxiety because I know what those things can rob you of; I know they can rob you of the most important stuff. So, I look for the silver lining, joke my way through the crap, down a beer or two if need be and think as positively as I possibly fucking can. I wished away eight weeks of his life, and even though the stress is suffocating right now, I'm done looking forward to anything but this moment, this instant, this life.*

And, get this, Kyle rolled over for the first time today. ON HIS OWN. MULTIPLE TIMES. He's going to grow up whether I like it or not, isn't he? God, hand me another beer.

Baby's first shoulder ride. The excitement is palpable.

*Although, hey, I am talking about what I'm looking forward to and where I'm heading over at Bodies in Motivation today. I love my life, yes, but I'm going to love living it trim and fit, too.

Enough said

Yep, being his mom pretty much kicks as much ass you'd imagine. I mean, come on, what other three-month-old rocks a pair of Vans this awesomely? (Except yours. I'm sure yours kicks just as much ass, definitely.)

 

Mom's Day was beautiful even though the house did not clean itself like I specifically asked it to. Thankfully, my family made up for the house's total lack of appreciation by giving me jewelry and donuts and pizza and beer and J. Crew flip-flops and a four-hour, uninterrupted nap. It's a damn good thing I got that glorious nap, too, because I also got a fun wake-up call from Kyle around 11 p.m. last night. (The ways in which he keeps me on my toes are endless! He's so clever!) He was apparently all ready for a little late-night HGTV watching, and to protect my sanity, I translated all his shrieks and screams as simply contempt for the stupid couples on "House Hunters" who argued over paint colors or cabinet hardware as deal breakers. I wanted to cry and scream too, Kyle.

(Especially at the mom who kept referring to "adult space" as something she needed from her new house. As if keeping a room kid-free was just a feature you could pay extra for. Um, lady, try locking a door.)

It was late before Kyle went back to sleep, too, and that was extra fun this morning, LET ME TELL YOU. Just when I think I can't take any more, that I'm at the end of my mothereffing motherhood rope, he'll wake up on his own and spend a half hour just talking to his mobile and sucking on his hands, so I can put on a little extra make-up and -- GASP! -- eat breakfast on the couch instead of in the car. When I finally went in to him this morning, he grinned at me like a crazy person as if to say, "Hey! I was hoping I'd see you today! How the heck have you been since we last hung out?" Man, that smile. It could fix the world. It definitely fixes mine, every time.

I don't know if I love motherhood, if I think I was meant to be a mom or if I think it's the best job there is. I don't think I'd endorse it across the board for everyone, amen. But being his mom? Yeah, about as perfect as life is ever going to get.

(And for all the people who are deeply concerned I've locked Molly in a closet or have just stopped loving her altogether, please know I cuddled with her on the couch just last night and whispered to her that I was already a mom before Kyle. That I loved her with all my might, too. Even though she refuses to let me put a pair of Vans on her paws.)

Mother's Day Gift Guide

I love online shopping, probably more so than is really healthy or normal. But I don't buy nearly as much as I "bookmark." When I come into a whole mess of money or just feel like splurging, I'll browse my inbox for the items I've saved. If you're short on ideas for Mother's Day (and we're definitely in order-now-apologize-for-it-being-late-later territory), here are some things I would love as a mom. (HINT, MIKE, HINT.) Maybe the moms in your life would love these things, too.

I found this site recently -- Charm & Chain -- and can't stop drooling over about 75 different items. You really can't go wrong for mom with anything on this site, but these turquoise earrings are reasonably priced and would go with quite a lot. ($40)

I just bought a set of these rings as a Mother's Day gift for myself. You can choose any three stones for three rings for a measly $35. I chose Mike's birthstone, Kyle's and my own. I love the idea of having something that reminds me of all three of us -- our family. This Etsy store has some other great gift ideas such as this and this. 

Most of the time I carry my diaper bag as my purse. Although I think it's rather trendy for a diaper bag, it's still a diaper bag. So, I love the idea of adding really cute and unique purses and cluthes to my collection for nights out or for when I'm not with Kyle. This set (clutch and coin purse) is $85, and there are some other patterns that are just great and also slightly less fancy than the one above.

 

It's summer! Treat the mom in your life to some really great sandals. She has to lug her children and all her children's stuff around in the sweltering heat. Maybe let her do it in style. ($78)

Buy this great summery dress for her and then tuck some tickets to the Bahamas in the card. I don't think she'll mind doing the dishes for at least a few months after that. ($69.50; the dress, that is, tickets to the Bahamas may run you a little more)

These filigree tumblers are incredible, and they make sucking down Diet Coke seem much more glamorous to me. ($40 for four; made from recycled glass)

This is the gift for any new mom who is having a hard time accepting that her baby is growing at such a fast rate, he/she has literally outgrown something by dinner that fit at breakfast (HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?). I'm absolutely buying this kit for myself (maybe three or four, so I can have as many quilts), and I also think I'll get it for a few other moms in my life. Preserving your baby's best baby clothes is such a sweet idea. Think about this for the new mom you know. ($28)

I've sung the praises of Lisa Leonard Designs before, and she continually adds great pieces to her collection. This bracelet is unique and adorable. You can add any names you'd like or your favorite saying, as well. Check out the rest of her stuff. You won't be able to stop at just one purchase. ($98)

I really love this monogrammed cocktail shaker. I'd also like for someone to use my monogrammed cocktail shaker to make me strong drinks while I lounge on the couch watching "Gossip Girl" re-runs. ($24 + a monogramming fee)

I used to have one of these terry-cloth cosemtic bags, and I loved it (also got a crazy amount of compliments). I lost it or misplaced it or left it in some hotel room somewhere, but I'd love to replace it one day. ($19 + a monogramming fee)

So, get to shopping for the moms you love. And, if you're short on money, something tells me she'd gladly take a nap, even if you can't put a nice red bow on that. 

Happy Mom's Day!

The kind of week that makes me glad I'm no longer pregnant and can therefore chug tequila

Man.

Man oh man.

It's been one of those weeks. The kind of week that pushes you straight into the arms of a drinking problem. The kind of week that makes you turn your attention and your waistline to lots and lots of gooey, sticky calories. The kind of week that ... wait, you get the idea, don't you? I can stop, can't I? You sense that it's been a Very Bad Week, right?

I had forgotten what real stress feels like because for the first three months of this year the only thing that really mattered was Kyle. Giving birth to Kyle. Keeping Kyle fed. Getting Kyle to sleep. Trying to stop Kyle's screams. Now that Kyle is older and doing really well in all those areas (born just fine, eats fine, sleeps relatively fine, screams fine too but, thank god, not as often) -- and now that I'm back at work and back in gridlock traffic -- normal life has presumed. In many ways, this is a very good thing. I missed normal life. Normal life is nice. But, yes, with normal life comes stress. Although, I suppose if you're rich enough to hire someone to deal with every little thing for you, your stress levels are below normal, and if that's the case, then you can go ahead and suck it right now because it just isn't fair that you make gobs of money and also don't have to talk to insurance companies yourself.

Our insurance is the first fun little bullet on a rather lengthy list titled WHY THIS WEEK BLOWS. I was moved over to Mike's insurance at the first of the year because his coverage is pretty fantastic but, funny enough, you can't reap the benefits of the insurance YOU PAY AN ARM AND A LEG FOR if, say, your insurance company has your birth date wrong. United Healthcare believes I'm an entire year younger than I am and at first I was just the slightest bit flattered. It's the new moisturizer I've been using, isn't it, United Healthcare? But when claims began getting rejected and bills began showing up WITH COMMAS ON THEM, I wasn't as stoked that United Healthcare thought I was 26 instead of 27. When I called United Healthcare to figure all this out, they outlined the many hoops I would have to jump through to correct the error.

"Wait. Can't I just TELL you my correct age?"

"No."

"But, see, I know my birth date."

"Sorry."

"No, really. I could just tell you the right date, and you could update your systems while I'm on the phone. Come on! It'll be great!"

"We need you to submit it in writing to your HR department and then they can re-submit it to us and then it'll take 3-4 days for the systems to be updated and then you have to re-file all those claims that bounced back."

"Are you looking at a computer screen with my wrong birth date on it right now?"

"Yes."

"DO YOU HAVE A DELETE BUTTON ON YOUR KEYBOARD? BECAUSE IF YOU DO, I HAVE AN IDEA."

It probably won't stun you that I've been asked to calm down more than once this week by more than one United Healthcare representative.

We're also in the process of attempting to buy our first home. And this is Very! Exciting! News!, I know! But it's become quite clear that more people don't buy their own home because the process is akin to surgery without anesthesia. It's kind of the most painful and stressful process you'll ever go through, and I'm here to say that includes giving birth. (You have the option of DRUGS when you give birth and I have not been offered anything more than a pen during the house-buying process so far. A nice pen, admittedly, but the pen did not come laced with morphine, sadly.)

We are supposed to close early next month, and it's fairly easy to see that I will not stop holding my breath or longing for a handle of tequila until we do. It would be just incredible if you could cross your fingers for us and perhaps sacrifice a goat or two on behalf of our house dreams? There's some tequila in it for you, as well.

(Kidding about the goat.)

(Mostly.)

I'll talk at length about the house once it's ours, I promise. I'm just too afraid of The Jinx to talk about it now. I'll talk about it so much soon enough that you'll start gossiping about me behind my back. You'll tell your friends how I can't talk about anything other than that stupid house, OH MY GOD, SHUT UP ALREADY. Just you wait; it'll be so much fun.

On top of all that (and on top of a few other things, including WE HAVE GNATS IN OUR KITCHEN AND I CANNOT GET RID OF THEM OMG OMG OMG), on my last post at Bodies in Motivation, I talked about dealing with the hunger pangs that come along with dietary changes. I wrote the post in a sort of good-humored way (or so I thought), and although I definitely didn't convey exactly what I had intended to in hindsight, I basically was seeking advice from readers on how to resist the urge to eat badly when for more than a year I ate badly. How do you get through the day without eating everything in sight when you used to eat everything in sight and then some? I gave myself such dietary freedom when I was pregnant that it's somewhat shocking to my flabby, squishy body that I've stopped filling it to the brim with tasty treats. And I want to arm myself with as many tricks and tools to get me through the adjustment phase as possible.

Someone very well-intentioned, I'm sure, brought up in the comments that if I'm hungry and yet eating sensibly, then I must be hungry for something non-food related. "There’s an imbalance in the foods you’re eating, and an imbalance somewhere in your life," the commenter said. And, she meant well, I knew that. But ... still. Talking about the somewhat difficult transition from Pregnancy Eating to Normal and Sensible Eating shouldn't translate to I used to fill empty voids in my life with calories and now those voids are empty again. Should it?

I think I'm feeling very raw and a bit fragile with that assumption because for the first six weeks of Kyle's life, I was depressed. I feel so much better and so much stronger now that it just plain stings when someone manages to conclude that I'm still Missing Something In My Life. I worked really, very hard to get past that down time, and although we're all just beautiful works in progress, and there's always, always room for improvement, and no one understands that better than me, the comment made me feel very misunderstood. I'm taking big, huge, important steps toward being the healthiest version of myself, and I'd rather not be told I'm imbalanced along the way. And not even because it's not entirely true. I mean we're all struggling for balance every single day, aren't we? I haven't had a full night's sleep in more than three months, so, SURE, there's some imbalance there, but I'm feeling better and stronger now than I have ALL YEAR LONG, so maybe acknowledge THAT complete stranger instead of pouring salt into my JUST HEALED wounds.

Sorry. Bad week.

I think it's the kind of week that can only be remedied by two things: 1) IT ENDING and 2) Shoes. So, even though I can't BUY any shoes since we are buying something slightly bigger (A HOUSE!), I'm going to stare at these off and on for the rest of the day.

And then I'm going to stare at them most of tomorrow, too.

Three months

Dear Kyle,

I can't honestly think of a better way to celebrate your three-month birthday than by screaming your adorable little head off for a couple hours before bed last night. OH WAIT. YES I CAN. I can think of many, many better ways to celebrate and all of them include something a little stronger in my bottle than formula.

You tend to do this, Kyle. You are near perfect for days leading up to the day I write these letters to you and then you RELEASE THE HELL BEAST WITHIN and I'm all whoa, child, where the hell did that come from?

Just this morning -- and you're going to think I made this story up, just created it out of thin air, but, HA HA, your father was my witness -- you were cooing and laughing in your crib while I got ready for work, and when I went in to get you dressed, I leaned over your crib bars, began to lift you up and your face instantly contorted into an expression that can only be described as something only Rosemary's baby could identify with. You SCREAMED while I changed your diaper. You SCREAMED while I changed you into a very cute outfit. You SCREAMED while I held you to me and kissed your cheeks. You SCREAMED while I strapped you into your car seat. You SCREAMED while we said good-bye to your dad and you SCREAMED while I noted the look of sheer terror on his face (mixed with a bit of relief that we would soon be gone). You SCREAMED all the way to school. And then you stopped screaming. I opened the back door and there you were, just smiling at me like you had not just made my ears bleed on a Monday morning. MONDAY, KYLE. Those kind of suck without the screaming. 

But, you know, we've learned this is just who you are. You keep us on our toes with your slight dramatic streak. And, son, by slight I mean: Could you be ANY more like your father? Is it possible for any child to be more dramatic than you? I'm willing to wager, um, no. NOT EVEN A LITTLE POSSIBLE.

(Kyle, you make your mother type in ALL CAPS quite a lot, you should know.)

All that aside, this has been the best month we've spent with you so far. We were told that each month would be better than the last, and I guess that made sense but, see, no one mentioned how MUCH better. No one bothered to define better. No one specified that just when I thought I had adjusted and settled into this new life, this beautiful new life, something so small like a laugh or a funny face or a real, honest-to-goodness cuddle would crack this life down the middle and things would explode with perfection, with the richest, most vibrant colors imaginable. No one ever went on after "better" to say "so much better you'll be able to wrap your head around the thought of a second baby IN HIS THIRD MONTH OF LIFE." (Perhaps they didn't say that because they were certain I'd kick them in the shins with disbelief.) (But if they had said that, love, it would have been true.)

I thought you would change me in some Big, Meaningful, Deep way when you were born and although I have spoken often and at length about those hard first few weeks, I was still me, deep down. I still got excited over the prospect of pepperoni pizza. I still threw the remote at the TV when Lucas would declare his love for Peyton. I still shopped online more than I probably should have. And I still left my shoes just all over the house (or: I still drove your father totally, completely bonkers by simply being myself). I didn't go through some crazy transformation when you came out of me. I was simply me with quite a bit more on the line than before. The only real change I've been able to see -- other than all that money we now drop on diapers and wipes and formula and OH MY GOD there is no industry I'd like to get in on like the baby formula industry. That stuff is so insanely, mind-blowingly expensive I don't think you should aim to be a doctor or lawyer, son, but the CEO of Enfamil. AND YOU WILL PAD YOUR MOTHER'S BANK ACCOUNT WITH THAT FORMULA PAYCHECK, OK? -- is that my first thought is always of you. When I was driving to work the other day and a tornado warning interrupted the song on the radio, I didn't worry if I was in the path of the tornado like I would have before. I didn't call your father franticly certain the tornado would kill me and I'd never again be able to drink champagne. I calmly thought of you and assessed where you were in relation to the tornado. When swine flu broke out last week (oh how I wish that were a typo), I didn't worry about ME getting sick; I worried about my poor, adorable three-month old getting sick. You're my first thought and that's just how it is. It happened immediately and without trying. I still love "The Hills," but I now think things like: MY SON IS NOT ALLOWED TO BE SPENCER PRATT. EVER. 

The other morning, I was giving you your bottle and I realized that I had put the wrong nipple on it. You have advanced to Level 2 now, you big boy, and I had accidentally put on a Level 1 nipple (perhaps because it was SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING). Regardless, it was frustrating you because the milk wasn't coming out quickly enough, and you were squawking in between gulps. I set the bottle down after I realized my mistake and put you in your bouncer so I could fix the problem, and OH MY GOD you began FREAKING OUT like I just told you you couldn't borrow the car on Friday night. You seriously lost it. How dare I take away your breakfast without so much as a consultation, without so much as a WARNING. Kyle, you actually started to throw a tantrum, I swear it. I stopped on my way to the kitchen, turned toward you and could not stop laughing. This was the worst your life had ever been up to this point. This moment when your mother had the AUDACITY to take away your bottle when you were not done with it. I think you may have even screeched something about telling your father on me. Your problems are going to get worse, I absolutely guarantee that. And I also guarantee it won't be the first time I laugh at you when you are losing your shit. But I guarantee that no matter what, I won't leave you, buddy. I may have to put you down to fix things. I may have to piss you off in order to do what's right and best for you. I may have to laugh at your expense, even, but you can bet your ass I'm always going to be there for you. It's my favorite place in the whole wide, stupid, swine-flu crazed world to be.

You've lit everything up this month, Kyle. With your screams, your laughs, your love. You've given me the three best months of my life. And I hear it only gets better from here. 

 

You're wearing your monkey slippers in this picture. The slippers I bought you when you didn't even exist. The slippers I bought you the first month your dad and I started trying for you. I bought them for $1 at Target, and when I showed them to your dad I squealed, "CAN YOU JUST IMAGINE HOW CUTE OUR BABY WILL BE IN THESE?" You know what, love? We couldn't. We could never have imagined.

Love,

Your Mama

Eating, sleeping, growing

I'm still posting at "Bodies in Motivation." It's such a great outlet for me, and I want to publicly thank Linda again for creating a place where I can keep track of my journey, find inspiration from others and work through some issues that weight loss digs up. I'm not down too much weight yet, but it's a slow process, and I know that success is only possible when you keep frustration at bay. It's so easy to throw up your hands and think, Well, if I haven't lost 15 pounds in two weeks, I may as well indulge in this chocolate cake, with a side dish of pepperoni pizza. It's hard to stay patient and dedicated, and knowing I'll be writing about my process once a week does keep me more focused than I usually am when trying to lose weight. If you're reading my posts over there, thank you. If not, go take a look and see if there's any input you can offer. I'd appreciate it like you wouldn't believe.

Moving on, Kyle really is sleeping so great these days. I'm usually rather hesitant to mention these types of positive things on my Web site because he apparently has a mini-laptop in his crib that he pulls out to check up on his mother's thoughts from time to time. I can almost see him rubbing his little chubby hands together when he sees me getting comfortable, promising to spice things up the very next day. So, I know when I say he's becoming a pretty spectacular sleeper he'll immediately stop sleeping, but I'm going to say it anyway. No, he's not sleeping through the night just yet, but he's almost there. Also, we've recently been putting him in his crib while he's still awake and he's begun putting himself to sleep. It's just a stroke of dumb luck that he started doing this, and I really can't take any credit whatsoever for that. I just decided it was time for him to go to bed one night so mama could pour herself something strong. I swaddled him up, cranked his mobile, popped his pacifier in and prayed like hell he'd wait at least a few minutes before wailing. And ... wouldn't you know. He never did. We've figured out the key is putting him down when he's extra smiley when he doesn't look like he's tired at all and somehow (PRAISE GOD) he falls asleep in minutes. Parenthood is hilarious in that IT'S INSANE.

The boy is still growing like a weed, though, and it's just killing me how fast time is flying these days. We fly through the weeks, we fly even faster through the weekends, and each morning as I get my boy dressed, I beg him to let me kiss on his neck and cheeks forever, to smile up at me always, to never scream that he hates me or steal money from my purse or date hussies. I know it's pointless, he'll do all those things and then some, so then I beg myself to stop more often these days to soak him up, to remember these gloriously beautiful, chaotic, crazy days because they'll be days past so soon, in the blink of an eye. Time ticks on, and there's nothing at all we can do about its pace. Except perhaps be insanely grateful as it rolls along.

Oh, and also, squeeze the baby into clothes that are too small to make myself feel like he's not quite as big as he so obviously is.