New Site!

I know it has been awhile since I last wrote- but things have been a little hectic around here.  In so may different ways.

One of the ways is that we have moved over to a wordpress site- so please, come check us out at 

www.dearsquirt.com

If you sign up there you can have the option of being notified when new (hopefully) blogs are written.

Insanely fun, I know.

More serious reflections.

You cried out in terror last night around 10:30pm, I know it is against the rules, but I nursed you back to sleep. I had to. I couldn't deny you. I don't know how to, not when you are scared like that and really need me. Your whole body relaxes and a huge sigh escapes your nipple filled mouth the second you two make contact. That you can go from ballistics to serenity in that short amount of time baffles me and makes me wonder how nursing you could ever be wrong.

I think that because I have had such a hard time learning how to soothe myself (without the aid of alcohol or drugs or a plethora of other destructive distractions) that it is extremely satisfying for me to be able to soothe you so easily. It's a guilty pleasure, and not one that I am in any hurry to give up.

After I laid you back down, contented and back asleep, I proceeded to lie awake in bed for 2 hours tormented by my racing obsessive mind. It began with me reminiscing about our day at the park with all the other new mommy friends. There was a distinct moment that has haunted me ever since. I asked at one point, how many mom's co-slept, thinking that in this modern group there wouldn't be many. I was wrong. All of them did, except for us. I felt strange and left out suddenly. LIke it was weird that we didn't co-sleep and that I was somehow doing something wrong, very very wrong. Now I know this is erroneous. There are plenty of people I know that don't and have happy thriving children, of which you are one, and don't regret it one bit, and I feel awesome when I am around them. But I can't always be around people that are exactly like me. It's not possible. And my impressive impressionability is killing me. I hate it. How quickly I can doubt something that is working great for our family just because I am in the minority, for an hour tops. Strange. I would like that character defect to be removed, please. If anyone is listening.

Then I moved on to thinking about the last blog I wrote, where I was reflecting on our last year together and I realized how many important things I had left out that I really wanted to put down on 'paper.' How I remember vividly that first moment when your body touched mine. How slimy blue and grey you were and how I was in total shock that you actually existed. Or when your Dad came running back into the bedroom with you that first night at home, terrified because you coughed and we thought you were dying. Your first giggle. The first fight over what to do when you cried. The pain and confusion about having to negotiate something so emotionally charged with someone I loved so much about someone I loved more than I ever thought was possible. Nursing you in the moonlight, falling in love with your breath. Smelling your head, ears, neck, arms, legs, and butt. Squishing you over and over again, making sure you are real. Your first crawl, your first step, the first 10 steps, then you are walking. Wanting to hug you so tight with my head buried in your neck and you pushing me away so you can go explore. Me, letting you go, realizing it is just the beginning. Holding you on my lap this morning and when I sighed out of frustration for a minute because you wouldn't let me put you down, he reminded me that there will come a day you won't want to be in my arms. And he is right. And it made me want to cry. So many wonderful incredible things.

Thinking about them all made me realize again, how different I am today. And then it started- the grieving process. I am not even entirely sure what I am grieving, but it feels substantial. There is a death of some sort going on- maybe the death of the old me? It sounds so self-helpey, i hate it. But it might be accurate. And in this time between the birth of whatever I am becoming, I feel a little lost. It is an arrow pointing directly to my agnosticism. Exactly where I don't have any faith. I am coming out of a pretty in depth experience seriously looking at all my old ideas and behaviors and really honestly sincerely asking for them to be removed, knowing that the fear underneath it is this fear of losing my "identity." And it has happened, I've lost it, the worst has happened, so now what? I heard myself talking out loud to my best friend yesterday about whether or not to take this UCLA extension course on getting your memoir to the next draft. And I could hear, so clearly, the lack of passion I have for this body of work I have toted around for years. It has defined me for so long, and I am just realizing, it no longer does. That is the death I am mourning. The death of Deprivation Junky. I am burying it. It is filled with associations I no longer associate with. It is written in a voice I no longer have. It is a story I no longer want to tell, because it isn't true. In realizing how blessed my entire life has been, up until this moment, it would be heresy to put that version out there, because none of it then is true. The lense it was written in is fucked up. And I am no longer fucked up, in that way, at least. I have to be authentic to who I am today. Even if I have no idea who that is and I feel boring and bland and average. A worker among workers. A mother among mothers. I used to think I needed some grand societal gesture of acceptance to feel that I had arrived. That's not the case anymore. And not yearning for that has left a hole in my psyche that hasn't fully been filled up yet with...whatever. I am in limbo and a little bit of fear of what will fill that up. Teaching is in there somewhere, it is growing like those things you put in water and they expand and I am grateful for that. I just feel the empty space and I am so used to it being filled with all this desire for "success" that it feels hollow. But maybe hollow is good. It's simple. It's clear. It's calm. It's peaceful. It's serene. It's everything I have ever wanted, really.

So that is what was running through my head till 1am. Then you woke up at 5am.


Ahh..the joys of motherhood.


We are all going to be fine.

MOm

Reflections

A year. 365 days. I had no idea. Not a clue. How incredible this journey would be.

I can't believe it's already been a year, I keep reflecting on all the great and not so great moments. Sitting in the bath with you tonight, giggling and playing "Where's Pony" again and again and again, I was overcome with such immense gratitude for this life, but most importantly for you and your Dad. I think I was born with a horseshoe up my ass, a saying your Dad loves and one I thought was reserved for other people. Not me. But not any longer. I LOVE being your Mom. And it's not easy, hell no, it is the hardest thing I have EVER done. But the divine moments in between the whining and crying and lack of sleep more than make up for any emotional inconveniences or wringers.

You have irreparably changed me, Pony. I am unrecognizable to myself. And that is a good thing.

Although, I don't really know who I am, today. In a strange sort of limbo, a hazy peaceful serene state of wonder, awe, and complete curiosity only about, "what is next?" My whole past has fallen by the wayside. It no longer seems to rule me. I have this sense of letting it go and forgiving completely and freely those I "thought" ever wronged me. I don't care anymore. I have been so blessed my entire life, I know that with every fiber of my being, because if I wasn't, I wouldn't be here today, right now, living this life with you and Tim. It wouldn't be possible. The evidence is irrefutable. I have lived a charmed life. I guess I have to throw out the "memoir" and begin anew. It's an old story I am sick of telling anyhow. No longer relevant. No longer do I care.

Now. This. Is. IT.

So rad.

I don't yet understand the women that tell me "uh-oh, she's walking?? Watch out..." because watching how happy walking makes you, the freedom and independence it gives you, is such a joy. I am loving it. And the day you decided to crawl up all the stairs by yourself, just suddenly, one day, out of the blue, the look on your face when you reached the top was priceless. I want to savor every juicy minute of these days. I feel like they are really precious, when you are this age.

One year old.

It's an awesome age.

I am really digging it.

I feel like we are communicating on a whole other level and it's so fun learning who you are, what you like and don't like. What you think is funny. Farts. You think farts are funny. And burps, and sneezes. You love lapping up streaming water like a dog. But forget about swimming in it. You have begun to lounge on things, pillows, couches, the bed and smile like you've just smoked a fat joint. Sometimes you look at me like we've been best friends for a lifetime and I've just done that thing again that you think is so immature and weird. It stops me in my tracks.

Who are you?

Where did you come from?

I swear I've met you before.

Thank you for picking me. I am honored to share this life with you.

Mom

1 year check up

You are in the 50% of height and 5% of weight. Seems we need to fatten you up a bit, you little bird you. Although Dr. Ayer is not overly concerned about it, she did say it wouldn't hurt to add plenty of Olive Oil, butter, and fatty dairy products to your diet. I'm on it.

Some remarkable things about you:

You love to eat water. It's quite unusual, Dr Ayer confirmed, for a child of your age to want to put your face in water. She says usually it's their feet they want in water, but not you, my heart, you want your face in it. And only your face. When we water the lawn and have you in our arms you dive for that stream of water like some dehydrated animal. In the bath you squat down and try to get your face in the puddle below you, and when you do, you dart up with this crazy astonished look on our face like you had no idea THAT would happen. Then you do it again. You used to inhale when you did this and it scared the crap out of me, but now you have figured out that it's more fun holding your breath. Smart kid, you are. In so many ways.

You understand SO MUCH. I asked if you wanted to take Stella (the name of your new soft baby doll which is also the name of your BFF in Sedona, by the way) with us to the Doctor today and you looked right at her and grabbed her leg. In the car I asked you where Stella's feet were and you showed them to me. Then I asked you where your feet were and you grabbed yours. I don't know much about babies Pony, but I think you are pretty amazing to do that. And belly, you love your belly. And slapping mine and Dada's. You knew where your ears and nose was tonight in the bath. And then I swear to God I thought I heard you yell Stella after me in the car on the way home. I was screaming it like Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire and I could have sworn you repeated it after me, not only once, but twice.

I read somewhere today that you are now officially a TODDLER. No more baby. Wow. A toddler. What does that mean other than you toddle around? To toddle means to go on a leisurely walk. There is nothing leisurely about you. You are full of ambition and drive getting from one place to another although you do stop to sniff the flowers or whatever dried food you find on the floor left over from when you threw it off your high chair. I was chasing you around downstairs tonight after the bath, your little white butt was toddling ahead of me and your Dada remarked that there is nothing in the world quite like listening to your laughter while he's making dinner.

The shots get harder the older you get, no one tells you this. They did it in your arms today. Your tiny little arms that were wrapped around my neck at the same time. You screamed into my ear. I wanted to scream with you. Nothing can prepare you for this. It's just something you have to endure when you make the decision to vaccinate. Which I am glad we did. But it's still bloody fucking hard.


You are transitioning from 2 naps to 1. It's a fascinating process. Every other day it seems you skip your second nap. And it's strange because you seem tired, you should be tired, but I will lay you down and you proceed to get right back up and start playing for over an hour. Finally I give up and just go get you. Then it's no sleep till bedtime. Weird. You've thrown me off my game. I am losing my nap confidence. I like 2 naps. Come back to us....oh elusive 2nd nap you...

I love you Pony.

Let's eat some cake.

Mom

Happy Birthday!

One whole glorious incredible challenging transformational excruciating year filled with emotional and physical bumps, bruises, and awakenings. I had no idea what to expect, and I am so glad I didn't. Look at your face here, you look as amazed and befuddled as I.

After the party was over and all the excitement was done, you did some miraculous things. First of all, you ate an entire white nectarine down to the pit. I've never seen anything like it. I was only handing it to you as a distraction, I never intended for you to eat it. You've never liked it before. But suddenly, now that you are such a big one year old, I guess, you are full of new surprises.

And secondly, after your bath, and way past what usually is your whiny time, not only were you not following me around begging me to nurse you, but I was practically chasing you down to keep up with you. Your little legs are your primary mode of transport now, it seems, and I fear, the things that will take you away from me, little baby step by baby step at a time. But that's okay. It is as it should be. You are growing up so fast, my little peanut. You are such big girl already and my heart just wants to explode every time I see you.

I love you.

Happy Birthday

Gratitude for having some of it.

Some women are discussing this notion of "having it all" and the fact that in the 21st century, we can't possibly have it all- the family and the big high paying powerful job/prestige/success etc...I answered that I don't want it all and maybe that makes me a low achiever but it feels greedy to even say "I want it all!" What about, "I want some of it, but not all." Not as catchy. I guess I've always tended to be more single minded in my purpose. When I was an actress, that was all I wanted. When I started writing, being published was all I wanted. Now that I have had you, being the Best Mom and Wife for my family is all I want. But I also love my job- helping kids tell their story. That is pretty cool and feels like the cherry on top of a bonus dessert after the perfect meal. I kind of pinch myself every morning when I realize not only do I get to be your Mom and Tim's wife, but I get to go to work part-time. My life is rad. I have no complaints. Except for the extra skin flopping around on my water bed belly- that is new and slightly disconcerting but I am sure eventually it will right itself. And the mass around my arms that was never there before. That hopefully will fade away at some point. Right? I guess I'll have to put a little elbow grease into those two areas of concern but other than that- what do I have to complain about? Nothing. What a relief that is. I have spent my whole life complaining that things weren't enough...fill in the blanks. Now I look back and instead of the arid wasteland I thought I traversed this entire time I see a field of flowers and bountiful gentle beauty every step of the way. My life has always been blessed. I just didn't know it until now.

It was a perfect day

I think there is no better feeling than stepping out of a shower after a long day at the beach. It's why I have suddenly found myself fantasizing about raising you in Laguna Beach, the place I grew up in, the place I swore I would never return to, the place I ran away from. Only in hindsight do I fully appreciate all that Laguna Beach had to offer. The lifestyle was amazing and I was oblivious. It's not that I didn't know it was incredibly beautiful and that I was extremely lucky to go to the beach, beautiful clean beaches, 300 days out of the year, but I didn't know I would ever miss it. I thought I hated it's homogenous demographic and uber conservative bubble of ignorance. But after living in Los Angeles for over 20 years, I miss the lifestyle the most. The smell of salt water. The tingling of my skin from a day full of sun. Los Angeles beaches are not the same. You couldn't pay me to swim in the Ocean up here. I would rather drive over an hour for an OC Beach. I am a total snob and I now know and embrace it. I want you to be a beach snob too. I would love for you to be a little mermaid or a junior lifeguard, Pony. I would. But I hear it has changed. That there is a lot of "new" money and people aren't the same. That they are rude and mean. That Laguna has lost it's charm. That sucks. It was suggested to me that San Clemente was just as charming, less expensive, with nicer people. I don't know if I could "do" San Clemente. I'm not even sure what I mean when I say that. I'm not sure any of this is ever going to be possible. It's just fun to dream and I am surprised that my dreams have started moving South. For a long time now they were facing North, Big Sur, Portland, or Seattle as places I romanticized living in someday. I have been in LA most of my life, longer than anywhere and that was never my intention. Not that I think there is anything "wrong" with LA. It's a fantastic city and we have certainly found a wonderful niche up here in The Mount. I just miss Summers at the beach, swimming in the good ole Pacific, washing sand out of my ass at night. But don't get me wrong, we have it good right now. Life is good. Perfect even, I would say.

Absolutely Perfect.

I love the look of joy on your face here as the wind whips your greasy sun-blocked hair. We were showing your cousin Keegan Balboa Island in Newport. It was a beautiful day. Nay, a perfect day. And you, my love, are perfect.

Absolutely perfect.

Love, Me.

My iPhone Punched Me

So my iPhone punched me in the eye. But it had a little help from you, Pony dear.

I was laying back on the bed, post-nurse, and you were playing with my iPhone when somehow it flew out of your hands and into my eye. Oh man did it hurt. I cried out and you looked like you were about to cry. And although it hurt like the dickens (have never used that expression before and don't intend to ever again) I never expected it to become a purple green and yellow bruise under my eye. Each day it kept migrating upwards and outwards. My favorite part was when I would forget about it and wonder "why such the strange looks today, do I have food on my face?" No, I have short blonde hair, tons of tattoos, punk rock tights on and a black fucking eye. Nobody was gonna mess with me at your first swim class, that was for sure. I look tough. It's kind of fun. The other interesting part has been the silence from other women I know. Like the ones in my teaching class I am taking right now. For almost 20 minutes we all acted like there wasn't this giant purple/green/yellow elephant in the room. Finally I had to yell out, I HAVE A BLACK EYE. IT'S OKAY. I AM NOT AN ABUSED WOMAN. I JUST HAD AN ACCIDENT WITH MY IPHONE. Sure, they all seem to say as they give me knowing nods. Whatever. I am so punk rock right now I'll cut them all!!! Just kidding. That isn't how I roll anymore P. No way.

I am a changed woman because of you and your Dad. Changed in the best possible ways. I am much squishier. Physically and emotionally. I am not so worried about "creating" something of value in the world (meaning: writing an international bestseller- or at least being knows as having written one) because I already created something so creative it blows me away on a daily basis.



You.

You are the most fascinating and interesting person I have ever met. You were making farting sounds on my belly as we shared a bath. It was hilarious. I don't know what made you think to do that, maybe because you farted first, but it was pretty amazing, the sounds you were able to make. Then you suddenly started waving good-bye to your Dad as he left for a movie with your Cousin Keegan, who is visiting from Minnesota this week. Just out of the blue like that. Then you couldn't stop. You were so proud of yourself. You waved me out as I backed out of your room tonight blowing you kisses and waving like a maniac too, saying GOOD NIGHT. I LOVE YOU. GOOD NIGHT.

I don't know why I am writing my dialogue like Own Meany's. Maybe because that book has really stuck with me. That is what good literature is supposed to do, I suppose. Infiltrate your world and stay there. I will never forget that book. I forget all books, but that one, never. I loved everything about it. MADE FOR TELEVISION.

Reading a book like that, or Anne Patchett's "State of Wonder" reminds me of what a mediocre writer I am, and how grateful I am for storytellers like she and John Irving. Without them, I would be lost. I really truly madly deeply hope you fall in love with reading like I have. I want that for you. It has been one of the saving grace's of my life. It has given me so much, a precocious vocabulary at an early age, hours spent living in other worlds, and more imaginary friends than I could ever hope for. Reading saved my life. It saved me from destroying myself completely, I am convinced of this, reading and writing. I kept a journal since I was 12 and traveling through India. I still have the original one. Unfortunately the copious volumes thereafter chronicling the formidable years of high school, college, and beyond were destroyed in a fang shui fit when I was 28. Not one of my brighter moments. I regret it to this day. More on that later. My regrets. I want so much for you. I promise to try and not smother you with my wants.

It's time for bed. I have babbled enough.

I love your feet, your legs, your belly, your hands, your head and your heart. I love all of you, Little Monkey.

Love, Big Monkey.

Father's Day

It was an almost perfect day. We began it in bed with Dada. We gave him a certificate for a gluten free vegan cooking class. He's been saying he's wanted to take one forever. Well, now he can. And it's the kind of gift that keeps on giving...back to you and me, little Pony P.


Then we headed down to Crystal Cove state beach. It is spitting distance from the elementary school I went to. Damn, was I a lucky kid. My school was on a bluff overlooking the majestic Pacific. I breathed in fresh ocean air while running on fields of fresh grass every day. Me in my little dirty white Keds. I want that for you Pony. Although the elementary school up the street from us has excellent ratings and beautiful views from the Mount, it has no grass, and that kind of breaks my heart. Not to mention the fact that the beaches in Los Angeles COUNTY suck ass. I have never found one that rivals Laguna's beaches. Never. Not once. Ever. And I've been to a lot of them.

Today was your first day at the beach. One of many millions, I hope.



Next weekend is your first swim class. I hope someday you can be a Little Mermaid like I was. A precursor to Junior Lifeguards. But I guess that can only happen if we move back to Laguna. A dream we are percolating currently. It used to be Northern California, then it migrated to Portland, or Seattle, but has meandered back to my roots. Why? Because they are damn good roots. Nothing beats growing up by the ocean like that. Nothing. It was dreamy. I kick myself when I think of how much I wanted to leave it then. I protested too much, doth say. Swearing I would never return. And now, I covet. Amazing what having a child will do to you? You have changed everything, my love. Everything. And in the best possible way.

I love your butt. Especially in those ruffles.

Stop being so whiney, please? And eat something substantial, for once. This throwing food thing? Not so cute. I actually have to stop and take deep breaths sometimes. It gets pretty frustrating when you get so excited to eat Kasper's food that Marie makes for him but when we are alone and I make the SAME EXACT THING you refuse it passionately! Oy vey, child. The drama!

You are beautiful and smart, but I don't want to tell you that too much. Because I want you to try harder all the time and to never give up. To not be afraid to ask for help. And to rely on much much more than just your looks.

And the way your face lights up when you see your Dad? It's unbounded joy. You scream with delight the second you see his face. I love it.

You are Daddy's Girl and I wanted that for you so much.

I don't think it's possible to love you any more.

No, it's not.

Mom

Red Head

You took 4 steps in a row the other night! It was incredible, but the best part was the look on your face afterwards, you were so proud and excited that you crawled in a circle screaming at the top of your lungs. Complete and utter joy. So unbounded. So inspiring.

I am fascinated with who you are becoming. You are by far the most interesting person I think I have ever met, besides your Dad, of course. I am so impressed with how perceptive you are. Nothing gets by you. I hid some egg maracas for you in a little green bucket by your toys and you found it immediately. I couldn't believe it. And if I am wearing anything you haven't seen before it intrigues you to no end. My hair, since it is in constant flux, warrants ogles every morning. Yesterday we were hanging out on the bed after your second nap, one of my favorite times of the day with you, and you were making me laugh so hard I almost peed my pants. You were laying with my nipple in your mouth and you would stop suckling for a second to mumble stuff to me with my nipple still hanging in your mouth, then go back to suckling, on and off for almost 10 minutes. Just the sound of your voice alone was magical, like little fairy bells tinkling. Then suddenly you bolted upright and came at me open mouthed all tongue. It was my nose you were after and it was my nose you assaulted. Afterwards you went back to the nipple, and with your big eyes looking mischievously right at me you proceeded to slowly "pretend" bite me- just to see what I would do, I am sure. I tried so hard not to laugh and to seriously tell you "NO biting" but I couldn't help my self. You were so nefarious and adorable. Oh man. I am in trouble.

Now about food- HUGE discovery yesterday that had me in tears. At the park with Kasper and Marie, she was feeding him this delicious looking polenta and veggies concoction that looked absolutely mouthwatering, on a whim she offered you some. I expected the usual refusal of anything on a spoon but lo and behold you gobbled that stuff up! And you wanted more and more and more. I felt bad eating her food but I was so excited to see you excited about something nutritious and delicious. Marie said she realized Kasper needed spices and flavor in his food, that the purees were too boring and solid finger food too difficult. This was a perfect blend of flavors and consistency. So last night I sautéed up some zucchini, broccoli, and tomatoes in olive oil and soy sauce which I pureed till chunky and added some couscous to. You loved it. I wanted to cry. It felt so SATISFYING to feed you without struggling. I felt competent and complete. It was amazing. Then this morning, when I offered you a special smoothie I labored over you promptly refuse. Then I wanted to cry out of frustration again. Oh well. Baby steps...



Look at this photo from the park, I am such a dork, honey. I apologize in advance for embarrassing you with my enthusiasm. That is a burrito in my hand. You both were assaulting me. It was a perfect day.

And by the way- when did you become a red head?

Who are you?

Mom

Voyeurism gone bad

The video monitor is holding me hostage. P-TV is always on and I am a junkie. I need help. Never far from me, I checked the monitor before going to bed last night and there you were, staring right back at me, or past me, it's hard to tell on the video. Regardless, your eyes were open and continued to be so for the next 3 hours!! It drove me crazy, literally. I think I lost my mind a little. Cortisol was coursing through my veins as I wracked my brains trying to figure out what was "wrong." You sat up and cried out once, twice, three times and I bolted down there armed with Advil convinced it was extreme teething even though you were calm as a cucumber in a chilled fridge. I gave you the Advil then of course, just had to nurse you for a bit. As I sat with you in the chair I realized what I was doing. Taking some GIANT steps backwards, nay, leaps. I had to abort my mission. I laid you back down. After another 45 minutes of quietly looking around you fell back asleep. And why do I know this? Not because you were making barely any noise at all- save the three tiny little cries out- but because I was neurotically checking the damned monitor, over and over and over and over and over again. Your poor papa next to me. He was trying to sleep. I was not making it easy for him. I wanted to cry I was so frustrated, with myself. I had lost control.

My instincts are extreme. I believe this has something to do with the "peculiar mental twist" of my recovered yet alcoholic in perpetuity brain. The instinct to want to "soothe" and "calm" my child are perfectly natural and God-given I believe. Mine, however, are just amplified to an unmanageable degree. They cause my body to start moving in your direction before I can stop it. Making me fear if I will ever be able to become the firm but loving mother I so desperately want to be. How will I ever be able to let you make your own mistakes, experiencing failure so you can ultimately experience massive amounts of undulating success? How do I let go, just a little, of this preciousness that is strangling me?

I don't want to smother you. I really honestly don't.

Think it's time to turn off the video monitor and let you be.

Time to cut the visual voyeur cord.

I trust you. I love you.

Mom

To nurse or not to nurse

Apparently I nurse you too much. Is that possible? I can't help it. I love it. It's really the only time I feel like I know what the fuck I am doing. But according to our venerated sleep consultant 6 times a day at 10 months old is too much. I must cut out two feedings. Oy vey. But which two? The problem is I have been bookending your naps with nursing. Well, I don't see it as a problem, but I guess some people do. Some being people who obviously know more than me about this stuff. At first Brandi and I were discussing your finicky eating habits and in lieu of a strategy first decided we would cut out the upon awakening nap. That seemed reasonable enough to me. Made sense that it might make you more enthusiastic about getting the food in your mouth instead of on the floor. I was into it and then suddenly we were talking about getting rid of the pre-nap feed and how hard it might be and that I should not let you cry longer than an hour and if I did to start it half an hour early and at that point things got hazy. She started to sound like the teacher in Charlie Brown. Wha-wha-wha-wha. I tried to make sense of what happened but only ended up saying okay and hanging up. In a daze your Dad tried to ask me what she said. I got flustered and defensive, I couldn't tell him with any amount of clarity what had just happened. So I called her back. Did you really mean get rid of the before nap nursing? Are you sure about this? She was sure. I hung up again. My body felt tingly. A mild panic began to set in. I love that time with you. I don't want to give it up!! It's the only time I get to snuggle your little rambunctious independent ass. I want to hold onto that for as long as I can!! Five hours later I called Brandi back. Stuttering I asked her again, why are we getting rid of the before nap feed? I felt tears welling up behind my eyes. In true Brandi fashion, rapid fire speech, she said that it didn't matter which feed I gave up, I just needed to give one of them up. And if I was still putting her down for her nap drowsy but awake and if she was still putting herself to sleep for naps like she was at night, I could keep that feed and get rid of the other one. Eureka!! I wanted to shout. You got it, is what I said instead. Phew. I could keep my precious pre-nap feed at least for two more months...

When you finally woke up from your second nap, which was a marathon one today, 2 hours P!! I thought I would give it a shot- the NOT nursing you upon awakening. And let me tell you something, it sounds MUCH easier than it really is. You wanted my boob. You really did. And I kept trying to distract you with leaves, and sand, and Cupcake the gay alligator, or Jesus the Latino Puppy, or even Scout the androgynous computer thing you love so much. NOTHING worked. And the whining...and the staring...and the grabbing...I couldn't do it. Not today. Tomorrow...is another day.

If it were up to me, I would nurse you on demand until you were old enough to pay your own bills but that ain't gonna happen for a lot of reasons. Number one being we want to have another baby. That's right. We are that crazy. Go big or go home, right? I hear it's harder to get pregnant while nursing all day and all night. That is where Brandi's expertise comes in. She is a Godsend, really. I can't ever thank her enough for saving our minds and our hearts. Our family is better of because of her help. So I am trusting her with this. By one year the goal is to be nursing you twice a day, before bed and when you wake up. And I know now how hard that is going to be- at least for a day or two.

We'll see.

My little Outsider. Ponygirl..

I love you, you little rebel.

Mom

Decisions, decisions, decisions...

I am reading a book called Parenting with Love and Logic because it came highly suggested by a dear friend. So far, it's great. It talks a lot about decisions, decision making, and how important of a skill that is. I should know. I lack it almost entirely. I don't know why or how it happened but I struggle with not only making a decision, but most certainly keeping it. Is it a commitment issue? I don't know for sure. I do know that when it comes time or me to make a decision, I either draw a complete dear-in-the-headlights blank mind or panic sets in. And by panic, I mean sweaty shaky there-might-be-a-saber-tooth-tiger in the next room kind of panic. It's fucking weird. And it sucks. Ass. Majorly. If there is ANYTHING I can do to help you avoid this ginormous pitfall of a character defect, by God you bet I will. So you will be making many decisions starting early on. But only between 2 things, at first. And I hope to God that when you get old enough, you are so well versed in them, a decision making ninja, that when the time comes to get into that car with that drunk teenage driver or snort a line of whatever that substance is just because they are snorting it or have sex with him just because he wants you to you will be able to make a good decision, good meaning having the inner strength to say no to any or all of it. Something I never had the strength for.

Plagued by a thousand forms of insecurity, they still rule my life. Just today I had to employ some jedhi mind tricks to get out of a self-pitying insecure crazy making funk. This stupid voice in my head kept telling me lies about myself and others. And I really wanted to believe it because in some weird way, I must get something out of believing these lies, or I wouldn't do it. There is some strange satisfaction out of feeling really shitty about myself. It's like wearing a snuggie, I suppose. Awkward but comfortable. Familiar and embarrassing. Thank God I have enough wherewithal to see the fustily of this and immediately started reaching out to the Bigger Than Me Than LIfe Than Anything out there, begging for new thoughts, new direction, a new voice. In my head. I call that praying. Then I closed my teary eyes, took three deep breaths- all while breastfeeding you in the car outside of Trader Joe's while Dad shopped, by the way- and let the self deprecating mantra roll for about 20 seconds before repeating the word TALK over and over and over. Because that is all that is, TALK. It is not real. It is not true. None of it. It's only the Theatre of the Lie trying to keep me stuck in it's dramatic web. I don't want to be stuck anymore. I want to be free. Freedom. How free do you want to be???

I want you to be free, so free Pony P.

Free of these manacles of self.

Free to decide.

Right now you are sleeping curled up like a little ladybug in your ladybug pajamas while your Dad naps on the couch and I stuff my face with a bag of blue corn chips trying to make sense of an insensible mind. Thoughts are things and they are also NOT things. The wisdom to know the difference, and the courage to decide between the two, that is the serenity I want, for me and you.

I love you Bug.

Mom

Compromise

So we did it, we "sleep trained" you. I gave in, I had to. I couldn't go on the way we were, 5-6 times a night, up and down those stairs. So I compromised with your Dad, I said I would do it if we hired Brandi, a sleep consultant from The Cradle Company. and boy am I glad we did! She has been amazing. She's the Baby Sleep Whisperer as far as I am concerned. Although it has been almost 14 nights since we started, and in some sleep training worlds that would sound ridiculous, but for us, it has been perfect. Never once did it feel traumatic or torturous. It has been a tedious, yet gentle glide the entire time. A lot of work, but I was willing to do it and the results are remarkable. In bed the last two nights by 6:30pm, asleep by 7 and save one dream feed around 10:30 not a peep until 7am. WOW!! I, on the other hand, was up from 4:30-5:30 sweating my ass off wondering if this was real or not. I guess not breastfeeding you all night is causing some hormonal displacement. Don't mess with hormones!!

I just wanted to give you an update. I don't have much time to write or be pithy right now so I'll get to the point in other matters.

You LOVE walking with the wooden alligator push cart. It's by far your favorite thing to do. A close second might be eating and throwing sand out of your sand box. And a third would be after your naps, when I pick you up in my arms, you look back down into your crib until I have grabbed all your loveys and you have them in your arms, squished together. It makes you laugh as we gaze out the window at the white butterflies flitting by. If you see papa and I give each other a kiss, then you'll give each of us one. It's pretty darn cute. Although you will smooch and roll on the floor with Scout. You can't get enough of that fella. Your ardor is infectious. And rhythm- you got it! Especially for reggae, blues, or Indie Rock. Swaying your torso like a brazilian dancer.

I am so proud of you. I love you endlessly.

I'll send pics soon.

When I get home.

I'm supposed to be working now. All I want to do is go home and play with you.

Mom

Marathon runners

Every night we run a marathon together, you and me, Pony P. I start out with so much confidence, such high hopes, maybe tonight, it will be different. But then it happens, 30, 60, 90 minutes after I've laid down my weary head, up pops yours and out comes your barbaric yelp. In that moment, my body does some strange things. My tummy flips, my heart palpitates, the skin between my boobs begins to sweat, and a wave of dread washes over me.
No, please, no. Go back to sleep, P. Go back to sleep...Please don't make me go dawn there.
I hold my breath, waiting the suggested 5 minutes that feel like fifty while you continue to cry out. By 3 minutes I've had enough. I turn on the video monitor lighting up our darkened bedroom. Your Dad sleeps next to me, seemingly oblivious. There you are, standing up, holding onto the bars of your crib cell, demanding some attention. How can I resist? The sooner I nurse you the sooner I can fall back asleep. That is my logic. It makes perfect sense to me. Especially around midnight when I've barely begun to dream.

Down the creaking old stairs I go, creaks I am sure you know by heart. Your Dad and I have found the loudest ones, we avoid them like skilled gymnasts. In front of your door, I take a deep breath, and in I go. You always scream when you see me, out of relief, anger, fear, I never know. I pick you up breathing you in nuzzling your neck while your little arms wrap around mine. I love this moment. I love how tightly you hold on, I love the sound of your breath in my left ear. I tell you how much I love you as I sit down on the nursing chair swinging your warm body around and onto my lap sideways. You frantically search for the holy grail, my nipple, and once you find it, a tiny sigh escapes your lips before you latch on for dear life. And that, my love, is the moment when it all makes sense. In that moment, as we rest into each other, no matter how tired, annoyed, frustrated, or delirious I am, I can't help being overcome with this incredible wave of gratitude and sheer joy in the simple weight of you, in my arms. I close my eyes and feel our bellies breathing in and out together. Sometimes I wrap my fingers around your chubby warm feet or kiss your roving hand.

And then I thank God for you your Dad this life. And I really mean it.

When you've been satiated, I sit you up, you arch your back, and it's up and away back into your crib. Potato Bug. Creeping out the door and carefully negotiating the stairs, I think to myself how they use the sound of babies crying to train Navy Seals and lack of sleep as torture and I say to myself-

I would make a horrible Navy Seal but a damn good hostage.

As I lay my head back down on my now chilled pillow next to your warm Dad, I look at the clock, realizing, fuck, if this is a GOOD night, there will only be 3 or 4 more of these to go.

It's only the beginning of a long long night. We haven't even reached the half way mark yet. A word comes to mind.

Endurance.

I can endure, more than most, and I'm not sure that is always such a good thing. Some think I am mad for enduring this so long. Our marathon of sleep issues. But I could probably go on forever. Or at least I always think so when I am finally back in bed and you are asleep once more.

But then it starts up again, sometimes 30 minutes later, the cry, the shakes, the stairs, the bliss. And I am in the thick of it again. However, once 5:30am rolls around, I know I'm near the end. I can almost taste the finish line. The marathon is over. Your Dad is next. It's his turn. I nurse you one last time, sighing as I hit my pillow. And go deep deep deep.

Funny thing is, when I finally do wake up and see your beautiful little face, I forget all of it.

And I'm ready to run again.

Potato Bug

We have a new little routine, it seems. When I am nursing you to sleep and it's clear that you are finished and ready for bed, you arch your body back while grabbing your lovey as I stand up from our nursing chair and you stay arched until I lay you stretched out like that in your crib, then immediately you curl up into a little ball as you roll over onto your stomach and pull your little legs up and underneath you like a little potato bug rolling in on itself, and in that way do you stay.

I love it. It is so endearing.

The flowers are beginning to bloom in the backyard and your father is watching an Obama rally in Ohio. We are watching our president speak. He is an incredible orator. He is also our first, and hopefully not last, black president. I really like Hillary Clinton as well, she almost became our first female president, close, but no cigar...not yet, at least. Maybe you can be president too? Why not.

We went to Descanso Gardens today where you watched some storytelling and then you crawled around in the grass for an hour chasing squirrels with a teething biscuit in your mouth.

After we got home you pushed your buddies Scout the talking dog, Jesus the beanie dog, and Cup Cake the gay alligator around.

After dinner you discovered a new purpose for a lid.

You are thoroughly entertaining P. It never is a dull moment with your brilliance in our lives.

I wish I had more profound insights for you but unfortunately all I can think about is how much my back hurts from carrying you in the carrier on our hike with Dada and Noodle today. I feel old, honey. My left hip is also aching and my right foot. I'm not sure we can continue doing that. It might have to be stroller only time. Ugh. You don't like the stroller. And it's a great stroller! It's the Bob Utility. It's completely awesome for trail running, of which I have done ZERO since I got pregnant with you. No, I lied. I have gone twice in almost two years. Ha. But the stroller is almost useless when it comes to running errands. It's a bull in a china shop. The front wheel is locked so turning is a bitch. But whatever. I still love the damn thing, even if you don't. I had fantasies of us running trails together but unfortunately, apparently, you don't like being in it for too long, and inevitably either Angella or myself end up having to carry you at the end of our "walks." Not so fun for us, by the way. Considering Baby #2 I became OBSESSED with the Britax B-ready last week. I saw some woman with it at the Farmer's Market and couldn't stop my stroller envy from leaking out like sticky icky goo. She could swivel and turn on a dime. When I looked it up at home it has 14 possible different double stroller configurations!! What the hell?? Who needs that many? Maybe I do? Do I? I have no idea. I have never had two babies before. Or a baby and a toddler, I should say. Maybe you both will hate the stroller and we'll just have to hump you two around like cable till your 10. If it didn't cost almost a thousand dollars, which is an inconceivable amount of money to spend on a stroller, I might have purchased it already. As it is, I am lusting from afar. But don't worry- I am not giving up on the Bob. I will never give up on the Bob. One of you kids is going to love running with me in that thing whether you like it or not, I swear to God. Never give up the dream!!

Speaking of dreams, two of mine have been resurrected lately- I'll share them with you since you are listening.

1) running an Ultra Marathon someday.

2) getting my bachelors and possibly masters/teaching credential at Antioch University (if money were no object.)


That's it. We'll see what happens. For now I will stay present and enjoy the heck out of you, your Dad, and this wonderful life we have of which I GET to be a part of.

I can't believe my damn good luck sometimes. It really blows me away.

Love,

Mom

Adventures with Food

This was your dinner tonight-

Steamed carrots and broccoli, baked yam, raw spinach, a slice of cucumber and a piece of sprouted grain toast.

I love watching you decide what you want to eat. It's the most adorable thing in the world.

Teething Trenches

Oh Pony, we are in it now. I thought the last bottom tooth was bad, nothing compares to the top one about to cut through. For the past 3 nights you have been up every hour, sometimes every 45 minutes, and you are crying out in pain. I don't know what to do except go to you and nurse you back down. Then it's back up the stairs, lay down, you cry out, I wait 5 minutes to see if you'll go back to sleep, you usually don't, then I go downstairs, nurse you, wait until you get sleepy again, lay you down, rinse and repeat. All. Night. Long. Right now it's 2am. Your father is sleeping in a hotel in Portland, Oregon on business. I can't even imagine what that would be like anymore, to go to sleep at night and know you most likely won't wake up until morning. I can't even fathom it at this point. I am totally not resentful at him right now, I swear it.

What is going on right now though is completely my fault, I fear. I don't know what I was thinking. The cat's away? I got scared, something about the TV turning off and on while I was watching it earlier this evening- why does this stuff keeping happening to me, and only me? But once again, I romanticized the notion of us co-sleeping, even though we have tried it several times before without any luck- maybe this time it would be different? General definition of insanity is doing the same thing expecting different results. Yes, I do feel crazy. You can probably guess what happened. You woke up at midnight, I brought you into bed with me. It was so awkward. It is physically impossible for you to nurse and sleep with your butt in the air at the same time, although you seem to not think so. My nipple doesn't stretch that far, thank God. So after those gymnastics I took you back downstairs and proceeded to relay race you back to sleep for a good two hours. Hence, it's now 2am. My eyes hurt they are so tired and yet, I can't fall asleep. What kind of cruel joke is this? I decided to pick up my copy of "Under the Banner of Heaven" hoping it would lull me to sleep, but it only seems to make me more anxious. See, it's a book about fundamentalist Mormons of which your Great Grandmother is one. Your actual great great Grandfather is mentioned in the book and the fundamentalist sect that your Grandma currently belongs to is also mentioned. It's a strange thing, this Mormon religion. I don't get it, but then again, I don't get most religions. And slap fundamentalist before any of them and you've got a whole special bag of crazy going on. I wasn't raised Mormon, I wasn't raised anything. Except maybe New Age Metaphysics, of which I am also recovering from in my own way. Your Nama Jill left the Church long before I was born. What really freaked me out about it tonight though is how one of the most peculiar things about Mormons in particular is their belief in Revelations. That they can directly communicate with God and know his/her/it's thoughts, get direction, and so forth. Unfortunately for some, those "directions" have been to kill. It's not the first religion to condone violence, but it is astonishing how violent people can be in the name of "God." I always thought God was all loving, all kind, all good. I don't understand this God they speaketh of. But what irks me even more is that my personal spiritual program, which I owe my incredible life to, also encourages communication with God. It is your own personal God, but it's still God. Everything is. Or nothing is. It's a choice, I believe. I want to believe that God is everything. I want to believe. But these people scare me. Make me question everything. Which is probably good and brings me to you, Pony P.

Please remember to always question everything. Be discerning. Be curious. Be aware.

I believe we might have a genetic predisposition for extremism and blind faith. It has only brought me pain and humiliation. I want more for you. I hope the buck stops here, with me. Let me teach you how to think for yourself. Hopefully I can show you as well. I so want to be good for you. Because I have never loved anything like the way I love you. I have never known this kind of force in me. It can do amazing things. You have changed me, Pony. You have made me more me. I am forever grateful. I want to do the same for you, help you to stay true to you, no matter what you do.

That rhymed.

It is the next day now. I finally fell asleep last night and so did you. Today we drove to your cousin Nixon's 1 year birthday party at Bluebird Park in Laguna Beach. The we was your Uncle Strider and I. Your Dad comes back tonight. I can't tell you how much I have missed him and appreciate his help with you. Just the mere fact that he gets you in the morning giving me sometimes even just 30 more minutes of sleep, I had no idea how precious that was until it was snatched away from me these last two mornings. I am useless. I have never known exhaustion like this. The kind that makes me fall asleep sitting up. And of course, Murphy's Law, after I nursed you down at 7pm, I promptly laid down myself and passed out...only to be awoken at 8pm by the next door neighbor SANDING SOME FURNITURE outside. ?????!!!! Yes, really.

I give up.

I'm writing to you instead of killing him. I figured that was a much more productive use of my time. Especially since I just spent last night tearfully telling you how "good" I want to be for you. Ha. I guess this is where the something meets the road. I am so tired I can't even think of the saying. You know what I mean. I hope.

I am hopeless right now.

I miss your Dad.

He better come home tonight.

Please sleep more tonight. Please please please please please please please.....

I love you and your little white butt.

Mom

Earth Day 2012

I've been struggling lately, Pony, with my sense of self, if you will. Meaning, I feel extremely self-conscious, and not in a good way, about almost everything I do and or say. It's reminding me painfully of my freshman year of high school when I left middle school a bad ass class president but arrived at LBHS confused and desperate. My best friend at the time had ditched me for some older girls and I wasn't anywhere near cool enough to hang with this new crowd. They had a sense of humor that was beyond mine. I constantly felt left behind. One of my biggest fears. I feel that way now. Like life is leaving me behind. My writing is stagnant and uninspired, my humor non existent, and my style, gone. It was really starting to get me down until I had a couple of revelations this week. It all began when I started reading this book about the science of creativity called Imagine. Apparently an extremely important aspect of creativity is sleep. Sleep is when our brains get to make new synapses and connections. No wonder my writing feels bland, I'm in a sleep deprivation haze. My synapses aren't firing, they are on hiatus. Okay, I can live with that. That can always change. I will eventually sleep more. Maybe in 18 years, but I will.

And the other thing I realized while on our Earth Day Husom Family walk in The Mount while I was discussing all of this with Dad and you, was that I read an article in the NY Times about how different parenting styles can ruin friendships. It reminded me of my intention to walk the "middle road" as a parent and not be extreme either way, or judgmental and critical. Actually, how to be that way in life, every single aspect of it. And how unsexy that feels, only because it's so new, and so weird to not be an extremist and condemning all others. It's the newness that feels boring and bland, because I am not taking sides. I see the benefit of all of it. Bits and pieces. Oh it's not easy. And it makes me feel simple. But simple is good. I have been far too complicated for way too long and it didn't do me any good. I am ready to be. Just be. A worker among workers. A mom among moms.

So instead of being confused or frustrated by what I judge as an uninspired dull me, I must now turn and embrace with loving open minded arms and revel in this new simple wonderful life with you, which I cherish every second of, more than you will ever know.

We had brunch on the Queen Mary today with Nama Jill and Uncle Dusty, Aunt Jaime, the cousins, and Uncle Strider. You ate asparagus for the first time and loved it.

This is you gnawing on cucumber with Nama. Look how beautiful you both are!

I love you, little monkey.

Big Monkey Mom

9 months!

Holy crap. Has it really been 9 months already? It's been the strangest time warp of my life P. It's like everything sped up and slowed down at the same time. We had your check up with a new Pediatrician, Dr. Iyer at Glendale Pediatrics. We were seeing Dr. Bursch there, who was also great, but your Dad met Dr. Iyer when you had a fever and he really clicked with her, so I thought I should meet her too. And I am really glad I did. She is super warm, direct, and clear. She says you are exactly where you should be and look perfect to her. You are 16 pounds and 27 inches long. Your flat spot is minor and nothing to worry about. What I liked most about her was that she took the time to listen to me help me come up with a gradual sleep training method that feels like it could really work for our family. It was a little awkward when checking out as we ran into Dr. Bursch, who I also really liked, but something about Dr. Iyer liked more, still, he was super friendly and wonderful. I just felt weird. I hate that. I'm sure they are used to it over there, people must switch all the time, no big deal, right? I just abhor uncomfortable social situations.

So this is the plan from now on- although I love breastfeeding you to sleep- it's time to mix it up a bit. Beginning with "don't offer, don't refuse." Meaning, I am no longer going to offer my boob to you at the slightest provocation. I am going to wait till you ask for it. Which I am finding, is much easier said than done. The only thing I have really managed to be able to do is notice how often I just offer it to you for no reason. I think it has to do with my intense desire to connect with you ALL. THE. TIME. I am sure this will be good for us as hard as it is for me. Next, we have changed up the bedtime routine. Instead of dinner, bath, naked time, PJ's, book, nursing to bed, it's now dinner, bath, naked time, PJ's, nursing, book, and bed. And here is the zinger- your Dad is going to put you to bed sometimes! That's right. Dada. You. Bed. And lastly, I am going to dream feed you (although I hate it so) before I go to bed and then if you wake up before 4am- Dad is going to give you a bottle. After 4am, I am going to breast feed you. Then eventually we are going to slowly make that bottle of milk into a bottle of water. Wow. Just writing all that seems like a lot, but it's not, really. And I think it's gentle enough for my spirit. We'll see how it goes.

By the way- your two top teeth are coming, any day now. Dr. Iyer saw them, said get ready! You have two little ones on the bottom. I'm ready for the top ones. Just please, for the love of God, don't bite me. Which reminds me of something really special that happened this morning, we were horsing around on the sofa when suddenly you somehow snuck your thumb into my nose and with a nail that must have grown overnight into a tiny itsy bits razor, sliced into the soft sensitive membrane and apparently into a gushing vein. I screamed in pain as blood began to pour out. That was- colloquial term from childhood alert- gnarly. Not my favorite way to start the day. Let's NOT do that again, shall we?

Lastly, there was no drama with bed time, seems you tried to nurse your Dad, but couldn't for obvious reasons, so you finished your bottle and went to bed. You didn't skip a beat. I want to say you didn't miss me at all, but we both know it's not true. Well, at least I know how much I missed you. I will be fine though, don't worry about me. I know at some point the breastfeeding will end and I know that point is really not that far away. I am not sure how I feel about weaning at all, I just know that we want to have another baby, so it might be inevitable. But hopefully it will be in the Husom fashion, gradual and gentle.

Here is you on top of the world:

And here is you reflecting on your 9 months:

Sleep tight, my love.

And don't let the bed bugs bite.

Mom

Adventures in Eating

So we took a bunch of other momma's advice from the Booby Brigade and just went for it with the Baby Led Weaning recipes.

This is your first taste of steamed fresh whole broccoli.

And this is your apparent approval.

Needless to say, I believe more broccoli, chicken, and pasta ended up on the floor then in your tummy.

However, later that night during naked time you did something rather fantastic- you stood up on your own in the middle of the living room. Just like that! I screamed, possibly scaring you, I apologize, but it was too exciting to hold back. You sat right back down and haven't done it since. But baby, it was miraculous.

I love the heck out of you squirt.

Mom

Sound

I can't believe we went from living upstairs from a musician who wore boots on a wood floor and was up all night doing...whatever...to living next door to a wannabe (terrible too, I might add) hip-hop DJ and now, it's Jesus the Builder.

Really?

I mean, Really?

It's like I am cursed.

He's been sanding, not by hand either, something very large since he got home from work at 5pm. It's now 7pm. It has to be one of the most grating sounds. Whirrrrrrr....whirrr....incessantly. Thank God we got the super sound conditioner for your bedroom P. I wish I had one for my head right now.

I swear. What you fear the most walks beside you all the time. I did not make that one up, Pony. Somebody much more intelligent than I did long ago. He was a great president at one time. I'm sure you will learn all about him. Which reminds me, I am reading "The People's History of the United States" right now and even though I am on page 111, I can't remember a damn thing I've read. Something about how the economic picture of early America didn't look much different than it did today and it was just as sexist and racist. And if that comes as a surprise to anyone, than they need to get their head out of their....

I am tired and cranky, as you can tell.

I am venting.

Thank you for letting me vent.

You went to bed at 6pm tonight. It was just you and me. Dad is working.

I love you.

MOm

Video Monitor Love

It's 12:30 in the morning and you are really struggling with staying asleep tonight for some reason. Which is so strange because last night you slept like a champ. Which reminds me of how silly I felt the other day. I was convinced my eyes were going bad, so I went to get them checked. Turns out I have 20/20 vision. I'm just tired. Oh well. I was kind of looking forward to having a new accessory, guess I'll have to wait a few more years.

Your Dad just went down and is soothing you to sleep with back rubs. It's rather sweet to watch. Another reason I love the video monitor. I would miss all this without it. In fact, I have been meaning to list all the reasons I love the Summer Infant Touch Screen Video Monitor, now is as good a time as any, I guess.

1. I get to watch you playing alone in your crib. I call it P TV, it's my favorite show.

2. I know that you sleep with your butt in the air. This makes me happy, because I know that you aren't sleeping on your flat spot. Plus, it's pretty darn cute. Which brings me to...

3. All the different sleep variations you go through in a night. It can shift from reckless abandon, where your arms are splayed out to child's pose and every where in between and all over the crib. I don't know how it would work if we slept together. That must get very interesting for all those co-sleeping mommas and papas out there.

4. Peace of mind. The monitor is not cheap, by any means. But really, what price is too high for peace of mind?

5. I never got to this one because you didn't quit and we couldn't take it anymore.

We quit. We caved. We gave in.

I know this must be so erratic for you. We must be more consistent. I had no idea how hard this was going to be. I have been doing everything I can to avoid training you in any way, but this three hour up thing is going to make us all crazy, I fear.

It wasn't like you were in pain, you just didn't seem to want to be alone. That breaks my heart. I would sleep with you if I could, but then I would never sleep and that would be even worse. I am not at my best with no sleep. No one is, really. The fact that some of us mothers can function as well as we can is miraculous. Most of us shouldn't be operating heavy machinery to be honest. The "Baby on Board" signs have taken on a whole new meaning. They are hazard signs.

My friend said it is better to just rip the band aid off.

She swears it will only take a few nights. But then again, her daughters never cried longer than 45 minutes. Your tenacity, although admirable, sweetheart, is gut wrenchingly painful to sit through. I don't know if I have the stomach for it.

I guess we'll have to sit and meditate on this one all day.

I really don't know what the best thing to do is, so I am asking the bigger powers that be to guide me in my thinking and acting, to do the right thing for all of us, as a family.

I love you peanut.

Especially now that you are making zerberts on your own and oh yes, you said Momma this morning.

That was nice touch.

xx
Mom

Orajel SUCKS.

Oh P- the growing spurt is over. It's back to waking up numerous times a night. Oy vey. Consistency is NOT your middle name. Nor is it mine. Funny thing that is. Oh well, you keep me on my toes, that is for sure. Never a dull night with you, little monkey. In fact, every night is a new adventure. I go to bed really having absolutely no clue what the night will hold in store for us. I wonder what it's like to know when you go to sleep, you won't wake up till it's morning. I can't remember, it's been so long.

I have to apologize though for something that was entirely my own neurotic fault the other night. It all began when I frantically bought some Baby Nighttime Orajel at CVS in a desperate attempt to help you sleep better. That night at 10:30 when you woke up, in the dark of the room, I tried to put some on your gums. It smelled totally weird and you hated it. You began to smack your lips in a very repetitive way making me nervous. Suddenly I remembered reading warnings about Orajel and I began to panic because I couldn't remember what the warnings were. I laid you down and ran upstairs to google it. Your Dad was snoring softly in the bedroom as you nestled back to sleep in your crib. All this while I read horrific stories of babies choking on their own saliva, throats closing, seizures and some strange liver disease I can't even spell, all because of this stupid fucking Orajel (which should be taken off the market, if you ask me). Almost hyperventilating I ran back downstairs and creeped into your room to make sure you were still breathing. Unfortunately for us your door decided to creak like an old haunted house, waking you up enough so you sat up, looked right at me, and screamed in fright. I felt terrible. I would have screamed too if I suddenly saw me lurking up up on me at night with crazy eyes and wild white hair. I grabbed you and nursed you down. Or so I thought. I crept back upstairs, trying not to wake you or your Dad, grabbed the orajel and slathered it all over my gums to test how long the numbness persists for. Damn it if that shit doesn't taste HORRIBLE! I am so sorry, hon. So sorry. By the time the orajel wore off you were back up and standing in your crib gumming the bars calling out for me and my boobs. I went down. You nursed. I laid you back down. I went up. I watched the monitor waiting for you to fall back asleep. FINALLY, you did. Crisis averted. I fell into bed and crashed. For about an hour, when you woke up again....

And so it is and so it goes.

Like I said P, every night is a new adventure.

Your crazy mum.

First Word!

DADA!

You said it, loud and clear. We both heard you. It was pretty f-in amazing, P. Quite the moment, one I will never forget, nor will your Dad. I will admit, I had a small hope Mama would be first, but I'm totally cool with Dada. He deserves it. It happened while I was sitting on the sofa in the living room having a conversation with my best friend Jessy in Sedona, Stella had just started crawling and we were celebrating THAT feat, when suddenly, all the way from the kitchen where you were playing with Dad, your lilting little voice rang out above Jessy in my ear and Hall and Oats on the stereo (that's right, I said Hall and Oats)- DADA!! I stopped listening to Jessy and cried out- She said it!! Dada ran out with a huge grin on his face- Yep, she said it!! We beamed across the rooms at each other. A milestone met. Two parents rejoice.

This was after a fabulous Easter weekend. Saturday we went to the Self Realization Fellowship up the street where they had a super fun egg hunt. You found 3. Well, I found you 3. You kept one. It had 3 goldfish crackers in it. Then we took a photo with the bunny and a nun, then we left.

Your Dad loves to get into the spirit of things, that's why he made me wear the bunny ears.

Finally, we got a family photo taken by a generous samaritan.

So that's us- The Husoms.

By the way- I bleached my hair. When I came home from the salon you had to touch my face to make sure it was still me. I was scared you wouldn't know me. You were scared I was someone else. We worked it out just fine. Every now and then I see you staring at it, then in my eyes, just to be sure.

Today, we went down to Dana Point to see your Uncles, Aunt, Grandpa Kenny, and cousins Vinny, Asher, and Nixon.

This is you with your cuz's....

Then we came home and you said Dada.

What a miraculous day. Easter will never be the same.

I love you Peanut.

Mom

Barking Dog

It's 5:30 in the morning. We are up, but you are sound asleep, and have been since 7pm last night. You slept like a champ last night, too bad your Dad and I didn't.

It began with a neighbor's barking dog just as I was drifting off to sleep. That lasted for over an hour, of which there was no respite. I kept reading "A People's HIstory of the United States" hoping it would be so boring as to overcome my annoyance with the dog, but it only served to pique my interest and keep me reading well past when the whining dog was silenced. Hopefully by a gun. No, I take that back, I don't mean any serious harm to Fresco, the 14 year old blind sheep dog next door, just maybe a little harm to his owner for leaving him alone like that.

I hate being such a light sleeper. It's such a curse.

But something I DO love, is peanut butter and honey on sprouted grain toast with tea in the morning. It's one of my favorite things on this planet. I don't know why, but it just makes me happy to have it. It's my comfort food. And unfortunately for me, at the moment, I am out of my favorite tea, The River Shannon blend from Upton Tea Imports. I am slumming it with PJ Tips. It's not the same. I am a loose leaf lovin lady. It makes a big difference. Your Dad doesn't drink any black tea anymore, he's purely herbal. What a stud. I wish I had his discipline. He has a pretty good motivator though, his mental health.

So here we sit, your Dad and I, in the wee hours of the morning, while you lay snoozing down below. It's Easter Weekend, or Passover weekend, depending on your religious proclivities, of which we have none. You can make that choice for yourself when you are old enough. I think spirituality is the way. Works for me. But I still struggle, not with the notion of "God" but the word. Even just reading last night, what savage tragic brutal things people historically have done in the name of...makes me feel sick inside. Thank God I can have my own God.

We are taking you to your very first Easter Egg hunt at Paramahansa's Mother Hub up the street later. I feel so lucky that we live so close to such a beautiful place. I read his "Autobiography of a Yogi" when I was 12 and traveling through India to visit his Ashram in Ranchi. I don't remember a single thing from it, but I do remember the homemade chapati's the woman made for us while we stayed in her home near the Ashram. And I also remember one song the monk's would sing during the morning meditation I would sleep through (I was only 12, remember). I sang it to you in my belly. You might remember it- it goes like this:

Who is in my temple?
Who is in my temple?
All the doors do open themselves.
All the lights do light themselves.
All the doors do open themselves.
All the lights do light themselves.
Darkness like a dark bird, flies away, oh flies away.
Darkness like a dark bird, flies away, oh flies away.
repeat

I sing this when I am scared.


Okay little bug, it's almost 7am now and you are finally sitting up and practicing your vowels and consonants.

I'm coming down.

I'm gonna kiss you all over.

Love,

Mom