Baby Brain

Happy Furry Monsters

2009-09-17T15:09:00.000-07:00

...I may not have much time. Monsters. There are monsters in my home. I’ve been observing them for some time now, and I think I’ve discovered their leader. Although small and outwardly cuddly, he carries a fiendish smile and sinister laugh...

...I think I’m safe for now, but I….wait a second…

…oh no…he’s found my son…..he’s…he’s singing to him.…..

….Max's eyes are transfixed on the furry red monster! He’s not moving! Oh my God, the singing has paralyzed my s… I must save…

….the music…it won’t stop! It’s echoing in my head now!

...Sing….sing a song….sing it loud….sing it strong……

I pictured all that as either scrawled out in a worn paper journal, or some static voice recording.

Clearly I watch way too many movies and video games.

Sesame Street has invaded my home. And the furry red monster in question is none other than ‘he who shall not be named’. I simply can’t get that squeaky high pitched voice out of my head. In fact, all the residence of Sesame Street have seeped into my mind. They hypnotize me with their catchy songs and linger in my head. All. Day. Long. Sometimes I wake up to “Sing a Song”.

Worse than annoying songs, is that my conversations with Jeremy usually involve some reference or random thought about the show.

Me: “I bet Gaby has a crush on Miles, although he looks completely disinterested in her”.
Jer: “I think Bob and Allen are secretly a couple”
Me: “Oh totally. Hey, that voice sounds like the girl from Avenue Q”
Jer: ”I was thinking the same thing”
Me: “I bet it is, let’s google it”
Jer: “Way ahead of you…yep, it is”
Me: “I knew it”

And if that wasn’t disturbing enough, these facts and questions spill over to conversations with other people.

Me: “Did you know the main girl from Avenue Q used to do lots of work on Sesame Street?”
Amber: “Really? Oh yeah, you can totally hear it in this song”
Kevin: “What?”
Me: “You know, Big Bird’s right hand is a gimpy hand since the puppeteer has his own right hand raised high above his head to do the beak movements.”
Amber gives me a sad smile.
I sighs with agreement over my new pathetic life

This is so not normal.

I swore I wasn’t going to be one of those parents that used kid videos to lull their children into a relaxed stupor. But, I’ve discovered that Sesame Street is to Max as the Pied Piper is to mice. I’ve never seen him stand or sit still for anything, but when that red furry monster starts to sing, he’s instantly hooked. And those that know of the Crazy that is Max, this small quiet down time is pure bliss. Needless to say, we’ve rented just about every dvd they have to offer.

As much as I hate the effects on myself, I have to admit there’s a small sense of excitement and nostalgia to see my son love a show that I grew up on as a kid. A few of the old skits they still play now are ones I actually remember, like when Cookie Monster wished the moon was a cookie.

Oh, and Grover is obviously the brains of the opporation. As are the sheep and pinguins, his minions. They rock.

The Bitter Sweet Internet

2009-08-20T15:08:00.000-07:00

I really love the internet.

I mean, I really love the internet. It’s an escape into a world full of life, information and answers to everything. It’s always there when you need it, even on the go. The internet embraces you like an old friend or at least a good therapist.

Click. Elly! I’m so glad you’ve stopped by! Click. Pull up a chair, rest your feet! Click. Here, have some of your favorite cookies, now what’s on your mind?

Need some social interaction, or some good gossip? Facebook it is. Duh.

How about random news and utterly irrelevant photos and events? Digg is always a good time waster.

Want a funny, clean online comic? Check out Daisy Owl. Steve the bear is a subtle comedic genius.

Ah, internet, you’re always giving and hardly ever asking for anything in return (other than the occasional login or password) and you remember all my favorite things. True friend, indeed.

However, I really need to stop looking at the long list of sites including smittenkitchen, bakerella and of course Etsy, as these craft and foody sites are doing nothing for my inner artsy/homemaker well being, which at the moment is ~~yearning~~ whining for freedom.

I light up with giddiness upon perfectly adorable deserts where I questions if I’m supposed to actually eat them, much like questioning using a cute guest bathroom towel with tassels and embroidery.

I tighten the proverbial belt when studying gorgeous photos of rich recipes as if though they were gingerly hung in a special food gallery that obviously endorses the use of butter…and lots of it.

I feel the creative gears turning from their rusty state of dormancy when I click through hundreds of craft, clothes and jewelry designs, ignoring the running total in my head from cost of supplies.

And just as the internet is a world of its own and friends should never overstay their welcome, I’m forced to step out of it’s warm glow and back into cold reality of harsh florescent lights.

Oh yeah, I’m at work.

It’s times like this I wish I could be that stay at home mom, with the perfectly clean and decorated home. The one where there’s always something baking in the over, simmering on the stove, fabric feeding through a sewing machine and buttons, pipe cleaners and glitter galore.

Although my journal is chalk full of sketches, designs and entrepreneurial ideas, I simply have no time to spend doing these things. Work is one thing, but Max is another job entirely. By the time I get my little free time I’m allotted each day after he goes down for the night, the exhaust from the day leaves me with not even enough energy to remove the stuffed monkey or toy keys on the couch I happen to be sitting on at any given moment.

And so, the dishes pile. The toys are still scattered. The pots and pans remain cold.

Now, this isn’t to say that maybe one day in the future I can transform into Ms. Susie Homemaker...no, better yet, Empress of Embroidery, Contessa of Cakes, Baroness of Bourguignon...

Until the Internet can loan me a few dollars (legally) so I'm not tied to the necessity of working the 9-5, I’ll just have to visit my friend from time to time for a yummy treat.

Worrying about the small stuff

2009-07-29T15:24:00.000-07:00

“Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?” Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark

Despite rugged good looks, armed whip (and an occasional pistol) and an indestructible fedora, Indy still had fears to face. It wasn’t big giant boulders rolling inches away from his heals or a maniac tribal man attempting to pull out his heart. No. Indy feared the little stuff. Of all things, he was afraid of snakes.

When I returned to work after my maternity leave, I returned to an empty ‘in box’ that continued its void for weeks. Sales were incredibly slow and upper management needed to justify me occupying a place within the company. So, off they scooted me to another department to help out with random jobs. “Fine,” I thought “at least it’s work and I still have a job”. The only downside…I lost my little office.

Sure it was a dumpy little room in an aging little single-wide trailer that always smelled funny, especially when a family of rats would nest under the trailer, and then die (twice). Sure there was always a fine film of dirt on my desk and monitor that was kicked up from all the semi trucks passing by my window. Sure I shared a wall with the only bathroom within the other aging little trailers causing plenty of foot traffic past my door. But it was still my little piece of the valuable real estate here on the dusty nursery yard.

I figured, this would be a temporary move, just until work picks back up. Or at least that’s what I would tell people who wondered where I disappeared to, as I wasn’t there to say hi and chat a bit on their way to the bathroom.

This happened about ten months ago, and I’m still in my ‘temporary’ desk. I’m now in a nice air conditioned building that’s not built from aluminum. The people are truely great and at least I’m not the only female now. There’s tract lighting, a fire place and a kitchen. And it smells pretty nice, too.

But, somehow, I still miss my little office.

I still go in there every couple of days or so to grab labels for plants, and as I sit in my old familiar uncomfortable chair, I sigh a little.

That is until I yelped at what I saw.

Next to my beautiful vintage travel prints framed in serene blue mats and gorgeous mahogany frames, was a giant poster of different spiders thumb tacked to the wall. There I was, staring up at two dozen icky hairy spindly leggy spiders. I just about died. Not only am I completely disgusted and in fear of those horrible creatures, but…how dare someone attempt to 'decorate' my office! I then look around my desk and see that there are random papers and such that were obviously not mine. I glance at the phone that displays your name (which was blank since I’ve moved my extension next door) and see someone else’s name. Wonderful.

“So, did I completely lose my office?” I asked my boss on IM one day.

“Yep. Well, sort of. You’re sharing it with Antonio”.

“Fantastic”.

So, now I’m ‘sub-leasing’ my little office.

I’m attempting not to complain, too much, because I am still getting work and training on more things which ultimately is grounds for further job security. But, I have to admit, it’s a bit of a punch to my ego and a shaking down a peg or two from the so called corporate ladder (not that I was particularly high up, but if I fell, I might have sprained an ankle). Considering, my official title is almost meaningless now, I have no clue what to even sign my email signatures as. Temp Girl? Grunt Worker? That girl who does random stuff for everyone?

I guess, as long as I still keep getting a paycheck, it shouldn’t matter, right?

Elly
Organ Grinder’s Monkey

Basket case

2009-05-04T15:56:00.000-07:00

Yikes. Has it really been almost half a year? My bad ;)

It was a rough few months, which has zapped a lot from me, physically and mentally.

Once Max started crawling, the small 500sf apartment we rented became claustrophobic for me, an obnoxious cat, a busy husband and a fussy crawling baby. The stress from the insecurities of job security and finding a new place led me to mental breakdown #1. I always thought fainting was for Victorian women falling gracefully into men’s arms or onto chaise lounges. After a face plant straight to the floor practically breaking my nose, I’ve realized that’s just a Hollywood thing.

After moving into the new place, Max came down with the flu, and us being the sympathetic newbie parents, threw him snuggly between us in our bed. After all, we needed to be there for all the throw up, blow outs and fitful nights for him. Unfortunately, after a couple weeks of this routine, Max became vocal about where he ought to sleep; ie, not in his crib. And, since he’s the boss, I reluctantly agreed to the weeks and weeks of going to bed at 8pm.

This ultimately led me to mental breakdown #2. My choices were either to sell Max on ebay or to try the CIO method. And, since I don’t care for jail time, we resorted to crying it out. Thankfully, it worked.

I’m feeling on the mends. Getting constant sleep has helped, now that Max is now back to sleeping in his crib. Caffeine sure does the job, too. I’m beginning to feel human again, as opposed to the zombie caricature I became. Life was a fog and I dragged my tired feet through it on auto pilot. In fact, I’m surprised I remember half of the timeline events.

It’s funny, I once wrote about feeling ageless. How I never feel age appropriate. Well, screw all that. I feel a decade older after Max was born, and now turning 29 has really snapped the roll blind up into a spin. Realizing the 30 mark is less than a year from now is almost traumatizing.

My fear of growing up is about to slap me in the face, as if it’s somehow a countdown to an ultimatum for becoming a mature, responsible adult. Like I better stop wearing jeans and flip flops and stop watching Family Guy and stop thinking hilarious thoughts of the Chihuahua that got blown away (Don’t judge me, her owner was named Dorothy!) … or else. I figured having a kid would deactivate the detonations clock, but it seems to have just bought me a little time.

My dear friend, Amber, tells me that the 30’s are where it’s at. She also thinks 80% dark chocolate is where it’s at. Need I say more? (if it wasn’t for her love of Weird Al and Indiana Jones, I would have lost all hope)

I’m finding small wrinkles around the corners of my eyes that never were there yesterday. I’m not enthusiastic about new movies coming out, even the new Star Trek film that just screams my sci-fi fangirl inner calling. I referred to a Target employee as “that gangly kid who needs a haircut”. I'm needing my glasses more and more to see anything of detail.

I’m feeling o-l-d now. And, I don’t like it. One. Bit.

PS. On a positive note, Max started walking at 9 month, which is very uncommon among the baby world as I’ve been told. He makes me very proud.

Attaboy!

A year come and gone

2008-12-29T10:12:00.000-08:00

In just a couple of quick days, this year will be over. Just like that, twelve months have evaporated into a distant memory. Just over six months ago, Max wasn’t even here, and in two days, he’ll be ringing in a new year.

In reflection over the last year, well…I’ll be honest. It’s been mostly a blur and my aged mind can’t form a clear thought most days now. However, I do remember last Christmas, sleeping in till about 10am, sipping tea while lazily opening presents with Jeremy and thinking how great next year’s Christmas will be with the baby.

And, now that Christmas was here and gone, although not quite as imagined, it really was nice. Max woke us up bright and early at six o’clock (something I’m sure he’ll do purposely on Christmas mornings in years to come) and we had to take a break with the presents to put him down for a nap. With the crackling fire playing on the tv and Christmas songs piping softly in the background, the image of our little family was more than a cheerful thought.

The last half of the year went incredibly slowly and yet in some respect, quick as lightning. The first few months were truly a nightmare, with endless nights and days melted into one, crying battles for both baby and mom, embarrassed moments in public with hysterical and obviously tortured child and never a clean shirt to be worn.

But, eventually, the constant crying lessened and the crankiness was eased to a low rumble. Max was finally able to see the world without fear of melt downs (of Jeremy and I mostly). And, the best part was that his enormous personality began maturing and shining through his wide smile and sparkling eyes. In just half a year, we’ve watched our baby turn into a baby boy…and oh, what a boy! Rough and tumbling, tossed around and swung upside down until he laughs with glee.

And, ah, to hear him laugh….

I think that’s what being a proud parent is all about, at least at this stage. Not even forgetting the fact that he’s pulling himself up to standing position on his own and even taking his first awkward motions of crawling.

I look back on photos since June, and I stand in awe to think it wasn’t that long ago he was just an infant, helpless and motionless. And yet, here he is now, strong and healthy and babbling “dadadad” and the occasional “mommmamam”.

I remember a dinner Jeremy and I took alone not long after Max was born. It was a somber dinner as I broke down in exhausted complaints and worry as we shared our concerns and our truthful feelings about it all. I remember wishing that Max could just be a happy baby.

I think that day has come. He may not be the easiest baby, that’s for sure. But, Max wears his heart on his sleeve, a trait that I wish I carried myself. Anyone who catches the awareness in his eyes and gets his enormous and genuine smile can see that he is truly happy.

Here’s to a new year of firsts and lots of great and fun things to come!

Cheers!

Baby, people and coffee

2008-11-24T11:08:00.000-08:00

Ah, it’s finally feels like fall here in Southern California. After what seemed like an eternal summer, this last Sunday I woke up to a chilly and overcast morning. The type that you wake up and suddenly realize that the sheets and comforter have transformed into the most luxurious fabric your body has ever felt, and so you snuggle deeper in, bringing them up right above your content smile and still sleepy eyes and snooze for another few hours.

Normally, that’s what weekend mornings were like…pre-Max.

Now, our weekend morning consist of waking up around 6am (or earlier, unfortunately), plucking him from his crib only a mere foot and a half from my side, and quickly fitting him snugly between Jeremy and I so that we can squeeze another thirty minutes or so of partial sleep.

That is, until he becomes utterly bored, restless and hungry and makes it known by squirming, screeching, smacking us in the face and yanking hair. Add to that the cat obnoxiously walking all over us, meowing for food….who needs an alarm?

By 7am, the boy was fed, changed and content. Oh and the cat got some food, too.

But, now Jeremy and I were getting hungry, and cereal wasn’t sounding so appetizing. Also, we were out of milk. So, I suggested we take a walk to the coffee shop a few blocks away - one of the perks of living walking distance to ‘old town’.

We bundled Max up, putting him in a new red zippered sweater (thanks to my sister Clea who knows what cold is living in CO) and then grabbed the stroller, but only after returning to the apartment for our own sweaters (it was chilly!).

It was a beautiful early morning. No one was around, the wild green parrots squawked, and the fog was thick around us, causing the street ahead to disappear in the distance. These are my favorite type of mornings :)

Fortunately, when we got to the coffee shop and ordered our drinks from a surprisingly curt lady, we found the only two leather chairs in the place. As I sipped my splurge of a peppermint latte, I began to people watch. This is my favorite type of watching :)

Since we sat next to the door, it was hard for someone entering or exiting the place to ignore the chubby and obviously adorable baby sitting on our lap.

However, not one, but two random people came and went without so much of a glance over to the babbling cute baby. It wasn’t because they were busy or lost in thought. Usually you can read those people. No, these people took a quick glance and then averted their eyes as if the Ark of the Covenant was opened and quickly scuttled out the door before their faces melted*.

*For new readers, Elly is a geek.

Eyeing these bystanders, I’ve come to realize that there are different types of “baby people”.

On one extreme of my theory are the “I’m just so not a baby” person.

These people either fear, hate or are indifferent to babies. They’d sooner pick up a strange dog off the street and let them lick their own face than dare touch a baby.

One example of such people was a couple who sat to our left, with both their noses stuck in a newspaper. As soon as they saw us begin to pack up, the lady turned to us and asked if were leaving, obviously eyeing our comfy chairs. As she stood over us like a vulture over a slowly dying rabbit, she looked over at Max who was being placed back in his stroller.

“How old is that?” she asked out of politeness.

‘That?!” I thought, as if Max were a lamp or cookie left on a plate.

Realizing her awkward choice of words, she quickly attached “boy” to the end of her question, only enhancing the odd pause.

“Five months,” I flatly say in annoyance, continuing to strap Max in.

“Ah,” she finished, followed by silence.

She was obviously not a baby person.

On the other extreme are the “Oh my God, what a chubby wubby wittle baby, yes you are!” people.

Of course one such Mother Hen sniffed Max out from the other side of the shop and suddenly appeared beside me out of nowhere and began to talk intensely without taking her eyes off Max.

“Oh, don’t you just love all the little sounds they make? I just love them, so precious! Oh, aren’t you precious! Yes you are! Yes you are! You should be recording all the sounds they make. I only wish I did that with my kids. They make such cute and sweet little noises and coos,” the lady passionately exclaimed.

As if on cue, Max screeched his prehistoric Terradactyl call to her. The lady squealed with excitement as I proceeded to wrap my arms tighter around him.*

*Warning: These type of people should be closely watched when around babies.

Now there are people somewhere in the middle of the spectrum. These were the people that acknowledged Max with a smile and possibly a subtle ‘Aww, how cute’ and continued on their way. This is the category I usually fall into, and I’m sure most others do, too. I'm sure there's other categories in the spectrum that I'll come across sooner or later.

I think this theory can be used with dogs and cats, too.

Which reminds me; there’s a lady that wonders around the town and hangs out outside the grocery store, pushing a stroller.

With a cat in it.

A real cat.

Gotta love people!

Photo dump!

2008-10-30T08:38:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to unloading some photos from the camera, so I figured I'd share some here. I can't believe how big he's getting....

My two boys :)

Max size pumpkin (notice the drool action)

We couldn't decide on which pumpkin to get...
the orange one or the one in blue shorts....

He's mostly sitting up on his own!

Yep, that's my kid alright.

Like the pants I made for him? :)

What bad economy?

2008-10-22T08:54:00.000-07:00

I saw it coming.

I even prepared for it mentally for quite some time now. After all, sales had been down for months now, and business began to slow. And, I found myself rummaging through random web site more often than usual during the day. Work was slowing. And I knew what was coming when my boss IM’s me one morning last week:

“Hey, can you come in here to chat”

Uh oh…whenever he’s says that, it’s never been great news.

“Is it good or bad?”, I reluctantly reply.

“It’s not bad…” He manages to respond.

Uh huh.

“Well…..it’s not horrible…” He continues.

Great.

My hours have been cut in half. It seems my measly pay was too much for their downed sales and they needed to take half my income to help things out. Me, the one who just had a baby and could have used those few extra bucks to pay for diapers and formula and the occasional new clothes.

Needless to say, I’m taking the news harder than I planned for. Selfishly, I feel like my pride and my spirit have been broken. Suddenly becoming the lowest on the totem pole really reeks havoc for one’s self esteem and drained of all motivation. I’ve been dumped and asked to remain friends (you know, to help out with moving furniture or picking them up from the airport). Or even worse, I’ve been punched in the gut and then offered lollipop to make it all better.

Can you tell I’m a little emotional?

Now my head is swimming with concerns...

Will we be able to make it month to month without struggling? Will Max have everything he needs and wants? Do I need to find a second job? Do I need to find a new job altogether in this horrible economy? Will we ever be able to buy that house one day? Are we stuck in this little one bedroom apartment until Max ends up sleeping on the couch once he outgrows his little crib?

Jeremy seems far less concerned that I am. His simple solution for us is to play the ‘wait and see’ game. We’ll budget and reprioritize expenses. Maybe that won’t be a bad thing anyways. We’ve been meaning to really clean up our act.

Plus, I’ll have the chance to really cook dinners again. Something that I’ve been laxed on for quite some time now. I actually miss cooking dinner with Jeremy walking in the door from work and delightfully saying “Oh, something smells amazing!”

And, I’m really trying to see the one positive aspect that’s coming out of this: I get to spend more time with Max. Now that I’ve been back to work, not more than a month or so, I find myself missing him during the day. I’ll glance at one of his photos on my desk and I can’t help but smile at his overly adorable chubbiness and can’t wait to go home and grab him up in my arms.

That one inspiration is what’s holding me together through all this.

Jeremy reminded me, that we tend to get some really down times in our life…for a while, but always seem to find our next opportunity to thrive…for a while. We struggled when I wasn’t working after we got married and when I thought all was hopeless in finding a decent job, I lucked out on this eccentric, yet homey and family company (which is probably while I feel so hurt by it all). Jeremy went through hell working at Countrywide for years until he lucked out and found a great job doing something he’s so passionate about.

We’ll survive…we always do.

That doesn’t mean I can’t complain and worry in the meantime!

I only hope this shaky point for me now won’t last too terribly long until I stumble upon the next big thing.

Whatever that may be.

*Max had his four month doctor appointment yesterday. He’s a whopping 16 pounds! Doc said he’s above average in his growth and in his developmental skills (duh!) and is a healthy baby. Unfortunately, he had his second doses of immunizations and is recovering from their lousy effect. Jeremy was shaken up while Max screamed bloody murder. It’s a good thing I wasn’t there for his appointment…I would have followed Max’s suit….

Comic #3

2008-10-06T14:23:00.000-07:00

Baby Max knows a good idea when he sees one. Click to enlarge.

Thirteen years ago....

2008-10-03T08:32:00.000-07:00

October 3, 1995.

This is one very important day. Some may remember thirteen years ago, OJ Simpson was found not guilty. But, more importantly, it was the day that Jeremy and I officially became a couple.

Let’s reminisce, shall we?

It’s hard to believe that we were just kids in high school that happened to stumble upon each other, as if by kismet. Here I was, this shy new and somewhat terrified sophomore in a brand new school and somehow I managed to find the attention of this sophisticated, briefcase carrying senior. We had Theatre II class together, which automatically made us soul mates from the start: both of us being one of those dramatic, romantic nerds that are so stereotyped in movies.

The first day of school, we found ourselves at the entrance to the theatre (The MPR, to all of you MHS alumni). Jeremy stumbled on the steps, and I, on instinct, made some quick sarcastic remark and instantly Jeremy was hooked. A girl after his own heart. Perhaps we were drawn together like two moths to the lime-light, so to speak. Of course the weeks went on, and as most high schoolers do, we flirted and talked at every chance we could.

On October 3rd, 1995, during second period Pre-Algebra, I received a letter from the student office assistant. It was sealed in an envelope with my name written on it (spelled incorrectly I might add, something I teased him for years to come). Looking around the room, wondering if anyone was watching or even cared, I nonchalantly opened the letter as Mr. Ladner continued describing angles of triangles and such. I held my breath for a moment when I realized that it was a letter from Jeremy. Now, I won’t write verbatim what he wrote, as Jeremy has sworn that his letters be kept only between us for sentimental purposes. … but, I’ll paraphrase :)

“Dear Elly,

If you couldn’t tell by now, I really like you. But, I’m worried, because I don’t have any money to take you on a date, and my parents are pretty strict. But, I’d love to see how you feel about me.

Love,
Jeremy”

There was more too it, but you get the idea. Even though it wasn’t the fluffy love letter I was expecting, it was so enchanting and sweet that I read it about a dozen times before lunch period. We talked that day…..

…And from then, the weekly roses came.

…And from then the jewelry came.

…And way way way from then….a chunky adorable baby named Max.

High school sweethearts are something of a fable, as if they were hobbits or Jedi that died out ages ago. But, here we are. We have grown up together, watching and supporting each other turn into the people we are today, and we’re not sick of each other yet! We still hold hands just as we did when I was fifteen.

This day has always been one of the most important and sentimental days we share, almost more than our actual wedding anniversary. We’ve pledged to always celebrate and remember the day when two dorky kids stumbled upon each other.

*If I can find a picture of us from then, I’ll post it soon!*

Comic #2

2008-09-29T09:34:00.000-07:00

Isis, the cat, is obviously the Informer of the house. Click to enlarge.

Back to the grind updated w/ photos

2008-09-25T10:44:00.000-07:00

*Updated with photos!

After three months of 24-7 baby duty, I have returned back to the work force. Oddly enough, it wasn't as difficult of a transition as I thought it would be. A simple choking goodbye as I kissed Max and rubbed his soft little head and headed out the door.

Would he even notice I was gone? Would he cry for the eight some hours he'd be away from me? Would I cry for the eight some hours I'd be away from him?

In short, nope.

By the time I sat down to my desk, turned the computer on and re-situated the layout of objects that were moved about in my absence, I realized I wasn't reaching for the tissues. I did, however, quickly replace an old picture in a frame, with a family photo of the three of us on our first visit with Max to Disneyland from the week prior. I smiled at his chubby cheeks and gladly showed off the photo to colleague's that entered my office throughout the day asking about him, followed by a "welcome back!".

I noticed something within the short hours of being back at work. It wasn't the odd feeling of coming back to something that now almost felt foreign in my new role as a mother. It wasn't that I felt like in some ways, I really never left.

I noticed the silence.

And, honestly, it was so nice. It felt like a mini vacation.

With Max, you're constantly on. Always looking out for his needs without a moment to breath in between crying fits, feedings or changing. I was his personal servant day and night, running to his beckon call, even in the midst of a shower or doing some other task around the house. The day was a blur, and days were over before I even knew it.

And now, at work, I find the day drags. Although, I have the silence. I have the chance to regain a sense of a schedule. A chance to venture back into my mind that's been so occupied by a fluffy cloud that is Max.

And, most importantly, I have a chance to miss him. Something I never really had the opportunity to do. It was always something I would always puzzle over when Jeremy would mention missing him in passing when he called during the days I was at home taking care of the baby.

"You do mean Max, right? The one that's screaming in my ear at this very moment?"

I get it now.

Now, if circumstances were different and we were able to afford me staying home...?

I don't know.

With as 'high maintenance' Max is, I'm not sure I'd be able to without losing some, if not all of my sanity and individuality. I'm already finding myself making random noises to people I would normally do for Max, or standing in line and swaying as if I were holding him in my arms.

This transition reminds me of getting off a boat from sea, and the swaying you felt on the boat lingers a while on land.

It's a bit disorienting redefining roles and responsibilities.

On a double plus, Max is grabbing objects now and even starting to giggle, too! It's most amazing to watch the developmental progresses and milestones he's reaching. I look at him giggling and laugh myself in awe. How this chunky giggling baby was once just beginning to smile, and before that beginning to hold his head up, and way, way before that, was just a tiny blob on an ultrasound. Man, God is truly and utterly a marvelous artist.

Two lounge babies. Look how much bigger Isis is!

Max's first visit to Disneyland!

Yay, for hats!

Enough with the hats already!

Comic Strip?

2008-09-23T12:18:00.000-07:00

I've been playing around with a comic strip, as the creative beast within has been crying to be put to use from so much neglect. Although, the humor may get lost on some...or perhaps it wasn't even there in the first place. Not enough sleep makes for some odd ideas from this brain. We'll see how this goes. Click the image to magnify. I'd love to hear some feedback...good or bad. Mostly good though. I may just ignore the bad ones.

What about Max?

2008-08-27T19:01:00.000-07:00

…baby steps out the door…

…baby steps into the car….

…baby steps to the store….

Thank you Bill Murray for a frame of reference for my introduction.

So, I faced one of my biggest fears since discovering just how fussy a baby Max has been: Taking him out in public.

Now, I’ve been able to take him to my parents most days no problem. Although, not sure if driving the two miles door to door counts as ‘going out’. But, venturing out into the ‘real’ world has kept me hidden behind closed doors, barely seeing the light of day; a growing problem that was becoming all to comfortable. I knew I needed to at least try, if not for him, than for my own well being and sanity as a human. After all, I can’t stay a hermit for too long.

What was I so afraid of?

Well, the fact that he cries….a lot…. and he must be held at all times when he’s awake….oh and did I mention the high pitched, loud screeches? I was afraid of being stuck in the middle of some store with this hysterical child that would draw onlookers, eyeing me as some insensitive and horrible new mother that couldn’t console her own baby. Would they see the terror in my eyes? Would they find tears that would probably fall from embarrassment? Would they hear the desperate shh’s and coo’s I’d try to calm him with?

What a silly reason to hide. After all, many people take their babies out. I shouldn't be any different. Right?

Mission One: A visit to work.

I’ve been postponing visiting my work for weeks. I would get constant questioning of when I would bring Max in, and of course I would always reply with, “Maybe next week, he’s so fussy,”. I couldn’t use that line forever, and had to face the inevitable. That morning, after weeks of postponing, I planned ahead by giving Max a bath, making sure he was changed and fed and mostly sleepy before strapping him in to his car seat. I lugged him and his overly stuffed diaper bad to the car while letting out a sigh as I started the engine.

“Let’s do this,”.

As I stopped for gas on the way (my mistake), Max became hysterical. I capped the gas cap and quickly fled the station and headed for work, figuring that the car ride there would lull him to sleep. Fortunately, after a few miles he began to calm down, and to insure his sleep, I drove a few extra miles around the area, all the while I keeping my finger on my boss, Marty’s number just in case I had to abort the mission. A block away from work, I got out of the car and peaked in the back to make sure he was alright. He was.

Upon arrival, I was surprised to be greeted by so many waiting for little Max’s grand appearance. He got passed around, held, and cuddled by everyone. It was perfect, no major crying fit! By the end of the visit, Max was out like a light, and I was even able to catch a quick lunch with Marty to catch up. All in all, it went fantastic!

Mission Two: Going to Target

A few weeks passed since the successful trip to work, however, I was once again falling back into the comfort of home and the fear of stepping out of the house. I needed to push myself and attempt to take him shopping. I had a few things I needed at Target, so off with the car seat and diaper bag I went.

By the time I parked, he was asleep. An added bonus to this trip. I popped the trunk and began the struggle to get the massive stroller out. With the heat beating me from all directions from the mid day sun, I gave up on the stroller and remembered I could just place his car seat carrier in the store’s cart. Quite a ‘duh’ moment for me.

The two automatic doors slid open with a woosh, and I entered the store letting out another silent sigh of anticipation. Things were going smoothly, until I got too cocky and spent longer than I originally planned (I just had to wander in the baby clothes section). Max woke up. I see his big eyes staring up at me from his seat.

“Crap,” I thought.

I took a lap around the store, thinking that the vibrations of the wheels and cart would lull him back a sleep, just as the car ride did. And it worked! By the time I made one lap, he was more or less asleep, and I was able to quickly get through the check out, back into the car and on my way home, the ‘Safe Zone’, all without a scene. Mission accomplished!

Mission Three: The Grocery Store

I was on a role. Two trips out and all with success. I was facing this fear head on. The very next day from the Target trip, I ventured to the grocery store.

Now, perhaps, I was getting a little too sure of myself at this point.

I didn’t even make it ten minutes before Max woke up. And this time, the crying began. My heart began to race, as I clenched my teeth. I figured I’d try the ol’ lap around the store to calm him down, but by the middle of the frozen food section, there was no hope that he would fall asleep. Luckily I had a bottle prepared, and whipped it out to feed him strapped into his car seat in the grocery cart, right next to the frozen pizzas, tequitos and burritos.

A lady passed me by, and I wondered if she thought the things I originally feared. But, at that moment, I realized I didn’t care what she thought. I was taking care of my son, and with a couple ounces of formula in his stomach, which was enough to satisfy him for the moment, I gave up on the rest of my grocery list and quickly headed for the register.

Maybe I got a little too cocky with my new found strength, as I’m now sitting cozy once again on the comfy couch, hesitant to reach the door knob to the outside world.

Bob Wiley had it right…..baby steps to the door…..baby steps to the car….

Edited to add: Since the last unsuccessful store mission, Jeremy and I, together this time, ventured back to Target. Max woke up yet again half way through and began throwing a fit. We ended up carrying him the rest of the outing. Like I said, he’s more or less content if he’s held. However, it’s easier when you have someone else there to push the cart.

And no, he doesn’t like the Baby Bjorn or any other carrier. Max is just destined to keep us on our toes! Good thing he’s so adorable!

There is nothing for me but to love you...both

2008-08-06T11:47:00.000-07:00

This is the fifth night in a row that Max has actually slept through the entire night, at least seven hours. Thank God! It’s been glorious to get more than a couple hours of sleep straight. I feel like I can almost make it through the day without passing out from sheer exhaustion.

So, why is it 3:00 AM and I’m wide awake?

Perhaps it’s from all the recent vivid and absurd dreams that were pent up from weeks of no REM sleep. Maybe it was the extraordinary Chicken Tikka Masala from dinner. Or it could be the snoring in my ear that’s kept me awake, worrying that the noise will wake the baby up whose comfortably lying in his car seat, still strapped in from the car ride home.

Yesterday, August 5th, was our two year wedding anniversary. We celebrated by going to a little Indian restaurant, Akbar, in Pasadena. Fantastic cuisine, if you're interested.

Going out, just the two of us, is seldom since Max came along. We savored the couple of quiet hours alone in the restaurant, even if we were debating on substituting dinner for a nap.

The incredibly dark and dimly lit little nook, the warmth of the spices and the soft exotic music floating in the air made for an intoxicating atmosphere. Add to that the sweet Riesling I sipped made me drift away from the day. I gazed out the window we sat next to, and sleepily watched the blur of strangers walking by, some stealing a glance in at us with curiosity.

It was wonderful to have adult conversation with my husband. It's far and few that we get a chance anymore. Jeremy’s been working so hard, that even at home he’s catching up on work before the day’s done. And me, I’m on 24-7 baby duty, so it seems.

It’s nice to get a break now.

We talked about his work, and how he’s entering into his externship and shortly stepping into his new role at the center. The modest pay raise is welcoming as any little bit helps.

We reminisced on our wedding day, and how stressful things were. How it was intensely hot days before the Big Day and how I prayed that it would just rain. How relaxing our honeymoon was, even though Jeremy's wedding band was lost to the churning seas of the Black Sand Beach on Maui. It all seems like such a distant memory in time now.

And, of course, we talked about Max. We complained with frustration of his fussy and colicky moments throughout the day (albeit, lesser day by day). We sighed with joy about how adorable he really is and how amazing it is to see him smile back at us. And of course we still debated on who he really looks like (Jeremy mostly). Thoughts of who he will become six months, a year, thirteen years from now became a pondering anticipation.

“We should get back,” Jeremy finally said, since the check was already paid and the container of leftovers were getting cold.

“Do we have to?” I half jokingly said, cradling my glass of a few warm drops of wine that remained.

The drive home was sleepy. I fingered through songs on the iPod until I came across our wedding dance song from the list; Tony Bennet’s version of ‘Just The Way You Look Tonight’. I hit Play and Jeremy took my hand in his and we listened silently to the song. Gazing out the window, the twinkling city lights blurred passed us on the freeway home.

For a moment, I remembered and savored what it was like to just be a couple. I think Jeremy did too, as he missed the off ramp that would have lead us to my parents where Max was. Instead, as if on autopilot, he got off at the next exit that would lead us home.

This new life of ours seems foreign and yet comfortable just the same, as if Max has always been with us. Perhaps there was always a spot for him in our lives to fill and we just never realized it until now. It’s not a bad place to be. Really.

Max finally woke up 6:00AM.

Parenting 101

2008-07-31T23:32:00.000-07:00

It's amazing to think it's been over a month since Max was born. In some ways it feels like an eternity, losing myself in all attempts to meet every need to this chunky, fussy, squirmy child. I think he's looking more and more like Jeremy. although Jeremy will tell you he has my temperament (don't read too much into that). Well, at least the kiddo is adorable, when not bright red and screaming, so no need to return and exchange him.

The warranty expired.....I checked.

Things I’ve learned so far in a mere six weeks of parenthood:

Poopy diapers aren’t really that bad…until the poop is projected, squished or oozed onto you.
Never rely on the job of a burpie cloth….inevitably spit up will get all over not only the baby but you as well. Don't get too attached to that cute onsesie you just put him in a few minutes ago.
If you love your clothes, change them to something else....or just go without (see #2).
When (and if) you get a chance to eat, eat as fast as you can. If you don’t you may not get to eat for quite a while.
Just because the baby fell asleep doesn’t mean he’ll stay asleep. Especially if moved from out your arms or off your chest.
Realize you will perform modern interpretive dance movements of walking, pacing and bouncing the baby around the house for hours at a time. It’s just a fact.
Never in your life will you experience back and arm pain as when you have a baby (see #5 an #6).
You will be held hostage (as our good friend, Melody, coined it with their four month old girl) in your own house. Getting up to use the restroom is a privilege, so use that time wisely.
Try to take a shower every day, even if it’s for a few minutes. You’ll feel human again.
It’s ok to spend every day in your pj’s. Elastic waist bands and cartoon graphic t-shirts are highly underrated.
Savor the smiles they give you, because in two seconds those tender lips will spew screams and screeches that frighten the pets.
The house will be a mess. And that’s ok. Just try to do dishes before mold grows and try to feed the cat every now and then.
No matter how many pacifiers you have strewn about, there will never be one when you need one.
You wont care what silly facial expressions or noises you make to get a smile from your baby.

The many faces of Max (please excuse the fuzzy photos...he's so quick with our little point and click).

Max the Magnificant; Part Two

2008-07-23T02:34:00.000-07:00

Or, more correctly, Max the Melodramatic

I knew going into all this that it would be difficult. I didn’t realize just how difficult it would be. Notice that it has taken me over a month to attempt to write the next segment to this exciting adventure.

Patience and calmness has always been a few of my strengths. Or, at least externally to the public eye they are. Being half Greek, I still do tend to become slightly overwhelmed and emotional. But, never in my life till now has the patience and the emotional roller coaster collided.

Bringing Max home was surprisingly easy, despite the incredible heat wave Southern California was facing, and the following week was remarkably enjoyable. Max slept all the time, especially in someone’s arms or on someone’s chest, for hours at a time. And even through multiple feedings in the middle of the night and far fewer hours of sleep than we were accustomed to, we were excited to find that we had an ‘easy’ baby to look forward to.

Boy, were we the obvious and clueless first time parents. No one told us that the first week is a freebie.

Our sleepy, content baby boy had now become our worst nightmare. Max had become a colicky and inconsolable baby. Very quickly, our joy of jumping into parenthood was drowned out by the piercing and endless hours upon hours of cries from of our bundle of joy. Our patience dwindled faster than the diapers and bottles he went through on any given day.

I knew the first couple of months were supposed to be challenging, but finding myself drained of all strength, emotions and sanity was almost unbearable. Time lost all meaning to me and the days became a dizzy and muddled concept.

It’s heartrenching to see your child cry until he becomes hoarse, waling as his face turns bright red, and his arms and legs flail about. And even worse, I started to feel like a failure. I’d find myself rocking this crying, squirming infant, while I myself cried along with him. The ‘baby blues’ had kicked in.

He’d gurgle and choke on our attempts to comfort him with food, as he cried through glassy eyes. Pacifiers would ease the distress, but would eventually fall out, bringing back the trembling lips. Diaper and clothes changes would be a gamble. If the cards were in our favor, a quick and painless procedure. If our luck ran out, he’d simply lie on the table, half naked, kicking his feet, making it almost impossible to put a new diaper and onesie on.

One after another of futile attempts would not calm this child down. The swaddling, swaying and shushing method, or my own “jello head” method, were one of the only methods that could calm this baby down, but even then, when he was really in his desperate need, not even they would work.

The next few weeks were a very difficult and hard time to face. I would cringe every moment he’d wake up fussy from his short time of sleep. I wasn’t getting any consistent sleep myself and quickly my energy was gone. I became a zombie, rocking him or feeding him, attempting to tune out the noise and the grief. Even the far and few moments of his calm and awake times had become nothing to motivate me. Those reflexive pseudo smiles when he dosed off no longer made my hear heart melt with that amazing happiness and joy it once did.

I wasn’t enjoying my son. Disappointment, and even fleeting moments of regret, had fallen upon me. The life I knew, and the life we’d hope to make, dissolved. I was surprised and relieved to find that Jeremy was facing similar feelings. At least I wasn’t alone in my madness.

No one ever admits to these feelings as parents. Usually, they’ll just tell you this is all normal and it’ll get better. But, when you’re in the moment, those words fall on deaf ears. When time no longer exists, it’s meaningless to look for the magic date that will make things ok.

But, I've found that other first time parents have faced these troubled feelings to some degree or another. Perhaps they don’t share the darker side of parenting so they don’t discourage other new parents. Perhaps it’s a weakness they're not willing to acknowledge or say. After all, we all want to be Super Mom and Super Dad...right?

I don’t care to become Super Mom, but I don't want to see myself as a failure to my son either. Simply acknowledging my weaknesses, and even knowing that Jeremy was facing the same, suddenly made me feel better, as if all these anxious pent up thoughts and feelings were somehow normalized.

Amidst my own struggles and shere exhaustion, I started to force myself to keep going. To keep rocking, swaying, holding him until my arms gave out, whatever my child needed. I didn’t want to be one of those parents who simply gave up to go hide in a dark corner (even though I want to desperately).

Suddenly, the veil was lifted, and I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I didn’t know when this end was, but I knew it was there waiting for me.

The exhaustion is still bogging my body down, and my brain’s consciousness is only so-so (considering it's almost 3am and I have no clue if this entry is even remotely comprehendable), but I love my son tremendously, and would not trade this time for the world. He’s already growing so fast and I know that I’ll one day look back on this time and be blinded by the hardships and struggles existing right now, only to gaze back in dreamy thoughts that this wonderful little child enriched our lives and blessed our souls.

I’m savoring the moments of him now, when he’s finally sleeping all snuggled on my chest….the smell of his head….the feel of his soft chubby skin….

I hear that their first real smiles appear about this time…..I’m mending my heart now, because I know it will simply burst when I see it.

Introducing Max the Magnificent; Part 1

2008-06-25T17:54:00.000-07:00

We have officially entered into the realm of parenthood. Grab the burpie cloth and shield yourself from the “automatic sprinkler”…..because this is going to be one heck of an adventure!

It was Tuesday the 17th, and time for our 39 week prenatal appointment. Riding the elevator, we found another pregnant couple beside us. The girl rested her head on her husband’s shoulders and I found an expression of discomfort spreading over her face. On closer inspection, the husband was carrying an over night bag. They were on their way to have their child.

Upon arriving to the 3rd floor of the hospital, you come to a fork in the hall; to the left are the doctor’s offices, to the right, Labor and Delivery. We always turn left. The laboring couple turned right. I silently wished them well in my thoughts, as I watched them quickly disappear around the hall following the flying storks adoring the walls.

“Just think, we’ll be turning down that hall like them soon,” I said to Jeremy.

I never would have thought those word would be more true.

The doctor performed a membrane sweeping, a routine procedure at this time in pregnancy. She mentioned that it may speed up labor, it may not. Now, since this was my first pregnancy, I expected to go past the due date, no matter how hard I hoped the baby would come early, so I half expected it to work. And, I also expected when I actually did go into labor, for labor to last over 10 hours or more.

Boy was I wrong on both assumptions.

By that afternoon, I began feeling what I assumed to be contractions, although I had no clue if that was actually what I was experiencing, as they weren’t all that painful, just kinda crampy. I began to time them, which were roughly 10 minutes apart, but nothing very consistent. I shrugged it off.

By that evening, Jeremy and I went to grab some quick dinner, since we were still shopping around for cars and were going to test drive later that night. But, while at dinner, the so called contractions were coming more frequent and becoming a little more uncomfortable. Jeremy began timing them. 5 to 7 minutes apart. Jeremy couldn’t finish his dinner. Although he remained calm, I could tell the realization that this was it, was drastically settling upon him.

We headed home and decided to get everything ready to go to the hospital. And, of course, the paranoid person I am, asked that he do some quick cleaning around the house. After all, if this was it, I didn’t want to come home from the hospital to a disarrayed home! Reluctantly, Jeremy quickly straightened up and got everything ready to go, grabbing cell phone chargers, overnight bags, a little personal hand held fan (which saved my life that night) and the camera. We were on our way.

We reached the hospital around 10pm, just in time for me to lose my dinner in the parking lot. That was fun. The contractions were starting to get fairly painful, and we moved more quickly, only to pass another laboring couple walking around outside.

“Good luck,” the husband said to us in passing, as he supported his struggling wife.

Boy, was it that obvious I was in labor? I still was in half disbelief that this was truly it.

The next few hours were a blur. The contractions were becoming very painful, and upon admittance I was already 4cm. They asked if I wanted any drugs or an epidural.

“YES, please,” I replied.

They hook up an i.v. and the sedatives they admitted kicked it within seconds. My eyes felt heavy and next thing I knew, I entered into either sleep or unconsciousness (which I have no clue), only to awaken in a surreal fog for each excruciating contraction.

Three hours pass of this, and the three bags of i.v. fluids needed prior to the epidural were fully pumped in me and the epidural cart finally entered the room. But, before they administered it, they tell me to roll over to my side as my blood pressure was dropping and the baby’s heart rate was dropping. I do so, clenching on the rails of the bed through yet another insane contraction.

“I feel like I need to push,” I panted.

So, they check me out.

“You’re 10cm, you’re ready……no time for an epidural now,” the nurse replied.

“What?! No!” I cried. I completely freaked out. I was so terrified of the pain that I broke down in a panic. Both Jeremy and the nurse became stern, as they recognized my impending break down and forcefully told me to “stop it!” and “focus and breath”. In my painful fog, I almost felt offended. After all, shouldn’t they be on my side and comfort me?

It was a good thing they did. Three very quick and painful pushes later, Max Orion was born at 1:05am, weighing in at 7.5 pounds and 19 inches. Even being a slight shade of blue in the beginning, he passed all his scores. Ten fingers, ten toes and cried like there was no tomorrow on the warming table.

Only a mere couple months ago, I predicted he’d be born on this date. Something about a Full Moon, if I recall. Did I call it or what?

The rest of the night was a dreamy blur. The sedatives were still circulating my tired and worn body, but I held my baby and it felt wonderful. First thought was that he looked just like Jeremy. My eyes were heavy still, and with each labored blink to stay awake, family appeared. I recall telling everyone as we entered the recovery room that Jeremy was to hold him first before family ravaged him.

It was amazing and incredibly emotional to watch the look on Jeremy’s face when he held him.

Yeah, that was all worth it.

Things are never simple

2008-06-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

It’s a week from the due date. Everything we need has been purchased, assembled, washed and tucked away in cubby holes, baskets and drawers. The apartment is more or less straightened up. The hospital bag is packed and waiting to be grabbed at the last minute. Everything is great and ready to go…..

...Almost….

Just when we think life is pretty good and exciting, it get’s even more ‘exciting’.

Jeremy’s beloved car has basically turned into a pile of metal scrap. Just this last week the engine light turned on while a clicking nose began. After taking it to the dealer, they gave him the sad news that there was a major issue with the engine and the parts and labor would cost close to $10,000…..more than the car is even worth.

This was not the news we wanted to hear days before our impending bundle of joy enters the world. This really hit Jeremy hard. This car was his pride and joy, a piece of machinery he worked hard to get and loved to drive over the years. This was going to be our ‘family car’ and we looked forward to many more years of its use.

Not anymore.

I really have to look at this as just one of those things that unfortunately happens in life (although Jeremy’s having a harder time coming to that point of view). I think what makes it difficult, is not only that we had both cars paid off for and didn’t have to worry about another expense, but the fact that the timing is unbelievable. We shouldn’t be stressing about finding a new car when we should be getting excited about the baby coming.

Needless to say, the excitement and happiness of baby has been undercut by worry and stress in this household.

What’s funny is, I’m usually the pessimist when it comes to life in general, but in this situation, I feel like I’ve stepped into the optimistic role. Perhaps it’s simply not to set my worry and stress gears into overdrive like I normally do (although, if that speeds up labor…). God has blessed us with so much in our lives, and I think we need to focus back on that. Our theme since high school has always been His timing for everything in our lives, and this is just one of those things we need to remember that we will get through and overcome. Focus on the solution and not dwell on the negative. Easier said than done, as always.

So, here we are, quickly researching and test driving new cars, in crazy summer heat, and me ready to pop. I loved watching all the sales people's reaction when they asked when I was due. You’d be glad to know I didn’t complain about waddling in the heat and maneuvering in and out of endless cars…..too much.

We’ve narrowed it down to a couple of cars, so hopefully in the next day or so, we’ll have a new car to welcome the baby in. What a spoiled baby this kid will be!

Gotta love how life keeps you on your toes!

What birth plan?

2008-06-09T16:21:00.000-07:00

As I gave my last farewell embrace, I drove away from my job Friday afternoon with a bitter sweet lump in my throat. Yes, I know I’ll be back in a mere few months, but I couldn’t help but feel just a little sad for leaving the people I see and work closely with on a daily basis. Blame it on the incremental hormones…..

But, on the other hand…..waking up today, Monday morning, without the alarm ringing in my ear, was a breath of fresh air. I think I’ll do just fine.

Unfortunately, I’ve come down with a cold. And summer colds are the worst. Don’t even mind being nine month pregnant on top of it. Needless to say, it’s been a pretty lousy start to my so called ‘vacation’.

So, what does a sicky do all day? Watch horrific day time TV, in between taking naps with the cat, of course.

While lounging I subconsciously turned to TLC, which happened to have a few episodes of Baby Story, a show where a couple is video taped before, during and after the birth of their child.

Now, is this really smart for me to be watching right now? Only a mere couple weeks away from my own due date (but crossing fingers for sooner)?

Watching these happy and casual woman nonchalantly nudge their sleeping husbands awake to rush to the hospital, only to transform into a scary, growling in pain creature, with a camera documenting every point of view (literally).

One lady in particular had a rough time, laboring for hours upon hours. She uncomfortably walked up and down the hospital halls and crawled in and out of the birthing bath. After hours, she finally gave birth to a baby girl, right there in the bath. A tummy churning, yet amazing thing to watch on this show. Although, I don’t think Jeremy so much liked bringing his eyes from his laptop just in time to watch that birth.

All the books and all the research online says to create a birthing plan. I know some women are adamant about how they want their labor experience to go: Drugs or no drugs, just their husband or the entire family to watch, candles, music, shadow puppets, contemporary interpretive dance….. the list can be anything.

Now ask me if I’ve made a birth plan.

Nope.

My idea is this: It’s not about this ‘romanticized’ idea of how I want my birthing experience to be. It’s not going to be this glorious time in my life. It’s probalby going to be one of the most difficult times in my life. But, it’s not about me. It’s about whatever is needed to produce a healthy baby in the end. That’s all that matters.

That said, I can hope for an easy labor, but I’m not closing my eyes to the very real idea that it’s going to be insane. I’m keeping an open mind. If I need drugs and the epidural, bring ‘em on! If I end up needing a c-section, that’s ok too. I don’t pass up the novocaine, simply because I want to experience the joy of my wisdom teeth pulled out.

All of these things are not going to rob me the experience of having a baby.

As someone told me once, you don’t get an award for being super labor mom. Because in the end….who cares? If in the end, someone is sad or upset that labor didn’t go the way they planned, then they’re missing the whole point of why that little baby is in their arms in the first place.

Now, all that being said, do you think the hospital would mind if I just took a shot or two of tequila during the labor?

Expectant Mothers parking spaces

2008-05-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

After reading this week’s blog entry about parking spaces from my friend, Nev, I got to thinking about Expectant Mother’s spaces. I’m not sure how long these special spaces have been around, and I doubt many places actually have them from what I’ve seen, but darn it, I want to park in this space!

I remember spotting one years ago and thinking how silly they were. Pregnant women aren’t incapable of walking! Why should they be privileged enough to get an upfront luxury spot?

Oh, how naïve I was.

Now being what, eight, eight and a half months pregnant, I now see the need for these precious spaces. I drive in circles in a crowded lot hoping to find this special space, only to find that they don’t exist or that there is only one space available, to which of course someone else has already taken. And, here I’m left parking at the far end of the lot, taking a deep breath before I cross the Sahara of parking lots, to eventually find my oasis at the other end. I’m glad I always carry a bottle of water with me. Just call me Lawrence.

Which makes me think; is this person who parked in this valued space, really pregnant? There’s no need for a special ‘pregnancy’ sticker to dangle from the mirror, so who’s to say just anyone can park there? Also, at what point in pregnancy is it ok to park in this space? I think I would feel guilty to park there if I were only a couple months pregnant. Which brings me back to who exactly is parking here? A woman can easily get away with parking in this space, whether or not she is pregnant. Because, who dares to ask a woman if she’s pregnant, right? A very stupid and idiotic one, that’s who.

But, to those ‘non pregnant’ stealers of this space, I tell you this:

It's so not fair for those of us who are waddling their way around, barely being able to walk from the added 25-30 pounds and the excruciating pain of slowly parting pelvic bones and ligaments as if a horse kicked you in the crotch. And, let’s not talk about the recent heat wave here in Southern California that will melt a pregnant woman in her crazy swollen feet’s tracks (what are ankles again?). Or, how about when the baby suddenly decides to pop a squat on your bladder, making you not think twice about finding a nearby bush?

These are just a few of the ‘joys’ on this girl’s complaint list (this is the one time I’m entitled to complain without consequences, so I’m eating it up for whatever sympathy it’s worth!).

Baby, I know you’re comfortable in there, but if you’d like to come out early……please, feel free! I won’t take it personally, honest!

This last weekend, we marked an item on our ‘to-do’ list, and relaxed as we went away for the weekend. On our few outings out where we needed to park, of course there wasn’t any Expectant Mother’s space to be found. So, instead of Jeremy listening to me moan and complain about how far away we’ve parked (he’ll demonstrate to you a great mocking version of me if you ask him), we bypassed the pain and annoyance and simply used valet. A girl could get used to this!

I’m still waiting to park in my EM space…..

Countdown begins....

2008-05-14T10:56:00.000-07:00

The crib is set up, complete with jungle animal themed mobile, bumper and blanket. The dresser is filled to the brim with neatly folded baby clothes organized from sizes newborn all the way up to nine months. The bouncer, swing, stroller and car seat are still in their boxes, but are rapidly approaching the point of being opened and assembled, and the ten stacks of diapers are primed for use along with the wipes and Butt Paste.

I’m constantly getting asked, “Are you ready? Are you excited?” To which I usually respond, “Mostly….yes….I think so…I hope so…”. I must have an expression of sheer exhaustion or terror, because I usually get a response back telling me, “It’s only going to get worse…”.

As if it wasn’t true already, the weight of the reality of this birth is finally bearing down on me. I’m beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by it all. I’ll find myself thinking about the magnitude of emanate change and get a slight wave of anxiety surge through me.

Just the other day, as Jeremy and I were lounging on the couch watching some tv program, I realized that these quiet and relaxing moments will, if not be gone completely, be very far and few. Our life as an independent couple with no responsibilities, who can go out on a whim or do nothing at all, will completely be changed forever. We will be parents.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m completely excited that this little boy will be here next month. Plus, I’m so done with being pregnant. However, the new and transformed portrait of our lives at that point is very surreal. It’s as if I were staring at one of those 3D photos (remember those?) and finally blur my eyes enough to see the hidden image. It’s a mix of excitement, fear, and awe of suddenly seeing your future in a completely new view. We've been a couple for so long (13 years), it's just strange to imagine our lives as three.....

Another moment I experienced that this is all coming to a reality very quickly, was at our latest prenatal appointment this week. The doctor mentioned that they consider the baby to be Full Term at 36 weeks, and if labor started by then, they wouldn’t stop it. I am currently 34 weeks. That’s only a couple weeks away.

Yet again, a moment of panic and excitement rolled over me.

Of course, these are rough estimates of when a first baby comes. And, from my research and constant asking of women, I’ve gotten about 50/50 on whether they come early or late. But, there’s nothing to say he won’t come early. And the mere fact that the hospital will go ahead with labor if started that early is throwing me into overdrive.

Let the nesting stage begin.

We may have all the big items, but now little things are coming to mind, and I quickly grab pen to paper to jot down essential items and to-do’s. My last day at work is June 6th, a mere three weeks away. Although, I’m frantically attempting to get things done before I leave, I’m completely relieved that I’ll get those couple weeks off before the due date (of course, that’s if the baby comes on time) to get some of these items accomplished (with the help of Jeremy of course).

1. Pack hospital bag.
2. Get car seat ready.
3. Wash all the baby clothes, sheets and blankets.
4. Buy baby approved laundry detergent.
5. Get the carpets and couch cleaned.
6. Clean the apartment like there was no tomorrow.
7. Put collection of replica swords away.
8. Fill out all FMLA and SDI paperwork.
9. Make sure cat has soft paws on at all times prior to delivery.
10. Find time to relax and sleep before we can’t

Oh, I suppose I should add another item: Name this child!

So, to get #10 off the list, we’re planning on spending this weekend down in Anaheim for a relaxing ‘babymoon’ as they like the call it: Lounging around the pool at a nice hotel while sipping on ‘mocktales’, catching a movie, maybe the new Narnia film, and then spending some time at Disneyland eating churros and Dolewhips. Sounds like my kind of weekend. And, since it may be our last of this kind of weekend as ‘a couple’ for a while, we’re going to make the most of it.

Hey, why not, right?

I'd like to breathe now

2008-04-29T11:46:00.000-07:00

So, one of the lovely side effects that some pregnant women can get is a constant stuffy nose: Rhinitis of Pregnancy. Supposedly, since there’s an increase in blood supply and estrogen, the mucous membranes and blood vessels in the nose tend to swell. Isn’t that lovely?

Practically since day one of this pregnancy, I’ve felt like I’ve never been able to breathe well. Usually one side would plug up and I find myself attempting to take deep breaths just to get my lungs full. I go through a box of tissues at work at least every couple weeks (good thing they have a huge supply for me). And, I think I’ve been using most of the toilet paper at home for my nose (why we don’t just buy tissues, I don’t know). The repetitive sniffing gets really annoying.

So, a last ditch effort in my attempt to breathe was to buy a Neti pot I’ve heard so much about. A Neti pot basically looks like a small ceramic tea pot with a long narrow spout. You fill it with lukewarm water and some salt, and here’s the kicker: You place the end of the spout in one of your nostrils, tilt your head and let the water flow from one nostril through your nasal passage way, and drain out the other nostril. Sounds like fun, right?

Wrong.

For those who know me, I’m not a fantastic swimmer. In fact, I can’t go under water without holding my nose. Yes, seriously. So, the concept of purposely forcing water into my nose was a frightful thought. But, I was desperate to breathe, so I figured I’d summon the courage to try this very old custom of clearing your sinuses.

When I brought the thing home, I carefully read the instructions. Pretty basic how-to, but what I found most amusing was a picture of a lady with her head tilted, this pot stuck up her nose and liquid pouring out her nostril….all with a pleasant smile and an almost drugged look on her face.
Wow, this must be great stuff. I microwaved some bottled water, because there was no way I was pouring our horrible tap water up my nose. But, of course I microwaved it too hot, so I had to let it sit a while to cool off.

In the meantime, I decided to go to their website for more information on this ancient tradition. I found a how-to video. Oh, I had to see this. Here again was a lady, sticking the pot to her nose, tilting her head and seconds later, the water came pouring out the other side, with that same plastered comatose smile still on her face. Something about this process disturbed me a little.

After I read and watched all I could from ‘happy water nose lady’, I stuck my pinky in the water finding it suitable for nose draining (or at least what I assumed was suitable), and I measured out the salt and swirled it in.

I stood at the bathroom sink. I stared down at the pot, then stared up at myself in the mirror, then back down at the pot. You can do this, Elly.

I tilted my head at the appropriate angle the instructions gave, stuck the spout into my nose, opened my mouth like they said, and slowly….very slowly tilted the pot.

The water flowed in….but never flowed out the other side. The pressure started to hurt and I began to panic as I quickly took pot out and snorted and coughed the salty water out.

Wonderful.

So I read the instructions again and found that you have to find the right position and tilt of your head in order for the water to freely pass.

Fine. Let’s do this.

Again, I stick the thing in my nose and tilt my head…further….further….left….down…further left…….

Nothing!

The water began to pour down my throat, and I immediately snorted and coughed again, spewing salty water from every hole in my head. Even my eyes teared up, although more from the shear shock and trauma from it all. I definitely didn’t look as pretty and graceful as ‘happy water nose lady’.

I didn’t spend $20 on this stupid thing to give up now! I’ll try one last time. I took a deep breath, then slowly poured it again.

At last the salty water began streaming out my left nostril! And boy did it burn! The instructions say you can use the entire pot for one nostril or half. I chose half. I tilted the pot higher, just to make it pour out faster. The deed was done. The instructions now said to do it on the other nostril. Great.

For some reason, the left side worked on the first try no problem, so I gladly finished off the pot. The instructions also recommended blowing your nose after the procedure to clear out any salty mucousy debris left (my words, not theirs). I was happy to oblige for that step. I think I went through half a roll of toilet paper, unlike ‘happy water nose lady’ who delicately dabbed her nose.

But, with all the suffering, I was so proud of myself. I was brave and actually shoved water up my nose. And did it work?

Nope.

I was still stuffy, but now my nose burned and it felt like I just drowned out at sea. I’m sure this is something one should do every day or so to really make it work.

Ha!

The pot is now sitting on the shelf in our bathroom, collecting dust. Anyone want a slightly used Neti pot? :)

Late Spring Moon

2008-04-22T09:33:00.000-07:00

I see the Moon,
And the Moon sees me.
God bless the Moon,
And God bless me.

It’s been referred to by many names, including the famous Blue Moon and Pizza Pie. You probably noticed in the last couple of nights, that big illuminated sphere in the cool evening sky, floating just over the houses and peaking through the tops of trees.

There was a full moon on April 20th, and fortunately if you missed that night, the fullness can be enjoyed over the following nights. Scientifically speaking, about once a month, it’s when the moon is directly opposite of the Sun, finding Earth sandwiched in the middle. The moon get’s full glory of the Sun’s rays and we are lucky enough to enjoy this nighttime spectacular.

More importantly to this monthly lunar phenomena, are the associated effects this powerful moon has on the world. Of course, it’s a time where humans become wolves and vampires, the crazies come out to play, but it’s also a time the mighty moon’s forces pull and tug at the ocean.

It’s as if the ocean and moon were star crossed lovers that fell into a fate of constant revolving around each other without ever truly embracing. In this once a month chance, the moon yearns for the raging water, pulling with all his might the intangible liquid, only to pass her by with a roar that is silenced by the rising sun and captured in a salty shell tossed in the waves: a haunting and echoing reminder of their unattainable love. No wonder the Moon’s light glitters a sad dance on the dark water each night. How poetic and somber.

With this tug and pull of gravitation, although not scientifically proven, there have been rumors that a Full Moon affects pregnancy. Much like the pulls of the ocean, the amniotic fluids have a similar effect. There is usually a rise in strange pressure feelings for a pregnant woman, and often this is a popular time for women to go into, if not labor, then false labor.

Of course, this is all theory and nothing is quite proven, but supposedly hospitals attempt to increase their on call staff in just this kind of situation.

I have to admit, the last couple of days, I myself have been feeling the Moon’s effect: pressure and simply a strange fullness feeling for the last couple of days. I didn’t think anything of it until the association with the Full Moon was brought up. I’m usually a skeptic when it comes to most things in life, but pregnancy has definitely widened my eyes to anything out of the box of normality. Nothing surprises me anymore.

In checking with the lunar calendar, the next Full Moon in June is the 18th, about a week earlier than the estimated due date for the baby. Scientists and farmers have already named this Full Moon, the Late Spring Moon.

So, who knows? Maybe there is some truth behind the longing emotions of the Moon. If this baby is anywhere near as romanticized as I am with it all, perhaps he’ll actually see that Moon….in person.

*Edited to add* I just discovered that one of the alternate birthstones for June is the Moonstone. Coincidence? How beautiful is that stone?!

Now playing in 3D....

2008-04-21T09:29:00.000-07:00

So, my previous theory of my “alien baby” has proven me wrong. We are indeed having a human baby as proof from the 3D ultrasound we had over the weekend. Unfortunately, he was sleeping the entire session and had his arms mostly covering his face. Ironically, his arms were in the same position as mine were as I laid there during the ultrasound. Ah, like mother, like son.

I was hoping we’d have an epiphany moment for a name. I figured, we’d see his face (or as good as the 3D representation was) and say, “Ahhhh, he looks like a ……”. But, alas, nothing inspirational came to mind. I think we were more in awe of the technology to actually see our baby in more or less real form.

At first glance, I immediately thought he looked like Jeremy. But then certain shots, I thought he looked more like me. Jeremy came to that same uncertain conclusion. As far as our parents thoughts on who the baby looked like: mine said me, his said Jeremy. Of course.

Oh, and this time the cheesy background music was Enya, so slightly better and less nauseating than the last session.

So, I proudly present to you, now in 3D….the one, the only……our alien ba, er….our baby boy!

In the womb, no one can hear you scream

2008-04-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

I have a feeling I fell asleep somewhere next to a patch of extra-terrestrial eggs while one was hatching. Out popped a ‘face sucker’ which adhered itself to my face.

I swear, I have an alien living in me, and soon it’ll burst from my stomach and run ramped around the city, leaving me searching for some Pepto Bismo (my Space Ball friends will appreciate that reference). Where’s Ripley when you need her?

This baby is definitely making himself known as he’s becoming more potent in his movements. The fact that I can actually feel that there’s a living human being growing and twisting inside me is very surreal….

…and it’s freaking me out a little, too.

I don’t get these psychological crazed moments that often, but when I do, I fall into a minor panic attack, similar to when I run into a disgusting spider. My heart races, my breathing heavy and I get the creep vibe shiver all over my skin. The thing with spiders, though, is that I can run away from them, yelping like the pathetic girl that I am. With this baby, there’s nowhere to run.

Yes, yes, I know it’s a miraculous part of life, God’s intricate fingers at work, beautiful life growing…yada, yada, yada. I hope there are other women who can admit to feeling like this. In retrospect to my other discussion about having a bonding relationship already, I still can’t fully grasp the concept. Perhaps this is another reason why I’ve distanced myself from this baby squirming within. It’s still weird to think that there’s this symbiotic being and there’s nothing I can do about it but watch the thumping and twitches of my belly. At least Jeremy gets a kick out of it (sometimes literally).

Of course, the times when the baby’s not practicing Kung Fu, I begin to worry. “He hasn’t moved for a while….do you think something’s wrong?” paranoid I ask Jeremy.

And, moments later as if this baby heard the cue, begins playing my ribs like a xylophone. Hopefully he won’t hit the ‘booby trapped’ note (my Looney Tunes friends will appreciate that reference).

“Alright,” I already demand the baby as I get slightly annoyed with the constant movement, “Enough already, I get it!”

I know there are a lot of women out there that just love being pregnant. Let’s just say, these wild movements and feelings are one thing I really don’t think I’ll miss after June.

My poor little alien baby.

Yay! Happy Birthday to me!

2008-04-15T14:40:00.000-07:00

I never thought at age 28, I would be at this stage in my life. Honestly, I never looked that far ahead. My idea of when I’d do something life altering was “when I got older”. I guess I’m finally “older”. Man, it feels strange. I look back ten years ago and thought it strange when my older sister, Clea, got married at 26 and had her first kid at 28 (ironically, I’m following her same timeline) and thought, “wow, that’s such an adult thing to do”. And here I am, in that very same boat on life’s crazy path down the river. I didn’t even see this chapter coming around the bend, just past the wedding reception.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m very happy with where we are. Great jobs (for once), no huge debts hanging over our heads, and a baby just a couple months away. I’m just amazed it took us this long to get to this point.

That’s the only thing I’m regretting: is that we didn’t start this path sooner. I know I’m still fairly young in the grand scheme of things, but when I see couples who got married and started a family much earlier, I wish we made that same decision. Some couples feel they started too early, saying that they feel they missed out on their ‘younger years of having fun’. Others found it great, saying they had enough physical and mental energy for the kids growing up, and look forward to when the kids are out of the house (presumably). That couple is still young enough to enjoy life and get back to being a ‘couple’.

I have no worries that our ‘coupleness’ will be neglected. Altered, but not neglected. We’ve made it clear how important it is to be not only a family, but retain our couple relationship. Far too often, couples become ‘child centered’ and their entire world revolves around the children. Now, placing the kids first IS very important and one of the priorities in raising a family. But, if that causes the couple’s relationship to falter, then that’s when it becomes a detrimental thing.

I suppose adding another ring on this ‘ol tree isn’t all that bad. I’m still not quite feeling my age (as I mentioned once before about feeling ‘ageless’), but I’m definitely feeling older. Being 30 weeks pregnant doesn’t help matters, what with the constant aches and pains and the inability to get up off a cushy couch without the help of Jeremy. So, it’s all mostly a good thing. Jeremy’s usually the one complaining about how old he feels, and I tease him how that ‘30’ mark is just months away for him. Not entirely fair, but I’m sure my time will come…“when I get older”.

So, in the mean time, I’m going to enjoy my slice of Chocolate Chip Cake that my wonderful boss, Marty, gave me, while ignoring the teasing comment that he added of how I look a year older.

Cheers!

GooGoo for babies

2008-04-11T09:02:00.000-07:00

I had a conversation the other day with Jeremy about the intimacy a mother has with her unborn child. He was genuinely interested as he had no clue being a male, how that even worked psychologically and emotionally. For once, I was the giver of information.

In my still very new experience, as I’m only a first time mom-to-be at about seven months, I’ve noticed that there’s a wide spectrum to the kind of connection a woman feels with the baby cooking within. It ranges from absolutely no attachment, to the opposite extreme of infatuation. Me…I think I lie somewhere in the middle.

There was a great article in Newsweek a couple of weeks ago on surrogate mothers. It was a fantastic glimpse into a world I barely knew past that episode of Friends where Phoebe becomes a surrogate mother for her brother. I remember it seeming odd, but only for the fact that she had to give up the babies soon after they were born. It was a heartfelt and touching moment as Phoebe cuddled the twins she bore then reluctantly handed them over to her brother. Hey, it was a good episode for what it’s worth.

One of the girls in the Newsweek article had this similar experience. She became attached and went through quite a bit of depression after handing the baby over to their biological parents. On the other hand, the other women in the article felt little to no emotional connection with the babies. In a nut shell, it came down to it being a job for some decent money (although they won’t tell you that). How can someone go through ten months (yes 10, since there’s about 40 weeks for pregnancy) and be so unemotionally attached? I’m assuming for a surrogate mother, it’s simply because it’s really not their child, biologically.

But, what about non surrogate moms? How are they not attached, even just a little? Unfortunately, I can guess the answer. Usually it was an unwanted or accidental pregnancy. I can definitely see how a woman in that situation can not feel attached to the baby. It’s almost a grieving period for the life they could have had or lost. I liked the way Jeremy put it: The grieving pregnancy and the child are two different things. One can be upset with the pregnancy, but not necessarily with the child, as the child can become a blessing and joy of their life. Or at least I hope so. I would find it very sad for those mothers who regrets the child, even after they're born and live in the idea of “life that could have been”, if only from catching a glimpse into the work Jeremy does.

On a more cheery note, I’ve seen woman be at the complete opposite end of the spectrum where they are completely and utterly in tune with their baby. They coo and sing and talk to their bellies with such love and dedication. And most often, that baby was already named before conception and is referred to that name for the remainder of the ten months. What an amazing connection these woman have. I’m almost jealous that I don’t feel this way, as if I were already a bad uncaring mother to start off with.

We’re still battling with finding a name. I keep repeating different names out loud and I have these images of what personality is associated with them. The more I think about it, the more I realize the baby needs a personality first before I can settle on a name. My doctor, just yesterday, mentioned how she recently just had her second child and had a list of about 30 names brought to the hospital. It wasn’t until the birth certificate was dangling above their heads that they had to do a sort of Survivor elimination to pick a name. Her idea of naming the child before she was born, was sort of superstitious or unlucky. Or at least, that’s what she was able to describe it as. That actually made me feel a little better that we haven’t named this kid yet. Hopefully, if it comes down to the wire, we’ll see his face and say, “Ah ha! You look like …..”. A bummer for getting anything monogrammed beforehand, however.

Back to the whole intimacy with ‘baby who shall not be named’; I still struggle a bit with not feeling overly emotional. I don’t talk to the baby or make googly sounds to him. Jeremy’s actually a little better at it than me. He’ll talk to the baby and even started to read him (and me) bed time stories: Star Wars novels. Yep, we’re geeks at heart.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think about the baby all the time, it’s hard not too when he’s squirming all day long and testing out his fighting skills (or is it underwater ballet?). But, even still it’s more of a conceptual and emotional attachment I have for him. I’m more excited about the idea when he actually arrives and hope this will help with any possible post partum depression that could occur. I tend to be pretty susceptible to depression (as if it were a virus), as I had bouts when I was younger. Jeremy can attest to that; he would have to bring a sledge hammer to knock down the walls I built subconsciously around me.

I wonder if those woman on the far extreme of the GooGoo scale have these romanticized ideas of who their child is, and then get a completely different child when their born? Could that contest to their post partum? I’m figuring, and this is only in theory, if I don’t have this idealistic perception and attachment of who this child is right now, I have nothing to disappoint me when he actually arrives, right? Or at least, that’s what I’m hoping for.

I'm not Buddha, please don't rub my belly

2008-03-27T12:04:00.000-07:00

It’s become like clockwork. Every couple of weeks or so, I indulge myself in a manicure and pedicure (why I never thought of doing this years ago, I have no clue). The nail salon is run by a few Vietnamese ladies that I’ve gotten to know over the last couple of years. They were ecstatic when they found out I was pregnant. And ever since then, the moment I sit down, one or two or three of the girls will inevitably come over and rub my belly and give ecstatic comments in broken English. It’s very sweet, really.

Our next door neighbor is also thrilled at the idea of us having a baby. Now in her early 40’s, she never had a child, and the idea of being a wall away from one has given her the idea of living vicariously through us. She has rubbed my belly a handful of times in passing, while overflowing with excitement and anxiousness to babysit. The idea of quick baby watching a few feet away actually sounds pretty convenient.

A great friend of ours is simply in awe of the whole pregnancy/baby phenomena and has become so emotionally in tuned to my experiences. Every so often in hugs of goodbye, he’ll add a rub of the belly with a fond farewell to the baby. Never fails to make me smile.

Now, these are people I know and trust, so I’m in no way wierded out by their physical act. I’ll admit, it was a little strange at first, especially in the early stages where there was really no baby bump (as much as I loathe that term, it seems appropriate for visual purposes here) to see or feel. Just my own fluffy tummy that I suppose could be mistaken for said baby bump. That’s where it became a little embarrassing on my part, but I chalk it up to naivety and ‘whatever they don’t know won’t hurt’ idea.

For months, I began to worry that I wasn’t really ‘showing’ the obvious baby ‘swishing’ inside. I was tempted to buy a shirt that said ‘baby’ with an arrow pointing down. Or another shirt I found amusing said, “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant…..and fat”. Because, for all I know, strangers simply viewed me as another fluffy girl. A girl at work didn’t even know that I was pregnant. Guess rumors don’t fly as much around here as I expected. Really….I AM pregnant people.

Now that I’m in my sixth month, I can finally sport the ‘baby belly’. And with that, I realized I couldn’t squeeze into my regular clothes any longer. I was stubborn, and was attempting to hold out on new clothes for as long as possible. Well, I finally caved in and bought maternity wear: stretchy pants with wide belly bands and flowy blousy shirts. It was quite a change in look for the girl who lived in jeans and t-shirts her entire life. I finally felt, and I hate to say it, girly. I wonder what people think when they see me in pink patterned shirts waddling around.

But, sporting this new 'do' brings on the ‘Touchers’. I haven’t had the luxury…yet…of having a complete stranger come up to me, cooing as they rub my belly. But, I’m sure that’ll come soon enough. What I wonder is why complete strangers feel they have the right to touch a pregnant lady. I may need to get a shirt that says, ‘No touchy!’

From what I know, most woman do not like to be poked and prodded by a doctor, let alone some random person off the street. I’m assuming it’s a need for connection to the miraculous wonder that’s happening within. I mean, for a pregnant woman, she feels the baby move all the time and immediately has that physical connection. A symbiotic relationship can transcend any relationship. But, for these ‘outsiders’, they don’t know or haven’t experienced that feeling and by merely placing a hand on the belly somehow connects them physically to that baby inches away.

I guess.

Maybe I’m over analyzing it. Maybe it’s like Buddha, and they rub my belly for good luck.

All I can say is, if you’re going to rub my belly for good luck and prosperity, then you better bring me offerings of money and or snacks.

A case of BBS

2008-03-13T07:43:00.000-07:00

Here I was, thinking that I've surpassed yet another so called pregnancy symptom, along with throwing up and having weird cravings (which I have yet to have).

Nope, I was wrong. I have developed BBS, or Baby Brain Syndrome. BBS entails lack of memory, random mumblings of made up words and for simpler terms: just being dumb.

I was talking with Jeremy on the phone today and I mentioned that I was going to get a coke Slurpee on the way home from work (nothing makes you feel better like a Slurpee). He remarked how he had one yesterday.

And, here's the conversation starting yesterday:

Me: "Hey let's get Slurpee's tonight".
Jer: "I already had one today".
Me: "You had a Slurpee?!! You didn't tell me!"
Jer: "Um, yes I did, in fact I was talking on the phone with you earlier WHILE drinking it and saying how yummy* it was." (*note, the term 'yummy' will be denied by Jer if asked)
Me: "Hmmm, I don't remember that conversation."

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

Fast forward to later that night:

Me: "You know, a Slurpee sounds good"
Jer: "....yeah, like the Slurpee I got today"
Me: "What??! You got a Slurpee? I want a Slurpee!"
Jer: "Yes dear, I told you on the phone earlier today WHILE I was drinking it. Remember?"
Me: "I don't recall"

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

Fast forward to today's phone conversation:

Me: "I think I'm going to stop and get a coke Slurpee after work"
Jer: "Yeah, you mentioned how you wanted one yesterday, especially after I mentioned that I had one.
Me: "HUH? When did you get a Slurpee?!"
Jer: "You're kidding, right?"

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

And so, concludes the arrival of BBS or my wonderful baby brain. I think the baby is sucking all my mental strength. Good for him.

Me pregnant. Me have bad brain. Me get Slurpee now

Why can't boys like cats, too?

2008-03-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

When it comes to the gender line, having extreme masculine on one end and extreme feminine on the other, both Jeremy and I lie towards the center of that scale. I’m proud to say there’s no ‘machismo’ running through his veins, and no ‘girly girl’ running through mine. I believe this is why we’ve always felt a kindred spirit between the two of us. I know they say opposites attract, but a lot of times, that opposition can have its pitfalls down the line. Often there isn’t a connection or understanding when sitting on either extreme.

I picture one of those fancy long tables where the man and woman sit on opposite ends with countless chairs between them. They need an intercom, or at the least, two tin cans on a wire to communicate. There’s almost a sense of archetypal duty engrained in these end seats. This is one thing I hope our son does not fall into. I think this is the fear I had with the idea of having a boy. I just have little tolerance for an extremely masculine and macho man; vice versa an extremely girlish woman. A man can still be strong, without being macho. A woman can still be feminine, without being girly. If that makes any sense.

One of the places I saw evidence of this stereotype was shopping for baby boy clothes. Everything was blue and had either a truck, a car or some sport related icon on the front. Why is this instilled in boys at such a young age? The girl’s attire had cats, while the boy’s had dogs. Why can’t a boy like a cat? Even the toys were very extreme. Boys had toy trucks and lawnmowers, while the girls had Barbie’s and play kitchens.

Personally, I would have no problem letting my son play with a Barbie or playing with pots and pans. Who knows, maybe he’ll become a great fashion designer or grand cook.

The annoyance and frustrations are not just limited for the boys. If we had a girl, I definitely wouldn’t want to instill pink and glitter in everything. My mom was a hippie at heart, and in so, she was never ultra girly, which is most likely where I got it from. I’ve always appreciated both my parent's stable gender role-modeling on me. They encouraged me in anything I wanted to do, whether it was music or sports. And, they never pushed me in one direction or another. Although, my mom never really liked me having Barbie’s, but that was due to the unrealistic idea of beauty for woman. I tend to agree, even though I still had my fair share of the dolls. On the other hand, I also had my fair share of Legos and Erector Sets.

A Renaissance Man; this is what Jeremy hopes our son to become.

I think that’s a fantastic description on how we’d like to raise him. Hopefully, he’ll have a little of both of our personalities and temperaments, likes and dislikes. Hopefully he’ll enjoy the academics as well the sports; art and music as well as video games and Star Wars action figures (this one more for Jeremy, obviously).

I know there are those out there who will say, “But, you can’t always mold who your child will become, you can’t change his personality.”

True.

But, who knows? Perhaps he will become some big WWF Wrestler or (God forbid) football player and like little to nothing else that both Jeremy and I enjoy of life.

But, we can at least instill not only morals and a sense of right and wrong, but a vast understanding and outlook on all aspects of life in general, making him a more well rounded person.

Hopefully.

It wouldn’t hurt, right?

What's in a Name?

2008-03-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

Why can’t we pick a name?

One of the best parts to having a child, is the privilege of naming him. This tiny miracle of creation that was made from love and dedication, will embrace a chosen name that will become his identity as he sets forth into this world.

No pressure, right?

I doubt if guys have ever really thought about this growing up, but us girls have already picked names for our future child, ever since we ourselves were a child. These golden names tucked away under lock and key in the back of our minds. We know the name for boy or girl, even before we ever have the official “baby chat” or for that matter, even meet our significant other to whom will be a part of this whole baby making process. The names have been chosen and set in stone.

But, there’s one small thing glitch in the plan us girls had. When it finally does come down to naming the child, we never really considered our partner’s preferences on names, which are, of course, completely contradictive to our golden names.

So, the stubborn conflict and argument begins.

Me: “I’ve always like Lucas”

Him: “Sounds too much like Mucus….no way”

Him: “How about Bruce”

Me: “Um…no.”

This goes on for months. Names are thrown at each other, and shot down before they even hit the floor. Baby name books are highlighted and dog-eared. Names are circled, scribbled, then circled again beyond comprehension. The names become a blur of consonants and vowels. And, desperate moments come when some random ancient Japanese name doesn’t sound half bad.

The cat was so easy to name. Why can’t we just agree on a name for this boy?

The problem I’ve faced has come down to either stubbornness or settling. There are names I simply cannot part with, however, this comes from the other end of the parent as well. We both have names we each love…but not for each others. So, does one of us cave in for the other’s passion and settle on a name we’re only so-so on? If we can’t give in to each other, do we simply find one we marginally agree on, simply to name this child? Can I live with a name that I don’t love?

I could be devious into attempting to get my golden names. I could wait till during and after labor, when he will see how much I’ve gone through to produce this tiny joy and is simply overcome by a flood of happiness that he will simply agree to anything I suggest. It could work….right?

Here are a few very narrowed choices that we can somewhat agree on. Mind you some names I love and others he loves, but nothing conclusive, and each have their own issues.

Luke - Jeremy (and I) are quite the Star Wars enthusiast, so we're afraid people will think that's why we chose that name. It’s not quite the reason for our choice, but nonetheless, should that be an issue? Plus, it may not flow to well with the last name of Treat. (And, no, I have not taken this last name myself, as of yet. Yes, it may be a controversial topic for another time, but this is 2008, people)

Malcolm - We chose this name because we adore the character from the sci-fi show, Firefly. However, do we really love the name or just the character behind the name? Plus, Mal in Latin means, “bad”. Should that be an issue? Is Latin even a language people care about anymore, let alone know?

Logan – This is one of my personal favorites out of the list, but will kids associate him with the comic book character, Wolverine? Do people even know that that's Wolverine's name? But, a cool associate, I think? Every kid loves Wolverine, right? And, every woman loves Hugh Jackman, right?

Brendan – Cute and simple, but to me it sounds a bit too "All American boy next door". I'd like some uniqueness for a name that doesn’t just sound like every other name out there.

Atlas – He’s a Greek mythological character (which I would love to throw in my heritage), but people don't usually know that historical reference. "Oh, like the map?" people say. There are tons of stranger , even made up names, so, why does this one get such funny looks?

I’ve thrown out many polls for people to chose their favorites from our small list. The results are never truly conclusive to one name. Great. All that proved was everyone has their own opinions of what sounds good. But, it doesn’t get me any closer to deciding on a name.

Should I care what other people think? Isn’t the name something my husband and I should love and cherish, not just what other people love? I keep waiting for that “Ah Ha!” moment of clarity where we both cannot see this unborn child named anything but that golden name.

I don’t know. This naming thing is giving me a headache. Maybe by the time the kid is thirty, we’ll have come up with a name.

Oh Boy! It's a boy....

2008-03-12T14:26:00.000-07:00

Every soon to be parent tells people that all they want is a healthy baby, no matter the gender.

I repeated this mantra to myself as I laid back with (thankfully) warm jelly squeezed on my exposed belly. It was time for the gender detection ultra sound. The lights were dimmed and soothing, almost nauseating instrumental lullaby music played in the background. A giant pull down screen was before us as we watched our little one move around.

First look was for the beating heart, and sure enough the baby’s heart was a steady 150 beats per minute.

Phew! The breathtaking idea of a child growing inside you is countered with the fear that the child will suddenly stop growing. It’s such a relief to actually see on a monitor that, yes, this child is alive and kicking….in more ways than one.

Now, even before getting pregnant, I always had this picture in my mind that we would have a girl. Even Jeremy had this idea in his head, and actually had a dream once.

“We’ll have a girl, I just know it, “ he would assure me.

I come from a lineage of girls: I have three sisters, and my dad was the only boy of three sisters. Even Jeremy’s mom was one of three sisters. The female gene was the only thing we knew. But, there was this nagging feeling in the back of my mind, a sort of ‘new mother’s intuition’, that this baby, was in fact, a boy. I pushed that fearful thought far, far away. After all…it WILL be a girl….

The “magic wand”, as I would jokingly call it, slid around looking at different angles of the baby. No one ever told me that ultra sounds would be physically uncomfortable as they press quite firmly into your gut. I had to concentrate on the black and white image before me in order to bypass the pressing pain.

But, what I had to concentrate more on was that original mantra, “I’ll be just happy if it’s healthy….I’ll be happy if it’s healthy….don’t cry….be happy….”

“It looks like it’s a boy,” the technician said as she focused her magic wand on the baby.

“….be happy…don’t cry…” I pressed into my thoughts, “she could be wrong….”

I couldn’t even look at Jeremy. I gritted my teeth and fought back the tears that billowed below the surface, waiting to pour, as more detailed images squirmed and kicked before us.

“Yep, definitely a boy,” the technician confirmed as she pointed to the baby’s obvious appendage.

“Oh God, don’t cry….” I pathetically and desperately told myself.

I never could listen to my own advice.

The tears started to fall. This baby girl I had dreamed about, was crushed by my surfacing gut feeling that was evident on the screen. I felt heartbroken and disappointed. And, to make matters worse, I now already felt like the worst mother on earth. How could I be sad about this baby? Why can’t I be overjoyed that the baby’s just healthy? Why am I being so selfish? My dreams of a little girl were squashed right there on the table, listening to a cheesy rendition of Rock-a-by Baby.

“Oh, honey, don’t cry, be happy,” my sweet and understanding husband said as he stroked my hair and handed me tissues. Obviously, he wasn’t as crushed to the idea of having a boy as I was.

“I am happy,” I choked.

The ride home was somber. I felt numb the entire day. Even calling family and friends to tell them the good news was heart wrenching for me. I feigned excitement, but doubt it came across that enthusiastically over the phone. Instantly, that ‘baby high’ I felt for the first months of this journey was bottoming out.

“Oh, you’ll forget all about that when you finally hold him in your arms for the first time,” everyone would tell me.

I was beginning to get tired of people’s intentions of how I should and will feel. I began to shut them out. How could they possibly understand how I’m feeling?

Once I finished my pathetic mourning over the next couple of days….weeks, I had to finally sit back and think, “what’s depressing me most?”.

One was obviously that I had always figured I was going to have a girl, and I suppose, I would miss doing all those girly things; playing with their hair, pick out cute clothes, tea parties... Doesn’t every soon to be mother desire that? I thought so. I didn’t want a clone of me; Jeremy couldn’t handle Elly Jr.! I just wanted a daughter to simply bond with, like the great relationship I have with my mother.

That brought be to what really haunted me about having a boy: that I wouldn’t have the same bond with a boy as I would a girl. Jeremy would be able to teach him video games and baseball and all that other boy bonding stuff. I simply felt left out even before this child was born.

I sought advice and other women’s experiences like mine, and amazingly, I wasn’t alone. They reassured me that even though they hoped for a girl, they couldn’t have imagined life without their little man. Long lists of “Great things about having a boy” helped slowly perk up the baby high I lost. The list contained things from ‘boys are always more cuddly with their moms’, to even ‘boys can take out the trash and kill bugs for you without question’.

The idea of having a boy wasn’t sounding so bad. But, I still had this fear of not becoming close with a boy. I simply had no clue about boys or how to even raise them. “How do you even teach them to pee standing up? Something about Cheerios?” I thought I heard somewhere.

Jeremy saw my growing depression and helped add to the list. He reminded me of one important fact I forgot, “Elly, you’re a tomboy. Of course you’re going to bond with this boy!”

Oh yeah… how can I forget who I really am? I’m no girly girl. I mean, ever since a kid, I was always more interested in Lego’s, building forts, climbing trees, making science experiments... How could I not bond with this boy? Call me a geek, but if he’s anything like me, we’ll get along famously!

And, so the baby high began to rise over time. I admit, it took quite a while, and I’m still getting back to the top, but, I now had a fresh new perspective on this child. I wasn’t fearing those idealistic thoughts as I once did. I was starting to picture my future as a family with a little boy. And that idea wasn’t as scary I originally imagined.

Now, if we don’t get a girl on the next try….well, we’ll come to that when that happens.

We're having a baby!

2008-03-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

I watched that I Love Lucy episode where Lucy finds out she's pregnant and attempts to tell Ricky. After many failed and quirky attempts, she slips a secret note to Ricky during his performance to sing "We're having a baby, my baby and me" to the new prospective parents. And, upon finding Lucy at the table, the dawning of his own parenthood reveals itself to him, and he bursts out, "It's me!"...

I started to cry.

Yep, I'm pregnant....and those extra fun, over the top hormones have reached full throttle on this lady. Amazing life transforming time of life, and here I am grabbing tissues while watching the ever hilarious black and white sitcom.

I can't say I love this initial part, these steps towards 'motherhood', but it definitely gives me an excuse to be extra sappy and emotional with no consequences. I love it. I'm eating it up, and hope the next six and a half months are even more fun and…well....tissue grabbing good!

I didn’t always think I’d actually get to this point in my life. It dawned on me one day while we were picking out baby bedding and the endless search of finding a small enough crib to fit into our tiny one bedroom apartment. In fact, to be brutally honest, the idea of never having kids wasn’t sounding so bad the older I became. Who needs that responsibility, right? I could have my freedom of sleeping in on weekends, stay up late on weeknights and go out when and where I wanted with no questions asked. Ah, the life.

And, then came the inevitable pressure; that idealistic truth reoccurring over thousands of years and surfacing over every country, that plagues every single woman on this planet: Procreation. As children, this is what was expected when we grew up; it was a fact of life, really. When you grow up, you get married and you make babies. But, maybe that’s the problem. I never really felt like I grew up. Even into my mid-twenties I struggled with the idea of what it was to be an adult. Yeah, I had a full time job that paid the rent and all those lovely responsibilities that came with adolescence. But, I never really felt my age. I felt ‘ageless’ (sounds more whimsical than simply stating that I felt immature or naive).

We have a handful of old friends from high school and college that one by one has taken the plunge to marry, and have recently ventured into swimming to the deep end of the pool where they rapidly reached that baby stage. We were the last couple who were still having fun in the shallow end, sipping on Mojitos by the steps. The whole baby plan was always on the back burner for us. Actually, let me rephrase that: I had it on the back burner. The idea of kids was much more real with rapid momentum to my husband, Jeremy. I swear, his biological clock was ticking away. I think mine needed new batteries.

“Eventually, we will,” was always our response to their and everyone’s inquisitive minds as to why we haven’t started having kids yet. I always felt like I had to hide my reasoning if ever they asked, “Why?”

“Well, we’re not ready yet,” or “We have our cat, she’s a handful for us now,” or some vague response along those lines. I was always relieved when they left it at that and moved on to another topic of conversation. But, of course, with the sudden abundance of children among our friends, as if overnight, that age old truth began to swim around in the back of my mind,

“Maybe we should have a baby..."

Boy that was a strange shift in thinking. Here we were, content with our lives, with new jobs and the cars were finally paid off (don’t get me started on student loans). Everything was going pretty well for us, no complaints at all. I didn’t want peer pressure to be the cause of such change in gears. I hate to admit it, but there was some truth behind that. I just didn’t want to feel left out. It’s a status thing.

I didn’t want to be one of ‘those’ couples that never had kids. ‘Those’ couples are always given sideways glances and endless questions of why they never had kids, or getting comments that dogs don’t replace having real children. It’s easy if all the people around you are in the same boat and you all can go to dog shows together and go on boating trips, eating fancy cheeses and wine. But, when you’re the only one in the boat, you can’t help but feel like the odd man out; while you watch from off shore all the fun the families are having building sand castles.

Although, deep down, I don’t think I minded being one of ‘those’ couples, especially, after visiting said new families and hearing the screeching cries of babies and watching exhausted parents trying to calm them down. I’ll admit, I felt a little of happy that we didn’t have to deal with that craziness.

To top it off, one of our closest couples have a teenage daughter and don’t plan on having any more kids (as of yet). They’re already gleefully talking ahead about having an empty nest, retiring early and enjoying the rest of their years having fun. Man, that doesn’t sound too shabby to me! What’s the big deal with having children anyways? The pros and cons bickered at each other in my mind.

So, what’s a confused girl to do? Here I am, most of our friends are having children, but I didn’t quite feel old enough to have kids. However, the closer I got to that thirty-mark, the more real the idea of it being an all or nothing choice came into play. Ah, yes, now the biological clock starts to tick.

With this new and scary thought bouncing in my mind, I began to read up on everything to do about pregnancy and all that jazz. Turns out, I completely freaked myself out. Statistics of chances to become pregnant and failed pregnancies were flashing red all over my computer screen. I quickly bought books, thinking, “Well, you can never trust everything that the internet says to be true”. As I flipped the pages, passing many very confusing illustrated diagrams and charts as if it were some instruction manual from Ikea, the facts were still the same as my previous findings.

“Oh my God, I may only have a 20% chance of getting pregnant right now!” was just one of many dreary points in these baby making manuals. The painful realization that I wasn’t as young as I used to be become blatantly evident, page after page of facts. Thus, I was starting to feel my age for once. Not so humbling or enlightening as I originally envisioned it to be like.

Well, if I needed a motivation to decide to have a child, this was definitely one. It wasn’t just societal pressure to have children to be in the game; it was coming down to actually being able to participate in the game. If we were to decide to make it or break it, now was definitely the time.

Yes, women have kids well into their thirties with little or no complications, but it was more an idea of being young enough to have the energy to have little ones running around. I’m not in the best shape of my life, regrettably, so I can’t imagine having the strength to start five or ten years from now. I’m just not that kind of woman. Kudos to those women that can. I wish I had your strength and motivation.

After scrutinizing every fact and detail, I brought it up one night to Jeremy. Of course, we had a tentative plan already in place for our goals in the next few years (baby fell somewhere towards the end). It wasn’t a question on if he wanted one. Of course he did! And, the idea that I would be ok without one slowly drew fear and disappointment for our future as parents. I hated to see that realization and true feeling on him. I wanted to make him happy, so why not become parents, what harm would it really do to me? I mean, I do want a child, right? Of course I did. With that, added another layer to my already jumbled selfish thoughts of having children or not.

It wasn’t until he told me something that really put things into perspective:

“You will never really regret having kids, but you might really regret not having kids”.

That one statement really hit me hard. I’ve never been great at decision making, for fear of making the wrong decision and having to live with that regret. This would be a major regret I would have to deal with if we never had kids. I couldn’t live with that. It showed me my true feeling behind becoming a parent: Fear.

It’s no big surprise to most that know me really well. Just ask Jeremy or my mother, or even my hairdresser. I live in fear. Maybe something I should fix one of these days.

But, with that, I finally wanted to make a choice. I can let fear rule little things in my life, like whether I’ll crash in a plane or if they’ll one day stop making cinnamon Life cereal (God forbid). But, I can’t let a little thing like fearing the unknown of parenthood rule my decision. I had to choose one.

So, I took one last sip of my Mojito, and ~~dove~~ doggy paddled my way over to the deep end of the pool.

“Let’s do it,” I confidently said.