Taryn had a rough night.
Which means I had a rough night too.
She was pretty pissy when I got home from waork yesterday evening. Her temperature un-medicated was hovering around 102F and I know that by the time it gets that high, you're just miserable. Her skin probably hurt from the roughness of her well-washed short-set, her nose was dripping, and here is Evil Mama trying to force her to eat. I chopped up some avocado, gave her cooked onion, rice, whole wheat pasta, and finally broke down and thawed a few fruit cubes, mashed them up with some plain whole fat yogurt and satisfied myself that she had ingested at least 4 ounces of food.
Then Papa gave her a bath, which was perfect since I was cooking dinner (potatoe and leek soup) and as soon as I finished, she was freshly washed a dried, so I slathered some lotion on her which pissed her off even more than the food. I was hoping she was just tired, nursed her for the third time (in three hours) and put her to sleep. I was hoping the Tylenol would keep her temperature low enough to let her rest a bit, but sure enough at 3 am, after a night of tossing and turning that kept me only half-awake (since I was listening on the monitor to make sure she was breathing okay and didn't have any seizures from her temperature) she was up and hysterical.
So we nursed, and I know it's not the best habit to get into but I can't stand to see my baby suffer and I know the boob has magical soothing qualities. And when she finished she rolled over, scooted up, and slept with the top half of her body on my pillow, her little forehead pressed against mine, and her arm draped around my neck.
About 40 minutes later, I still hadn't drifted off and my leg started to cramp. I slowly tried to reposition my body without moving anything from the neck up. But of course, the sweaty Angel draped across my top eighth woke up and was at the hysterical crying again. I decided to take her temperature and she was at 102.1F so I gave her some Tylenol, nursed her for a few minutes, and tried to flip her on her back to sleep between P and I.
That didn't work.
She dragged her limp, damp body across mine, until her head rested on my heart, one arm on each side of my body in a little baby-hug, and her knees on my bed, as if she were in prayer. She made it like that for another hour or so, woke up again, repositioned herself in a similar stance and fell back asleep. When my alarm went off at 5:20 she woke up, yet again, wailed, nursed, and then I stuck her in her crib since she refused to let P touch her, and by this time it was after 6am and I had to get ready for work.
And of course she woke up right as I'm leaving the house, nobody could calm her down so I had to stay, rock, soothe, and trick her into going to Johana so I could leave for work at 7.
So you see, I've pretty much been up since 3am. That's going on 5 hours already. My brain is dead, my vision is foggy, and I'm a tad irked that P was able to sleep though most of it. Kind of like the night before when he went to sleep downstairs just before she woke up crying, vomiting, and inconsolable by anyone but me.
*sigh*
My heart is breaking thinking about how much she's suffering right now. Because of some damn shots. I spoke to a decent Kaiser nurse today though who suggested I try baby Motrin instead of Tylenol, so we'll see how that works at lunch today. And all of this piled onto my sinus infection.... But I can't complain. At least I know what to do to help myslef. This poor kid can't even tell us what's hurting.
June 29, 2007
June 28, 2007
*smile*
Before I was pregnant, and money-conscious, and watching what I ate to ensure I had a strong, healthy child (which has been mostly true, save the past week or so) I used to eat at my favorite "fast-food" Thai place at Northgate fairly frequently.
Which for me means only once a month or so.
There is a young guy who has worked there for a few years who I often saw, and would say hi to, and when I was pregnant he would always ask how I was doing and tell me that I looked so happy. And of course, while I was pregnant it was nice to hear, considering my ankles were twice as big as they were supposed to be (but I'm sure he couldn't see that) and even when I was miserable from having to pee every half-hour (of course, he didn't know that either) it always made me smile how sweet he was to an angry, sweaty, hungry County drone.
Before today, I hadn't been back there in probably 8 or 9 months, since last summer most likely. But T-Boog was sick today, and I nursed her at home then put her right to sleep after giving her some Tylenol, fed the dogs and realized I had nothing to eat. I figured I may as well buy myself something since it was one of the few times I could go where I wanted without worrying about anyone else.
So I headed over to Jhan Thong (?) ordered my customary noodle salad, pad thai and ginger chicken and went to the register to pay. Smiled at the guy, because I recognized him, and almost dropped my fork when he asked how I was doing, how my daughter was, and how old she is now since he hadn't seen me in so long.
I remember working in customer service and seeing so many people a day that their faces became a blur to me. I remember people stopping me on the street (which actually still happens at the new gig) asking how I was and I couldn't for the life of me remember who they were.
So to be remembered... it sounds lame, but it made my day. After feeling so transparent yesterday, it was just nice to have someone ask about me, and my kid. It was just nice to know that even when I'm not there, someone remembers that I still exist. And there's no flirty-nothing going on, it's not like that, though the guy is cute (don't tell P I said that!) but I guess because I've been going there so long, from back in the day when I worked at Mervyns, it's just one of those people that you say hi to, not even on an aquaintance level, because I have no idea what his name is.
*sigh*
How to explain? Maybe I can't, or maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just appreciate it for the simple, friendly gesture it was, appreciate the smile it left on my face and go on with my day. I guess I'm just realizing again how you get what you need when you need it. It's so easy to forget sometimes.
Which for me means only once a month or so.
There is a young guy who has worked there for a few years who I often saw, and would say hi to, and when I was pregnant he would always ask how I was doing and tell me that I looked so happy. And of course, while I was pregnant it was nice to hear, considering my ankles were twice as big as they were supposed to be (but I'm sure he couldn't see that) and even when I was miserable from having to pee every half-hour (of course, he didn't know that either) it always made me smile how sweet he was to an angry, sweaty, hungry County drone.
Before today, I hadn't been back there in probably 8 or 9 months, since last summer most likely. But T-Boog was sick today, and I nursed her at home then put her right to sleep after giving her some Tylenol, fed the dogs and realized I had nothing to eat. I figured I may as well buy myself something since it was one of the few times I could go where I wanted without worrying about anyone else.
So I headed over to Jhan Thong (?) ordered my customary noodle salad, pad thai and ginger chicken and went to the register to pay. Smiled at the guy, because I recognized him, and almost dropped my fork when he asked how I was doing, how my daughter was, and how old she is now since he hadn't seen me in so long.
I remember working in customer service and seeing so many people a day that their faces became a blur to me. I remember people stopping me on the street (which actually still happens at the new gig) asking how I was and I couldn't for the life of me remember who they were.
So to be remembered... it sounds lame, but it made my day. After feeling so transparent yesterday, it was just nice to have someone ask about me, and my kid. It was just nice to know that even when I'm not there, someone remembers that I still exist. And there's no flirty-nothing going on, it's not like that, though the guy is cute (don't tell P I said that!) but I guess because I've been going there so long, from back in the day when I worked at Mervyns, it's just one of those people that you say hi to, not even on an aquaintance level, because I have no idea what his name is.
*sigh*
How to explain? Maybe I can't, or maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just appreciate it for the simple, friendly gesture it was, appreciate the smile it left on my face and go on with my day. I guess I'm just realizing again how you get what you need when you need it. It's so easy to forget sometimes.
June 27, 2007
Afterthought
I was standing in the bathroom this morning, looking into the mirror and asking myself, "Why are you putting on make-up today?"
And I didn't have an answer except, I'm on my way to work, and this is how I always do it. So many thoughts were running through my mind, I still haven't gotten a handle on them, but one that keeps rearing it's ugly little head is this feeling of sheer unimportance that pervades my life.
I have things that are essential to my life and give me a reason to go on, my beautiful daughter, my family, helping people through my job, but the flip side of that is that I feel like I am unimportant to others' lives. I don't feel like I'll be missed if I were to suddenly pass away. Sure, for a while I would be, and to my mother, brother and daughter, I would probably alwyas be missed, but to everyone else? I doubt my death would be mourned to my satisfaction.
Gawd, that sounds awful. I guess what the feeling I'm trying to convey is, I don't feel memorable. I don't feel beautiful enough to be remembered for that, or kind enough to have lingering thoughts over my good deeds. I'm not intelligent enough or an eloquent enough writer to make some lasting impression on the world.
In my everyday life, I feel like an afterthought. People tell me how much the like talking to me, but I get the distinct feeling it's because I'm a good person to talk at, to tell all the great and wonderful things in your life, without worrying about inquiring into mine.
I feel like I get dumped on a lot, and it's nobody's fault but my own for allowing it to happen. And this is not including those times when a friend is in a really difficult place and needs a shoulder to cry on and a captive audience. Those times, I am overjoyed to be the one they come to, and if my listening is helping at all, I'm happy to sit quietly for hours. But a lot of times I feel like people want to share minute details of their lives with me, completely disregarding my own. And in those times lately I've been feeling really angry. I'm mad that they want me to listen to everything they have to say, but that they don't care what I may want to talk about, and I get frustrated that I don't feel like I have the voice to speak up for myself, to express my own needs in a positive and constructive manner.
And I haven't blogged about this yet, because I wasn't really sure what this "ick" feeling was. I noticed myself getting angry at clients who vomited all their emotional bullshit onto me in intakes, and I couldn't understand why, seemingly so suddenly, this started to bother me. But when I started to notice the same feeling in my personal life, *ka-ching*!
I don't know a lot of things, but I knew this emotional shift wasn't hormonal. One of the few things that I am getting very good at is recognizing my own physical and emotional states. I'm not fabulous at naming them all yet, but processing the feelings is helping me to understand where they are originating and what I may be able to do to change them.
Of course in this case, I don't really know what to do. My first thught is to plug my ears, start humming loudly and run from the "dumpers." But wow, people think I'm crazy now, I can just see they shit-talking after I do something like that. Or I could just avoid these folks as much as possible, but that just seems so ... avoidant. I guess the most mature thing to do would be man-up, and tell them that I'm sick of them not giving a damn about me and being so self-centered that they'll talk about themselves for an entire encounter without a first-thought about my well-being.
But then I think to myself, I'm really lucky to have the option of listening. I know there are people in my life who love me and care about me, and I know that when I really need to talk, they will always be available to me, even if it's 3am and they have work the next morning. I don't think these "dumpers" are that lucky. My thought is that maybe I'm that person in their lives, the person they can always count on to be available to listen to them. Maybe they don't have anyone else close to them who will give them the time and attention that I do. Maybe these people hav eso much pent-up inside of them that they need to get it all out before they can continue with their day, and if I'm the only one who will listen, maybe I should feel lucky to fill that roll for them. Maybe instead of being angry at them I should feel sympathy.
Maybe?
And I didn't have an answer except, I'm on my way to work, and this is how I always do it. So many thoughts were running through my mind, I still haven't gotten a handle on them, but one that keeps rearing it's ugly little head is this feeling of sheer unimportance that pervades my life.
I have things that are essential to my life and give me a reason to go on, my beautiful daughter, my family, helping people through my job, but the flip side of that is that I feel like I am unimportant to others' lives. I don't feel like I'll be missed if I were to suddenly pass away. Sure, for a while I would be, and to my mother, brother and daughter, I would probably alwyas be missed, but to everyone else? I doubt my death would be mourned to my satisfaction.
Gawd, that sounds awful. I guess what the feeling I'm trying to convey is, I don't feel memorable. I don't feel beautiful enough to be remembered for that, or kind enough to have lingering thoughts over my good deeds. I'm not intelligent enough or an eloquent enough writer to make some lasting impression on the world.
In my everyday life, I feel like an afterthought. People tell me how much the like talking to me, but I get the distinct feeling it's because I'm a good person to talk at, to tell all the great and wonderful things in your life, without worrying about inquiring into mine.
I feel like I get dumped on a lot, and it's nobody's fault but my own for allowing it to happen. And this is not including those times when a friend is in a really difficult place and needs a shoulder to cry on and a captive audience. Those times, I am overjoyed to be the one they come to, and if my listening is helping at all, I'm happy to sit quietly for hours. But a lot of times I feel like people want to share minute details of their lives with me, completely disregarding my own. And in those times lately I've been feeling really angry. I'm mad that they want me to listen to everything they have to say, but that they don't care what I may want to talk about, and I get frustrated that I don't feel like I have the voice to speak up for myself, to express my own needs in a positive and constructive manner.
And I haven't blogged about this yet, because I wasn't really sure what this "ick" feeling was. I noticed myself getting angry at clients who vomited all their emotional bullshit onto me in intakes, and I couldn't understand why, seemingly so suddenly, this started to bother me. But when I started to notice the same feeling in my personal life, *ka-ching*!
I don't know a lot of things, but I knew this emotional shift wasn't hormonal. One of the few things that I am getting very good at is recognizing my own physical and emotional states. I'm not fabulous at naming them all yet, but processing the feelings is helping me to understand where they are originating and what I may be able to do to change them.
Of course in this case, I don't really know what to do. My first thught is to plug my ears, start humming loudly and run from the "dumpers." But wow, people think I'm crazy now, I can just see they shit-talking after I do something like that. Or I could just avoid these folks as much as possible, but that just seems so ... avoidant. I guess the most mature thing to do would be man-up, and tell them that I'm sick of them not giving a damn about me and being so self-centered that they'll talk about themselves for an entire encounter without a first-thought about my well-being.
But then I think to myself, I'm really lucky to have the option of listening. I know there are people in my life who love me and care about me, and I know that when I really need to talk, they will always be available to me, even if it's 3am and they have work the next morning. I don't think these "dumpers" are that lucky. My thought is that maybe I'm that person in their lives, the person they can always count on to be available to listen to them. Maybe they don't have anyone else close to them who will give them the time and attention that I do. Maybe these people hav eso much pent-up inside of them that they need to get it all out before they can continue with their day, and if I'm the only one who will listen, maybe I should feel lucky to fill that roll for them. Maybe instead of being angry at them I should feel sympathy.
Maybe?
June 24, 2007
Success!
For the most part, T-Boogie's birthday was a load of fun. We had seven babies under a year old attending, eight children under thriteen years, a seventeen year old and all the adults who brought them. A bit more than I had planned on coming, but we made a ton of food and somehow managed to feed everyone, and for the most part keep people entertained.
I know now that next year, we're doing pizza. BBQ was too much work with so many little people around, but of course next year if I'm not sick, I may change my mind. I was running around all day Saturday morning, taking T-Boogie to her first gymnastics class which was awesome, and buying ice, balloons, and all the other stuff I forgot to get beforehand. T-Boog's Nanny helped so much with preparing the salads, and of course some of our guests showed up at the park before we did! We saw the neighbors leaving while we were still loading up the cars, and I had to yell over them to take their time since we weren't set up yet.
It did go a lot longer than I was expecting too, which with so many babies meant some tears and fussing, but I think they all did fantastic, considering. And T-Boog got her first taste of vegan chocolate cake. She LOVED it, but it was odd because not all the babies did. Maybe because she was the only girl eating it?
Anyway, we completely slacked and took ZERO pictures. I'm hoping to get copies from the other folks who took some so I can show her later that we really did it big for her first birthday. Except decorations. I was so frazzled that I forgot to give out hats, or put any decorations up at all, and I remembered after kids started leaving that I had goody bags for them too, but the people who stuck it out longer ended up getting that reward! Next year, it will be easier, I'm sure. I have to keep reminding myself we did well for the first kiddie birthday.
I went home at 6, before everyone left, to put T-Boog to bed, and by the time she fell asleep she'd already been awake for almost 6 hours. She only slept 30 minutes, then woke back up, so we brought her downstairs and filmed her opening her presents. She loved the boxes and paper more than the actual gifts, but she's been having fun downstairs all day playing with them. The clothes are freaking adorable, the toys are perfect, and all in all, (besides the sinus infection, sore throat, etc) we all had a fab day.
I know now that next year, we're doing pizza. BBQ was too much work with so many little people around, but of course next year if I'm not sick, I may change my mind. I was running around all day Saturday morning, taking T-Boogie to her first gymnastics class which was awesome, and buying ice, balloons, and all the other stuff I forgot to get beforehand. T-Boog's Nanny helped so much with preparing the salads, and of course some of our guests showed up at the park before we did! We saw the neighbors leaving while we were still loading up the cars, and I had to yell over them to take their time since we weren't set up yet.
It did go a lot longer than I was expecting too, which with so many babies meant some tears and fussing, but I think they all did fantastic, considering. And T-Boog got her first taste of vegan chocolate cake. She LOVED it, but it was odd because not all the babies did. Maybe because she was the only girl eating it?
Anyway, we completely slacked and took ZERO pictures. I'm hoping to get copies from the other folks who took some so I can show her later that we really did it big for her first birthday. Except decorations. I was so frazzled that I forgot to give out hats, or put any decorations up at all, and I remembered after kids started leaving that I had goody bags for them too, but the people who stuck it out longer ended up getting that reward! Next year, it will be easier, I'm sure. I have to keep reminding myself we did well for the first kiddie birthday.
I went home at 6, before everyone left, to put T-Boog to bed, and by the time she fell asleep she'd already been awake for almost 6 hours. She only slept 30 minutes, then woke back up, so we brought her downstairs and filmed her opening her presents. She loved the boxes and paper more than the actual gifts, but she's been having fun downstairs all day playing with them. The clothes are freaking adorable, the toys are perfect, and all in all, (besides the sinus infection, sore throat, etc) we all had a fab day.
June 21, 2007
Continuing the Tradition
When we were dead broke, back in the day, Mom, Goldie (my brother) and I used to go to this sushi place off Kerner called Yu Shang for our birthdays. There is a Vietnamese guy there (shhhh...don't tell) named Henry who has an awesome creation called the Henry Roll that we order every time we step foot in the place. The place always reminds me of that TV show about the bar where everyone knows everyone, because regulars get a chorus of shouts when they walk in to welcome them.
Last night Mom and I had planned to do a small celebration for T-Boog's birthday, and also to celebrate that I made it through labor as well. We had plans of vegan cake and a hike, but since T-Boog is sick I didn't think she needed to load up on sugar or be out too late so last minute we decided to head over to Yu Shang. I was bummed at first to not be celebrating her first birthday with her father, but both he and the Nanny had classes last night, so instead of being bitter as I would have a year ago, I just made do with what I had.
Goldie met us there, and I realized I hadn't has sushi for almost two years, since before I was pregnant. We sat Boogie in a high chair at the sushi bar, ordered up some tea, cucumber salad and hot and sour soup. We took turns feeding T-Boog all of them, and she loved it, though I think the soup was a bit spicy for her. She loved the seaweed off the top of the cucumber salad, and the edamame, and I pulled some smoked salmon off the Henry roll and gave that to her as well.
And, as tradition holds, once we finished they brought out a dessert for T-Boog with a candle and the entire restaurant, the sushi chefs, waiters, host and patrons all sang Happy Birthday to her. I was standing up holding her when they started, and the whole time we were singing she looked around at all the strangers yelling to her with this shocked look on her face. It was classic. Then we blew out the candle, and dug into the dessert, which was mango ice cream with a dough on the outside. She was digging the ice cream, had it smeared all over her face, and I'm glad she got a special desert on her special day.
***
I am bringing her to Kaiser today though. I'm at home blogging this time. She's had a temperature about 99.2 the past two days, and this morning it was up to 100.3 so I'm taking her in to see what we can do to help her eat, sleep, and breathe. She's been kind of panting all day which worries me, but I'm hoping it's just because her nose it stuffed up. I hate to say this out loud, but one part I do like when she's sick is she turns into a little Snuggle Bunny. We were in bed this morning, and she buried her face in my neck, flopped her burning hot body across my chest, and passed out. And since she's congested, she has this adorable little baby (oops, toddler, now?) snore, and her hair is all matted from sweating last night, her little red nose and her fingers gripping a clump of my hair. I brought her back to her crib since the dogs were jumping on the bed, and really, I needed to blog (heh), and I was worried if I slept with her she might get too hot. At least in her crib she gets the air flow, not like in my bed when we snuggle under the covers.
But I'll keep ya'll posted if this is more than a cold.
Last night Mom and I had planned to do a small celebration for T-Boog's birthday, and also to celebrate that I made it through labor as well. We had plans of vegan cake and a hike, but since T-Boog is sick I didn't think she needed to load up on sugar or be out too late so last minute we decided to head over to Yu Shang. I was bummed at first to not be celebrating her first birthday with her father, but both he and the Nanny had classes last night, so instead of being bitter as I would have a year ago, I just made do with what I had.
Goldie met us there, and I realized I hadn't has sushi for almost two years, since before I was pregnant. We sat Boogie in a high chair at the sushi bar, ordered up some tea, cucumber salad and hot and sour soup. We took turns feeding T-Boog all of them, and she loved it, though I think the soup was a bit spicy for her. She loved the seaweed off the top of the cucumber salad, and the edamame, and I pulled some smoked salmon off the Henry roll and gave that to her as well.
And, as tradition holds, once we finished they brought out a dessert for T-Boog with a candle and the entire restaurant, the sushi chefs, waiters, host and patrons all sang Happy Birthday to her. I was standing up holding her when they started, and the whole time we were singing she looked around at all the strangers yelling to her with this shocked look on her face. It was classic. Then we blew out the candle, and dug into the dessert, which was mango ice cream with a dough on the outside. She was digging the ice cream, had it smeared all over her face, and I'm glad she got a special desert on her special day.
***
I am bringing her to Kaiser today though. I'm at home blogging this time. She's had a temperature about 99.2 the past two days, and this morning it was up to 100.3 so I'm taking her in to see what we can do to help her eat, sleep, and breathe. She's been kind of panting all day which worries me, but I'm hoping it's just because her nose it stuffed up. I hate to say this out loud, but one part I do like when she's sick is she turns into a little Snuggle Bunny. We were in bed this morning, and she buried her face in my neck, flopped her burning hot body across my chest, and passed out. And since she's congested, she has this adorable little baby (oops, toddler, now?) snore, and her hair is all matted from sweating last night, her little red nose and her fingers gripping a clump of my hair. I brought her back to her crib since the dogs were jumping on the bed, and really, I needed to blog (heh), and I was worried if I slept with her she might get too hot. At least in her crib she gets the air flow, not like in my bed when we snuggle under the covers.
But I'll keep ya'll posted if this is more than a cold.
June 20, 2007
Happy First Birthday Boogie!
At this time last year, my water had just broken and I thought I was peeing myself rather than actually being in labor. Since you were early, the floor wasn't finished in your room, we didn't have a bassinette or a swing, and really, emotionally, I wasn't exactly prepared to be a Mama. But then I saw your beautiful, sweet, serene face, and I forgot everything except how happy I was that you were alive and healthy.
The first month you pretty much just slept. And ate. A lot. I spent hours nursing you and watching Six Feet Under from DVDs we rented at the video store. We didn't leave the house much, except to sit on the front porch while I drank a cup of coffee, the one thing I really missed while I was pregnant with you. A lot of it was a blur, but I remember just sitting and watching you sleep, my heart so full of love and appreciation of you that I honestly felt that it might burst. Sometimes I would be so overwhelmed with my feelings of wanting to protect you, that I couldn't even breathe.
It sounds cheesy, but if you ever have a child, you'll understand. The second month was harder. You spent a lot of time crying. Mostly starting around 11pm until maybe 4am. The only way you would sleep is if your Papa was walking with you, or I held you on my chest. We swore up and down before you were born that you would be a crib baby, but this month we spent so much time on the couch with you or in bed, that it just became easier to let you sleep with us. And we discovered the infant swing, which finally let us sleep without holding you. We went through probably 10 batteries the first two weeks we had it.
The bigger you got, the more like a real person you became. The smiling, laughing, holding onto fingers and toys... it was so fun just to watch you try to figure out the world. When we would go on walks through the mall or downtown after having coffee with Erika and Dakota strangers would stop me to tell me how incredibly beautiful you are. They had no idea how intelligent you also were, and how strong, since you were standing by yourself while holding onto the futon before most babies could lift their heads.
The older you got, the less hairy you were as well. I thought maybe I had birthed a monkey at first, you were covered in this dark brown fuzz from the nape of your neck to the small of your back. And you absolutley hated to be too hot. When we bathed you in the sink, you'd stick your hand under the running water from your hammock, and try to grab at the shiny silver handle. Some people had a hard time with you, as you had this tendency to spit up on anyone and everyone, and the exploding diapers were no joke.
But always a happy baby. You smiled at the dogs, at strangers, at shadows on the wall. After your months of crying, it was such a relief to see you happy and enjoying yourself wherever you went. And even though I was sleep deprived until you were about 6 months old, after the first few months, when I got used to being bleary-eyed and having no memory, I treasured the hours spent nursing you in the dark, rocking and singing to you. The sweet smell of baby made everything okay.
We worried for a little while that you may always be thin-haired, and it seems like in the last month you've really started to grow into yourself. Your features make you look older than you really are, you have the most expressive face I've ever seen on a baby, and your hair is getting very long and thick, and dark like your Papa's. We're holding out hope that you have curly hair like me, so you can at least have the choice of curly or straight, though you won't appreciate it until you are much older, I'm sure.
These last couple months, you've also had a voracious appetite for real food. You've always been a fantastic nurser, after that first week when we were both trying to figure out how to latch you on, and even now you'll choose the titty over solids. But in a typical meal you'll have some Cheerios to start, while I prepare your food, main course is some pureed meat and veggies, maybe some seasoned rice. Then we try some cooked plain veggies, maybe avocado if we've got organic ones at home. Top that off with some shredded cheese, and finally plain yogurt mixed with fresh pureed fuit for dessert. And of course, you want the boob at the very end to wash it all down. Really, I'm surprised you don't spit up more, your stomach must be the size of your head.
This month you've also mastered walking. And I mean, really mastered it. You cruised for the last month or so, and you'd take six or seven hesitant steps if we really enticed you with a toy or treat, but the past week and a half you'll just randomly stand up on your own and start walking. It's crazy to see you stagger around like a geriatric drunk, dragging a pillow or your bath towel with you, falling over the dogs, and giggling like a crazy woman. I've tried not to encourage you too much to walk, because that's the end of leaving the baby gates open and now I have to figure out a way to keep you from eating the dog food.
I was trying to think of your favorite toy this month. I bought you a pool which you dig, but I think you'll have more fun there when Jackson can get in with you. And you've got a piano your Papa bought you that you'll play and dance with at the same time. The Costco box we brought home is still filled with your blanket and pillow you Nonny brought over and some toys, and the dogs are always fun to pull on. But I think you favorite toy is probably Jackson, to be honest. You pet his head like a stuffed animal, pull his binkie out and pop it back in, push him over and crawl on top of him to reach something over his head. I hope you're at least a bit more gentle with much younger kids. Like a little brother or sister?
I don't think I can ever express to you how much I love you. I don't think you will understand until you have your own children, if you choose to do so. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do to make you happy. And I'm sorry about the ear piercing this month. I know it scared you, but you were such a champ, and halleluja, the pains a balloon can make disappear! I am so grateful that you chose me as your Mama. And I am so proud of everything you have accomplished this year. Even your development this month has stunned me, that it seems like just yesterday you were sleeping on my chest, your little arms wrapped around my body, a tiny trickle of drool in the corner of your mouth and now... now you walk, and you know "more" and "hungry" in sign language, you cuddle when you're tired, and you bring toys to me that you want to play with. I'm amazed by you, every day.
So my Sweet Angel, Sweets, Sweetie, Boogie, T-Boog, Sousa, Duckie, SweetPea, Angie-Boo, My Darling, darling Taryn. Happy Birthday to you. I love you more than words to express, and I promise to tell you so much that you never forget. I love you, and I'm so proud of you, and I couldn't have imagined a better daughter in the world. My wish for you this month is that you always remember how much you are loved, no matter the circumstances in your life. You will always be surrounded by people who love you, and I hope you carry that with you, even when Mama and Papa aren't with you, you will alwyas be loved.
Happy Birthday.
Love Mommy.
The first month you pretty much just slept. And ate. A lot. I spent hours nursing you and watching Six Feet Under from DVDs we rented at the video store. We didn't leave the house much, except to sit on the front porch while I drank a cup of coffee, the one thing I really missed while I was pregnant with you. A lot of it was a blur, but I remember just sitting and watching you sleep, my heart so full of love and appreciation of you that I honestly felt that it might burst. Sometimes I would be so overwhelmed with my feelings of wanting to protect you, that I couldn't even breathe.
It sounds cheesy, but if you ever have a child, you'll understand. The second month was harder. You spent a lot of time crying. Mostly starting around 11pm until maybe 4am. The only way you would sleep is if your Papa was walking with you, or I held you on my chest. We swore up and down before you were born that you would be a crib baby, but this month we spent so much time on the couch with you or in bed, that it just became easier to let you sleep with us. And we discovered the infant swing, which finally let us sleep without holding you. We went through probably 10 batteries the first two weeks we had it.
The bigger you got, the more like a real person you became. The smiling, laughing, holding onto fingers and toys... it was so fun just to watch you try to figure out the world. When we would go on walks through the mall or downtown after having coffee with Erika and Dakota strangers would stop me to tell me how incredibly beautiful you are. They had no idea how intelligent you also were, and how strong, since you were standing by yourself while holding onto the futon before most babies could lift their heads.
The older you got, the less hairy you were as well. I thought maybe I had birthed a monkey at first, you were covered in this dark brown fuzz from the nape of your neck to the small of your back. And you absolutley hated to be too hot. When we bathed you in the sink, you'd stick your hand under the running water from your hammock, and try to grab at the shiny silver handle. Some people had a hard time with you, as you had this tendency to spit up on anyone and everyone, and the exploding diapers were no joke.
But always a happy baby. You smiled at the dogs, at strangers, at shadows on the wall. After your months of crying, it was such a relief to see you happy and enjoying yourself wherever you went. And even though I was sleep deprived until you were about 6 months old, after the first few months, when I got used to being bleary-eyed and having no memory, I treasured the hours spent nursing you in the dark, rocking and singing to you. The sweet smell of baby made everything okay.
We worried for a little while that you may always be thin-haired, and it seems like in the last month you've really started to grow into yourself. Your features make you look older than you really are, you have the most expressive face I've ever seen on a baby, and your hair is getting very long and thick, and dark like your Papa's. We're holding out hope that you have curly hair like me, so you can at least have the choice of curly or straight, though you won't appreciate it until you are much older, I'm sure.
These last couple months, you've also had a voracious appetite for real food. You've always been a fantastic nurser, after that first week when we were both trying to figure out how to latch you on, and even now you'll choose the titty over solids. But in a typical meal you'll have some Cheerios to start, while I prepare your food, main course is some pureed meat and veggies, maybe some seasoned rice. Then we try some cooked plain veggies, maybe avocado if we've got organic ones at home. Top that off with some shredded cheese, and finally plain yogurt mixed with fresh pureed fuit for dessert. And of course, you want the boob at the very end to wash it all down. Really, I'm surprised you don't spit up more, your stomach must be the size of your head.
This month you've also mastered walking. And I mean, really mastered it. You cruised for the last month or so, and you'd take six or seven hesitant steps if we really enticed you with a toy or treat, but the past week and a half you'll just randomly stand up on your own and start walking. It's crazy to see you stagger around like a geriatric drunk, dragging a pillow or your bath towel with you, falling over the dogs, and giggling like a crazy woman. I've tried not to encourage you too much to walk, because that's the end of leaving the baby gates open and now I have to figure out a way to keep you from eating the dog food.
I was trying to think of your favorite toy this month. I bought you a pool which you dig, but I think you'll have more fun there when Jackson can get in with you. And you've got a piano your Papa bought you that you'll play and dance with at the same time. The Costco box we brought home is still filled with your blanket and pillow you Nonny brought over and some toys, and the dogs are always fun to pull on. But I think you favorite toy is probably Jackson, to be honest. You pet his head like a stuffed animal, pull his binkie out and pop it back in, push him over and crawl on top of him to reach something over his head. I hope you're at least a bit more gentle with much younger kids. Like a little brother or sister?
I don't think I can ever express to you how much I love you. I don't think you will understand until you have your own children, if you choose to do so. There is nothing in the world I wouldn't do to make you happy. And I'm sorry about the ear piercing this month. I know it scared you, but you were such a champ, and halleluja, the pains a balloon can make disappear! I am so grateful that you chose me as your Mama. And I am so proud of everything you have accomplished this year. Even your development this month has stunned me, that it seems like just yesterday you were sleeping on my chest, your little arms wrapped around my body, a tiny trickle of drool in the corner of your mouth and now... now you walk, and you know "more" and "hungry" in sign language, you cuddle when you're tired, and you bring toys to me that you want to play with. I'm amazed by you, every day.
So my Sweet Angel, Sweets, Sweetie, Boogie, T-Boog, Sousa, Duckie, SweetPea, Angie-Boo, My Darling, darling Taryn. Happy Birthday to you. I love you more than words to express, and I promise to tell you so much that you never forget. I love you, and I'm so proud of you, and I couldn't have imagined a better daughter in the world. My wish for you this month is that you always remember how much you are loved, no matter the circumstances in your life. You will always be surrounded by people who love you, and I hope you carry that with you, even when Mama and Papa aren't with you, you will alwyas be loved.
Happy Birthday.
Love Mommy.
June 19, 2007
FINISHED (!!!!)
I just finished pumping for the last time at work (at least for this kid).
As I was packing up the power cord, which has been permanantly plugged into my office wall for the past 5 months, a hige smile broke out on my face, and I started doing this weird, convulsive, funky-chicken dance in front of my paper-covered window.
Then I thought about my across-the-hall neighbor (also my male lead worker) looking up from him computer and seeing my shadow like a freak-on-a-leash (under the Big Top) show at work, and started laughing out loud.
And when I opened the door, pulled the Caution sign off and walked down the hall to the kitchen, I notice a few people looking at me oddly, but you know what? I don't care.
I'm damn proud of myself for making it this long. I did what was best for my baby (in my mind) and if I want to celebrate that, to hell with all the men around here who will never have a plastic horn attached to their nipples for hours at a time to feed thier children.
Go me, it's Taryn's birthday, go me, I'm not pumping!
I'm going to try to con Ally into helping me get a big-ass plant upstairs after lunch for my office. Now that I'm taking the paper down, maybe they won't die from lack of sunlight anymore.
As I was packing up the power cord, which has been permanantly plugged into my office wall for the past 5 months, a hige smile broke out on my face, and I started doing this weird, convulsive, funky-chicken dance in front of my paper-covered window.
Then I thought about my across-the-hall neighbor (also my male lead worker) looking up from him computer and seeing my shadow like a freak-on-a-leash (under the Big Top) show at work, and started laughing out loud.
And when I opened the door, pulled the Caution sign off and walked down the hall to the kitchen, I notice a few people looking at me oddly, but you know what? I don't care.
I'm damn proud of myself for making it this long. I did what was best for my baby (in my mind) and if I want to celebrate that, to hell with all the men around here who will never have a plastic horn attached to their nipples for hours at a time to feed thier children.
Go me, it's Taryn's birthday, go me, I'm not pumping!
I'm going to try to con Ally into helping me get a big-ass plant upstairs after lunch for my office. Now that I'm taking the paper down, maybe they won't die from lack of sunlight anymore.
Shorts
I have these thoughts tumbling around my head, and really, none yet warrant an entire post to itself, yet, because maybe later I'll have the insight to delve a bit deeper, but for now I just need to get them out so I hav emore room in my brain to plan T-Boog's birthday.
1. Peachy Crap?
I think it's just me, but why on earth would someone want their restroom to smell like peach and shit? The aerosol here at work has been flowery or peach for ages, and it's gross. I quite enjoy peach lotion, or the smell of peach pie, but peach as a cover-up to a foul odor? Not the best idea in my book.
2. Ghetto-fied Hamilton?
Sometimes even cool folks have ass-inine ideas. Like my uber-awesome neighbors who commented yesterday that they wouldn't send their kids to Hamilton school because of all the people from Vallejo who moved into the rentals nearby. First off, whatever. As if having non-Marinites in close proximity to your children is such a bad thing? Because really, having intergrated schools is not the end of the freaking world. And yes, I get that you want your kids to have a good education, but isn't education about more than just book learning? Isn't it important for them to see that not everyone is middle-class white people, and to learn to interact with people from different ethnic and social classes? And besides, as a teacher, you of all people should be aware of the detrimental affect of moving white kids out of certain schools so that the funding follows them instead of staying where it started and helping people of color get a good education too. But damn, I forgot. You teach at Marin Catholic, not Novato High.
3. Speaking of Neighbors
The Great Dane People who live near us have evidently pissed off most of the neighborhood. I was completely unaware that their dogs are so disruptive to nearby residents because my ass is usually knocked-out and sound asleep until 5:30am when T-Boog decides she wants to nurse while she listens to the Early Birds sing to the worms. But I was advised yesterday that the neighbor between us gets super-pissed that they let the dogs out at 4am, unattended, to do their duties (which also means the shit is not getting picked up) and then let them howl and bark outside the front door when they are ready to come back in. Eck. I already got issues with the guy, his wife is cool, but he seems to be completely oblivious to the fact that parking a monster boat on the street, with two monster trucks nearby is a pain-in-the-ass to the rest of us blindly backing out of our own carports in the morning, let alone the fact that they park an extra car in the handicap space (not that we have any disabled folks living nearby, but if we did...) and whatever. I'm washing my hands of them.
4. Got Grass?
P has decided to grow us a lawn in back of our place. The way the condo is set up, we have a little 8 by 10 foot sheltered spot right outside out living room window that was, until yesterday, covered in drought-resistant bushes. So while I was washing/blowdrying/curling my hair last night I smelled the BBQ going and thought P was just making dinner. Turns out her was slash-and-burning those poor plants to clear a spot that he plans to roto-till and grow some grass. I'm trying to figure out if it's for the dogs or Taryn. Maybe both? And I'm just hoping the HOA doesn't get all vindictive on us and make him re-place the stuff he tore up if we're found out. But if they do find out, I'm blaming the Great Dane people or the gardners. They are the only ones who go back there besides us.
5. On Family
Yay! Two of my aunts are coming to visit next week. I'm stoked, especially so they can see Taryn and hopefully the weather will be nice for them. Too bad I probably won't get an RDO while they are here, but maybe I'll happen to be sick so I can get a long weekend. Heh. Heh.
6. Little Overborad, Doncha Think?
I have the attendee list for T-Boog's birthday, and oops. From the people I invited we have 5-7 infants, 8-10 children, and 25-31 adults who will be there. Which means we'll have to feed and entertain enywhere from 40-60 people that day. Damn, I'm so glad I didn't decide to do it at my place. But double damn, I have to FEED all there people! 'Cept the babies of course, not my job.
1. Peachy Crap?
I think it's just me, but why on earth would someone want their restroom to smell like peach and shit? The aerosol here at work has been flowery or peach for ages, and it's gross. I quite enjoy peach lotion, or the smell of peach pie, but peach as a cover-up to a foul odor? Not the best idea in my book.
2. Ghetto-fied Hamilton?
Sometimes even cool folks have ass-inine ideas. Like my uber-awesome neighbors who commented yesterday that they wouldn't send their kids to Hamilton school because of all the people from Vallejo who moved into the rentals nearby. First off, whatever. As if having non-Marinites in close proximity to your children is such a bad thing? Because really, having intergrated schools is not the end of the freaking world. And yes, I get that you want your kids to have a good education, but isn't education about more than just book learning? Isn't it important for them to see that not everyone is middle-class white people, and to learn to interact with people from different ethnic and social classes? And besides, as a teacher, you of all people should be aware of the detrimental affect of moving white kids out of certain schools so that the funding follows them instead of staying where it started and helping people of color get a good education too. But damn, I forgot. You teach at Marin Catholic, not Novato High.
3. Speaking of Neighbors
The Great Dane People who live near us have evidently pissed off most of the neighborhood. I was completely unaware that their dogs are so disruptive to nearby residents because my ass is usually knocked-out and sound asleep until 5:30am when T-Boog decides she wants to nurse while she listens to the Early Birds sing to the worms. But I was advised yesterday that the neighbor between us gets super-pissed that they let the dogs out at 4am, unattended, to do their duties (which also means the shit is not getting picked up) and then let them howl and bark outside the front door when they are ready to come back in. Eck. I already got issues with the guy, his wife is cool, but he seems to be completely oblivious to the fact that parking a monster boat on the street, with two monster trucks nearby is a pain-in-the-ass to the rest of us blindly backing out of our own carports in the morning, let alone the fact that they park an extra car in the handicap space (not that we have any disabled folks living nearby, but if we did...) and whatever. I'm washing my hands of them.
4. Got Grass?
P has decided to grow us a lawn in back of our place. The way the condo is set up, we have a little 8 by 10 foot sheltered spot right outside out living room window that was, until yesterday, covered in drought-resistant bushes. So while I was washing/blowdrying/curling my hair last night I smelled the BBQ going and thought P was just making dinner. Turns out her was slash-and-burning those poor plants to clear a spot that he plans to roto-till and grow some grass. I'm trying to figure out if it's for the dogs or Taryn. Maybe both? And I'm just hoping the HOA doesn't get all vindictive on us and make him re-place the stuff he tore up if we're found out. But if they do find out, I'm blaming the Great Dane people or the gardners. They are the only ones who go back there besides us.
5. On Family
Yay! Two of my aunts are coming to visit next week. I'm stoked, especially so they can see Taryn and hopefully the weather will be nice for them. Too bad I probably won't get an RDO while they are here, but maybe I'll happen to be sick so I can get a long weekend. Heh. Heh.
6. Little Overborad, Doncha Think?
I have the attendee list for T-Boog's birthday, and oops. From the people I invited we have 5-7 infants, 8-10 children, and 25-31 adults who will be there. Which means we'll have to feed and entertain enywhere from 40-60 people that day. Damn, I'm so glad I didn't decide to do it at my place. But double damn, I have to FEED all there people! 'Cept the babies of course, not my job.
June 17, 2007
Happy Father's Day
I know I rag on P a lot in this blog. It's just venting. I love him with all my soul, but I'm not going to lie on here just because it's a holiday and say he's the World's Best Papa, because he's not.
But he is an incredible father to his daughter when he takes the time out of his day for her. I know he loves her more than he loves anything on Earth, and he would do anything in his power to make her happy. And for that, I am so grateful.
"They" say you marry your father, and in many ways I think that's true. I did find a man who had some issues with being a husband and being a father, different issues than my own father does, but one way that they are very similar is that they each recognize their shortfalls, and at least in regard to their daughters they both would move mountains just to see one sweet smile. Neither of them had a good role-model as to how a good father acts, so they are winging it, and doing a fantastic job as they go.
So to all the fathers out there, especially my dad Jeffery, and my husband Pedro, Happy Father's Day. You guys are doing an awesome job, and I appreciate you.
But he is an incredible father to his daughter when he takes the time out of his day for her. I know he loves her more than he loves anything on Earth, and he would do anything in his power to make her happy. And for that, I am so grateful.
"They" say you marry your father, and in many ways I think that's true. I did find a man who had some issues with being a husband and being a father, different issues than my own father does, but one way that they are very similar is that they each recognize their shortfalls, and at least in regard to their daughters they both would move mountains just to see one sweet smile. Neither of them had a good role-model as to how a good father acts, so they are winging it, and doing a fantastic job as they go.
So to all the fathers out there, especially my dad Jeffery, and my husband Pedro, Happy Father's Day. You guys are doing an awesome job, and I appreciate you.
June 16, 2007
Money Comes, Money's Gone
For the past year, P and I have been dropping loose change into one of two piggy banks for T-Boog. I'd normally empty my purse a couple times a week of singles and silver change, and I'd empty P's pockets nightly of his change too. We also recycled bottles and cans for a couple months, but it was too much work and too messy, so now we just throw them in the big blue bin and let th egarbage folks take care of the recycling part.
I counted up the money today from both biggy banks and was shocked shitless to find out she had over $150 in them. Only about $30 was actual bills, the rest was mostly quarters and dimes.
I'm glad I thought to do this, and what trips me out even more is that The change collected was mostly from the last six months, since I've been back from maternity leave. Because before that, I wasn't contributing much since I paid for everything on my credit cards, and P was off for a while too and wasn't using as much cash.
I'm planning to add another couple hundred dollars to this and open up her college account this week. Then I can start deducting $25 per paycheck to deposit into it, until I get my raise. Yay!
And of course, I spent another $75 on party favors for her birthdy today. That's like $100 just in stuff, no food yet. I think I'll have to bring some back, because this is just craziness. But I'm excited for it, and to finally see all the kiddies all otgether and just hang out like we used to do.
I counted up the money today from both biggy banks and was shocked shitless to find out she had over $150 in them. Only about $30 was actual bills, the rest was mostly quarters and dimes.
I'm glad I thought to do this, and what trips me out even more is that The change collected was mostly from the last six months, since I've been back from maternity leave. Because before that, I wasn't contributing much since I paid for everything on my credit cards, and P was off for a while too and wasn't using as much cash.
I'm planning to add another couple hundred dollars to this and open up her college account this week. Then I can start deducting $25 per paycheck to deposit into it, until I get my raise. Yay!
And of course, I spent another $75 on party favors for her birthdy today. That's like $100 just in stuff, no food yet. I think I'll have to bring some back, because this is just craziness. But I'm excited for it, and to finally see all the kiddies all otgether and just hang out like we used to do.
June 15, 2007
Dead Eyes
I don't normally get angry at clients. I feel like for the most part I can empathize with those people with mental health issues, and sympathize with the ones with serious medical problems. But yesterday I had a client who not only made personal attacks on me, she became hysterical, made a complaint about me, and was generally difficult when I was giving more time and effort to her than I do to most clients.
And I don't know when my frustration turned to anger, but I felt all the emotion drain from my face and I just sat and stared at her blankly while she ranted and raved, calling me immature and inexperienced, saying I was too young to know what she was going through and after spending close to 4 hours with her over the past three days, trying to piece her situation together and get a determination as quickly as possible, she got angry that I hadn't processed her case yet.
And I had to break it down for her that she was not my only client. And that the four hours I spent with her could have been used to process cases, and if that was how my time was being spent, and if she had all her documents back to me, I may have been able to tell her something difinitive.
But she didn't get me everyting. And she still wasted my time.
And after I left work, she left me three more messages, apologizing for how she was acting. But obviously the apology came after she complained to my supervisor about me. And I'm not taking the complaint personally. She may have had a personal problem with my age, but I know the over-arching issue was the process she was frustrated with, and my age was the only part of my involvement that she could attack. So fine.
But I'm still miffed as to why I was so angry with her. I think a part of it was I did expect some gratitude for my going above and beyond my job description to try to help her get things straightened out. Partly I think I was tired and frustrated with my ineffective attempts to get her to understand me and how the program is going to treat her income.
So I gave her the dead eyes. I stared at her, trying to rationalize her behavior in my mind. Not giving away how much I just didn't care anymore. That really bothers me. That I was so angry that I just didn't care what happened to her anymore.
And I don't know when my frustration turned to anger, but I felt all the emotion drain from my face and I just sat and stared at her blankly while she ranted and raved, calling me immature and inexperienced, saying I was too young to know what she was going through and after spending close to 4 hours with her over the past three days, trying to piece her situation together and get a determination as quickly as possible, she got angry that I hadn't processed her case yet.
And I had to break it down for her that she was not my only client. And that the four hours I spent with her could have been used to process cases, and if that was how my time was being spent, and if she had all her documents back to me, I may have been able to tell her something difinitive.
But she didn't get me everyting. And she still wasted my time.
And after I left work, she left me three more messages, apologizing for how she was acting. But obviously the apology came after she complained to my supervisor about me. And I'm not taking the complaint personally. She may have had a personal problem with my age, but I know the over-arching issue was the process she was frustrated with, and my age was the only part of my involvement that she could attack. So fine.
But I'm still miffed as to why I was so angry with her. I think a part of it was I did expect some gratitude for my going above and beyond my job description to try to help her get things straightened out. Partly I think I was tired and frustrated with my ineffective attempts to get her to understand me and how the program is going to treat her income.
So I gave her the dead eyes. I stared at her, trying to rationalize her behavior in my mind. Not giving away how much I just didn't care anymore. That really bothers me. That I was so angry that I just didn't care what happened to her anymore.
June 14, 2007
Kensei
I've been reading the same book for weeks now, and I'm bored. It's not that the book isn't good, it's just that it's the same damn book I started over a month ago, and I'm over it. But I'm not the person who can just stop reading something once I've started, because if I get more than 20 pages into a book, I finish it, regardless of how much it sucks.
I'm just weird like that.
I normally go for psych-mystery books, and maybe one of the issues here is that this is more of a techno-geek-espionage story, rather than my normal anticipation-laden genre, and it just seems to drag on and on and on. And while the cultural breakdown is interesting, the last 20 pages seem like they are never going to end. It's hard to convince myself to sit down and read when I'm really not enjoying it, so I have to keep the mantra up that as soon as I finish, I can start something better. Which is quite an enticement because I went to the library earlier this week and picked up a few novels I can't wait to dig into.
But wait I must do.
When I first had Taryn, I was reading four books at the same time. I had a baby-soothing technique book in her room that I would read while I nursed her in the rocker, a novel in my room for those sleepless nights when my internal clock was jacked up, a breastfeeding book in the crapper, and another book downstairs for when she fell asleep on my chest and I didn't want to wake her up to go get my books upstairs. And then, in my sleep-deprived state I could follow them all at the same time. But not anymore. I get lost and confused so easily, it's not even funny. I get lost and confused if I read a Parents and Time magazine at the same time.
So I figured out that I probably read very quickly so that I don't get bored. I can go through four or five books a month if they really interest me, just reading here and there before bed, or while I'm waiting for water to boil...whatever. But evidently that didn't happen with Kensei and now I'm ready to burn the damn thing, just so I won't be tempted to go back and finish it before I whip out the next one.
But really, I'll probably just finish it tonight before I get caught up on the Sopranoes so that this weekend I can devote some time to a worthwhile novel while T-Boog is sleeping, instead of dreading having to finish this damn thing just to start another one.
I'm just weird like that.
I normally go for psych-mystery books, and maybe one of the issues here is that this is more of a techno-geek-espionage story, rather than my normal anticipation-laden genre, and it just seems to drag on and on and on. And while the cultural breakdown is interesting, the last 20 pages seem like they are never going to end. It's hard to convince myself to sit down and read when I'm really not enjoying it, so I have to keep the mantra up that as soon as I finish, I can start something better. Which is quite an enticement because I went to the library earlier this week and picked up a few novels I can't wait to dig into.
But wait I must do.
When I first had Taryn, I was reading four books at the same time. I had a baby-soothing technique book in her room that I would read while I nursed her in the rocker, a novel in my room for those sleepless nights when my internal clock was jacked up, a breastfeeding book in the crapper, and another book downstairs for when she fell asleep on my chest and I didn't want to wake her up to go get my books upstairs. And then, in my sleep-deprived state I could follow them all at the same time. But not anymore. I get lost and confused so easily, it's not even funny. I get lost and confused if I read a Parents and Time magazine at the same time.
So I figured out that I probably read very quickly so that I don't get bored. I can go through four or five books a month if they really interest me, just reading here and there before bed, or while I'm waiting for water to boil...whatever. But evidently that didn't happen with Kensei and now I'm ready to burn the damn thing, just so I won't be tempted to go back and finish it before I whip out the next one.
But really, I'll probably just finish it tonight before I get caught up on the Sopranoes so that this weekend I can devote some time to a worthwhile novel while T-Boog is sleeping, instead of dreading having to finish this damn thing just to start another one.
June 11, 2007
Compromise
I just got out of the shower, moisturized, grabbed a beer to help with the milk flow tomorrow (since the long weekends are always hell to pump after), and had to decide whether I wanted to blog before bed, or read some more of my book.
So I chose to blog about the fact that I'm going to read instead of spending time on a real post tonight.
I've had an awesome, relaxing weekend, and I kind of want to keep it tucked in my pocket, my own little secret from the blog-o-sphere, so I can smile to myself at work and people will wonder what I'm so damn happy about.
But tomorrow, I'll tell ya'll why I read so fast. Probably.
So I chose to blog about the fact that I'm going to read instead of spending time on a real post tonight.
I've had an awesome, relaxing weekend, and I kind of want to keep it tucked in my pocket, my own little secret from the blog-o-sphere, so I can smile to myself at work and people will wonder what I'm so damn happy about.
But tomorrow, I'll tell ya'll why I read so fast. Probably.
June 8, 2007
Only Once Each Year
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday Dear Aletta....
Happy Birthday to Me!
The big 24. I'm almost a quarter of a century!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday Dear Aletta....
Happy Birthday to Me!
The big 24. I'm almost a quarter of a century!
June 7, 2007
The "Right" Way
I've heard a lot of talk lately about doing things the "right way" and while that sounds nice and all, it got me thinking that I've rarely done things as expected, but they seem to be working out okay so far.
P and I were married after dating on and off for a year and a half. Some people think it was too quick, some people told us we weren't stable enough to maintain a marriage, but five years later, we're still together.
I attended two colleges before I graduated from Sonoma State. Unlike a lot of folks, I went straight to a private college after high school, then left after a year to transfer to a community college for a year, then transferred again to a State University for the last three semesters.
I bought my home a month after I turned 21. We applied as newlyweds on the fluke chance that one day five years down the road we'd be eligible to buy a home, but less than two years later we received the keys to our very own condo. We signed our souls away to pay a mortgage while most of our friends were still in their club-hopping faze.
I went through childbirth without an epidural. Need I say more?
It seems like some of the most poignant and influential events in my life didn't happen as I expected them to, but I wouldn't change any of them. I think they all helped me learn how to handle diversity, because as cliche as it sounds, I became who I am because of them.
No, maybe I really just more sharply defined who I am through them, but either way, I'm glad I didn't do it by the book. I think things get dropped into your life to teach you how to handle different situations on a whim. P and I hadn't planned to get pregnant with Taryn, but we did, and we lived through my pregnancy and her first year, and I couldn't have imagined a more perfect time to have her.
It's weird, because yesterday I was blogging about gaining the control over my life enough to not be in control, and the only time I see that happening is when I'm with Taryn. She helps me to see that life is imperfect, but that it is so perfectly imperfect that I wouldn't have it any other way.
P and I were married after dating on and off for a year and a half. Some people think it was too quick, some people told us we weren't stable enough to maintain a marriage, but five years later, we're still together.
I attended two colleges before I graduated from Sonoma State. Unlike a lot of folks, I went straight to a private college after high school, then left after a year to transfer to a community college for a year, then transferred again to a State University for the last three semesters.
I bought my home a month after I turned 21. We applied as newlyweds on the fluke chance that one day five years down the road we'd be eligible to buy a home, but less than two years later we received the keys to our very own condo. We signed our souls away to pay a mortgage while most of our friends were still in their club-hopping faze.
I went through childbirth without an epidural. Need I say more?
It seems like some of the most poignant and influential events in my life didn't happen as I expected them to, but I wouldn't change any of them. I think they all helped me learn how to handle diversity, because as cliche as it sounds, I became who I am because of them.
No, maybe I really just more sharply defined who I am through them, but either way, I'm glad I didn't do it by the book. I think things get dropped into your life to teach you how to handle different situations on a whim. P and I hadn't planned to get pregnant with Taryn, but we did, and we lived through my pregnancy and her first year, and I couldn't have imagined a more perfect time to have her.
It's weird, because yesterday I was blogging about gaining the control over my life enough to not be in control, and the only time I see that happening is when I'm with Taryn. She helps me to see that life is imperfect, but that it is so perfectly imperfect that I wouldn't have it any other way.
June 6, 2007
Stop and Think Before You Do Anything
I've just spent the last hour reading Paulo Coelho's blog. I love it. I feel inspired by his words and wisdom, and at the same time reassured that there is no need for me to struggle to acheive anything. He mentions a lot that we are each on a path, and that our attitude towards life will affect our journey, but we still have the same destiny to fulfill.
I feel like I'm always struggling. And not always for a purpose. Self-imposed deadlines and imagined competition. I'm always trying to do better than I did before, but without the acceptance that maybe it was good enough. I focus so much on the details and try to stay on top of things, but I'm missing the bigger picture. And I worry that my mindstate is inborn, that I don't have enough control to be less in control.
In an almost out-of-body sense, I truly do not feel in control of my actions very often. I feel like I'm deing driven by some invisible force, that I am constantly reacting to the world instead of slowing down and taking the time to make conscious decisions. Ha. I have to take control of myself, in order to be less in control. Oxymoron much?
I don't really want to stop and think before I act. I want to be at a slow enough pace that I don't have to stop in order to think. But I lose my mindfulness when I'm stressed, and I get stressed when I'm angry, and I get angry when anything isn't how I expected it to be, and I know my expectations are a huge hurdle to overcome but when I feel like I'm struggling just for survival, it's hard to focus on the little things. Even when it's the little things that make it easier to survive.
I feel like I'm always struggling. And not always for a purpose. Self-imposed deadlines and imagined competition. I'm always trying to do better than I did before, but without the acceptance that maybe it was good enough. I focus so much on the details and try to stay on top of things, but I'm missing the bigger picture. And I worry that my mindstate is inborn, that I don't have enough control to be less in control.
In an almost out-of-body sense, I truly do not feel in control of my actions very often. I feel like I'm deing driven by some invisible force, that I am constantly reacting to the world instead of slowing down and taking the time to make conscious decisions. Ha. I have to take control of myself, in order to be less in control. Oxymoron much?
I don't really want to stop and think before I act. I want to be at a slow enough pace that I don't have to stop in order to think. But I lose my mindfulness when I'm stressed, and I get stressed when I'm angry, and I get angry when anything isn't how I expected it to be, and I know my expectations are a huge hurdle to overcome but when I feel like I'm struggling just for survival, it's hard to focus on the little things. Even when it's the little things that make it easier to survive.
Final Countdown Begins
Sick of the titty-talk yet? Too bad, because really, pumping is a major part of my work day. If I spend 30-45 minutes per day, that's like ... two and a half hours per week that I'm in here, all alone, trying to feed my child. Which means in the last five months since I got back from maternity leave, I've spent at least 3000 minutes pumping. Wow. You know what I could do with an extra 50 hours of my life?
Sleep.
And now, as of right now, I only have eight more days to go. I haven't decided yet if I will actually pump on her birthday. Maybe not. Because if I'm still only sqeezing out an ounce per day (thanks tequila!) it's not really worth it. And since I'll have to use up the freezer supply getting her used to regular milk, may as well start sooner than later, right. Right?
I am immensly proud of myself for pumping this long. I can't even tell you how many times I wanted to quit, though of course I blogged about it a lot, but on almost a daily basis I was frustrated with the process, with the results, and I had to set a very clear end to the suffering in order to be able to make it through.
Two more weeks.
I don't think I'll miss it. I'll still be nursing four or five times a day when I'm at work, and seven or eight when I'm home with her. I'll be able to take this grid paper off my office window and see outside during the day. I'll be able to bring plants into my office and not have them shrivel up and die from lack of sunlight. I'll have a whole 'nother corner of my desk to decorate once the pump is gone. And I'll have the self-satisfaction that my child never had formula. Not that in the scheme of things it makes a difference, but to me it was important, to my budget it helped a hell of a lot too.
So yay! And now I'm really going to buy some shoes, because I'm wearing my funky-ass black sneakers from Payless that I bought while I was working at MERVYN'S and they such. They are ungly. And I want new shoes as a present for myself for my birthday.
Sleep.
And now, as of right now, I only have eight more days to go. I haven't decided yet if I will actually pump on her birthday. Maybe not. Because if I'm still only sqeezing out an ounce per day (thanks tequila!) it's not really worth it. And since I'll have to use up the freezer supply getting her used to regular milk, may as well start sooner than later, right. Right?
I am immensly proud of myself for pumping this long. I can't even tell you how many times I wanted to quit, though of course I blogged about it a lot, but on almost a daily basis I was frustrated with the process, with the results, and I had to set a very clear end to the suffering in order to be able to make it through.
Two more weeks.
I don't think I'll miss it. I'll still be nursing four or five times a day when I'm at work, and seven or eight when I'm home with her. I'll be able to take this grid paper off my office window and see outside during the day. I'll be able to bring plants into my office and not have them shrivel up and die from lack of sunlight. I'll have a whole 'nother corner of my desk to decorate once the pump is gone. And I'll have the self-satisfaction that my child never had formula. Not that in the scheme of things it makes a difference, but to me it was important, to my budget it helped a hell of a lot too.
So yay! And now I'm really going to buy some shoes, because I'm wearing my funky-ass black sneakers from Payless that I bought while I was working at MERVYN'S and they such. They are ungly. And I want new shoes as a present for myself for my birthday.
June 5, 2007
Yep, Another Rant
I don't know why, but I get so frustrated when I am in the kitchen cooking, and someone walks in and eats something else.
On major holidays, it's acceptable. I don't expect anyone to wait 6 hours to eat on Thanksgiving or Christmas, especially when my butt is in there chowing down on whatever scraps I have left from stuffing or sweet potatoes or greens.
But on a Monday night when I am cooking dinner at a reasonable hour, I fully expect you to wait until dinner is finished to eat. If I'm making fish and rice with steamed veggies, why would you eat a bowl of mushy cereal? Because really, tilapia doesn't take that long to cook, and okay fine, I took as short break partway through to put T-Boog to sleep, but the rice was cooking anyway.
I don't know if it's because I feel like my cooking isn't appreciated, but really, I don't cook for myself. If I'm alone I'll make a salad or throw together some leftovers to feed myself. When I cook, it's not for me, and the fact that she would rather have cereal irks me like no other.
Heheh. Ya'll know that's a lie. I'd rather eat alone than sit across from someone who chews with their mouth open. Or see someone not pick up their puppy poops so Rosco and Ka'i try to eat it. Or ... well you get the point.
But anyway, I guess it's fine in a sense because now there's more for me. That girl worries me though, she doesn't eat enough, and when she does eat, she binges. I have an issue with dieters. I don't see why the focus can't be getting healthy, rather than being thin, but I know, hate on the skinny bitch. I may be skinny, but I'm still skinny-fat.
Thin but not exactly healthy? Me. All the way. I eat healthy, but I need to be more active. Which reminds me, I really noticed myself losing weight when I first got pregnant, and I think it's because I did three small things.
I stopped eating fast food more than once or twice a week. And since T-Boog was born, I still don't eat out, but more for a money reason as opposed to health. Mostly.
I also stopped watching TV. Now, when I was pregnant I kept falling asleep and missing the good parts and when you're not up on the story, it just isn't as fun to sit on your butt for an hour staring at a big-ass TV.
And. I started walking the dogs twice a day. It's only for about 10 minutes each time, but it meakes me feel better emotionally, and I'm sure it helped a bit with the swollen ankles too.
That's it. It's not like I diet, and maybe I was blessed with a faster metabolism than most, but it's not like I rely on just that to stay this size.
Somehow I just don't think she's going to do well eating Corn Flakes three times a day. It can't be healthy. So that's why she needs to eat my odd-flavored American cooking.
On major holidays, it's acceptable. I don't expect anyone to wait 6 hours to eat on Thanksgiving or Christmas, especially when my butt is in there chowing down on whatever scraps I have left from stuffing or sweet potatoes or greens.
But on a Monday night when I am cooking dinner at a reasonable hour, I fully expect you to wait until dinner is finished to eat. If I'm making fish and rice with steamed veggies, why would you eat a bowl of mushy cereal? Because really, tilapia doesn't take that long to cook, and okay fine, I took as short break partway through to put T-Boog to sleep, but the rice was cooking anyway.
I don't know if it's because I feel like my cooking isn't appreciated, but really, I don't cook for myself. If I'm alone I'll make a salad or throw together some leftovers to feed myself. When I cook, it's not for me, and the fact that she would rather have cereal irks me like no other.
Heheh. Ya'll know that's a lie. I'd rather eat alone than sit across from someone who chews with their mouth open. Or see someone not pick up their puppy poops so Rosco and Ka'i try to eat it. Or ... well you get the point.
But anyway, I guess it's fine in a sense because now there's more for me. That girl worries me though, she doesn't eat enough, and when she does eat, she binges. I have an issue with dieters. I don't see why the focus can't be getting healthy, rather than being thin, but I know, hate on the skinny bitch. I may be skinny, but I'm still skinny-fat.
Thin but not exactly healthy? Me. All the way. I eat healthy, but I need to be more active. Which reminds me, I really noticed myself losing weight when I first got pregnant, and I think it's because I did three small things.
I stopped eating fast food more than once or twice a week. And since T-Boog was born, I still don't eat out, but more for a money reason as opposed to health. Mostly.
I also stopped watching TV. Now, when I was pregnant I kept falling asleep and missing the good parts and when you're not up on the story, it just isn't as fun to sit on your butt for an hour staring at a big-ass TV.
And. I started walking the dogs twice a day. It's only for about 10 minutes each time, but it meakes me feel better emotionally, and I'm sure it helped a bit with the swollen ankles too.
That's it. It's not like I diet, and maybe I was blessed with a faster metabolism than most, but it's not like I rely on just that to stay this size.
Somehow I just don't think she's going to do well eating Corn Flakes three times a day. It can't be healthy. So that's why she needs to eat my odd-flavored American cooking.
June 3, 2007
Wasted Day
And I started it out wasted too.
We went to Cache Creek last night. Or this morning. Whatever. Had dinner at Moylan's around 9, on the road to butt-fuck I don't even pretend to know where by 10:30-ish.
Wait, rewind. Beer at Moylan's. Cazadores at Teresa's right after. More Cazadores at the gas station while P bought water and B filled up. More Cazadores when we arrived at Cache Creek. Some gambling, a margarita, and more Cazadores. Then a late dinner (I think we sat down to eat at 3:30am? Maybe 4?) and headed home to arrive back home at 6am.
Ohmigoodness. My head was pounding. I can still feel the monkey in my brain beating my skull to get out. Didn't get anything done, and wasn't I just saying this is exactly why I don't go out partying much anymore? Fun times though, and I'm glad we got to have some sort of celebration for our birthdays.
I'm going to slepe now. Hopefully I'll be sober by tomorrow morning.
We went to Cache Creek last night. Or this morning. Whatever. Had dinner at Moylan's around 9, on the road to butt-fuck I don't even pretend to know where by 10:30-ish.
Wait, rewind. Beer at Moylan's. Cazadores at Teresa's right after. More Cazadores at the gas station while P bought water and B filled up. More Cazadores when we arrived at Cache Creek. Some gambling, a margarita, and more Cazadores. Then a late dinner (I think we sat down to eat at 3:30am? Maybe 4?) and headed home to arrive back home at 6am.
Ohmigoodness. My head was pounding. I can still feel the monkey in my brain beating my skull to get out. Didn't get anything done, and wasn't I just saying this is exactly why I don't go out partying much anymore? Fun times though, and I'm glad we got to have some sort of celebration for our birthdays.
I'm going to slepe now. Hopefully I'll be sober by tomorrow morning.
June 2, 2007
I Know, it's Cheating
But I really love taking T-Boog shopping for her own birthday presents. I think this will probably be the only time I can do it, handing her toys to see how she likes them, buy it, wrap it up, and she'll still be suprised when she gets it in a couple weeks.
And also? She loves the Costco boxes. She moved into a big one, she's got her Nonny's blanket, a couple books, some toys, and a cookie. She can sit there for hours a day playing, climbing in and out, walking around it holding onto the sides, and for a kid her age, it's kind of amazing to see her so engrossed in one thing for so long.
Gives me time to fold laundry without her throwing clothes and socks all over the living room.
And also? She loves the Costco boxes. She moved into a big one, she's got her Nonny's blanket, a couple books, some toys, and a cookie. She can sit there for hours a day playing, climbing in and out, walking around it holding onto the sides, and for a kid her age, it's kind of amazing to see her so engrossed in one thing for so long.
Gives me time to fold laundry without her throwing clothes and socks all over the living room.
June 1, 2007
Not Going to do It
I decided not to apply for the promotion at my job.
I don't think I'm ready for it, I don't know enough, I'm not on top of it yet.
And really, I don't want the responsibility.
I kind of like the fact that I have my list of stuff to do, and when it's done, I still get paid to pay my bills, or blog, or surf the 'net. I don't have people knocking on my door for questions (mostly) I don't have to stay later if a client drops in and it;s time for me to go, and when I get someone pissed off, I can hand them over to someone else to deal with.
And I get paid pretty well as it is, for the amount of work I have to do.
Maybe next year.
I don't think I'm ready for it, I don't know enough, I'm not on top of it yet.
And really, I don't want the responsibility.
I kind of like the fact that I have my list of stuff to do, and when it's done, I still get paid to pay my bills, or blog, or surf the 'net. I don't have people knocking on my door for questions (mostly) I don't have to stay later if a client drops in and it;s time for me to go, and when I get someone pissed off, I can hand them over to someone else to deal with.
And I get paid pretty well as it is, for the amount of work I have to do.
Maybe next year.
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