Month Three

My Dearest Darling Little SweetPea,

Let me start by saying, I am so glad that your birthday is the 20th, and not the 19th, because if I had to have written this letter yesterday... it wouldn't have gotten done. The past few days, you have been screaming like a posessed chicken in need of some vicodin, and for a moment, I was tempted to resort to your Nonny's old trick of dosing up on Tylenol to get a break from the screaming (mine, not yours, Luv). But alas, once I scheduled your appointment to see the wonderful Dr. Matsumoto, your screaming and coughing and titty strike ended, and you were rested, fed, cheery and flirting as all get-out at the office. *sigh* I supposed I'll look like a new, over-reacting, first-time momma eventually, might as well start now.

So my Lovey-Dove, this month has been my favorite so far. Maybe it's the fact that you finally decided to suck on your binkie, or maybe because your fear of those-who-lack-pigmentation ended, and you once again coo and smile at your Nonny, but you are just the most entertaining and delightful baby to be around that I have ever seen. And this is going waay above and beyond the mommy prejudice. You have filled out so much, your little rollie-pollie thighs are so cute and soft and kissable, and the dimples on your little behind when you stand up are just adorable, and yes Duckie, you stand up! Everyone was amazed that at two months old you were strong enough to hold up your weight, and when you hold up your head, it's steady and not wobbly like the other kids your age, and your grip is so strong, I think it freaks some people out that it takes real effort to claim their fingers back.

And ohmigoodness, you have this habit now of sucking on people you like. You started doing it when you were just a few weeks old, when your Papa would pick you up to burp you, you'd start sucking on his neck, but now it's even better because you lick people's arms who are holding you. Your Uncle B's dad Chip was so amused you were licking him, and your Tia Tere too. But don't get embarassed Luv, everything you do is cute, even when your diaper explodes (which is does with some regularity, damn Pampers), and you have gas like nobody's business (just like your Popo), and your have the biggest mocos I've ever soon in a baby, but maybe that's because you've been sick this week.

Last month we had so much fun taking walks and exploring Hamilton, and this month, now that you are sleeping all night in your crib, I love bringing you to bed with me in the morning, and we play, and have long talks, and smile, and make faces at each other, and it is just the most precious and memorable time that I have ever had in my life. You are like a healing fountain of love. When I look in your smiling face, I forget all the pain and hurt and disappointment in my past, and I just feel hope, that you'll have a happier childhood that your mommy, that you'll reach your full potentioal, and even though life won't always be easy, my hope for you is that you can find humor and lessons in everything you do. It's the only way to stay sane in this world.

So Dinky-Dink, life is good. Except for your shots, that was so awful I'm tempted to never let them poke you again, but I know I have to. Just know I am always right there with you crying, and when you have your own kids, you'll understand how painful it is to watch (and flippin' have to participate at Kaiser). But otherwise, I've never had so much fun, or felt so exhausted and refreshed and paranoid and relaxed all at one time. The joys of being a Gemini, eh? I love you Angel, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life watching you grow.

Love,
Mommy.

Can't Get Enough

Okay, our digital camera is still out of comission, but we borrowed Oascar's to take some of these, and the crappy quality ones are from our camcorder.



Oh, yes. I am quite cute, ain't I?



Taryn rocking out.



Just chillin' in her swing.



Trying to escape from the plaid jungle.



Kind of look like a boy, eh?



Say "aaaaaaaah."



I'm going to be walking in no time. Please ignore the extra skin.



Buh bye..

Oh! The shame!

For the past few days, I have been witness to an unbearbly distasteful sight. I just had to get it off my chest, please don't judge me for their actions.

My dogs have been humping.

Now, this is distressing for two very important, very different reasons.

First, they are siblings. I know, they are dogs, but still. The impropriety of them running around in public like this, it's just disgusting. I mean, it's not like we're living in Oaklahoma. Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen in California.

Second, and even more upsetting than them being siblings, is that Ka'i (female) is the one humping Rosco (male). *yeck*

I thought at first that it was a dominance thing. They would run around the house like sex-starved teenagers, chasing each other and chewing on each others' faces until Rosco stopped running and dropped his toy. Then Ka'i would mount him and start humping away until I threw a sock at them both. This happened twice, and I as totally support women being independent and in charge, I left it alone.

But then, Ka'i started humping Rosco when he was asleep. And I started to get worried.

And now, she even resorts to getting her groove on with the fuzzy pillow on the couch (you've been warned). The same fuzzy pillow Rosco used to hump when he actually had nuts.

So now I'm worried. Could she be trans-sexual? Maybe Rosco is gay and she's playing into his fantasies? I can't imagine where she suddenly got this from. Rosco doesn't hump much of anything since his poor little grapes were removed, and they don't really kick it with other dogs because they have no manners.

Oh, what did I do wrong? Am I a bad mommy for letting them do this? I just want them both to be happy, even if it will outcast us from society....

Well. That was traumatic.

On the advice of a friend of mine (thanks a lot Clara) I went clothes shopping yesterday. It wasn't planned, I was waiting for someone to wake up, who was evidently already awake. Another story.

I got the baby some more binkies at Target, then walked over to Ross all excited to get some pants that I could squeeze my over-sized ass into. I knew I was bigger than I was before, but I figured, 8 lbs, that'd be one size up, right?

Wrong.

Although I used to be a size 5, pre-pregnancy, my assumption that I would now be a 7 was completely off. So far off, I couldn't feel a difference between squeezing one cheek into a 5, and one into a 7.

So now I'm starting to sweat, because these pants were just supposed to hold me over until I lost the baby weight, but shit, TWO sizes to lose?? And of course, there are no size 9's in the clearance section, so now, not only am I buying bigger clothes than I want, I have to pay more for them too.

So back to the fitting room, six pairs of jeans, and they are cute. I'm just hoping I don't only like the $19.99 ones. And lo and behold....

The fuckers don't fit.

So now I'm really stressing. And I'm starting to contemplate how all 8 lbs could magically appear only on my ass? I mean, who did I piss off in another lifetime? Couldn't I get a pound or two up top? Even me out a bit? Geez, even my arms have extra skin where I could have taken some of it. But no. All in my mid-region.

I must look like a pear.

But then I started thinking that since I've been pregnant, I haven't really worn any booty-hugging jeans. Because maternity pants? They have a totally different fit, and really weren't hugging the curves like I used to wear. So maybe the size 9's really do fit, just not how I've been wearing for the last six months. And since I absolutely refuse (for now) to buy anything in the double digits (did I mention I was a size 3 in high school???) I bought ONE pair of 9's.

The biggest pair.

And I still might return them.

Thanks a lot Clara.

Like One of those Overnight Braces Things

Here's the situation: It's 10:30am. You have a friend coming over for lunch in 1.5 hours. You haven't cleaned the house. You haven't showered, brushed your hair, or your teeth, or even changed out of your jammies. Your baby, who is super-cute and 2 months old has been awake since 6am, and is fighting sleep like Muhammed Ali. Your dogs are hungry, and there's a pile of recylcing to take out to the bin. Because you are "Mommy" your little champrefuses to take a binkie from you, she wants the real deal. You know she needs something to soothe herself to sleep, but it can't be your yummies because every time you put her down to nap, she wakes up.

So what do you do?

My first thought was somehow to attach the binkie to her face ... duct tape ... super glue ... all inhumane, and then I would be able to blog about it.

Then I thought, "Maybe I can stick it in her mouth, and put her to sleep on her face so it stays put?" But I'm sure somone would call CPS on me.

Then I was thinking, wouldn't it be awesome if someone invented a contraption to keep the binkie in place until the baby fell asleep? Like one of those metal helmet that the kids who wore braces in elementary school had to wear, so that the binkie wasn't stuck to her face, but also wouldn't fall out of her mouth?

Hmmmm.

But of course, there is nothing on the market like that. So I had to spend 5 precious minutes sitting on the floor next to the bassinette so she didn't see me, and hold the binkie in place until her eyes closed, then grab the dogs off the bed and creep out of the room so she didn't wake up and hear me leaving.

And then waste another 10 minutes blogging about it.

Worse than Childbirth

Any mother who has said there is no worse pain in the world than childbirth is full of mierda ! Because I've found it.

I took Taryn to the doctor yesterday to get her first round of immunizations. A friend recommended that I give her Tylenol before the appointment so that she won't be in too much pain, and though it helped, and I am eternally grateful for the suggestion, she was still screaming worse than I've ever heard in my life.

My poor baby knew something bad was going to happen, because as soon as her physical was over and the nurse walked in with her little blue, kidney shaped carrier of torture and told me to lay her down on the table, she startd whimpering. It's interesting to note that the "shot nurse" at Kaiser wore black. I wonder if the doctor's were getting pissed off for getting the bad rap in the white lab coats or what? Because I've never seen a nurse in black, and it just seems a touch dramatic.

So I had to lay her down on the table, and the nurse stuck Taryn's legs between her own so that only her fat little thighs were sticking out, and then the biatch tells me to hold her arms down. WTF??? At that point Taryn starts screaming, not her banshee scream, but I could tell she was freaked out, like, "Mommy, you're taking a part in this evil scheme?"

Let's take an emotional break for a second, and I'll explain that she had to get three shots, and also take a liquid immunization. So before I had to hold the baby down, the nurse starts giving her the liquid, but Taryn is flat on her back. Duh wench, of course the stuff isn't going down, it's a bit hard to swallow like that... And so consequently she spilled it all over my poor baby's face and her cute little outfit, and it dripped all the way to the table, so that when I finally got her out of there, the back of her head was all crunchy from the dried sugar in the medicine.

Back to the shots.

So Taryn is pinned down on the table, and the nurse swabs down her fat little thighs with alcohol. Then she sticks the first needle into her leg, and Taryn is banshee screaming at the top of her lungs, her face is bright red, her eyes are closed up tight, and she's got tears, real tears of pain streaming down her face. I leaned down to whisper in her ear that she's going to be okay, and kiss her cheek, and then everything goes blurry because now I've got tears streaming down my face too.

And I just keep thinking what kind of horrible mother am I to let them hurt my baby like this? And intellectually I know that it's for her own good, but my heart is breaking, and I would sell my soul to George Bush to take away her pain.

I have to admit that the actual shots were over pretty quickly, and as soon as the last band-aid went on I scooped up my sobbing child and cuddled her and promised her a pony and all the titty she could handle. She was crying for a while, and I cried right along with her. I was a touch embarassed of my own show of emotion, but I'm not the first, and sure as hell not the last mother to cry when her baby got shots, so I'm over it.

Anyway, Taryn kind of whimpered for 10 or 15 minutes after the crying stopped. My mom had to go back into Kaiser to get them to fill out the shot record because the dumbass nurse didn't do it like he should have (heheheh, yeah, HE. Like that Focker guy).

And I'd love to say that was the end of it, but around 4:30, when we woke up from our nap and the Tylenol had worn off, she was up shrieking again, and it took a lot of rocking, some more Tylenol and about 17 thousand kisses to calm her down enough to feed her, and then she dropped off again to blissful drugged sleep.

And I keep thinking how shitty it was for that guy to pull the short stick and end up as the Shot Nurse in Black.

I'm Totally Prejudiced

I've always thought that mixed babies were the cutest. Obviously a big part of that comes from the fact that I am the product of an inter-racial marriage. I also don't think it helped that my entire life everyone who commented on my attractiveness mentioned my "exotic beauty," whatever the hell that means.

So when I got pregnant, I was excited to see what my daughter would look like, considering the following: My mother is Irish, Native American, "gypsy," and probably some other European blend. My father is African and Native American. Pedro's father is half Paraguayan, an half German, and his mother is Argentinian. I think we've got every continent covered, except Asia (and the poles, but they don't count).

But I read an article in Psychology Today, maybe the April 2006 issue, that totally validated my prejudice. See, it said that when races mix, the better portion of each gene is used in the baby, and therefore the baby is actually genetically superior to both individual parent. And since the gene combination is superior, the baby's face is more symmetrical, which, we all know, makes the baby more attractive.

Cool huh? So if it's true, is it still a prejudice?

Month Two

My Dearest BabyGirl,

You are two months old today! I can't believe how fast time has flown since you were born, I guess we're having fun, right? You have grown so much in the last month, it's amazing to see how you are looking and acting more and more like a real person every day.

You started smiling this month (other than when you have gas). It is the most gratifying feeling in the world when you look up at me with those big dark eyes and a huge grin on your adorable little face. And the giggling is entirely too much. I thought I would die laughing the first time you started to chuckle, always at the most random moments, like when I'm changing your diaper, or in the middle of nursing. Your laugh is the most incredibly pure sound I've ever heard in my life.

And you discovered your thumb just a week or so ago. It's the funniest thing to watch you struggle so hard to get it into your mouth, only to get freaked out by just how strong you can suck it. The first time you actually got your thumb in your mouth, you stuck your index finger up your nose at the same time, and then you actually ate the booger that clung to the tip of your finger! I was so proud, my heart almost burst. And now, you are so adept at getting a single finger or your thumb in your mouth, and you look so content just sucking away until your startle reflex yanks it right back out. But Duckie, if I can say one thing about you, it's that you are persistent. No matter how many times it comes out, you start right away to get it back in there. My wish for you is that that persistence stays with you through your life. Because if this thumb sucking thing is any indicator, you'll be able to do anything you put your mind to.

Some of the best times we have had this month were just taking walks around Hamilton together. We'd get up, get some breakfast, and head out to explore our little community. You've probably heard more swear words from my mouth during those outings than any other time in your life, but I'm just trying to protect you from the leers of dirty truck drivers. We've looked at flowers and butterflies, watched kids playing at the parks, played in the sprinklers, and best of all, nursed in public. I love the look of surprise in people's eyes when they see you eating, and you are quite a loud eater, most people just smile to see you so happy.

You really started testing reactions this month, seeing how much you have to cry for someone to respond, how late you can stay awake, or for how many hours straight, as well as how long we'll let you sleep for. Darling, you would sleep all day, and be up all night long if we let you. I'm dreading the day already when you discover parties and late night clubs, I know there will be no easy waay to stop you. But then I realize that your Papi and I were the same way before we had you, and we turned out okay. So as long as you are safe, and doing things intelligently, a little late-night partying won't be too detrimental. But for now, you are on a very loose schedule, and only so that I can preserve my sanity.

At this very moment, you are downstairs watching TV with your Papi. We just got back from taking photos at the mall, and everyone always comments how adorable you are, and how most babies are funny looking, but you are so beautiful. I hope you don't get a big head about it, but you really are quite stunning, and I'm more and more proud every day to be your Mommy.

I love you.
Mommy

My Own Mistake

I used to ask my mom all the time "Mommy, do you regret marrying my dad?" And she always told me that I was one of the best things that ever happened to her, so how could she regret what brought me here?

I finally understand today.

I am so angry, and hurt, and feeling so betrayed by my husband, and I am so disappointed in the way he is acting, and I'm frustrated with myself for thinking that THIS TIME things might be different.

But as much as I wish things could be different, I wouldn't change a thing.

The realest convo ever

Maybe not ever, but definitely in regards to our relationship.

I don't remember how it started, only that I was in the dining room folding laundry, and P was on the couch. He had something to tell me, and I promised not to get mad. I don't know if it was the vicodin that made him speak so honestly, and I don't know what it was that made me keep my hurt in check, and be able to speak to him more honestly than I have done in a long time.

The long and the short of it?

P admitted that us getting married was a mistake. That at the time he was so infatuated he didn't think about the long-term ramifications of a legal and emotional agreement between two very young, very naive people. That he thinks the cultural differences between us may be too much in the long run.

And in turn, I admitted that I don't respect him. That I feel disgusted by the fact that he isn't doing anything with his life. That he spends hours per week playing poker online or watching TV instead of doing something constructive, and that I was sick of him making excuses for not going back to school.

He swore he doesn't blame me for him not having an education, yet he brings up the fact that he supported me while I was in school (mostly true) and the fact that I got pregnant right after we decided he was going to go back to school (also true, although I didn't impregnante myself).

And of course, I have to make the point to him that we were together for 5 years before I got pregnant, so Taryn is not the reason he doesn't have a degree yet, and that I've told him more than once that we will make it work, financially, and emotionally, when he decides to dedicate himself to his education. And then laid out for him a plan for him to work part-time, take care of Taryn part-time, and go to school full-time, substantiating the logic that if I could work 40 hours per week, and take 15-17 units in college for three and a half years, he could do it too.

And the amazing part is that we weren't arguing. We were having this real adult conversation, and I think we both walked away with a better understanding of each other, and ourselves in the relationship. It was so interesting, and I'm bummed we spent so many years being defensive and hiding away these little grains of resentment from each other, but maybe it just wasn't time. And maybe now we are ready to transform this marriage into something healthier, something more adult, something more fulfilling.

And I am so ready for that.

Shame

Have I mentioned lately that I have ... none?

Childbirth is one of those experiences that is not for the meek. Aside from having a doctor check weekly for a month how dilated you are, when you actually go into labor, depending on the medications you receive, you could have three of four different staff people checking your goodies for the better part of a day.

Then there's pushing the baby out, when you give everyone within ten feet of you a free show (not particularly attractive, I'm guessing) and then after the birth you may or may not need help going to the restroom. And they check you for "friends" on your backside, they check how much you are bleeding, and change your pads for you...

(Let's stop for a second and consider something) If the average newborn's head is 13.5 centimeters in circumference, why in the hell does your cervix only dilate to 10 centimeters? Hmmmmm...

So anyway, I met a new friend who has a son that is just a week younger than Taryn. We've met for coffee a couple of times and discussed everything childbirth and newborn related. When I was recapping our meetings with P, he got this strangely horrified look on his face.

I guess he didn't think it was normal for women who barely know each other to discuss the state of their post-birth goodies, how breastfeeding is working and all the other things only mothers would consider discussing with a stranger.

And now that I think about it, it's kind of true. It is weird, and before I had Taryn I never would have considered doing that, but it's one of those awesome ways that mothers can relate to each other. Because even pregnant I totally bonded with a lot of other pregnant sisters while we discussed doctor's appointments, fears, expectations, partners' hopes and screw-ups, and everything to do with babies.

And it reminds me of how important it is to have a community that you can go to when you are going through such an amazing experience, because I learned so much from all my friends who have had kids, or who were pregnant with me. I can't imagine people trying to do it alone, and I'm so grateful to all the mothers who gave me advice, and all the friends who let me bitch and complain about my aches and pains, and the people who made me eat every couple hours, and drink lots of water, and who warned me about interns and peri bottles...

And by the way, on the shame thing, I think it is so natural and beautiful for women to breastfeed, and screw everyone who doesn't want to see that in public. If my kid is hungry, you can stand to see my chi-chi's for a second. I don't see why it's such a big deal when every F-N advertisement has half-naked women with their boobs hanging out. For some reason it's wrong when there's a hungry baby hanging off the other end of them? I think our society has it a bit twisted, in regards to naked boobs. But more on that later...

So anyway, shame? I have none. At all.

Sometimes a good cry is all you need

I have been holding on to too much for too long.

There have been so many people that have hurt me in my short life, and I keep blaming them over and over for things that have nothing to do with them. I have this residual anger that I just don't know how to get rid of, and I'm scared to death that Taryn is going to learn from me to do that.

I just don't know how to let go, and this is going to sound stupid, but I just watched the series finale of Six Feet Under (yeah, from last year) and it just totally brought into perspective that the last 7 years of my life have gone by so fast, and I have all these material things to show for it, but I haven't been happy.

And it wasn't until my daughter was born that I really had a reason to change the way I was living, but after so long, I just don't know how to do it. I don't know how to forgive people for the betrayal, and abuse, and the disappointments that they have shown me. But I have to start somewhere, because if this is all there is, I'm not going to waste it.

So to myself, and Mom, Dad, Jeff, Pedro, Alaina, Josh, and Alexis...the people that were or still are the closest to my heart...I forgive you. I can't carry it anymore. Your sins against me are yours, not mine.

And if I hurt you, I'm sorry.

Just have to let it all go, so that I can move on.

Back by popular demand... More Baby Pics

"I see you!!"


"Come too close, I'll karate chop you"


Taryn and Rosco napping... on MY pillow


Wish I could sleep like that


Or like that


Baby's first bath


And her first manicure


She's got half a curl going!

I'll post some more recent photos as soon as I get the batteries recharged. And *hopefully* I'll be getting a better camera soon (yeah, since the cat knocked this one off the counter and broke it) so I'll be able to take pictures more often.

Leave me a comment, let me know what you think of the newest Ms. Caballero!

Uh Oh

A few minutes ago, Taryn looked up at me like a little pink burrito, sqinched up her face, and let out a pitiful, plaintive little wail.

Then she stopped and looked at me again.

When she saw I wasn't doing anything, she sqished up her face a little more, held her breath for a second, and let out a slightly more pitiful, plaintive wail.

Then she stopped and looked at me again.

Since I still didn't do anything, she squished up her face even more, held her breath for a second longer, and let out a third wail, while squeezing two of the dinkiest tears I have ever seen out of her little red-rimmed eyes.

I think she's testing me.

But then, maybe she's just testing out her power, to see how much of a reaction she can get from the outside world... whatever it is, it's damn adorable.

I've created a monster

(And I'm doing this all one handed)

When we first brought Duckie home, we thought she was the most perfect little baby. She slept in her crib, or her bassinette, or even the play yard with no problems at all. She slept all day, and all night, we had to wake her up to feed her.

Then a couple weeks later, she started on this trip that she would only sleep in her bassinette. Okay, we can deal with that.

Then a week later, she decided that she wanted to sleep all day, but stay up all night. And I mean, all night long from 11pm-4am. That wasn't working. At all. So I started working on getting her on a more regular schedule so that I didn't FedEx her back to wherever in Hell she came from.

So as I'm working on her schedule, she decides that now, she will only sleep 1) when someone is holding her (like right now) or 2) in my bed. MY bed. Okay, I figure, as long as she's actually sleeping at night, I can handle that. It's easier to nurse her anyway.

But no. Now she has gone entirely too far. Now, she not only will not sleep in the bed alone, she decides that 5 hours awake per day isn't enough. She wants to be awake 10 hours per day. AND she wants to nurse every 1.5 hours.

WTF?

I know "Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative" but this is too much. How am I supposed to blog, and check my email, and shower for christsakes, when I have a 10lb fussy infant attached to my boob?

HELP!!!

For once, we didn't blame the dogs

I'm not a bad parent. Maybe an inexperienced one, but I would never intentionally dirty my baby. Unless it was for a lot of money. Like $100 or so...

(As I was reading a recent blog on www.shewalks.blogspot.com)

"Hahahahah" ... (snort)

(Here is where the internal dialogue starts ...)

"Oops, I should make sure I didn't blow a booger on Taryn's head."

(Not that it has happened before, but sometimes when I laugh too hard, I have been known to shoot mocos up to three feet)

(Looking at my adorable sleeping infant's face)

"Shit, I can't believe I snotted on my baby's face. Ohgod, and it's a nasty dark one too, I wonder what crawled up my nose last night?"

(Then the nasty mocos starts crawling down her forehead, closer to her eye)

"Holyshit, my booger is crawling into her eye!"

(Now this is where I start yelling, waking up P_Dely who passed out on the floor downstairs-the laminate floor, we don't even have carpet anymore.)

P: Baby, what's wrong?

Me: My boger is crawling into Taryn's eye, what do I do?

P: Grab it! What the hell crawled up your nose last night? Are you on drugs?

Me: I don't know! (Grabbing the crawling booger and squishing it between my nails) Holyshit, it had legs.

P: What? Your booger had legs?

Me: It wasn't a booger. Punkin, the baby has fleas. (Then I have to pause to think where they came from, because the dogs get flea baths pretty regularly)

Me: I dare you to give the cat a bath.

There's no nice way to say this...

Let me preface by saying that I am super-grateful that I am healthy, that I enjoy exercise to some degree, and that Taryn has influenced me to take better care of myself, so that in return I can take better care of her.

But something that is beginning to irk the shit our of me, goes something like this:

Stranger: Your baby is so beautiful!

Me: Thank you.

Stranger: How old is it?

Me: She's five weeks

Stranger: Ohmygod, you look so good! You are so skinny!

Me: Thanks, I'm still a bit bigger than I was before, but I'm working on it.

Stranger: You should be grateful that you are that skinny already. When I had my child...... (the rest varies, but is the same old shit).

So look, yes, I am grateful that before I had my daughter, I was pretty slim, so obviously after she was born and the stomach disapeared, I am still pretty slim.

But here's the rub, I am not as skinny as I used to be. It may not be obvious to a lot of people, but I still can't wear a damn thing in my closet, and it irks me. I have 4 pairs of pants that have no elastic that I can wear now, and looking at everything else in my closet is frustrating because I can't wear any of them.

Not to mention shirts. I can't wear anything super-form-fitting because I still have a pouch, and since my pants don't fit right it 1) looks sloppy and 2) is uncomfortable. So that eliminates most of my wardrobe, and abotu 90% of the rest I can't wear becasue I'm nursing.

And maybe what amplifies it is my husband laughing at me that I don't fit into my clothes, laughing at me that I have a roll now when I sit down, then laughing at me that I get upset that he's laughing.

I know it's all for a good cause. I'd take a lot worse of a body (and probably will with the next kid) to ensure my baby is happy and healthy, but it's still hard to go from one place physically to a completely different place without this sort of hiccup of getting used to it.

And look, I'm not complaining about the physical changes per se, more like I hate people's reaction to it, whether it be laughing, or telling me I should be grateful. I appreciate when people tell me I look good, don't get me wrong, but don't jump down my throat if I don't agree with you.

I need some brownies now.

Cute Baby Trick #2

(The first cute trick, in case you missed it, was taryn blowing raspberries at the dogs. I'm not sure if she liked them licking her face or not....)

So, Taryn in just too adorable. I have to get the out of the way.

She learned to stick her tounge out, sort of on command. We were playing around after nursing on Wednesday evening, and I kept sticking my tounge out at her, because she made the cutest crinkly face when I was doing it. Pretty son, when I stuck mine out, she'd stick her dinky little tounge out, right back at me.

I'm so proud!

On a similar note, she also smiled at me, for real, for the first time yesterday. I didn't think I'd recognize the difference, but her eyes get all squinty when she smiles socially because her cheeks are so chunky. My baby girl.

And these milestones got me thinking, babies have the brains of dogs.

Because a dog thinks, but doesn't know he's thinking, and can't really think about thinking. And babies do the same. I'm sure Taryn thinks, like when she's hungry or smiles because she's happy, she's thinking "I'm hungry," but she doesn't know that she is thinking.

So if "I think, therefore I am" are you if you don't know you are?

So Mediocre

I'm really am. So incredibly average.

I got my yearly review from work the other day. My supervisor had nothing bad to say. But then again, he didn't really have anything super-positive to say either, except that I had excellent attendance, and the same old, "It's been my pleasure working with you." Yeah, like everyone else in the world.

Not that I expect him to say I'm the best EW he's ever trained (that title, obviously, goes to the one and only SueBob), but I worked my ass off for the last year, and it'd be nice to get some recognition of that.

The story of my life.

I do my best at most things, especially at work. For my age, I'd say my work ethic is much stronger than most other folks under 30. I never call in sick, unless I am unconscious, or on my way there. I work hard to learn what I need to do, and I "encourage" those around me to do the same. And once I know what I need to do, and have the tools to do it, I take the initiative to get my shit done, and usually get other people's shit done too. So WTF?

Maybe I need to be more flamboyant. To let everyone know when I am going above and beyond, so I can get some recognition for it. Yeah, right. It's the same thing in personal relationships. I'm always there, always helping, always doing more than I'm asked, but rarely thanked for it. Shit.

Maybe if I wasn't so damn gorgeous, people would forget me entirely? :)

At least I have that going for me. But to be honest, I'd probably be perpetually blushed if I got more attention. I kind of like being on the sidelines, knowing that I should be the one receiving kudos instead of so-and-so kiss-ass. Gives me a reason to resent the world.

But wait!

Kissing ass??

Nope, not my style. At all. For any reason.

Sorry.

Aletta, with two T's

When I was 12 years old, I decided to try to spell my name differently. After 12 years of having everyone either spell or pronounce my name incorrectly, I was fed up, and I figured it was the right time to change it to "Aleta." One T.

See, the summer after 6th grade, I decided to move in with my father and his new family in Ohio. I had a lot of reasons to move, the most important being that I truly believed that if I lived with my father, he might learn to love me.

My dad has never really been a huge part of my life, and after he remarried, and started having more children, I felt even less important to him. I was his first-born, but I felt like the step-child. So I employed complete egocentric pre-teen logic and thought that if he were around me more he would see what an intelligent, beautiful, witty, kind person I was, and he would want a real relationship with me.

And of course, it didn't work. And I learned that it's easier to run away from a situation that to deal with it. So I came back to California to live with my mom, and went to three more middle schools that year. One I left because I didn't feel like I fit in there. The second I left because I was getting picked on by older girls who were upset that their "boyfriends" liked me. The same thing happened at the third school, but I rode out the rest of the year in fear that I would get jumped again and again by these older girls. I spent most of my seventh grade year fighting girls over bullshit. For me, it was about maintaining my pride; they thought it was about boys.

I guess I started thinking about this while looking at Taryn, and feeling so grateful that her father loves her so much, and treasures the time he spends with her. And no matter how rough our relationship is right now, the ups and downs, fighting and making up, I feel lucky to have found a man that wants a relationship with his daughter, and even though he has a lot of pressure to be "the man" he is able to be soft with her.

And I guess I was feeling a tough guilty for giving her a unique name, and hoping that it isn't so unusual that she will forever be correcting people's spelling and pronunciation of it.

I was thinking too about my last post on friends and enemies, and how I haven't really dealt with those people. I kind of just mentally shut down, and maybe that's why it's so hard to think of them without feeling sentimental. I keep the good times on the forefront of my mind, and ignore the negative stuff until it gets brought up again.

Anyway, needless to say, I kept forgetting to spell my name the new way, so when I moved back to California, I changed it back (to myself) to Aletta. With two T's.