Motherhood

Photo by Mat Hayward/Woodland Park Zoo

My mom forwarded me an article about the baby lion cubs born last November at the Woodland Park Zoo. 

I want to hang this picture on my kids' walls and send them through life with this visual representation of my love for them. 

In the Picture

Sometimes I think it would just be easier if my posts were just links to other people's posts where they wrote something I agree with.  Here's one:

Allison Tate: The Mom Stays in the Picture

And then, in my post, I could just repeat the phrases from the article that resounded with me when I was reading it.  So it would be like we were reading it together and I was mm-hmm'ing' and oh, totally'ing and ohmygoodness that's so me'ing it while we read.

Like this:

"...I showed up...a bit late and, as usual, slightly askew from trying to dress myself and all my little people....  I felt awkward and tired and rumpled."  (ohmygoodness that's so me)

"When I see myself in pictures, it makes me wince."  (mm-hmm)

"...don't always have time to blow dry our hair, apply make-up, perhaps even bathe..." (oh, totally)

"People, including my children, don't see the way I make sure my kids' favorite stuffed animals are on their beds at night.  They don't know how I walk the grocery store aisles looking for treats that will thrill them for a special day."   (...actually, no need to keep typing, I would be quoting that whole paragraph!) 


This whole article made me sad and wistful.  The thing is, I'm the predominant picture-taker in the family.  I want pictures to remember these years by, pictures to post on the blog (ok peanut gallery, keep your comments about how I haven't been posting that often to yourself please), pictures for the calendars I've been making for the past few years for grandparents.  I want to be in the pictures too, but it feels somehow arrogant to ask someone else to take pictures so I can be in them.  ...Arrogant isn't really the right word; I can't really describe it.  What I want is to not have to be posed, to not feel like I'm putting the responsibility or burden of picture taking on someone else, but ultimately - what I want is for someone else to capture the picture the way I am seeing it, while allowing me to be in it - and oh yeah, make me look good in it too.  ha!


But the end of the article shifts the perspective to the pictures we have of our mothers.  And even though my mom also critiques her appearance in pictures, I only see that it is my mom.  I could care less how she looks in terms of hair/makeup/weight - she is just herself and I am far more interested in who she was and the story behind the picture. 

I see the one of her and my dad in some sort of tram, taken over the heads of a couple of boys (one of whom is my brother) while a baby (me) is being handed off from my dad to my mom.  It reminds me of a few months ago in July, when we went to Snoqualmie to the Day Out with Thomas event, and Gabe was so anxious to see Thomas that he said "I just want to see Thomas" every 15 seconds for the entire 25 minutes we were in line.  (you think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not) 

And while Gabe was excited to see Thomas, we were excited to give him that experience:  to see his face light up when the train started moving, to get him his very own engineer's hat, to take our picture in front of the Thomas engine, to put pennies on the track for Thomas to flatten when he took the next group for their ride.  We don't normally do the "hoards of crowds" thing, so we were also quite proud of ourselves for braving the craziness on a Saturday because we knew Gabe would love it. 

So, I wonder...was the tram outing also a mini-triumph for my parents, getting two young kids out of the house after sorting out timing and naps and snacks for the day, etc?  Was my mom running on her umpteenth consecutive night of 6 hours of broken up sleep?  Before the picture was snapped, had my parents exchanged a look of exasperation that the baby was antsy and didn't want to stay put and had to keep being handed back and forth between parents?  In the picture, my parents are looking at something to the side of the picture taker - my dad in mid-sentence and my mom smiling.  She looks happy.  And I think about how even though the Thomas event was a bit stressful, and we had to wait in that line with a hungry baby and a curious toddler, and it was hot and crowded, I was so happy that we did that for Gabe, and so happy to have my husband and children.  That's what Gabe will see in this picture...not the things I start picking apart about my appearance.



After Abby was born, a photographer came around at the hospital and offered a free newborn photo session (I should have known that the catch was crazy expensive prices for the prints, and that I wouldn't be able to say no to buying them...ah well).  One of the pictures taken embodies for me the sentiments of the article:

I HATE how I look in that picture.  Hate that I had just showered and my hair was wet and stringy, hate my profile, hate my double chin, hate my pale freckly face.  But I LOVE this picture overall.  It looks like I am whispering in Abby's ear.  And she looks like she is listening intently.  For me, this picture is a mother's connection with her daughter, whispering wisdom in her ear - wisdom I don't fully have yet but is mine passed down from generations before and to be discovered as I continue to grow and learn as a mom - wisdom I hope to be able to whisper in her ear and model through my actions and teach through my words for the rest of her life.

So in the spirit of the article, I'm posting this picture that I HATE of me but LOVE of us, and I am inspired to be pesky and hand the camera off more often, asking at least to be in the picture - even if the photographer doesn't have a magic wand to always make me look good in it too!

Well, here's the thing:

...Gabe and Abby won't both fit on the car, plus Abby was too busy giving her dolly a ride to share with Gabe.  Also, the one really good picture I got of Bret playing "Up Sky" with Abby is blurry, and Bret looks extra strange because he was giving Abby the super-special sound effect treatment since she can't do as many tips and turns because she's still little.

But here you go; pictures of Abby:

Now, Janey - go start a blog so I can bug you about updating it and critique your posts! (and don't even try to tell me you're too busy with school...)

Animal Instinct

The first time I held Abigail, I had an overwhelming urge to put my nose on her face.  Specifically, to touch my nose to her nose.



yeah, I'll just let that sink in a minute.



...I don't recall being conscious of the urge at the time; it was only hours later that I realized as I held her, I kept putting my nose on her face.  Looking at her, studying her, and then touching my nose to her.  Not smelling her, but just touching her.  

She's almost two and half months old and I still find myself doing this.  And I don't think I can fully describe the need that's behind it.  It's instinctive, it's basic, and usually I find myself thinking "weird, I just did it again!" because it's not something that happens with forethought.

Is it just me?  Is it just Abby?  I don't recall doing this when Gabe was a baby...although now we do Eskimo Kisses (i.e. rub noses) as part of bedtime routine hugs and kisses goodnight, so maybe I did do it with Gabe and I just never noticed it or thought it was unusual.

Oh My Goodness - have I nosed YOUR baby while holding it??  How far does this strangeness go?

And if I never did it with Gabe or with other random babies, why now with Abby? 

I have wondered if it is my subconscious way of connecting with her and reiterating:  "you are mine". 

I have wondered if it's because Abby looks so different from Gabe (dark rather than fair).  In fact, when they placed her on my stomach, my first thought was "wait a second - I don't have dark-haired babies".  Even though we said all through the pregnancy that she would probably take after Bret because Gabe took after me, my first reaction upon seeing her was surprise because Gabe and his coloring had set the standard for "how my babies look".

I have wondered if I'm just really, really odd.

I have wondered how many times I've done this while in public and whether anyone was watching and thinking "Did she just NOSE her baby?!?".  And then I have decided that I don't care, and that it probably gave them a good laugh. 

I have wondered when (if?) I'll ever stop.

C'mon...tell me you don't want to put your nose on that face!



Dear Children

I just wanted to let you know that you both don't actually need to have poopy diapers twice a day for me to be aware that your bowels are in good working order.  I would be fine with once a day.

Gosh, I would even be okay with once every other day.

Just rest assured that I am in no way worried about either of your bowels, so you don't need to keep proving to me multiple times every day that you're processing food efficiently.  I've gotten the message.

Love,

Your Mother

The adorable reasons we are going through babywipes at an alarming rate.

  

One Month

My my how the time does fly!  Abby has been here for a month already so I decided it was time to get serious about doing a blog post since all attempts up until this point have been thwarted.  

This post promises to be all sorts of random and disjointed but I'm more interested in actually getting this written than it making a whole lot of sense so here goes:

Getting induced took longer than I hoped it would.  It took a while to get things going, though it was cool because I didn't really feel contractions or discomfort until I was at 6 centimeters.  From the time I had to concentrate on breathing through a contraction until Abby was born was only 2 1/2 hours.  My description of my childbirth experience with Gabe was that "natural childbirth chose me, rather than me really choosing it", because of how fast things went.  This time around with Abby, I wanted the opportunity to choose to go natural.  I definitely chose it, but I sure didn't fully remember how much childbirth hurts.  Wow.

Anyway - Abigail Anne was born at 8:28 pm on August 30.  These are some pictures taken by a photographer that's contracted w/the hospital to do newborn photos.  Abby is about 16 hours old in these pictures.

Abby was born weighing 7 lbs 10 oz - almost 2 pounds heavier than Gabe's birth weight of 5 lbs 14 oz.  I was looking back through Gabe's growth chart and he weighed 7 lbs 10 oz when he was a month old.  Crazy.

Abby prefers to be held, and usually me holding her gets the fastest calming results.  This makes getting anything else done quite a challenge.  I don't remember Gabe needing/wanting to be held as much, but then again both Bret and I were home for the first several months to share parenting duties whereas this time around Bret's back at work sooner and so I'm with a toddler and an infant on my own.  For the first few weeks, I thought "holy cow how do people DO this with more than one kid??" at least a hundred times a day.  My brother and sister-in-law have 4 kids that are a total of 4 1/2 years apart in age.  Yeesh!  So if ever I need a reality check, I think of Mandy when her kids were 4 1/2, 2 1/2, 1 1/2, and a newborn, and suddenly my two kids don't seem quite so overwhelming!

It also occurred to me a few days ago that Abby's wanting to be held will be something that in the future just becomes part of her story.  We will talk about how I slept sitting up holding her for the first couple of weeks, and how even after that she slept better when she was sleeping next to me than in her playpen.  When she sleeps alone she is LOUD...wheezing (the doctor says her lungs are crystal clear but she must have nose congestion because she wheezes and snuffles constantly) and squeaking and loudly sucking on her pacifier...but when she is next to me she doesn't even wheeze most of the time.  So, I think she goes into a deeper sleep when she's snuggled.  Anyway - it was sort of a cool realization about this being part of her story and it helped me think of it in a new way instead of just being frustrated about all the things I feel like I can't get done because my arms are full of baby.  Bret and I have talked about how with Gabe, we didn't know what to expect so his development just came as it happened (if that makes sense).  Now we know how much more fun kids get as they grow up, so we feel antsy to get past this infant stage.  I feel bad because I really don't want to rush past this time since I know I will be so nostalgic for it later.

Speaking of which, she is asleep on my chest as I write this and she's starting to stir and will want to eat soon, so I will leave you with a few more pictures:

Taken just a couple of days ago.

Watching cartoons with Daddy.



Abby has a blonde patch of hair on the left side of her head.  I consider it "my" patch of DNA.





Reading "I Love You, Daddy" before bed.



Bittersweet

Tonight my chest is collapsing and expanding at the same time.

I am scheduled to be induced tomorrow morning.

He will no longer be the baby.

And she will join our family.

I think I'll be lucky if I manage to get any sleep tonight.

I've Grown Accustomed to Her Feet...

...her little kicks and tiny nudges.
I've grown accustomed to the bathroom that
I frequent night and noon.
My smiles, my tears,
My hopes, my fears
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I used to sleep through the night without a toss or a turn;
Surely I can be that way again -
And yet
I've grown accustomed to her hiccups;
Accustomed to her wiggles;
Accustomed to her feet.
(with sincere apologies to Alan Lerner for modifying his song lyrics from the My Fair Lady song of the same title)


Over the course of this pregnancy, I've thought a lot about the fact that this is most likely the last time I will be pregnant.  It's sort of strange to think that when I was pregnant with Gabe, everything was new and "the first" experience, and now just a short time later everything is comparison and trying to remember if it's the same or different from being pregnant previously and it's "the last" experience.

There are a bunch of things I want to write down about how I feel lately so that I remember:

I was hit recently by the feeling that I'm not ready to have the baby.  Meaning - I'm not ready to not ever be pregnant again.  I'm not ready to not know what it's like to feel life moving inside me.  I'm not ready to stop having the very odd experience that is talking to random strangers about the personal details of my life.  I swear I've talked to more people in the past two and a half years since I got pregnant with Gabe than I had in the cumulative 34.5 years up to that point.  And the things you find yourself saying/hearing!  It's so odd!  A few months ago a Starbucks employee asked me how far along I was, and 10 minutes later we were still discussing kids and she was giving me her opinion on our name choice for our daughter (she informed me that she approved...whew.  no telling what kind turmoil it might've caused had she not). 

On Wednesday I thought I might be going into labor and I first felt this surprising sense of peace...like even though it was 2 weeks early and I still have a ton to do at work, it is what it is and I can't stop it if it's going to happen.  Then I immediately thought "but even so...not ready to have a baby today".  And then over the course of the rest of this week it's been this growing emotional feeling that I haven't appreciated this last time around nearly enough; that I'm not ready for pregnancy to be a memory.  And that I'm not ready for Gabe to not be my baby anymore.  I'm not ready to figure out how to split my attention between two kids.  Right now Gabe is so much the focus of our lives...his needs, his antics, the new things he's doing.  There's a part of me that's sad that our attention will be divided now.  And yet, I think that's healthy.  We wanted more than one child - we wanted siblings for them so that they would have each other growing up and once we were gone.  But still - this little girl being my baby means that Gabe isn't my baby anymore.  Lately when I look at him I see such a little boy - how does time go so fast? 

I wish we had the ability to revisit periods in our lives for a day or a two and that it wasn't just a linear path of experiences lived and then relegated to memory.  I would go back to when I moved to California by myself and felt simultaneously so aware of being alone and yet so independent and proud of myself for stepping into the unknown.  I would revel for a few hours in the fact that back then the only person I was responsible for was me.  I would appreciate it more because I would know that never again would I have that experience, including the loneliness of that experience.  I would appreciate the things I learned about myself during that time.  I would go back to the night when Bret and I were talking in the parking lot of the church after bible study and it took us 3 hours to talk ourselves around to the point of "declaring" our interest in dating each other.  I would re-live the stomach-dropping roller coaster of thoughts and feelings and remember how I so wanted to stay and find out if we were really both saying what it sounded like we were saying, and how at the same time there were a couple points in the beginning of the conversation where I just wanted to stop talking and go so we could keep things safe and friendly between us because I was sure there was no way he could be feeling how I was feeling.  I would appreciate it more because I would know that that particular feeling of exhilaration and anticipation would never be something that could be duplicated again.  I would appreciate it more because I would be able to relax and enjoy it and not be so nervous, knowing that I was really standing there talking to my future husband and the father of my children.  I would go back to the first positive pregnancy test I took and remember that feeling of "oh wow, so I guess this is really happening then, we're really starting our family".  I would appreciate it more because I would know that 9 months actually passes quite quickly, even though while you're in the midst of it it seems like it's lasting as long as an elephant's pregnancy (which is 22 months; I Google'd it so you don't have to...guess I'm just a considerate blogger like that).

Honestly, sometimes I really think I'm way too sentimental for this life.  I think it's quite likely that I'll spend my twilight years in a retirement home looking at pictures, boring people with my memories, and crying over how "nothing is the same as it used to be". 

Anyway.  The funny part is, Bret texted me from work on Wednesday morning (after I told him I thought I might be feeling something early labor-like) and it said "I'm ready to get our new baby girl".  Classic.  I am one big pile of emotions, feeling everything and anything, and Bret is practical as ever, ready to tackle our next adventure. 

So, since this will most likely be my last post until our daughter joins us sans womb (unless I somehow find some motivation to actually start posting all the drafts I've started but haven't finished), I will end this post with a few last pictures of us as a family of three.  These were taken last weekend at Echo Falls (where we got married) for our anniversary picture (yes we got married in June, yes we were late taking this year's picture...we were late taking last year's picture...are you sensing a trend here?).

And then...a few days later I convinced Bret to stop again on the way home from my birthday dinner and take a couple pictures of me and my soon-to-be-gone baby bump because we haven't taken as many belly shots this time around, and because I was wearing the same maternity shirt that I wore when we took anniversary pictures when I was pregnant with Gabe, so I thought that'd be fun to have pictures of both pregnancies in the same place in the same outfit.

Mine

Tonight I read this post, and of course it made me think of Gabe.

He was just a few months old the first time I realized that someday, he would not be "mine".  Meaning - now, as a baby/child, he is "mine".  I pick him up when I want, I hug him when I want, I snuggle him when I want.  I give him eskimo nose kisses at night, and cuddle him next to me when he wakes up too early and I bring him back to our bed in an effort to convince him that it's still time to be asleep.  I have no reservations in my expressions of love for him, verbal or physical - he is "mine". 

But someday, he will not be.  He will want space and separation and independence.  It makes me ache to think about not having him be "mine" in the same way he is now. 

The first time I lamented this realization to my mom, she reminded me that this does not happen overnight.  The heartbreak I am imagining is not something that comes upon you suddenly so that it leaves a deep wound like the one I fear.  Rather, you watch your child grow and take incremental steps into an identity and personhood so that it makes sense that one day you no longer give them eskimo nose kisses before bed. 

So - when I read blog posts like the one I read tonight, and I think about Gabe and start crying that someday, all too soon, he will not be "mine", I try to remember what my mom said and remember the sentiment in the post that the joys and sweetness of my son's childhood are to be cherished now rather than dwelling on the sadness of looking ahead to the time when they will be a memory. 

And - when I see my parents & Bret's parents with Gabe, I think to myself:  someday, I hope, Gabe will have children.  And I will once again get to have something that is, though more removed, "mine".  I will get to pick those children up when I want, hug them when I want, snuggle them when I want.  And it will be that much sweeter because it is a remembered joy and because I will get to see Gabe as a parent, doing the same thing.

Mom, Part II

Yes, this post is a day after Mother's Day.  But last year, my mom didn't read my Mother's Day post until the day after, so my timing this year is just another way to honor her*.

Now that Gabe is almost 19 months old, my understanding of motherhood has increased to a whopping 1.98%**.  In fact, I think I can actually round it to 2% since I'm pregnant, and have that added understanding!  With this dramatic increase of knowledge (last year my understanding was only calculating to .7%) comes some new thank you's for my mom:

Thank you for every minute of sleep you gave up for me after I started sleeping through the night but then would randomly wake up and it was even harder for you to get up because you were out of practice since I wasn't a newborn anymore.  Thank you for every step you helped me take and for the steps you let me take on my own while you held your breath, worried I would fall but knowing that you needed to let me try on my own.  Thank you for your patience when I wouldn't eat my vegetables, liked something one day but not the next, and threw food/cups/spoons/bowls on the floor again and again and again.  Thank you for every time I'm sure you wanted to yell "STOP THROWING YOUR FOOD ON THE FLOOR" and instead calmly said "Don't throw your food, please".  Thank you for every time you pushed through pregnancy-induced tiredness or discomfort to pay attention to what I needed from you.  Thank you for taking me outside and making a simple walk into a great adventure.  Thank you for always giving me hugs and cuddles.  Thank you for every simple task you wanted to get done that turned into a lengthy one because you let me be independent and walk instead of carrying me, or do something myself instead of doing it for me.  Thank you for reading with me and helping me learn words.  Thank you for praising my accomplishments and providing correction when I needed to learn boundaries.  Thank you for enduring my "terrible twos" with grace, love, patience, and keeping in mind the joy that remains even when a toddler is constantly testing limits.

Mom, thank you as always for watching Gabe for us.  I hope I say it enough so that you know how much it means to us - not just because it's a huge financial blessing, but because it's an incredible feeling of relief to be able to so completely trust the person caring for your child.  And I hope you also know that I'm not just saying that in an effort to butter you up so that you'll keep watching Gabe and Baby #2 in the future (even though I've never kept that desire a secret - remember what I always say, it's only 6 years of your life!  And just think of how boring it would be if you only got to do your own thing every day, instead of having to chase a toddler around!)...for as long as it works out, we are ever grateful for the gift of your time and energy in caring for our child(ren).****

Happy Mother's Day Mom, I love you!

* ok, so that's a total line of bull.  I just didn't sit myself down at my computer yesterday to write this post.
** Assuming my lifespan is 75 years, and I had Gabe at 35 years old, I will have 40 years alive with Gabe (hopefully more, but I'm explaining my math in this asterisk footnote, so let's not get off track).  That's 480 months, and if we assume the average of 2 kids per person that has kids, that's 960 months***.  19 months out of 960 total months is 1.98%
*** Understood that evenly doubling the months isn't accurate, since that assumes that the 2 kids are born at the same time.
**** Was it presumptious to throw the plural in there?  Hmm...

Okay, seriously?

That post title is for Bret, who hates the sarcastic and oh-so-popular-right-now over-usage of "Seriously?" and "Really?"  The sad part is, I used to say them too but I've tried to stop now because I'm just that fabulous of a wife. 

Anyway.

The real reason for this post, and the title, is that this second round of pregnancy is out. of. control.  Take pretty much any pregnancy "thing" (except for morning sickness, because thankfully I didn't have that with Gabe and haven't this time either), and multiply it by seventeen thousand gazillion trillion, and that's how I feel.  Way more tired, way more sensitive to smell, way more picky about what I want to eat, and way way way way way more emotional.  For a girl that's all about feelings anyway, pregnancy is like having an emotion-amplifier implanted into your heart and not being told where the off button is located.  And for me, being happy or sad or sentimental or frustrated all ends up in the same outlet of expression:  tears.  Bret and I can both attest to the fact that this is both really funny and really annoying.

Here are some of the more ridiculous examples of recent emotional uprisings:

- A few weeks ago we decided to make a quick trip to Staples and Fred Meyer for a couple of things.  We're singing along to the radio and just minutes away from arriving at Staples, when suddenly ONE LINE of the song that I've just sung hits me like a ton of bricks and I am instantly crying.  Not just teary eyed, but full on hitch-in-my-throat crying.  Okay, seriously?  One line of a song is going to send me into tearful weepiness in half a second??  And then I'm both crying and laughing at myself for crying.  Poor Bret was just left sitting there not sure what to do because our fun little karaoke-fest just turned into falling-apart-pregnant-wife on him. 

- Sunday night I was watching TV before bed and flipping through the channels when I came across the end of Top Gun.  So I'm watching Iceman and Slider fighting the Migs and thinking about how they're repeating every line and wondering if pilots really do that in real life.  Then Maverick shows up to join the fight but can't get his head in the game because he's missing Goose and there's the scene where he stares at Goose's dogtags in his hand and says "Talk to me, Goose", and I tear up.     Okay .   .   .   Seriously??  Over Top Gun?  Well apparently, yes.

- Moments after the Top Gun Incident of March 2011, while I'm still snorting over the ridiculousness of what this baby is doing to me, I decide to turn to the news to distract myself.  They're talking about the first test flight of the new Boeing 747 Intercontinental that had happened that morning.  So whatever, that's interesting enough but no cause for the waterworks to start...or so I thought.  The newscasters are talking about how many orders have been placed and they're showing pictures of the pilots waving and Boeing executives shaking hands and then I hear "Hundreds came out to watch the historic event, including the press and many of the assembly line workers who've spent the past four years on the project" and then there's cheering and they show the plane lifting off.  And I tear up.

OKAY, SERIOUSLY??  REALLY?? 

It's just that all those people have worked so hard and they probably felt such a sense of pride when they saw the flight, knowing that they were a part of that...and holy cow, we have the technology to FLY, to put a thing that big up in the air and it's unbelievable and incredible and aren't people and what they can come up with just so amazing?!?

...and I'm an idiot.  I was just looking around for a picture I could put of the plane into this post and I came across this video of the flight, and started tearing up all over again.  Sheesh. 

And I have another 5 months of this to go, people. 

!!!!

"Limited Cable Service"

At the end of December, in an act of money-saving anticipation due to the pending arrival of this little gem,

we decided to take ourselves down to the basics of television entertainment.  Remember in the 80's when there were only 6 channels and you had to (gasp!) get up off the couch to change the channel?  Well we can still be lazy and use the remote, and we actually have about 15 channels, but we are definitely experiencing the "limited" part of what Comcast calls our new level of cable service.

(incidentally, our BABY (apparently they need to label the picture so I don't mistakenly think I'm having an inkblot) does not have two heads...one of those round things is the yolk sac, soon to be the placenta)

So, I have watched more Little House on the Praire, Golden Girls, random PBS shows, and Hallmark Channel movies in the last 6 weeks than in my entire 36 years up until now.  Gone are the days of channel surfing and getting sucked into an episode of Real Housewives of a-city-in-the-US-that-you-didn't-used-to-have-any-opinion-of-but-now-you're-embarrased-for-the-people-who-also-live-there-and-whose-town-is-being-sullied-by-women-on-a-reality-show-acting-ridiculous.  Farewell to the hours spent watching You've Got Mail for the thirtieth time simply because it was on TBS and I don't have a good book to read as an alternative.  No longer will I stumble across Bret Michaels from Poison in his second, third, (fourth?) attempt to find love with a former groupie who swears she's deeply emotionally really and truly connected to the real man behind the rock star and not just the idea of being a rock star wife.  And perhaps most disappointingly, gone is Top Chef...the one Bravo reality TV show I have never been embarassed to admit having seen.

Life sure gets a lot simpler when you're a chronic channel surfer who only has a few channels to choose from.

So here is what I've learned and/or pondered in the last month and a half during my pre-bedtime channel flipping:

1)  How did Laura Ingalls get to the nickname "Manly" for her husband from his given name of Almonso?  I would think that Al would be a more natural conclusion to have reached. 

2) Well if it's good enough for Laura Ingalls, perhaps I should try it.  I don't think Bret would mind being referred to as "Manly".  I think people (including me and Bret) would snicker at this nickname, but I just might try it.

3) How did Laura's older sister Mary go blind?  (This was actually Bret's question...he guessed that she had Scarlet Fever.  I had no guesses since I was too busy wondering if the actress that played Mary went blind in real life and maybe that's why they wrote that story line.  But then I remembered that the show was based on books by the real Laura Ingalls Wilder so it probably was an illness or something like Bret thought.)

4) Which one of the Golden Girls owned the house they all lived in?  Was it Dorothy or Blanche?

5) Are any of the Golden Girls besides Betty White still alive?

6) Didn't someone know that the shoulder pads they all wore made them look like linebackers?  Why were shoulder pads ever a fashion trend? 

7) Some guy named Larry Levinson is the producer or creator or something warranting screen credit on every Hallmark Channel movie.  Who *is* this guy?

8) The story line of every Hallmark Channel movie is a variation on the same theme:  a strong independent woman discovers that something is missing in her life and inevitably it can only be provided by the unexpected suitor who enters her life.  This often happens when the strong independent woman goes to a small town - possibly for work, or possibly to take care of business in the small town she grew up in.  And often the unexpected suitor is an old boyfriend/husband who the new boyfriend/fiance just can't seem to replace. 

9)  The sole purpose of the Hallmark Channel is to make the viewer feel warm, fuzzy, and possibly even tearful at the beauty that is relationships.  Forget thought provoking programming, forget current events, forget it all...Hallmark's only goal is ooey-gooey-smooshy-squishy-hearts-and-flowers LOVE.  A couple weeks ago I watched the new Hallmark movie with Betty White in it, and they were showing classic Hallmark card commercials throughout.  Two daughters finding all the cards from them that their father saved, two little girls playing tea party with a handmade Hallmark invitation...I spent a good portion of the commercial breaks teary-eyed and sniffling and by the end of the movie, when Betty White's missing-in-action husband who was shot down during WWII comes home in a casket with the American flag draped over it, I was choking back sobs because I didn't want to be a complete ridiculous blubbering mess in front of Bret, who was watching the end of the movie with me. 

That's right Hallmark Channel, you sucked my husband in too.  Oh you're a clever one, Larry Levinson.

10)  I will be very glad when the new season of Amazing Race starts in a couple of weeks.

Comparison

Let me ask you something:

If you squint your eyes, and tilt your head to the left, and tuck your chin down to your chest...then do these:



Look at all like these:

??

...yeah...I didn't think so either. 

This was the birthday cake idea I saw in an issue of Parenting magazine (thanks for the subscription, Mandy!) and decided to use for Gabe's birthday party.  Tonight I did a little test run and I have no idea how those wacky folks at Parenting magazine got the food coloring in the icing to turn out such vivid colors.  I used 20 drops of red coloring and still all I got was a deep pink.  I also couldn't make the jolly rancher fruit chews (the candy used on top to make the cakes look like legos) match the icing, so I experimented with gummy life savers.  But the saddest part is that they don't even taste that good.  It's frozen pound cake with pre-made cake icing and way too rich!  So, I'm glad I did a dry run and I think I'll probably end up doing something different for Gabe's cake at his party next weekend.  Cute idea though!

There have been a few times...

...since Gabe showed up that I have had somewhat surreal realizations of my motherhood.  Moments when I find myself in a reality that seems both strange and completely normal at the same time.

For example:  the first time I took Gabe into a store by myself when he was a few weeks old.  From the outside I'm sure it just looked like a woman taking her baby out of the car and into the store.  But on the inside, I felt a bit like a little girl playing mommy with her doll.  I felt like I had a big sign over my head flashing in neon "Rookie!"  I must've checked a half dozen times to make sure I had the pacifier, a burp rag (make that two burp rags in case of emergency), a diaper (make that two diapers in case of emergency), baby wipes, an extra outfit, changing pad, blanket...I think I put pretty much the entire contents of the diaper bag into my purse.  Would've just been easier to put my wallet into the diaper bag!  I worried that I would trip and drop Gabe.  I wondered what I'd do if he started screaming in the middle of the store and I couldn't calm him down.  Up until then, Bret and I had gone out together with Gabe, so I figured that if he was inconsolable, at least I had a buddy to share my public embarassment.  But the first time alone in public with Gabe, I felt self-conscious and suddenly very aware that I was a mother.  And even if I didn't feel like I knew what I was doing, others would look at me and assume I did.

Another example:  the first few times someone asked me about Gabe's preferences.  As in:  "Does Gabe like tummy time?" or "Does Gabe like having his diaper changed?"  I had experienced his reactions first hand (see previous posts regarding tummy time and Gabe's thoughts thereon) but when someone asked me about his preferences, it was a reminder that I was being asked because they assumed that as his mother, I would know these things.  What I felt like saying was:  "<shrug> I don't really know, I just met him too."

Well yesterday I had another of these surreal moments.  I had decided to wash Gabe's stuffed elephant, Mr. Oly Font, because he smelled like spit.  Nice.  So into the washer goes Oly, and out comes puffy stuffing all over every piece of clothing in the load and Oly with a leg injury:

And my first thought is:  "Oh I'll just sew that up." 

And then my next thought is "I'm totally a real mom right now!  I'm gonna perform my first surgery on my kid's stuffed animal!  That's such a mom thing to do!"

This excitement wore off a little as I spent the next 10 minutes cleaning up the stuffing stuck to the clothes in the load so it wouldn't clog the dryer vent.

But still!  I'm very excited about this rite of passage of being a Stuffed Animal Nurse (with apologies to Oly for the sacrifice he had to make to get me here).

Cruise People

Have I mentioned that my parents are Cruise People?

In 2003, my parents and Aunt & Uncle took my Grandma on a cruise through the Panama Canal.  She'd been wanting to do it for years but had never planned it, and when she started to show signs of Alzheimer's, my dad decided that they should just take the bull by the horns and plan the trip so she'd really go. 

Departing for their first cruise...love my Gram's pink velour tracksuit!

The start of an era.

This picture makes me miss my Gram. (sorry Laura, it doesn't really make me miss you, because I just saw you...but I think your hair is cute)

Well the Panama Canal turned my parents into Cruise People. 

I think they've gone on something like 10 cruises now, and they're about to go on their 11th.  Or their 20th.  Who can keep track?  (I'm not worried about being too accurate on this because I'm pretty sure my mom will include the correct number in a comment when she reads this post.)

Last fall, Mom called during their cruise to...Mexico?  Hawaii?  Who can keep track?...and was telling Laura and I how she'd gotten called up on stage again during an evening show by a ventriloquist.  That's right, I said "again".  You see, my mom is a volunteer-er.  Always up for a good time or adventure, and willing to help out a ventriloquist in need of a dummy. 

Haha.  Sorry Mom.  You know I love you.  You're the best mom ever.  And actually, I would be doing both of us a disservice if I didn't take the intelligence and wit you imparted to me and use it to make a pun about ventriloquists and dummies.  (have I dug myself out of the hole yet?  c'mon, i thought that last thing about doing both of us a disservice was pretty clever!)

So after we talked to Mom, we decided to have t-shirts made for Mom & Dad's next cruise.  For Mom, an eye-catching pink shirt to aid her volunteer efforts.  And for Dad, a black shirt with gray embroidered lettering to express his slightly more reserved outlook.

Playing their roles for the camera

I'll leave you with this:  a picture I found of Mom on their cruise to Tahiti in 2005.

Mom's the one in the middle.

Haha. Sorry Mom. You know I love you. You're the best mom ever. And actually, I would be doing both of us a disservice if I didn't take the observational skills and wit you imparted to me and use it to make a joke about telling you apart from fruit animals. (what?  that one doesn't work a second time?  dang.  actually, I love this picture of you, Mom.  I think it completely exhibits your sense of humor and love for fun, and I can totally picture you exclaiming over each fruit animal and the creativity of how they were made.  Love you!)

10

Gabe is 10 months old.  And yes I am feeling very cliche about it - as in "I can't believe he's almost a year old, where has the time gone" etc. etc.

Doesn't this look like one of those poses they make kids do for senior portraits? 

This is what I know about him right now.  And yes, this is the cliche part of the post where I make sweeping generalizations about the habits and character of my child, based on very little historical knowledge, so that I can someday say things to Gabe like "You always loved Cheerios, even as a baby" and to VH-1 Behind the Music like "Oh I knew my son would be a talented drummer...as a baby he would bang spoons on pans and even then, he could keep a steady beat".  (because, anyone can keep a beat if there are only 2 beats being counted)

• Gabe loves cats.  He squeals and screeches in delight whenever he spots Smedley. 
• Gabe prefers to eat from a metal spoon over a plastic spoon.  My mom and I have done experiments on this and tonight was the most blatant display of this preference of Gabe's I've seen yet:  I was feeding him dinner and bites offered from his plastic baby spoon were emphatically refused while bites of the same exact thing, seconds later, from a metal spoon, were happily accepted.  We think it's because he sees us eating off metal silverware.
• Gabe adores Bret.  But I've mentioned this before, haven't I? 
• Gabe's eating preferences are very urgent (that's the only word I can think of for it).  Once in his chair, he does NOT want to wait to eat.  Once done eating, he does NOT want to wait to get out of his chair.  And once he spots his bottle, he will go from completely fine and happy to whimpering (and screaming, if he has to wait for it to heat up).  And this one's my favorite:  if I'm carrying him upstairs with a bottle in my hand and he spots it, he will contort himself in an effort to get his mouth on the bottle nipple, with no thought to how he might be working himself out of my grasp/arms.  so, calling it my "favorite" is highly sarcastic.
• He now has 5 teeth, and the three upper ones all arrived in the last 2 1/2 weeks.  Good times.  Oh, and his front teeth are growing in with a huge gap in the middle:

I understand that these are only his baby teeth, but this gap has already got me thinking about the costs of orthodontia.

• And finally, I think Gabe probably needs a haircut, because the hair over his ears is long and awkward.  But somehow it just seems too early to cut his hair (see my previous comment about how I'm feeling very cliche about him turning one soon).

Gabe's Blog

Not too long ago, someone said something to me along the lines of:  "I haven't checked Gabe's blog lately {smirk}, because you know it's Gabe's blog, not yours." 

By the way, isn't smirk a great word?

I was reminded of this yesterday as I was blog-stalking and read someone's post about how they had always vowed never to become one of those people who suddenly turns their blog into all about their child, once they have a baby.  While reading the post I felt a wave of embarassment, because my blog is probably 75% about my child.  Okay, 80%.  85%?  99% ? 

Whatever. 

Anyway, I immediately jumped to my own defense because I didn't even start this blog until we found out we were pregnant, so its purpose was actually to be about our baby in the first place.  HA!  Take that, Mr. Embarassment!

Not that I address embarassment on such a formal basis, usually...this case just seemed to call for an official title.

Besides, I'm much more interested in blogging about Gabe than I am in blogging about me.  And I figure other people don't have to read it if they don't want to.

Although I guess if I really didn't care if other people read it, I wouldn't have a map gadget down at the bottom of the page.  Hmmm...

Regardless, I am determined to forge on, and Mr. Embarassment, you can either come along for the ride or go find someone else to make blush.

So there.

Homework

Lately I feel like this blog is homework I don't want to do.

Which isn't really true, but sort of is.  I have stories and pictures I want to post, memories I want to preserve, but the end of the day rolls around and doing a blog post becomes another item on the (ever growing) list of things to do.

But tonight I came across this picture, and it made me happy, and the thought of posting it didn't feel like homework.

Perhaps I will just forego the stories part and only post pictures. 

(ha...who am I kidding?)

Blanket, revisited

Since the 'blankets' post from yesterday, I've been thinking about how one of Michael Jackson's kids is nicknamed Blanket. 

And how strange that is.

And how judgmental it is of me to think that's strange.

But c'mon, Blanket?  As a nickname for your kid? 

Perhaps Michael Jackson really liked blankets, and so he nicknamed his son that.  And that's all fine and well and good.  But, I like mint chocolate chip ice cream, and I'm not using that as an endearment for Gabe.  (yet, at least)

Or perhaps Michael Jackson's son really liked blankets, and so they all started calling him Blanket.  And that's all fine and well and good.  But, Gabe likes Strawberry Apple Puffs, and I'm not using that as an endearment for him.  (yet, at least)

Gabe likes to slobber and drool, and so I've used "Slobber King" and "Droolmeister".  Gabe really likes Bret, and so I've used "Daddy's little worshipper" (but I'm not jealous, or anything).  But never have I addressed Gabe as Slobber, Drool, or Bret.

Because that would just be strange.

There may come a day when I happen upon a nickname for Gabe in the same noun/object/item category as "Blanket"...and on that day I may even post a retraction.

But until then, I just can't wrap my head around it.

I mean, really...Blanket?!?

...Makes Me Happy

Lately I've been thinking about what makes me happy.  It started when I was folding Gabe's laundry, which I totally enjoy doing.

No seriously, I dig it.  I'm fairly sure that when he starts running around and putting grass stains on the knees of his pants I won't be so enthralled by his laundry.  And I'm pretty positive that when he's a smelly, sweaty teenager I will be teaching him to do his own laundry.  But for now, miniature socks and shirts and pants just make me feel all sorts of warm and happy inside.

So then I started adding to the ...Makes Me Happy list in my head, and of course "Sunshine On My Shoulders" came to mind.  The thing is, sunshine on my shoulders really does make a person happy.  That John Denver was really on to something.

Other items that made the list:

• eating whip cream out of the can
• fuzzy socks
• getting a puzzle right the first time in the Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box game I'm playing right now on my DS (thanks for letting me borrow it, Christina)
• watching Dancing With The Stars on Monday and Tuesday nights.  Tonight's the season finale.  I wonder what I'm going to do with my time now?  I guess I could read, or finish that blanket I started knitting back in 1997, or something else more productive than sitting on my bum and watching TV.  Now there's a thought.
• going in to get Gabe in the morning and seeing that he's just laying there quietly, already awake and talking to himself or playing with his blanket (you really didn't think Gabe wasn't going to be on this list again, did you?)
• going in to get Gabe in the morning and having him smile the biggest "I'm so happy to see you!" smile at me (you really didn't think Gabe wasn't going to be on this more than a couple times, did you?)

Oh man, all this talking about him and now I miss him.  Bret and I have commented more than once to each other how funny it is when we'll put him down for a nap or to bed, thinking how glad we'll be to just have a few minutes to actually get something done, and then before long we'll be missing him.  Those of you that have kids:  tell me when that stops?  During the terrible two's?  The constant-question-asking four's?  The bratty pre-teen years?  The attitude-copping teenage years? 

We went away for a long weekend with Paul and Mandy when she was pregnant with Micah, and Paul said at one point:  "It's hard to be away this long; we miss the kids."  And I remember being quite surprised and thinking 'Really?  After 3 days?  You guys never get a chance to be away as a couple, I would think you'd be relishing this and hoping you could extend the trip even longer!'  My thought now is:  kudos to you guys for making it three days and making it a priority to have couple time away from the kids - "hard to be away this long" seems like the understatement of the year to me, now.

I am off to add a map to my sidebar, idea courtesy of Paul.  Remember - imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (ha - I originally wrote "mockery is the sincerest form of flattery"...somehow it just didn't look right!)