I've got my own site!!!! Moving up in the world...

Yay! I've finally got it together. It took me forever plus infinite amounts of time at the Mac store to learn how to do the basics, but alas, here it is:

www.sleepisforwussymamas.com

Make sure you go there for all my blogs now. The difference is that it will be much simpler to post pictures and video. Now, I just have to get more organized!

It's also super easy to post comments on this new site, so please send me a note to let me know what you think! It keeps me writing when I know people are actually reading. Really!

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!

A group I'm starting!

For all you parents out there reading this in the San Fernando Valley, I'm starting up a chapter of Holistic Moms Network. It's a national organization with over 120 chapters, but there's no chapter in the valley. This shocked me, so I'm taking things into my own hands and starting up our very own chapter. Also, because I just felt like I didn't have anything to do with all my free time.

It's a support group for people who want to try to live more holistically and learn how to raise their kids in this same way. It's for moms, dads, adoptive parents, gay/lesbian parents, and significant others!!! Bring your kids~ everyone is welcome. We meet once a month and we'll always have a topic to discuss with various speakers, health care providers, or sometimes just a bunch of us sharing our stories.

We're still looking for a place to hold our meetings but if anyone is interested in finding out more info please email me at HMNsfv@me.com so that I can notify you once things are set. We'll meet on the second Monday of every month, with our first one happening on Nov. 9th! Put it on your calendars and make sure you pass on the word to other like-minded peeps!!!

Also, if anyone has any cool connections to free meeting spaces, then let me know. I will forever be indebted to you!!!!!

If you want more info on the organization itself check out: www.holisticmoms.org We're a pretty cool group of people, if I do say so myself.

Hope to see you there!

Another audition but no more smiles

Well, the good news is that I booked that gig I auditioned for from my last blog!!! Yay!!! It is for a sketch on the comedy show, Important Things with Demetri Martin (on Comedy Central). I play a pregnant woman who goes into labor on an airplane. I'm quite certain that my charming boy was the reason for me getting this job. He definitely had the room entertained.

I shot the scene this past week and had a ton of fun! It was really amazing to be back on a set again after such a long hiatus. The fun part was putting on a "pregnant belly". It looked so real, everyone thought I was really pregnant. It didn't weigh nearly what a real nine month pregnant belly weighs, but it was just as hot! The only big bummer was that I was gone from the boy for 10.5 hours. I missed him terribly. And of course, having been away from him for that long, I had no choice. I HAD TO PUMP!!!!! Argh. And this could not have been in a worse situation.

We only got a half hour lunch break and pumping took 25 minutes. And my location choices were trailer #1 (woman's dressing trailer), trailer #2 (make-up trailer), trailer #3 (wardrobe trailer), or a small, stinky bathroom. Trailer #1: way too small. Trailer #2: the make-up artist was a man. Stinky bathroom: no way. So I chose lucky Trailer #3. At least they had an outlet that I could use to plug in the pump but I had to stand up and be about two feet away from the door. Gee, I didn't think to bring my extension cord...

Overall, it was pretty painless. The two very sweet wardrobe ladies came in to eat their lunch while I was all hooked up. The younger one seemed a bit embarrassed and felt like she couldn't really look at me. Or maybe she thought I was embarrassed and wanted to give me some privacy. I declined letting her know that 1.) after having a baby, very little embarrasses me and 2.) I gave up all semblance of privacy since hhhmmmm, when would that have happened? Oh yeah, after having a baby. But that was very gracious of her. The other sweet lady was totally amazed that my boobs could be hooked up to a machine and milk can drain into plastic bottles which are suctioned onto my nipples. Watching it happen is really like a visit to the dairy farm. It's easy to be amazed at the capabilities of the female human body when witnessing such an event. I'm more in awe of the inventor who came up with the idea and wonder how painful it was for all of the lactating moms who were willing to be test subjects.

Anyhow, 25 minutes later, the deed was done. The bottles went into my handy milk cooler and off I raced to the lunch line where of course, everyone was just finishing their meals and heading back to the set. I ate fast. Other than that, a really great day.

So, that was one audition that panned out to be work. I had another audition that same week. This one was actually a callback at the Mark Taper theater so I was pretty excited about it. I had my initial audition on a day when my husband could watch the boy so there were no issues there. But I had no choice but to bring the boy on this day. I scrambled around for some plans on how to handle the situation and I came up with one that seemed to be flawless. For theater auditions, it's nearly impossible to bring a baby into the room. Theater auditions lasts longer than tv/commercial auditions so if I brought him into the room, there would be a strong possibility that the boy would start to make some noise (and probably a cute one). Then all of a sudden, what I thought would be my audition would actually turn into the boy becoming the star of the room. That would not be the time or place to be upstaged by my own child. Wasn't there some famous actor that said, "I will not work with children or dogs"? Smart move.

So my "flawless" plan was to have my friend watch the boy while I went into the audition. Brilliant! Until we decided to sit in traffic for over an hour just to get to downtown LA. Leaving with plenty of time, I picked up my friend who coincidentally lives less than 10 miles away from the theater. At this point, the boy was just about to experience his meltdown but he was so good. He held it back as long as he could. With 60 minutes in stop and go traffic, he still had somewhat of a smirk on his face. The remaining 10 miles is where he lost it. Of course, living in LA, those 10 miles took about 20 minutes to drive. Meltdown slowly escalates.

I pull into the parking lot that I went to last time because I thought it would be safe to stick to things that I am familiar with given the circumstances. It's 4:35 pm and the sign on the parking lot attendant's window says that he leaves at 4:30 pm. Surely there's some way to pay for the parking spot during "after hours", right??? The parking lot is open all night with no gate to let people know that it closes. Not one sign that lets you know what to do in case he's gone for the day. But of course, the biggest sign of all says "ABSOLUTELY NO FREE PARKING AT ANY TIME!"

The flawless plan was that my friend could walk around the area and entertain the boy for 30 minutes or so. He would without a doubt be distracted enough by all the cool things to see. There was even a beautiful fountain that he would have loved. But without paying for our parking spot we didn't want to chance leaving our car there. Oh yeah, after the fierce warning in bright red letters about no free parking, they listed the towing company that you should call in the event that they find out that you parked for free. No messing around with these folks.

At this point I now have 10 minutes to get to my audition. Definitely not in a good place. I wanted to quickly feed the boy before I left so he wouldn't be too hungry but because of his meltdown he was not interested in food one bit. So off I went to my audition leaving my poor friend in the parking lot with my poor boy, crying madly. He was really quite pissed that after making him sit in the car for so long I hand him over to someone else to hold him. Mommy-guilt. On top of it all, there was not an ounce of shade for them to hide under and it was about 100 degrees. And the scenery was worse than uninteresting. It was downright ugly. Just rows and rows of cars. Certainly not the beautiful fountain that I promised him.

I arrived at my audition sweaty and stressed. Definitely not in the mental or physical place I wanted to be. Especially after having prepared so hard for the callback, to be in such a state of chaos was very disappointing. But I had no choice. I did my thing and felt okay about it. Not great. Just okay. The only glimmer of hope I got was that I managed to make the playwright and director snicker a few times and then the playwright actually applauded when I was done. I figured this meant I did a good job or he was just really glad that I was the last person for the day and he was excited to go home.

Either way, I have no idea what they really thought of me but I haven't gotten "that" call yet. It's been well over a week so I've come to accept that they won't be giving me "that" call. I was beating myself up for quite a while though afterwards because I felt like I should have given a better performance. That's the tough thing about being an actor. The bruises and mental torture we endure which take us from one job to the next.

As my husband says, why can't I just focus on the good things that happened? Out of two auditions in one week, I booked one of them! But I wouldn't be a neurotic LA actor if I didn't obsess about the things that I could have done better. It's part of the job description. And like motherhood, it's a job that takes forever to see the pay off.

WHAT?!?!?!?! WHO IS THE FASTEST CRAWLING BABY IN ALL THE LAND???

Okay, it's insanity. I thought I had no time before? INSANITY, I tell you. If there were no major obstacles (and by major, I mean like a steel wall) the boy could get from here to Nevada in about four hours. Alas! My new job as a mother involves being creative, being quick, and being the "bad guy" all at the same time.

Everything he wants, he can't have. Well, he shouldn't have. Otherwise, poison control and 911 would be frequent phone calls. So, I am constantly taking things from his hands or his mouth. The dogs tail is one of them.

Of course, anything on the floor was always ignored in the past. Heck, that's why I put it on the floor in the first place. I didn't want to look at it anymore, or I just couldn't deal with it at the time, so the ground has always been as good a place as any. But now, super human, turbo charged vacuum cleaner and floor polisher (aka: my son) sees all these things that I wanted to ignore. He picks them up and within an instant the meanie-monster-mommy has snatched it away from him. Gone are the days where he didn't know any better. Now, he realizes that whatever he's not supposed to have is probably the best "toy" of all.

Something that has taken the place of his regular baths is his frequent visit to the dogs water bowl. Certainly that is safe! After all, I spent all summer teaching him how fun water is and encouraged him to make really big splashes while we swam. So, there's no reason why he shouldn't splash the dogs water all over the kitchen. He's actually tried to climb into the bowl because I think it reminds him of a swimming pool, on a smaller scale. Again, meanie-monster-mommy steps in.

Excuse me as I write this. My brain is being infiltrated with Baby Einstein music and I can't think straight. At the same time, I am hoping that the boy will be distracted enough with his own toys so that I can write something. Instead, he finds crawling directly under my chair to be the most exciting option. I'm sure there are safer places but at least I know where he is.

Today I had an audition and I had to bring the boy. Always a very anxiety-filled event. For me, not for him. The audition times are NEVER convenient, I spend an hour deciding what to wear, then another hour griping about having to actually shower and wear make-up, then I usually have to wake the boy from some precious nap, and drive in LA traffic to actually find where I'm going.

Of course there was some "event" happening on Hollywood Blvd. so there were all kinds of detours, crazy drivers, and lost people trying to drive past the cones that said "Do Not Enter". Clearly, a big red circle with a line going through it is not a universal language. But oh well, I'm pressed for time. My next mission is to find a parking spot that is within reasonable walking distance from the building that I need to go to. Otherwise, I know exactly how I would look after pushing a stroller uphill ten blocks in 90 degree weather. And I didn't put on this make up for nothing!

I find a spot a mere two blocks away. Lucky me! My next issue was a parking meter that kept eating my quarters but not giving me any credit for it. So either pride, being rushed, or the fact that I already gave it $3.00 prevented me from moving my car to a "working" meter. The sign said, "$2.00 for each hour" but the meter was only showing that I had 58 minutes after giving it three bucks! MAD TIMES!!!! Anyway, the boy was already in his stroller, and I very well couldn't have left him on the street as I moved my car to another meter. Surely, that would be called in as child abandonment. And I hadn't even gotten to the audition yet! I think I put in over $5.00 before it finally read that I had two hours.

Dazed and confused, I strolled our way down Hollywood Blvd. looking like a lost tourist. Luckily, I ran into an old friend of mine at the audition. It was so lovely to see him. He helped me find the elevator in the building. And lucky for me, the casting director was very "kid friendly"! She didn't mind one bit that I lugged the boy into her waiting room. The stroller took up the entire hallway, but she maneuvered around it without a second thought.

I spent the next several minutes reconnecting with my friend, and wouldn't you know it? The boy had everyone entertained! He smiled, laughed, and soaked in his admirations. There wasn't a person there who couldn't help but smile at him. It's like I put a quarter in him and he was all ready for some tricks.

I'm just about ready to be called in so I decide to breastfeed him really super fast. Ya know, to keep his chipper personality just a little bit longer. So, I snuck into what seemed like the office supplies room and shut the door. I sat on several reams of paper as the fax machine was spouting out papers and the coffee machine was making funny noises. Out came the booby for feeding time. I tell ya! If you told me I'd be doing this when he was two weeks old, I'd have laughed in your face.

A mere five minutes later, I hear my name being called over and over and over again. My lovely friend tells them where I am. There's nothing discreet about, "She's breastfeeding in the supply closet." So, I hurriedly pull my shirt down and hop out the room. I throw the boy like a sack of potatoes to my friend who's agreed to hold him while I have my audition. Then as I enter the audition room I take a split second to make sure I'm all put together. And, alas! That darned breast pad was half sticking out of my shirt. Seconds before the casting director turns around to say hello I managed to shove it back in. But god knows how the rest of me looked.

Well, it didn't take long for me to actually figure out how I looked. After the audition, I looked in my car mirror: raccoon eyes from the mascara because it was so hot out, and my hair was a mess because I had my sunglasses on top of my head for the past three hours.

Auditions now that I'm a mother have proven to be quite difficult. But once I get there and see other moms lugging around their kid(s) I feel like I'm a part of some secret masochistic club.

Okay, it's taken me three days to actually write this. I don't know if I got out the point that I had started out with. But more will be coming shortly!!!

Is That a Toy Boy I see?

Why is it when the boy has every imaginable toy in his possession the most exciting thing to play with is the metal trash can?

Right before this picture was taken he was attempting to put the dog's tail in his mouth. Can't you just see the guilty look on his face?

People seemed to not believe me when I said the boy has too many toys. Perhaps they thought I was being gracious by saying, "Oh, please don't buy him anything. He really has too much." While I am very grateful for the many wonderful gifts we have received, from the looks of this picture, I think it's safe to say he really has too much.

And actually, this picture shows only half of it. It does not show the toys that were too heavy to add to the pile, or the toys in the shed that are not for his age yet. The picture also does not show the three cribs, two playpens, a crawling safari tunnel, and two jumpers he has. Almost all of these toys make some kind of noise, light up, or roll around. They do not, however, clean my house, wash the dogs, or cook dinner. Useless, I tell you!!!

Now in my defense, I did NOT buy him all of these things. In addition, most of them were not even gifts. Thanks to the wonderful world of my old job I was able to obtain loads and loads of toys. For free! Nice, huh? I don't feel guilty at all... until I see some poor child playing with a metal trash can because that is his only toy. One of these days I will make it into a donation center.

Now, as I am typing he is getting the biggest kick out of hitting the metal trash can with his rattle. He prefers the noise the trash can makes over the noise of the rattle. Hours of entertainment. But selling a metal trash can as a child's toy just wouldn't be marketable.

What a Sweet, Sweet (Potato) Face!

Well, he did it. Had his first bite of food! Sweet potatoes in honor of our fall weather. Daddy got to feed him, as promised. The reaction was as expected~ uncertainty, confusion about whether to like it or not, and then much more interest in throwing the spoon around. I think he got about one ounce in his mouth, a 1/2 ounce down to his stomach, and about 2 ounces on his shirt.

We did get it on video and of course the commentary is much more exciting than watching him. "That's too much." "I need a napkin." "Oooohhh, yummy Kien!" I'm not sure we convinced him.

So, our first adventure with food went quite well. I did make Daddy clean up his chair, tray, and surrounding area. That was the trade off for being the first one to feed him. Not to mention that I'll probably be stuck with that task from here on out...

I think the only thing we have to work on is stop having dinner at 9:30pm. I'm sure somebody somewhere will tell me that that is too late.

Stupid theory

Yesterday I came up with a theory.

I was lying in bed and playing with the boy. I was getting so tired of him pulling one or two strands of hair. Not pulling it completely out of my head, but just pulling enough to cause torture. So, I thought I would take a chunk of hair out of my 3-day old ponytail so that he could pull on a larger piece of hair. I thought it wouldn't sting quite so bad.

That was a dumb theory.

Completely different thought: I was told by my good friend that her 4 year old daughter weighs 30 lbs. Kien weighs 20 lbs. at 7 months old. Her daughter did not reach 20 lbs. until she was about 2 years old. (I think they even started out at the same birth weight.) Could this explain the great arm work out I am getting every day?

What's a mom to do?

The ever popular questions for holistic mamas: co-sleeping, vaccinations, breastfeeding, homebirths, cloth diapers. Or in my case, diaper free... We all sit around drinking our organic tea, with our organic sunscreens, working in our organic vegetable gardens wishing our cell phones could be made from organic, sustainable, free-range materials. To be or not to be?

I had an epiphany the other night. Well, I should start off by saying that when I went to the pediatrician for the boy's check up, he (the doctor, not Kien) suggested that we find some kind of sleep routine that included him going to bed at an earlier hour. It wasn't a must-do, or a threat to call social services. It was merely a suggestion. Then he said, "Of course, you and your husband have to determine if it's worth it to give up that time that the dad gets to spend with his son." You see, if I make the boy go to bed at 8pm (as is the "suggested" time) then Dad and Son will hardly ever see each for at least three days a week. And the other days of the week would be very limited in "play with Daddy" time. But I was sucked into this "You really SHOULD..." business.

So, that night I rocked him to sleep and when he was still somewhat drowsy but not quite asleep I placed him in the Co-Sleeper. Now, let's talk for just one second about this thing called the "Arm's Reach Co-Sleeper". This product deserves some recognition. It's basically a crib with a raised platform so that when the baby lies in it, he is basically at the level of your own mattress. You then have it pushed up against your bed so that you can be close to the baby.

Well, for the longest time, it's definitely been pushed up against our bed. You better believe it! It looks really special~ soft and cozy just like in the advertisement. Well, our only adjustment to using this product was that we didn't actually use it to place the baby in. No, the baby slept with us. Now that was soft and cozy. Very special. We got used to placing other things inside the co-sleeper. In fact, for a while we were using it as a night stand. Just place a book inside and it instantly becomes stable enough to hold your water glass. It's also great for keeping extra diapers, blankets, and toys. Our main purpose for this contraption was to store our nice, frilly pillows from our consistently unmade bed. You know, the "decoration" pillows that you don't really ever use. So, after a month or so of utilizing this storage facility, my husband began calling it "The Pillow Holder".

Where is the My Breast Friend? Where else? In the pillow holder. What did I do with that bra pad? Of course!!! Check in the pillow holder. I can't find my phone. "Did you check the pillow holder?"

At times it held more than pillows. But not once did it actually hold a sleeping child. This too also came with a constant reminder of how much we paid for our "pillow holder". I remember many early mornings when the boy was sleeping in the bed with us, perpendicular to the rest of it's inhabitants which causes me to lie on my side at the utmost edge of the bed. This is because his foot made it's way to my rib cage. It was those overly tired mornings when I actually considered crawling into the pillow holder so I could have more room. Unfortunately, there's a weight limit which I definitely exceed.

Anyway, after some time, we graduated to putting the boy in the pillow holder. Unfortunately, I had to find another place for our pillows. He would sleep in this thing for various amounts of hours through out the nights (sometimes seven hours, sometimes we didn't get past two hours). However, it was enough hours in the night to re-qualify it as a co-sleeper. However, just as we're getting used to it, the boy is on the edge of reaching the weight limit. Luckily, I have a place to put my pillows again.

Okay, back to this great epiphanous night. (Is that a real word?) I place him in the co-sleeper when he's not totally asleep and he instantly wakes up to realize what is going on, and starts with low grunting noises showing me his discontentment. So, I think that if I lay next to him (on the adult mattress) and sing to him he'll go back to sleep. This went on for 10 minutes, and after 10 minutes his face was beet red and he had snot spilling out of his nose because he was crying so hard. He even looked at me through those humongous tears and reached out his hand to try to touch me. Several times. I was sad. Severely disturbed. This "method" just didn't feel right.

Now, I know all about not spoiling a child, helping them become independent, blah blah blah. Spoiling a child, in my terms, is giving them everything they want and never saying no. Not picking them up when they want to be comforted, in my book, is refusing love. Especially when this child is only seven months old.

So, I picked him up and told him I was sorry for just watching him cry. My singing just wasn't that good, I suppose. Then came the epiphany. This whole "crying it out" thing IS NOT FOR ME!!!! It does not resonate with me at all. There's not an ounce of my intuition that tells me that this is the way to handle the situation. Now, I understand perfectly well that other parents are capable of this tactic and some people believe that this is the ONLY way to make a child independent. (I must point out that my doctor did NOT say this was the only, or "right" way to handle this. He said if that was my style then I could try it.) That ain't my style. I'm not ashamed to admit it. If that makes me a pushover then so be it.

After I picked him up and kissed him, I nursed him for less than 60 seconds before he happily entered dream land. He looked so incredibly peaceful and calm, and his body language told me that he felt very safe and secure back in my arms.

As I stared at this beautiful creature, I pondered on what had just transpired. I didn't think "Okay, we'll try that again tomorrow." Hell no. I thought long and hard about what my intuition was saying. It was actually incredibly sacred to sit there on the bed, with the boy asleep in my arms, as I dug deep into my heart. It's like everything became so clear.

I've never been one to follow the rules, or go along with the current trends simply because that's what "everybody else is doing". It actually hurts my brain to think about other people being led so easily. My point is that I never would have considered myself to fall under a certain parenting style, mostly because I never knew what any of them were all about or what they were called. Referring back to my "Happiest Baby on the Block" story, I've always just felt that if you listen carefully enough then your baby will tell you what he/she needs. In my past, whenever I've listened to my intuition closely enough it leads me to exactly where I want to go. Perhaps it's all those years of acting that helped me hone that skill.

Back to this night... What I first concluded was that I am going to completely throw away this notion of getting the boy to bed by "bedtime". When he was two months old, he very clearly let me know when he was tired and wanted sleep. At seven months old he gives me pretty much the same signals. So, I decided then and there that I was going to let him tell me when he was tired. First of all, getting him to bed earlier would mean that he would wake up earlier. I kind of like the fact that we all sleep in until 8am together. I really don't need him awake at 6am. I don't understand the point of having a huge fight with him for two hours as I try to get him to go to sleep at 8pm only to have him finally fall asleep at 10pm. Why can't I just make those last two hours of our day fun, memorable and happy?

Then I began to think that if we have a big battle every single night trying to get him to go to bed at 8pm then surely he will not have good feelings associated with going to sleep. RIGHT?!?!? I mean, this is all sounding like common sense to me. On the flip side, if every night we only spend five or ten minutes rocking him to sleep and the whole process is us snuggling together as he dozes off, then I have to believe that he will have really great memories of going to bed. Now, remember to check back with me when he's six and I'll let you know how this theory plays out. But for now, this feels good to my inner-mama. As I said before, it's not like he's got an important meeting to go to in the morning...

The second phase of my epiphany-filled evening has to do with this issue of WHERE he sleeps. That famous question that troubles all the new moms that I know. Some don't want to admit that they sleep with their babies in the same bed, and some think it's the greatest thing since, well... since the day their baby was born.

I remembered several (at least 20) nights where my hubby is half awake on the couch watching tv while I finish up whatever I'm doing. Usually I'm writing until 1 or 2am. I have always told him, "You should go to bed. You don't have to wait up for me." His response is sweet and dear and what every wife wants to hear. "I don't like going to bed with out you. I can't sleep until you come to bed anyway." Now, while this is sweet, I don't think he's just saying it to score points. I have seen him toss and turn in bed while waiting for me to stop saying "I'm almost finished." for the 100th time. He really doesn't like to go to bed until I'm there.

So, again, as I held this sweet, peaceful baby in my arms I remembered my husband's words. Let's remember that my husband is a grown man with the ability to reason and understand logic. He understands that he is not actually lost in a dark abyss if left alone in a dark room. He understands that if I'm not there he has not been completely abandoned. He fully realizes that this room is not going to swallow him whole. Yet, he still insists that he sleeps better when I'm there. So, if he hates going to sleep in an empty, cold bed then why would I think that the boy could do it. Or more importantly, why should he have to do it? He does not have the ability to reason. The boy does not understand why he feels so scared. And worst of all, he does not feel safe and secure.

After I thought about these things, I realized that it's unfair to ask my son to understand why I'm leaving him to cry hysterically in the bed all by himself. And him adapting, or just getting used to the idea that I wont be there for him is not acceptable for me. That's not really a lesson that I want him to learn.

That night he slept very close in the bed right next to me. I reassured him that the world was safe.

Afterwards, I told my husband about this epiphany. He was very understanding and in fact, after I gave him the example of him not sleeping until I got into bed, he really didn't have much of a counter argument. My other argument was that if human babies take the longest of all mammals to learn how to survive on their own, then why would we think they don't need us during this incredibly vulnerable time called SLEEP?

I have heard before the phrase, "Gaining independence through dependence". I like this phrase. It resonates with me. To me, it means that if my son gains a sense of security by knowing that I will always be around if he needs me, then he will be more brave and willing to venture out on his own (because he knows exactly where the safe zone is). This translates into the boy having confidence. The opposite would be a child never knowing where to find his security, therefore never feeling as if he could walk forward with confidence.

This is only how I see it. I am okay with people not agreeing with me and I am certainly okay with people practicing other parenting styles. Some people think my approach will lead to him being too needy or too dependent. After being with my boy for seven months, I just don't see it that way.

Of course, I really know nothing when it comes to textbook parenting. I could be way off base here. But I have to tell you, these past three nights have been really wonderful. No more fighting to make him fall asleep. He just goes, peacefully and at his own free will. (Well, okay, free will for a seven month old...)

I sometimes think that these modern techniques, books, and theories are all about making the child fit into your schedule. "The 8 o'clock bedtime is so that you can feel like you have time to yourself." Not necessarily because it's healthier for them. "They need to understand who is the authority figure." By making them go to bed at the specified time? What's more important- authority or trust?

In today's very busy society of super-moms, working moms, do-it-all moms, some women are having children thinking that nothing will change. They will continue on with their lives, go back to work after six weeks of maternity leave, and make the baby fit into their carefully planned agenda. Sometimes I felt like the facilitator of my support group (which I disliked) approached childrearing as a inconvenience and a nuisance.

Well, I have news for her followers! It IS inconvenient. I brought another human being into this world. We're not talking about goldfish here! Motherhood threw a huge wrench into my already steady life. The boy is not just an extra something to add to my to-do list.

So, here's what I'm screaming about: Having a child IS a lifestyle change, no matter how you slice it. And unless you have a nanny or Netflix, you better get creative in how you plan to raise this creature that desperately needs you to survive. Isn't it the parents job to adapt to the new lifestyle? And in return you will teach them how to be flexible. An important life skill, last I checked. I don't think it's the kid's job to already know where he fits into your busy calendar.

I mean, for crying out loud, I quit my job in order to take care of the boy full time. Talk about change in lifestyle! And I will be the first one to admit that accepting this fact is really hard. It's also been really hard to learn how to not give up my identity completely. (That is a work in progress.) And by all means, I'm not saying working moms are bad, or "crying it out" is wrong. There are a million different ways to parent and there is definite validity in each of them. Finding the right one for your family can be challenging. I just think we have to look at the reasons behind why we are doing things. And it shouldn't be just because the doctor said so.

Happy Seven Months

It's kind of shocking to me to realize that the boy is already seven months old. I'm already experiencing the bitter sweet feeling of watching him enter into new phases. I'm ooohhing and aaahhhing as I pack away clothes that he can no longer wear.

Maybe it's because I never actually had him wear half of the stuff. We were completely inundated with hand-me-downs and gifts. I'm definitely not complaining. Keep them coming! I am a big fan of second hand clothing. But the amount of stuff we collected was enough for the Octa-mom.

I also have every single Baby Einstein product made in the last two years because of a job I had. While this has been a great gift, it's really difficult to hear Mozart or Beethoven played on a xylophone over and over again. You don't think it's possible to hear Bach's Menuet in the key of F coming out of a caterpillar's mouth? Come over to my house. The best is when the batteries start to wear out and the sound is warped, and you don't actually realize that something's wrong with the music. Or... when the toy was never turned off so the music has been playing for the last hour and I have no idea why I have a headache.

I went into a store the other day where I had gone to a breastfeeding support group when the boy was a newborn. I passed the room to see a group meeting and it was almost comical seeing all these first times moms with these panic stricken looks on their faces holding their 4 week old babies. They clearly had no idea what they were doing. I say "comical" because I know I looked like that. So I had to chuckle because I really wanted to point and laugh and say, "I'M SOOOOO GLAD I'M NOT YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!!" But then the more sympathetic side of me caused me to shoot a knowing smile to sleep deprived mom #7.

Speaking of sleep deprived... I have been trying out this reading program called Your Baby Can Read. I am thoroughly impressed and think it's a great program. I completely agree with the philosophy behind it. It comes with books, flashcards and several DVDs, all of which are very interactive. Well, yesterday I put on the DVD for the boy to watch. I put him in his little chair, which is like a little cushioned seat that you can place anywhere. And then I sort of curled my body around it as I layed on my side. This way I could still participate with him and help him do the actions and repeat the words. Brilliant plan, I thought. Well, laying down is generally not a good thing to do if I want to stay alert. Next thing I know, I wake up and the DVD has finished playing. The boy is just sitting in his chair, kicking his little feet, and staring at the tv which now just says "Main Menu. Parent's Guide. Kids' Songs." I'm quite certain that in the "Parent's Guide" it advises that the parent (that would be me) also participates in the interactive portions of the DVD. He is still a bit too young to point to his nose all by himself.

Other things to catch you up on...

We're still sitting on the fence about starting him on solids. Well, okay, it's me really. Dad is all excited to get the food flying through the house. But our pediatrician has told me that we can wait up to a year if we wanted so that is buying me a little more time. He said that there's no real set time that makes it "right". His check up was great. He's definitely a "big" boy. So, I know that exclusively breastfeeding him is not malnourishing him in any way. I know it's for completely selfish reasons, but breastfeeding is just soooooo convenient. There's nothing to prepare, clean up, heat up, and I don't have mashed peas stuck to my floor. Yeah, I know. We'll get to it.

Right now the boy is having lots of floor time. He's moments away from crawling. Well, actually he does crawl. Just not in any kind of straight line. Or forward, for that matter. He's got the backwards scoot down really well. And he's also practicing his Olympic sprinting pose. This is when he has his arms and legs straightened and his butt is pointing straight up into the air. He's like a little pyramid. He's usually on his tiptoes when he does this so his balance is WAY OFF. I think he actually thinks he can be mobile in this position. But instead he's just the Leaning Tower of Butt as he sways his butt left and right to try to gain momentum.

Okay, I've got to cut this one short. I've been asked about my homebirth story many times so I'm trying to edit the letter I wrote to Kien about how he was born. I'll try to get that posted in the next day or so. And the boy is anxiously waiting for someone to play with him. He's adorable I tell you!!!

I have to say the best sound in the entire world is hearing him laugh.

I'm Old (er) and still breaking the law

Today is my birthday. Not quite sure how to think about it. I've been completely kicked out of the cool group, Early 30's. So "Friends". And even when I was in that age group I was far from cool. But upon entering your "mid 30's" you start to get those special insurance rates. So not "Friends". My hubby tells me that I'm 12 for the 3rd time. Why would I want to be 12 again? Kind of like that movie w/ Zac Efron where some grown man gets to be 17 again. Well, if you looked THAT good when you were a teenager, then okay, maybe being a teenager ain't so bad. But I didn't look that good. I don't want to be a teenager. (Why do I even know about this movie?)

Side note: I could be totally misunderstanding the movie because I have NOT seen it. But do we really believe that Matthew Perry looked like Zac Efron when he was in high school?

My 20's. Meh. A lot of growing still. A lot of "I know EXACTLY what I'm doing", and not really knowing a damn thing.

Early 30's. A lot of "Oh, my god. I really don't know what I'm doing. But I told everyone that I knew what I was doing. So, let me keep trying this tactic because it's working GREAT!" (You see how easily I am fooled?) I have also seen the effects of being out of shape, car accidents, and broken bones. Most of this early decade has been graced with a jumbo 1,000 count bottle of Motrin, courtesy of Costco. I've looked at the expiration date and thought, "Oh yeah, I'll be finished with this WAAAAY before then."

Now, I am solidly into my mid-30's. I hung on to the "Early 30's" label as best I could. In fact, I have tried to hold on to a lot of things that have fallen. Expensive bras, face creams, and promising lotions are now replaced with bra pads, spit up, and singing nursery rhymes ad nauseam. Things will fall where they may. Good thing my stomach is there to hold other parts up.

So, just as I was getting used to fooling myself that I knew what I was doing, I decided to have a kid. Now, I've drastically jumped head first into "OH MY GOD!!! I'M GOING TO SCREW THIS KID UP!!!"

Of all things in the world, a child keeps you honest. At least mine does. Maybe he'll have a future in the judicial system. He'll look at me when I do something stupid and the look on his face is screaming, "Really? YOU are going to raise me?"

Like when I put him in the car (which takes me 10 minutes because of the extensive strapping down system called a car seat) he miraculously sits patiently through it all as I pull his arms through the straps, then tug at his legs to get the buckle free, and then snap the chest strap snugly level with his arm pits (as the instructions say to do). Quietly he sits, watching me as I contort his body into Lock-Down position and tell him stories of way long ago about how when I was a kid seat belts weren't the law and how I could have legally thrown him in the back of a truck with the dog. However, he does not sit quietly as he tells me (through body language) that the buckle for the seat belt is scorching hot because it's been roasting in the car in 100+ degree weather. So, okay, he is not the perfect child.

This routine (I dare not say my daily routine because I sometimes give up the notion of getting out of the house if I've been trying for more than two hours.) is then followed by me getting behind the wheel, putting on my seat belt, starting the car, backing out of the driveway and then realizing that I've forgotten my wallet. I then re-park the car, put all the windows down, run to the door, then run back to the car because I've forgotten that I need the house keys. After I grab the house keys, I race about the house looking for my wallet. Mind you, the boy is still in the car because I'm not going to go through that whole shenanigan again. Racing, racing, racing, WHERE IS MY WALLET???? Well, maybe I did put it in the car. So, I check the car again and there it is sandwiched between a peed on diaper and yesterday's half eaten lunch, a Luna Bar. I'm remembering now that the wallet has been left there since yesterday so it smells kind of funny. What I actually forgot in the house is my phone. Go back to the house, NOW WHERE IS MY PHONE??? Oh, there it is, in his play crib hidden underneath all of his toys. I totally do not remember putting it there. Oh, and there's my sunglasses. I meant to grab those too. Race back to the car just in time to see the boy's expression on his face. "Really? YOU are going to raise me? I'm supposed to put my health in your trust?"

And this is how it is for me getting out of the house. Now, this does sound lame. I admit, it sounds like I am not of sound mind and body. But I'll have you know that during yesterday's excursion, after only two times of in and out, in and out of the car seat, my husband handed me the boy for his third visit to the car seat and said, "Your turn."

Uh-huh. That's what I thought. It wears on you. The car seat alone is enough for you to go criminal. Once, he was asleep in the car seat, so I raced into the pet store to get some dog food. Success. Of course it helped that I yelled at the cashier as soon as I entered, "SLEEPING KID IN THE CAR. I NEED DOG FOOD. NOW!" I think that because I was not holding a gun, she got over the shock of thinking that this was a robbery. The next day, however, I've learned that I could actually get fined for leaving a child in the car. I understand that I have just incriminated myself. But it was an ugly and desperate situation. Since he'd already been in and out of the car seat five times that day, I was thoughtful about my child endangerment. I left all the windows open and made sure to take my car keys with me. I also parked illegally in front of the store entrance to be close to him. And then of course, wouldn't you know it? There was a news story about a car jacking some where in LA where two kids were also kidnapped because they were left in the car. Okay, yes a horribly scary story and lesson learned. But I'd like to point out, isn't there some stupid advice about "Never wake a sleeping baby"? You just can't win.

Who ever gave that advice never had a child that slept in the car. Or perhaps they never ran errands. Otherwise, you'd be driving around in circles all day long just waiting for him to wake up so that you could legally run your errands. Yes, I have done this.

So, now I'm another year older. This time with a baby to show me all my flaws. I take that back. The boy loves me no matter what, at least for now. My society is quick to show me all my flaws. I'm doing the best I can.

A few hours have passed now since I wrote the above. I'm coming back to my entry as my birth date nears completion. I just wanted to say that I had a wonderful day. My husband made me breakfast. Then we actually got out of the house to go for a hike. It was after 4pm by the time we got in the car, but never the less, we got out. Then I had an incredible meal prepared for me. Again, my husband came through. And I end my birthday nursing the boy. He sat up from his feeding, leaned over and spat up onto my leg. I watched it drip down my sock and straight into my shoe. I LOVE my family.

Happy Birthday, Momma.

It wasn't a bath in a vat of coffee after all.

I woke up this morning and realized what it was that made the boy stay up so late last night. Yesterday, I had my first form of caffeine (other than chocolate) since he was born. I had my first soda in ages and I think that was equivalent to the coffee bath that I mentioned in the last entry.

And now, my vacation is about to start! I see sleep in the near future...

My pattern is to have NO pattern

So I just had a great EC (aka: Diaper Free) moment tonight that I have to share really quickly (for any other EC parents out there). I didn't realize until I got back just how cool it was.

I wanted to go to the store to pick something up but it was already 8:30pm so I was kind of in a hurry. I grabbed my wallet, my keys, and rolled up an extra diaper and stuck it in my pocket. And off I went! Oh yeah, I grabbed the baby too!!! This was the closest I've gotten to experiencing an outing without my four ton baby bag in tow, and I was damn proud. I just up and went, like back in the day when "leaving with a moment's notice" was still part of my lifestyle. And to add chocolate frosting to the cake, both the baby and I returned with a dry diaper! Yay for a good EC night!

Okay, on to my topic at hand:

Well, he's going to sleep later and later. Not quite sure how that happened. It used to be 8pm. Okay, 8pm-ish. Then all of a sudden, we've been getting him to sleep at 10pm. He sort of just skipped the nine o'clock hour. Last night, silence fell upon us at 10:30pm. I told my husband, "Maybe we should try to put him down 10 minutes earlier each night."

Tonight at 10:30, he was ready to run a marathon. Clearly someone bathed him in some coffee. Tonight's final bedtime? 12am. This was after a walk around the neighborhood to get him to pass out. Something very fishy is going on here. Perhaps we have lost all control and the boy rules the house.

However, lately I've begun to think it's a little sad to spend more time wishing my son was asleep than being awake. Yeah, sad isn't it? I mean, here is this little happy creature and all through out the day I would just look at him and say, "Why aren't you sleepy?" Looking forward to his naps because this is the time when I would (attempt to) "get things done." But he's six months old now. I've let six months pass by wishing he was asleep for all of it. I should probably start thinking of him as a human baby, not a bear in the middle of winter.

I'm facing reality now and acknowledging that even when he does take a nap I hardly get anything done anyway. I'm far too easily sidetracked to finish any project on the "list". So, I might as well just embrace his waking hours (which feels like 32 hours straight), and think of his naps as mere blips of silence in my day.

Sleep for us has been a family issue since the day he arrived. We all participate in thinking about it. The parents wish we got more of it. The child, not so much. Unfortunately, he's taken on his mother's trait of being a night owl. Like his mother, the boy is fully charged at 10pm. Ready to go and eyes wide open. Now I know how my poor parents felt every night that we battled this out. During my pregnancy I barely slept, often watching reruns in the early mornings. Early sleep training for the boy, I suppose.

I remember one "expert" adamantly said "Nine o'clock is WAY too late for a baby to go to sleep." I never liked her "expertise". Supposedly it was a support group, but I felt like it was an hour all about things we (okay, namely I) were/was doing wrong. And they incorrectly marketed the group as a place where all parenting styles are welcome and there is no judgement. I did find there was no judgement from her, as long as we agreed with what she was discussing. But in regards to things that were "wrong": Judgement. Raised Eyebrows. A lot of silence after my verbal contributions. Well, no, in retrospect it wasn't just silence. It just felt like dead silence to me. It was more along the lines of first getting a smile through gritted teeth, followed by some silence to process what I just said. And then smoothly segueing into the next topic that she had outlined in her notebook.

My one big complaint was that I wished she could have remained more neutral. However, when she says something like, "I have my own opinion about this which I won't share." but knowing exactly what that opinion is by the tone of her voice isn't exactly what I would call without agenda.

Okay, I lie. My other really, really big beef with her was that she wasn't up to date with the latest trends, research, or parenting styles. As an "expert", I expected her to be able to suggest several ways to try things. Not just say "Here's what you do." and then send us on our way (more confused).

She told me that most people (clearly she was included in this group) feel that a child isn't ready to learn how to use the potty until they are around three years old. Then several weeks after I had been trying and learning about EC (no thanks to her) I happened to mention that it was going well. Her response? "So, you're still sticking with that?" She had that same teeth gritting smile whenever I spoke. AS IF my way was putting a big cramp in how she ran her class. AS IF she felt my crazy ways were completely worthy of a call to social services. AS IF I was blowing her cover that she really didn't know how to hide passing judgement. AS IF what I choose to do was making my life much more difficult than it had to be. Little does she know that I haven't changed a poopy, explosive diaper since the first week that I started EC'ing, four months ago.

My child will not be sitting in his own waste when he's three years old. To me, that is worthy of a call to social services. But what do I know? I ain't no expert.

I'm fine with accepting her opinion as merely an opinion, but so many times I wished she would have been up-to-speed enough to offer us other opinions or ways of thought. Instead, we got: "This is what the research shows, so this is really the best way to do it." What happened to: what works for some may not work for others. Or: Try methods A, B, and C. They're all good methods.

Call me weird, but that is the reason why I joined the group after all. "It takes a village." Ya know, that whole thing...

I remember one time the group was talking about a particular book like it was the bible. And I asked, "What is this book that you all are referring to?" And the "expert" looked at me like I was nuts that I hadn't memorized each page before the baby was born, let alone hadn't heard of it. She says (paraphrasing here), "It's called The Happiest Baby on the Block by Dr. So and So. Blah. Blah. Blah. It's a great book. He tells you the eight important things you should do to calm your baby. You should read it."

Apparently I was the only one in the room to not have read it. My boy (in the early days before he was capable of smiling and laughing) was quiet, content, observant, and I dare say, HAPPY. Okay, maybe, MAYBE he wouldn't qualify as the happiest baby on the entire block, but since when did this become a competition? Isn't it a little too early to be putting so much pressure on him?

Needless to say, I never read the book. My boy is quite happy, thank you. He's smiling about 90% of the day, every day. On a side note, you know what really makes me laugh? I've heard that the doctor that wrote this book on child rearing doesn't even have kids. To me, that's about as interesting of a read as the book that Britney Spears' mother was writing on parenting before her underage daughter got knocked up. Clearly these people know what they're talking about.

I had to get rid of all my pregnancy books because they made me crazy telling me things that I "should be" feeling. I spent more time worrying about why I wasn't feeling something instead of rejoicing in the fact that I felt friggin' GREAT!!!! I clearly remember reading that if women don't experience morning sickness then there's a higher chance that there will be a miscarriage over women who spend their mornings leaning over the toilet bowl. Well, I did not have one day, not even a full hour of morning sickness. Can you imagine what my crazy neurotic mind was thinking???!!!??? For months, I cursed the day this author was born, and then I cursed myself for even buying the book.

So, come time for boy-raising, I decided that I'd do something a little risky and follow my gut for the mommy stuff too. Heck, let's just say intuition is my guide. So what that I've screwed up a few times here and there. So what that I let him stay up until 10pm. It's not like we're up watching America's Got Talent and eating popcorn. I'm actually doing things to stimulate his cute, little growing brain.

And by the way, Ms. Expert in Child Rearing, my husband happens to come home from work at 9pm. So, unless it's better to have my son go to bed every night after not seeing his Daddy all day, then I'm going to do things my way. It ain't like the boy has an important meeting to go to in the morning.

This is certainly not in any book, but this is how we do things around our completely schedule-less house. Here's a picture of the boy, lying naked, without a diaper on our bed. No blanket, no sheets. Directly on the mattress. Oh, and wait a minute! What's that on his face? I think that's the beginning of a smile. Yeah, my boy is happy.

So, it's too late for me to write about what I was really going to write about. I sort of went off on a tangent about my support group "expert". She'd have a conniption if she knew my boy's un-schedule. I guess today's topic was really more about how I've chosen to follow my heart and do my own research instead of just doing whatever it is that I'm told to do. Sure, I admit, this entry sounds a little fueled. But I'd like to think of it as having some passion.

Well, as the rest of my life goes, I'll have to finish what I meant to do another time. I think I was going to talk about patterns. Getting sidetracked is really exhausting.

The Sandpaper, The Wig, and The Basketball

I forgot to say earlier that I posted some additional photos on my earlier posts, so if you wanna see new pics of the boy and the "cigarette tray" then go back to my July entries. There's also a picture of one of my dogs. Because. Well, every one deserves a little recognition for what we've all sacrificed since the arrival of the boy.

And speaking of pics, I am not high tech enough to know how to photoshop so these pictures are not doctored up for effect. Unfortunately, this is the real state that I find myself in. And let's just say today's topic is all about vanity. Mine. Not yours. But mine.

The Sandpaper

This is in reference to the feeling of my once soft and supple skin. No longer do I have the time to apply body lotion, hand lotion, face lotion, scrubs, or masks. I also have certain body parts that are off limits to lotion because, well let's just say I signed a contract once I became a mother. For instance, my breasts can not have lotion on them because I breastfeed the boy. So, the reason is obvious. My shoulders can not have lotion on them because when I hold him, he likes to suck and drool all over my shoulder. My hands can't have lotion on them because he likes to eat and chew on my fingers, all the time. Not only is this due to the teething phase we are in, but I am a replacement for a pacifier. My nipples have also been given this job as well. (Again, the Teething While Breastfeeding blog hasn't been written yet. Need just a little more space away from what is now the harsh reality.)

Now, I understand that I have only mentioned three body parts, but there are several reasons why it's pointless to put lotion on the rest of my body. If I can't have lotion on my hands, then how else am I supposed to get it on to the rest of my body? I dare you to come up with a solution. And let's just say, for old time's sake, that I do manage to get lotion on my legs. I will immediately get it completely licked off by my dog. So, then I'll have not just baby slobber on shoulders, but both legs will be dripping with dog drool. Not to mention how much more difficult it will be to get anything done with a dog right underneath me.

And my other point: lotion on my hands would be a complete waste of money/product/time/energy because I am washing my hands incessantly. Warm water, soap. Just like my dad taught me.

I do not have a picture of my lizard-esque skin. You will just have to use your imagination. Or go to the hardware store, pick up some sandpaper, rub it right across your eyelid (please close your eyes first), and then you will know what it feels like to rub your eyes in the morning with my new mommy skin. Or perhaps that feeling is simply a hangnail that I just don't have time to attend to.

The Wig

I was warned. I laughed. And now I suffer. The hair loss is INCREDIBLE!!!!! No one ever told me... Oh, wait a minute. I just lied. Yes, people told me that often times women lose hair either during or after pregnancy but I thought I had super human powers and such things didn't affect me. And anyways, I have always had mass amounts of thick hair so I didn't think I would miss a few strands of hair falling out.

I've heard several theories, so this is only one. Apparently when you are pregnant all the extra hormones causes you to grow hair more rapidly and also you stop losing hair that you normally lose on a daily basis. I'm not sure if this is a survival thing. You know, like maybe the cave women back in the day used all this extra hair for weaving a basket or something? To keep their baby warm? To give the baby something to hang on to if they should fall? Anyhow, after the pregnancy you supposedly lose all of this extra hair that you never lost while you were pregnant.

But this hair loss doesn't happen right away. They did not tell me this part. So I thought three months into Kien's life and no sign of hair loss, that just proved that I was super human. I secretly did my "I told you" dance, while I shook my extra, extra thick and long hair. Well, month four: BAM! WHAM! WHERE'S MY BASKET WEAVING NOW?!?!?

My hair fell out in clumps. Massive amounts of hair with every brush stroke. No exaggeration, with every stroke of the brush I would have to clean it out because it would be too full to run through my hair again. The floor would often look like the floor of a hair salon. Pride has prevented me from picking it all up and making a wig out of it.

I learned the hard way that I had to rigorously and viciously brush my hair before I got in the shower to prevent a disastrous clog. While showering has become a rare, almost extinct practice, it has also become rushed because at any given moment I might be needed to perform some life saving task. And I never want that moment to happen with shampoo stinging my eye. So now with my new lesson learned about brushing my hair before entering the shower, this gave me even less time to shower. This is why new mothers just don't bother to shower. What is the point of a 90 second shower?

My attitude is confirmed by my mother-in-law's famous story about when my husband was a baby and she had to exit the shower immediately to rush him to the hospital. Shampoo in her hair, mascara down her face. So, let's follow this timeline for a second. She obviously had just started her shower since she hadn't washed her face yet, and she was still in the beginning of washing her hair. This meant that she had probably only been in the shower for 60 seconds before she had to exit. I have often thought of killing two birds with one stone (figuratively) and showering with my clothes on. That way, if I made it through my shower I would also have clean clothes. If I didn't make it through my shower because of some emergency then I would already be wearing clothes.

Sorry, I digress. The point was to tell you about the time I discovered that it would behoove me to brush my hair before getting in the shower. I jumped in, got my hair wet, squirted some shampoo on and before I even had time to start scrubbing, my whole body was covered with my dead, fallen out, soapy hair. From my shoulders down to my knees. Planet of the Apes re-enacted, right there. Going back to the image of the hair salon, it was as if all that hair that is on the salon floor was swept up and then thrown onto my wet body.

Getting that much wet hair off of my body before it goes down the drain is not how I wanted to spend my precious shower minutes. I mean, c'mon, I finally get the opportunity to get in the shower and it became the most un-relaxing experience of my life. Not to mention, unnerving. I saw so much hair not attached to my head that I thought for sure some animal had died. A sasquatch perhaps. I spent the next 10 minutes pulling all the hair off of me and sticking it to the shower wall. It covered two walls.

Then comes another BAM! WHAM! moment. (NOT to be confused with an Oprah "Ah-ha" moment.) I've discovered that I've lost so much hair that I now have a receding hairline. (Refer to the evidence now.) Do you see that triangle of baldness? Well, I have a matching

one on the other side. It was not there before. Draw a line at the base of the "triangle". Go ahead. Now point and laugh. That is how much my hair has receded, in two months. I think I will just paint the triangles red and dress up as satan for Halloween. My very nice and comforting friend has told me that it's simply a distinguished Widow's Peak. Thanks.

What sucks about it all, is that my favorite, easy mommy-do (the ever popular pony tail) is the perfect hairdo to emphasize these bald patches. But honestly, who really cares about your receding hairline or your sandpaper skin when you have a deflated basketball where your stomach once was.

The Basketball

There's not a lot of explanation necessary here. I had an eight pound baby, extra fluid, and a placenta growing inside my stomach. I have often wondered what happens to your stomach after the baby comes out. This concept always fascinated me. Even though I have stated many times how pointless it is to wear clothes now that I'm a mother, my stomach is precisely the reason why clothes were invented. Forget warmth and fashion or modesty. It's to hide The Basketball. Look at the picture. Study it hard.

I LOVED, absolutely loved being pregnant. I was very proud of my basketball (my son) then. I gained a "normal" amount of weight- 30 pounds. I was very, very, very lucky and lost all of it by the third month. (Producing milk and breastfeeding burns 500 calories a day. Equivalent to running two to three miles every day.) But even though I lost all the weight immediately, my stomach looked deformed. Not all pretty like when there was a baby inside. You know what a basketball looks like when it's deflated or has been run over by a car? All lumpy? My stomach- same concept. It didn't deflate evenly. It's sort of flabby in a way I didn't know flabby existed. And a whole lot of sagging skin. Similar to when someone has gastric bypass surgery and they have a lot of extra skin.

I am sharing this photo with you for educational purposes. (This was taken two and a half months after delivery with only five more pounds of baby weight to lose.) Study it closely and then determine if childbearing is for you. Perhaps I am doing my part in slowing down the overpopulation of the world. Notice the concave shape on the left? And the sagging skin on the bottom?

Now, there is hope. My basketball has deflated even more since this photo was taken but the misshapen look has been lovingly adopted by my husband as the "new" me. And the further it deflates, the more "extra" skin I have discovered resting on my thighs. I should point out that my stomach was never in great shape. I've never seen a six pack there before (neither a four or a two pack for that matter). But now with my "new" stomach, engaging in sit-ups causes a whole afternoon of ridicule and finger pointing.

I have also found that all of this loose, saggy skin on my stomach is extra sensitive now. Rubbing my stomach gives me the heebie jeebies. I don't mean sensitive in the ticklish kind of way. I mean in the irritating "don't touch me" way.

And last but not least, there's the bellybutton. It still looks as stretched out as during the pregnancy. It's like it's lost and doesn't know whether to be an inny or an outy. It changes it's mind on a daily basis. And the sensitivity- Oh My Goodness!!!! Sometimes when I'm lying in bed next to the boy, he gets really active with his legs. It's looks similar to how Fred Flintstone looks when he's driving the car. And while I want to support the growth of my boy, sometimes his tiny little toes will get caught in my bellybutton. Yes, caught. As in "stuck". And then he moves his foot all over the place, taking my bellybutton and all it's extra skin with him. This does hurt. Who knew a bellybutton could be so ridiculously delicate?

So, I have caught you up on the appearance of three body parts post-childbirth. It's a pretty sight. But of course, I'd be lying if I said I was unhappy. The boy that laughs and grins every time he sees me makes it all worth it.

A Journal Entry for the Baby

I found this journal entry that I wrote to the baby today and laughed. This was my very first attempt at writing my memories down for the baby. I thought I would post it. I laughed not because I thought I was funny. I laughed because even though I wrote this in April, I am still experiencing the exact same thing in August. I'm certain that it gets better. Right...?

PS. Notice in the beginning that it says that I'm going to try to write to the baby often. I don't think I wrote too much after the first week!

April 21, 2009

Today you are 12 weeks old. I have been wanting to write to you for a while now and of course have never found the right time. And even now, as I write you are with your Daddy who is trying to put you to sleep. Actually, I think you are hungry so your cries are distracting me. I’m not sure if this idea of writing will actually hold for long. It’s now 11:02pm and there is still so much to do. I just don’t understand where the time goes. Before you arrived I was always so busy but at the end of the day I felt like I was productive. There was always something, no matter how small, I had been able to accomplish. Now, that “small” thing is simply getting out of my bathrobe. It drives me crazy to see all of these projects left undone. Or even worse, left half done. Any attempt at organizing a room is off set by the next room looking like a bomb hit it. I just don’t see an end to it. And your Daddy always says, “We’ll get it done.” But he’s been saying that for at least five months. Yes, that’s right. Before you arrived. And the hardest part of all is that I think it’s harder for me to live in this state than for your Daddy, so the incentive on his end is not as strong.

So, why can’t I get anything done, you may be asking? Well…honestly, I ask myself that every day. Your Daddy will come home and say, “Tell me about your day.” And I’m thinking, “What?!?! Are you kidding me? It was the same as yesterday.” In fact, I think it’s still yesterday. What day is it? How did it get to be 7pm? I just want to take a nap. Why aren’t you sleepy? Are you hungry, AGAIN??? There’s no end to the cycle. Well, there is, but I have to work really hard to do anything differently. And sometimes the effort is just too great for me. So we end up spending the entire day just lying in bed, staring at the animal pictures that I taped to the ceiling, and wondering when your next nap time is. (Even though you probably just woke up from one.)

Today, I was supposed to get your birth certificate. Well, lo and behold, your mother was late and the lady at the counter told me that I needed to make another appointment because I was 15 minutes late. So, I drove 45 minutes in morning traffic to downtown LA, struggled to find a parking spot with a meter that actually worked, changed your diaper, strapped you into the Ergo, and hiked my way the two blocks to the ugly grey county building. All that for her to tell me to come back. I actually almost broke down in tears at the window as I begged her to just make the darn certificate. I take that back. I might have actually threatened her. And I even put my old acting skills to work. I came up with some crazy story about how we were moving out of the country so I really needed to get this taken care of now, and I made a strong point to say that I just couldn't come back. That didn't work. She just looked at me and said, "Oh well. How does May 7th work for you?"

I guess I'm coming back. I will attempt to arrive more promptly for my rescheduled appointment because I don't think I can use that story twice in a row. And I'm really sorry that you witnessed your mother lying at such an impressionable age but the idea of lugging you all the way down there again was so overwhelming. Let's just say that I let my emotions have a little too much power over me. And I say lug you down there because, yes, I do have to bring you with me to prove to the lady behind the plexi glass window that you do in fact exist. If it was for a more joyous trip I would not use the word “lug”.

Then I went to Target with you. You were quite a delight there. But I bought a clock that is too big for our wall. (It's not like time means anything to me anymore anyway.) So, I must bring it back. I’m pretty sure I spend more time in the Return Line there, than in the actual store. I have this same relationship with Babies ‘R’ Us. Then after Target I had a smoothie and sat outside while you sat in my lap. You were so cute, looking around at all the people walking by. I also helped you to pee in the bushes. Don’t worry, we were very discreet. You were so relaxed and in a great mood.

For the record, you’re in a great mood almost all the time. You’re a wonderful baby. Except when we went to the post office. Definitely not happy with your environment then. It was super hot and we both were sticky and sweaty. This is now our third errand for the day and I think you had it with the in, out, in, out, in, out of the car seat straps. We went in to mail some things but you were crying sort of half way on and half way off. You weren’t quite sure how to express your feelings to me. So I thought that if I take you outside to feed you then with your full, content stomach I could continue with my errand in peace. But as we waited in line to have the post man hold my things you really started to let it out. And then we were being stared at by most everyone there. The customers and employees at the counters were all yelling at each other so that they could hear each other over your cries. Smiling and screaming at each other, at the same time.

It was kind of funny. People minding their own business with this look on their faces, "What cry? I don't hear any crying." But it was quite obvious we were all suffering from some hearing loss in those five minutes.

When I finally got to the counter, the nice man told me to take my time and he would hold my things. Well, after trying to feed you in 100 degree weather you were still not satisfied so I just decided to pay for my packaging material that I had already sealed up and get the heck out of there.

That whole expedition took about 45 minutes and all I got out of it was a $2.08 cushioned envelope. And still my packages are sitting on the kitchen counter. Still. But you looked so miserable that nothing really mattered at that point. I just wanted you to be happy.

I have to end this for today. It’s now 12am. I bounced you back to sleep. (Daddy had put you down but you woke up a short 10 minutes later. We just can’t fool you, can we?) I didn’t mean for my first writing to be so whiny. You are so loved here. I am in so much love with you. I am so happy to be with you all the time, really. It’s hard to explain the love that I feel for you. And as far as babies go, you are really quite easy to care for. You’re such a joyful baby and you don’t ask for many things. You love being held. You love to smile. You love when we talk to you. You love to watch things. You seem to be a very old soul, always looking so philosophical and interested in life around you. I am in heaven being your mother. Today was just one of those days where many projects were attempted but each project left only half done.

So, good night for now. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that I’ve been wearing pants for about 12 hours now that have poop on them. Your poop. And my shirt has your spit up on it. I’ve gotten used to smelling like a carton of rotten milk. But poop on my clothing is sort of a new dimension of motherhood. I just never found the need to actually change my pants. So now I’m going to peel off my clothes and crawl into bed next to Daddy who is waiting for me. I do hope you sleep well tonight. That would mean a lot to me.

What do I do all day?

My husband asked me the other day, "So, after I leave for work, what do you do all day?" I had to think really hard about it. I came up with nothing. After 6 months of motherhood, I'm STILL in my bathrobe at the end of the day, still not showered, still trying to empty the dishwasher in less than an hour, and the obvious: STILL tired.

I feel like a failure. How, please in god's name, tell me how does an entire day go by and I've hardly found time to go to the bathroom? I have tried several times to at least have some sort of dinner ready by the time my husband comes home so that we can have some semblance of normality. And my husband isn't picky. If I threw on the table a frozen pizza still in the box and an old carrot in a bowl for "salad" he would not complain. He loves me that much. AND... he would even say with complete sincerity, "Thanks for making me dinner." I don't even have to come close to June Cleaver-ville for acceptance.

It takes me five times as long to complete a task. I've been trying very hard to do some research on new car seats for the boy. This has been going on for about two weeks. Now the pressure is on because he's ounces away from being over the weight limit for the car seat we have now. However, two weeks ago I had "plenty of time" and yet I am no closer to making a decision. Every time I sit down at the computer, things just happen. I've also tried four times this week to add to my blog. And it's not like I can't think of what to write about. Trust me, my list is LONG... It's just that my ability to get sidetracked has greatly improved.

I know, I know. I will get all kinds of advice on how to manage my time better. But let's take yesterday as an example. I put the boy down to sleep at 2:35 pm for a nap. I figured I would have at least two hours because his morning nap was cut horribly short by a doorbell, barking dogs, and the electrician working on the house. So, he was definitely tired. I raced around the house so fast trying to do stuff that I even carried my peanut butter and jelly sandwich around with me so that I wouldn't waste time sitting down. My plan: do a few little things that needed to be addressed, then attempt to download pictures from our Vegas trip so that I could send them to the grandparents (the downloading part was considered a "big" task because it would take longer than 6.5 seconds). Not a lot on the agenda. In fact, not overly ambitious yet I would still feel productive. Then my phone rings and it's a friend that I haven't talked to in about nine months. That's a long time, there's obviously quite a bit of catching up to do.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Screen my calls. Don't answer and just call her back. Stick to my plan, for the sake of sanity!!! DO NOT DEVIATE! But, I tried that whole "screening my calls" business and I have found that after six months of screening calls the only thing I ever got out of it was just that: a bunch of screened calls. A whole lotta voicemails saved on my phone. I didn't talk to anybody. Ever. Because I never had time to call anybody back. This is how you lose yourself. I've decided trying to maintain friendships was more important than having time to do things like brush my hair. And anyways, "stick to my plan" is absurd! PLAN???

My new way is much more fulfilling. Now, I answer the phone and say, "HI!!! It's so great to hear from you. I have five minutes. Go."

So I did answer this phone call, excited to have a real adult conversation, and after five minutes, I cut her off and said, "Look, the boy is asleep now and I've got a trillion things to do." I hope I haven't lost her as a friend. She sounded understanding. But in my head I imagined her hanging up the phone and grumbling, sounding like the "adults" do in the Peanuts cartoons, about how lame it is that I couldn't even take ten minutes to talk to her. Okay, maybe that was my own grumbling in my own head.

Anyway, I abruptly end my only opportunity at a two-way conversation, and I continue racing around. And soon, way sooner than two hours, through that darn working baby monitor, I hear movement. It's 3:40pm. Do you know what I accomplished?!?!?! It's pathetic. It's so small it didn't even make it on my to-do list, so I can't even cross anything off! A product registration card that has been sitting on my desk for five days. It's for some toy that we just bought for the boy and in case it is discovered that it has lead paint or that it can spontaneously combust I must send in my registration card for safety notices. After I finish filling it out (which only took two minutes) I decide that I don't trust this flimsy little card to make it to it's destination. Or what if Joe Schmoe who works at the registration office punches in my contact information wrong? Or what if he hates his job and doesn't care if my card falls on the floor and gets lost? So, the neurotic mother decides to go online and register my purchase there. It's simple enough. I find the website easily and the online form is short and sweet. I hit "submit" and get back some stupid message about my product number being wrong. How can this be? I'm getting the number directly from the card itself. Why is the universe making this difficult for me? I still have a million and a half things to do!!!! What god did I piss off?!?!? I type it in again. Submit. ERROR! And again, thinking third time is a charm. Stupid thought. So then I go to the Fisher-Price website and look up the damn product online to get the correct number. Of course they have 500 products that all look the same. I find it and make my comparison. It's the SAME number: PO291. Why are they telling me I'm wrong? I go back to the registration and decide fourth time is a charm. Again, stupid. And it isn't until fifteen minutes after starting this silly little task that I begin to realize perhaps, just maybe perhaps, that "O" is really a "0". Get it? Yeah, somebody smarter than me would have tried that 14 minutes ago. But in my sleep deprived state, I think there's no way it could be that simple. (You really have to see their font to believe me that it really does look like an "O". Undoubtedly. Really.)

Needless to say, that was the issue. I register successfully and that's when he woke up. The remainder of my afternoon mission has been aborted. What's new.

Oddly enough, I started this blog around 6am just to say that I was sorry that I haven't written in a while and that I would have to write later. I needed to go back to sleep. But then, I sort of vomited a whole rant about how I never have time to do anything. I didn't mean for this to be the topic. Were we talking about getting sidetracked? Why was I awake in the first place? Tell me again why I came into the kitchen? Oh yeah, who left the jelly out?

It's now 8am. I'm not getting back to sleep. In the past two hours, I nursed the boy, changed his diaper, rocked him back to sleep, let the dogs out, chased the dogs back into the house because of some squirrel that they insisted on barking at, and attempted to apologize for not writing in a while. Oh yeah, I've also been meaning to add more pictures. Thanks for your patience. I'm still trying to figure out what exactly I do all day.

Confessions of a (Homeopathic) Drug Pusher

I've discovered this "stuff".  I'm hooked.  It's fantastic for the boy while he's teething.  It's like a drug and I don't ever want him to be off of it.  I must have a problem.  

We now have a baby that cries, very loudly, very angrily, and I'm not sure if he's the same child I started out with.  We started out with this sweet cherub baby that spent his days giggling and smiling 24/7.  When he was first born, he also slept straight through the night.   This was my son.  Now, as night falls each night, I'm really not sure where that baby went.  The child I now have is feverish, cranky, inconsolable, moody, and misunderstood.  And all my EC attempts are laughed at- by him.  I have gotten peed and pooped on more times during his teething days than I have in his whole six months of life.  

I've learned that growth spurts and illnesses are very trying times if you are a practicing EC (Elimination Communication) parent.  In fact, the lesson for today should just be: why bother trying?

This diaper free business is GREAT for my floors.  I have had so many missed pees that I spend a lot of time cleaning the floors, which really needed it anyway.  My dear friend who is also an EC (Elimination Communication) parent emailed me and told me that during a particularly "off" day, they are practicing EM: Elimination Miscommunication.  I laughed so hard, I almost peed my own pants.  I'm not really sure if you have to know what EC is all about to get the joke, but trust me, it's hysterical.  Get peed on a few too many times because you've missed his "signals" and hopefully you'll start laughing too.  There's a wonderful online store called "The EC Store" where you can buy great products for this practice.  I told my friend that we should start our own business and call it "The EM Store".  We would sell Brillo pads and cleaning products in bulk.  I type this now in my underwear because my pants just got peed on.  

In case you don't know me well, I'm kind of a super-natural, organic loving, anti-meds, save stray dogs, home-birthing, veggie eating hippie.  (Okay, so I probably lost half my readers right there.)  I don't really like using a lot of medicines, so when the boy started teething I began to wonder if he or I will make it through this phase alive.  Yes, I know, every single baby who made it to the age of two had to suffer through getting teeth.  But when my son is screaming at me with tears rolling down his face, I all of a sudden don't really care about anybody else's baby.  In fact, I'm sure that my son is feeling more pain than anyone else in the history of teething babies since the Dark Ages.

And I've tried it all.  The teething rings that you put in the freezer, cold washcloths, ice cubes, etc.  But unless I somehow jerry-rig a freezer to his gumline, those damn things just can't stay cold long enough.  And I've participated in more mind-numbing distracting games than I'd like to admit.  Last night, he woke up in an angry sweat and was determined to not go back to sleep without a fight so we took him outside.  He became fascinated by a wind chime.  So, in order to keep him satisfied I had to move the chimes so that they made noise.  Over and over and over and over...  I came in half deaf, but I had a quiet child.  

Oh yeah, I should write a Part Two to my "The (Un)Graceful Art of Breastfeeding" entry.  Teething while breastfeeding is a whole new arena.  That will have to come when I've developed a sense of humor about it.  Give me a year or two.  

Anyhow, when he wakes up every hour on the hour crying in pain there had to be a solution and I had to find it immediately.  I didn't want Tylenol or some yucky grape flavored sleep aid.  So, I researched.  I found.  I bought.  

I've been giving the boy this homeopathic stuff that works GREAT!!!!!  It calms him so that he can sleep, brings down the fever, reduces the pain, there's no side effects AND it doesn't taste bad so it's super easy to give it to him.  It is the miracle drug.  Really.  At first, I was really conservative in giving it to him.  Just the minimal amounts for safe measure.  You know, pure and natural.  That's me.

A few days later?  We've reached maximum dosage.  I have no shame.  I am a pusher of drugs.  My son may grow up an addict of Chamomilla, but I am getting uninterrupted sleep for four hours now.  Hell, I'm going to start taking this stuff too.  Maybe freebasing it.