"Clean up!", Jack said this morning after emptying the contents of my armoire. He happily sat in a pile of my underwear, bras, pj pants, and who knows what else. He picked up approximately two pieces of clothing in his efforts to help. Then he runs onto the next project: unloading my jewelry box, leaving a wake of bracelets on the closet floor...and a few on his arm. "Bacebets," he says. He dances around to Hot Diggity Dog, then clambors up to the bed to test our poor dog's patience. "Mimmie niiice," he says as he lays on her belly and then slaps her face. I continuously have to remind him that the doggies are for loving. Then he says, "under?" and crawls under the covers to seek shelter. This week, he has been in time-out every day at the sitter's. A smack in the face, knocking off a chair, and even a hair pull. All for the same poor kid. This morning as we got to the sitter's, Jack happily shared his Cheerios with said boy and they were pals again. Half the time he runs off to play and forgets me in the doorway. Then, just as I'm leaving he runs and wraps his arms around me for one last goodbye hug. And then point at the squirrels in the yard. Or the bunny eating grass.


Jack is getting zanier than ever. Quite the headstrong little fellow...hmmm, I wonder where he gets that. He let's me know when I am wrong - "no, momma" and "mommy, don't say that". He is obsessed with his frog rain boots. He wears them all of the time, sometimes the right feet, sometimes the wrong. "Boots on!" he'll sing. He loves to wear them with shorts, wearing only a diaper, and out to play.

I decided today that it is time for this post to be well, posted. I think I started writing it a month ago. Maybe more. I'll be back soon.

Oh, Jack. My precious little pet...growing so fast. Knowing more than he realizes, and making his mom really understand that the swearing has to stop NOW. A slew of Tupperware fell on me yesterday and a GD-it slipped out. "Go damnit" I hear Jack say. Repeatedly. I tell him no, not nice to say those words, to which he replied "go damnit". Eff.

Tonight, determined to watch Hot Dee Dog (Mickey Mouse), he wandered into my dark bedroom saying it over and over. I do believe he thinks it is only on in our bedroom since that's where he hunkers down and watches it over his morning milk. I heard him yelling, "Mommeee..hot dee dog." and "no, momma" as I tried to coax him back into the toy room. We settled for watching Doofy (Goofy). He really is the sweetest...tonight I taught my Pilates class and drug him with me to the gym to play in the nursery while I toned my tush and abs. He clung to my legs, tears streaming down his face. I want to cry. Hubby is reffing football, no one is home to watch him, it's a pain to get a sitter for one hour. I rushed out, trying to talk myself out of the guilt I felt. As I went back to get him after class, he was standing by the door, waiting. As we went to leave, he patted all the rocking horses and said "nice horsey" and told them all bye-bye. What a gem that boy is.

Jack spent some time with me at work today - I never last more than 30 minutes at the office when he's around. He works the room like a tornado, leaving a trail of papers in his wake. He pushes every button and the box of toys I keep stored hold his attention for approximately 2 minutes before he wants "my puter". Today his puter was my calculator. I turned to try and get one last thing done and before I knew it, he had a huge stamp across his lips. If I needed to, I suppose I could have used him For Deposit Only at Sunflower Bank. Thank goodness for wipes.

In the meantime, I have turned 31. I spied hair growing in gray today. What the hell? I have been using wrinkle creams, sunscreen, and expensive make-up thinking I could defy age for awhile and I'll be damned if it didn't surprise me right on top of my head. Not so fast, mother nature! This is one thing I will not tolerate. Eff eff. However, hubby got me a glorious video camera, that I am itching to use, yet I am worried I will break it or that I need something really spectacular to use it on. I am thinking Jack will do.

I survived the canoe trip. Barely. Gi.Nor.Mous. sized bruises on each thigh and the back of one leg. I got beat down. Actually, hubby horsed around a little too often and I took the brunt of each shipwreck. I look like I've been mugged - by the White River. I survived without my Jack Jack as well, although I'll admit, it was difficult. I have not shown my thighs outside of my home for 2 weeks. Which could be a good thing.

It's amazing what a few days will change...he's taller, smarter, more talkative (is that even possible?), and more hilarious. He's obsessed with a baby photo on our calendar and repeatedly asks to see the "baby tiny". Today he grabbed the remote and flipped to Sportscenter, then sat on the bed with his milk and watched. He thinks all books are about animals and calls them all "anmal boot". Possibly the funniest thing is farting...which I should expect coming from a boy. He opens his eyes wide and his mouth into an "o" and says "poof" or "poop" - I can't tell which. Then he giggles. I'm not sure why farts are always so funny, except that they just are. He loves to try on shoes - and says "shoes on!" whenever he sees anyone with shoes. Maybe he does have a bit of me in him after all. He's so ornery and pushes the limits of everything. He does understand saying sorry which I find totally endearing. He says it and lays his head down on the person/thing to express his regret. So sweet about children - their emotions are so real and true, you never are left wondering how they feel. And it's evident every day when I walk into the house and see him smiling as he runs into my arms.

All Grown Up

So, my little bear got his first haircut (real one - me trying desperately to trim his little bangs does not count). It's so short. I liked his shaggy look and the way it was beginning to curl up at his neck. My baby walked in and this little man came out:

Not to mention, he got his first lollipop, so his mouth and his white t-shirt were blue (and red - I just realized there must have been two, unless it was a magical KU lollipop that turned from blue to red with each lick) by the time he was finished. I didn't go. I'm glad - I couldn't. I got tears when I first laid eyes on him. It physically hurt me to see it. Of course it was cute and obviously he's the most handsome devil around, but he looks so grown up. Sniff. I think hubby is pleased that the shag is gone.

These days, everything is "mine" or "my"...my bimmie (blankie), my mommy, my bed (which just happens to be our bed), my bobble (sippy cup). Everything is his and he is not particularly interested in sharing, which leads hubby to believe that a new baby is needed so he can get used to spreading his treasures around. Sure, whatever. He did manage to share one of his bimmies long enough to let our new friend Carter B. lounge on it for a bit.

He has excellent manners..."tan-too, mama", he says. Not just when he gets things, but when he gives them as well. It's darling. He says "scu me, mama" when he scoots past. He does have a bit of an issue with "please" - we had some drama in the car where he preferred to cry instead of asking nicely for his cup (that he had thrown on the floor for the umpteenth time..."uh, oh, bobble!"). Mind you, he was not thirsty, he just wanted to shake it up and down and get his pants wet - and continue to laugh at me each time I fell for it and picked it up.

Lately he is obsessed with football and he runs around with a Nerf football saying, "DOWN!" waiting for hubby to say the "SET, HUT!" and then proceed to tackle each other in a fit of laughter. When he does it with me, he says, "no, mama" after he is on the floor. I apparently not allowed to play. . It is, however, important to me, for Jack to know that Mama is athletic, therefore he will be attending my volleyball games come October. So, between this and the random swinging of his pint-sized baseball bat, I think I've got an athlete on my hands. If he wants to be a concert pianist, we are surely out of luck. Did I mention tv? He doesn't watch much, but he runs around saying, "Mama! Hot diggity dog!"... a delightful little ditty he learned from a Mickey Mouse show. He can hardly contain himself when he says it.


This weekend, hubby and I are off on a canoe/float trip with our cousins. Despite my excitement at getting out of town for a few days, I am not thrilled to be leaving Jack. I've had no time to prepare myself for this extended vacation and I don't appreciate how I'm feeling. I know he will have a great time and wear his grandparents down to stubs. It will be fine, I just don't like it. Am I too attached? I think this is how it should be. I miss him already.

Still Golden

I sit at work on a lazy Friday afternoon, pondering a new post or another game of Makos - this ridiculous puzzle game I have become addicted to (and that is frankly, making my eyes go crossed). I'm feeling slightly sorry for myself because not only did I run in the baking sun yesterday, but I ran to play volleyball, which, normally would not be a big deal, except for the 103-degree weather and the fact that my last volleyball match was in April. I want to go home and lounge in a bubble bath and then beg hubby to rub my aching shoulders. Oh, did I mention that my shin splits (est. 1990) also made an appearance last night? Pair this with my painful hip flexor, lower back pain, and you've got a mother who's pushing 31. Feels like 61. Maybe even 71.

Anyhoodle, on a sad note, the beloved Estelle Getty has died... you may remember her as the fabulous owner of Prince & Co. on the fantastically, horribly, awesome Mannequin, starring Andrew McCarthy (swoon) and Kim Catrall (Samantha Jones at her finest). But I hold her dear to my heart as a cherished, sassy, spunky Golden Girl, Sophia Petrillo. It's one of my favorite shows, all-time. Her wicker pocketbook, sausage and pepper canolis, 27 layer lasagna, and numerous money-making escapades warm my heart. Moment of silence, please.

Jack is still frollicking around, building pillow forts and keeping everyone in stitches. He is going through a bit of a hitting stage. Not a lot, just a little, and I know in my heart that no child of mine would ever hit intentionally, so he must be learning it at the sitter's house. I think he just gets excited. As soon as he does it, he immediately gives a kiss. Which leads me to believe that he will probably be hitting a lot of girls on playgrounds as an excuse to kiss. Oh shit.

We're spending this weekend being lazy. Baseball is finally over and we are making no plans except for our little family to spend some quality time together. I feel like I haven't seen hubby forever and I know he's glad to be home for a few weeks before fall comes and we start the whoel thing over again.

I have been taking a lot of pictures of Jack Jack lately - he is doing the silliest things. The other night I heard him working and working and he had made a "bed" on the living room floor and was "sleeping" ... "hoooonnnn shhhhhhh" he says, pretending to snore. He had to arrange his blanket just right, get comfortable. He didn't even want to eat dinner - just play in his makeshift bed. Which was fine, I suppose, because the dog had eaten half of it off of his high chair tray anyway.

He has also taken to calling his grandparents by their first names. The other night he went up to my mom and said, "Hi, Pam!" "Bye, Steve", he told my dad. He knows and remembers everyone's name, and pulls them out on random occasions. Animals are a whole 'nother story...watching Animal Planet the other night we saw a cat..."TIDDY! MEOOOWWW!" A dinosaur, "DINO! ROOOAAARRR!" in his little high-pitched voice, which frankly, sounds about as scary as a baby bunny (hop hop! he would say at that!). He lays in bed with me, watching, perched on my head/shoulder and trying to snuggle in as close as he can when he sees something really wild.

I can't say it enough - the kid is amazing. A little sponge running around, absorbing everything he hears and sees. I truly believe that he is one of the smartest kids I've seen - of course I may have a rollicking case of biased-ness, but hey, I'm his mom.

A quick update on G'ma...after some back and forth and I think general uncertainty on her part, G'ma decided to let them do the surgery. She has a new lease on life...granted, her road will be long and tough, but she is ready for recovery and anxious to get home. Yay!

Let's chat for a few moments about my son. Oh, Jack. Leave it to my glorious child to love having me kiss his feet. I loathe feet. Seriously. I can't stand to have hubby's feet touching me in bed, I don't like being near other people's feet, etc. etc. Most of all, I hate poorly groomed feet - it's just my thing. Pedicurists are brave souls. Anyhoodle...Jack. When he hurts himself, head, hand, nose, knee, doesn't matter - when I ask if I should kiss it for him, he immediately raises his foot to my mouth. He insists on having both kissed. That said, I don't mind kissing his feet. His are the only ones I will touch - besides my own.

So, I finally, finally went and purchased new bras. I haven't bought normal (and by this I mean ones that aren't so gargantuan as to hold first trimester growth/lactating boobies) bras since before I was pregnant. Isn't that sick? Needless to say, it was a bit of a trauma. I got measured and low & behold, my around size has gone down almost 4 inches. Seriously? My boob has gone down 2 inches. I'm not sure if that's actual size or just due to deflation. Well, due to the fact that my boobs are in my pits, I still had to buy the normal around size, not the one I actually measured for. Really? (Insert f-bomb). However, cup size, minus one! Yahoo! Who am I kidding, they're still monstrosities. Give me an A cup any day and I swear, I'll be happy. Is it possible to donate your extra to charity? There has to be some poor woman out there dying for a new set while here I sit with an unwanted pair. Maybe that's something I will invent. In any case, my old friend Victoria did me right - they're real, and in these bras, they're spectacular.

What is it that makes Jack the neatest kid ever? Well, I'll tell you...it's the casual way he says "mom" when he wants my attention. It's hilarious. The way he tells everything goodbye - for example, he wanted to bring my tennis shoes with us somewhere and when I said to put them down, he said, "bye shoes". He tells me how the bunny goes "hop hop". He roars like a lion and flexes his muscles. He's a genius, I tell you! He is the best buddy to hang out with (sorry, friends). He will always give love, he is always excited to see me. I love walking in the door after work and hubby says, "Mom's home!" and Jack runs - full speed - yelling my name to run into my arms. These moments make my heart burst.

Lately he has taken to calling everyone "Daddy". I'm not sure if he's actually looking for Daddy or just thinks that I am extremely promiscuous and isn't exactly sure who Daddy is. He is obsessed with baseball (yay!) and will swing the bat, then run laps around the bases (our house). He makes a swishing noise when he swings. Today he hit a ball off of a tee and I thought hubby was going to burst into tears. Such a proud papa! Last weekend he learned all the boys' names from hubby's baseball team. Each morning as we are driving to the sitter's, he repeats them all. He'll throw in a "bakball" (basketball) when we pass the goal on Bret Street. A "bay-ball" as we pass the high school fields, a "bus" when he sees a big truck or camper. I am amazed at this little guy's knowledge and vocabulary. He heard "hot diggity dog!" on a Disney show the other day, and it's the new saying. He's so pleased with himself and can barely contain his smile when he says it. I love this little boy. I love, love, love him...having him is truly the best part of my life.

G'ma

My grandma is dying. I am so sad...it's not a sense of, oh, she's almost 93, of course she is going to die. It's a poor circulation/infection that is slowly draining the life out of her. Right now she is in a lot of pain, but she is still functioning "normally" and going on her daily business. But it's happening - faster than I want it to. I haven't talked about this very much..ok, actually the family and I have discussed it thoroughly because G'ma has some big decisions to make in the next several days. She can either let them take her leg (her other one was taken above the knee 5 years ago), or she can get sicker and sicker until it finally takes her. But I haven't really grasped what this will mean. I think I have been in denial because she still seems like G'ma. For me, it means losing the person who used to pretend to make my sister and I into sandwiches. The woman who opened up her glorious shoe closet and square dancing dress collection for sister and I to play hours upon hours of dress up. When I baked with her as a child, standing on my tiny step stool, she'd ask me to pour in the sugar and I'd say, "all of it?" and she'd answer "allofit!" She meticulously crafted a miniature dollhouse and hat shop with my Grandpa, two gifts that will be bestowed upon my niece. It almost feels like I'm also losing the last link to my beloved Grandpa. Isn't that weird? Every time I see a geranium, I will think of her...first when I was younger and watching her tend to her garden...later as a woman and how I finally had to begin planting them for her in the brick garden off of her front porch. The one that I used to jump over instead of taking the steps. And the tire swing...how many afternoons did I spend twirling and flying hanging from that big old tree? Those sweltering Kansas summer days, when I'd stop by and she'd say, "Go get a Coke from the garage", and she'd get out the Yahtzee or Tri-ominos for a cutthroat game at the kitchen table.

I can't imagine the thoughts going through her mind. Is she tired of being without Grandpa and ready to go plant flowers with him again? Is she just feeling the strain of her 92 years and ready to take a final rest? There are times when I believe this to be true. Then, there are times, when we're sitting at Sunday dinner and she's making some sassy remark and trying to get my Jack Jack to quit throwing food that I wonder if she really is ready. Maybe she's just relishing what could be her last few moments here. Time is truly precious and I know that I take it for granted more than I should. I know that whatever my G'ma might decide to do, I will understand and know that through this whole ordeal, she has been so brave and so strong - much more than I could ever be.

Sex and Cupcakes. Not at the same time.

So, a few weeks ago, I was making cupcakes for a friend's baby shower and Jack was "helping". He really enjoys cooking with me - I hold him in one arm and stir with the other and he usually gets to sample the goods. On this particular day, it was the mixer and he was loving a little smidge of batter here and there. My mom would probably say, "you'll get worms!" (I think that was really just a ploy to get us out of the kitchen so we'd get out of the goodies), but I figured a little couldn't hurt. A little for the cupcakes, a little for Jack, a little for me. SO. I went to answer the phone or something and before I knew it, there he was:
I can't remember why he's not wearing pants - probably another escapade into the dog dish. Oddly enough, I couldn't find the cupcake. I was expecting to find it stuck in the couch cushions or thrown down the stairs with the rest of the toys, but no. He threw it away. :) Either he was hiding the evidence or just wanted to be helpful. Probably the former.

So, anyway. Today. SATC. My sister is coming over early for cocktails and I can't wait. I have a sitter, hubby is out of town coaching - it's perfect. I'm even thinking of doing something really lame and going to Hobby Lobby over my lunch hour to find some hideous flower to make a giant pin out of - an homage to Carrie B., if you will. This is the biggest date I've had in ages!

P.S. This is another post that took me 3 weeks to publish. Oops.

Reunions

My last post took me two weeks to finish. I have been extraordinarily busy and a complete slacker on the blog. We just got through a long weekend...and I mean long. Jack was a sicky bear and threw up all night Saturday and still has been getting visits from our friend Rhea Perlman (you figure that one out, folks). I feel bad for the little lamb - he has been living on toast, crackers, water and a few other things his tummy can handle. He's in great spirits and acting normal, just has a sensitive belly right now. It's heartbreaking when he's sick. And all he wants is to be held, which I gladly do. I will admit, my gag reflexes kicked into high gear a few times - it was not pretty. But we made it.

So, a few things I am ridiculously excited about these days...first and foremost, NKOTB. I was in love, love, love with Joey McIntyre. I used to kiss his picture (framed picture, mind you) every day. I destroyed my walls with thumbtack holes and tape putting up hundreds of posters. I spent every penny (and most of my parents') on ridiculous memorabilia. I've been meaning to get into mom & dad's basement to find those old treasures. Anyway...a reunion! Yes!!! I heard their newest single on the radio the other day and immediately felt transported back in time to being a 12-year old girl. It was awesome. It made me truly happy. I have been devising a plan with a few girls to get to a show when they come our way. And I think just about any 30-year old woman can relate...I saw them all screaming on the Today show! I saw their concert when I was in the sixth grade and I cried - bawled - the entire time. I stood on a chair and convinced myself that Joey was pointing and singing right at me - and when I told the story to my sister and her friend, I cried again. Amazing.

Secondly - Sex and the City. Holyshitiamsoexcitedforthis! Seriously...I was fine with the finale - it ended as perfectly as I needed it to. I have been in anticipation of this movie since about January. I have avoided all spoilers I get tears when I see the trailers. My sister and I are ponying up on opening day and going. I'm totally wearing my stilettos. I am also totally ordering a gigantic trough of nachos so that when I am crying (simply because I am there and I love it), I can blame it on the spicy jalapeños. I wonder if it's too much to smuggle in a flask of Cosmopolitans? I won't push it...:)

Not enough hours...

So, I'm sitting here eating Hot & Spicy Cheez-its and speckled with paint. At work. The paint came at lunchtime (the Cheez-its are my lunch) as I was furiously trying to finish painting Jack's bathroom. 1 - because it's been a disaster for a month now, after the green/purple wallpaper pulling debauchery, spackling ridiculousness and finally the painting, and 2 - because I'm having a baby shower on Saturday for a friend and why wouldn't everyone go all the way downstairs to use the baby's bathroom? Yeah, I'm sure they will.

So, I've been frantic all week trying to get ready, which is ridiculous. I'm convinced that I need to get new blinds, which is just silly because the 1977 ones that the previous house owners left have been serving their purpose quite nicely. They are orange, brown, and off-white - in other words, a complete shade of shit. I think I may have actually found that in Jack's diaper once. Granted, it hasn't been my first priority - that was taking down the brown plaid wallpaper. And the teapot wallpaper. Oh, did I mention the pink/green nightmare combo? I love my house.

Anywho, I had to use my lunch hour today - which I hate to do. Generally, lunchtime is my time to do whatever. Whatever usually consists of a quick run so that I don't have to do it later on when I need to be spending time with Jack & hubby. I have such guilt about doing things after work - especially without Jack. I have this fear that he will love the babysitter more than me, which I know isn't true and won't ever be true, but the thought is there, sitting on the very back burner of my mind. I know he loves me because he says my name over and over! Mama, mama...he can be looking right at his dad/dog/toy/ and say, "Mama". Does this mean I look manly or like a? It might- somehow I doubt it, I just choose to think it means he loves me the most. :)

Growing, growing...

So, Jack is a total monkey. And ornery. One of his favorite things to do is get into the dogs' water dish. I will turn around and 10 seconds later his socks, pants, and shoes are soaked. The floor is soaked...and when I pull him out of it he just laughs hysterically. He also likes to throw cat litter. He throws everything over the stair railing, so if you aren't careful, you can seriously injure your foot on some toy shrapnel. At the end of the night, I have to pick up the pile that has built up at the bottom of the stairs. Another favorite is to pull every single grocery bag out of the cabinet and shake them at the cat. The nice thing is, he now doesn't mind putting them back.

He's not even 15 months and I can't believe the words he's saying. He will look at you, before he's about to do something he shouldn't, and wag his finger, saying, "no no no". He says the word baseball. He sees it on tv and says, "bay-ball". He starts to say it in a sing-song and he gets going too fast and then has to end with just ball. Some of the first words included the requisite, mama...now he says it over and over and I just melt. He said "woof-woof" for weeks on end. Pictures of dogs, bears, cows, anything...woof woof. "Dog" is another favorite. My dad worked with him endlessly one week and he now says "papa" like a champ. Grandma comes out "mee maw". He is mimicking everything, which means I really need to stop cussing.

Last week, he was at the babysitter's and she turned to make lunch...she heard him laughing and found him ON TOP of her kitchen table, pulling grapes out of her centerpiece. He has since graduated to climbing onto our chairs - which are unusually tall. He works and works at it and is so pleased with himself when he's done.

I wouldn't have him any other way...I love that at the end of the day I am exhausted from chasing him everywhere. My body is run ragged at the end of each short day (I say that because I feel like I can never log enough hours with him) and I collapse into bed where hubby and I can share a few words from the day and before I know it, he's snoring and I'm watching Golden Girls reruns.

To Make A Long Story Short...Ok, Long

I'm a mom! Yes, that's right...and how do I know this? Because dear lord, I actually used my spit to clean off my baby's face. Oh. My. God. I hated that when I was little and I immediately regretted it and vowed never to do it again. I'm so sorry Jack...mommy really does love you.

So, I've been thinking...should I chronicle every little detail or just begin to sum the last 12 months up? I'm going to try to sum, because catching up would take forever and I just don't have that kind of time when I'm so busy here at work.

I love being a mom. I sometimes remind myself that 8-10 years ago, I had no intentions of having a baby. Yes, I was young, but I really thought I'd be an atrocious mother. I guess we grow into those maternal feelings, because I love having that kid around. And I'll love having even more - just as soon as I can get this one to sleep through the night...

Anywho...the last year has been spectacular. I have functioned on less sleep than I ever dreamed possible. Who knew I could actually do this? Me, who loves, loves, loves nothing more than to curl up under the covers and get 40 winks. My child...not so much. He wants to be awake, wants to party, and doesn't want to miss anything. Sometimes I tell myself he just wants to be with me and that's why he wakes up...to have me scoop him out of the crib and hold him close until he can drift off again. He's down to waking up just once a night...and it only took 15 months! Of course, at my mom's the child will sleep all night and until 10 in the morning, but then again isn't that how it always works?

Teeth came at 5 months. Rolling over at 6, crawling at 7. Holy cow, the child is 8 months old and standing up...I am in trouble. I thought I'd bought myself at least 10-11 months of non-mobility, but Jack wasn't having it. The child is a go-getter! Nine months and he's off to the races...I remember Thanksgiving Day he took about 5 consecutive steps (after weeks of practice) and a week later he was chasing the dogs all over the house. We had just moved into a new house and he was determined to explore it all. I have friends with boys the same age and they were barely crawling - I saw the panic in their eyes, thinking their little bundle was behind the times - but what can I say? Jack's a child prodigy.

I have had my moments...sometimes I think I've become "that mother". I have been on the brink of insanity at some family functions; "give me my child!", I have wanted to scream. No, please do not give him Diet Coke (yes, this happened, OMG), yes, he's hungry, but no, he does not drink formula, and again, he is not getting his hair cut! Maybe not ever if you keep asking! I will let it grow down to his butt! Am I just a heinous b*tch? Some days I have felt like it, but for goodness sake, he's my baby, isn't he? I mean, he really is MY baby. I know that my husband has been pushed to the limits with me sometimes, but he doesn't fully understand my role or my feelings. Yes, Jack is his son, too, but it's different for me. I'm his mother...I carried him inside of me, next to my heart, for nine months (plus one week!). I nursed him for one year - which makes me feel exceptional - and well, it's just different. I am not a Nazi mother, I just know my son and what works for him. I know my frustration must show at times. I am working on my patience with these things, and I will keep trying to get better.

It's all about me today.

About Me

Because my delightful friend S. over at Mashed Bananas has tagged me to do this quiz, I will. First of all, not one to disappoint, secondly, I love these little surveys and can never seem to resist the temptation to do them. Especially while at work. So, today is a timeout from baby talk.

What was happening in my life 10 years ago:
Can I even remember back that far? Let's see...April of 1998...I was a 20-year old college sophomore who had just ended a hideously torturous relationship with a boyfriend of almost 4 years. At the time, it seemed like the world and was something I had been meaning to do for at least a year, I just didn't know how. I always wondered how I let things get that far. I had no idea what to major in except that somehow I thought that business was a good idea, which was probably the worst idea I'd ever had. I think accounting was on the agenda that semester and that was all it took for me to change my mind again. I had been living with a girl I knew from the dorms because my best friend (who went to Hays at the time) had bailed on transferring to KU and we just decided what the heck? She wasn't a bad roommate...she wasn't great. Although we were friends, it was mostly just a roommate situation. I was waiting tables at Carlos O'Kelly's and loving it. I met some great friends there - and had so much fun working. It never actually seemed like work...I was even planning to move in with two girls from there when my current lease was up. I was basically cruising along, making good money, enjoying classes and the occasional KU baseball game (quarter dog night - yesss!). Overall, I'm with Mashed Bananas...sophomore year wasn't one of my best...things were just about to get interesting...think it's any connection to the fact that my 21st was just a few months away?

What was happening in my life 5 years ago:
In spring of 2003, I had just returned back to Kansas from Sag Harbor, NY, where I had nannied for a year. I looked after two little girls, ages 1 & 3, and enjoyed most of it. I lived in a fantasy world where money was no object, moms didn't work and I still don't know what they did with all of their time when they had nannies taking care of their kids. I lived 5 minutes from the beautiful beaches of East Hampton, two hours from NYC, and 45 minutes from a fantastic outlet mall! I was back in Kansas with no idea what to do except start throwing my resume at anyone who would read it, and I was madly in love with my future husband (whom I'd reconnected with over Thanksgiving while home from NY), and was grateful to be back around people I loved, and start my own life. At times, I did miss NY and wondered if I was missing out by not staying there. I can now say that leaving there wasn't such a bad idea...after all, I have hubby and Jack now.

5 things on my to-do list today:

1. Finish peeling the hideous wallpaper off of Jack's bathroom wall. Get out of my life, purple and green ivy!
2. Work on getting ads placed for our next show.
3. Get a poster finished for the lobby
4. Start making invitations for a baby shower I'm having for my darling friend, Jess.
5. Go see G-ma in the hospital after work...gall bladder recovery. Bah.

5 snacks I enjoy:
1. Guacamole - or frankly just avocados. I'll eat them with a spoon.
2. Edemame - surprising since the other day I ate a whole bag and ended up with a belly ache.
3. Crackers - Wheat Thins, Cheez-Its, you name it.
4. Chips & Dip
5. Dark Chocolate

5 things I would do if I were a billionaire:
1. Quit my job and have more babies - and stay home with them!
2. Build a new house and purchase another one somewhere warm.
3. Pay off all debt - family members included.
4. Hire a personal trainer and chef. :)
5. Invest, invest, invest.
6. Donate a huge chunk to KU and any other worthy cause, go on a shopping spree on 5th Avenue, and travel like crazy!

5 bad habits:

1. I am ridiculously critical of myself. I compare myself to everyone. From my skin to my body, I am too hard on myself and hubby gets so cranky with me.
2. OMG, S., I am so with you on this one that I had to use it - I always interrupt. I am just like you and I get so excited that I can't wait to tell my story. I love to hear everyone's and don't mean to one-up, I just get in a hurry!
3. I am anal about things that I probably shouldn't be, but I like things the way I like them. It's my dad in me.
4. I read too many gossip magazines and web sites. I can't help it - seeing the ridiculousness of some celebrities makes me feel better about myself!
5. I have been procrastinating at work a lot lately. Oops.

5 places I've lived:
1. Gypsum, KS
2. Lawrence, KS
3. Sag Harbor, NY
4. Salina, KS
5. Does the Bahamas count? I lived there for 6 weeks when I nannied. A short lease, but a fabulous one!

5 jobs I've had:
1. Dillons carry-out girl.
2. Waitress
3. Marketing & Sales for a semi-pro basketball team
4. Mom
5. Marketing Director/Director of Operations (or Princess Fifi to my boss) at a community theatre

5 people that I'm "tagging," which means now THEY need to do this survery:
I think S. covered everyone I would have tagged, which probably means that I need to meet more people who have their own blogs!!

A New Life

The first few weeks of Jack's life were surprisingly easy. We would sit around watching him as he was sleeping, eating, taking in the sights of his new home outside my belly. I studied him for hours at a time. His little nose, huge blue eyes, and of course, what had now become a wild mess of hair resembling a rooster. His hair stood on end and was fantastic. Of course the in-laws wanted me to cut it and would smash it down when they saw him. Which pissed me off to no end. Cut my child's hair at a week old? A month? You must be joking. I was terrified that they would cut it when I wasn't looking. My mom said his hair was just like mine...when it dried it would stand straight up...I guess he inherited my cowlicks, too.

Jack was the most chilled out baby. He hardly ever cried (I know, all parents say that). He ate like a champ. I was concerned at first about our dogs and they were great. Well, actually, one of our dogs couldn't care less - if he couldn't pet and give love (or biscuits and chews) she wanted none of it. Our Dalmatian became a mother hen and protector. She would sit at my side as I held him, curious about this little being that had taken my affections.

I felt great...I lived in my sweats - because they were the only thing that fit. My belly was still bulging a bit - a giant Jell-o Jiggler. I decided that after about 5 days doing nothing but sitting in the house that it was time to get my butt moving. I decided to walk on the treadmill. I had no idea how much the birth had taken out of me until about 1o minutes into the walk, I was exhausted. Who knew? Some people thought I was crazy - and yes, some of it was vanity, but I needed my clothes to fit. I needed to start feelng like myself again and exercising helps me de-stress and re-energize. Walking it was. I didn't want to care what I looked like, but I did. It didn't help that 2 weeks after he was born, my neice asked me why my belly was still fat. Thank you for that, sweetie.

Jack went with me everywhere. Those weeks of maternity leave, I kept Target in business. Do I need more onesies? Yes, of course - he has nothing boyish - it's all neutral! Do I need to purchase him that darling shirt in size 2T? He will most certainly need it one day. I also need to stop by the mall and pick up some new shoes - since those are the only things that fit me!

Jack fell asleep almost immediately in the car, something for which I was thankful for because if he cried and I couldn't help him, I cried. It broke my heart. He was my little pal and companion. Hubby would leave for work and Jack would settle in his little papasan chair so I could shower and get ready for the day. I carried him through the store in my priceless Baby Bjorn carrier. I wanted to be as close to him as I could. Good lord, I loved this child. I never could have known what he would mean to my life. He changed me. I couldn't be selfish - I didn't want to. As the days ticked by, anxiety about going back to work settled in. How in the world would I leave him?

Burp cloths became my other constant. The child could spit! If he ever actually kept down a full meal, I felt like I deserved some sort of medal. We tried every "remedy" we could think of before we realized that he wasn't the only child in the world with this issue. Sleeping angled up? Check. Holding upright for 30 minutes after eating? Check. Switching sides more often, extra burping. Whatever - none of it works. We learned to bring lots of bibs, extra clothes and burp cloths. He spit up on everyone, anytime. I couldn't even think of putting on anything decent until I knew he was finished. Forget the gorgeous bottles atop my dresser...the perfumes I cherished. Eau de baby barf was my new signature scent.

He was not a great sleeper. And we tried it all. I think we actually wanted him to get up so that we could hang out with him some more. The crib went untouched for at least 3 weeks - we wanted him with us. And he seemed to only want to sleep when he was nestled into our arms, curled up like a tiny little ball. We were truly wrapped around his miniature fingers.

I'm Still Here!

Well, here I am. After a 1 year hiatus, I have rejoined the land of the bloggers and decided to pen (type?) the beginning of my story as a mother. Folks, prepare to be awed and amazed!

First of all, my little baking lasagna decided to arrive on February 8, 2007. Due date was the 1st, but baby had other plans...I left work on Friday, February 2, with high hopes of delivering before the weekend was out. Nevermind that nothing - and I mean nothing - was going on inside my ginormous belly. The days passed...I walked on the treadmill as fast as I could, I ran errands all over town, I dilligently cleaned the house - even the basement - willing the baby to get the heck out! I wasn't uncomfortable, I was just so darn anxious to meet the little one that I could hardly contain myself.

On February 7, I began contractions and for the entire day, I grimaced through the pain of every five minutes contractions. I even made a trip to the hospital (I swear they told me to!) and was embarassingly sent home after an hour. So, I ate the spiciest salsa known to man and paced the house. I stretched out on my exercise ball. I drank chamomile tea. I took a bath, a shower...I watched my beloved Jayhawks play the hated KSU Wildcats in pain and could barely enjoy the victory. During the night, I'd sleep for 1-2 minutes at a time between contractions. I was exhausted. At 5 in the morning, I took another shower and hubby said, forget it, we're going. I've seen enough! Of course, I had to put make up on (don't tell me you wouldn't) and make sure the hair was somewhat in tact.

We settled in at about 6 in the morning and I had made it to a 3. At this point, I was still opting for no drugs (stupidly) and an hour or so later, I found myself agreeing to something to "take the edge off". Hmmm. Not so much...no edges touched, let alone taken off. I felt like a drunkard on spring break. Hideous. When I got to about a 5, the nurse simply stated, "You don't have to be a hero. Get the epidural." Consider it done. By this time I was so exhausted and needed a break from laboring through contractions for 24 + hours, I figured I'd done enough. The true work would begin later and I wanted to rest up. I remember being checked and the nurse saying baby's heartbeat would rise when she would tickle its head. I was getting so excited. The next few hours passed - I tried to sleep a little, chatted with the family and waited for the time to come. I slowed down, then progressed from 5-9 with pitocin and was told that by noon I'd be pushing. They weren't lying...at 12:15ish, I began and it was so hard. But easy. Can that be possible? Somehow, my body knew how to push, my head was going to explode...hubby said he thought my veins would burst. The doctor and family were exactly how I wanted them - everyone was relaxed, we all talked between pushes and baby got a little closer each time.

Now, I just want to remind you all (first time preggers, especially) to never, never look at your reflection in the tv hanging on the wall. You know what it looks like down there, ladies. I did - I peeked at the urging of the nurse (who the hell are you, lady?) and saw a bursting mess with a baby's head barely peeking through. Yes, yes, it sounds beautiful and wonderful, but it's not a sight for sore eyes by any means. The good news was that I actually could see the baby. It had tons of hair. A little moppet! Was it a girl? A boy? Who was this person that I had already begun to love enormously?

I pushed for about 45 minutes and at 1:03pm, the little one was born...a boy!!! Jack Everett, he would be named...Jack because we loved it, Everett after my beloved, wonderful Grandpa who'd passed away less than a year before (I'm crying just typing those words). I can't describe how I felt when he finally came out...love, relief, exhilaration, joy...so many emotions all tied up into this little wonder. He came in at 7lbs 2oz and 19.5 inches long. He hollered and my fabulous doctor and nurse laid him on my chest and I was in heaven. Nevermind that I was open legged on a table surrounded by my sister, mom, dad, and husband, or that we were both covered in gunk...it was the best moment of my life. He was perfect...a mop of delicious brown hair and dark blue eyes. We all cried at this amazing little person and I looked at my husband and loved him even more. I loved this baby. Baby love is incredible...it's instant and wonderful. There's nothing like it in this world. I felt like I had joined a secret club that only moms know about. Jason took him out into the hallway (I can't believe they let him do this!) and he lifted him in the air to a deliriously happy waiting room full of family members - who at several points during the labor had listened anxiously by the door. Did I mention that photos were being snapped and by some wondrous event, my lip gloss had stayed in tact the entire morning. So there I am, tears running down my face with this baby wrapped in my arms, with a delicious sheen of whatever flavor I threw on that morning. My vanity was still in tact and I managed to look decent. Any mother will tell you that it's paramount to look presentable because millions of pictures will be taken and no one wants to look like they actually did just give birth. Ha.

Now, I will not tell you about the events that ensued "down there" because that would just be unladylike, and we all know that if anything, I am a lady. For the rest of the day, I think we were the McDonalds of the hospital...over 1 billion served. The line of visitors and well-wishers was endless...and although I was thrilled that we had so many loved ones, I just wanted to sit and stare at my swaddled little delight. He looked just like me. He really did! Our baby pictures are identical. And I have to say, that something inside of me was so pleased...I felt like he lived in me and I worked hard for him and to have a little mini-me was just the most darling thing. I wanted him to be all mine. I never wanted to let him out of my sight.

I skipped over the nursing part. I didn't mean to do that to all of you devoted readers...but within an hour of being born, I was nursing my baby for the first time. It was amazing. I didn't know how I would feel, but I immediately felt a bond with him that I cannot put into words. I loved that he needed me so much because I needed him more.. I loved that this was our private time. No one else could share these moments with him.

During the course of the night, we did allow Jack to go to the nursery...we were advised to get rest and relaxation over the night because we needed it. Poor hubby slept on a ridiculous reclining chair. I seem to recall being invaded by the nurses twice...taking blood and what the hell, did she really ask me if I had farted lately? What was that about? Did I mention that the shrew turned on the light for this nonsense? Did she not see the lamp next to the bed of steel I was laying on? Not that it mattered, I was so tired I could have slept outside on the sidewalk.

When I woke up in the morning and remembered that I was a mom and that my life was forever altered, I was so happy. It was real. He was here and I couldn't wait to get him home. But first I had to shower - possibly the most exquisite shower I have ever taken. I was timid and sore and moving pretty slowly, but things were good. The numbing spray was working! Going to the bathroom was a whole other experience...changing my "diaper" (oh lord), spraying the hot water all over myself (random, but delightful) and gently tending to my war wounds. Sounds bad, but it's not. It's not great, but it's worth it.

Jack's go-home outfit was huge! It was a newborn and it was hanging off his little body. What a peanut he was...he couldn't even muster up the energy to open his eyes during the picture. We carted him off with all of our equipment, bags, pillows, and the rest of the cargo and headed home where we'd begin our new lives as a family.

If I have a baby today, I'm naming it Punxsutawney.

Well, what in the hell. Yesterday was my due date, so where in the hell is my baby? You mean you don't actually have your baby on the due date? Crazy. So yes, yesterday was the day, but as expected, it came & went and here I sit at my office...2 hours and 51 minutes of hell left before the weekend and my official maternity leave beginning. I hope I have the baby this weekend...wouldn't that be great? Start off Monday with a bang!

God, I'm ready. I'm ready! Baby, can you hear me?!? Please come out. I can barely wipe when I go to the bathroom, for heaven's sake. I can't bend over. I can barely roll over - I need the strength of a bodybuilder to get out of bed. I got a fab-u-lous new pair of boots. I can't get them on. That definitely warranted a hissy fit. I have organized my desk over and over. Leaving notes for everyone at the end of each day - just in case. I pretty much secured my spot in the office for the entire week. Being that organized can only be an occupational hazard. I was destined to not have the baby any time prior to the due date. I'm having contractions, everyone keeps saying, this is it! Today's the day! Quit toying with me, people!

The good news is, there's light at the end of the tunnel. I know that baby is coming soon...I know I will spend several glorious days in nothing but sweats, getting to know my little darling, learning the ropes, bonding as a family with baby, hubby, and yes, the dogs. Let's get this party started, folks!

Time to Go

It's time. I can no longer have this baby in my belly. I'm sure there comes a point in every woman's pregnancy where she literally believes she will be with child forever. I'm there. I sit here at my desk, a baby smashed under my ribs (don't they EVER drop, for eff's sake?), 38 weeks and 1 day pregnant. 13 days until the estimated go-time. I was pleasantly surprised to know that Dr. Wonderful will not let me go past one week over this date. She is a savior. Here I was thinking I was going to be in misery until Valentine's Day. I don't know how I have progressed. Am I dilated? Effaced? It's hilarious that people I don't even know will ask me "is your cervix softening?". Someone actually asked me that at the hair salon last night. Seriously? Did you just ask me about my cervix? How's your vagina today, lady? And you have to be gracious because for some reason people are completely fascinated with pregnancy. Total strangers ask you questions without a second thought!

As I mentioned, I did make a trip to the hair salon last night. I made it as close to DD as possible, not knowing when I can get back into the joint to get it done again. Next week: pedicure. Is it wrong that I am going to actually do my toes before the pedicure just in case I go into labor? Don't think I won't do it. So now that I'm coiffed and toes will be looking delicious very soon, I can officially have this baby. Ha. In the spirit of all things baby, I purchased a darling polka-dotted nightgown for hospital wear. No sense in having my bum hanging out of a backless, paper gown. I also indulged in some darling new slipper socks to match. And yes, I've got my beloved Victoria's Secret (yes, there are still some things I can use from my beloved lingerie store) robe. Bags are packed and ready. Nursery is re-painted and decorated. Yes, I said repainted. What in God's name was I thinking the first time I did it? Everything at the office is in order. I have everything taken care of - which literally ensures that the baby will not come until the last possible moment. Oh, and I will not mention the fact that the gorgeous and ever-so-sexy nursing bras arrived in the mail yesterday. I tried on one of the tank tops I got, pulled down the hatch and saw my boob hanging out and laughed for an hour. Hideous.

I'm sure I'm forgetting something. There's something I haven't done - something major that I will need more than any other item in the house. Whatever it is, I'm sure I will figure it out...it will be 2:00 in the morning with stores closed and I will need it desperately, but it will happen. Let's all send telepathic messages to the little one this weekend and let him/her know that now is the time! Let's meet this little bambino!!! Have a great weekend...I'm out.

Hair Bands, High Heels, and Stretch Pants

In the words of the great 80's hair band, Europe, "It's the final countdown"! Approximately 3 weeks until my due date...21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. It's hard to believe a few short months ago I was blabbing about a safety pin holding my pants up and now my best friend has become elastic. I highly recommend the Old Navy yoga pant for anyone who might be expecting. Absolute gems! I do believe the crotch is about to blow out in one pair because I have worn them so much. So comfy, so cute (the pants, not a blown out crotch). An excellent investment for anyone with a bun in the oven. Or anyone who might be enjoying a personal glutton bowl and needs a little room to spare in their trousers. I love them!

The second thing that I love is that I am still wearing my heels. And I'm not talking about kitten heels or anything puny here. I'm talking, I am still wearing my shit-kicking, fabulous heels that I spent a lot of money on so you bet your ass I'm wearing them heels! Yahoo for me! I personally don't feel that I would feel like my normal, delightful self if I wasn't. If I wore flats everyday, not only would I feel lost, but I would also be walking around the office looking like I had morphed into a tree trunk. High heels make everything better.

Last night was my final hurrah in pilates class until the little one comes. It got pretty comical towards the end. Did I have an exercise ball stashed away under my shirt? Nothing works the way it did pre-pregnancy or even the early rounds. Legs don't straighten, arm strength begins to wither...this all started around the fifth month. I was a hideous sight. I am assured by my teacher that everything will return to normal. Do you think she means my belly and lady bits as well? I plan on keeping up the walking and whatever else I can do, but I'm so ready to be able to run again and exercise normally!

Baby is getting uncomfortable in its little cocoon. I believe this because momma is extremely uncomfortable. Not so much kicking anymore as general pushing and shoving going on. My belly is constantly rippling and has little feet and hands sticking out everywhere. I'm convinced baby has taken to a spread-eagle position and gotten stuck. This is especially enjoyable at night because pillows no longer have an effect on my comfort. I encase myself in a pillow fort because this is what "they" all say to do. Well, eff them! It doesn't work. I wake up approximately every half hour to an hour. Not to mention, the dog has decided the body pillow is her favorite and gets as close to me as humanly possible in order to snuggle. Rolling over is like moving a 1000 lb boulder - it would be easier to do if I had a crane attached to the bed. At least when the baby is waking me up I will be mobile - in a stupor, but mobile.

Well, baby, you can come out anytime now. I know you won't, because in my life, a February 1 due date really means the 13th. I know you will come when you are ready, but it's ok to be an early bird. I'm ready to don my superhero cape and be your mommy.