Hi all! I’m back and boy am I glad to be home. Kick back and put your feet up a while and I will tell you stories of injury, death (sad but true), stolen sustenance, my introduction to P’s very fussy doppelganger and more.

(In the interest of not turning this into a narrative of my entire vacation, which could easily take hours to write, I’m going to do bulletpoints)

• We arrived around noon to our apartment-style beach rental and I was unpacking our stuff when I noticed P had something in his mouth. Normally I can say, “What’s in your mouth? Let me see” and he’ll open his mouth and show me or even put it in my hand sometimes if it’s a non-food item. But this time he clamped his mouth closed and wouldn’t even let me peek. I squeezed his cheeks a little so he would open up and he did…just as he gulped down the mystery item. I swear I caught a glimpse of something pinkish and shiny — like a PENNY! I’ve heard of kids eating pennies and as I recalled, the prescription was for the parent to look through their poop to make sure it comes out. So I tell Hubz about P’s possible ingestion of coinage and he doesn’t hesitate to announce that HE will NOT be digging through any poopy diapers looking for a penny that may or may not have been eaten because if it’s in there, it will come out eventually. Somehow, his lazy man-logic doesn’t put me at ease so guess who has been squishing through turds all week looking for a damned penny? I’ll give you a hint. It’s not Hubz. (and because I can read your mind, let me just add that I’m using a double layer of wipes to do the search)
• Shortly after the penny incident, I’m changing P’s diaper on our bed, which has the bedspread folded down with the top sheet exposed (because hotel bedspreads are rarely washed and have been found in studies to be covered in a multitude of different bodily fluids…yick!) when P, butt-naked, decides to scamper away, giggling and clearly wanting me to chase him to the other end of the kind size bed. Because I cannot resist the cuteness, I give chase across the bed only to discover it’s wet. And slightly yellow. It seems Mr. Funtime Baby had not only absconded from the diaper change but he peed on the sheets, as well. Yay. And while I pondered the implications of this for a couple seconds, P seized the opportunity to dive off the side of the bed and landed on his forehead with one of those sickening thuds you hate to hear. He was okay after a lengthy crying jag but the bruise on his forehead screams “Call the authorities immediately.” And of course, since all of my in-laws haven’t seen P in a while, he will naturally end up having some kind of thing on his face for when we meet up with them and of course, it will be forever immortalized in every vacation photo. It happens every time…I swear to God. (We’ve been there for an hour. An HOUR and we’ve already had two “incidents” so I’m hoping I’ve reached our quota for the remainder of the week. I mean statistically, the odds are in our favor, right?)
• The second morning we are there, my niece tells everyone there are police all over the beach a couple hotels down. She goes down there to see what the deal is and comes back with some grim news. A young man, a teenager, has shot himself in the very early morning hours and has apparently been in his beach chair ever since. The tide came in and surrounded him with water and still nobody noticed him for hours. This haunts me for the rest of the trip and is still on my mind even now.
• We only wanted to stay for part of the week at the beach and my MIL & FIL only wanted to say part of the week so we decided to take over their place mid-week. This was a win-win for all and we were happy with the arrangement. The night before the trip, I went grocery shopping because our place has a kitchen and obviously, we will need stuff to eat. Because I don’t adore cooking, especially in a teeny kitchen that is not MY teeny kitchen, I buy a half pound of Boars Head turkey and a quarter pound of Boars Head baby swiss cheese, salivating at the thought of eating delicious turkey & swiss sandwiches for lunch after mornings of frolicking with my kids on the beach. Well…come our second day there, I go to make us one of the aforementioned sandwiches and uh…the turkey and swiss are gone. As in NOT THERE anymore. I search the fridge and notice that a lot of my in-laws things are still there, like the FIVE pounds of Canadian bacon from Sams Club and the pre-packaged Plumrose ham that I wouldn’t eat if my life depended on it. But the turkey and swiss that we desperately wanted to eat had vanished. They took it. Accidentally, I’m sure. But they took my lunch. And the huz and I are both supremely irritated about it and make endless remarks about the lunch that we will not get to eat because we really don’t have any other lunch kind of stuff. Incidentally, our provisions were returned to us upon arriving home (substantially lighter, I might add) but Boars Head turkey does not keep for 6 days and so I give it to the stray cat that hangs around outside my house. Grrrrrrr…
• P was super clingy and fussy the whole time and I don’t know why. I suppose it could have been a touch of stranger/separation anxiety but being the ONLY person your baby wants can be exhausting and annoying. I had ALL these people wanting to help with him and he wouldn’t have it. So NOT FAIR…
• My husband’s family is really nice. They are all seriously wonderful people. But…just like my family, they have very poor attention spans. I find almost nothing as annoying as starting to answer someone’s question only to have their attention diverted by some other blabbermouth before I have a sentence completed. I know this is an ego thing and if I were a more enlightened being it wouldn’t bother me but I really don’t care. I think it’s rude.
• The good news is my allergies didn’t bother me the whole time I was at the beach. The bad news? They kicked right back in as soon as I got home. It would seem that I’m allergic to something here in my house, which really sucks.
• I only mentioned the more notable parts but all in all, it was a pleasant and really fun, albeit exhausting, vacation. I think TQ had more fun than anyone. Every evening she played on the beach with her cousins and other kids while the sun set and even I got out there and played freeze tag and frisbee with them. One night my BIL produced a box of sparklers and throngs of kids came around to get one and put them in the huge sandcastle TQ and her cousin built that day. She said it was “the best day ever” and there must have been some truth to it because it felt magical to me, as well.

To everyone who dropped by and kept my bloggy company in my absence…THANK YOU! When you go out of town, rest assured that I will do the same for you :)

(And no, I’ve not yet found the penny)

I wrote this for posterity, in honor of my son’s birthday. I’ll warn you now that it’s long. I purposely didn’t whittle it down because I want to remember it as it really was, long or not. If you choose to read it, I hope you enjoy it.

Tomorrow (Saturday) my baby boy will be one year old. I can’t even believe it. This time last year, I was in labor & delivery waiting for him to be born. It was an experience I’d not had before because my first pregnancy came to fruition with a planned c-section; something I had sworn to never participate in again. Suffice it to say, my first delivery was a wholly unpleasant experience that I will probably never write about because other than the moment my newborn daughter was put before my eyes, there’s not much about it I want to remember.

But the birth of my second child was completely different and something I want to savor forever. Sadly, I waited a whole year to write this story and my memory is already failing. Thankfully my husband, who can’t remember some of the simplest day-to-day things, has a pretty good recollection of it. Between the two of us, I’m pretty sure I got all the high points. So without further ado, I give you one of my fondest memories ever…the story of my son, P.

When we decided we wanted to have another baby, I was a little afraid. I’d had an inexplicable estrogen deficiency since the birth of my first child five years prior and had worn a small patch for hormone replacement ever since. I feared that maybe I wouldn’t be able to conceive because something in my body had clearly gone awry.

As it happens, my fears were unfounded. After the first month of trying, I invested in an ovulation scope and conceived the following month.

Because of my previous unpleasant experiences with obstetric practices and because I wanted a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean), I opted for an OB group that had a number of midwives on staff that was also one of the only practices in my city that would even allow a VBAC. The midwives were kind and caring and empathetic and best of all, they totally supported my wish to have a VBAC without an episiotomy. They totally GOT me. I was elated. I thought I’d died and gone to pregnancy heaven.

Being over 35, unaffectionately known as “advanced maternal age” I had to take all sorts of tests and screens and the results were very favorable so I declined having an amniocentesis. We found out we were having a boy and though I’d never imagined myself as the mother of a boy, we were very excited.

My 40 weeks of gestation flew by and other than leg aches and major carpal tunnel syndrome that impaired my already fractured sleep, I’d had an ideal pregnancy. As I neared my due date, I had to go every week to see my midwife and then, as my due date came and went, I saw them every few days. Every time, I was only dilated one freaking centimeter! I was getting nervous because if I were more than a week past my due date, the obstetricians would not allow a VBAC as the risks of a dangerous uterine rupture were increased.

On the morning of Wednesday, June 15, I woke up feeling crampy. It wasn’t all that unusual as I’d had cramps a few days before but today I felt different. And when I went pee, I noticed a very slight pink tinge when I wiped. Not wanting to be an alarmist, I decided to ignore it. I had a million things to do that day so I got dressed, got my daughter in gear and headed out.

I went to the grocery store, the post office and a few more places, still refusing to take the cramps seriously. As they became a little stronger, I started to wonder if this was labor. It didn’t feel like much more than a mild period cramp accompanied by a sort of heavy feeling in my lower abdomen so I decided not to call my midwives just yet.

By that night, the cramps were coming and going and I started to think maybe it was, in fact, labor. When I wiped after peeing and saw “bloody show” I knew for sure. At one point, between 10 and midnight they were coming every 40 minutes. Though I was getting excited, Hubz and I figured that nothing major would happen before morning so we went to bed around 1am.

At 2:30 am I woke up with what I believed were definitely contractions because they hurt. A lot.

I woke my husband up and he was really groggy and irritated. He didn’t understand why I didn’t just go back to sleep. I tried to calmly explain that the contractions hurt really bad, to no avail. His preference for sleep was really starting to piss me off. (To be fair, he claims he couldn’t get up because he was so tired).

I could feel myself becoming anxious and adrenalin was starting to kick in. I couldn’t sit still.

As the contractions got stronger, I became more agitated and couldn’t stop pacing around, talking and bugging my husband every 2 minutes.

I’m all “Hey! I’m gonna have a baby. Get your ASS UP!” and he was all “It’s not coming right now. Let me sleep”

I was so pissed. How could he even consider letting me hang out and have painful contractions ALONE???
We still bicker about that to this day.

Finally, he got up and accepted that I wasn’t going to leave him alone. We started to pack stuff up for the hospital and get my daughter’s things together so she could go stay with her grandparents.

At 5am, I called the hospital and told the midwife on call that my contractions were about 15 minutes apart and she was basically like “You’re a VBAC? Get here right away! You can’t wait!!!” Hah. Right. The baby would beg to differ.

So we dropped my daughter off at my in-laws house and arrived at the hospital around 6am. After the initial intake, I was taken to a small triage room where I changed into the gown that I would be wearing for the next 24 hours and proceeded to be poked, prodded, questioned and monitored while my contractions became stronger and closer together.

I was SO excited. I’ll never forget that feeling of anticipation; a feeling that something really special was about to take place. From my room, I could look out the window and see the sun rising over the water and reflecting off the buildings downtown. It was a fresh new day, so full of promise, and I was having a baby. Yay!

I finally wimped out and asked for my epidural because even though I was only 3 cm by about 7:30am, the pain was getting unbearable. Much to my irritation, I had to wait for an anesthesiologist to become available. If I’d known he would take so damn long, I would have asked a lot sooner, like five minutes after I arrived.

So while I was waiting, I got moved to my first labor & delivery room and some nurse came in and brusquely asked if I would mind having a military doctor training to be an OB observe.

WTF?

I didn’t go to a practice full of nice, kind, mother-like midwives so some random guy I’ve never seen before could hang around and look up my dress.

So I said no and she got all snitty with me. “This IS a teaching hospital, you know” Uh no, actually I didn’t know.

And I replied, “Well, that’s the first I’ve heard of any of this and I really don’t want to do it”

Turns out they were hanging all their hopes on me because the other women in L & D at that moment didn’t speak English and couldn’t give permission. Oh, well.

I eventually got my epidural and was able to relax. Ahhhhh. Much better. An hour or so passed and ouch! I started feeling pain again. On ONE side. My epidural had become lopsided.

Another big long wait while I writhed in lopsided pain and finally, the anesthesiologist came back and tinkered with it and left. No change. I was BEGGING at that point for them to just do it again but they were really afraid to because of potential complications. I could have cared less. I pleaded and they said they would get another guy to re-do the epidural because the first anesthesiologist didn’t want to do it.

To chill me out while I waited, they gave me some Fentanyl. Why do people like that stuff so much? Seriously, it was awful. I itched from head to toe for thirty solid minutes.

After a while, I finally got a new anesthesiologist and another epidural. It worked and life was good again. Except that I was still 3cm dilated.

At about 1pm (I’ve now been there for 5 hours) the midwife broke my water with a thing that looked like a plastic knitting needle in hopes of moving things along.

The rest of the day was a blur of me looking at the monitor and watching the contractions of my uterus as well as the contractions of all the other women in Labor & Delivery and getting my cervix checked. Nurses went off shift and new ones came and I never got past 7cm. I stayed there all evening.

Finally, at about midnight (I’ve now been there for 18 hours) the midwife said they were going to give me a tiny bit of Pitocin because my labor had stalled and the baby had been without amniotic fluid for almost 12 hours. They typically don’t give Pitocin to VBAC candidates because it can be dangerous but because a C-section was starting to look like a real possibility and I was so vehemently against having one, she decided a small amount of Pitocin was warranted.

I fell asleep for the first time in 24 hours (remember, I had only slept about an hour the night before when the huz wouldn’t get out of bed) and when I woke up an hour or so later, I had the worst friggin’ back labor.

The feeling was indescribable and clearly something that the epidural wasn’t going to alleviate. The pressure was so intense, I almost felt like I couldn’t breathe. I asked for heat packs, which helped some, and realized that this baby would be here soon..but not as soon as I’d imagined.

More cervix checks and ice chips and monitor watching until about 4:15am (I’ve now been there for 22 hours). Then the midwife announced that I was finally 10cm and it was time to push!

I’d like to set the stage for you…

I was in my third room and second L&D suite at this point. This one had two beds, a TV and a shitload of medical equipment. But the whole time I’d been in this room, they’d never turned on the ugly, bright fluorescent lights. They used these soft, warm, cozy overhead lights above my bed and it was so nice, like being at someone’s kitchen table.

There were only four people in the room; Jan, the awesome midwife, a very awesome, young-ish OB nurse, Hubz and me. It was mostly quiet and not at all like the births I’d grown up watching on TV where the light is all bright and glaring and there are like 8 people in the room yelling at the woman to push. It was so mellow and low key.

The nurse and Hubz held my legs and every time a contraction started to come, I was to put my chin to my chest and push while Jan counted to 10 and then I rested until the next one. I stopped waiting for Jan to tell me when to push. I would feel the contractions, get in position and start pushing. This went on FOREVER!

They had put a mirror at the foot of the bed so I could see the baby’s head. He had a ton of dark hair and it was really cool to see but after an eternity of being told to push because “his head is RIGHT THERE. He’s almost out!! Just a little more” by the three of them , I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I was exhausted. I told them, implored them, to use the forceps or vacuum but Jan said it was too late, whatever that means. I told them they’d been saying his head is “right there” for so long. Why was he not coming out already?

I begged for them to just let me rest because I couldn’t do anymore and Jan said something along the lines of “Yes you can! You’re having this baby!”

I swear, the whole exchange was right out of a movie.

They let me rest for about about 30 seconds and then it was back to pushing for all eternity.

Tra la la…

And then suddenly things became urgent. I was being asked to push harder and harder; harder than I ever have. I would find out later that the baby was in serious distress and needed to come out right away.

Jan told me she needed to do an episiotomy and I was like “Nooooooooo!” but I felt the sting and she told me it was already done.

Again, I was told to push harder, harder, harder. “The baby has to come out RIGHT NOW!”

And then FLOOOOOP!

Like a big wet noodle, he was out!

I forgot all about the episiotomy and everything else and marveled at this gigantic baby I’d just delivered. The room was suddenly full of people and everyone was talking about how big he was. I heard someone say, “No wonder he wouldn’t come out.”

They weighed & measured him with more exclaiming from the nurses. He was 9lbs 6.5 oz. and 21.75 in. And his head was some number that apparently isn’t even on the chart, but most importantly, he was healthy. (And poopy. He’d pooped right after delivery. And in case you’re wondering, I pooped during the delivery. Yep.)

I looked over at him while they were doing whatever it is that they do to new babies and was awestruck, as all mothers are, at this little creature I’d grown inside me for nearly a year. Though newborns are naturally kind of funny looking, I thought he was a work of art, the most beautiful thing I’d seen since my daughter was born. And considering that I pushed for 2.5 hours, his head wasn’t even all that pointy.

I was smitten then and I’m smitten now. P started out as a grumpy baby with a scream that could shatter glass, who had trouble pooping and wouldn’t sleep unless he was being moved rhythmically while tightly swaddled and grew into a mischievous, curious, playful, friendly little guy that I love more than words can say. I am truly head over heels in love with him. We are so tightly bonded that honestly, I really miss and crave him when he’s not with me.

And as a disclaimer, in case my daughter ever reads this, saying how much I love P in no way diminishes the love I have for her. She is my firstborn and I love and adore her with an intensity that cannot be described.

While I may grouse about the dullness and lack of spontaneity and fun in my life, I would not change a thing. My kids mean everything to me.

In closing, I was technically in labor for 48 hours, from Wednesday morning when I awoke with mild contractions (that I called cramps…lol) until I gave birth almost exactly 2 days later after pushing non-stop for two and a half ass-kickingly hard hours. P was a week late and actually born on the day that I would have had a c-section if I hadn’t gone into labor. Holy crap!!!!

Happy first birthday, big guy!
Stay tuned for the postpartum installment of this story! Yeah. I know you’re excited. Thanks for sticking it out and reading the whole thing. YOU ROCK :)

They say necessity is the mother of invention and today, I proved that old adage to be true; sinfully, deliciously, and kind of grossly true.

I had a yen for something sweet. While I usually take great care to not load up on sugar and junk food, I couldn’t shake my desire for a treat. (Okay. That’s a lie.  I love sweets and eat them frequently but whatever, right?)

So, now that I’m being totally straight with you, here’s the real deal. I don’t buy a lot of junk food because I’ll eat it all of the kids, so when I found myself wanting a treat in the mid-afternoon, there really wasn’t anything to suit my taste. But then I stumbled across my stash of “morsels” from a recent cookie bender baking project and I had a brainstorm…

I melted a trio of milk chocolate, semi-sweet and butterscotch chips in the microwave and spread it on Ritz crackers… Oh. My. God. It’s the bomb! If you like sweet and salty things together like chocolate pretzels or chocolate covered peanuts, you’ll love this.

I know you’re probably thinking it’s kind of trailer park-ish but if you can get past that part, it’s really, really good. And I think just regular semi-sweet chips would work fine.

The funniest part is that I used low-fat Ritz crackers, which is a lot like drinking diet Coke with a Quarter Pounder Extra Value Meal at McDonalds — but I try not to think of that part as I enjoy the pleasures of the uh…chocolate cracker thingys.

And if you don’t mind, next time I bitch about my baby fat, have a heart and don’t remind me of this post :)

(Also, please pardon some of the little issues with my new 3 column template. I still have some kinks to work out)

PS: Do you see the BlogHer button to the left? After you leave your pearls of wisdom, shards of brilliance etc. would you mind clicking it and taking a really quick survey? Thanks!

Glad to see you made it over. Please remember to change my address in your Blogrolls!

A fresh post is coming :)

Baby post alert! May contain words like cute and adorable. If you hate this stuff…leave now. You were warned. If you want to be my friend, however, you really should comment and say something nice.

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My 7.5 month old son, whom I refer to as The Prince (so named by my 5 yr old daughter) has no interest in toys. None. I wish he’d informed me of his dislike of all things brightly colored and made of plastic. I wouldn’t have bought him all that crap at Toys R Us the other day but they’re closing and everything was 40% off. I couldn’t help myself *sigh*

He much prefers the following items, in no particular order:

-straws
-popsicle sticks
-string
-keys
-spoons
-hairbrushes
-magazines, paper towels & cardboard
-remote controls
-junk mail
-and any other item that a normal person would deem inappropriate for a baby to play with

He just started liking Cheerios this week. Previously, he would react as though I’d put a turd on his tray. A spicy, prickly turd on fire, to be exact. Fortunately, he’s had a change of heart and instead of throwing them on the floor to make them go away, he now ravenously scoops them up and gets one or two in his mouth. Yay! He’s also sitting up with no flopping over or lolling from side to side like a drunkard and he’s rolling around to get across the room. He’s still saying Da! a lot but not as much as a couple weeks ago. His grabbing has escalated to an 11 on a scale of 1-10. We have to be really careful with him now. Yesterday, he pulled a very pointy mechanical pencil out of my husband’s pocket and didn’t want to give it up, preferring instead to wave it around like a teeny little sword.

I think tonight he tried to kiss me. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and afterward he opened his mouth and pulled my face to him, planting a big wet one my cheek and then on the end of my nose. He still only has one tooth but I know the other one has to be coming soon because he’s swatting the crap out of his ear again.

He’s sleeping somewhat better lately but still not in as long of a stretch as his sister did at the same age. I was so foolishly arrogant with her. I thought I was the sleep expert. “Look at my baby sleeping 12 hours at 3 months”. What an assbite! I’m getting paid back now. But really, he’s not been nearly as fussy as he was and he goes to sleep in his crib without a hassle. When he wakes up around 4am, as he always does, I can usually just nurse him for a couple minutes and he falls right back to sleep. It’s actually a lot better. I hope it lasts. I’m probably jinxing myself just by typing those words. Shit!

Aother recent development is separation anxiety. If he can’t see me, he cries. If he can’t hear me, he cries. Unfortunately, nobody else will do. My husband thinks the baby hates him now because he spends every second that he’s not with me swiveling his head around while he uses his baby GPS to lock on to my coordinates. It’s nice to be adored but it makes my job twice as hard.

I took a bunch of pictures of him last night but I swear my camera has the worst freaking delay and I always miss the smiles and cute things. I am going to download them to the computer tomorrow and if there is a decent one in the bunch, I’ll post it. He really is unbelievably cute. I’m not just being a dumb mom who thinks her totally ugly baby is adorable. He is. And if anyone dares to disagree, I’ll cybersmack you ;-)

UPDATE: In case you didn’t notice, I did post pictures of The Prince. They are in the flickr box in the right hand sidebar. Open it up and see for yourself how beautiful he is :-)

On any given day, it wouldn’t be unusual, if you could read my mind, to hear me asking myself “What have I done???” This would be a reference to my children and the fact that we decided to have another one when the first one was 4 and becoming very independent. Now I’m up to my ears in more laundry, diapers, baby food, bottles and nursing pads that seem to end up all over the house. As if that weren’t enough to handle, my son is teethng and cranky and lately, seems to never sleep. I complain about this all over my blog. It’s not exactly news but for some reason bitching about it makes me feel better.

My daughter, who has become quite an amazing little girl, is a handful in other ways. For one thing, she’s like Pigpen. A mess seems to follow wherever she’s been. I used to be able to help her pick up but now I always have a baby in my arms. Nagging her to do it herself is exhausting in it’s own right. The end result is that my once mostly tidy house has become a torrent of toys, baby items and my own clutter that I don’t seem to be able to find a place for anymore or the time to even try (well, maybe if I wasn’t BLOGGING…)

My daughter also talks a lot. This is not at all uncommon for the age. Every mother of a five yr old will tell you the same thing but for me, it’s like sensory overload sometimes. The baby is fussing or crying or saying his new favorite word, dadadadadada, which may or may not be his version of “Daddy”, my daughter is happily chattering, singing or humming endlessly and usually some toy or other thing is making noise or music. Is it any mystery why I sound like such a crab sometimes?

Before you write me off as just another miserable SAHM, I do, thankfully, have other thoughts; pleasant ones even…

For example, I’m frequently thinking how much I love these two beings. No matter how stressful motherhood is or how tired I am or how much I long for peace and sleep and a clean house, my love for them prevails and trumps everything else. They are so beautiful and so perfect in every imaginable way. I swear to God they emanate light. Every smile, every moment of shared silliness and every hug reinforces my belief that I have, in fact, made the right choices in life.

If you could see how much my children love each other…it would make you tear up. My daughter is so protective of, so kind to and so patient with her baby brother. He gazes at her and follows her every move. He grins with absolute glee when she walks into the room. I never dreamed that I would witness this much love between them. I honestly thought she would be terribly jealous of him but she’s not. She seems to intuitively understand that he needs more of my attention and that my love for her is not diminished in the least by my love for him. See? I told you she was amazing. My son, equally enchanting, is now clapping his hands and waving bye-bye. I’m certain I’ve never seen anything more endearing and precious. Everyday I fall in love with him all over again.

These children have brought me closer to pure love and joy than anything else in my entire life. I know I am blessed every time I look at them. These are the thoughts I’m having when I’m not having that other one and prove that I am not a total bitch.

I know this is much sappier than my usual fare and I thank you for your patience. We now return you to your regular programming.

I got a job! It’s part-time doing web design and maintenance The money is great and they gave me a kick ass computer to use at home. This is like 600 times better than my own computer (G3 266 mhz). I’m so psyched. For so long I’ve been trying to find a steady gig working from home that also doesn’t happen to suck. Most of the freelance work I get is crappy production work which basically means doing the scut work that someone else is willing to pay for to avoid doing it themselves. Yick! This is so much better. Unfortunately, it’s a contract position and it will be over in July but until then, it’s mine, mine, mine!

Mmmmhmmm. That’s right. MINE!

3:45 pm
My son is sleeping in his crib. This may not seem like a big deal but I assure you it’s MAJOR! We’ve been trying to get him to sleep in his crib for a couple weeks and he does nothing but scream and we always wimp out because we are pathetic suckers. Okay. You’re right. My husband is not a sucker. It’s me. I’m the pathetic sucker.

Now I can’t guarantee that he will sleep for long but who cares? He’s sleeping in the damn thing. I wanted to regale all my pretend readers with more than this but I promised my real daughter a story and I’m gonna keep that promise.

6 pm UPDATE:
Okay, he only slept for about 45 minutes in his crib but that’s not bad. It’s about half of a regular nap. Seeing as I only got halfway screwed out of a nap, I’m still halfway psyched. My cup is HALF FULL, goddammit!

10:30 pm ANOTHER UPDATE:
I CAN FEEL HIS TOOTH! This @#$%&! tooth has cost me so much sleep; I thought it was never going to come out. But tonight he unclamped long enough to let me feel his gums and I felt the tippy top of it. It’s about time. I was starting to worry that he might end up being one of those babies that’s teething and fussy for an entire year. Anyone who knows me knows I don’t do fussy very well. I hope we’ve been granted a temporary reprieve from the torture of chronic irritability but as my husband so kindly pointed out, his new tooth is really sharp and now he’s probably going to bite my boobs. For nearly seven months I’ve not once thought about that and now I’m totally grossing out on it. Thanks, honey.