Depends on What Your Definition of "Real" Is....

We had an uncharacteristically tough time putting Sir Six-Month-Old-Pants to bed last night, not sure if it had something to do with the round of shots or what but he didn't get to sleep until almost 10 - thankfully he stayed down for a solid eight-hour chunk of sleep after that. Ridiculous baby boy. What else can you do but love him? He's sitting up for a minute at a time now! It's great, but holy margarine it only serves to magnify the amount--and urgency--of rugrat-proofing ahead of us.

The "firsts" are coming so fast and furious now. This weekend we have baby's first professional photos, followed by baby's first Halloween. We're going to a family party and doing a family-concept costume. I'm hoping that what it lacks in "Awww"-factor it'll make up for in cleverness. I'll post a picture afterward and you can judge for yourself.

Happy Thursday, goblins. I've got some real writing coming up in here very soon. Maybe.

Happy H-B, HR!

HR came to work with me for a few hours this morning, needless to say I am way behind so I can't linger here. I just wanted to write quickly about what we did earlier - we brought him to the pediatrician for his six-month check-up. Six! Months! I can't comprehend that we're halfway to his first birthday as of today. Time is moving so fast. Aside from getting the shots (which made him cry for all of 30 seconds), all parties at the appointment were very pleased with the baby's progress. He's a good eater (clocking in at twice his birth weight) and a pretty decent sleeper (the doc was of the opinion that if we're OK with the nighttime routine as it is, why mess with it?) and he's got a happy disposition. So what more can anyone ask for?

I am very fortunate and really enjoying this time in our lives. Seems like a good sentiment on which to go out for today.

Eerie (But Not Unwelcome) Coincidence

HR must be reading this. How else do you explain him sleeping from 8:15-5:15 and then going back to sleep for 2+ more hours after eating? I'm sure it's more of a one-off than the way it's actually going to be, but damn, what timing! Of course Mike and I both got up like ten times to check on him because (vay-pahs!) what could be wrong with him that he's acting like a normal baby? It felt like gift in any case, and I'll treat it as such. Maybe his one-day-early six-month present to us?

I was listening to the radio on the way in to work this morning and John Lennon's "Watching the Wheels" came on. Normally I would have skipped by it. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge Beatles fan. I don't trust people who say they don't like the Beatles. You don't like the Beatles? It's like saying you don't like air or sunshine. It's essential, there's nothing to like or not like. I feel like people who make such a statement are being provocative or have something to prove. Anyway, the point is that, in spite of/because of my lifetime fandom, I rarely listen to a Beatles or solo Beatle song on the radio because I have heard them all so many times over that I just have to be struck in the right mood. And today I was in the right mood for "Watching the Wheels." It really made me think that what's so tragic about John Lennon's death, to me, is not the death itself so much but that it happened at a time when he was just figuring out that he didn't want to be a dick anymore. Who knows what he could have done with all that positive energy? Maybe his songwriting would have suffered, become reflective and self-indulgent (which "Wheels" arguably portends). But a guy with all that charisma, deciding that the world is suddenly his friend? It's a damn shame that we didn't get to find out.

And now for something really important: the Halloween candy poll. What's your favorite? Mine, currently, is Milky Way Midnight.

Have a sweet, nougat-y, caramel-y day.

Babies. That is All.

Sunday mornings used to mean sleeping in as long as possible and hauling my hungover butt to the couch to watch Phantom Gourmet until the hunger took over to inform our day's plans. Now they mean rising at 6 a.m. (or later if we're lucky), with a prolonged family cuddle, coffee and CBS Sunday Morning. This is fast becoming my favorite time of the week. For one, we don't have to rush around because though Mike has to work, he doesn't have to be in until late morning. The CBS program is made for elderly dorks like me, with the corny, comforting bow-tie-wearing host and the bite-sized human-interest stories about squaresville things like fountain pen collectors. It's a nice gentle part of our ritual. And I think I mentioned the cuddling. Can't get enough of that, especially since some babies don't stay cuddly forever so I'm getting in as much as I can now just in case.

The nights are getting, um, interesting, I guess would be the word? It seems like we have a good night every other night, which is a hell of a lot better than no nights. HR's consistently going down by 8 p.m. and getting in at least four hours before waking, which is golden, but he does still wake at least once, often twice. I'm not ready to do the cry-it-out thing yet. Even if he's theoretically ready for it, I'm not. But we're still inching toward other bedtime goals. I'm trying my best to be consistent with my steps toward said goals, and even when my efforts seem to reward us only with less sleep. For example, when he woke up at 3 a.m. I really, really tried to get him to go back to sleep, first without taking him out of his crib (ha), then without nursing. At 4:15 I finally gave in and re-swaddled him and nursed and we all got to go back to sleep until 7. Maybe at some point the trying will pay off. Maybe tonight will be the night he sleeps straight on 'til morning. I just have to go in with that hope, and keep at it, even when it's frustrating. I do my best, with Mike's reassurance, not to worry about how much we might be screwing up, to keep in mind that it's not about success or failure but what's best for this individual family. It doesn't do me any good to compare him to other babies, even if I am a bit envious when I hear of much younger babies with more consistent sleep habits. I just have to remind myself how far we've come from the days when we couldn't even set him down. And his napping has greatly improved. So we'll get there. Maybe. As long as he's healthy and happy, we'll figure the rest out. That's the bottom line.

Actually, our niece is eight weeks old and finally got to leave the hospital to go home this weekend and that's the bottom, BOTTOM line in the scheme of things. Go go go little A!

Back and Forth

We're going through a very trying time here at work. This is when I am at my best--somehow I was born to operate in and make sense out of chaos-- and I do get some kind of perverse enjoyment out of taking charge and fixing things. But I will be happy when this moon wanes. It's doubly exhausting. I can't actually complain though, because I am here working and not in the circumstance that requires people to come to this place (never ever can I overlook this) and this is my chance to actually help the maximum amount of people possible in one day. So overall, not a bad thing. You don't need to know the details to know that it's worth the adrenaline spike and subsequent letdown. I will be mighty appreciative when things are calmer.

Today is sort-of my Friday, so I like to ease into the weekend times with something fun. And while I know that this is the result of nepotism and maybe a little of the dreaded auto-tune, I love it so hard.



I wonder what it's like to grow up in the Pinkett-Smith home. I like to think that it's totally awesome and fun all the time. If you find out it's not don't tell me and shatter my image.

Which is Nice

I had a lot of cavities when I was a kid, so I was at the dentist all the time. I was never afraid to go and get my teeth filled. Looking back, I know it was partly because I was purposely kept in the dark about what exactly was going on in my mouth, but mostly because of the nitrous oxide. I guess that explains my uncharacteristic need to jam out to the Dead on the ride home, too. Honestly though, after yesterday's three-hour dental visit that I don't want to even go into, I was nostalgic for the days of blissful ignorance and mind-altering gas. One positive thing I came away with was a renewed appreciation for science, particularly the science that makes pain relief possible. Novocain is good. Epidurals are good. Even when you have an accurate idea of what terrifying things are going on in the parts of your body you can't feel, the not-feeling part is a way to keep from losing your mind when thinking about it. Science, you are my valentine forever.

My non-valentine forever is horror movie season, specifically because the ads for these movies run at times when young children (or extremely wussy adults) could be watching. I do not need to be hit with that Paranormal Activity 2 commercial when I'm alone in the house in the dark with a baby. Or ever, but especially then. I just want to watch an episode of the Simpsons without having to cover my eyes and ears during every commercial break, is that so much to ask? As if my video monitor didn't already freak me out enough.

Oh but there are definitely advantages to the video monitor. At about 3 a.m. I heard HR squawking and just watched to see if I needed to get out of bed to help him get settled--the answer is almost always yes--but it turned out I got to witness self-soothing in action. He turned on his side, stuck his thumb in his mouth and went back to sleep. Sure that was one time out of four or five in the night that he was able to achieve this, but as with any milestone, if he did it once, it means he'll do it again...someday. And someday's good enough for me. Plus it's some encouraging evidence that my swaddling step-down program is working.

So I've got that going for me. And that's a good base from which to build a fine Wednesday.

Roll Out the Baby

In the history of my working life, few Mondays have kicked my ass harder than this one. It doesn't help that I have a raging toothache and the dentist can't see me until tomorrow. I've never had a toothache before. They hurt, did you know this? It's not easy to work through, but the distraction provided by work does help in its way.

I'd be remiss if I didn't pop on here and mention the latest milestone and it's that HR is now a rolling-over dude. As of this weekend he's completed the back-to-belly as well as the belly-to-back. So hooray! And: uh-oh! Guess that's the end of napping on the couch. Poor little buddy was down with something all weekend, we can't tell if it's a cold or teething or both. He's remained a Smiley Joe through it all, nursing and eating his food with gusto, so I'm not going to worry too much about him, just do what we can to keep him happy.

Anyway, I have to go back and present my ass for more kicking as the day is young.

Not Even Close

Ah, working from home. Just like working from the office, except here I've got endless cups of really good coffee with half & half. And I don't have to change out of my pajamas. And I don't have to pump. It's worth the extra bit of work to make myself focus. Right now the baby's napping, Mike's making pulled pork in the slow cooker and I'm getting ready to clock in. I just wanted to make a clarification about yesterday's entry first lest it is believed that I am more hardcore than I actually am: I don't do 200 push-ups and crunches a day. Ha ha. No. 200 jumps of the rope per session,yes, but significantly fewer of the calisthenics. I just couldn't leave that out there to be misconstrued.

My folks are coming in this weekend for a little visit and I'm so excited because the baby has gone through a lot of changes since they've last seen him. The difference in his heft alone should be a shocker. All in all, I just really want to make sure he knows and is comfortable with his family. This is for his sake, but for ours as well because when we leave him with people in the future, chances are his caregiver will be someone we're related to and it will make it easier on all of us if it's someone with whom he's already familiar.

Anyway, I must go. It's a mess out there, so stay dry. I highly suggest telecommuting if you can. Happy, happy Friday!

I'm #1

Housekeeping first: one very important thing I forgot to say about Mike, which LA pointed out, is that he's a total babe. That's how much I take it for granted. I think anyone who's seen him takes it for granted too which I guess is why I didn't manage to make a big deal about it. He can't help that he was born looking the way he does, but he does have control over being an upstanding person so that's more noteworthy. Anyway though, as I stated, he reminds me all the time that he thinks I'm pretty to his eyes, and it could not hurt for me to do the same for him. Who doesn't appreciate hearing that they're attractive? And though I think it all the time, he can't read my thoughts. Or can he by now? Eek.

I'm on top of a huge inspiration bubble after hearing my author/poet cousin read some of his poems on the radio the other night and talking to him last night about his manuscript. It was so fun to talk about writing like that, especially with somebody so talented. To put a selfish slant on it, it helped me see how getting good work done is possible and not only that, it got me reinvigorated about my love of writing and made me want to make writing dates with myself and stick to them. Also, to not abandon my current WIP which was my instinct. So thanks, cousin! No more excuses. Let's do this.

When I feel excited about the process like this, it inevitably opens my mind to all my other dream projects like writing a screenplay and/or a TV comedy (fine, I just want to be Liz Lemon). And songs. I heard Meatloaf's "Two Out of Three Ain't Bad" yesterday (bear with me)--  and I couldn't stop thinking about the genius in its construction. It's one of those songs, like "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" and "Brandy (You're a Fine Girl)" that seem to belong to the 1970s, mostly. These songs that tell a story, often ending in the same place it began but with a new perspective. If I had to think of a current song that accomplishes this, maybe it's Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats"? Anyway, the perfect pop song is a singular piece of artistry. I'd give up all the other talents if I could master this one. But first things first eh?

In other news, I'm feeling quite fit these days and I'll tell you why. Back when I was the only body I had to worry about, I used to take this killer class at the gym called Punk Rope. It was super fun, but it also kicked my ass. I loved it. Jumping rope is a great workout. So I bought a jump rope and I've been doing mini sessions every time I take a pump break. So I get in 200 jumps, push-ups and crunches three times a day. It doesn't take up that much extra time, and it really adds up, workout-wise. Until I can get back to regular running and yoga, the jump rope is my fitness secret weapon. I highly recommend it. But I will issue a warning to my lady friends (this is going to be TMI and probably shatter your image of me as a person you want to be around so look away if you're offended by bodily functions): jumping rope makes you pee. It's uncontrollable. It was true before, and it's double true now that my urethra has been messed with. So just, er, take precautions. The payoff is worth a little leakage.

And with that, I leave you for today.

More Than Toast

Picture it, the summer of 1995 in the shittiest student-housing shithole of all of Brighton. Ah, the haus of many subletters, two of whom being your heroine (moi) and her yet-unmasked hero (Mike). My friend K and I wanted to spend the summer in the city so we found this deal wherein we would share a bedroom for wicked cheap and not have to go home to the sticks in between college semesters. There's another leg to this story wherein the summer went off the rails, friendship-wise, but it's too sad to recount, and yet another about how we found out about the sublet, but that part will give you Type 2 diabetes to read it so I'll leave it out for now. The point is, K and I moved in, and I promptly abandoned her to go home for a week to have my wisdom teeth removed. I called her post-surgery to get the feel of the house (there were 10 of us at any given time, and besides us everyone was of the dude persuasion).

"This one guy, Mike," she said. "You're gonna love him. You're gonna marry him."

So I did. I mean, I'm not that suggestible. It's just that she was right, we ended up being perfect for each other. And without further ado, 12 reasons to celebrate my husband, one for each year of our union.

-He is patient and level-headed and approaches issues from a calm, logical place. His has talked me down from many an emotional tizzy.

-He loves his family, but loves mine just as much.

-He makes me laugh, daily if not hourly.

-He is kind and generous, almost to a fault. Sometimes I think his overwhelming sense of compassion is going to be the end of him.

-He is an amazing cook and quite the little housekeeper.

-He's the king of unsolicited compliments, and never stops telling me that I'm beautiful and sexy, even when I'm not feeling it.

-He is a lifetime Red Sox fan. Let the importance of this never be underestimated.

-He has good (read: similar to my) taste in music, movies and TV shows. Part of K's theory that Mike and I should be playing house forever was based on his interest in the artifacts installed in my side of the room such as a Beastie Boys poster and a VHS copy of Dazed and Confused. They say opposites attract, but that Paula Abdul is a drug addict who has been known to hallucinate dancing cats, so who are you going to believe? There's no need to be twinsies in every aspect, but it just makes sense that good partnerships are rooted in having things that you share and enjoy together. Like beer and nachos (which are the official food of this marriage) and the ability to have  conversations composed exclusively of Family Guy quotations. So Mike will never not be disgusted with my love of So You Think You Can Dance or penchant for singing Wu Tang Clan to the baby. I will never get on board with Air Supply as a *thing* or share his excitement for JFK conspiracy theories. A little conflict is necessary to keep things from getting boring. But we're friends as well as partners. We enjoy each other's company. And for the most part this simpatico existence keeps it fun.

-We are politically like-minded. And he might not come out and say he's a feminist, but it's all in his actions.

-Despite his better judgment/social conscience/extreme neurosis, he acquiesced and entered the adventure of parenthood with me. I suspected that he would be a stellar parent, and my premonition is proving to be true. You know that whole privilege paradigm dealie that can be applied to whoever is the minority in any situation? I'm thinking in this instance about the man/woman power dynamic and the notion that women are expected to be perfect mothers while men get extra credit for marginal competence? Well that's a moot point in our home. Mike's not just an involved and engaged dad, but a really good parent by any standards. HR is the center of his universe.

-He's super, super smart. He doesn't just possess the kind of broad intelligence that, say, wins Jeopardy twice, but he's also grounded in the real world with a double dose of common sense.

-He's a workhorse who does what he needs to do for our family and never complains.

As I wrap this up I realize I could never do this man justice with only twelve examples. Which, I guess, is a good reason to keep him.

Happy Belated Anniversary, Mikey. I love you and the life we've built together. I'm sorry if I ever take you for granted, but please know I'm aware that I hit the jackpot when you came into my life.

A Dozen

Great, great long weekend. Not that I can remember what we did or that we did all that much, it was just so nice to be with HR all the time and even have some all-three-of-us family time. Yesterday was our anniversary, and we celebrated by going to the zoo, going out for nachos and ending the evening with take-out and DVR shows after Mr. Pants went to bed. Yep, still got it after all these years. Along the way we introduced rice cereal into the boy's diet (I think he thinks we might be crazy, but points to him for going along with it) and got him in the exersaucer which is fantastic. You pop him in there and he just loses his mind. It's hilarious to observe, and one of the best infant-related inventions so far, rivaling the boppy, the Itzbeen and the bumbo seat.

I have a huge entry about my husband waiting to be written that I wanted to get in here in time for our 12-year milestone (we've been together 15 in all) but that will have to wait until I have the time it deserves. In other words, not this busy day.

But here's the blog of the week, for your reading and viewing pleasure: Kari and her husband are two of my favorite people in the world and though I've yet to go to their home (I stress YET) I feel like I've been there thanks to this amazing project. Miss you dearly, my darling Johnsons.

Take a Pill, Lady

I got a decent night's sleep last night (HR only woke up once between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m.) so I am on point today. Maybe a little over-caffeinated on top of that, so I'm having the opposite issue from yesterday and it's that my mind is racing and I don't have the time to dedicate to everything I want to address.

Topic the first: I held a four-day-old baby last night and it was like holding a warm, adorable puff of air. As infants go, mine isn't all that heavy, but the difference between 16 pounds and 7 pounds is quite striking when you have immediate comparison. HR is still little-little enough that I get my fix from him, but I can see how I will be very susceptible to baby fever down the line. I caught myself being nostalgic for his first days-- the days when I was getting NO sleep and stressing every moment about whether I was starving him. Of course those parts fall away when you look into that sweet sleeping newborn face. It's a sort of mental illness, but probably has a lot to do with propagation of the species.

The other thing that is twisting around my brain like the treatment for the world's most useless dissertation is pop radio, specifically songs that reference alcohol. I'll back up a little. The other day I heard Tone Loc's "Funky Cold Medina" and in the midst to totally dorking out to it, it occurred to me that it belongs to a special strain of music that I will classify as "roofie ballads." The Beasties' "Brass Monkey" is in there too, as well as Jamie Foxx's ridiculously catchy "Blame It." Is it really acceptable to make danceable songs about drugging girls so they'll want to have sex with you? Of course not. Is it good humor to sing about your own comeuppance in the same song in the form of unknowingly drugging a transvestite, or just homophobia? Maybe when it wasn't the '80s he branched out from being "down with the ladies," but there's no sequel as far as I know. And even though I decided that "Blame It" is ultimately a celebration of a case of mutual beer goggles vs. a one-sided takedown, there's still a goldmine of gender politics as well as rape apology in popular music. It's a good thing education's so expensive or else I'd seriously be getting my PhD in shit like this.

Also on my mind: T-Pain and his auto-tune revolution is a) ruining music as we know it, b) acting as pied piper in the inevitable turn of humans into cyborgs or c) both? Discuss. Oh, and, don't you think Timbaland should have quit when he was ahead (i.e. stuck with Justin Timberlake) because he was the precursor to all this wasn't he? I acknowledge that this is the kind of hysteria people espoused during the birth of rock and roll and I accept that my rantings are those of an old fogey. If I had a lawn, I'd be yelling at you kids to get off it. I really need to start listening to books on tape.

Oh, but furthermore to the acceptance of my oldening: Monday is my 12-year wedding anniversary which is, frankly, preposterous. I'll be off that day, but when I get back I've got a 12-point salute to my saint-worthy husband in mind. Stay tuned.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow

Another chilly, rainy, yucky day, perfect for writing. So of course I've got nothing I'm interested in writing about. When in doubt, I just make a list of loosely-themed junk.

Three things I enjoy but rarely do:

-Eat cereal. I love all the kinds, sugary as well as healthful. I was really into Lucky Charms when I was pregnant. This is no good as a breakfast option, though, since it leaves me hungry again in five minutes. So I just don't buy it anymore because the box goes stale once it's opened and I hate waste. Every once in awhile though, man, cereal is the only thing.

-Go to the movies. Even before baby came along and presented an obstacle I hardly ever went. I love movie theaters and their popcorn smell and the communal experience of watching a film, especially when the weather gets cold. I don't even get all that het up about the price of tickets. But aside from really major exceptions it seems like everything comes out on DVD before I get around to seeing the first run, or nothing's that appealing that I have to see it right then. I missed the last Harry Potter, which is usually one I'd make a point to see. I feel like I'm contributing to the decline of this bit of culture. But oh well, can't hold up every pillar. That does remind me I should lock down a babysitter now for when The Deathly Hallows comes out.

-Go dancing. I'm always bitching about never going dancing. If I went dancing every day it wouldn't be enough. The dance parties I constantly hold in my house count for a lot, but there's nothing like cutting loose on an actual dance floor. I just realized I am so going to be that mom with her mom friends in our going-out clothes getting wrecked on two cocktails and harassing the DJ to play Wreckx in Effect. That actually sounds like the most fun of all time-- it's been so liberating since I stopped caring about being cool.

I don't know how to wrap this up so I'll just go.

YAWN

If something happens more than three nights in a row, it's officially a trend yes? Well what we've got going isn't one of those good trends - after a relatively long stretch of nights where HR was up for one early morning feeding, we're back to waking up not once, not twice, but THRICE between bedtime and official wakey-wakey time. I'm sure the little tooth nubs in his bottom gums have something to do with this, but I'm also thinking this could be a sign that it's time to give solid foods a try. I was going to wait until six months because there was no reason not to, but what's a few weeks in the scheme of things? It might not help, but I figure it can't hurt. Rice cereal: the next frontier.

It's hard not to feel inadequate sometimes, because I read so much either in books or on blogs about other people's babies' progress. It's enough to drive me to mama meltdown when I read about people who actually have to wake up their babies in the morning to feed them-- babies that are younger than my own. But I'm a logical person at my core, and I know it's useless to compare my own milkhound to his age-mates. I have to make sure to go with my instincts instead of being envious of other peoples' situations. He's doing what he's doing, and that's what I've got to work with. And really, what I've got to work with is a totally excellent baby on the whole. He's so wonderful and beautiful it astounds me on an hourly basis. It helps when Mike reminds me that our job as parents right now is to meet his needs, his own specific needs which include extra feedings, so that's what we're doing. He's a happy boy almost all the time, which I suppose is a testament that we're doing OK. Maybe someday he'll catch up with the good sleepers. Or he won't. But it's comforting to know (in a benevolent, non-nasty way) that even the exemplary munchkins come around with a little challenge somewhere down the line. Babies are babies, and if it's not nursing or sleeping or diaper issues it's something else.

Children, jeez. Lucky they're so fun to dress up in tiny clothing.

The blog of the week is one of my all-time favorites, and needs no explanation.

Comin' Up October

How are you this sopping gray Monday morning in October? I'm just wonderful. Another joyberry has been added to the pie in the form of my best girl's baby boy, who was born on Saturday. I have yet to meet the little viking, but I will tout de suite and I cannot, cannot wait for to eat him up.

My own little edible buddy did not get a gold star in sleeping last night, but I really couldn't hold it against him as we cuddled in the big warm bed early this morning and listened to the rain come down and Mike made us a lovely pot of pumpkin spice coffee (well he made it for him and me, but baby will inevitably get some down the line). I did lots of imagining how things would be before he came along, but it turns out that things are better than I even ever hoped they would be when we embarked on this making-a-family adventure.

We also saw our bean of a niece over the weekend. What a precious little girlie - she's a fighter, and hopefully she'll fight herself out of the hospital sometime in the coming weeks.

Lots to do today so I can't linger, which is really all I want to do. Alas. Here's a baby: