The Natural

It's so exciting to have a genius in the house!

I'm amazed that we got to figure out his calling so early. I mean, that's lucky right? The kid is only 17 months old and we already know his fate, and for once this didn't involve a call to the astrologer.

Yes, and by the title of my post you know I mean baseball. And besides, he kinda looks like a mini-Redford anyway, right?

Witness:

About to throw something. Run!

He's the nations next great pro-baseball pitcher. The next Nolan Ryan. (ahem. age myself much?) There is not a doubt in my mind about the greatness that is BHB's MLB career. Frankly I'm most excited about the various houses he's going to buy his loving, doting parents.

In the meantime? He's trying to kill us. More specifically, the brown dog.

We live in utter terror. He has the most amazing aim, and worse, his fastpitch is already coming in. It's a bit side-arm-ee but I think with the right coach he can perfect his form.

Today we pulled all toys that have any heft or sharp corners out of the toyboxes. I hate giving him his sippy cups because they are sure to be launched and provide heavy-plastic-water -filled danger that explode in both thud and wet. Thankfully he's started developing 'the look'. He cranes around me, looking for the brown target and when he's got the poor-pooch in his sight, there is a focus that comes over his face and is both eerie and helpful. That's my big chance to either remove or catch the missive. However if I happen to wander off to you know, cook, or pee or glance at my phone? No-one is safe.

Here's how it goes down:

SFX: Crashing plastic block, dog's nails skittering on wood floor as he escapes.
Me: "No Thank You, NO thank you, we do not throw blocks at Bongo"
BHB: Laughing hysterically.
Bongo: Skulking away
Me: You can throw a ball. Let's find a ball. Ohhhh Look a ball! You can throw this!
Me: Ducking

So other than this 'No thank you and let's find what you can throw' plan, do you guys have any other advice? I'm desperate.

I'll leave you with an image that I've put up here before. Anyone who has ever pitched a baseball can vouch for me here, he's got the perfect finger placement.

Gifted child.

Yours somewhere in-between terror and pride,



PS - The other day I tried to ignore dawn patrol by crawling back into bed with the boy and his morning bottle. Hubs snoozed away, and I got a few more winks as the milk went down. Bad idea. Upon completion cute hubs got the fast pitch at short range - literally a foot and a 1/2 away the bottle flew at his nose at full speed. Poor hubs. Not my proudest parenting moment either, as I carried the star player into the other room I asked him (in the not nicest way) what the eff he was thinking. Yea. So please help.

Year One

Approximately one year ago (give or take 3 weeks) I began this blog. I didn't know what the hell I was doing, I just knew that my friend Stefanie Wilder-Taylor said I should. We had just met, I thought 'she's funny as hell and seems to have it together as a mom, I'll do whatever she says'. I know, that's ridiculous. In my defense I was sleep deprived, and she's pretty.

You: Dude, you are such a name dropper.
Me: I know. Sorry.

But I'm glad I did. And so I've been up here more or less consistently typing into the void of the interweb sharing my panic about this parenting thing, and my love of the tiny boy with the big head, the endless nights of sleepwalking, our shortfilm fundraising efforts which succeeded (woot!), a possible huge move out of the state (which isn't happening by the way), and the continual unfolding of realization that this choice we made to be parents just changes the whole playing field in ways I still don't fully understand.

The shockwaves run the gamut: finances, career, friendships, marriage, personal identity. For me it's been a bit extreme in such groundshaking, earthquaking ways that it looks like a crack the size of South Dakota and feels like the crushing loneliness I felt driving through that state when I was 20. I feel a little ridiculous by how thrown I am by this new life, and while it's definitely getting easier, glimmers of the existential angst remains.

But I'm here, and you know what?  It's getting better and better. It's actually turning out to be an incredibly sweet life, and the likelihood is that the darkness I've seen this year is what brought me into this light. Sure the PPD fairy left her mark, but her fairydust doesn't choke me anymore, thankfully that little beyatch is flitting about more on the periphery.

So now that I've linked my way through some highlights of the year, I'll also share some faves that are unrelated. If you've got a minute or 14, wade on through...

* Cute hubs on our anniversary
*A big creepy fight outside our house
* A lovely moment of happiness during the holidays
* Sad (long) story of my brother's journey with schizophrenia
* During the movie review phase - Away We Go
* The birth story that I wrote in SWT's class. This was Take 2.

I'll leave you with this. One of the only ways cute hubs and I made it through the year is through knowing Larry and Linda - The Untroubled Couple. They are amazing and have a beautiful way navigating the stormy waters of love. Please watch the trailer for their webseries and become a follower. You won't regret it.




Untroubled and pretty happy about it,


PS - Link count: -  14 of my past posts and 2 other sites. That's a lotta linky!

PPS - Can't leave you without one pic of the BHB. This is his sign for Light.

Sunshine Cleaning

Anyone seen this movie? I just netflixed it (the verb, to netflix) and I have mixed reviews on it. Basic premise is that two sisters start a cleaning company that cleans places where people die  - be it through natural causes or otherwise. If it sounds sorta gruesome,  it is. There is some heavy backstory about suicide, which is hard to watch this week due to an anniversary of a dear friend who left the planet that way five years ago. And that's not why I didn't love it. The main reason I was sans love is that I found it a little clunky in the dialogue department. It was a little "Hey! Here's how I'm feeling. Oh you didn't ask? Oh that's okay -let me tell you anyway, yes! Here comes a monologue!"

Ohmygod! It's just like blogging. Harumph. Well, that's a revelation. So here comes a monologue - even though you didn't ask.

This motherhood thing is for sure the craziest experience I've ever had. I've never been so simultaneously strung out and annoyed and enchanted and bored and overcome by love surges all the while wondering how I can make it to 7:30 pm. (aka: bedtime) and then miss the little sweetfaced dude when he's asleep. I mean, that is seriously koo-koo-pants. Can anyone relate?

Let me illustrate my little reality with a little story.

The other day I needed to go see a man about some shots in our short film that we are trying to fix up. The shots are not happy because of some evil combo platter that happened between our dolly speed, shutter angle, f-stop and craft service coffee chemistry. Basically the shot is a jumping, juddering mess and it's nobody's fault but I don't know, god. So there are these people who are like god's in fact that they have giant machines that might be able to use their fancy logarithms to fill in the frames and make this pretty, pretty shot live on in our opening sequence. Here is a still from it - you'll see why I want to keep it. 

Scott Subiono as Jonathan in Nov 1st. 

(I love how blue and sparkly the look is and the dolly move is pretty darn cool too).

So! I go to see the men about this moving picture. But as you all know, there is this little man who must accompany me in this meeting because, well, that's my life. Despite the fact that I need to go and act like a hot-shit professional to encourage said men with fancy machines to give us a screaming deal on their fixing skills, I need to first:

a) wait out the insanely long nap that would usually be welcome but of course made me late

b) change the poopy diaper that threatened to wipe me out of an entire case of wipes

c) figure out what a WAHM/Director chic wears and how to best accessorize with my son who will be strapped to my back. Here is a model wearing him as I did that day...

Kim Rhodes wears BHB in the Ergo on a recent hike. Good grief she is pretty. She is in our movie doncha know.

He of course felt it was important to bring a tennis ball in one hand and an adorable but rather large alpaca stuffed toy that sat right behind my right ear and mocked me the whole time. I cracked myself up doing the very literal dance of marching through the giant facility going on about my credits and blablah director me and why they should invest in me and our film by helping us out all the while hopping, bouncing and entertaining the boy by shaking my butt and getting him to giggle. Thankfully the nice man was a Dad but I'm not quite sure how he kept a straight face.

Two days later I don't know yet whether they can fix our broken shot, and also very importantly whether they think free-ish is a good price. But I do know that the women in the fancy, fancy lobby thought he was very cute and lil BHB thought the giant machines and beautiful theatre where they projected our movie was awesome.

Maybe these worlds can live together.

Your favorite SAHMDC,

Flash of Genius

Our son is a genius, I mean - it's the only explanation.

I mean, sure he isn't walking or talking or anything stupid like that. Oh no, that would be weird. But! He's a problem solving hero and let me explain...

As you know, we live in LA. It's pretty and sunny here. It's sunny and we drive alot. We drive alot and the boy hangs out facing the wrong way. Toward the sun.

Which is totally donkey, but safe.

So I've tried some of those ridiculous window shades n' shizzle but they were plastic and lame and broke. And sure, I could get the ole Prius tinted in the window department, but uh, who's got tinting your window money? So I wind up doing really safe maneuvers like reaching over the back seat with my right arm and creating a tiny sliver of shadow with my closed fingers for Mr big blonde head who can sometimes be found thrashing from side to side to escape the relentless sun.

But! Recently I had one of those lil muslin blankets back there and got the bright idea to hold it up to shade him (don't worry, completely safe) and I was prepared to do this today when I traversed town in the west to east direction at the exact wrong time - ie sunset. But lo and behold, I looked behind me and this is what I saw. I won't say who the photographer is for this, I just repeat that it was completely safe.

He's holding the blanket up to shield his own eyes. When I saw it, I got a little misty.

So am I right? He's a super genius? I mean the guy isn't even one year old and he solved this problem like a complete champ and then left his hand mit-blanket up until we were clear of the sun. My husband would say that it's a result of all of the fish oil he gagged me with when I was preggers, and who knows? Maybe he's right. But geee-ross.
And then the poor kid gets fish oil in his apple sauce every morning. I mean, seriously gag me with a spoon right? Yes we do, gag him with a fishy apply spoon. Of course he thinks it's delish.

I've started singing this song to him: (to the tune of Spiderman)

Apple Fish
Apple Fish
Every baby loves apple fish
WATCH OUT!
There's fi--sh in your apppple sauce.

I know, it's ridiculous. And it makes us all really happy. The hubs loves it especially, he loves all of the inane songs I have made up for this kid. He's the musician and songwriter in the family, but so far I've written the tunes that are incredibly catchy like the original number:

'What do you say, super bean?" (there are several verses for this song, it was invented on our long road trip to Seattle)

or

The song I wrote when the boy was in his 'just watching' phase.

Everything he does is FAS-CIN-ATING,
everything he does is swell
Everything he does is AHH-Mazing,
he's the Daddy you can tell.
'Cause, Everything he does is FA-AHNtastic
everything he does is neat..
everything he does is SUPER-duper
he's the Dad he doesn't eat meat'.

I know, I know.
It's so good.

Ok, now that I've slipped into the utterly ridiculous land that I have, let me march deeper in and tell this story on the hubs. Because he is cute.

He recently came home from an event where he learned more about a particular brand of fish oil (gag). He was pretty excited about the flavor and the brand and wanted me to be the guinea pig because he clearly knows how much I enjoy taking this stuff. (gag). So he says something about it being apple flavored which of course I think he's kidding and kee-rack up about it because in my mind I'm already singing..

Apple Fish
Apple fish...

But he's looking annoyed.

Hubs: Oh yea, that's so hilarious.
Me: Um, yea, it is actually.
Hubs: So anyway, the apple flavor completely masks the fish taste...
Me: Oh no, you're serious.
Hubs: (more annoyed) Yes!
Me: The fish oil is flavored with apple?
Hubs: Yes!
Me: And you don't see what's funny?
(blank look)
Me: (singing)
Hubs: Oh my god.
Me: You seriously didn't think about that?
Hubs: No.

What follows is my laughing til I peed (not that this is a shocker, can I get an amen Momma's?) and landed on the kitchen floor and him laughing along - yes - but clearly not as hard. I'm not sure if this story is funny to anyone else, it just makes me squeal with laughter to think about how he listened to an entire evening of conversation about apple fish oil and didn't think about our morning ritual. But I digress, as I often do.

Back to the boy genius. I guess what's blowing me away is not only the problem solving aspect of what occurred today, but also the self care and the evidence that - yes - someone is completely home and thinks for himself and things are really starting to cook with gas in that big head. The fact that he can shovel food into his own mouth with his tiny hands (boy he does enjoy the yams people), he can drink out of his own sippy cup, that he can motor around and get himself into and out of precarious situations. That he figured out how to STAND UP on his own, (he's not getting any encouragement from me on that one). But how does it happen? It's so freakin' miraculous.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised because I consider people who have a good sense of humor to be smart. And we have big laughs all the time.  I personally think his humor is sophisticated, but I guess I'd have to admit that it's more likely that mine is super simple and juvenile. Tonight he almost fell over in the bath tub when I did the 'turtle appearing over the side' trick, it just killed.  'Cause there's really nothing cooler than sharing a laugh with a tiny boy who only a year ago was still swimming around in my belly.

I mean the genius baby who was in my belly, who made an appearance on the planet in early April. I'm so excited to celebrate him in a few days, afterall - he's loosing 'infant' status. Wowee.

Jaws

(cue the music)




So I hope you have the music playing as you read, thanks for playing along...

I've got a serious problem over here.

That adorable boy?
The one who is about to turn one in a few weeks?
The one who has grown about 14 pounds of hair in recent days?
The one who brings love, laughter, copious snot and a newfound joy I've never known?

Yea, that one. The BHB.

He bites!!

It's brand new today. I'm kinda freakin' out.

You: Um, actually Jane, I know for a fact he's bitten you before, you whined talked about it here.

Me: No!...I mean, yes, you're right. He has bitten me in the past, but what I'm talking about now is the ole 'I've got him in my arms and the exposed tank top shoulder get's a chomp taken out of it', or the 'boy my neckline hem thing must look delicious but oops he got which a nice hunk of flesh out of the same milk providing mechanism but from a different angle'.

You: Welcome to motherhood.

Me: Dammit! I knew you were going to say that.

I mean, I know about the two year olds who bite. I know about the terrible terrible two's and while I was NOT judging you momma's who have the biters I was secretly, smugly convinced that my little angel would never bite me (he would love me too much) and while I'm sure your kid loves you...Uhm, well, I got nothing for ya, but I just KNEW it wasn't going to happen to me.

And here I am! And he's only not even one.
Not even one.

Slump. Sigh.

So how am I supposed to deal with this dear Momma's? How do I not drop him? I almost did tonight, I was so surprised when the sharp pain ripped through my consciousness, my hands unconsciously let go. Yes, I think it was a release and catch program, thank god for my cat-like reflexes. I have a very difficult time with gravity, the benefit is that because I drop crap all of the time, I'm really good at re-catching it. Which I did.

So I look forward to hearing your thoughts. In the meantime, I'll leave you with a few of the images that were captured tonight of the danger lurking in the water.

Don't be fooled by the sweet smile...

chompers

check it out! all of that hair even looks like a dorsal fin!

Needing a bigger boat,

Message in a Bottle

Oh man, this sounds like a relapse post. It's not. If you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, go back here. There you'll find the post where I dish on Stefanie's blog about leaving the world of boozin' good times and choosing a clean, fresh world of perrier and other natural soda.

Head roll, knuckle crack. Sigh.
Let's begin.

I am walking along the shore and there are millions of sparkling bottles lining the beach, clear and green and brown and they bob and pop and sparkle - all of them calling to my arms and hands. Pick me up. Read me.

Write back.

I want to hear the words and feel the emotion of the messages contained therein - it's just that they are too far away. Between here and there is the feeling of being bisected by my too tight jeans and the bedazzled look my tshirts have all decorated in baby snot and bits of mushy food. As I walk, I stumble over the crushing, jagged anxiety about the jobs that have flirted and flown by. The tree fairies who I hike to commune with swear that I'll be getting the call any minute about the next big and great job but they seem to be lying, flying little beyatches because the calls haven't come. At least the ones that say, 'You're booked'.

I love being freelance. I have been lancin' along since 1995 when I graduated college with some debt but a sassy attitude. I started a business, I had boom years. I changed directions and spent some money to start shooting commercials. It worked, good times followed. However like many people in my industry and every other industry, I found 2009 (and into 10) to be an ass-kicker bordering on doom.  Of course in some ways the timing was great - lil BHB came on the scene and so me not being on the scene (as it were) directing was actually swell by me. Except for the whole money thing. Money is helpful.

sandbox of germs? where did he get this cold anyway?

In other stumbling news, the sweet boy has his first full blown horror of a cold. And ear infection.

Sleep has been completely elusive. We're back to the fuzzybrained newborn days with the-once-an-hour 'hello how are you?' typa thing. His cough sounds dangerous and deep and the fever is scary to me when his belly throws so much heat I don't know whether to cover it more or put him in a cool bath. So far the highest of the high is at about 102.somethin' but who can trust these damn digital thermometers? I know, we could bust out the vaseline and the old school thermometer but holy keerap that boy hates his diaper changed as it is, I can't imagine the flip-over-insert-instrument scream that would follow. No thanks. Not now anyway.

With the ear-infection diagnosis came the antibiotic prescription that I had filled on Friday in a bit of a panic. And then I read my copy of "How to Raise a Healthy Child in Spite of Your Doctor" and we talked ourselves out of the pink biotic-killing goop in the fridge. But now, with the cough from hell and the continued fever I am 2nd guessing our 'ride it out' ways and wanting for a quick release for him and for us. Damned dilemma.

So I see the glittering lil bottles with their allure of a dream and a dance. How I want to write about our new BFF's and a new spiritual path, the way a life can be touched by the most simple act and moment.  Walking along the misty shore, I want to read and talk about the Oscars, Katheryn Bigelow, those pretty pretty dresses. What about all of the paths to God, my philosophy and the gathering storm clouds at once gorgeous and troubling? About extraordinary coincidence. About sweet thoughts that inspire good behavior followed by a shy smile. I have them all here for you. I just need to figure out how to walk over the broken ones to get there.

Elusively yours,




PS - Thank you for your kind encouragement last week about the milk dilemma of 2010. I do feel better. I'm grateful for the easy, soothing solution I can offer during this sickness - how great when he won't eat anything else. Of course the new demand has me busting back into an old 'where'd you buy those' look, but the teeth seem to be retracted for the moment.

Snow White

I type and I watch. I'm catching out of the corner of my eye these mad dudes with their flying, flashing ski's willingly flip, well - fling themselves miles into the air and flip flop fall and float (but mostly flip) into the relative safety of the snow that sometimes catches and sometimes kick back with a splash of white and whatev's. All I can say is WHOA dude. These guys are awesome.

What inspired that? Were they like six years old and racing a car around the Berber carpet in 1994 and  looked up at the flickering coverage of the Olympics coming to them from Norway and saw these nutty dudes flipping through the air and then turn to their mom's with big round eyes and matchbox car mid-track and point their little stubby fingers at the screen and say - "Yes, I will do that. It will be rad and I will wear shiny colorful spandex and I will win."

photo credit: Mike Groll AP/File

Don't you wonder? As I watched the other jumping event tonight - the ski jump - with the dudes that fly for like 30 gorgeous heartdropping seconds I got totally annoyed with my 10 month old son as I projected into the relative near future when lil BHB and I will likely have this conversation....

INT: OUR HOUSE - NIGHT

An adorable 4 year old BOY pushes a monster truck around the hardwood floors as his MOM and DAD watch slack-jawed as the Olympic aerialists flip fourteen times before landing on the fake snow.                        

His Mom is extremely hot and looks amazing in casual sweats. She is a very thin and young-looking 43 year old...(oh rats, sorry - went off into fantasy there) Ahem. The sweet boy looks up at the giant plasma TV that is uber fancy and wafer thin...

BHB 

Look Mom! I can do that!

ME

Nope. No way. Forget it.

BHB

But Mooommmmmm.

ME

Sorry.

BHB

(looking offscreen with intense resolve) 

I will wear flashy spandex, and I will win.

ME

Noo! I love your big head!

 I don't want you to break it on that mean snow.  

Curse you inspiring dudes who flip through the 

air with the greatest of ease!

Sigh. I guess we're not going to be watching the next Winter Olympics.

With love from the future,




PS - Ok, I realize that reading the above is like watching reality tv when a really great drama is on the other channel. It's on the silly, fluffy and pointless side but thanks for coming by...

Now if you want to read something really heartfelt and poetic and filled with awesomeness, you should go here. The writer is a dear friend, filmmaker, writer, and mom of an amaaaazing kid. I met her in line at Sundance a bunch of years ago. She's just fantastic! But I digress. But yes, you should definitely check this post out (whut up double link!) And be sure to play the music, it's a wonderful good time.

Wordless Wednesday: Baby Super Model

So it's Thursday and so far this is not wordless either but it's been an interesting week...

photo credit: cynthia perez

Your favorite stage mother,

Wordless Wednesday: Man On a Mission Edition

Not my proudest photography moment, but you know, it's happening fast. BHB learned himself how to crawl! Last Saturday friends, January 23rd. So. Here we go...

Yours from the fast lane,

The Fly

*I planned to post this last night. Blogger was down (whatthehell!) so I was unable. Please ignore the one day-off-ness of it all....

Four days ago bhb had his first bite of solid food. He enjoyed the first few bites and then grabbed the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. Gifted child.

Three days ago bhb and I wrestled with gravity.

Two days ago I told the internet about it.

One day ago brown dog started blinking and looking miserable with his left eye. We’ve seen this all before. You may remember that he recently had to have surgery on his right eye.

Today we find out that indeed he needs surgery again. I worry that when you ask people who perform eye surgery if a dog needs eye surgery that you’re going to get the answer “He needs eye surgery”. Unfortunately the last time this happened and I wanted a different answer, I went to a holistic vet who said. “Well, there is a danger that the eye can explode.” Or was it implode? “Get the surgery.”

So we did.

My logic was, our dog has really pretty eyes. And he probably likes having both of them. And I’m not interested in exploding eyeballs. And here we are again, same story, but but now we’re looking at (get it?) the other eyeball. Cute hubs said to the vet:

"Thank god he's not a pet fly!"

Comon! You gotta give it up for the hubs on that one. Funnnnny. I laughed heartily in fact. The fact that we are joke cracking and guffawing is pretty impressive for people starting down the chute at another freakin' expensive event, and of course since it is Surgery (capital S) he has to go under - gak. Also here comes another three weeks of the cone of shame, putting goo into his eye twice a day and a cooped-up-not-hiking-frustrated animal who can vibe like no-body's business.

Tonight when we arrived home from a slightly contentious (ok...maybe it did get to us) trip up the local mountain I found myself having to convince brown dog to come out of the back of the Prius. He was reluctant. I took the muzzle-to-face opportunity to plead with him to stop manifesting these crazy-ass physical expressions of his emotional despair about having a new baby-person stealing away everyone’s attention. Ironically I said this with a hoarse voice due to the brutal and breathtaking cough that I currently have. And I leaned a little funny to the right because this morning I trashed my shoulder and neck by tweaking it during a coughing fit. The fact is that I have been in nauseating pain all day.

Guess I should listen to my own speech. Let’s try it. “Hey, Jane, stop manifesting weird physical shit that’s clearly the result of your emotional angst.”

Harumph.

Unfortunately the aforementioned contentiousness leaked into the house and as we were putting bhb to bed I stomped around here annoyed with it all. And I even tried to fold laundry angrily. Have you ever attempted this? Haughtily folding sweet smelling fresh laundry and slamming it down into neat piles is not very satisfying.

The worst part? I’ve decided to stop eating sugar. Again. For anyone who knows me, I’ve done this no less than 200 times. A few times I’ve been successful, like years-at-a time-with-no-sugar successful. I made sure our wedding cake had fruit on the top so when we did the obligatory stuff cake into each other’s faces I wouldn’t have to eat sugar. Can you say freak?

But.

I always feel so much better.

I always lose weight.

And I always cry at least a few times in the first few days.

The first five to seven days will suck-ass as I’m forced to feel my feelings and notice how uncomfortable I am. Well, damn. I’m uncomfortable anyway, might as well get rid of the ‘crack’ (that’s what I call the white devil). So I’ll keep you posted on all the fun I’m having.

Anyone want to join me? Comon’! It’ll be awesome. No, really.

Tonight I leave you with some pictures of our first born when we first adopted him @ 3 months old.  He's a ridiculously cool dog...

Falling Down

Today started out like any other day. Stayed up too late last night, slept in while the boy hung out with the cute hubs. This is an almost daily ritual, while I fade in and out of sleep, BHB sits in his bjorn bouncee chair doing his screaming banchee thang and kicking himself into a rockin’ rhthym while Hubs does the dishes. And if you’re wondering why I”m such a lucky Momma that gets to sleep in and did I say Dad does dishes? I did. I’d say I wonder too. But since I am the one on the hook to get up during the night, I think it might be semi-fair.

Went to the Feeding Little Foodies workshop and met some awesome other Momma’s and got some handy tips on how to make baby mush. It was great. I totally recommend it. I feel that much more capable and willing to make the food and freeze it and ya know, if I open a jar, I open a jar.

So in all the excitement about learning how to be feeding a little foodie I had not put any foodie in my body and since I’m still producing all the food for the little doody, I was famished.

To solve this problem I skipped loading the boy into the car and left him in the Ergo carrier and wandered down to the main street. Wilshire. I immediately found a cool little snackee place next to the El Rey theater that has found a hilarious line between Indian Food and Mexican. It’s called Cowboys and Turban’s and um hi, how fun is that? I ordered a chicken tandoori quesadilla (seriously).

I sat outside with my big-headed baby as we waited for this wacky concoction. In recent days I’ve realized he’s no longer the patient lap sitter he once was, he’s now a guy who needs entertainment. You know, like toys n’ shit. And in my haste to find nourishment, I dropped off the diaper bag that contained such things in the car and so I was caught basically empty handed. This is where my perfectly lovely day became other than.

BHB has been enjoying practicing his standing skills on our laps and laughing into our eyes. Needless to say looking into his starry blue eyes is uber sweet and this is what he was up to in this moment.

My arms are looped around him (imagine like a basketball hoop) and he leans into the left arm. I laugh at his laughing while the hand at the end of the right arm digs through purse for something fun for him to hold onto and or stuff into his tiny mouth. Two thoughts, lightening fast. Give him the glasses case. Take the glasses out first. So I avert eyes to open hinged case only I realize now the boy is missing. He’s down, he’s fallen down, he leaned back too far over my arm and flipped onto the marble below. My six month old child is screaming bloody-murder, no wait that scream was me. Now it’s him.

Before the brain has time to think, don’t pick him up he could be seriously hurt his back could be broken he’s up in my arms and I’m moving on the tiny patio in circles my voice says My baby, My baby oh my god I dropped my Baby and the nice Indian Man is out of the door saying, he’s okay, he’s okay I dropped both my kids yesterday this is what happens this happens all of the time until they are five then a nice guy who I noticed a few moments before as a hipster lanky guy with kind eyes is next to me saying He’s okay, he’s startled he’s okay he’s startled and I’m thinking or speaking Startled? Are you fucking kidding me? he hit the marble, that floor is marble is that cement or marble oh my god I dropped my baby as tears stream down my face and I try unsuccessfully to contain hysteria.

And now I’m also trying to get him to eat. Doing anything to create a sense of normalcy, my usual very modest public breast-feeding has become completely national geographic tribal and I just don't care. And the nice Indian man is yelling, seems to me he's yelling You have to Calm Down, He’s not going to calm down unless You calm down. And they are both very close to me, everyone is too close to me and I’m finally sitting down and the crying baby is thinking about latching but is too busy being upset. Like me.

And then he eats and it grows quiet except for the buses thundering by.

And lanky guy says, okay did he hit his head? And I’m looking at his perfect little head and I don’t see anything, not a mark. Lanky notices the angel's kiss on his forehead and thinks that is a problem, no I say, it’s a birthmark - there is literally not a single bit of evidence. I’m circling his fuzzy little head with a frantic hand as he feeds. It feels perfect.

And I call the pediatrician, only a nurse practitioner on duty today, she is going to call back.  And I sit there, on the patio looking down at the place where he fell. And he eats and he falls asleep. And the Indian man eventually comes out and brings the quesadilla. And lanky comes by a few more times and shares more kindness...and concern, what if he has a concussion? He should not sleep. So I wake the poor guy up, even though I know in my gut he is okay. Somehow he managed to perform a triple Lutz onto cement or was it marble three feet below and leave his head out of it. I guess all of that belly time paid off because he kept his head up.

After about 40 minutes, after the nurse practitioner called and we rule out head injury due to the fact that his head is not scratched and the fact that he’s giggling and banchee screaming and focusing fine and just basically behaving perfectly normally. My breath is finally coming back. The tandoori and cheese is good comfort food but you know, too rich but I’m not ready to be separated from his sweet breath by a car seat so we continue to sit there. I steal glances at the spot on the marble or is it cement where he landed.

Split seconds change a life. These moments which were orchestrated by random facts. I  didn’t bring food for me. The weather was nice so I walked. I found a place where we laughed. I looked for something for him to do and he was gone.

How fleeting. How dangerous this place. How much do I want to lock my family into a padded house with single ethnic food (no need to mix) and just laugh into each others eyes and steer clear of all hard surfaces. Needless to say I’m so grateful he is okay. I’m so sorry that he potentially wasn’t. I don’t know how anyone would survive this same moment going differently, I just don’t.

The good news is that I know what happened. After he backflipped out of my arms, he was caught by angels who then carefully lowered him to the ground where they placed him on his belly. The reason he cried was because I screamed. And cried. See Lanky was right, he was just startled. It's the only explanation that makes sense.

About a Boy

Okay! This is the best of them so far, don't y'all think? My obsession with naming my posts movie titles has sent me into the dark abyss of writer's block a few times. However, clearly this one is a total winner if I do say so myself...

So let's talk boy:

1) He's a laughing machine.

For some reason we've seen an odd yet delicious little joy spurt right before bedtime the last few nights. Anything, and I mean ANYTHING we do is freakin' hilarious. As a once comedian I can tell you workin' for an audience that easy is noteworthy. It's like being the 4th comedian out of 10, everyone is 1.5 cocktails in and you're hi-freakin-larious. Your teeth are white and your jokes are hitting. Which is why, I love this guy.

2) He's a sweetheart.

I wonder if you can really tell what you've got in the way of a new family member when he's only in the 6th month of a life? I must say thanks to the gathered evidence, I'm feeling uber hopeful. I recently talked to someone who commented on his sweet spirit and I said something like 'Oh yea, we'll see' and she gave me a little head tilt like 'You're odd' but then said reassuringly. "You know who he is, you do." It was a little poke of poignancy actually. So what I do know is that he's a sweetie-pie-lovey-faced angel-breath-of-a-boy. Totally. Which is another reason why, I love that guy.

3) He has no intention of crawling anytime soon.

Or so I think. Is it wrong to hope for this trend to continue? I meet a super cute family tonight with a stoopid cute kid who is 15 months old. They told me that he didn't walk until about a month ago (quick math, 8 more months of no walking? Oohhh, sounds good...) AND he apparently didn't crawl until a week before he walked. For my money they hit the jackpot, and I told BHB so. I whispered into his wispy little blonde hair-do 'Walking is whatev's. Crawling is creepy. Let's stay here in the banchee scream and roll around on the rug phase for a long, long time'. Karma says I'm going to be reporting on his walking status in a month. Praying for a Not on that one. But he's taking his time now, which is another reason why, I truly love this guy.

4) He's ready to eat solid food.

And this won't surprise you, I'm not ready for him to. Either I am one lazy chic or I'm terrified of change or fill in the blank with your own judgmental thought here. ______________
Whichever one we go with I'm going to just have to get over it and serve up some mush. I have been waiting for him to hit every single marker which is:

a.. Sits up. (He almost does, but not without something to lean on or a faceplant follows in short order)
b. Doubled his birth weight. (Done and Done - we're 3 + pounds up from there)
c. Looks interested in food. (He's watching me eat as rabidly as my dog does. Between the two of them I feel like the star of a reality show while just trying to eat a damn sandwich)
d. Losing the extrusion reflex. (Well, I don't really know about this because I'll have to put something in that little mouth to see if he pushes it right back out. But seeing as how excited he gets to eat the little teething tablets that I ply him with I'm guessing he's down for some swallow action.)

Thankfully I know a super fabulous and sweet Momma who is damn savvy about food mushing and I'm going to take a class from her soon to gain some confidence and skillz. Plus I shouldn't be afraid because that milestone will provide some awesome comedy and fantatic photo opps. Which is why, I will still love that guy, even when he's eating and flinging veggie mush.

I'm sure there's more numbers of things I can say about a boy. As you've likely noticed, he's pretty a magical little guy. By the way, I get that this is such a 'Girlfriend needs a baby book' post but thanks for staying with me. Sure do love you for coming by.

The Science of Sleep

I'm holding my breath here tonight.

The little guy, see multiple pictures below to reference the guy of which I speak, went to sleep a few hours ago in the same fashion that I bragged about here. And this is night number three. (not in a row, but still....this week!)

I'm saying this very quietly here as to not jinx us.

(whispering) But...It's freakin' amazing! Right?

AND? Last night he didn't wake up until 5:15am. Asleep at 7:45 pm, awake at 5:15 am to eat, back to sleep til 8:15am. I'm not a mathe-ee person but I can tell you that is a DAMN long time.

Tonight I even tried really hard to f it up by staying out at a friend's house having deeeelicious turkey burgers off her grill which delayed his bedtime substantially. Basically started the go-to-bed-sweet-big-headed-baby routine at like 8:10pm instead of 7pm. But godbless him he did the same gentle, open-eyed, thumb in mouth roll over see ya later mom thing.

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!!!

As I said before I hesitate to talk about these things due to my anxiety that by blatantly shooting off at the keyboard about it I may just be setting myself up for a big ol nightmare down the road. However, since this blog is quickly becoming his 'baby-book' I figured I better write about it so one dark day I can look back to my own reality and remember this day fondly.

Today, future Jane, is a good day. You will have another.

And in the spirit of the baby book concept, please find a short photo essay below - a sleep tribute. Starting at the very beginning...

peaceful on the 'billy bed'

tiny sweet face


plane trip @ 9 weeks - he slept like a star.

at first, car rides were nightmarish, wailing-fests...then he learned how to sleep in the bucket and life has been much sweeter since.


how terrifying is this bird?Anyone know of any sleep voodoo dance that I should do to keep this going?

Lost In Space

ahem. attention!

hello?

I'm just hanging out here, a tiny zipcode of IP magic thanks to Blogger (well Google) who gifts me this lil' piece of the Interweb. But why do they offer such real estate? In case I become Dooce and sell s-loads of diet coke ad's next to my witty banter cascade of whining, anxious, yet hopeful words?

Nah, doubtful. Google knows what it's doing, and as it's becoming more and more obvious, I clearly do not. I guess that's what I'm spinning around in tonight, the vastness of the space. I was going to say cyberspace, but I got a little slap down doing the research, here's what Wikipedia says...

Cyberspace as an internet metaphor

While cyberspace should not be confused with the internet, the term is often used to refer to objects and identities that exist largely within the communication network itself, so that a website, for example, might be metaphorically said to "exist in cyberspace." According to this interpretation, events taking place on the internet are not happening in the locations where participants or servers are physically located, but "in cyberspace".

I found this gorgeous image in my search to understand the above. Apparently it's a visual representation of what a piece of the internet might look like. By the way, did you know that we might run out of internet space? Pretty freakin' nuts, right? Time for some IP addy hoarding to save yourself. Well, 'cept you won't, just like most of us LA citizens who do not actually have an earthquake kit. Our family is pretty much ready because we've got about 5 extra jars of TJ's almond butter and 3 cans of black beans. The end of the world will be a gassy, sticky affair. But I digress.

When I'm typing into this black hole of inter-web-inter-connectivity nothingness, I feel both excited to be reaching and yet lonely not knowing where it's landing. It reminds me of the first setting on our sleep sheep. It's supposed to be 'white noise' but instead it's a whale's whooping cry that rings out into the darkness of the big headed baby's room. (bhb photo to left for your enjoyment) The trouble is that no other whales ever answer because it's a loop. Freakin' depressing right? I imagine a giant gray whale swimming alone in a vast dark sea pinging the sonar again and again, but. Nothing comes back. Kinda like trying to talk on the ATnT wireless network. Is there anything worse then chatting along and then finally figuring out that the last two paragraph's of a self-obsessed monologue has fallen into the gap of dropped call netherland? I get that twangy mix of embarrassment and loneliness.

So this basically my round about way of asking...Hi, um, who are you? I know a few of my buddies have signed up as followers, god bless 'em (even though they'll never be back to read this). But hey! If you are here, reading, can you give me a shout out via the comment thingee? I promise I won't ask again.

Oh and I"ll be sure to follow your whale song back to your part of the ocean too...

ease n' grace

Sometimes I use this as a mantra. Or a wish list anyway. I would like do this thing (Mommahood), or anything, with some E n' G.

Walking onto set I am often mistaken for the craft services person, or the PA. Know why? Cause I'm nice. Directors aren't supposed to be nice, more often then not they are blowhard cap wearing', beard sportin', coke snortin' meanies who like to yell to make sure they still exist. Hello King of the World, you know who you are. I like to act tough in meetings so that agency or whoever is hiring knows I can kick some shotlist achievin' ass, but they'll find out soon enough, I'm sorta overly nice. Not completely in that desperate 'please like me way' there's a program for that but well, uh, you decide. Do I really have to strike up a conversation with the breakfast burrito dude before we get the first shot off? Probably not.

I guess my point is that Easn'grace that I am currently looking for is something I feel like I've found in my work. I can be my superfunohmygod jump-up-and-down-when-I-like-a-take girl there...

Yep, this is me jumping with joy at the sight of an excellent take.

I'm looking for her now around here.

But as you can see, I am mostly finding piles of laundry and the wear and tear of desperation to see that a nap is achieved. Wow, I'm airing my clean laundry here. See if you can find the carbon based life form in this pile.

I know, I know. He shouldn't sleep with all of that stuff around him. I KNOW!

ahem.

Whoops lost the EnG there. A little high strung from the lack o' sleep. Perhaps when the sleep becomes a little more, shall we say consistent...I'll find my inner joy light again. I do, I do want to because this little guy has tons of it.

Grumpy Bobblehead

According to one of the books I read to make sure I feel completely guilty and overwhelmed by the responsibility of shaping this young man's life, destiny, and huge therapy bills, the brain is pretty much built in these formative years. And so by doing the right stuff, like lots of face time and putting the iPhone Down you can affect IQ by 30 points or more. Apparently at birth 10% of neurons are linked and working and that multiplies to where 90% of the wiring is in by age two! So grow those synapse's little one - get 'em while they're hot.

This weighs heavily on me, and the books have differing opinions. Stimulate! Neurons need entertainment food, like Hulu for the drooling set. Or, baby needs sleep. Work your life around a nap schedule and Suck it up if you think you get to go out of the house for more than 60 minutes at a time or at night. If you don't sleep train him you'll suffer and so will he. If you do, the stress from the crying will kill all of that good face time and the IQ points you've worked so hard for are lost. So the books battle it out there on my bedside table and in my brain and basically the result is a delicious new feeling - Mommy Guilt. Oh it's yummy juice, part crushing shame, part low-level constant anxiety, add a dash of hormones for drama and a squeeze of lemon. (as in lemon in a paper cut)

So when the lil bobblehead is grumpy there are many reasons that he could be so - ALL of them my fault. I didn't catch the pre-nap stare and he's overtired. I missed my fish oil yesterday or god forbid I ate any of the b'feeding no-no's like chocolate, caffeine, tomatoes or you know, brown rice. Who knows what might piss off a little guy via milk. He's overstimulated? Under-stimulated. He needs to learn baby signs and oops I probably missed the window to teach him French. And thanks to my over-achieving control-freaky personality I'm obsessively trying to do this 'right' and as you can see, it's awesome!

I guess the best I can do is have a lil gratitude about the fact that the post-partum-depression fairy hasn't visited in while. Anyone else friends with that little bee-yatch? She's an odd one - she visits some of the momma's, not all of us. Just the lucky ones who get to endure the fawking hormonal-coaster from hell where all perspective is lost and no good yummy "I love my baby" feelings are to be found. I was lucky that while she did bitch-slap me pretty hard for the first weeks, it subsided around week 7. Oh the PPD fairy still does a drive-by here and there and I'm lost in the soup of self-pity and crushing despair, inadequacy and suicidal thoughts. And then I'm fine. And he's cute and I'm cheerfully trying to find the words to little bunny fu-fu so I can sing them to him. Of course I have to get the words right and I wonder if the lyrics are too dangerous for his little ever exponentially expanding mind. But! It does explain the big head.

Finally in my 2nd way-too-long post I want to give a shout out of thanks to Stefanie for linking me up. You are such a beacon of sanity and humor for all of us lost Mommies.

Motherhood - Take One

So yea. I'm a mom now, it's still even creepy to say that out loud, ok type it out loud.  Let's try it again. I'm a Mom.

Eeeps! I get a little squeamish. Even though I'm 3.5 months into this new gig, I'm not in total ownership and I think it's (no offense) due in large part to the other Mommy's that I meet.

It's like anything that comes on too strong. Like flavored liquor or even the most expensive perfume, too much of a great thing is still waay too much. And Motherhood seems to bring that out in women - the desperate over-achieving passive-agressive wackadoo hovering person who was not so long ago, reasonable.

For example...
1) Do we have to talk in a voice that's 14 octaves above hearing range? My dog thinks it's neat but my ears are bleeding. This is referred to in one of the 45 parenting books that I obsessively skim on a daily basis as 'parentese' and sadly, this voice is encouraged.

2) Can we PLEASE talk about something else? Let's be clear, I am saying this to myself as well - but the discussions about cracked and elongated nipples and sleepee sleepy-by schedules and the milestones like how amazing little baby is because she looked in the same direction for 14 seconds in a row is so booring. Boring. I mean I get it, but ohmygod, let's find a new topic. Like what happened in the last half of the 30 Rock season? I dearly and desperately miss Liz Lemon.

* I'm going to take a quick break from this mean spirited sounding list to qualify myself as a much nicer person. K. Well, since I need to say that I guess you can believe what you want.

3) How about we forgo the comparisons? "How old is he? And HOW much does he weigh? Wow, you've got a big one there..." 'Cause I don't know the percentile and I don't care. Or I'll pretend I don't anyway. "Does he hold his head up yet? Oh gosh that's too bad you know my little sugarface has been holding her head up since she was born...He'll get around to it."

4) And no NO. Nope, he's not sleeping through the night. He's not even 4 months old! (Dear Jesus... I don't talk to you much but if I could just stop by and ask you to please help me through this - that would be great....thanks ever so, amen)

I guess you can say I'm a procrastinator since I've waited until my 38th year to join this club, and you'd be right. I'm a procrastinator. And it didn't really seem to bother me 'cause I was busy building my career as a Director of things. Commercials, short films, webisodes, corporate blah blah videos, whatever can be written/directed and sometimes edited for money - I'm your gal. Or was, wait -still is! It's a confusing time when identity is on the line.

And I guess that's what hurts and why I rail against the monologues of the Mommy set. Who am I now? Am I still one of the relatively rare directors with boobs (only now they produce massive amounts of milk)? How is that I used to be able to run a whole set filled with big guys and their big gear and this little tiny guy can take me out with a few short screams?

When I was pregnant, I had such swagger. I said, Aw - it will be easy. Of course I'll still work, anytime you want. I know it's a full time job, hahhaha, of course I did. Ok People magazine, here's my confession that you won't care about to print. I didn't know. I really, really, really didn't know what I was getting myself into. It's impressive how not knowing I was of what we speak. How is that such a smartee pants director lady who has had her own production company for ten years and done stuff and more stuff could enter this new phase of life so cluelessly? Well, she did.

But I must say, I do love him. He's a big-headed beauty.
 Please to enjoy a picture from the second week of his life.