Boys Don't Cry

Or do they?

Oh how I hate this conversation I'm about to have with the virtual you, the person out there, over there, my friend, my new friend and yet a stranger. It's just so hard and stupid and annoying and we'll never agree and we'll go in uncomfortable testy circles until one of us will get mad and stomp off.

Boy that just sucked you right in, didn't it? Deep breath, here goes.

Did you do it?
Did you let your baby cry?
Are you one of thoooose parents?

Or did you sleep with, cradle and rock, let him nurse himself to sleep until he was 3? Did it solve itself magically at 16 months? Then you stood victorious and gazed down upon all the fallen ones shaking your head and wondering how they could be so dangerously mean and awful and those poor dear children who are scarred for life wondering if their parents love them. Knowing they don't.

Did you regret letting him cry?

Are you so glad you did?
Are you the one who can say my kid sleeps 12 hours a night it's non-negotiable he's an amazing sleeper and is so well adjusted and I'm a better parent and we're all happier and it's a beautiful gift and what is wrong with teaching your child an important skill that they need for life?

Or are you like me. Living somewhere in the middle of this dangerous battlefield. Working for the little man. Then when there's nothing more that can be physically done, sucked dry of milk, unable to hold the squirming body that threatens to jump out of your hands. (god forbid) Unable to sing the way the Dad does. You let him cry for 11.5 minutes.

Did you regret caving and going in there and being the one, the only one that can make that horrible sound stop? The one that is greeted with a giant tear soaked smile and a little elvis hip-shaking dance? Getting to pick up the sweet smelling person and having him go heavy in your arms with relief? Knowing that tomorrow night is another night of hours and hours of trying, rocking, dancing, singing, nursing, wondering, what-am-I-doing-here-and which side will I run to?

When the cute hubs gets home I recall the tears, his and mine. I ask him. Where will we end up? Will we regret it?

I send up the white flag. Please tell me what you did. In the meantime check out the gorgeous pumpkin.

La Belle Vie

Sometimes, despite the dumb ass shizzle that abounds and multiplies, life tastes good.

Today is one of those days. Today I went and heard my meditation teacher speak. He tumbles wisdom out of his mouth with such force. I try to record the thoughts between my synapses and come up with mostly. Yes. What you said. Yes. And I remembered why I meditate and realized that even though there is a baby person taking up oh so much of the time, that I remembered that I do, I could, I can and I must have 20 minutes twice a day to find. What's up naptime! Since the boy always, always wakes up at 7:00 am, I bet if I got up at 6:30, I could meditate. Could, can, will, must? Will.

Today I didn't eat sugar. Again. This was Day 3. Well, at least blatent stoopid sugar like ice cream and scones. I suppose I did have a little slip onto a trail mix that had cranberries off the sugar tree. But who wants to eat cranberries without some sweet? That's a pucker-rrefic experience. I guess the answer is me, I'm committed to cutting out all sugar. And I shoulda read the label. So I'll be starting over with Day 1 tomorrow but I have that head start of already feeling so damn much better. As you can tell by my jaunty words. I feel so damn much better.

By the way I won't be going on about this here anymore, I've splintered off to another blog to talk all things sugar. I hope you'll follow me over there, it's a project that's been in my heart, mind and off and on my body for ten years. I've had some fun spoofing the F U Penguin blog and my site is of course called F U Sugar. Fun and prizes to be had over there, comon' by...

Today I woke up at 7:20 to the sound of the BHB just cooing and muttering to himself after having slept most of the night. I'm talkin' 8 hours in a row. Whaaat! That is some rock solid goodness right there people. Yep. I know. Clearly I'm an amazing mother.

Today we went to the farmers market. We bought stuff to smoosh into baby mush. We sampled tasty wares. The sun was slanty and shiny and our feet moved across the ground with ease. You know what I mean? Warmth on back. Everything through the amber sunglasses looks good. We run into a family that seem really effin' cool for the third time so we get their digits. Like that. 

Today we went and saw a great friend who is helping us with our short film. I've been remiss in sharing updates about said short film, but it's still grinding along. More on that later, let's just say that we're not shooting in two weeks, more like 2 weeks x 10. Let's just say that my idea of stretching a budget and what is actually real and possible didn't match up, so we're moving into a fund raising phase. Which is awesome. And by awesome I mean Ack. Let's just say it's time to suck it up and start begging.

But back to today and it's delicious tart and fresh offerings. On the way home from dear friend the cute hubs got the boy into a full tilt giggle that just wrecked me it was so good. Thankfully I didn't wreck the car. Here is some photographic evidence of the overabundance of cuteness.


How I could go from a state of 'giant-potato-peelers-took-off-my-skin-and-there-are-giant-lemons poised-to-squirt' feeling to a super yummy 'I'm-a-meditating-sugar-free-rockstar-momma-with unreasonably-cute-boys-in-my-life' in one week is beyond me. And you too I bet.

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.

Psycho

Ok so that's not a nice post title to use after the heavy duty PPD post (below), and for that I'm sorry!

Just need to give a shout out to my friend who created this super AWESOME banner for me. I'm still trying to figure out how to make it fit correctly (Sand Dollar Template- why do you torture us so?)

I had a post up here that I took back down for construction. It will be back up momentarily. If you're looking for some Mama Drama, we got it.

Coming Soon...

Dancer in the Dark

I've alluded to post partum depression in past posts, (say that five times fast) but I won't link you because

a) I'm anxious that I link past-posts too much and it's annoying.

b) The mentions are minor and in passing where I basically call it the PPD fairy which makes it sound all sorta swell and almost charming and not the insidious mother fawker that it is. Yes I'm afraid of balls out swearing, dontcha know my grandmother reads this blog? The one with the abs of steel, ya, that one. Damnit! I just did it again. I have no self control.

Oh crap, fine. Here are the PPD ones. Here. And here.

But whatev's. We're all here now right? And let's get to the problem.

That charming little insidious beeyatch fairy is back. She's flying by dropping her thought bombs including these hits: 'Oh you're wasting your time on this planet and worse everyone else's' and 'This poor child will never survive with you as the Mother' or 'Darkdarkdark thoughts that one does not write out loud or certainly not put on the interweb'.

I know it's been documented and thank god for the Brooke Shields of the worlds who make talking about this dark-ass shit somehow okay but it's hard to come clean about it. Especially so publicly. I mean seriously god bless her, she admitted that she herself was suicidal and even wanted to hurt her child and sure that sounds freakin' nuts - but I get it. It got that bad for me on two separate occasions and it scared the living keerap out of me.

Today I didn't have to go all the way there, just enough into the darkness to remember what there felt like. It's a strange phenomenon that I will try to describe. I know this movie is damn old, but has anyone seen The Blob? Here's the trailer. Try to subtract the campiness of the movie and imagine what it might be like to actually get eaten alive by the blob. As if the worst feeling you've ever had came over you and enveloped you intending to kill you. You can't shake it, because it's slimy and stuck and worse of all, it's spreading. This is a great time for a panic attack, so you have one. Hopefully your Mom or sister in law or someone is there to hold the tiny helpless baby so you can go shake in the shower.

I find that the most insidious aspect is the mental discussion that insists that I'm at fault...especially now. 'What hormones? Comon' it's been six months...GET OVER YERSELF' kinda dealio. So that's where I've been these last few days. The only thing that's cheering me up is the gorgeous soaking that the LA basin is getting. At this very moment I hear rolling thunder (no wait, that's someone taking the trash). Damn. But it's raining buckets which is just the sound of hope, renewal and a tiny dream of green for our burned forests. Photo credit.
 
I think BHB is aware of the shift in me, which makes me feel even worse. He's still a laughing-banchee-screaming-guy with a ready smile but he no longer has any interest in going to sleep at night. Yep, we've resorted back to the three hour 'go-to-sleep-baybee' opera. I guess the bragging up here came back to kick me in the ass. Karma is a bitch.

And if you're wondering how I treat the PPD, back then I used acupuncture and homeopathics. Please email me if you want more info, I am so happy to share the 411. Today I used the Haagen-Daz cure which will only make it worse because sugar is evil dontcha know but sometimes you just gotta.

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.