Unwellness

wrap up

We have no plans - zero plans - for New Year's Rocking Eve. The only other year that we were so quiet was the year Wes was really, really sick. 1998, maybe? And we still had a friend over. This year, we tried to make plans with meanmama and fam, but they and we are all sick. And this ruled out plans with Asia, who is probably taking advantage of their last childless New Year's anyway. No way is it nice to get a miserable pregnant woman sick and therefore more miserable. Sick minus cold meds is just torturous. Lack of meds is my number one reason I will be happy when I am no longer nursing. Honestly, that is actually my current only reason. Hunh.

And so, here we are. GMB is watching Lost 3 in its entirety on DVD and thus has barely emerged from his basement lair (it is EXCELLENT to have a teenaged basement lair - I had one, too - it is where teenagers belong, really). Wes and I watched a few episodes of Weeds 1 while baking cookies. It is all DVDTV all the time around here.

Beck is now asleep. I don't want to jinx anything, but since I don't believe in jinxes I will go ahead and tell you that he has slept through the night twice in a row. TWICE. Until 6 am and then until 5 am. And like the ungrateful bitch that I am, I was PISSED that he woke up at 5 this morning. Honestly, I would FAR rather get up and nurse at 3 am and get him easily back to sleep than to have him spring awake and smiley at 5. The day was a blur of side nursing and continuously attempting to make him sleep more. Yes, because with the big night sleep, we have lost ground on the naps.

I can hear gertielover now - Wait A Week, Bri. It will all change again.

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I haven't refreshed so much in ages. Give it up for Cali's doubling beta! And while we're at it, big fat hoorays to Liza and to Jen and Cait!

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A quick meme to get me in the wrap-up spirit. You know the one. My version - first sentence or title of first and last posts of each month.

January:
I think lack of sleep really makes the yuck much worse./The TK Files

February:
It is unusual for me not to post, I know, but this cold is kicking my butt and I am doing absolutely nothing but lying around feeling the snot move from one nostril to the other when I roll over. (look - a trend!) / My stomach is no longer hide-able.

March:
I am starting to get really mad at myself for how blah I feel about this baby. / How I Spent My Stressful Vacation

April:
I am home and fine. / Alright cloth diaperers... how many do I need?

May:
As promised, other lovely quirks of our home / why today was a good day (in spite of my gargantuan ankles)

June:
a two half-caf more-milk-than-coffee iced coffees sort of day / proud and terrified, as usual

July:
it's my birthday month / I hate this - I swore I wouldn't be one of those women getting impatient at week 37...

August:
Contractions pretty much gone. / His first name does indeed come from Samuel Beckett.

September:
I have come to truly, deeply understand why my mother did not breastfeed me. / cloth diaper gurus again - help?

October:
sound of one hand typing / the packing queen meets her match

November:
We made it through the trip and are only a little worse for the wear / 5:20 Wes calls to see if I want to meet him in the North Slope for dinner after he fills orders for dog beds. I say yes.

December:
the fricking thanksgiving post already / this one

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This year, I worried that I might puke out my baby, I watched my best friend give birth without drugs, I bought a crazy NY-real-estate-expensive house, I set some sort of record for Most Pregnancy Maladies Ever Seen by my chiropractor, I stopped being able to fit my feet into my shoes, I grew larger than it seemed possible, I paid insane amounts for pictures of the largeness, I helped my best friends through a couple of shocking pregnancies and cheered on other long-awaited ones,  watched my house be taken apart and put back together, I became a mother, I cried a lot, I screamed a lot, I spent weeks adjusting, I fell in love with my son, I breastfed him into his awesome 90th percentile self, I stopped working for the first time for a reason other than insanity, I successfully transitioned my son to a crib, I took two plane trips with him which included 5 planes, 2 delays and 1 missed flight, I spent countless hours singing, watching the fricking kitty cat dance, and replacing my son's pacifier, I stood over his crib staring in absolute awe in a way that is inexplicable and quite beyond cheesy, I fell even deeper in love with Wes, I was grateful every single fucking day for him, I watched him become a dad, I loved him more for it, I didn't blog daily for the first time, um, ever, and I finished my New Year's post 3 minutes before the end.

Beck is down for the third time. I am betting it won't last. I may well be nursing as we hit 2008. Fitting, no?

Happy New Year's, everyone. Thanks for getting me through this one.

The State of Our Keyboard; Or, How I Spent Chistmas Eve Eve

Giddy, perhaps, with the knowledge that he didn't have to go to work the next day, even though it was Monday, Wes was up too late. I often spend the last 30 minutes of my day yelling at Wes to go sleep, not because I care whether he comes to bed with me (in fact, I am often not in bed yet while yelling) but because he complains so much if he doesn't get enough sleep. And since I now get up with Beck in the middle of the night (OK, yes, often with his assistance if I don't hear the crying myself), he has no excuse for being as exhausted as I am. He should sleep. I give him the gift of sleep and he spits on it. Ass.

He was sitting at the computer in the office area between our bedroom and Beck's. He is often there so at first I didn't notice anything odd, but I soon noticed a clicking noise unlike typing and went to investigate.

He was using a pen cap to clean in between the keys of the keyboard. And sometimes the keys were flipping off, leading him to glimpse the filth beneath and moan audibly.

At first I was annoyed that he was doing this when it was time for sleep, that he was engaging in his usual neat-freak behavior and doing so at this hour. But then I started watching.

"That looks like it was the skin of a peanut I ate a few months ago," I commented, as he scraped at it with the pen cap. He gasped and scraped harder.

"What you really need is a Q-tip," I observed.

"Go get me one, then," he said breathlessly. He gets gaspy and heavy-breathing when he cleans. It makes me nuts.

I sighed and went to get slightly damp Q-tips. When I returned, he had several keys off and began wiping away the muck with much grunting and heavy-breathing ecstasy.

I decided to help.

And before I knew it, I was breathing heavy and instructing him on how to more efficiently clean the keyboard - pop off that letter next, no not that one, do this section, you're doing it all wrong.

I was breathless and shrieking. And also crying because I was laughing so hard. But mostly serious about my way being better and getting very heavy with the breathing.

Together we breathlessly cleaned the keyboard, laughing so hard we cried, trying not to wake the baby.

I have crossed some sort of line, I think.

hacking

I am still stick but mostly just coughing now. It is 1:30 in the morning after retrieving GMB from the airport and hanging out with our good friend Bill. Tomorrow morning we will pretend it is Christmas, even if that means opening presents while the sounds of hammering and sawing occur around us and Sergio the painter sands plaster in our staircase.

My list of things to blog grows. So let's hit a few, in brief, before I go to bed (only, I guarantee, to be awakened the MOMENT I drift off by Beck, whose amazing sense of When Mommy Is Resting is second only to the hearing of bats).

- I Hate Winter.
I hate winter because I hate snowsuits. I hate baby sized coats and trying to get them on him without bending back any of his fingers (yes, I did that once). I grew up in Arizona and California and find winter a dastardly evil prank. I always felt this way about my own coats until I got the right one. It was the same year I went to Iceland and learned their saying, "There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing." They were right. With the good, giant down coat, I was happy. Warm and happy. Good boots and hat and I was all set. Until now. Hate. Dressing the Baby.

- Best Baby in the World
He was passed around at the work holiday party and didn't even look concerned. He smiled and cooed at all the right people. He never fussed or cried or even frowned. He hung face-out in the Moby and charmed everyone. Perfect, lovely, smiley baby.

- OH MY GOD CALI IS PREGNANT AT THE MOMENT, PEOPLE! She has 91 congratulatory comments, so that should tell you what kind of nice she is.  More than 2 years of trying and waiting. A most beloved blogger. Send all happy, embryo-sticking vibes her way.

Future blog posts:
- The State of Our Keyboard
- Wes and the Target Polar Bear

a christmas haiku

Slept 'til eleven

We are all sick as can be

Christmas is postponed

Happy Tuesday, everyone.

Merry Merry

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CALI! I really hope you're knocked up.

My goal for Xmas week - a post a day, even if I have to write them all at once and dole them out.

My goal for the new year - find a way to write a damn book. Or simply edit and finish the one I started would be fine, too.

Plans for the week - organize office, hopefully move stuff into finished basement, write write write, shop shop shop,  buy a tiny tree to fit into our box-filled living room, unearth ornaments from under Box Mountain, enjoy Christmas on December 27 or 28 once GMB arrives (we are postponing since Beck is too small to care).

An announcement - we didn't do Xmas cards this year so you can just stop looking for one from me. We decided the recent birth announcements were overwhelming enough.

A question - how does any baby EVER sleep again once they begin to roll one way? When the pediatrician asked if he was rolling last Monday, I had to admit 'no'. Two days later, Beck was suddenly a rolling machine. He has never cared much about tummy to back, doing it once at 6 days and once at 3 months and then never again. But back to tummy is BIG fun. And now he does it in his crib and can't roll back or go to sleep.

I guess I know the answer - he will eventually learn to roll from tummy to back as gracefully as back to tummy and until then, it is my annoying-ass job to keep going in and helping him. Just as it will be when he starts sitting, standing, etc and doesn't yet know how to return to sleep position.

Merry Christmas, all. I am pretending today is nothing special, when really it is the hardest of the season. Since my parents were divorced, I spent Christmas Day with my dad  and every Christmas Eve with my mom, my uncle and my grandma. We opened presents at night after a big dinner, a walk to see the lights, and me being forced to sing carols by the tree (which I secretly loved). My mother loved Christmas and had the best decorations. It was my most fun night of the year. All three of them are dead now.

Questions from Istanbul's Stranger

1) First, a two-part question, and money isn't an object. Which 3 cities in the world are top on your list of places to visit and why? What are 3 cities in the world you NEVER want to visit and why? (As an EFL teacher, I'm compelled to add the 'whys')
I am finding this amazingly hard to answer because I keep thinking in terms of the top 3 cities WES wants to visit and which I have agreed on. But that's not the question. The question deliciously focused on ME and what I might like. Sadly, it has been a decade since there was just ME to consider and I am out of practice. Let this be a lesson to you all.
OK. So if we set aside the fact that what I would really do with limitless money for travel (and limitless time, of course) would be a world cruise, the three cities I would like to see:
Berlin - we had a trip planned a few years ago - we even bought guide books. But money ran short and we decided to take the other big trip we'd planned for that year - Istanbul!
Rome - we spent one day in Rome during our '05 Med cruise. Obviously, it wasn't nearly enough.

Tokyo - always been a curiosity, one that was reinforced by Melissa's tales of living in Japan and the movie  Lost in Translation. It's the one city in Asia that I am really interested in - I know that makes me sound unadventurous, but it's true. I would gladly travel to any other but Tokyo is the one I most want to see.
No thank you:
Is it too much of a copout to start listing Midwestern or Southern cities of the US? Yes? And also offensive to many of my readers in the flyover (HA! See how I went ahead and offended anyway! Ha!!). OK, then. World cities I don't need to see:
Baghdad, Kabul, anything in Chechnya - I don't do danger.

2) Second, a long elaborate one: You've just finished paying all your bills including paying off your credit cards, and your monthly budget has just worked out beautifully. To celebrate, you pop out to a nearby cafe for a coffee and muffin, and on your way, you find a wad of bills, totalling $1,000. Naturally, you're a good citizen, so you take it to the police to see if anyone claims it. No one does, so it's yours! Congratulations! What are you going to spend it on?

Again, I find myself answering in a Wes way, going for some piece of mid-century modern furniture for the bedroom or something. What the eff? How did I so lose my own will? See what happens when you marry, ladies? (Please note - I say this as I sit here blogging while my husband is out at the laundromat washing the baby's poop-stained clothes.)
Um, so. $1000. No debt to pay. I think I would go boring -  baby stuff and a few new clothes for me. I would secure the baby in all sizes and styles of cloth diaper. And I would hit Anthrop*logie, which is my favorite store, with no regard for whether or not things were on sale.

3) I know it's only been a short time, but how has having a baby and being a mother changed you?
I am far less worried than I thought I would be. Less than I was when trying to conceive. It's almost like I used up all my major anxiety in that sphere. The biggest change is how all that attachment hoo-ha crept into my thinking. It is mothereffing HARD to let him cry. It is awesome to cuddle him in our bed. It is lovely to make him happy in all ways. Spoiling is much more imminent than I would have believed. I thought I would be such a hardass.

 

4) You've already raised one hell of a kid-- one of the loveliest teens I've ever met. Is there anything you can think of you'd do differently the second time around?
Hell, yes. We have succeeded, firstly, in having a child with no outside party's involvement in the rearing - huzzah! So that's a big one. No Flyover State Interference. (HA! See how I did it again!)
The other major thing - I am determined to raise this one to not even know of the existence of Ar,mani, Guc.ci, Pra.da, etc. Do you know what our lovely teen wants for Xmas? A fricking Guc.ci wallet. The next one is not going there, dammit.
Any ideas on how to avoid this (besides not letting Wes talk to him, of course) are welcome.

5) And last, a trite one. You're on death row. The governor has just rejected your 11th hour pardon. What are you going to request for your final meal?

Chocolate mousse cake. A whole one.

the posts that would have been

Alas, I am already hitting my 40 minute mark for Preparing To Leave, so I can't post yet. Hopefully later today, but who knows? After a visit to friends overcoming a cold, a trip to the pediatrician where we were absolutely surrounded by sick children, and being passed around at my office work party, Beck is also snotty-nosed and a little bit miserable. So that's been fun. My day is a blur of half-assed naps and trying to stick the saline bottle up his nose.

The reason for the lack of posting seems somewhat tied in with the season - I wrap presents when he will let me and on Tuesday I spent an hour trying to mail a package to my parents. There has also been the pediatrician visit, drinks with my moms' group and the office work party. It's the kind of week where there are no empty spaces on the calendar.

In front of me on the desk, I have my to-do list, miles and miles long. I no longer write things like 'To Do Thursday' because then I find it depressing when the next Thursday rolls around and I haven't yet Done. Instead it is just a general To Do list. At the bottom is a list of blog posts I would like to write: Google Reader, Sarah's Questions, I Hate Winter, and Best Baby (Party).

The second of those would be answers to the questions my friend Sarah at Istanbul's Stranger sent to me to answer on the blog. I would be happy to take other questions - I know some of you might have some. Just so you know, I don't publicly answer questions about sex or sex changes when they get too specific or rude. Those are about the only things I won't go into here. Get me alone with a beer, though... I'm all yours.

So. Questions.
And a thank you for all those fabulously nice comments in the last post.

the unhappy place

Sometimes I get really wonderful, delightful, amazing comments about how my writing is good and I should have a book (oh, how I agree...). Sometimes people even comment specifically about how my point of view is important and unsung and how I am giving voice to other women who went insane/experienced being a lesbian stepmom/married a trans person/suffered subfertility shit/hated pregnancy/didn't really like their babies so much at first. I love these comments.

And then I start worrying that maybe I am not so interesting now that I love my baby and am staying home. Where is the angst? Where is the drama? The drama of whether or not he naps wears thin eventually. I know this. But it is my drama.

Anyway, I have found that drama is always here, regret always springs forth in the lowest of moments, and I still have plenty to write about between my tantrums and fury and rage and all that. So here's this week's tantrum (it really is one a week, isn't it?).

Bri and Wes Make a BAD DECISION

We were going to take the Beck to A.B.C. which is a trendy downtown home store with, supposedly, a most lovely Santa setup. It is also free and you get to take pictures with your own camera. The plan was to go see Santa, Wes would then go to his swordfighting class in Soho and I would decide whether to go home with Beck or meet up with him again, depending on the mood.

But that's not how it went. Instead, we realized that we are no longer really willing to mess with the morning nap. We were not going to wake him up to leave. Plus we were still lounging with the paper in our pajamas when we hit the designated leaving time. And I have recently determined that the proper amount of time needed to prepare to Leave The House is 40 minutes. Yes. 40. Suck-a-rama.

So we got ready and started out to the subway with Beck in his snowsuit strapped to me. Wes said he might like facing out, our new trick from the Met. But it was really cold and windy and he was making his cold, gasping noise so I started to freak a little. Also, I wore the wrong coat and the wrong shoes. So I was cold and my feet hurt. Not a good start. Panicky, cold and in pain.

We stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to put Beck in the Moby the other way and then he was fine. But I was still cold and realizing something. We were now leaving so late that Wes would have to pretty much go straight to his swordfighting class. and what, exactly, would I be doing? Cold and in pain, remember. Exhausted, too. I should mention that this was the second day in a row of subwaying into Manhattan (yet another Bad Decision) because on Friday we went to the Ba.by G.ap Casting Call with several other moms from my August moms group. Which involved shlepping to the Upper East Side and waiting in line for a long time. And then they just shot a couple of pictures of him with a little name tag and that was it. I have to report, sadly, that they did not seem all that interested in the Beck. They liked one of the other babies I was with much more, the director telling the photographer to be sure she got him because she liked him. Nothing like that was said about the Beck, even though he smiled and was cute as hell in his Ba.by G.ap sweater suit. I think maybe he should have worn the jeans. Or maybe it's the white thing. All the other babies we were with were biracial. He may have looked pale and dull or something. No matter. My point is the shlepping. The repeated shlepping of the baby.

So I was tired and not sure that shlepping the baby around the giant Union Square bookstore waiting for Wes sounded so nice. And Christmas shopping around the area seemed crazy and impossible. I was ready to tantrum. Wes told me we should go home. I resisted. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's making a plan  and not following through, dammit.

Wrong. Decision. I should have gone home. I should have gone home and then met him after swordfighting in time for Santa. Instead, we went. We had a good moment or two in the Union Square Xmas stalls but then it was time to nurse and we headed for the Big Bookstore cafe. Where Wes bought me a tea (sweetened, which I hate) and a brownie (which I didn't want) and left me at a table. Where I was very close to crying.

You may feel like sympathizing with me here (or not - many of you probably consider me a tantruming, whiny, ungrateful bitch). But don't. You see, I MADE him go. He offered many times not to go to his class. I MADE HIM. Because last weekend's tantrum resulted in him not going to his class - I went to the movies instead. So this week, I was determined not to ruin his day, since we made a deal that we'd each get our own time once per weekend and I wanted mine the next day. I just made him feel mighty guilty and sat there weepily alone.

A Russian mother and daughter came and took over my table (this Big Bookstore cafe is so crowded that if you have a spare seat, your table is to be shared - an unspoken rule) and I felt even more sorry for myself. The baby was asleep on me and my limbs were falling asleep trying to support him. Then he woke up and I felt even more sorry for myself. But I took off his snowsuit, fitted him into the Moby and hefted the diaper bag over my shoulder. I was going to turn this day around, I told myself. I was going to go read something and feel better. I was going to end up being proud of myself for my Extreme Mothering Skills.

But I wasn't proud or better. Sure, it was cute that we wandered the children's section with him facing out and kicking and giggling with glee at the covers of books. But that was ALL we did. For more than an hour, I wandered and he giggled. Until he was bored and then he fussed until I found the next book cover that excited him. My shoulders were killing me. I was grumpy and bored. When Wes came back, I was in a heap in a corner nursing him and wishing I had never had a baby.

Yes, I go there in these moments. I wish that my life was as it was. I wish I was moping in the loft condo about never having a baby - I used to watch TV and sew baby quilts for my Gazillion baby-Having friends and chat with Wes while he worked on the computer and it was warm and lovely and sad. I wish we weren't renovating and that I didn't have to interrupt this post seventeen GAZILLION times to get up and see if his fussing is something real or just something he seems to do mid-sleep (the child will. not. nap. today - I have been trying for 2.5 hours and he is currently in some sort of half sleep/half fuss state. we leave for the pediatrician and SHOTS in 30 minutes - yay). I want my old life back. I want to be able to Christmas shop like a normal person and I want not to have to carry this giant baby around on my person because the brat hates his gazillion dollar Dutch stroller.

But I come back around eventually.

We had some lunch/dinner/linner and went to see Santa. There was no line, since it was now moments before Santa signed off. Beck sat in his lap and looked chill. He wouldn't do his famous smiles or giggles. He just hung out on the cozy soft Santa outfit.

Beck on his four month birthday

More later - I am already late in Preparing To Leave.

eggs for our cali

The time is here...

The IVP's IVF.

Here's sending all the love and light and the most fertile, eggiest, thoughts I have your way, my dear.

This has just GOT to work.

the best childrearing advice i ever received

is from gertielover, a regular commenter and old friend whose blog should totally not have been killed off, especially given the fact that she has two adorable children who could be further mined for blog fodder.

She told me that with any given thing a baby does... wait a week.
For example:
Don't like the new, hideous sleep schedule the baby has initiated? Wait a week before you freak out. It will change.
Love the new, perfect, awesome sleep schedule the baby has initiated? Wait a week before you celebrate. It will change.

For a week, Beck was going to sleep at 11 and waking up just once at night. Now.... it's shot to hell and I have no idea what he is doing. I am clinging to his 10am nap as the only thing that makes sense about whatever it is he is doing now. But I am trying not to panic. In a week, it will change again.

In other news in a similar, wait-a-week type of vein, I am now desperately sad that I agreed to stay home for the rest of the school year. After making the decision because it seemed that our childcare options were limited, we were suddenly told that our old way (m-i-l coming next month) would have worked out after all. It's too late now - I already told my job. But now I am sad. The wait a week bit comes in when I think about how, if I were going back to work, it would be in less than a month. When I get to January 7th and am not having to leave Beck, I know I will feel happy again. It really feels like one of those no-win situations - I am not 100% thrilled to be staying at home and yet I would be totally sad to leave him.

Number one biggest surprise about being home with a baby: how fricking hungry I get because there is so little time. Which seems bizarre, because time stretches out in front of me exhaustingly. And yet, it is so fricking hard to prepare food. I am currently waiting for the 10am nap to end so we can go out into the world and find some breakfast, since sometimes when I have the time to prepare food (now), there is nothing in the house to prepare.