His Momma

Arlo turned 1 last month, and like any good mother I bought myself a gift to commemorate the occasion. A bug for my bug if you will. His birthstone dances around when I wear it and I couldn't be happier with the purchase. I highly recommend!

Baby

I cried at work today. Technically it wasn't the first time and it most certainly won't be the last, I'm well aware of what a baby I can be. But this episode was bad enough that neighboring coworkers came over to see what the hell was wrong with me and offer up their sympathetic eyes. Which only make me cry more by the way, once I see that someone feels sorry for me, there's no holding back the self-pity.

The morning started off terribly. That teething babe nearly ripped my heart out when he clutched on to me so tight I could barely make my way out of the door for work. I should have stayed home with him. It would have made him feel better and I would not have experienced the trauma of crying in my office. TRAUMA over something that doesn't mean anything, less than nothing, stupid.

If I had stayed home with my baby boy, that heated phone call would have likely taken place over a sweet cuddle session on the couch and HGTV softly playing in the background. My happy place helps keep my emotions in check. If I would have stayed, I would have at least felt like I wasn't failing in one aspect of my life. My role of doting mother would not have been sacrificed for the day. If I would have stayed home I wouldn't have had to experience a room full of construction workers looking at me and my red puffy eyes like they didn't know what to say. My ears would have just gotten the random heckling that penetrates them almost daily, and consequently tickles my soul…When the hell are you going to show up to our meetings? If I remove a tree, do I have to hug it first? I hope those are steel-toe ballet flats missy!

Instead, I cried at work. Like a big blubbery idiot who couldn't take the heat. Which is bull shit really. I CAN TOTALLY take the heat, dish it – take it what have you, BRING IT MF ON! I was just a little off this morning I guess. I feel like a disappointment, like I'm not representing my fellow females in the corporate world. My emotions got the better of me and I lost my shit. LOST IT.

So that's it - enough about that. On to a week of "I'M FINE, quit asking!" and there will be no more crying from this whiney baby about today. I will leave the crying to Arlo and his two front teeth.

View of the Top

The Aviary finally opened the doors to the newly renovated pavilion. Some much needed upgrades have occured but the integrity of the original structure remains. This beautiful view is now available from the inside!

About a Boy

It was inevitable. I had a baby so: A. I don't update my blog anymore & B. I just write about motherhood. How predictable of me. But, I do believe you're here reading this out of your own free will, so I don't really feel that bad about it anyway.

Moving on…

This baby. Oh where do I begin talking about this baby? Well I'm sure if I really began where this baby began, it would be a much more interesting blog entry, but hey…It's not that kind of blog people. Okay, it is. But I'm not really in the mood to talk about that, I'm a mother now remember?

Moving on again…

I'll begin with how incredibly adorable that baby is. He actually did turn out looking like little bit of me and a little bit of Scott. My money was on another Carol look-a-like but he actually bears more of a resemblance to Grandpa Jim. I just hope that doesn't mean he'll spend his adulthood checking the Weather Channel every 2 minutes. But the most stunning feature that baby possesses are his eyes. He has the darkest peepers I have ever seen. They're beautiful, I just can't figure out whom he inherited them from. And no, "Maybe from his dad?" jokes ARE NOT FUNNY.

Then there's his personality. He oozes it. In the matter of thirty seconds this kid can give you every expression he's ever seen someone make. It's like watching a flip book. He's so animated in fact, that even I am impressed with his ability to properly associate the perfect facial expression for the occasion at hand. Like when I tell him 'no', he will shoot me a look that makes me think I should protect all my vital organs. It's really quite terrifying remarkable. I'm still wondering whom he got that look from though. It remains a mystery.

And now he's almost a year old. Sometimes I wonder how we made it this far, but mostly I can't believe how much I like this kid. You've probably heard it, how you'll never experience a love so deep as the love for your children. And don't worry; I made myself vomit a little with that sentence too. That's not exactly what I'm saying here either. It's just that when I think about that baby or when I'm holding him and he nuzzles that sweet little head with the mounds of dark mane next to my chin, I can't help but be incredibly happy.

You know how some memories just make you laugh every time you think about them? Like how my friend used to fart and then try to blow it away as a way of being polite…that shit cracks me up EVERY. TIME. Similarly, every single time I think about that baby I feel a giant flutter in my cold, black heart.

Now, I know what you're thinking…"Did she really just compare her feelings for that baby with a fart joke?" And yes, I did in fact compare my feelings to a fart joke but in my defense, Arlo thinks farts are hilarious too.

He hates it when I refer to him as my ‘Old Man’

"Is this your grandpa?" I've heard it my entire life. Every time someone would meet my dad, their assumptions that he was my grandfather were imminent. And every time I have to explain to them, "No. This is my father. I was just a REALLY big mistake."

I hope that didn't come off wrong. I mean, I'm not bitter about being told I was an accident. These things happen right? The stack of contributing factors to my neuroses does not in any way include this fact. Also, my parents have explained to me several times how much they like me now. I find the reassurance to be comforting enough…plus, without me who would the older siblings have to resent? MY LIFE HAS PURPOSE!

Some of those grandfatherly assumptions are probably based on the wildly thick, white hair that my dad had amassed by the time I started grade school. Truth be told, I can't really even remember a time when my dad still had the dark brown pigment in his locks.

But I digress, weird...I know.

Now, I know what you're thinking: 'How big of a mistake were you?' Well, that and 'When is she going to stop blathering on?' And…here it is. My dad turned a whopping 80 years old today. 80. As in, born in 1920. Think of it like this: 1920 was well before the invention of the glorious television and during the dark age of prohibition. Rough ya'll, I can't even imagine. Not that any of this mattered to him, he being a damn foreigner and all. I just find it quite remarkable that when my dad says they grew up without a television, he's TOTALLY telling the truth.

Funny story. A few weeks ago, none of us could get a hold of Dad. Several of us had called and left messages…but received no returned calls. My Dad also tries to organize the troop for a Sunday morning family breakfast every once in a while, but it had been months since we last got together. Naturally, this led me to believe that he was dead or injured, lying in a ditch and out of range for cell phone service. I then spent an entire dark, snowy, Saturday evening looking for my father. I first snuck into his gated building and then got convinced someone to let me into his locked building. Once inside the hallway I spent 30 minutes calling his cell phone and listening outside his door to see if I could hear the ring.

I know this sounds more sad and depressing than funny…but bear with me.

Five phone call attempts later, I still had nothing. I was going insane, which is a really big deal because I'm already INSANE. I don't know why in the hell I didn't think of this sooner because the answer was clear, he would be at work. What? Doesn't your 80-year old father work 18 hour shifts, 7 days a week? I guess my dad is just super predictable then. So, I left the snowy housing complex to make my way toward the equally snowy industrial area. Sure enough, there was Dad's car parked right outside…so I waited.

A half-hour later he came hobbling out of the building. He wasn't hurt or anything, that's just the way he walks…did I mention HE'S OLD? I ran up to him practically still in tears and started babbling on about how I had been looking for him all night, in the snow, worried sick and why the hell aren't you answering your phone and seriously Dad, you're going to kill me. And do you know what he said to me?

"Hi Becca! Do you want to go to breakfast tomorrow?"

It turns out that he went out and bought himself a new BlackBerry. A pretty new phone that he didn't know how to answer nor dial. Why would a guy with no email address do such a thing? I believe it's called 'expert salesmanship'.

So I guess it's a REALLY good thing that I was born after all. If I wasn't here, who would take the time to make fun of my dad on his birthday?

Happy Birthday Dad.

Best Xmas card EVER

It almost pays for itself

I was allowed to get cable last month. And can I just tell you? I hadn't realized how much I missed it. For the last few years Scott has taught me the wonders of life without cable. In the beginning it was hard. I missed the professional wrestling the most. Do you have any idea how much time you can spend watching the series of WWF programs? Every. Single. Night. Plus a little extra on Saturday and Sunday mornings, and don't even get me started on the pay-per-view events. I never left…err, had to leave the couch. But it was good for me to go outdoors at least once a day and I learned my life didn't need to revolve around the Undertaker and the Tombstone and the Rock and what the Rock was cooking and…and…God I miss that show.

But the times, they are a changing and this summer our fine nation upgraded broadcasts to digital. And can I just tell you? It SERIOUSLY pissed me off…because well, have you ever tried to watch digital television with only an antenna? It's a lot like being on a phone call with your best friend and he's just about to tell you who was unrecognizably fat at the high school reunion (I miss my Chau), when all of a sudden he drives into a tunnel and the reception starts cutting out to the point where he sounds like a robot whose been programmed to speak in 'every other word' mode. The result is maddening. Even I can't enjoy watching television that way.

After weeks of complaining, Scott finally decided to break down and call the devil Comcast. One of Comcast's minions showed up the next Saturday and BAM! I'm falling in love all over again. How did I live without being able to watch EVERYTHING on HGTV? I shouldn't say everything on HGTV. I can't stand Divine Design. Maybe it's because the theme song involves scatting…or because I feel like smothering Candice Olson every time she speaks. But other than that, I can watch endless amounts of that channel. Did you know most people will sell their souls for granite countertops, stainless steel appliances and double sinks in the master suite? SEE I'M LEARNING STUFF TOO!

I also love the Clean House marathons. Even Scott will sit down for a little Niecy action. Mayhem and foolishness have never been so entertaining. And the best part? Scott is a changed man. No, he won't watch hours of television with me but he has finally realized that our basement is a strong candidate for a visit from the Niecy and the gang. His new motivation prompted him to clean out a drawer or two. He even gave away 4 hats! This is HUGE! HUGE!!!

I can't wait to make him start watching episodes of Hoarders with me. That show might make it possible for me to find out if we have windows in the basement!

My Loves

Photo courtesy of Jim Peters

Mad Woman

Yep. It's been awhile. Again. Nothing since July, it's been so long that most everybody has probably stopped checking this site for updates, not that I blame you. I have an excuse though; it's called 'Having a Nervous Breakdown'. You thought I was going to say 'Having a Baby' didn't you? See…I'm still full of surprises, totally worth reviving your twice a day refresh of this blog! Don't you think? Please?

Where was I? Oh yes, the nervous breakdown. It may have had a little to do with the birth of this guy:

Adorable.

You may think "How the hell is this woman blaming her insanity on an innocent little baby?" But that's where you're wrong see. This little baby is the best baby I've ever had the pleasure to know. I can't even begin to explain how in love I am with this guy. Also, it's not really the baby, as it's just the circus that surrounds babies in general. Babies can be summed up in one word: TERRIFYING. There are also a few choice words that sum up the way I felt when I realized how hard it is to take care of newborn…but Arlo's grandparents read this blog and I'm not about to dishearten them with the fact that their grandson's mom has a really foul mouth. Again. Anyhow, I'm now fully responsible for the care and handling of this little baby boy. Up until now the only thing I was responsible for was making a fool of myself, a job that I easily mastered.

I can't explain the amount of anxiety I felt in the weeks following Arlo's birth but it was similar to being on a super fun roller coaster without a seatbelt and about a fraction of an inch from plummeting to my death. Also, this roller coaster?...it had a feature where if I did fall, I would bring the rest of the passengers with me to their sudden and unfortunate deaths too. And before their untimely deaths occurred I had to listen to each and every one of them tell me what a bad mother I was.

And to answer your question: Yes. I know I'm insane.

My brain is in sort of in this constant mode of determining what is going to be the best thing to do for my baby. Not me, not Scott, not our marriage…MY BABY. The last few months I convinced myself that everything had to be done a certain way because IT WAS BEST FOR MY BABY. Oh yeah, and the breastfeeding I was certain I would not feel guilty about? I spent a lot of my time in contorted positions trying to feed the baby with my new found guilt. Because, who needs convictions right? I also decided I didn't need full use of my arms…and so what if my spine snaps in half? IT'S FOR MY BABY.

Then there's the sleeping, I haven't been doing much of it. When Arlo was born I would spend my evenings making frequent inspections of his bassinet to make sure he was a: ALIVE and b: Not hungry. I spent the time in-between those bassinet inspections to TOTALLY FREAK OUT. During every one of these sleepless nights, the only epiphany I experienced: "I'M A HORRIBLE MOTHER", just added more steam to my anxiety ridden train ride/wreck. My days were also spent half awake and exhausted. But I did manage to find boundless amounts of energy to tell Scott that he was DOING IT WRONG.

Scott likes to say that I got my scars on the outside and his are on the inside.

He's WRONG again; I have plenty of scars on the inside too (Note: HORRIBLE MOTHER). The first month was more difficult on us than the 3 months that we I spent stripping 5 layers of wallpaper in EVERY room of our house.* And while I don't think we'll ever forget the multiple forms of distress we both experienced the first couple of months of Arlo's life, I think things can only get better for us…at least I hope so. Plus, I'm feeling so much better now despite the fact that I sometimes still need to tell Scott that he's DOING IT WRONG.

And for all 86 of my friends that are currently pregnant, don't worry…the beast that was awakened in my soul had been lightly hibernating for some time. Your experience will be totally different. Totally. But if it's not, just remember that I have a bottle of gin and a dry shoulder waiting for you, because we're all in this together. Right? Can one of you please make me a cocktail now?

So there you have it, an excuse that probably took longer than it needed too. But I'm trying to write again, albeit without the full use of my arms and a severed spine. Which doesn't have as much to do with the quality of my writing as it does the frequency…meaning my writing will still be terrible.

Happy Blogging!

*I reserve the right to tell this story in its entirety at a later date.

I get to spend the weekend thinking about a more important set of girls