Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Domestic goddess, I ain't

You were probably thinking that I have been way too busy playing with my new chickens to post, but you were totally wrong. I do have at least a shred of common sense, but mostly a new-found phobia of commitment to the life and upkeep of other living beings. I am taking baby steps, seeing if I can actually get some herbs planted and cared for before I get myself into domesticated fowl. Plus, I have to go see Paul McCartney in Vegas in two weeks, so I should probably not get chickens before that.

In other news, it's Marlo's first birthday on Friday, so I have been busy procrastinating about getting anything done for her party. We're having a taco bar and I need to draw up a tablescape, but I hate that word so much that all I do is sit around thinking about how much I hate Sandra Lee and her booze-fueled attempts to convince Americans to go to Tuesday Morning and buy a closet full of crap for decorating the kitchen each season.

Which reminds me of how much I love Tina Fey, for the cameo by Ina Garten in the 30 Rock finale in which she mentioned that Jeffrey was away. Oh Tina, thank God I can count on you to make that joke. And bonus points for Ina Garten turning out to maybe be a good sport. She may move up a spot on my "most tolerable food network hosts" list. The field isn't too competitive.

Thursday, May 19, 2011


My neighbor has chickens.

If you need me, I will be at the feed store buying myself some CHICKENS.

They're illegal in my neighborhood, but you know - strength in numbers.

And now we have a real good excuse to shoot the racoons we caught fornicating in the cul-de-sac. We have to protect our neighborhood livestock.

I am thisclose to getting my goat lawnmower - I can feel it!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Next up, Vegas

Well, we're back now from our first true unsupported family trip, all intact.

I'm happy to report that it is possible to take a four day trip with an 11 month old, even if it involves a flight, a three hour drive, and a wedding at a winery. We kept Marlo up past her bedtime for three nights in a row, didn't bathe her once, and fed her almost exclusively from Happy Baby pouches, and she seems no worse for wear. In fact, she came home with an expanded vocabulary and capable of taking steps unassisted. I think the change of scenery was fun for her. Good for her, even.

It was definitely good for Mama. It felt almost like some sort of final exam before her first birthday. We knew she would do all right on the two hour flight, but what about the three hour drive? No sweat. What about the wedding? How long would she last? Why, she let daddy stay until almost 9 before he had to get out of there with her. Even the thing I was most anxious about, taking her wine tasting, turned out to be no biggie. I was really worried that I would be That Lush Who Brought The Baby, but even if somebody was thinking that, I didn't notice. I was having too much fun and getting too many compliments on my beautiful and well behaved child.

All in all, a great success. So successful, actually, that we spent the drive back to the airport Monday talking about when to have the next baby. It was totally depressing.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

On Weaning

Dear Marlo,

Let me start by saying I love you more than you can possibly imagine. Your happiness is of the utmost importance to me.

Unfortunately, one of the things that brings you much joy is, frankly, not any fun at all for me anymore. I don't think it ever fell under the category of "fun," actually, but it used to at least be slightly more fulfilling to me personally and important to our bond.

I'm talking about the breast feeding. I'm ready to be done. But alas, you don't even seem close. I feel so guilty trying to trick you out of it. But you will be a year old in two weeks. A year (a whole year!) I've been doing this for you. All for you. And I'm ready for our relationship to change. I'm longing for a day where you will snuggle up to me for a cuddle, and not suddenly be reminded of the fact that there is food underneath my shirt, tearing at me like a wolverine. I'm ready for our relationship to be more about fun and cuddles than all-you-can-eat buffet.

It feels a little selfish, because it is at least a little bit about wanting my body back. I have a layer of fat around my middle that is not going to go away so long as I have another little being dependent on me for sustenance (if at all). I would also like to be able to wear a real bra again. I try and tell myself that it's important for you to grow and learn to be satiated with food, but then that just seems like fooling myself. I don't want you to be rushed. But I kinda want to rush you. I don't want to be nursing you when you are two. I don't care what the WHO says.

And it's not all selfishness - part of the reason I want you weaned is so that we can eventually give you a little brother or sister. I want my body to myself for six months before we do this all over again. Trust me, I'm not going to have another baby because I want to go through this whole First Year thing again so badly. I am perfectly content to have had perfect little you. I would be happy having you and you only - but I want you to have at least one sibling. You need a sister. You need someone you can call and talk to about how crazy I am.

I love you. Let's work on this together. It might be kind of rough in spots, but I think we'll both come out the other end just fine.


Monday, May 9, 2011

Reflections on a year

It being Mother's Day and all, I did some looking back and reflecting and whatnot. I was looking at the last year in pictures, and here are a few of the observations I made.

In my parents' kitchen,  May 2010

Observation number one: Holy shit, I was huge! This is me about two weeks before Marlo was born. Keep in mind that I was wearing a 34F bra at this point, which should give you some perspective as to how large that bump was. Plus, my face was totally fat. At the time I had no idea. I thought I was looking pretty good. I did not realize that I could be mistaken for the broad side of a barn. That's a very kind mental trompe l'oeil - thanks, Mother Nature!

Her first night home, I believe
Observation number two: Marlo was so tiny! How was she ever this small? I remember thinking she was huge, at the time. Funny that I thought I wasn't that big and that she was bigger. Looking at this tiny baby in pictures makes me want a real life tiny baby.

Observation number three: I had a picture of Marlo sleeping up against my breasts, but at the last second I decided that putting it on the internet was asking for trouble. Had I been willing to subject myself to pervs, you would have seen that my baby's head was absolutely DWARFED by my rack. It looked like twin Death Stars and she was the Millenium Falcon. Hey Moms, remember that day when your milk came in and your boobs ached and spouted milk everywhere and were upgraded from "cantaloupe" to "watermelon?" Good times.

Face is still fat
Observation number four: We had a wedding to go to when Marlo was eight weeks old. It was the first night we left Marlo home with Gangee and Pop Pop. People kept saying they couldn't believe I had given birth only eight weeks ago. I think they were just being polite. Again with those hooters! I am glad they are getting back to the realm of reasonableness.

We have about the same amount of hair

Observation number five: I am glad that my hair has started to grow back in. I think this picture, from Marlo's four month birthday, is at about the worst point of hair loss.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Weighing in on world affairs

I'm growing weary of all you dirty hippies complaining about the death of Osama bin Laden. You know what? That guy would have cut your head right off your smelly hippie neck if he had even the slightest chance. You would have been all "hey, Osama, can we talk? I think we can sett-" and then you would have been running around like the proverbial chicken. He hated you. He wanted you dead. He didn't care if you were nice (for an American), or if you voted for Nader in the 2000 election. He just wanted you flippin' dead, so some nice men risked their lives and killed him before he got the chance. The End.

Of course, I understand that what you are really saying in your heart of hearts is "I wish 9/11 had never happened." Of course. So do I. But I'll give you three guesses who didn't wish that. Hint: three words, rhymes with Bosama bin Bladen.

On a serious note, I think there is a very slight yet hugely important difference between celebrating the death of the man and celebrating the accomplishment that was tracking him down and ultimately killing him. I am not celebrating his death, but I am proud of the accomplishment. He wasn't killed in retribution, but because he posed a serious threat - to your safety and to mine, to your mom and to your baby.  If you fear that we are in danger now as a result of his death, you are delusional. We were in danger no matter what.