Last night, Himself had to work until 8, and I had an engagement downtown with him after that. Since it was Thursday, and Miss Jan sits for free on Thursdays, we opted to leave Baby Girl at Miss Jan's until after our downtown engagement.
Which meant that from the time I got off at 5ish to the time I left to go downtown at 7:40, I didn't have to pick up, cook for, change, clean up after anyone. I now know what my mom felt like on the first day of school before she went back to work.
Of course, I did have to go grocery shopping. It was surreal.
I didn't have to wear a Snugli. There was no apologies as I wandered up and down the refrigerated section for it being too cold for Baby Girl. Himself wasn't there to add extra things to the basket every time I turned my back, throwing off my carefully tuned list and shocking me when the amount was $50 over what I had calculated in my head. Then again, I nearly caught myself talking to myself - as I talk to Baby Girl when I grocery shop, pointing out interesting things, musing about brands, lamenting the lack of Asian produce.
I threw the groceries in the car and drove home. I unloaded them and turned on NPR while I put them away. No one demanded attention, food or that I please consider listening to something else.
And then, I had half an hour to myself. I made a light dinner, finished the NPR program and thought, "my day is so much longer with just me in it."
Later on, when I picked Baby Girl up and brought her home to put her in bed, I sat and held her in the dark stillness, breathed in the smell of her baby skin as she snuggled next to me and sighed.
Half an hour was glorious. But as the day ended, I was happy to have my arms full and warm again.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The Misfits
(Those of you dying to see Baby Girl, click here for a post which required I use pictures to be able to adequately explain my venture into mobile baby territory).
I met Jane when I was a senior in college. She, a year older (and, she would add "wiser," to which I will concede in areas of somehow knowing the title and author of ever book she's ever read, where to find all of the Sonics on I-95 and how to keep Boris, her now-deceased ancient heap o' metal running for years beyond his prime), was a freshman.
I was a PR major - a transfer from another college with a bad case of senioritis, fresh off my year of "living large" in the DC area and not quite willing to settle down in Happy Valley. She was a twentysomething Freshman with several years of business experience under her belt.
We both lived with relatives in The Tree Streets, a few blocks apart. We met at church, seemingly the only two people who weren't raised in Happy Valley nor were living at home. We were, for lack of better terminology, The Misfits.
We went to the 50-cent movies on Tuesday nights and watched every ridiculous teen movie made that year (It was the year that inspired the parody Not Another Teen Movie). We found every semi-decent restaurant in Happy Valley (which, at the time, was a list that had fewer options than fingers to count them on). When she moved into the Cat Lady's basement, I mourned the fate of having one's house smell like feline urine. When she went to visit her family in California, she introduced me to Trader Joe's - and all its goodness - chocolate cookies, tortellini and a sparkling fruit beverage I haven't had in nearly a decade. I dragged her home one weekend to experience the true Great Outdoors in the southern part of the state.
I graduated and fled East. She, needing a major that didn't involve calculus, chose mine. We compared notes. She came to visit my beach-side home (Beach-side as in "apartment near the beach" not "home ON the beach") and was the recipient of my infamous "DC in less than 24 hours" tour, including a wild drive-by of the White House.
Several years later, she called "Know of a place to live? I'm moving to DC." I called Himself who said, "We have a second master suite we can't afford." And we became roommates in an odd set of circumstances.
Together we've explored shared passions for road trips, free tickets to anything that might be remotely labeled "cultured", used book sales, the McLean Community Flea Market, Bilbo Baggins, breakfast at Eastern Market, Sonic Strawberry Limeades, Restaurant Week, Law & Order anything, Project Runway, and finding obscure things to do in DC - like the White House garden tour.
Jane learned that Himself and I would work for food - and we greedily ate up her offers to pay us in Chipotle, Bilbo Baggins and Thai takeout to clean her bathroom, detail her car, help her replace Boris (aforementioned heap o' metal) and more. She and Himself delighted in teasing me about things about which I had no idea (usually involving things I really did not end up wanting to know. She endeared herself to Son for life - aiding and abetting his love for all things McDonalds.
I left her double-stuffed Chocolate oreos alone (except while pregnant) and she remained apathetic about my shrimp obsession, leaving more of our individual loves for both of us.
She loves the One True Grocery at least as much as I do, and frequently now rubs it in that she lives very near it, while I live thousands of miles away.
We talked business strategy and swapped managerial horror stories (we shared not only the same degree from the same university, but a shared dabbling in real estate at one point) and collectively drove Himself up the wall. In turn, Himself loved Jane for mellowing me out, satisfying my need to feel cultured (Himself would rather stick needles in his eyes than attend a symphony) and for keeping me from whining about not having any friends (which I now do with alarming regularity).
Jane makes excellent stuffed tomatoes and salsa bread and can cook a full turkey in no time at all. She can recite (nearly from memory) anything written in The Washington Post on any given day and can navigate Georgetown with her eyes shut. "Mileage" has no meaning to her, happily driving Boris' replacement on a whim to visit Mickey Mouse, the Statue of Liberty (twice), Savannah's lush gardens and historical sites, the beaches of North Carolina and dozens of other places up and down the Eastern seaboard. If you had gas money, Jane had transportation.
Even through all of our adventures - we remained The Misfits. Passionately opinionated, ridiculously perfectionist in all things business - we were short and tall, single and married, broke and more broke, the nearly youngest of 9 and the oldest of 4, a night owl and a morning person, a devoted fan of sci-fi and a fan of biographies/nonfiction narratives. One of those friends who hold at least a few embarrassing stories as aces up her sleeve.
Today, Jane is officially OLD.
Happy Birthday! I miss you.
I met Jane when I was a senior in college. She, a year older (and, she would add "wiser," to which I will concede in areas of somehow knowing the title and author of ever book she's ever read, where to find all of the Sonics on I-95 and how to keep Boris, her now-deceased ancient heap o' metal running for years beyond his prime), was a freshman.
I was a PR major - a transfer from another college with a bad case of senioritis, fresh off my year of "living large" in the DC area and not quite willing to settle down in Happy Valley. She was a twentysomething Freshman with several years of business experience under her belt.
We both lived with relatives in The Tree Streets, a few blocks apart. We met at church, seemingly the only two people who weren't raised in Happy Valley nor were living at home. We were, for lack of better terminology, The Misfits.
We went to the 50-cent movies on Tuesday nights and watched every ridiculous teen movie made that year (It was the year that inspired the parody Not Another Teen Movie). We found every semi-decent restaurant in Happy Valley (which, at the time, was a list that had fewer options than fingers to count them on). When she moved into the Cat Lady's basement, I mourned the fate of having one's house smell like feline urine. When she went to visit her family in California, she introduced me to Trader Joe's - and all its goodness - chocolate cookies, tortellini and a sparkling fruit beverage I haven't had in nearly a decade. I dragged her home one weekend to experience the true Great Outdoors in the southern part of the state.
I graduated and fled East. She, needing a major that didn't involve calculus, chose mine. We compared notes. She came to visit my beach-side home (Beach-side as in "apartment near the beach" not "home ON the beach") and was the recipient of my infamous "DC in less than 24 hours" tour, including a wild drive-by of the White House.
Several years later, she called "Know of a place to live? I'm moving to DC." I called Himself who said, "We have a second master suite we can't afford." And we became roommates in an odd set of circumstances.
Together we've explored shared passions for road trips, free tickets to anything that might be remotely labeled "cultured", used book sales, the McLean Community Flea Market, Bilbo Baggins, breakfast at Eastern Market, Sonic Strawberry Limeades, Restaurant Week, Law & Order anything, Project Runway, and finding obscure things to do in DC - like the White House garden tour.
Jane learned that Himself and I would work for food - and we greedily ate up her offers to pay us in Chipotle, Bilbo Baggins and Thai takeout to clean her bathroom, detail her car, help her replace Boris (aforementioned heap o' metal) and more. She and Himself delighted in teasing me about things about which I had no idea (usually involving things I really did not end up wanting to know. She endeared herself to Son for life - aiding and abetting his love for all things McDonalds.
I left her double-stuffed Chocolate oreos alone (except while pregnant) and she remained apathetic about my shrimp obsession, leaving more of our individual loves for both of us.
She loves the One True Grocery at least as much as I do, and frequently now rubs it in that she lives very near it, while I live thousands of miles away.
We talked business strategy and swapped managerial horror stories (we shared not only the same degree from the same university, but a shared dabbling in real estate at one point) and collectively drove Himself up the wall. In turn, Himself loved Jane for mellowing me out, satisfying my need to feel cultured (Himself would rather stick needles in his eyes than attend a symphony) and for keeping me from whining about not having any friends (which I now do with alarming regularity).
Jane makes excellent stuffed tomatoes and salsa bread and can cook a full turkey in no time at all. She can recite (nearly from memory) anything written in The Washington Post on any given day and can navigate Georgetown with her eyes shut. "Mileage" has no meaning to her, happily driving Boris' replacement on a whim to visit Mickey Mouse, the Statue of Liberty (twice), Savannah's lush gardens and historical sites, the beaches of North Carolina and dozens of other places up and down the Eastern seaboard. If you had gas money, Jane had transportation.
Even through all of our adventures - we remained The Misfits. Passionately opinionated, ridiculously perfectionist in all things business - we were short and tall, single and married, broke and more broke, the nearly youngest of 9 and the oldest of 4, a night owl and a morning person, a devoted fan of sci-fi and a fan of biographies/nonfiction narratives. One of those friends who hold at least a few embarrassing stories as aces up her sleeve.
Today, Jane is officially OLD.
Happy Birthday! I miss you.
Why They Put Warning Labels on Baby Items
WARNING! Do not leave child unattended at any time
This is what happens when I turned to get a diaper. 0.2 seconds. I will note that the mobile no longer has animals on it. Now she has taken to dropping things off the changing table, then leaning over the edge to look for them.
In the Hobbit Hole, I can touch the bouncy seat and get something out of the dishwasher at the same time. I reached to get a spoon from the dishwasher and turned back to find Baby Girl in a fully horizontal position. I grabbed her ankle and yelled for Himself to come take a picture - quick!
**No babies were harmed in the photos above. Professional babies with stunt doubles were not used. Please do not try this at home.
This is what happens when I turned to get a diaper. 0.2 seconds. I will note that the mobile no longer has animals on it. Now she has taken to dropping things off the changing table, then leaning over the edge to look for them.
In the Hobbit Hole, I can touch the bouncy seat and get something out of the dishwasher at the same time. I reached to get a spoon from the dishwasher and turned back to find Baby Girl in a fully horizontal position. I grabbed her ankle and yelled for Himself to come take a picture - quick!
**No babies were harmed in the photos above. Professional babies with stunt doubles were not used. Please do not try this at home.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
You Know You're Having a Bad Week When ...
10. Baby Girl wakes up with her face covered in dried snot. You diligently wash it with a warm cloth. You arrive at the sitter's with a Baby Girl whose face is again covered in dried snot. The drive is only 7 miles long.
9. You walk out of the house, only to discover snow covering everything, and still falling, in APRIL.
8. You get to work and discover that Baby Girl wasn't snuggling before work, she was wiping her nose on you, leaving evidence mid-chest.
7. You get to work the following day and discover that somehow there is peanut butter smeared down the sleeve of your blazer.
6. There seem to be a few ants of the stubborn "refuse-to-be-squished" colony inhabiting the area under your bathtub who LIKE Cayenne pepper, bravely crossing the line of red pepper scrimmage in defiance of all of your "how to get rid of ants without using chemicals" research that swears ants. will. not. cross. cayenne. pepper. ever.
5. Not one, but two giant containers of yogurt come barreling out of the refrigerator to attack you just as you are grabbing your lunch on your way out the door. Bonus points if they land upside down on your feet.
4. Himself calls to ask how much is in his account so he can eat lunch out since he forgot his lunch, thereby missing the attack of the killer yogurts. Bonus points if you think "if you have to ask, the answer can't be good."
3. Baby Girl's doctor tells you to feed her more solids. Upon arriving home, however, Baby Girl pinches her lips together after the first bite and refuses to open them, even when you throw up your hands, strip her naked and offer to let her feed herself. She instead quite happily plays with the spoon - unless it has food on it, at which point she turns it around and sucks on the other end.
2. It is 5 days past pay day and your paycheck still hasn't arrived.
1. Your fortune cookie has no fortune.*
*At that point you may as well throw up your hands and hibernate the rest of the week away. After all, it did snow. In April. Hibernation season isn't over yet.
9. You walk out of the house, only to discover snow covering everything, and still falling, in APRIL.
8. You get to work and discover that Baby Girl wasn't snuggling before work, she was wiping her nose on you, leaving evidence mid-chest.
7. You get to work the following day and discover that somehow there is peanut butter smeared down the sleeve of your blazer.
6. There seem to be a few ants of the stubborn "refuse-to-be-squished" colony inhabiting the area under your bathtub who LIKE Cayenne pepper, bravely crossing the line of red pepper scrimmage in defiance of all of your "how to get rid of ants without using chemicals" research that swears ants. will. not. cross. cayenne. pepper. ever.
5. Not one, but two giant containers of yogurt come barreling out of the refrigerator to attack you just as you are grabbing your lunch on your way out the door. Bonus points if they land upside down on your feet.
4. Himself calls to ask how much is in his account so he can eat lunch out since he forgot his lunch, thereby missing the attack of the killer yogurts. Bonus points if you think "if you have to ask, the answer can't be good."
3. Baby Girl's doctor tells you to feed her more solids. Upon arriving home, however, Baby Girl pinches her lips together after the first bite and refuses to open them, even when you throw up your hands, strip her naked and offer to let her feed herself. She instead quite happily plays with the spoon - unless it has food on it, at which point she turns it around and sucks on the other end.
2. It is 5 days past pay day and your paycheck still hasn't arrived.
1. Your fortune cookie has no fortune.*
*At that point you may as well throw up your hands and hibernate the rest of the week away. After all, it did snow. In April. Hibernation season isn't over yet.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
They Don't Teach You This in Parenting Books
Baby Girl will be 7 months in one week, and she is eating us out of house and home.
I firmly believe this is because her little body is ready for real food. However, that is easier said than done. A month ago, her eczema suddenly got worse - her chest, body creases and face are all red, rough and irritated looking. I read. Because it corresponded with introducing her first solid food (along with an alarming case of hives), we pulled her off solids. The hives went away. The eczema stayed. I read some more. We switched formula brands. Very little difference, except I like the new one better (of course - it's twice as much - which is the second reason I wince at Baby Girl eating enough to rival a growing teenage boy).
Back on solids. And ... Baby Girl is allergic to bananas, resulting in hives and a red bottom that made her scream when she had to get rid of the solid food waste. It is terribly unfortunate since she loved bananas - greedily slurping down every morsel I would give her.
We waited. I read some more. Last night, we introduced sweet potatoes (which Himself and I took part of, seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg and had for dinner - the added benefits of making one's own baby food!). They were met with a lot of interesting facial contortions and a lot of lip smacking.
Tonight, we brought out the sweet potatoes again. This time, after one bite, Baby Girl stubbornly refused to open her mouth. At all. No amount of teasing, coaxing, playing stupid little games would make her change her mind. She would even smile with her lips clamped shut. I floundered, wondering how on earth she was ever going to grow if she remained this stubborn.
About the time I started muttering how she was most definitely our child, given the level of stubbornness, I gave in and let Baby Girl hold her own spoon. I am sure there are about a thousand "thou shalt nots" about this in all those parenting books I've never read (seriously - who has time to read parenting books when one has a child? And before hand, you have no idea about what they are actually speaking, so they are utterly almost useless). Miracle of miracles, Baby Girl took the spoon loaded with sweet potatoes, put them in her mouth and chattered happily as she ran the spoon over her tongue. I repeated it until there were more sweet potatoes in her hair, on her pants and chair and face than there were in the bowl.
I am hoping some went into her mouth.
I firmly believe this is because her little body is ready for real food. However, that is easier said than done. A month ago, her eczema suddenly got worse - her chest, body creases and face are all red, rough and irritated looking. I read. Because it corresponded with introducing her first solid food (along with an alarming case of hives), we pulled her off solids. The hives went away. The eczema stayed. I read some more. We switched formula brands. Very little difference, except I like the new one better (of course - it's twice as much - which is the second reason I wince at Baby Girl eating enough to rival a growing teenage boy).
Back on solids. And ... Baby Girl is allergic to bananas, resulting in hives and a red bottom that made her scream when she had to get rid of the solid food waste. It is terribly unfortunate since she loved bananas - greedily slurping down every morsel I would give her.
We waited. I read some more. Last night, we introduced sweet potatoes (which Himself and I took part of, seasoned with salt, pepper and nutmeg and had for dinner - the added benefits of making one's own baby food!). They were met with a lot of interesting facial contortions and a lot of lip smacking.
Tonight, we brought out the sweet potatoes again. This time, after one bite, Baby Girl stubbornly refused to open her mouth. At all. No amount of teasing, coaxing, playing stupid little games would make her change her mind. She would even smile with her lips clamped shut. I floundered, wondering how on earth she was ever going to grow if she remained this stubborn.
About the time I started muttering how she was most definitely our child, given the level of stubbornness, I gave in and let Baby Girl hold her own spoon. I am sure there are about a thousand "thou shalt nots" about this in all those parenting books I've never read (seriously - who has time to read parenting books when one has a child? And before hand, you have no idea about what they are actually speaking, so they are utterly almost useless). Miracle of miracles, Baby Girl took the spoon loaded with sweet potatoes, put them in her mouth and chattered happily as she ran the spoon over her tongue. I repeated it until there were more sweet potatoes in her hair, on her pants and chair and face than there were in the bowl.
I am hoping some went into her mouth.
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