Ten Things...

...that I love:

1/the smell of Ethan's skin. I-N-C-R-E-D-I-B-L-E!
2/my wonderful husband, who works his ass off so that I can stay home and smell Ethan all day.
3/the fact that E is alseep IN HIS CRIB right this very moment.
4/coffee. and then some more coffee. how I love thee!
5/The Notebook. Geeeezus. Pass the tissues, my gawd what have I become?
6/coffee. It deserves two spots on the top ten...
7/Martha Stewart. Yeah, I said it, WHAT!?
8/my mom's lemon meringue pie. with coffee.
9/sleep. when will we meet again?
10/my new Wal-Mart nursing bras. Who knew?

...that I like not-so-much:

1/the diaper blow-out we had last night. Good times, good times.
2/being away from my husband. I MISS YOU SO MUCH D!
3/that I'm afraid to start doing anything around the house because Ethan will wake up the minute that I do...
4/having to limit myself to 2-3 cups of coffee each day.
5/the unexplainable crying fit Ethan had yesterday at a friend's house. Welcome to the deepest depths of hell.
6/changing E's diaper only to hear a nasty riiiiiiip mere seconds later, indicating that hello, I wasn't finished yet mom! Idiot!
7/Ethan calling me an idiot.
8/the fact that I cry each and every time I play Bedtime with The Beatles by Jason Falkner.
9/that I am absolutely addicted to Dancing with the Stars. Like, wake up and think oh goody, tonight is Dancing with the Stars addicted. I hang my head in shame.
10/that E is growing and changing so fast. I know he'll be walking and talking and sneaking out with the car in no time at all. I caught him looking through my purse for my keys just yesterday.



Last night I went to eat at The Olive Garden (horribly Americanized yet oh so delicious Italian food, mama mia!) with two of my good girlfriends... (because I only hang out with my bad girlfriends on Sunday.) It was a scary peek back into what I call the REAL WORLD: a suffocatingly overcrowded middle class restaurant with a 35-minute wait time for a table of 3. Did I just refer to THE OLIVE GARDEN as middle class? You have my permission to PLEASE JUST SHOOT ME NOW.

I was insanely hungry before we even arrived at the restaurant, so the 35-minute wait was excruciating for me- me, the breastfeeding mom of a 4 1/2 week old baby whose boobs only allow her to go out without child for a very short 3-hour window of time. It took us 30 minutes to get to the restaurant, which was really only 15 minutes away, thanks to Friday's after-work-it's-the-weekend-let's-party-learn-how-to-FUCKING-drive traffic. Don't you people know that my baby gives me a CURFEW? Move it along!

Anyway, we had a blast despite the fact that our waiter was either half retarded (in which case he was an excellent server!) or new, or perhaps a combination of both. My friends dicked him on the tip because he sucked so much ass, but I felt bad and gave him a handjob under the table while he cleared our plates. Heh. Kidding, kidding. I was wearing my favorite shoes and would never have risked getting goo on them just because I felt bad. Pshaw!

I have been hiding in my dark breastfeeding dungeon (which I happily share with Ellen, Oprah and Judge Hatchett) for so long now that the real world is kind of scary. Granted, the baby and I are venturing out together a little more now. I even took him to Target by myself in the middle of the day last week. And he only screamed his head off while we were in the dressing room, thankyouverymuch. (Note: nothing is worse than unsuccessfully trying to squeeze into your pre-pregnancy size while your little angel of love is screaming his bloody head off so violently that it makes you want to slit your wrists with a plastic hanger.)

ANYWAY, where was I? I've been at home caring for the wee one for a month now, and I feel like I'm losing touch with the rest of society AND I LIKE THAT FEELING. I do occasionally miss the freedom of being able to trot on over to the mall to browse the new spring line of flip flops and handbags or whatever, but only for a moment. Is it strange that I enjoy being tied down, a slave if you will, to a frumpy (and very often GRUMPY) little month-old baby boy who fills his diapers with such stink that it could bring the garbage man to his knees?

I love him sooooo much. He's got me wrapped around this little pinky finger. I think he knows this and is already using it to his advantage.



Ask not about the side-swept bang. It is new-mom-on-maternity-leave chic, and you wouldn't understand.
He's a thinker, and he goes back and forth on many pressing issues, such as... TO CRY OR NOT TO CRY... clearly that is the question.

He smiles big gummy smiles now, and not just when he has gas. Could he BE any cuter? Um... the answer is NO.

Finally Lost It...

Let's see, where do I begin? E's beef jerky-raisin looking umbilical cord stump FINALLY fell off last week, so we celebrated by torturing the poor boy with a bath in his baby tub. We stupidly bathed him at a time when he would have much rather been eating, a mistake I WILL NEVER MAKE AGAIN. In the pictures sweetly entitled "Baby's First Bath", the look on Ethan's face makes it seem as though we were submerging him in battery acid. I swear we weren't. Honest!

He is F-I-N-A-L-L-Y sleeping in his crib, though sporadically. But I'll take it! Mama got a shower today AND PUT ON MAKEUP, all while sweet baby boy was sleeping in his crib. He's still asleep in his crib. And what am I doing? Pinching myself to make sure I'm not dreaming and then rushing over to his crib to make sure he's still breathing. Then I pinch myself again, and the sick coo-coo for cocoa puffs cycle continues...


I quit my job today. I have been sick over this for quite a while now. Knowing that I would eventually have to let them know that hey, I'm not coming back! Thanks for everything! See ya! was eating away at my soul. Miraculously, my boss was quite pleasant about it. I'm going to turn in my office key this afternoon, so I'll get to show off my precious, precious CRIB SLEEPING baby, my absolute favorite thing to do. He consumes me in a way I never could've imagined, and deep down I love it.

On the surface I'm still a sleep deprived mess of tangles and tears, occasionally crying along with my baby because OH GAWD he's so cute and I love him and why won't he stop crying, and I'll never sleep again and I'm lonely and I miss sex and my nipples are sore and he always wants to eat and oh but look at how cute he is and the new noises he's making everyday break my heart into pieces and one glass of wine gets me drunk and did you see him smile and holy shit I'm a FUCKING MOM!

I've finally lost it. And I'm ok with that.



The last 3 nights little Ethan has slept in at least one 3+ hour stretch. Do you know what this means? It means that I, his tired and milk swollen mother, GET TO SLEEP FOR MORE THAN 45 MINUTES AT A TIME. Tis truly a miracle! And last night? He slept solid from 1:15 a.m. to just after 5 o'clock. All rejoice! For his poopiness has finally caught on to the concept of days and nights...

I'm totally speaking too soon, aren't I. I'm going to pay tonight, I can just feel it. In my boobs.


Week 2...

Tomorrow Ethan will be 2 weeks old. Hurrah! We made it nearly 2 whole weeks! Yesterday was NOT. A. GOOD. DAY. crying-wise. Ethan fussed and whined and cried out in great displeasure for MUCH (no, for MOST) of the evening and into the night. My mother took him for a few hours so that I could sleep. BLESS HER KIND AND LOVING SOUL! This morning he is all googly eyes and smiles, which of course makes up for it all. He's way too cute for his own good, much like his father... he's already getting away with much more than he should be able to simply because of his strapping good looks.

The problem I am facing now is that E will NOT sleep in his crib. He can be passed out like a plastered sorority girl, but the second you lay him in his crib he starts to cry. I don't get it. So, he's been sleeping on my chest every single night. It's THE ONLY WAY I can get a wink of sleep. Not GOOD sleep, mind you, because I wake up every hour to make sure he's still breathing and because sleeping this way gives me the most unbearable neck pains EVER... but it's still sleep. I'll take it. My fear is that he'll go off to college and I'll have to come along so that he can sleep on mama's chest. I don't want to make this a HABIT, but at this point I'll risk it, if only for 1 hour of peace and silence and being able to shut my eyes for a moment at a time. I can down a mean beer bong, so maybe going to college with him wouldn't be so bad anyhow.

D is in Louisiana, which is both good and bad all at once. He's doing really, really well there. But I constantly fluctuate between feelings of helplessness, lonliness, exhaustion, worthlessness, dear god I'm a SLAVE to my BABY! While he's in LA bringin' home the bacon and setting up shop for us to eventually move there, I can't even go to the bathroom without having to trick an innocent family member into entertaining E for the short amount of time it takes me to pee. That's all I want! Let me pee! Too much to ask?

While I miss my husband, and while at times I think Ethan KNOWS what he's doing to me and takes great pleasure in watching me squirm, I won't lie... I love this baby more than words will ever be able to describe. Every sleepless night is totally worth it. We're so lucky to have him here, blood curdling cries and all.


Mommy Glam...

My new standard outfit consists of one of the following: black fleece pants with a white stripe down the sides and a fitted red coca-cola screen print tee, or my fuschia Champion flare yoga sweat pants with a fitted blue screen print tee that reads 'OAK HIGH PHYS ED'. Both of these ultra-glam getups are worn with my silver-pink-white nike shocks. I usually wear a sports bra underneath it all to keep the mighty twins from side-swiping anyone within a 5 mile radius, stuffed sexily with Target brand nursing pads. My underwear is also from Target, a cotton bikini brief that cuts into my ass cheeks with lumpy delight. I had to retire my ol' thongs for now; ain't nothing going in this ass crack for a loooooooong time.

Did I seriously just write that?

My hair is always always always scraped back into the totally chic ponytail-braid combo. I am so fresh-faced that I require absolutely NO makeup, as brushing my teeth is all that's needed for a complete and polished look. WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE.

I have managed a shower one way or another each and every day, and I am proud to say that I'm still shaving my legs daily... why? I don't know. But I'm doing it and I should get some kind of fucking prize. For real.


E is cuter EVERY DAY. He really is, I'm not just saying that. He now focuses in on my face and makes sweet googly eyes, likes to look at his trippy black 'n' white mobile and makes the cutest sweetest most beautiful little coos and oohs and ahhs you ever did hear.

He also poops eight hundred and fifty two times a day and sucks at my breast like he's trying to destroy my nipple with his mighty suction. But - every bright-eyed smile he gives me (even if it is just gas) and every soft wisp of sweet dark baby-fine hair on his head more than make up for it all... by far.


Week 1

First, let's just go ahead and admit that every post from here on out is going to be about little E. It's kind of inevitable. IT'S ALL ABOUT HIM. That's the way it goes. I am nothing more than a walking pair of milk engorged boobs, armed and ready to take over the entire fucking world. Second, please note that I am currently typing this post with my left hand only... my right hand is supporting my baby's head as he half-assedly nurses. He likes to take his sweet time and pause for a quick nap between suckles. If only we all could sleep all day, party all night, eat as much as we please as often as we please and happily crap our pants without shame...

Ethan is a week old today, and he's been home for 5 days. Those first 2 days were pure hell. My milk had not come in yet and he was ready to eat like a big boy. I was worried that his circumcision was botched and we rushed his crying little butt to his pediatrician on Friday, not 24 hours after he was discharged from the hospital. His penis is fine, just a tad bruised and looks worse than it probably feels... but the doctor noted that he'd lost an entire pound since delivery. I cried because my milk was not yet in and he was not satisfied with my colostrum. It just wasn't enough. As we left the doctor's office he started to fuss, so I whipped out my boob in the car in the parking lot and WHAT DO YOU KNOW I had milk! Sweet, glorious, plentiful milk! Ethan guzzled it down like a champ, and he hasn't let go of my nipple since. He eats CONSTANLY. We're trying to get him past his birth weight by his next dr. appointment this Friday, and I'm hopeful. His little chubby cheeks are filling out and he just seems thicker, so things must be moving in the right direction.

I've had a couple of moments where I cry and think OHMYFUCKINGGAWDWHATAMIDOING or THISCRYINGWILLNEVEREVERENDFUCKFUCKFUCK but they only last a moment. The other 95% of the time is spent doting on my beautiful baby boy, crying over him as he nurses because my dear lord he is just so precious and perfect and gorgeous. And he's OURS! I must give MAD PROPS and GREAT THANKS to my mother. Without her I would not be doing nearly as well as I am. She is so supportive and her taking him for an hour or so each day gives me room to breathe. How else would I update my blog? One handed typing only gets you so far...

Now let's talk about my very least favorite thing in the whole wide world: THRID DEGREE TEAR. Yeah. Totally fabulous! As I was admiring my new son in the delivery room, crying and watching him get weighed and cleaned up, I noticed my doctor still poking around between my quivering, tired legs... then I saw some thread. Then I felt a tug. Another tug. Holy fuck, what's he doing? "Well, I cut you a little bit" he confessed. "But you tore A LOT".


I've been walking around like I have a piece of fire wood shoved up my ass for the last week. Today is actually the first day that sitting down hasn't caused me to wimper and grimace in pain. I checked out his stitch work and must say that he did a great job visually, but FUCK - the pain the first few days was insane. So, Ethan actually DID tear me a new one. Heh.

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