Home Again

We had a family-ish thing planned for Sunday, the day that E and I were planning to leave from Texas to drive back to Louisiana. My family, how I love them so (see previous post), has a quirk: we can never plan anything anything anything and if we do, things always always always get flip-flopped around and changed and noone can ever stick to fucking plan.

:: ahem ::

This more than slightly annoying family trait turned brunch at my mom's into lasagna and salad later in the day into a picnic at my grandpa's assisted living center and back to brunch at my mom's again. Bah! I'm pretty big on consistency, communication and sticking to plan. Or, at least changing things ahead of time rather than at the last minute. I was going to leave Texas by 11 a.m., then 1 in the afternoon, and then by 4 at the veeeeeeery latest. It's a miracle that we even got together at all. After all was said and done, I totally did not feel like dealing with the 8 hour drive I had ahead of me. Apparently Ethan didn't get the memo on daylight savings time. I guess he didn't realize that it would have been perfectly acceptable to sleep an extra hour like the rest of us, he did not know that mommy had been drinking wine and wine and more wine with her sisters the night before. Or, maybe he totally knew that waking up extra early would get me where it hurts and thought it would be fun to watch me squirm. Either way, he woke up at 5:30 a.m. I forgot to bump my clock back an hour so I thought it was 6:30. As I groggily fed Ethan and got online I realized that oh shit, it's only 5:30 in the fuckety-fucking morning. Suddenly I felt even more tired.

ANYWAY! Much to my husband's dismay I decided to stay an extra night and left Texas at 9 a.m. Monday morning. Miracle the Second: Ethan was just as good on the car ride home as he had been on the way there. Truly amazing! I was honestly expecting the worst, the very worst, because noone likes the ride home and noone likes to be in the bloody car for nearly 8 hours. Being in the car for 8 hours on the way home is no fun, is what I'm saying. Just further proof that Ethan is brilliant and amazing. Keeping your cool during long road trips is only something that genius babies do, right? Yeah, thought so.

So, we are home now. Here are some tasty tidbits about our trip:

• I ate at Cantina Laredo twice during my week in Texas.
• My mom bought my favorite cheapo boxed merlot, and we finished the entire 5-liter box in less than a week. Perhaps I share too much?
• Ethan discovered peanut butter. At the time he had a cold, and snot + peanut butter is the absolute hardest and most disgusting thing to clean from a fussy baby's face. Period.
• I made this squash soup. Deeeeeeelicious. Also, great with wine. (But what isn't?)
• I went on exactly eighteen trillion walks with Ethan.
• While I was in Texas and my husband was sleeping soundly in our bed in Louisiana, our little wooden house was struck by a tornado. For real. It tore a 12 foot hole in our roof and broke our kitchen window. Everything is ok, it could have been soooo much worse, but note to husband: ALWAYS preface "our house was hit by a tornado" with "don't worry" or "everything is okay, but...". Calling me and saying "Hi, at 4 a.m. this morning our house was hit by a tornado" and then pausing for some twisted added effect is not cool.
• On Tuesday when I went to start my car to go visit my grandpa it would not start. I was certain that the problem was the starter, my husband had just put in a new starter, surely he did it wrong. Everyone told me to jump start my car, just to see if the battery was the problem, but nooooo. It was the starter! Not the battery! Because I am so obviously a mechanic! Roadside assistance came to my mom's house and jumped my car. It started. I not only feel like an ass, I have thoroughly proved that I actually am an ass. It's true.

Anyway, it was an awesome trip and I had a really great time with everyone. I have some amazing pictures that I took on the way home. A few of me DRIVING (um, yeah), some of E in his carseat, and lots of pictures of trees. Trees. More trees. Look to the left, trees! Look to the right: more trees. The entire way home. So, I'll save those little gems for another time, because I have already spoiled you all with lots of mindless droning, on and on and on... and ooooon. Will it ever end?

All in the Family

Ethan and I arrived at my mom's house in Texas at around 4 p.m. Monday afternoon. The ride here was awesome. Ethan was amazing. He slept for nearly 2 hours when we left Louisiana, so we were able to drive straight through to Shreveport without stopping, which is basically the half-way point. After stopping at a Taco Bell and sharing a most healthful lunch of steak & cheese quesadilla and an order of pinto beans with cheese, we were on our way once again. Ethan only fussed for .2 seconds at his usual afternoon nap time, and at his first whimper I turned around and told him to go to sleep. AND. HE. DID. I swear it. He was all okay, fine, whatthefuckever. G'night. I couldn't believe it. I totally polished his halo when we got to my mom's house and hung it high above his head, for he is truly an angel sent from the heavens above.

ANYWAY! We made it, horray, and let me tell you how much I love my family. How much I missed my family. They are the most awesome family a girl could ever have, want or ask for. It almost sucks to come and visit because it just means I'll have to leave them all over again. Which totally blows fat donkey nuts, unless you're into that sort of thing.

Mom: A 56-year old wonder woman. Funny, gorgeous, energetic, did I mention funny? The woman had 6 kids, and since she swears she did no drugs while raising us I am convinced that she was able to hold on to what sanity she has left by seeing the humor in everything. She's passed the ability to laugh at life down to all of us and for that I am so very grateful. It makes family get-togethers especially fun, tenfold when there's alcohol involved. (Which is, um, always.) My mom is my best friend and I can talk to her about anything. She was a very protective mother, the kind that wouldn't let you leave without telling you to wear your seatbelt, call when you get there, say no to drugs and be home by eleven! I only learned to appreciate this kind of concern after the fact. I've confessed everything to my mom, all the lies I ever told her and all the times I stole their alcohol and all the drugs I've done. She's always been there for me, always welcomed me back from my rebellion with open arms.

Carolyn: Second in birth order, my first little sis. She's funky, outgoing, outspoken and a little crazy, but in a good way. She's in Paul Mitchell hair school now and has some insane gift from God with those sharp little scissors. She's also engaged to one of the greatest men in the world. Things are moving along in her direction, she's working so hard right now and I am just unbelievably proud of her. Talking to her is sort of like inhaling the gas from a new can of Reddi-Whip. She is fun, energetic, hilarious and hangs with the boys when she drinks. We've been through soooo much. She's one of my very best friends, and I always look forward to our time together.

Emily: While Carolyn and I did drugs, lied to my parents and hung with the wrong crowd, Emily was busy solving mathematic equations and basically making the rest of us feel stoooopid. I know not where she got her love of math, but it's pretty cool to have such a brilliant little sis. Her home library consists of books that I can barely stand to read the titles of, and I once made the mistake of asking her to suggest some leisurely summer reading material. After my eyes stopped bleeding, I grimly tossed the books back onto her bed and told her that they "weren't my style". Anyway, she too is funny as hell, easy to talk to, has fantastic taste in music and movies and is another one of my very best friends in the whole world. I can count on her to make my brain hurt and that's awesome.

Bonnie: Next in line, the baby girl of the family. She's 18 and one of the sweetest, most soft-spoken people I have ever met. I try not to let her quietness fool me, because there's a ton going on in that cute little head of hers. She has a steady boyfriend, maybe the first that she reeeeeaaaaaally likes, and I am so psyched for her. She graduated from highschool last year and is taking a few college classes, easing into the whole college scene. She likes yoga, snakes and bellydancing, and her diet consists mainly of fettucine alfredo and cheese pizza. She's one of those hot chicks that don't know their own beauty. Read: every guy's dream. She's a blast to talk to, kind and funny, and also one of my very bestest friends.

The twins: Nowell and Robin. The boys. Don't ask what my mom was thinking when she named them. I have no clue. They are 15 and too funny for their own good, but you'd never know it because they are so freaking quiet. They take turns sitting in their room playing games on the computer. They rarely ever leave the house except to go to school. I tell my mom that they are what she got to balance out me and Carolyn; we were horrible, lying, troubled youth. The most these guys ask is that the fridge be stocked with soda and maybe that they occasionally get to go to the local video game shop to pick up the latest computer game. They also enjoy the Simpsons, Family Guy and pepperoni Hot Pockets. They are awesome little brothers and I always always always look forward to seeing them.

So that's my family. My dad died in 2001 of a brain tumor, and my mom has done a FUCKING spectacular job of doing double-duty parenting ever since. My family rarely fights, talks openly about almost everything, gets together on a very regular basis and always manages to laugh at life's many pains in the ASS. I am one lucky girl.

What the...

Oh gawd. Waaaa, my name is Sara, waaaa. Feel sorry for me, I'm lonely, waaa. Pu-lease. Lame. Sorry. Had some wine and the southside of my bipolar disorder let loose. It won't happen again.

ANYWAY! Baby pics will make it all go away!

Alone

It's Friday night and I'm still waiting for my husband to get home from work. It's 7:35 p.m. I put my baby to bed, ate dinner, and now I wait. Tomorrow I get to go grocery shopping. This is probably the highlight of my week. Off to Baton Rouge, to Super Wal-Mart where I get to see other people, real people. Ethan will sit in the cart all cute-like, flirting with the women and shouting at the men. My pride and joy. I'll buy chips and frozen hot wings for D, apples and cheddar crackers and fig neutons for Ethan, frozen broccoli and whole wheat wraps and canned tuna and diet rootbeer for me. We'll leave for the store in the early afternoon and take our time. We'll smile at anyone who looks our way. We'll cruise past the baby toys and clothes, stopping to oooh and aaah at anything that strikes our fancy. Ethan will smile at me from his seat in the cart and I will wholeheartedly smile back. When we get home, Ethan will be tired and want a nap. I'll be hungry and frazzled. Unload Ethan. Unload the groceries. Change Ethan. Put him in his crib for a nap. Unload all of the grocery bags. Put everything away, in it's proper place. Wait again for D to get home. Lonely again.

Progress

Ethan slept through the night on Sunday and Monday nights. Last night he slept until 4:30 this morning, when he woke up and would not stop crying. Whenever he wakes up at night I always wait a few minutes to see if he'll fall back asleep on his own before going into his room, unless his crying sounds like he's being knawed on by squirrels. (Damn those squirrels!) This morning I fed him and he went right back to sleep until about 7:30.

The point: I had an uninterrupted dream that I went to the movies with Scarlett Johansson. Score!

Dream On

Let me start out by saying that Ethan slept through the entire night last night. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Ever, as in up until this point he has always woken up at least once during the night to feast on my tired and weary boobage, guzzling my milk down like an alcoholic chugs a bottle of cheap tequila. Lately it's been once a night instead of twice, but HELLO HE IS STILL WAKING AT NIGHT. HE IS ALMOST TEN MONTHS OLD. I feel horrible admitting this fact, because certainly I could've (and should've) put an end to it months ago. It's just... I really didn't want to. I wanted to, but I didn't want to more. It would've taken some effort. We were in a happy place. (Ok, I'm lazy. There. I HAVE NO SHAME.)

ANYWAY! Last night D and I were eating a late dinner of steak and baked potatoes while Ethan played on the floor in his ultra-cute footie pajamas. He crawled over to me and pulled up on my chair, then proceeded to bite my thigh (because what is more fun than biting your mother's thigh so hard it makes her cry? I can't think of a single thing, and I intend to naw on my own mother's thigh as soon as we get back to Texas next week.). I picked him up and gave him some tiny bites of my steak and pieces of my potato. Fifteen minutes later we read him a book and put him to bed. At 5:45 a.m. this morning I woke up in a panic because it was the first time in over ten months I'd gotten a full, uninterrupted night's rest. Many thanks to the delicious, tender, protein-filled Angus beef and hearty white potato from the night before. I am going to start dumping Ethan in his crib at night with a rack of ribs and a wet wipe. Goodnight baby! Save the bones for the dog!

Unfortunately I have something else standing between me and my sweetest of dreams: Drew. He snores. He snores soooooo horribly. It simply cannot be ignored. I start by nudging him. Then I push. Pushing turns to kicking, and sometimes I put a pillow over his head. The kicking usually rouses him enough to snort himself awake, then he rolls over and says "I love you baby", and the whole thing starts over again. I would rather wake up twelve thousand times a night to feed Ethan than listen to my husband snore. Does anyone else have this problem? What can I do about it? PLEASE HELP.

Confessions

When I was pregnant our original plan was for me to stay home with Ethan for 6 weeks and then go back to work. HA! I quit my job 4 weeks postpartum, partly because my husband got a great job in Louisiana and partly because the thought of leaving my tiny, fragile, innocent, helpless little baby in someone else's care made me want to hang myself from his mobile. That, and I was sooooo not into pumping my breastmilk at work. Especially at my work, where I was the only girl and my boss was quite possibly the most perverted fucktard on the face of the earth.

ANYWAY! I was able to quit and we decided that when Ethan turned 6 months old I would begin to look for a new job in Louisiana. 6 months rolls around and waaa! I don't want to leave him! He's smiling now and laughing and eating cereal and doing baby push-ups and generally making my heart melt every second of every day! I'll stop wearing make-up to cut costs... I'll eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal! I'll keep the thermostat at 108 degrees during the day! Ok, how about a blowjob each and every night then?

Needless to say we figured things out and decided that I could stay home until after I wean Ethan at 12 months. Ethan will be 10 months old on October 27. Time is flying by, and two months ago I was still sick at the thought of going back to work and leaving him with a stranger. So many things to consider: work clothes, getting up early and dealing with the morning rush, picking Ethan up from daycare and spending quality time with him in the evening, cooking dinner, bathing Ethan, working out, being a good wife, keeping the house clean, tending to Bogart, dishes, laundry. In other words, how will I cram everything that I do now into short weekday evenings and 2 weekend days? It seemed virtually impossible. But now? I am marching to the beat of a whole new drum. I was swaying ever so gracefully to Elton John before, and now I'm totally head-banging to Metallica over here. I am ready.

I've come to realize that me going back to work will mean that D has to take some responsibility around the house. I won't have to do every single thing that I do now. Also, my anal retentive tendencies are slowly fading away (THANK GAWD!) and it's no longer the end of the world if there's a dish in the sink. I'll always be somewhat of a clean/neat freak, but I left a pot in the sink overnight and guess what? The sky didn't fall! I KNOW! I was totally blown away. Another thing: I really believe that I'll be a better mom if I'm around Ethan less. The quality of our time together will be enhanced. Not that I'm using him to mop the floor or anything right now, but there are times when he's whining for me to hold him and then I'll pick him up and he'll bite me and pull my hair and I want to grab the iron and sear my face with it because PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE FOR 1.5 SECONDS! Does that sound horrible? Oh well, it's honest. I'm sure that every mother on the face of this planet can relate to some extent.

We found a daycare that we like, one we actually feel good about. Finding it was a root canal sans novocaine, but we found it. While I'm anxious about the changes to come, I'm waking up a little more excited each day. And less nervous. I'm slowly becoming more and more confident about rocking this thing called the "working mom". I'm sure Ethan will appreciate having someone else to bite for a change, and so will I.

Mommy Muscles

Those of you that know me well know that I've had some major ups and downs with my weight through the years. At 19 I got into working out and read up on nutrition and decided to quit smoking pot and cigarettes and slowly replaced my nicotine addiction with an insane obsession with food and being thin. At the time I called it "being fit", but in retrospect my whole world revolved around being skinny. At 5'5" I went from 145 pounds down to 88. I could've toned up at 145 pounds and looked fantastic. Instead I crept into a very dark, scary, lonely place that noone understood, not even myself. Even more frightening was that I didn't know how to get out. It took a year or so of nutrition therapy for me to finally even begin to snap out of it, and even then my weight hovered at around 103 pounds. Underweight for my height and frame, not at all appealing or healthy. I actually had trouble gaining weight, and it was completely mental. I simply could not eat more and workout less.

I'm not quite sure what happened exactly, but suddenly I was knee deep in everything I hadn't let myself have for those 4 years... chocolate, fried foods, pizza, cheese, red meat, sweets... did I mention chocolate? Each day I would wake up and think of what I would eat. My anorexia went upside down and turned into binge eating. This is an even worse place to be. Nothing is more horrifying than wanting to eat the world, to never feel like you've had enough. It makes sense... most people diet for a week or a month and then ultimately find themselves head first in a vat of ice cream or surrounded by a sea of empty candy bar wrappers. What happened to me was the same in that sense, only on a much larger scale. My "diet" had lasted 3 or so years and my night of indulgence to make up for the deprivation lasted for almost a year. In that time I went from 103 pounds to 203 pounds. I gained 100 pounds in less than a year.

As the fun of eating total crap began to wear off and I got myself under control, the weight began to come off. I settled at around 185 pounds, which was still heavy for my height, so I knew I needed to take action to shed some poundage without going to the extremes I'd gone to before. Before: when I was at a normal and healthy weight. I look back now and think fuckin' A, man. I totally tried to fix something that wasn't broken. And instead of slowly tinkering under the hood I took a sledgehammer to my entire body. I really fucked myself up. But I digress...

I tried Atkins, then began following the Body For LIFE way of eating and exercising and lost another 20 pounds. I was still thick but much better, on my way, getting there. Then I got pregnant. Throughout my pregnancy I continued working out and tried my very hardest to eat well. I gained a total of 30 pounds and lost 20 of them after the delivery. I began walking and half-assedly lifting weights at about 6 weeks postpartum and shed another 10 pounds. Breastfeeding burned off yet another 10, leaving me at around 145 pounds. Right back where I started.

Oh human nature, isn't it wonderful: shit, if I'm at 145 now, think of what would happen if I cut out bread! Yes! And sugar! Horray! I'll only eat eggwhites and frozen South Beach meals. Let's totally deprive deprive deprive once again because it worked so well before. Right. Guess what happened next? I would go days eating way less than I should have, counting calories and generally making myself crazy. Naturally this led me to a day where I'd eat everything in sight, raiding my husbands junkfood, left feeling guilty, unattractive and hating life.

Finally I read this book and decided to just let my body be my guide. I could eat whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, with the exception that I had to be truly hungry to eat and would stop when I began to feel satisfied, not full. Much easier said than done. I haven't always been perfect with it, but it has shown me that eating what I want won't make me gain a trillion pounds. In all honesty I've never eaten this way. I'd always been following someone else's rules or eating by the clock instead of by my hunger. You go so long ignoring your body's cues and you forget that they are even there, and there for a reason.

I have found that I do prefer eating healthy most of the time. I like the way my body feels when I feed it whole wheat pasta instead of white, and I happen to like the taste of it much better, too. I like my veggies steamed with a little butter, garlic, salt and pepper, not swimming in a creamy, cheesy sauce. I'm finding that I naturally veer towards things that are good for me, partly because I know they're good for me and partly because I feel good eating them, they feel good in my body. Red wine is my drink of choice, and I love dark chocolate. I still overeat from time to time, and I have a tendency to eat when I'm bored or anxious. I'm still working on that. I love greasy burgers, full-fat ice cream and my mother-in-law's shrimp etouffee. But I am, for the first time in my whole life, getting to a good place with food. Getting to where I actually trust my body. I've finally broken free from the dieting deprive-binge-deprive-binge cycle that has consumed me for most of my life, the hell that has hung over me for 14 years. I will never, ever go back. The minute I even consider counting a calorie or measuring out a cup of cereal I immediately want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon and/or eat an entire canister of chocolate icing. I'm not kidding.

My weight has now seemed to settle at around 150 pounds. Thick for my height, but I wouldn't call myself fat. I'm curvy and was blessed with an hour-glass figure. Full hips and thighs, small(er) waist, huge tits. I've always been well proportioned. But along with that comes cellulite, stretch marks, basically just paying my dues for being a woman. Having a baby left me with a whole new respect for my body, but I still jiggle where I wish I was jiggle-free. I want tone where there is none. I simply want to be the best possible version of myself. Since I've found my happy place as far as eating goes, I figured it was time to take things up a notch with exercise. I know that a dedicated, consistent and challenging exercise routine can do wonders. I crave visible arms muscles. A tighter ass. To be able to do a dozen regular pushups without flinching.

What made me finally decide to take the plunge and get serious with my workouts was this blog, this blog, and this website. The blogs are amazing. I sent Skwigg an email yesterday and within a few hours she'd written me back. I can relate to her on several levels, and it was all I needed to convince myself that I CAN DO THIS. The second blogger and Cathe have kids, people! I own about 10 of Cathe's videos, and she does not play around. I love that. I love women that aren't afraid of weights, heavy weights. Women that aren't afraid to be strong and who want to show it.

Ok, so short of sounding like a lesbian-in-the-making, I am ready. I've commited to doing one of Cathe's weight videos twice a week, called Power Hour. It's a full hour of total-body weight lifting that "leaves no muscle untouched" and fuck me, that's no lie. I did it this morning and to feel every muscle in your entire body burn and shake and cry out was amazing. To seriously push yourself to your limit is so satisfying. I felt like a million bucks afterward. I've got a handful of her other weight vids, and I plan on switching things up after 4 weeks, moving from Power Hour to Leaner Legs and CTX Upper Body, then probably to her Slow & Heavy series for a three-day split. I am also committing to at least 2 of her tougher cardio tapes each week. I own a Step, several dumbbells, a Firm padded barbell with various weight plates, a jump rope and every workout video under the sun. Now I'm ready to make the most of it.

I don't expect dramatic overnight results from this, but I do expect to get out of it what I put in. A little less ice cream at night plus pushing myself hard at each and every workout will most definitely yield some changes. One glass of red wine each night instead of the usual two plus kicking my own ass 4 or 5 mornings a week certainly won't do me wrong. I am excited to see what happens. I will say that after lifting so intensely this morning I felt really confident. I had more pep in my step at the store this afternoon. Those are reason enough to keep going, at least until I see some measurable results. I do believe that not having the back of your arm wave in the opposite direction of your hand is also a good excuse to keep on truckin'. It's not at the top of my list, but it's certainly in the back of my mind. Things will be different this time and I am so excited to finally get it right, to do this the right way.

T & A

I've been watching a lot of Girls Next Door lately and I am hooked. Watching the three hotties prance around Hef's mansion makes me feel insecure, envious, curious, jealous and sexy all at once. Also, whenever Kendra does a one-on-one with the camera, I feel fucking smaaaaaart. God bless that girl and her perfect ass.

Anyway! The girls all seem to get along well, and there isn't competition for Hugh's attention. I know that Holly is his main squeeze, but what about Kendra and Bridget? They're all his girlfriends, but... does he have sex with all of them? Holly shares a room with Hef, and Bridget and Kendra have their own rooms. I wonder if he has a Bridget night, a Kendra night, and the rest of the time he's with Holly? And, Holly wants to marry Hef and have kids, so she's always dropping these little hints to him that oh so subtly say I WANT KIDS DAMMIT. PLANT YOUR SEED BIG DADDY! But Hugh already has kids, right? Also, he's kind of old, yes? 80? Is that... possible?

Ok, so one last thing. When does Hugh decide that it's time for a new batch of girlfriends? I think I'll add Hugh Hefner to my list of Famous People to Meet. I would sit him down and have him explain his whole system to me. I'll put his name right between Oprah and Paul Reiser.

::

OH. MY. GOD.

I just wrote an entire post without mentioning Ethan once. See what tits and ass will do?

Halloween

This is Ethan's Halloween costume. This is his Uncle Peyton's costume (Peyton is 5). Evil-doers, beware!

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

I'm feeling extremely anxious lately. I've gone a little crazy staying at home with Ethan all day long, yearning for adult interaction and wishing there was more to my life than changing diapers. Where we live, if you want to go out, you really have to go out. Grocery shopping is a twenty minute drive one way, so for me to take Ethan to do something as simple as walk around the mall is really an investment. Not just in time but in gas, too.

Anyway, in February I plan on going back to work. I am extremely excited. You mean I'll get to talk to grown-ups EVERYDAY? And get paid for it? Sweet. On the other hand, holy shit. While we found an excellent daycare for Ethan that I feel really good about, I'll be separated from my baby for the first time in.... really, for the first time ever. Aside from the very occasional Saturday night out with D while a babysitter sits in our house and watches t.v. and eats our food (what a fabulous-sounding gig, eh?), I have never been away from Ethan for more than 3 or 4 hours, tops. Breastfeeding puts a pretty tight leash on these things, and I have been so totally ok with that all this time. Even in my worst moments where all I wanted was to get the fuck out of the house and not have to tote a cranky teething pooping biting baby with me, after an hour or so without him, I miss him... achingly so.

Late December/early January will consist of the following:

• weaning Ethan completely from the boob to whole cow's milk
• purchasing a new work wardrobe
• interviewing with potential employers
• doing a dry run or twelve at Ethan's daycare center
• generally losing my fucking mind

I was going to write about how I worry that Ethan will have a harder time adjusting than myself, but I just don't think that will happen. Unless he suddenly goes into severe separation anxiety mode, I really think he'll welcome these changes whole-heartedly. He is such a people person, such a happy baby all around. (If I didn't remember pushing him out of my vagina I would totally ask for a maternity test, because how could this perfect little soul possibly be from me?) Okay, naturally I worry that he will have a hard time adjusting, and maybe (just maybe) I secretly want him to show at least a little bit of resistance to it all. For, like... a day. Or a week or something. I mean FUCK! He'll miss me, right?

So that is what's on my mind lately. For Christmas I am getting: hormones (from the weaning), anxiety (from not knowing how the hell to achieve a work-child-marriage balance just yet), excitement (because yay I am going back to a job that doesn't require diaper changing!) and, of course, fear (of the unknown). Life-changes can be terrifying.

The good news: no more breastfeeding means I can totally pick up my crack-cocaine habit again. Finally!

(Did anyone else notice that Ethan is soooooo giving you the finger? I guess he really is mine...)

Now I'm a Believer

I'm saying it now and I'll say it again:

Barney might very well be the single most wonderful thing in the entire universe. I made and ate lunch, read part of a book and made peach iced tea... without any interruptions in between. Because my baby? His eyes were glued to the retarded purple dinosaur on television.

To all the parents that told me to get over it and accept the fact that my child will watch this trainwreck, I am sorry. YOU WERE RIGHT.