Maturity is a bitter disappointment

Today

2012-01-19T08:36:00.000-08:00

I'm at a wellness meeting. They told us to "dress comfortably" because we're going to go on a hike (!). I'm wearing jeans and converse. Not super professional but I'm cozy.

I left Patrick at home with the baby, who still has a fever and that darn cough. His temperature was 100.4; not super high but still. I would've stayed home but I had to pay to attend this meeting. Anyway, I'm leaving early.

When I checked in, the guy remembered me from my first County job, 11 years ago. That's kind of crazy.

...

I heard on the radio that Jeff Goldblum will be on Glee, playing one of Lea Michelle's dads. I haven't watched Glee since the first season, but isn't Jeff Goldblum old enough to be MY father?

...

Eating my free muffin and juice, waiting for this thing to start.

...

The first speaker at my meeting was awesome. I've seen him before at other Wellness meetings. His name is Dr. Frank Meza, from Kaiser. He's a very engaging speaker. The second speaker? Not so much.

2012-01-18T07:46:00.000-08:00

I oppose SOPA and PIPA.

Click here for more information: https://www.google.com/landing/takeaction/

Things I do when I can't sleep.

2012-01-17T15:58:00.000-08:00

I couldn't sleep last night. This was, I think, the second or third night in a row. JP has another cold, and last night he had a slight fever. I had a not-so tiny, hot little baby cuddled up in my arms; in the past, this has been perfect, but this time I couldn't get comfortable. He would wake up every once in awhile and cough, and when he did, he would stretch or change positions. For quite some time, he was lying on his back, in the crook of my arm, his head resting on that flabby part of my arm that I was glad to have finally found a purpose for, in a position that made us both look like we were floating on our backs down some dark and calm stream.

I tried reading (like his father, the light doesn't bother him; most noises, in fact, don't bother him while he's sleeping, though he seems to be strangely sensitive to the running feet of the cats in the other room). I tried playing endless games of "Doodle Jump" on my iPhone. My Scrabble and Words with Friends pals were all snoozing, I guess. The baby seemed most comfortable (ironically) when I was sitting in the brown chair in his room, and he was sitting on my lap, partly turned toward my body, with one arm around my waist, with the overhead light very dim, and the table light (not so dim) on, while I read. I read holding the book in one hand, and with the other one holding him. I said "ironically" because all the stuff I've read about co-sleeping (that is, sleeping with your baby in "family bed") indicates that allowing your baby to sleep on you while seated in a cozy chair (and the brown chair is extremely cozy) is more dangerous than people think. Apparently, people who think co-sleeping is dangerous, think sleeping with a baby in a chair is safe.

This is not true.

However, since I was awake, cognizant of my surroundings (i.e., not drunk), and could definitely see well enough to make sure he didn't, I don't know, smother, he was just fine.

At 1:30, Patrick came in to check on us, and to try to convince me to let him take over.

Why do I have this, what, compulsion?, when the baby is sick, to do everything myself? I have to watch that, because Patrick is just as careful and caring as I am with him. Also, when he's sick, Patrick is less serious with him than I am: he isn't afraid to make him laugh. I'm not afraid to make him laugh, I just want to make sure I don't interrupt his sleep. If he wakes, I want him to go back to sleep as soon as possible. Do babies need to laugh when they're sick as much as they need to sleep, or to nurse? Maybe they do.

Earlier in the evening, I asked Patrick to repair to the living room (sounds good, doesn't it) because I thought a quieter bedroom would help me. Usually it does but last night, it didn't. By 2, I was ready to try to sleep alone. I woke up Patrick, handed off the sleeping and slightly less-hot baby, went to the bathroom (a need I'd been ignoring), then crawled into bed.

I still didn't sleep.

I was a little uncomfortable - the baby had been nursing more frequently but only one side at at time, and I think I accidentally skipped a side, maybe more than once. My right breast (the one that I had to have surgery on when I had that disgusting abscess) was sore. My scar felt different. I should've pumped but I kept thinking we'd catch up. We never did, and now I had that to worry about (this morning, he nursed just fine; the best way to fix that problem). I didn't want to get my pump stuff all dirty when I'd just have to wash it for today. I have extra parts and can avoid washing every day, but I always feel like if I don't wash everything it's some kind of minor failure that I'd just as soon avoid. It was risky, not pumping, but I think it worked out okay.

Before I was pregnant, my favorite sleeping position was on my stomach. For one reason or another, I haven't been able to sleep that way since I was pregnant, and now apparently I was too tired but still all wired up for some reason. I bet even being on my stomach would not have helped. Before I sent him to the living room, I told Patrick that I felt anxious about something. I felt a lump in my throat, actually, but I don't know why. Well, I have an idea. Of course. It's now 12 hours later and I still have that lump for some reason. Maybe it's in my stomach now. Maybe that's why I couldn't sleep face down.

When I was a little girl, I had a couple of remedies for sleepless nights. One was to read. I used to just stay up, and read, read, read. That worked the best for the moment but the next day I'd be wasted. Now that I have to drive a car in traffic I tend to find staying up all night a poor solution. When I was a teenager, I had one friend that I could call in the middle of the night. Talking on the phone or getting on my computer would've been too disruptive to the little guy. Also, who would I call? Another solution (this one was suggested by my friend Laura Love's Nana. Nana told us once when I spent the night, before we all went to Disneyland, and we were too excited to go to sleep at a decent hour) was to lay in bed on my back and raise my arm and to concentrate on holding my arm up. Eventually you're supposed to get so exhausted from holding up your arm that you just let it fall... and then you fall asleep.

My mom used to tell me to daydream. I believe her exact suggestion was to "daydream about Christmas." Or probably it was "daydream about heaven." I must've been really little when she suggested this. I'm kind of ashamed to admit that daydreaming about Christmas is a lot of fun (heaven: not so much - sorry mom! Maybe someday I will learn!). Ashamed because it's just dreaming about having things, isn't it? Still: it works. It's now turned into "daydream about winning the lottery." This is the technique I turned to last night. I wonder what my mom would think about that? Daydream about heaven, Christmas... the lottery. Well. I never said I was deep. Did I?

It's silly, because winning the lottery is sooo materialistic. I mean, what would I do with lottery winnings? Spend it, of course. I would BUY THINGS. The number one thing now on my list is, I would like to remodel our home. We've talked about making our tiny house a bit bigger for a long time now, and I think by now we know what we want to do. I like thinking about how we would finish the rooms and what kind of sinks we would have in our bathrooms, and the style of kitchen cabinets I want, and how I would furnish our new bedrooms. I want a wooden deck in the yard. New wood floors throughout the house, bamboo maybe; possibly cork in the bathroom. I want a dining room. A laundry room. I watch all those HGTV real estate shows and people are always going on and on about "en suite" bathrooms and central air and heating, and sometimes those people annoy the hell out of me, but yes: I want those things too.

I usually fall asleep doing the house, but apparently last night was special. I stayed up, and up. So I thought, OK, I have a bunch of a million dollars (the amount is never specific, of course). What do I do with it?

Well, JP needs to go to college. Hell, I need to go to college. And I'm sure my mom and dad would like a vacation. We could all go to Hawaii! And my mother-in-law could use a condo so that she could be closer to us, and to her other grandchildren. And wow, I'd like a new Beetle or a Volvo. I bet Patrick would like a better home recording studio: how much fun that would be for him! And maybe new drums for all of us! And guitars! And lessons for the guitars, and maybe ukeleles! And flutes for everybody! It would be fun to buy my dad another 1965 Ford Econoline pickup like the one he had when I was really small. And City Garage needs money. And the flute choir could use a contrabass flute... or two. My brother needs a newer car, my other brother... doesn't really need anything, but he could probably think of something. My sister might like to live somewhere of her own one day. My niece and nephew will need to go to college. My largesse grew larger the longer I stayed up.

And then, I realized: here I am, dreaming about winning the lottery, when in the other room, my adorable, perfect, still even less-hot little baby and my husband were quietly sleeping, having achieved that thing together that I couldn't, and the truth is, I've already won something much, much better.

Yes. New plumbing and subway tiles and bamboo flooring and a Beetle or a Mini or a Crosstour or a Volvo and a contrabass flute or two would make my life fun. But it's pretty darn nice right now. I just want that baby to lose his cough and then we'll be set for quite a while.

Songs that were thought of while writing this:

1. Jive Talking, by the Bee Gees
2. Atoms for Peace, by Thom Yorke
3. The Eraser, by Thom Yorke
4. I Would Die 4 U, by Prince
5. Evil Woman, by ELO
6. This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody), by Talking Heads
7. Man or Muppet?, by the Muppets
8. You Said Something, by P.J. Harvey
9. I Put a Spell On You, by Bryan Ferry (and CCR, and the Birthday Party)

Petition for City Garage Theatre

2012-01-17T11:57:00.000-08:00

Hi, everyone,

The theatre group that I worked with for about 6 years, City Garage theatre, has a petition on Change.org that I'd like to draw your attention to.

Change.org
Start an Online Petition »

For many years before I joined them and until last year, they were in a funky little space behind the 3rd Street Promenade, in the alley between 4th and 3rd. They put on many top notch productions (I was a part of 14; 12 behind the scenes, in the light/sound booth, and 2 awesome experiences onstage) and get great reviews.

Don't take my word for it: head on over to citygarage.org and check it out for yourself.

In 2010, they moved out of the funky little space behind the 3rd Street Promenade, and started using a temporary space in one of the galleries at Bergamot Station. I had a baby in 2010, and so my involvement has slacked off. I don't know all the details about the space there. I do know that a permanent space is what they need. If you click on the petition above, you can help them get it.

Thanks!

Sick Again

2012-01-17T09:25:00.000-08:00

(Who knew that "Sick Again," the Led Zeppelin song, is a somewhat mean dispatch to the band's "pathetic" [Jimmy Page's word] groupies? Thanks, Wikipeda... I guess!)

JP, who had a cough 2 weeks ago, got better last week, now has the cough again. Last night he had another fever. Not too high - he was his usual happy little self but he was also a little whiny at bed time. That is not usual. Anyway, once he fell asleep, he seemed to require my presence (we all are still sleeping together, but most of the time, once he falls asleep, he's cool in his own little area of the bed, which is nice). Perhaps "coughing on mommy" made him feel better? I stayed up until 2. Around 12:30 I finally gave up on falling asleep. I couldn't get comfortable, I couldn't turn off my brain. I tried reading, I tried playing games on my iPhone... I just couldn't sleep. At 2 I woke up Patrick and asked him to take over, which he quite willingly did. Even then it took me about a half hour to fall asleep. Then my alarm went off at 5:25, and somehow I got up. I even took a shower.

This morning his fever is gone and Patrick says he seems like he feels better, but I'll be checking on them frequently today.

Oh, so this is what parenting is! I'm probably being simplistic here but I like it better when the baby isn't sick.

...

Another reason I probably couldn't sleep... my mom starts chemotherapy again today. She was off for quite some time, because she had a really, really bad reaction to the last round. She spent a week in the hospital at Thanksgiving. I worry that she's going to be knocked out again. I really like seeing her more active and more like herself.

Oh, so this is what growing up is! Well. I have 24 more days of my reckless 30s to enjoy. Then I guess it's time to take my emotions and my hormones by the hand and... and... and do what? Enjoy my responsibilites? Buy a minivan (I kid. I'm a kidder)?

This could be another reason I'm not sleeping.

Wish me luck today, I'm probably going to need it.

Me & you, remembering

2012-01-12T14:54:00.000-08:00

I think I've mentioned before that I was not very cool in High School... but one of the funnest* and (to me anyway) coolest things I did was go see the band fIREHOSE. I saw them at least 3 times, at the Palomino and McCabe's Guitar Shop (where I met the man who could write with both hands at the same time; I believe his name was Jeff!), and the shows, especially the one at McCabe's, were kind of magical to me at the time (George Hurley, a great drummer and fun to watch always, was particularly insanely talented that night, and had what seemed like a thousand cymbals all going at once, including the cutest and tiniest splash cymbal I'd ever seen).

The funny thing about this was that of course I was totally unfamiliar with the Minutemen until about 5 years ago. I don't know how that happened. I'm glad I get it now but it took me a while to circle back. (For the record, I think I've always been a fan of Creedence.)

I heard Mike, Ed, and George are reuniting at the Coachella music festival. I've never been to Coachella; actually, it's always kind of intimidated me with it's massive list of bands and the huge crowds. I might have a touch of agoraphobia (which could explain why I often have coughing attacks in places like baseball stadiums or, even worse, on stage) or maybe I'm just shy (ha. "maybe"). Anyway, we're not going to Coachella this year.

I was just looking at the list of shows fIREHOSE is doing before they head to Coachella, and unfortunately none of them is close enough for us to get a babysitter and go to. I guess the Palomino is closed.

It would be kind of fun to go to Santa Cruz, wouldn't it.

*I can't explain why I enjoy using this word, either.

Singing Janitor Strikes Again!

2012-01-11T15:41:00.000-08:00

Yesterday (or was it the day before yesterday? What day is it now?) I wrote about overhearing the kindly janitor (I think I stole this from John Irving) who was crooning to himself while sweeping up the leaves in the parking lot. I ran into him again (sort of) in the afternoon.

I think I've mentioned that the room I use to pump is right next to the ladies' room. Right now it's just a closet-sized, recently painted room with a hundred year old vinyl chaise lounge (in pieces; I can't figure out how those cushions are supposed to go together) and a chair in it. Supposedly there are plans in the works to transform it into a bona fide Lactation Room but aside from painting it and repairing the acoustical tiles in the ceiling, that room looks pretty much the same as it did in 2008 when I first started working here. Since all that's required to make it "lactation ready" is to remove the ratty chaise, install a table, and change the signage, I'm not sure why this is taking so long, but as it is, it works.

When I was pregnant, I used to take some killer naps in there. Some of our Financial Services staff do too (occasionally this is an issue). I think there's one other woman who uses it to pump; sometimes we overlap our times. She only pumps once, though: I can't figure that out. I'd be leaking from here until tomorrow if I did that. Since I pump three times a day, my breaks are dedicated (no more naps, or walks). And, as you might guess, sleeping while pumping isn't recommended.

Anyway, the room is right next to the ladies' room. Close. As in, you can hear things. Including, it seems, anybody who happens to be singing while in there.

The janitor (I really have to learn his name, because, as I also mentioned yesterday, or whenever it was, he's a good guy) was in the ladies' room while I was pumping. The little closet-like room doesn't have a lock on the door, but it does have a "occupied/not occupied" sign, and I sit on the chair, which I move in front of the door. Someone would have to push against all my weight if they were trying to get in, and believe me, sometimes people (people who can't read the sign) do. But luckily I'm heavy enough to prevent anyone from busting in on me. Yes, I said "luckily."

Okay! So he was in there, singing to himself while he refilled the toilet paper and paper towel dispensers, and doing whatever it is that he does while he's cleaning, but it was killing me, because I could not, for the life of me, get what song it was. He was making a little noise, banging the various doors and dispensers and flushing the toilets, and of course not doing any of that in rhythm with the song, so I was having a hard time hearing the words or even the melody of what he was singing. That he was singing, yes, I could tell. What the hell song it was, no. I was disappointed. I like finding out the type of music people listen to.

The same thing just happened, but this time I really listened hard. I still couldn't figure out the melody (if there was one; seriously, the poor guy couldn't find a melody if it up and hit him; maybe that's just a side effect of singing with headphones on, because my mom does that too), but I could pick out more of the words. I heard:

"But maybe tomorrow you'll change your mind, girl."

I forgot my iPhone today, so I had to remember those words while I packed up Jules' milk, put my shirt on, and put my pump away and walked back down the hall to my office to do a Google search on those lyrics. Turns out it's a Jackson 5 song. Without my phone I'm having trouble pulling that song up in my brain or online, but my "Maybe Tomorrow" Pandora radio station just started (with "One Day in Your Life" instead), so maybe it'll play soon so I can hear the original.

Pandora "Maybe Tomorrow" Radio:

"One Day in Your Life," by Jackson 5
"Pray," by Take That (No. I did NOT listen to this song)
"Get Your Shine On," by Jesse McCartney (see above!)
"I Wanna Be Where You Are," by Jackson 5
"I'm Stone in Love With You," by the Stylistics
"Just You and Me Baby," by the Spinners
"Baby, Baby, Don't Cry," by Smokey Robinson and the Miracles

... Hmmm. This is taking forever. Maybe I'll just wait until I get home.

And if the wind is right you can sail away

2012-01-10T09:51:00.000-08:00

This morning as I was walking up to my office, the janitor was sweeping up the leaves in the walkway. He's a nice guy. He also cleans the ladies' rooms on my floor. He's very patient with the women who try to dash in just as he's getting started.

When he's outside, he listens to music on his iPod. He's a slightly older African American guy, and we always say good morning to each other (the room where I pump is adjacent to the ladies' room, and I see him a lot during the day). Today he was singing with the music (just, I might add, like my mom, i.e., out of tune [bless their hearts]).

The song? "Sailing," by Christopher Cross. I love that song. It goes with the yacht rock soundtrack I've had playing in my head lately.

Cool: now I want a cheeseburger.

2012-01-05T13:23:00.000-08:00

I read a story in the New York Times today about the women who put out great performances in films in 2011 (it's ironic: all the articles I read about movies and dance performances! - yet I haven't been in a movie theater for a hundred years, and haven't seen a real ballet EVER), and there's a quote at the very end from an actess who played a teenager who comes out as a lesbian to her family. The movie is called "Pariah," and I'd like very much to see it. I'll probably get a chance, when the baby goes to college. Or maybe summercamp.

The article talked about how these actresses prepare for their roles and handle the toll of portraying their characters, and mentioned that the woman who was in "Pariah" was surprised by her own emotional reaction to something in the movie that didn't necessarily jibe with her original plans for the scene or the character.

“I’m not going to die from being too vulnerable,” she said. “I can go, when it’s all done, and get a cheeseburger.”

I love this quote. I love it so much I'm considering using it to rename my blog.

(The actress's name is Adepero Odeye, and there's a totally fluffy and charming story about her, here. And then, there's a less fluffy but still charming story, here.)

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T21:39:00.001-08:00

The baby is asleep. His temperature is back to normal, though he still has that dang cough. Patrick is playing drums out in the garage. I'm curled up on the couch with the new Stephen King novel about time travel, a glass of water, a bag of pita chips, and the best dang hummus ever.

I'm picturing Jake as Bradley Whitford. Or maybe -- and this is insane -- as Luke Perry. I'm kind of leaning that way right now; Bradley, no offense, is a little older than the character is in my mind. Wouldn't all the girls swoon at seeing Luke, in whatever 2011 shaggy hairdo he's sporting now, cut it back to its "Beverly Hills, 90210" style once he goes back to 1958?

See you later. It's a thick book; I've got some reading to do.

2011-12-30T10:33:00.001-08:00

We're out for a walk. JP is asleep. We were just passed by one of those original Toyota hybrids, you know, the blue ones that look like the old Corollas. "Rory's here!" I thought. #toomuchgilmoregirls

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Death Comes to Pemberley

2011-12-20T10:51:00.000-08:00

I haven't been to the movies in ages... I've been looking for those "mommy and me" dates at a local theater, but haven't had any success. Now that JP is a little older, maybe he could handle a movie (the Muppets might be fun for him). The last movie I watched was "Bridesmaids" on demand, at home. I think the last movie I saw (unfortunately) in the theater was "Avatar." Yikes.

There are a couple of movies I want to see right now - maybe I need to arrange for a babysitter so Patrick and I can have a date night. One of them is "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo." I read those books, and even though after awhile I found myself sort of sickened and grossed out by the violence and repulsive events that took place in them (and disappointed by how badly they were either written or translated... no offense but Steig Larsson was not a great writer), I think what kept me reading was how obviously made for the movies they were. Even though I thought they were clunky and gross, I was able to see the story unfold... just like a movie.

When I found out that Daniel Craig had been cast in the movie, I thought - not who I imagined, but still, perfect (I can't even remember who I thought would be good, so they obviously chose the perfect actor).

Anyway, I was reading the NY Times review of the movie, and this paragraph jumped out at me.

It must be said that Mr. Fincher and the screenwriter, Steven Zaillian, manage to hold on to the vivid and passionate essence of the book while remaining true enough to its busy plot to prevent literal-minded readers from rioting. (There are a few significant changes, but these show only how arbitrary some of Larsson’s narrative contrivances were in the first place.)

Usually when I see a movie adapted from a beloved book, my first reaction is Oh, God, what are they going to change (read: ruin)? It's like casting skinny-ass Keira Knightly as Elizabeth Bennett: wrong in every way. Her version of Eliza Bennett will never, ever satisfy me (Eliza has weight to her! No, I don't mean she's FAT, I mean, she's not some wispy girl in a dirty petticoat. She has stature, confidence, a sense of humor. I know Eliza Bennett almost as well as I know my own sister, and Keira Knightly, sweetie, YOU are no Eliza Bennett!). But everything I've seen about these movies indicates that they might've even made the story make more sense. Better, maybe. I'd like to find out.

Speaking of Jane Austen, there's a new book by P.D. James (who I've missed, somehow) called "Death Comes to Pemberley," and unlike the HORRIBLE "Pride and Prejudice and Zombies" book (which I read, and hated, and no, it's not because I don't think anyone should mess with Jane Austen, it's just that I think if you're going to mess with Jane Austen, you should do it WELL), this one looks seriously good.

2011-12-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

How is it that IT people take normal words and then assign foreign (bizarre!) concepts to them? No wonder I'm confused. I was just asked the following:

Q. Is your machine static?
A. Why would I know that?

Q. Do you know who manages your machine?
A. Again: why would I know that?

Q. Is it a brick?
A. If by "brick," do you mean is it a piece of pretty but useless technology, then no. Or if you mean, is it a rectangular piece of ceramic material, then also: no. Or, if you mean, a brick like the girl in the Ben Folds song "Brick" (and I'm drowning slowly...), then, maybe. Because this whole thing has become a pain in my butt.

Question: Who owns the destination host?

2011-12-19T14:21:00.000-08:00

A: How the hell should I know?

(Actually, of course I know who owns the destination host. This is one of the easy questions.)

Oh, man! I am trapped in form hell! I have to fill out a form from our IT group (or, I should say, from some dude from some section with a name only another IT person could understand, in our IT group)... I have to fill out this form because of a new program we're implementing in January, which requires technical things to occur.

So this program was finally installed on my computer (and that in itself was interesting, but I will tell you that I did it myself, with minimal assistance from any IT person! Yay for me, right?), but of course we have now hit this snag, which someone (me? I don't think so!) should've known about before. The things I need to do could actually also be done by using a secure website, however, doing it that way is more complicated than doing it through the little program (program!) on my computer. Believe me, you do not want this process to be any more complicated than it already is. I want it to work. The way it is supposed to work. I want to start using the program (program!) before I forget all the stuff I was trained to do!

Only, in order for my computer to share information with their computers, I have to bypass... stuff. It requires our IT group to open some ports, man.

Apparently opening ports is akin to letting the wolves in, because they seem to be verrrrrrry reluctant to do it.

Anyway, the IT guy who was helping me from the organization who owns the program (see? I told you I know who that is) told me exactly what to ask for, which I did, in an email, however, our IT guy requires me to fill out his form, which asks for all the same information I already gave him, just... on this form. And I really don't know what the hell I am doing.

Listen to this (from the IT guy who was helping me from the organization who owns the Program):

"If you find this to be too difficult to do [is he making a joke?], you can always manually upload and download from the website using HTTPS, which is on port --- for xxx.xxx.xx.xxx (https://.....). You can also use a third party software to move data using FTP over SSH using port xx and we can install an SSH key if you have one to get into your account."

This is the EASY solution? Third party software? What?

Anyway, I just called our IT guy, who has been emailing me all morning ("all morning" = twice) but wouldn't you know it, he's away from his desk now, so I get to stew for a while and contemplate why IT and the rest of us can never seem to communicate. Look, I sometimes know what I'm doing when it comes to this tech type stuff, but this is way beyond my, as they say, "ken." It's like I asked for a bandaid and they're telling me I need to request major surgery on parts of my body I'd never heard of.

Anyway, I'd better go. I have to figure out what type of servers they are (where?) and if they're Windows or Linux. Why would I know that? Did I get a tour? This is frustrating. And what the hell does FQDN stand for?

Powered by... sugar

2011-12-15T09:06:00.000-08:00

I drove most of the way to work behind a gray 1980s-era Toyota Corolla. I can't find a picture of it (in all honesty, I only looked for about 30 seconds) but it was some sort of hatchback, or maybe they made a wagon, I don't know (from behind, all cars with that squared off shape look hatchback-y). The thing was labeled "1.8 power." I don't know what that means (I'm sure it refers to the engine... capacity?) but "1.8 power" doesn't really sound that impressive. Would 2.0 power be better? 1.8... couldn't handle that extra .2, huh. Maybe then the thing would've shaken itself to pieces. I rode in a couple of those Corollas in the 80s, and I remember even then they were kind of... rattly.

I thought about that for quite awhile as we poked our way down the 710. Maybe I should've learned a trade and been an auto mechanic; then these things wouldn't be such mysteries to me. My brother is a bus mechanic, motorized bike builder, motorcycle afficionado; this stuff could be in my blood, who knows? I might've been a good auto mechanic...

I couldn't see the driver's face but from my vantage point (behind him; daydreamy), I convinced myself that he looked a bit like Mr. Zarna, the 10th grade Spanish teacher who never quite sold me on pronouncing V's like B's. I wonder what happened to that guy, with his weird combover and ratty black blazer? I'm sure giving me (one of the few actual Mexicans in his class; I think he was from Spain) a D was the highlight of his teaching career. I've talked about this before, but I just never got over the feeling that I sounded stupid when I spoke Spanish; that a lot of the time I was circling around backwards to describe another word, that my brain could only move in one direction. And my lack of accent made me a target, I think, too. It was kind of like when the flute choir tries to "swing," but less successful (because the flute choir practices and I never did).

Anyway, after awhile, a baby blue Toyota Camry (with the A and the Y missing), probably late 1990s, cut in between us, and my little trip back in time was cut short. That particular model of car (all Camry's actually, and I say this as an owner of a 2004 Honda Accord, a very similar vehicle) inspires zero imagination, so I turned up my iPod and concentrated on getting to work more or less on time.

Thankfully yesterday's oil tanker explosion on the 60 hasn't yet impacted my commute; I got to work faster than usual, even, and going home last night was pretty easy, too. I feel for all the people (like a few of my friends at work) who will be stuck. We'll have to wait and see how long it takes to get home tonight.

Anyway, when I got to work, one of my co-workers brought in pan dulce for everyone, so I just learned something more practical than anything we ever learned from Mr. Zarna: I was informed me that the type of pan dulce I usually enjoy is called concha (actually, I think I knew that). Also there's that one that looks like a pig, called puerquito. So cute!

I've never had "Pan de Muerto" - is that the kind you
give to the people you don't like?

So here I go, starting my day fueled by sugar and half a cherry Pepsi leftover from yesterday. I'm kind of 1.8 powered myself, now.

Update on the ticket thing, with visual aids

2011-12-08T11:21:00.000-08:00

Original post, here.

This ticket is not up to my exacting standards.
Note the hand cut edges--!
The hair, well, that's as good as it gets.

2008's tickets were classy, dignified.
Thought was given to color and spacing.

I can't find any tickets for 2009. Was there a party? Did I make the tickets? Did that year just evaporate completely?

2010's tickets were fun and bold.
They kept changing the name of the event on me.

Why does this bug me so much?

2011-11-30T10:36:00.000-08:00

For three years, I made the holiday party flyer and tickets (I'm not on the party committee, but my boss is, and she asked me to do it; I would pretty much do anything for this woman, who is retiring next year, a fact about which I do not want to think) for our holiday party. I was happy to do it, it was fun.

This year for whatever reason (I think maybe I'm too busy? Or maybe because I didn't go to last year's party, when I was 11 months pregnant and big as a house?) they didn't ask me to do it. That's fine. The flyer has already come out and that thing makes it look like our party is going to be held in Hell's Basement (it's all red flowing into orange, and very fireplace-y). BUT the woman who's doing it this year just asked me for my "template" for the tickets.

Um, there's no template - there are just the completed cards (and the drafts I made). From my own head. Using my own wits and power of invention, and Microsoft Word (you don't need a fancy program!). My own not-so-carefully acquired sense of design and style. My own nit-picky attention to detail! And you know what? It bugs me! They're not fancy tickets, but they're mine. And, if they weren't good enough, then why ask for my "template"?

So I sent her a PDF (let her figure the spacing, the fonts I used out herself, right? Get your own unoffensive clipart, baby!). I'm expecting, any minute, to get a call from her.

Look, I know that somewhere along the line, I probably signed some paper that said that anything I created on the job was the property of... the job. I get it. But if you want my style without me, well, tough cookies, my friend, tough cookies.

Next time I'm getting a copyright. I can do that, can't I?

Petty

2011-11-29T09:55:00.000-08:00

My co-worker has started going on an extended bathroom break about 10 minutes before its time for me to pump. I just noticed this yesterday. She has already complained to my boss about an accommodation that was made for me because I was having a hard time getting to work at 7 (little babies want to eat when they want to eat, and traffic, like time, waits for no one). It's not really an accommodation, we just changed my schedule. But this person thinks that everyone is my boss's favorite, except her.

Anyway, I think she thinks that the time I spend pumping is "goofing off" time, and maybe it kind of is, thanks to my iPhone, but to me, it's also serious stuff, making tomorrow's breakfast, lunch and afternoon bottles for big baby Jules.

Speaking of pumping, my AM output continues to be amazing. JP will have at least 5 ounces, possibly 6, for one feeding tomorrow. The afternoon output goes down a little, but I'm always amazed at my body's ability to make this "liquid gold"!

Why I love the New Yorker

2011-11-23T12:33:00.000-08:00

Next April I'm planning on finally getting an iPad (it's a long story why I'm waiting for April; long, but not very interesting, which is why I'm not going to tell you), and one of the things I'm excited about is renewing my subscription to The New Yorker magazine.

I just love the writing.

Here's a wonderful example:

She crouched in front of the enclosure. “Hey, you!” she said, beckoning to one of the animals. She reached through the barbed wire and stroked one of its ears. Boggs opened the gate, and Bloomfield—wearing flip-flops, turned-up railroad pants, a black T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses—charged in. It was sweltering. The pigs stunk. Bloomfield stood in the middle of a cloud of dust. She could have been at a cocktail party.

This paragraph is from a profile on a woman named April Bloomfield, an English chef making a name for herself in New York. You can read the whole thing here.

(There was actually a paragraph I enjoyed even more but now I can't find it. Still, this one is great, isn't it? Makes me want a pair of aviator sunglasses. It also makes me want to go to New York and eat.)

Update on my mom

2011-11-22T08:54:00.001-08:00

For those of you who are interested, here's an update on my mom: http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/ketacasarez

Update on me

2011-11-22T08:31:00.000-08:00

My eczema is totally out of control this year. I don't understand it. Not even when I was a kid, did I have it this bad. I'm totally itchy, everywhere. My skin is red and dry and, thanks to the itchiness, even bruised a little (especially on my legs). I thought maybe I had something called PUPPPS (it's some kind of crazy pregnancy-related skin issue that I didn't have while I was pregnant, but some people, at least according to the Internet, get it afterwards too), but I saw my doctor yesterday, and he's convinced it's "just" eczema. I've had little flare ups before but never this bad. It's affecting my sleep, and Patrick's too (the baby is just fine). My doctor gave me some good advice, and new stuff to try, so hopefully this will clear up soon, because it's actually making me depressed a little. It's hard to feel like myself when I'm all red and itchy (and tired).

Also... on Saturday, my mom was admitted to the hospital. Her last few rounds of chemotherapy have been really hard on her. She's been pretty sick. It's hard because she's been through so much. I keep telling her to "be strong," "fight it" and all that, but I think she's tired of my "pep talks." Her white blood cell count is really low, and she's weak because she's had a lot of diarrhea for a long time (over a week, I think), so she's in a protected room (I just mean, no sick people, lots of hand washing required) - the baby can't visit her, which sucks. I know she wants to see him. We stopped by on Sunday night but it was pretty late - we'd spent the day with my in-laws, and my mom was tired, so it was a short visit.

Anyway, that's going on. Last year, it was my dad in the hospital at Thanksgiving. Thankfully, he's doing a lot better. I hope my mom is able to come home soon too.

I don't have a big ending to this post, though I did want to mention that this morning, at around 4:30, the baby woke me up. I fed him a little, and then tried to get him to go back to sleep. He was stretching and tossing and turning, and I couldn't tell what he needed to back to sleep. I picked him up and held him but he was wiggly, so I let him lie down again. He was on my right side, and I was facing him. He climbed up onto my stomach and draped himself over me for a few minutes, and I thought, huh, that's an interesting sleeping position. I let him be. Then he slid down and wiggled his way under my arm - he was pretty much in the same position he's in when I feed him in bed, but he wasn't hungry. He put his little arm around me and snuggled me very, very tightly, and then he fell asleep.

Let me just say that getting out of bed for work was no fun at all this morning.

Note to self:

2011-11-17T12:43:00.001-08:00

Must avoid becoming this type of mom.

OK, so see, "being non-judgemental" was already on my to-do list. Score! This mom is messed up.

Hmmm. I wonder what the "Facebook" of JP's time will be? And will there be jetpacks for everyone by then?

Thankful

2011-11-15T12:36:00.000-08:00

It's almost Thanksgiving! I am, as usual, really looking forward to it. I think I've mentioned that it's my favorite holiday? Why, you ask?

Dude. Because of the food, of course. This year will be extra fun, because it's JP's first Thanksgiving, and I cannot wait to let the little guy test drive some of my favorite foods.

I'm a little confused about letting him have mashed potatoes, though. Since of course we make them with lots of butter and milk, and he's still under the 12 month mark, I'm not sure about letting him have some. Maybe I'll just reserve a little for him when they start getting made, without the milk. Or maybe I'll bring along some breastmilk and make him his own. Is that weird? I think it's OK for him to have a little butter, no? I mean, let the guy live a little, right? I'm also thinking about how to get him to try a little turkey. Maybe I'll do the whole leg thing (where you clear off most of the big pieces of meat and let baby just hold it and chomp on it like a caveman). My dad will get a kick of that.

Speaking of food and living a little - I went to Weight Watchers this week as usual, and the topic was (of course) surviving the holidays. I've been doing pretty good on WW so far, but I'm telling you, I'm not going to count points on Thanksgiving. I want to eat, and I want to eat everything my brother and I (we're doing all the cooking) make. This year he agreed to stuff the turkey with my favorite stuffing recipe, and come on. What's better than stuffing? I ask you!

Anyway, I wanted to talk about being thankful. I have a friend on FB (okay, okay, I have many friends on FB; but one particular friend!...) and every day she's been posting what she's thankful for. I could do a daily list, but for now I'm going to stick with this one:

I am very thankful for:

My sweet, happy, healthy, wiggly, adorable little baby. He is truly the light of my life.
My husband, who has always been a good guy, but as a father, has blossomed as a man. Can men blossom? I don't know, but he is a wonderful daddy to our sweet, happy... (see above), and the best partner and friend I've ever had. He makes me smile, laugh, and put away his laundry. Wait, that last one wasn't supposed to be on there...
My job. As much as I complain about the commute, the hours, and my insane/amusing/annoying co-workers, I know how lucky I am to not only have a job at all, but one that provides me with a retirement plan, benefits, and opportunities. I don't get to be as creative as I would like, I'm away from my baby more than I like, I have to dress up once in awhile, but I know that I've kind of got it made.
My family. My mom's still undergoing chemotherapy and has some issues, but she is fighting cancer and enjoying her grandson. My dad's health seems to have evened out a little, and the rest of my family is healthy and around. I am so happy that JP will get to know his grandmas and my dad, his grandfather. I only wish Patrick's dad was here to see my little family. I suspect that JP's aunts and uncles are going to spoil him rotten come Christmas time. My comment on this is, pace yourselves. You have many more Christmases to come!
My home, which we were finally able to put a little money into. The outside "remodel" is complete, and actually looks like a place I am proud of, that I feel reflects our taste and looks nice. Someday we'll get the inside to look less like your (slightly crazy) grandma's house (and one day I'll have a new bathroom...) but for now, it's a fine place to live.
My friends. You know who you are. Thank you for being there for me.
My neighbors. I am so lucky to live somewhere I feel safe, around people I trust and enjoy. Except for the pothead kids: you, not so much.

Anyway, it's not a very imaginative list, but there you go.

I hope that your Thanksgiving (a week away!) is full of warm memories and sweet family.

Trying to understand the world, and today, mostly failing

2011-11-14T09:50:00.000-08:00

Last night I couldn't sleep. While I was laying there in bed, even though the story is over a week old, I finally read a few articles about the sexual molestation scandal at Penn State. I knew it was horrible, but some of the details are really making me sick, primarily, that the main guy, Jerry Sandusky, isn't in jail. It is beyond disgusting what he did, and equally beyond disgusting that no one did anything. I posted some pretty hot (in terms of my anger, and language) stuff on Facebook yesterday, and I apologize to anyone who hasn't heard me (or read me) using the F word before (if you were shocked by it).

I wrote, "Why the hell isn't that POS ["piece of shit"] Sandusky guy in jail? I hate this story."

I also said that I "wish all kinds of bad shit on that man and anyone else who did nothing to help those little boys." I said that I hope someone finds him and "kicks his ass. A hundred times. A thousand times." I am not a violent person. But little kids were violated while a bunch of stupid, weak-ass men stood around, apparently out of fear for their jobs that are just about a GAME, and did nothing about it. To be in thrall to an institution that's basically, I guess, about making money for the school (win games, get money) and to allow that or some kind of misguided loyalty to prevent you from doing the right thing: it's so shameful.

It is unfathomable to me that a bunch of adults knew that little kids were being victimized -- knew it, saw it!, talked about it amongst themselves -- and didn't do anything. Somebody, when I asked how a stupid football program could have so much power in a college, said, "well, they don't have anything else." That's insane. It's maniacal. It's so wrong. It's crazy to me that a game is so important, or that the people involved could get away with such despicable actions because of some made up status they held (I say made up because it's just football! It's a stupid game! Seriously, I don't care how important to you football is: IT'S JUST FOOTBALL).

My subsequent updates on FB ran along the lines of, "they should de-fund the football program and give the money to the orchestra, the math club." They could build a health clinic, a playground, a fucking parking lot! I think I also said that the team should be pelted with rotten fruit next time they take the field. I know that the kids on the team today had nothing to do with what happened, and my rotten fruit comment wasn't really serious, but the students who rioted when that coach guy* was fired, I mean, come on! That they didn't fire McQueary as well (the one who saw that slimebag Sandusky hurting a little boy) is totally baffling to me.

It just makes me so sad. And angry. I just don't get it. How people can be so blind to suffering, so heartless? The New York Times has posted (at least) two articles that draw a comparison to the Catholic Church's sex scandal, and it's a nice hypothesis, I guess. But football, and salvation don't compare. It's equally bad either way, in any environment. And if the people involved had been working toward some less-lofty goal (say, fried chicken distribution!) would it make a difference? Would their righteousness be less ridiculous? Or more? "We are putting out the best fried chicken in the WORLD! It blinded us to the right thing! It shielded us from moral duty!" It doesn't matter. It's a tragedy wherever it happens, and it's a tragedy when people turn a blind eye.

It makes me feel so helpless. Such a huge story (the real story, what happened to those boys, or even who they were) is being ignored. I don't mean, more details, because that feels like more victimization, I mean, how this affected them, who they are now. I'm almost afraid to look for that story because I don't want to hear the rest of it anymore.

*I didn't know Joe Paterno's name before this. I wish I still didn't.

Where I've been

2011-11-08T10:47:00.000-08:00

So it's been a while since I've posted anything on a regular basis. Boy, gone are the days of the daily posts, huh.

Here's a quick rundown, in no particular order:

The little guy had his nine month birthday a couple of weeks ago. NINE MONTHS. He's now been out as long as he was in. Time moves too darn fast.
He's getting his belly off the floor when he crawls now. He just started doing that out of the blue on Sunday afternoon. Craziness.
He's pulling himself up in his crib, pack and play, and on ANYTHING ELSE HE CAN FIND. That includes the couch, the dining table, the dining table chairs, his high chair, the bookshelves, his toy box, the headboard of the bed, the bathtub... this kid wants desperately to be vertical. I am not emotionally prepared to be the mother of a walking baby. I'm just not. Where'd my little tiny baby go?
We had some landscaping done last week. We hired a landscape architect named Andy De Young, who Patrick found on Angie's List. He was awesome. So nice, 100% professional and incredibly knowledgeable. He's an artist. He came to our house and talked to us for awhile, then he went into the yard armed with some graph paper, ordinary black pens, and his imagination, and came up with something gorgeous, simple, and totally us. And easy to maintain! Then he recommended another guy to come do all the plants for us, and yesterday they finished. Our plain, boring, squared off yards are now beautifully and professionally planted, and in 3 months when everything fills in will look even more pretty. I can't wait. Andy also designated a space behind the garage for a "vegetable garden." I think I'll wait until JP is big enough to help me out back there and then I can be all, "Here's a watermelon! The BABY grew it!" The design also included space for a bench next to the driveway (my request). I wanted someplace to put my shopping bags when I come back from the store. And to sit and watch the neighborhood with the baby. We got the bench last night. I love it. I can't wait to play out in the backyard with the baby.
My mom started chemo again a few months ago and had a bad reaction. She got pretty sick. So now her oncologist is recommending a new treatment... and we'll just have to wait and see how that goes. She's pretty tired of feeling bad. I hope things go better.
My stupid allergies continue to plague me. All the times I complained about sneezing and having watery eyes? If I could've only known that one day I would have red, itchy skin, too! I would be grateful for just sneezing. I'm now taking Allegra twice a day, but my doctor can't give me anything more powerful until I finish breastfeeding. It sucks! I hate being red and itchy!
At JP's 9 month checkup, his pediatrician seemed surprised that I'm still breastfeeding. And since then, several people (the lady at the lactation center where I went to pick up a new nursing bra, various friends and family) have expressed surprise, too. I'm so proud I made it this long! It's not easy, but then: it's totally doable. Does that make sense? I love doing it... and I'm not ready to stop... but one day I would love my body to belong to me again, too. I'm not in a rush; I'm just telling you.

Oh, and this happened:

My new short hair!

Just an average Thursday.

2011-10-20T15:04:00.000-07:00

I'm having a kind of fun, busy day at work.

I was printing something and ran out of paper. I stood up, said to no one in particular, "I need some paper," walked over to the... refrigerator, opened the door, and stood there, wondering where the paper was.

I think I'm just all excited because... I'm going to flute choir tonight!

Live blogging my Teleflora Customer Service Experience

2011-10-18T11:30:00.000-07:00

This is in regards to yesterday's post about my boss's flower arrangement, ordered through Teleflora, which looked nothing like the flowers we ordered.

I placed this call at about 11:13, and I've been on hold now for about 5 minutes. I was told (by the recorded message) that my call would be answered within 2-3 minutes.

They're playing very nice piano music in the background, but this dude keeps cutting in and telling me about their "wonderful products" and "exceptional quality." Not this time, buddy.

11:19... Still on hold.

11:20... Someone picked up. Told her my story. Back on hold.

11:22... She said that because I emailed them, someone from the email department had already refunded me the money as I requested and that I should receive an email from them. Since I haven't received any email, she said she would do it, and she said it takes 2-3 days for the refund to go through. She also said that the florist who prepared my order mixed up the cards. So someone got our pretty arrangment, and we got the shitty one. OK, I can see that happening. It's not very professional, but mistakes happen.

11:27... My co-workers seem satisfied with the outcome. My boss was always happy with the flowers (she likes those colors, and loves daisies), but I was just really disappointed that they weren't as lovely as she is.

Warning: Teleflora SUCKS

2011-10-17T14:51:00.000-07:00

I ordered flowers (at the suggestion of another co-worker) from Teleflora for my boss for Bosses Day. I am very, very disappointed in how that transaction has played out.

From me, to them, via email:

The flowers my boss received do not look anything like what I ordered, nor are they comparable or worth what I paid. They are not even the same color scheme. I believe I should get a refund of at least $30 on this order. My boss said they were "pretty" and they were but I am incredibly disappointed. I will NEVER EVER order from you again. I would call but I am at work and I don't want my boss to hear me complaining about her gift. Someone should contact me via email or by phone soon to fix this situation.

What I ordered:

This arrangement is called "Zen Artistry."

What I received:

This arrangement is not Zen in any way.

Yes, they have a disclaimer when you order that if the exact arrangment isn't available they'll send something else but this is a joke. I think someone ripped these off a table from the local IHOP. I'm so mad - what a rip off. The other arrangement was not cheap, and this orange and yellow monstrosity (it was much smaller than it appears in this photo) a) isn't anything I ever would've have chosen and b) is not the work of a skilled florist. I could've put that bunch of Home Depot flowers together, for much, much less money.

Sprout Organic Baby Food by Tyler Florence

2011-10-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

Patrick picked this food up for JP the other day. He'd read about it, and the reviews were amazing - people were saying stuff about how the food was so good, they would eat the leftovers if their baby couldn't finish it.

We tried it, and yep, JP was into it. He liked it. He liked it a lot. I liked it too (my only complaint is that the package is a little hard to handle neatly). On Saturday, I was about halfway through a container of Summer Squash, Yukon Gold Potatoes and Parmesan (which he was loving), when my brain suddenly turned on. Parmesan. Parmesan. Parmesan is cheese. Cheese from cow's milk. Cow's milk was on that list of foods I was given by a nutrition that shouldn't be given to babies before they turn 12 months old.

So. I took the food away and substituted something else (and let me tell you, JP was not happy about that), and I called the toll-free number on the package.

Not to complain: I should've checked the label before feeding it to him, so this one was on me (bad mommy!) but to question. I told them how much my baby enjoys the food but that I was concerned about the presence of a cow's milk product in a food marketed to infants, who, I thought, were not supposed to have cow's milk.

I didn't expect to, but this morning I received a call back from a woman named Sherry from the company. She explained to me that because the cow's milk in the cheese has been cooked, that the hard-to-digest enzymes have been eliminated, and that it's OK to give it to babies at this stage.

That phone call accomplished two things:

It relieved my mind. I thought I'd totally messed up by giving him cheese.
It made me want to tell everybody to go pick up some Sprout Organic Baby Food for your baby. They'll love it, and you will too.

http://www.sproutbabyfood.com/

From an interview in the Guadian with Haruki Murakami:

2011-10-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

"...I have some feeling that I have to live, I have to live very strong. Because I don't want to spend years of my life… it should be the very purpose, life. Because I survived, I have obligations to give fully..."

I like this quote very much. My interpretation is that he's saying that the meaning of life is to live. And that living requires us to be strong. Or maybe I'm reading into it, because my mom's oncologist, while telling her that he was going to be adjusting her treatment (chemotherapy kicked her butt this time), also told her to "live her life." We all keep saying that, jokingly, to her (because he's not a very touchy-feely guy, it felt a little weird coming from him), but I like that advice.

I wonder if Siri would be able to come up with that one? I also wondered if Steve Jobs included any "easter eggs" (I'm sure there's a cooler, more tech-savvy name for these by now; I'm no Apple junkie) in any of the products he was working on before he died?

You can read the whole interview/article with Murakami if you click on the title of this post.

2011-10-15T07:43:00.001-07:00

The maintenance required light came on last night on our way home from visiting my mom and dad in Culver City; it might (hopefully) just be that I missed my oil change 1,000 miles ago. I'd planned on taking it back to EZ Lube in CC but I forgot to do it yesterday! Anyway, JP was awake at 6 AM so I thought we'd try going to the dealer early. Guess who fell asleep in the car on the way over?

Can Apple save the U.S. Post Office?

2011-10-12T15:44:00.000-07:00

Will Apple be able to save the U.S. Post Office with their Cards app? I don't know, but this looks pretty damn cool. I heard that some people are having trouble downloading the new IOS5 so maybe I'll try to upgrade in the middle of the night when I'm up with the baby...

I can't wait to send photos to my mom and dad, or Pat's mom, of the baby! They'll love it!*

*I wrote these words before I noticed them on the Apple website, I SWEAR.

Better late than never: Best of 2010

2011-10-11T17:03:00.000-07:00

When I decided it was time to finally sit down and figure out which of these posts constituted the "best of" 2010, a little voice inside my head said, "Isn't it kind of obnoxious to label your own writing as good?" I told that little voice, "True, but if I don't do it, who will?"

Since the little voice has (thankfully) chosen to remain silent on that point, here they are, only 10 months late, the best posts of 2010 from Maturity is a bitter disappointment and I Can't Stand [Meeting] You. I'll try to not include any of the posts where I recount for your amusement/annoyance the contents of my stupid dreams. Enjoy.

1. "He's gotta ticket to ride"
Maybe if Karen Carpenter had focused on a life of crime instead of whatever she was seeing in the mirror, God's big band in the sky might be missing (another) drummer.

2. "Dancing with the stars, or whoever"
I took a lecture-y tone with Little Miss Bristol Palin, and advised her to "see a Broadway show." Man I love Dancing with the Stars. It brings out the school-marm in me.

3. "Ay caramba, dude!"
Come with me back in time to a moment before I had the baby, when apparently my biggest worry was... my home's lack of storage space.

3A. "Stuff. Stuff!"
If you found item no. 3 interesting, here's a variation on the same theme. We still have no storage but the little baby we got instead doesn't seem to mind. Yet.

4. "Yesterday (no, not the Paul McCartney tune"
Another post where I wrote about the baby, and a nice big jumble of other, unrelated topics, including classical music, my (not very inspiring) choice of reading materials, and the hipsters who staff the Apple store (any Apple store). Also, is "hipster" still the word to use when describing people who are (mostly) younger than you who have interesting hair? And what's up with those weird beards? I saw another one just the other day on some kid walking out of one of the many churches in my neighborhood. Let me be 100% crystal clear: that kind of beard (this website calls it a "chin curtain") looks good on NOBODY.

5. "We know where we're going"
A short post (and I don't get why I used that title, either, except that I guess I was listening to the Talking Heads), pre-baby, where I spent a delicious 10 hours in bed, something that right now sounds so decadent and wonderful that I can't even conceive of it. Oh, and kitty picture! And now this "summary" is longer than the actual post. Included here because the idea of all that sleep has me a little giddy.

6. Untitled
On June 4th, Patrick's band Suffering Luna played a gig at a gross place called the Smell. I "live blogged" it (i.e., I sent text messages from my iPhone to my blog), and some of them were pretty funny. Unfortunately, as I sent each message one at a time and I didn't take the time to post them all in one entry with a title (like a normal person), I'm having a hard time linking to them, now. Does any of that make sense? Anyway, the next day, I wrote a post that explained what had happened. If you click here and then go back to "older posts" you will see what I did, there. Go ahead, try it.

7. "I have an inexplicable need to write titles that are longer than they need to be"
By writing a lot of seemingly random words, it appears that I can control LA Radio. Or, LA Radio is way more predictable than it needs to be. That's probably it, huh. Also: slow dancing - how can I make that happen?

8. "High finance in action"*
I took all my change to my local Ralph's and poured it into the Coinstar machine. Comedy ensued. Oh, not really, but it's kind of a funny post. I won't lie: "kind of" but not "very".

*Using that title makes it sound as if I was high. I was not. I swear.

The following posts are from my Stewart Copeland blog, which, if you think I've been neglecting this blog, must be seeming like it's, wait, I started that sentence without planning the ending and now I'm screwed, aren't I. Anyway, here are the best posts from 2010 in my "I Can't Stand [Meeting] You" blog, which is mostly weird-ass letters to, who else? Stewart Copeland. Read it, and tell me I'm weird. I love that.

9. "Dear Stewart"
[Note: almost all the entries in the Stewart Copeland blog are titled "Dear Stewart," but I was careful to link the right posts to the words "Dear Stewart". Don't think about that too hard, your brain will literally explode.]

I wrote a lot of words to a famous man who probably doesn't remember meeting me, about my mom's chemotherapy, People magazine, the theatre I work/ed at, and an invitation come see the show. It's actually (I think) a sweet little letter.

10. "Dear Stewart"
This is just like a letter you might write, say, from camp or something. And I called world-renowned drummer/composer/filmmaker all-around awesome guy Stewart Copeland "man" like he was my buddy, somebody I ditched 5th period world history with or something. Hey, man! What's up?

11. "Dear Stewart and Dufmanno"
Dufmanno is one of my favorite readers, of which there are probably three. She inspired a pretty funny post, if I do say so myself. Which I do. Say so.

12. "Dear Sting"
I took a time out from all the letters to Stewart to write to his band mate, Sting, where I lectured him about his lack of "fun" and "creativity," but the joke's on me, 'cause that guy has like a home in every country. He can take his lack of fun to the bank and they'll hand over bags of money, every single time.

12A. Another letter to Sting
Apparently Sting bothers me. Read it, here.

13. "Dear Stewart"
There aren't many words in this letter, but the ones that are there are sweet. I like when I, in a move exactly opposite to my normal operating procedure, use fewer words than usual. It leaves a lot unsaid (obviously) and context (and content) get lost but then I get to go back almost a year later and read some random thing I wrote like this and I wonder where my head was at. Not exactly knowing is kind of cool sometimes.

So, that's all. Enjoy, or don't: it's up to you.

Standing up

2011-10-11T11:13:00.000-07:00

I guess I haven't been doing a good job of keeping this thing updated whenever the baby does something new or posting photos... I think I'm going to blame Facebook for taking away some of my focus.

Instead of posting the following there, though, I thought about it (all weekend) and decided to wait until today to use this space for the following exciting news:

Lo and behold, my little baby boy can PULL HIMSELF UP.

On Friday, I put him in his crib so that I could go to the bathroom. This is what we (mostly) use the crib for, since he sleeps with us (or at bedtime, I put him down to sleep in his crib for an hour or two so I can watch TV or read or whatever, then I bring him to bed with me). Sometimes he'll take a nap in there, too. He has a few toys (mostly stuffed animals) to play with and his room and his crib are closer to the bathroom than the Pack & Play, which is out in the living room. Generally he's happy enough in there for a few minutes. He'll wait for you longer in the Pack & Play, which is in the (livelier) living room and has more interesting toys in it.

Anyway, this time I heard him fussing in his room while I was in the bathroom, so I hurried up to get out there and see what he was doing.

What he was doing was standing up. In his crib. Holding onto the side.

My little crawler (still has his tummy on the ground, army-man style) has decided that he wants to stand.

After that, it was all he wanted to do. I held him up while we played on the floor (he loves the Busy Zoo my friend Missy gave us, and standing up to play with it is a million times more fun that sitting down!). I held him up while I sat on the couch and he apparently got a kick out of just standing there, because there literally was nothing else going on except his own slight bouncing motion. Oh, OK, I might've been singing to him, too ("Daddy's gonna take us to the zooooo tomorrow, zoooo tomorrow, zooo tomorrow, daddy's gonna take us to the zooooo tomorrow..."). We've been listening to Pandora on the TV (very cool thing), set to a children's station, and for the most part, I actually really enjoy a lot of the children's music, which is mostly silly. I do silly quite well, it seems. The channel we chose also plays Disney songs (I wanna walk like you, talk like you...!) and oldies (JP loves when Mommy sings with "La Bamba." I love making up the words. Does anybody know the words to La Bamba?). It's fun. He's started giggling a little when something funny happens in the room (as opposed to just when I'm kissing or tickling him), and man, that little laugh is so precious. He takes a lot of serious photos (and my friends in the swimming class usually just see him big-eyed and a little awestruck) but my baby can laugh.

On Thursday, I spoke to his Daycare teacher, and she warned me that he would be getting more adventurous (they have a little ball pit in his room, and apparently he launched himself out of it). She was right. (She also said that "he picks up things very quickly," which of course made me very proud of my little man.)

I'm trying not to be an overly protective, nervous mom (Patrick lets him have too much water in the bathtub! But when I say something, he says, YOU take him swimming in a 30,000 gallon pool! My response ["OK, but we're not talking about what I do!"] didn't go over well, so now I just stay in the living room and let them play). I think that's going to have to be a learned behavior, because my natural inclinations appear to include fretting. Anyway, I'm working on it, I'm working on it.

My mom thinks he'll walk by the time he's 1.
That freaks me out a little!

Win Friends, influence people, and annoy them as little as possible (I'm looking at you, Tiger Woods!).

2011-10-05T13:45:00.000-07:00

I love this (below, from a NY Times review of the e-book version of Dale Carnegie's "How to Win Friends and Influence People," a book I've never read but now almost want to - in the original; a hard copy version please, thank you!):

The following sentence, which appears on Page 80, is so inept that it may actually be an ancient curse and to read it more than three times aloud is to summon the cannibal undead: “Today’s biggest enemy of lasting influence is the sector of both personal and corporate musing that concerns itself with the art of creating impressions without consulting the science of need ascertainment.”

You can read the whole review (which also includes a discussion of the updated "Emily Post's Etiquette") here. Personally, when I'm looking for advice, I turn to "Dear Prudence," "Ask Amy" (not as annoying in print as she is on "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell me") and Carolyn Hax, and for etiquette, the Social Q's section in the New York Times. Emily Post has never really done it for me. Oh, and I also like the Ethicist in the New York Times, though I did sort of prefer Randy Cohen to the anonymous female writer they have now.

This message will not only post on my blog, but will be posted to Twitter, and therefore, to Facebook. Hope it doesn't annoy you too much! :-)

Trapped on the freeway.

2011-10-04T07:47:00.001-07:00

At least I'm not alone. There's like, a million other cars sitting here, going nowhere, doing exactly the same thing I am. Oh, okay, maybe nobody else is listening to Xanadu.

I refused to believe it. My heart wants what it wants,
and that includes an open freeway.

..."Husky Anderson Cooper..."

2011-10-03T07:08:00.001-07:00

Saw a guy, like a husky Anderson Cooper, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, no shoes, riding a skateboard, walking his dog. I wish my Monday was so carefree.

More thoughts on parking lots than the topic deserves

2011-10-02T20:37:00.003-07:00

I want some designer to put the "park" in parking lot, to make them a safer place for pedestrians.

More trees, walkways, better lighting.

Why does everyone act like that's impossible, or insane, or too much to ask? This weekend I walked with the baby to my Weight Watcher's meeting. It's 1.5 miles from my house, and a pretty nice walk, most of the way (except for the Intersection of Death, which we'll discuss another time). We mostly walked through residential streets, and then we had to walk through the K-Mart/Lowe's parking lot. There's also a Denny's, Verizon store, Starbucks, and Carl's Jr. in that parking lot. It's a huge, gigantic parking lot, with enough spaces for 10 more stores. There will never, ever, ever be a day when every single one of those spaces is filled with a car; there aren't that many people in the entire city of Long Beach who want to shop at K-Mart (I have never seen more than 10 people at once in there).

Not only are there a ton of extra spaces, the spaces they do have are all laid out weird. There are strange little cul de sacs and short lanes and no stop signs and spaces that aren't near any store - it makes no sense.

There's lots of room. They could have sidewalks, more trees, better lighting, bigger spaces for biggeer cars (I do not believe in compact spaces! Not because I don't believe in compact cars, but because there's always going to be some jerk who parks his Suburban in a compact spot and throws the whole thing off for everybody. If all spaces were the same size, everybody could park anywhere, regardless of the size of their vehicle).

So I had to push the stroller through the parking lot, basically "in the street" because there's no walkway for pedestrians. Sure, nobody was really there at 10:30 on a Sunday morning, but I didn't exactly feel safe. Nobody ever seems to think about what happens once you park your car, so pedestrians aren't even considered when parking lots are designed. But I think, if a store has a well-designed lot, and clearly takes my safety into consideration, then wouldn't I be more willing to shop there? Yes.

Anyway, I realize that there are more important problems in the world, and that probably parking lot design isn't #1 on anybody's list, but it seems like such a simple thing. It would be so easy. Someone should advocate for this. Maybe that someone will be me.

Maybe. I'll think about it.

Review for mommies: Citadel Outlets

2011-10-01T08:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I packed up the baby and set off for the Citadel Outlets in Commerce, California. Unlike other outlets in southern California, this one is easy to get to and not too far from pretty much anywhere in Los Angeles.

Before we left, I checked out their website to see if they had any information about accommodations for nursing mothers. Sure, I could've just headed over there and plopped on a bench outside the shops and fed the baby... but I don't really nurse in public like that anymore. For one thing, JP is much too wiggly - for my own comfort I prefer to cover up when out in the open, and he will not tolerate the cover anymore. I can pull my shirt around to cover myself but getting started is the moment of truth. And, he's also taken to stopping and starting several times during one feeding - it's too revealing.

So I clicked on the "contact us" link and sent an email asking if they had a "family or mother's area" for nursing a baby. I was very surprised: I got a response from someone in about an hour, stating that they do have such an area, called the Mother's Lounge.

I think this might be a new feature, because when I got there, a woman was photographing it. She was very polite and didn't bother me, so I just sat down and did what I needed to do. The room is right inside the ladies' restroom, and beautifully lit and decorated. There are several couches upholstered in a very soft fabric, a couple of chairs, and a little play area for older kids. There's nice lighting, and pretty pictures on the wall, and mirrors, and soft fabrics everywhere.
Before I fed the baby, we stopped off in one of the "family" restrooms so I could change his diaper. Again, beautifully done - big, clean room for just us (there are six of them, I think); we didn't have to share. There's one regular toilet, and a little one for the kiddies. Next to the sink is a changing table covered with a nice fuzzy fabric. My only criticism is that they installed the paper towel dispenser (automatic) right over the changing pad, right at baby's level. On the one hand, this gave JP something to do instead of squirming while I changed his diaper, on the other hand, wow that's a lot of wasted paper towels (I used most of the ones he caused to dispense when I washed my hands later). And my other criticism: they have two outlets, also at baby level, in the changing area. Why couldn't these two things have been placed higher up, away from inquisitive little hands? Otherwise, the family restroom worked out great for us.

So after feeding JP and using the restroom, we kept shopping. It's been awhile since I've been to the Citadel, and the Gap and Banana Republic used to be the only stores I cared about. This time I went to the Gap (but not Banana... I'm too fat still to want to buy anything from there anytime soon) and spent most of my time in the baby section (got him the CUTEST long-sleeved onesie with an old boom box on it... Patrick will love it), among other things. I did also get a pair of pants and a top for me, but this shopping trip was really about the baby. We received so many clothes for him as gifts but now we're starting to run out. And he needs warmer shirts and another little zip up jacket, and pants... I had fun shopping for him.

The Citadel has a good selection of baby stores: we went to Carter's, Gymboree, Osh Kosh B'Gosh... it was a fun day. We had lunch at Panda Express (but after I got my food there I wished I had tried the Mediterranean restaurant they have, called Lamajoon), and then I went back to the Mother's Lounge to feed JP again before the ride home. This time there was a woman feeding her 11-day old baby (so tiny!), and a couple of ladies just resting their feet.

We got a lot of stuff and had a fun day. To be honest, I think I'd rather go to the Citadel from now on, rather than the regular mall.

Someone has a case of the Mondays and it ain't me.

2011-09-26T12:16:00.000-07:00

I send out all the wellness-related emails to my department. When we're running a program (like "Biggest Loser") that the whole county is participating in, those are sent out by me, too. There are approximately 2-3 emails a week. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but never more than 4. I also write the bi-monthly "Wellness Newsletter," which includes a quiz, with prizes to the winners. This is in addition to any prizes that are available to participants in the programs run by our healthcare providers. So not only are we giving good information related to wellness, there are opportunities to win prizes (the prizes that I give out are modest, like pens, or lunch boxes. I have some cool Kaiser-donated baseball caps, too. The other prizes are better, like Subway gift cards, bicycles, and even an iPad). Where's the bad in all this? There isn't any.

This morning I got the following message in my in-box.

To: Irene P.
From:
Subject: sick

Sick and tired of all the e mails when tring to do my job

With the blessing of my supervisor, I sent the following response:

Good morning, [Mr/Ms Anti-Proofreading],

Which emails are you referring to? If you are referring to Wellness Program emails, which are sent on my behalf via ------, please be aware that all messages are sent with the knowledge of the Department’s Wellness Manager, Xxx Xxxxx. These messages are sent out in accordance with the County’s wellness programs. Participation in wellness programs is voluntary. You are always free to delete any messages you consider excessive; however, you should understand that if you do so, you will be missing out on important information related to your health and wellness, as well as opportunities to win prizes.

If you have any other questions or comments regarding the wellness programs, you or your supervisor may contact Xxx Xxxxx at (213) 837-5309.

My supervisor thought my response was too nice; then I asked if I could Cc the person's Division Manager, the HR Manager (my supervisor's boss), and our Division Manager (my supervisor's boss's boss). Who's too nice now?

Stay on target!

2011-09-20T13:08:00.000-07:00

So, hey, I'd been talking about this with some friends of mine (don't worry, you shall remain nameless) for awhile now, and on Sunday, I got up and took the baby with me to... a Weight Watchers meeting.

I first did WW about 10 years ago, when I got my first County job. After I don't know how many years (I usually say "15" but how can that be accurate? Am I that old?) of working in retail, after one year having a desk job, I gained 20 pounds. All that running around (and fooling around, god retail was fun) at the bookstores (and parking a mile from work) had apparently kept me trim, in spite of the crazy eating habits I had in my late teens and early 20s (when I worked at Crown Books in the 90s, I used to have for lunch, depending on which city I was in: Backstop Pizza, a diet coke and Reese's peanut butter cups, or a grilled cheese sandwich from Ships if I was in Culver City; a hot dog from Malibu Mutt, a giant iced blended mocha from Coffee Bean, or - if I was really lucky, Patrick would bring me a sandwich from Bay Cities when I was in Malibu. When I worked at Rizzoli in Santa Monica and Beverly Hills, my meals were even worse! Let's just say ice cream played heavily in my decision-making). When I hit 30 and started working in an office, where people love to eat, I was helpless. My bosses at the time were both stress-inducing and lovers of food, and we would go to lunch, where we usually had incredibly fattening food, all the time. Now my office is full of incredibly generous people who love to bring food to share (donuts, pastries, etc.). So yeah, hello 20 pounds!

So 10 years ago, I realized that I had gained so I sucked it up and joined Weight Watchers. I needed help making healthier decisions, and I had a couple of friends (again: they-who-shall-not-be-named!) doing it, so it was fun and easier than I thought. Losing 20 pounds was pretty easy back then, though over time I did gain about half of it back.

Then I had a baby, and here I am, back at that highest number ever, not too happy about it. Maybe I could be more complacent about it except for the weekly swimming lessons I've been taking with JP. Getting into a swimsuit for the first time did not make me a happy camper (buying two pretty new swimsuits in a bigger size helped, though). I knew I had to do something, but for six months I put it off because I'm breastfeeding, and yes, I used that as an excuse even though it's really not. "I'm eating for the baby!" stopped sounding legitimate quite some time ago. So, after learning that a couple of other friends were doing it again, I decided it was time for me too.

I started Sunday, so this is my second day at work, tracking. They've changed the program a little but it's pretty simple. Yesterday my co-workers had a going away party for a guy who is transferring to another department, and though the food looked good (and I could've looked up the points plus amounts of all the items they had), I had planned out my lunch ahead of time and decided I'd better stick with it. My Subway sandwich, with just a little tweaking, works just fine for me (it makes it so much easier that WW has made all fruits and vegetables "0" points foods!). Later they had cheesecake, which was tempting until I actually saw it (a flat little cheesecake with tired looking fruit on top? No thanks!).

Tomorrow will be challenging, because it's someone's birthday, and we're going to a Mexican restaurant I've never been to. I was looking at the menu and my WW Pocket guide a few minutes ago, trying to figure out what I will eat. It all looks yummy, but I think maybe a couple chicken tacos and some black beans might work out, or maybe veggie fajitas and a chicken quesadilla... I don't know yet. I have options, though, so that feels good.

Is it weird that when I read the words "stay on target,"
I hear the voice of that dude from Star Wars?

Swimming

2011-09-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

This is a long story. I suggest you skim.

Swimming!

Last Saturday, I suited JP up in his swim diaper and Hawiaan-looking Izod swim trunks (bought on eBay!), squeezed myself into my bathing suit, and signed us up for an 8-week baby and me swimming class. Patrick has a friend at work who told us about it. She has a 15 month old baby and they've already done it once.

It was a weird morning - we had to get out of the house by 8 a.m. to register for the class, and while we were getting up and getting dressed, there was quite a bit of thunder. While walking to the car it started to rain, then it poured, and on the way to the pool, there was lightning and thunder too. It's only a 15 minute drive to the pool (during which the baby was fascinated by all the noises outside), and by the time we got there, the rain had stopped.

I put JP in the Ergo Baby carrier and we waited in line with all the other moms, there to sign their kids up for swim lessons or Jr Lifeguards or whatever. There was one woman in front of me with her mom, and a little girl. Man, that grandma was harsh. The woman and her mom were Hispanic, and the little girl, probably around 6 or 7, had sort of frizzy hair, pulled back into a ponytail. The hair around her face was kind of falling out of the elastic band, and it was a little messy. She looked like every other 6 year old, though, and it wasn't a big deal. Also, wasn't she about to go swimming? So who cares what her hair looked like? Grandma kept messing with her, even though the little girl asked her to leave her hair alone. Then, the little girl was standing by a big rack they had in the lobby, with all these local newspapers and magazines in it. I guess she put her foot on the bottom of it, and Grandma told her, "Don't climb on there! That thing could fall on you and cut your head open."

Okay, maybe it could. A cut-open head would be a very bad thing, and avoiding it by whatever means possible seems like a good idea to me, too. Fine. But the warning didn't suit the crime. I didn't see any indication that the little girl had plans on climbing on the rack. She was just placing her foot on the lowest rung. I don't know these people, maybe the little girl is accident prone... or maybe that grandma was just mean. I kept watching that lady and the little girl, and the way the mom didn't really do or say anything, even though the little girl got quieter and quieter (she had been talking animatedly to her mom about swimming when I first saw them) the longer we waited.

Anyway, when they finally opened the office, and it was our turn to sign up, I still hadn't seen Patrick's friend, but there were still 7 spots left in the class. The line was pretty short, but slow. When I was leaving, I saw her at the end of the line with her son, B. I didn't know for sure if it was her but she somehow recognized me. We made plans to meet up later.

I took JP home for a quick feeding (the class was supposed to start at 11, and by the time we registered, it was 9:15), and then at 10:30 we headed back. I had no idea how it was going to work, with the clothes and changing, and afterwards, getting wet and everything. I took the baby into the ladies' locker room, and set him down, surrounded by my diaper bag and a big towel, on the counter where the girls probably dry their hair, and took off the romper I'd dressed him in over his trunks. He wasn't as wiggly as he usually is (he was more interested in looking at himself in the mirror), and then I kept one hand on him and took off my own clothes, which were over my swimsuit. I need to bring a bigger bag next time, because cramming all that stuff in the diaper bag meant I couldn't reach anything I wanted easily. It wasn't ideal - but other than bringing him in in his car seat, there's no good way to do it that I could see.

Then I ignored the "shower before entering pool" sign and went out to the pool.

It's a giant, indoor pool. In fact, there might even be 2: I have no idea. Patrick's friend was already out there, with her little boy. She is skinnier than I am, and he is bigger than JP. The pool's website says the water is between 80-85 degrees. Maybe it is, but it sure felt colder. We got used to it fairly quickly, though.

The girl teaching the class was the same girl who registered us - she has a fruity name (literally fruity, I'm not being insulting). At the registration office, I thought she was kind of unprofessional but in the pool she was sweet. She was very young (in her early 20s), but she had a daughter of her own, maybe 3 or 4 years old, who was in the pool with her and who demonstrated for us. There were about 9 or 10 of us, some moms, some dads. JP wasn't the littlest - there was a little baby girl with her daddy who was probably 6 months. There was a two year old little girl who could totally swim - the mom kept throwing her in the water and she would splash across the pool. Patrick's friend and her baby kept close by - I was clearly nervous, I guess. B really seemed to like the water: he was very vocal, and splashed a lot.

We got started just by walking around the pool with our babies, letting them splash and touch the water. I had JP in a pretty tight grip. He was cool - he was looking around very intently (it was noisy in there! Besides us, there was a group of Jr Lifeguards in the other pool). Not super excited, but not freaked out, either. He went along with it all and didn't cry. I showed him how to kick his legs and he splashed the water a little. I kept his face high and he (of course!) never went under. After awhile, the teacher had us all get in a circle in the water, and we sang a couple of songs (Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and The Wheels on the Bus), and then she had us place the babies sitting on the edge of the pool, and we sang another little song (I forget the words) and on 1, 2, 3, we jumped them in the water. Again, he didn't get too excited. I was probably annoying the other moms and dads because I sounded excited: "Kick your legs, JP! Whee!!" Still, it was fun. It's only a half hour class but I'm so out of shape and fat, that when we got out, my legs were tired. So I guess it's good exercise for me, too.

The Jr Lifeguards got out around the same time we did. Patrick's friend was faster than I was getting into the changing room, and she was able to rinse off at a shower before the Jr Lifeguards. I was too slow, and I guess they all decided to wash their hair. I didn't want to wait around forever, so I got JP changed out of his wet trunks and swim diaper in the same place I'd gotten him ready. I hadn't even brought dry clothes (bra, panties) for myself, so I just pulled my clothes on over my wet bathing suit. My brother had come to watch the swimming, so I met him outside the pool. He followed us home, and watched TV while I rinsed JP and myself off in the shower. Then we went to lunch!

We go back again this Saturday. I ordered a bigger bathing suit for myself on Saturday night at Lands End (actually, I ordered two - one is a "tankini." It's my first 2 piece in about 35 years, so we'll see how that works out. It's all cute and ruffly: not me at all!). I had orignally planned on wearing a pair of shorts over my bathing suit but the pool rules don't allow any non-swim clothing. I ended up breaking the rules anyway by wearing a sports bra under my suit - I didn't want to flash anybody. I hope the new suits (or just one of them at least) arrive soon, and that they work better. Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and I hope JP gets used to it and acts like he's having more fun next time. We'll see.

Here's a screen shot from the video Dan took:

Poor quality photo hides my large ass, right?

Me and my annoying sign

2011-09-08T11:03:00.000-07:00

The funky little break room that I use for pumping at work (NOT a designated lactation room... some departments have them; my department actually does have one... but not at this work location. I can't drive 27 miles round trip to use it four times a day) is also used by other employees for naps and whatnot (crap, I hate the word "whatnot," I can't believe I used it here!). When I can't get in this room, I can sometimes use a little private lunchroom in the office next door, but I prefer the funky break room (funky break! Hit it!) because it's next to the bathroom and I can wash my hands more easily. Also, the lock on the door to the lunch room is wonky, and it worries me that somebody might try to open the door ("Hey! What's wrong with this door... Oops! Hello there!"), even though I have permission to go in there, and the guy's secretary sees me every time I come around, so you'd think she would prevent anyone from barging in on me... but you never know, do you.

The funky break room has a sign on the door that you can flip back and forth between "occupied" and "unoccupied." Clearly this sign is there so that people on the outside can know if there's somebody IN THERE. Using it seems like common sense, right? Well, lately people have been not flipping the sign to "occupied," but I don't feel bad about that - if I walk in on your nap because you were too lazy/distracted/tired to flip the sign, hey, that's your own fault, sorry. HOWEVER, if the sign is flipped to "occupied" AND THERE'S NOBODY IN THERE, then I start to get annoyed, especially when this happens more than once a day. It's a big ol' waste of time.

It means that I have been knocking on the door when people are actually in there, which I'm sure is annoying to them... but if everybody just used the sign correctly there would be no question, right? It seems so obvious. And tedious.

I put this sign up this morning (on the inside of the room). I haven't been in there since; I'll keep you posted if it's been defaced or if anyone has written anything snarky on it. I'm not sure my co-workers are up to it, to be honest with you. If they can't be bothered to flip a little sign, whipping out a pen to write something in response seems like asking too much.

Or else I will knock the door down on yo ass!

Gray hairs, puffy red face included for free. Enjoy!

The incredible case of the mystery ingredient: ragweed.

2011-09-07T10:58:00.000-07:00

After I had Jules and started breastfeeding him, the first six weeks or so were pretty brutal. We got lots of help from the Kaiser lactation consultants but I struggled. Somebody recently said to me, "Dude, it seems like you've had a lot of difficulty." Well, yeah. That comment made me think about what I'm doing, and how and why I'm doing it, but I'm not going to talk about that today. The point is, it was hard but I continued. It was important to me so I didn't give up.

This has not exactly been my approach to most things in the past. Still, I never (obviously) had a baby before, either, so I have a feeling lots of changes like this will occur in the future. Anyway, at the very beginning, it was recommended to me by the lactation consultant I saw at Kaiser that I start taking two supplements: one called More Milk Special Blend, and fenugreek. More Milk Special Blend is just what it says - a formulation of different herbs that are meant to stimulate milk production. Fenugreek is a single herb (it's also in More Milk Special Blend).

At around the six or seven week point, I was pretty stressed. I had a lot of pain and just couldn't get the baby to latch right when it was just me and him (at the Kaiser lactation office, he did it like a pro, but at home we were a mess). He wasn't scrawny and his pediatrician was OK with his weight but I was worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. And oh man, the pain. I kept reading "if it hurts something isn't right" but I didn't know what else I was supposed to do about it. I watched videos and called the La Leche League. I used the nipple cream*. I read my Womanly Art of Breastfeeding book. I emailed Dr. Newman (and "he" responded!). I kept trying. At the advice of a friend, I met with a private lactation consultant (her name was Ellen Steinberg, and she is amazing. I highly recommend her) and she got me all straightened out... but then right after meeting with her, there was the episode of the Stupid Abscess, and though we were now latching perfectly, I had another thing to deal with. The Stupid Abscess made me angry and I'm so glad that's over.

Anyway, all that to say is, through all of this, like a good girl, I continued taking fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend.

For the last three weeks or so, I've had a pretty bad rash all over my body. It's been sort of coming and going, but then on Saturday, it decided to hit my face. It's a red rash kind of like a faint sunburn, but itchy, and slightly raised. Even my eyebrows were itchy. After avoiding it (even though I was told it was safe to take), on Saturday night I finally took a Benadryl so I could get some sleep - so Patrick could get some sleep (I kept asking him to rub my back).

Then I started thinking about this rash, and how I've actually had problems with my skin for longer than 3 weeks: this has been ongoing since JP's birth. I've just been dealing with it because I've had skin issues (eczema) and allergies my whole life - at first it didn't feel much different from that. But the face thing bothered me. It felt elevated. There was something else going on other than my usual allergies, or post-partum hormone weirdness.

What were the things that changed? Well, I had a baby. Other than that... OH - what about these herbal supplements? It seems so obvious, doesn't it? Well, what can I say? I'm slow.

Yesterday morning I called up the company that I get my More Milk Special Blend from (Motherlove), and to my surprise, a real person answered ("Hello, Motherlove!"). I wasn't expecting to get someone on the phone that quickly, and that one little thing impressed me so much. I talked to Judith, and she listened to me about my rash. Then we started talking about the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend. Well, one of them is blessed thistle. She identified blessed thistle as a member of the ragweed family.

Well, hey, you know what? I'm allergic to ragweed. And here I've been ingesting it, four times a day, for close to 7 months. No wonder I have a rash. No wonder I have the worst rash I've ever had!**

Judith and I decided that it would be OK for me to discontinue the More Milk Special Blend. I'm going to just take Goat's Rue (one of the ingredients in More Milk Special Blend; "the magic ingredient," as I've heard it called). I'm going to continue taking fenugreek, too. I was worried about quitting both because I have read that if you take these supplements and then stop suddenly, you can see a decrease in milk supply, and I really don't want to risk that.

I had a previously scheduled appointment with the dermatologist (to follow up on another issue I've been having), and I discussed with her my blessed thistle theory. She thought it sounded plausible, and agreed that stopping the More Milk Special Blend would probably clear up my rash in a couple days. God, I hope so.

* People with eczema are advised not to use lanolin products on the skin, as this can cause an outbreak. I just found this out yesterday from my dermatologist.

** The rash doesn't look as bad as you might think it does, from my description. But being itchy and red is no fun, especially when it's your face. Believe me. It kind of sucks. I mean, I'm already feeling fat, my hair is jacked up because the hair that fell out when JP was three months old is now growing in, and all that baby hair around my hairline makes me look like a little monkey with a mullet; it's not a nice feeling. I can't really do anything about my hair (though I could about feeling fat!) so if I can help my skin out, I'll do it!

¡Despierta!

2011-08-31T08:15:00.000-07:00

I'm so tired my co-workers had to show me how to operate the hot water knob on the water cooler for my oatmeal this morning.

And apparently I will read any story in the LA Times accompanied by a photograph of a kitty.

Example 1
Example 2

Or giant rodents. ¡Órale, capybara!*

I'm no beaver, fool!

Here's a quote from the story (which I actually read last week but have still been thinking about; is that weird? No, that's not weird. Seriously. Is it weird?):

The rodents — which can grow to the size of a large dog — aren't dangerous, "just weird-looking," [Fish and Game spokesman Andrew] Hughan said.

Weird looking! Speak for yourself, Andy!

*I never say "Órale" in real life, but I think I might try using it today. It seems to go perfectly with "capybara." "Capybara" makes me want to speak Spanish! (My parents never taught me any slang!)

The thing that's always on my mind: milk, and how much of it I have.

2011-08-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

I'm staying up because my pumping at work has been pretty dismal - only 12 ounces today. I usually get at least 16. Yesterday was about the same, which is a bummer. I've had to get into my freezer stash, which at this point is only about a one-day supply (about 8, 4 ounce bottles). God forbid I am ever away from him for more than a couple of hours. Anyway, I last fed the baby at 8, so I want to stay up for a least a couple of hours before pumping.

I think my supply is all wacky because he's sleeping longer at night. For a few weeks he was sleeping until 12:30, but last week he started sleeping until 2. While I welcomed the extra sleep, I think it's messing me up. It could also be that he's been on solids for about a month now? I don't know. I have a bottle of Reglan, a prescription drug that can help increase my milk supply, but when I tried taking it before, I got a really big blockage that was horrible. And I think recovering from that messed up the milk supply too, so I am hesitating to use it. Instead I am continuing to take my fenugreek and More Milk Special Blend, and to drink an incredible amount of water. I also added a fifth pumping session today at work, which I hope not to have to keep up. It helped a little but I was still short.

So, the baby has been asleep for about an hour, and I'm staying up, watching Anthony Bourdain, waiting for it to be around 10:15 so I can try pumping.

The other thing going on is, my mom started chemotherapy again this week. She had a biopsy of the liver a couple of weeks ago, and her doctor ("Dr. McRobot," who gets less and less robotic as time goes by) thinks the lesion he's been keeping his eye on is cancerous. So, hi ho, hi ho, it's off to chemo we go. Well, she goes. The rest of us hold our breath and hope, and pray for the best. My mom took the news really well, so I don't know, maybe she was expecting the news. She's been doing great, starting to walk around with a cane instead of the walker, and getting stronger. Her hair has grown in but funnily enough, her eyebrows didn't. As usual, the doctor couldn't say how long he wants her to be getting the chemotherapy, but I guess that's how it works. Until she gets better, right?

Meanwhile, my little boy is crawling, playing up a storm, interested in everything under the sun (or within his little grasp), and quite possibly the cutest, smartest 7 month old you will ever meet. He's my favorite baby, ever.

Gotta go, it's almost time to make some milk. Bye for now.

Cleaning up...

2011-08-22T15:44:00.000-07:00

This year, Patrick and I saved up and finally got some work done on the outside of our house. It's funny, we lived in our dumpy little house for 11 years without doing anything to it, but after having the baby, it seems that keeping our place clean, neat, and looking good is more important to us now.

We started off with new windows, and that made a huge difference. Our old vinyl windows were ugly, didn't lock (!), and weren't that great at keeping the outside noises or dust at bay. I really noticed this during the 3 a.m. feedings with Jules, when my neighbor and his Harley were roaring up and down the street. Since our plan is to one day remodel our house (possibly when the baby turns 5), and that remodel, as far as we can tell now, would take place at the back of our house, we went with replacement windows in the back, and new windows in the front.

After the windows were finished, we got the place restuccoed. My understanding of the terminology is sketchy, so don't ask me if we got a color coat only or if the stucco was actually redone. I have no idea what the difference is or if I've even just described two different processes. All I know is, it took us about two weeks to decide on the color. When we bought the house in 2000, it was grey. We painted it ourselves a boring, ugly beige color with white trim. Well, the white trim was already there, we just did the beige. We had what I liked to call "the ugliest house on the street." The new color is called "Southern Moss" (my brain always sings "southern moss" with a Neil Young accent), and it's a grayish green.

The stucco came out awesome, and combined with the new windows, my house suddenly looked about a thousand times better, even without the finishing touches (the trim). The painters wanted to wait a couple of weeks for the stucco to cure (or they needed time to fit us into their busy schedule) so we were stuck with raggedy trim for a bit longer than we wanted. When it came time for them to come finish, though, they were fast, efficient, and did a really good job. We chose white for the window and door trim and under the eaves, and a color I can't remember the name of (and I chose it!) for the fascia at the roof line. It's kind of a grayish brown that goes great with southern moss. We weren't sure about this design decision (most of the houses in our neighborhood have white up there) but we're so glad we did it. The house looks so neat and clean now.

Inspired by the clean lines, this weekend we decided to go through all the crap in the garage (Patrick has been known to tell the baby, "Some day son, this will all be yours"). It's not funny. Our garage was stuffed full of... junk. I found all sorts of stuff: audio equipment, computer parts, computer cables, my old Dell DJ, a really ugly Mikasa vase, all the handmade cards my friend Leigh sent me (some of which will be framed), random paperwork (my old box of files from before I got married, which included things like... my 1997 tax return, the receipt for the Yamaha flute I bought in 1991 for $600 [and sold in 1994 for $600], account information for my very closed checking accounts at Cal Fed and Security Pacific (very closed because those banks don't exist anymore!), insurance papers from when my dad was in a car accident in 1996, etc.) my band varsity letter, my award from the Marine Corps for "loyalty and excellence in performance" for being in the band (I would've preferred money or a scholarship but it was a cool award, presented in person by a full-on Marine), my High School diploma, my (very expired) passport, the DMV registration for Patrick's old car with a note on it from his dad, a postcard I sent to Patrick from New York while on a trip with my brother, my Crocker Bank teddy bear (Patrick made me keep it), and, oh, a whole bunch of things, most of which went into the trash after I handled them.

One thing that I decided to let go of was my acceptance letter, in 1997, to CalArts.

I didn't need to keep it, I knew it was okay to throw it away, but boy, tossing it felt... weird. I told Patrick I was going to do it, and he must not have been paying attention at first (he was doing all the really hard work of moving the large items and pulling down all the big plastic containers all this junk was shoved into) because he didn't really respond. Surprisingly, throwing it away made me really sad. I went into the garage where Patrick was wrangling a very long blue computer cable. He saw that I was crying a little, and I said, "Will you tell Jules that once upon a time his mommy was a good enough musician to have been accepted to CalArts?"

He said yes, and gave me a big hug, and then I was fine, and then we went back to work.

I mean, I don't know, it sounds a little dramatic, now, but it seemed like a big deal - and like throwing away that piece of paper was the right thing to do.

The funny thing is, I've always kind of wondered if EVERYBODY gets accepted to CalArts. I mean, I was pretty good, but my audition tape had just one good performance (a Bach sonata, I forget which one) and one crappy performance (Hindemith, which is surprising, because I love that piece and usually perform it well), and some other performance of a piece I don't even remember, and my in-person audition wasn't for the flute teacher (I met with Rachel Rudich for a pre-audition, and played for her "informally," but she wasn't there for my actual audition, for some reason), and I don't even remember what I played; maybe the Hindemith; the Bach was just too hard for a live performance, under pressure like that, back then.

I mean, I don't know, I've told people I was accepted to CalArts and most of the time they act like that's not a big deal, but since I didn't apply anywhere else, even not going there was a big deal to me.

Anyway, in related news...

I've been making up my mind about re-joining flute choir for the upcoming quarter, and I've decided that I'm not ready. My work day is too long; my commute is too far; Jules still feels too little and though he's sleeping mostly through the night, he does still wake up around 2 or 3 a.m., and sometimes I just can't go back to sleep (making me a zombie the next day). He's been hitting a lot of milestones lately and I don't want to miss any of that. I'm already away from him enough as it is.

A lot of people join flute choir with the same story: they haven't touched their flutes since high school or college, which is usually anywhere between 5 and 20 years. It's always fun to see those people improve and to watch them work hard and remember what it's like to play a million notes in a row or be (mostly) in tune with 12 other flutists. I've been out of high school for about 20 years, and I've never stopped playing for longer than a couple of weeks. I'll miss it, and I know they'll miss me, but I think staying home for another quarter is no big deal.

All this thinking about performing and playing made me have a weird dream last night (and made sleeping difficult) - I had a dream that City Garage decided to put on a musical, with a real orchestra, and I found out about it and that I hadn't been asked to be in it, and when I woke up from the dream at around 2 a.m., I felt as disappointed as I would have been if this had really happened. I know I'm giving something up - but I'm getting something too: time with my baby. That's more important to me right now.

Dream

2011-08-22T01:35:00.000-07:00

I just woke up from a dream that City Garage was putting on a musical with a full-on orchestra and I wasn't asked to be in it. I woke up almost as bummed and disappointed as I would feel if this had actually happened.

Sent from my iPhone

Test!

2011-08-18T14:05:00.000-07:00

Check it out, yo!
Sent from my iPhone

Yelp

2011-08-16T11:13:00.000-07:00

The other day I wrote about my experience about a hair salon in my neighborhood on Yelp. I had been pretty excited to go to this place, and I went on one of the days before I returned to work, while Jules was at daycare. It was, I think, my first day out without him since he was born, and I was tired, missing him, and ready to feel pretty again.

The haircut (and color) worked out okay. The color (which was supposed to be "just" highlights) came out a little too all-over color but I liked it (it's been so long now that the top is growing back in... white). The only problem was the actual service. Here's my review on Yelp:

I did not want to write this review. My visit was some moths ago, and I held off on writing this because I thought I might like to go there and give them another shot.

Because, I have to say, my cut and color was really good. But the service (by the owner, no less) was horrible. She spent the entire time she was doing my hair talking to someone else (someone from Aveda, I think, though I was never sure. I didn't feel bad about eavesdropping on their conversation as I had pretty much nothing else to do and no one to talk to). I was left alone with no explanation for quite a long time.

I realize that owners are busy people who have to conduct business when they can; however, I didn't request the owner when I made my appointment (I had had a great cut and experience there several months earlier by a young woman who no longer works there), and thought it was pretty unprofessional of her. I was very uncomfortable.

I love Aveda haircuts and products and my hair even grew out great from this cut (and the color still looks good), but I won't be going back. Times are too tough to put up with bad service, especially at the prices they charge.

Also... while I was sitting there, doing nothing, I happened to be checking out their Yelp reviews on my phone. The owner "caught" me doing that, and made a defensive comment about the "bad reviews," which I thought was weird.

A couple of days ago I received a message on Yelp that I had gotten a "compliment" on one of my reviews. I clicked on it, and some person had written in, shocked that I had received sub par service. She was surprised, because she goes to this salon all the time and has never had the same sort of experience that I wrote about.

I thought about this for a while, and of course didn't "publish" this comment. I wondered if I should just ignore it or write back. It seemed silly, but I thought it was kind of weird that someone would use the "compliment" system to defend the salon. ("Compliments" can be printed alongside your review if you want. I do not want.) Today I wrote her back. See below.

Hi, M***,

I received your "compliment" on my review of [redacted] Salon, and want to remind you that everyone's experience is different. That day, for my appointment, my service was disappointing. Reviews are opinions, you don't have to agree with all of them.

Irene

Why would someone do that? I'm sure this person (now "blocked" from me on Yelp; I'm not stupid) is associated with the salon. I didn't write the review to "get" them - I wrote it because that woman who cut my hair could've done a better job at making me comfortable. She didn't. End of story. I hope.

Teething is happening for reals, now

2011-08-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

For the last month and a half or so, the baby has been drooling and chewing on things. I thought this was "teething." Dude: this is so not teething.

On Friday of last week, he had his six month check up. He's doing great, gaining weight, hitting all the milestones. He continues to flirt with every nurse he meets (George Clooney, watch out!), and they continue to love it. His pediatrician checked his mouth and said only this: "Nope, no teeth!" He got shots and cried a little, but really, didn't put up any kind of fuss (in the past, they've let me hang out in the room so I could feed him immediately afterwards, but the nurse needed the room. I was a little apprehensive about leaving without feeding him, but he was fine. Patrick's work is closer to the doctor's office than home, and he works alone on Fridays, so we went there for awhile).

Saturday, we went to a beautiful wedding in Beverly Hills. My sister babysat JP, and said he was "perfect." Well, of course he was. This was an exciting moment for us - in six months, though we've gone to work and left him at daycare, we've never gone anywhere together without him. It was a fun day, but sooo hot, and you should know, being hot makes me very, very crabby. Still, the day was gorgeous, my friends were gorgeous, and the food was delicious. I pumped twice in the car, and it was no big deal.

Sunday, we visited with family in Chatsworth, and if I thought Beverly Hills was hot, well, Chatsworth was insane. But, the baby seemed fine. I slathered him with sunscreen and fed him in the car with the air conditioner on, and he got to meet my cousin's daughter's baby boy, who is a couple of months older, my aunts Josie and Esther, my uncle Jesse, and my cousins Sandra, Rachel, Sylvia, and Rudy. It was a long day, with a lot of driving, but he slept in the car during the drive and seemed fine.

On Monday, when I came home from work, Patrick was letting him play in the Pack & Play, and he seemed happy. When I picked him up, that kid was on fire. We took his temperature, and it was 101.something. I got very concerned, stripped him down to his diaper and fed him right away.

That helped matters a little but that fever, while within the "don't panic, mom" range (but just barely) freaked me out a little. I stayed up with him all night, but he was in a great mood, so it was no hardship (playing with my hot little baby or just holding him? Seriously, that's pretty much fine with me, except for the "hot" part). He slept great, and seemed okay, but since he was still hot at 4 a.m. when I got up to feed him, I decided to stay home with him and Patrick in the morning on Tuesday.

I stayed home until about 9 a.m., and at that time, his fever was down to about 99.something. I felt okay with going to work, so I left the two of them at home. At around 2 p.m., Patrick sent me a text that his temperature was normal, and the two of them were hanging out in the backyard, looking at the birds (we have a hawk! I'm calling her "Isabeau," of course).

"Hello, mommy!"
Is this the face of a kid with a fever? I ask you.

I was glad he kicked that fever, which we were still thinking was related to him having a cold (we all have colds. Patrick is over his, mostly, but I am still, of course, coughing and blowing my nose all over the place), but I wasn't comfortable sending him so soon to daycare on Wednesday, so I stayed home with him.

The morning was nice - after Patrick went to work, we went back to sleep for about 3 hours. Have I mentioned that we've been co-sleeping with him? I love it. I love cuddling him, and the way his little hand always seems to find my collarbone or chin while he sleeps. When we have the bed to ourselves (sorry, Patrick!) we spread out a little but usually are touching somehow (sometimes his feet are on my chest!). It's really, really sweet. However, the rest of Wednesday, he was kind of miserable. He would fall asleep on my chest, but wake up crying. This kid doesn't cry like that, so it was really disturbing. I knew something was wrong but his temperature was fine, he seemed physically okay (we started solids a while ago, and this week we've been trying sweet potatoes. He likes it a lot; he's having no symptoms of an allergic reaction). I just made me sad. And tired. I fed him as much as he wanted, which was quite a lot, surprisingly, and tried to get him to sleep. He had playtime on the floor in the living room, where we worked a little on sitting up and playing with his big bucket of beads (he loves those big plastic beads! But even more, he loves the lid to the container!) and a red plastic cup Patrick gave him.

When Patrick came home, he seemed to be doing a little better, and this is when we figured out what's been going on: he's not sick, he's making teeth. And those teeth want OUT. I gave him a bath, cuddled him, and read him a story, and by 7:45 he was asleep. I, however, couldn't sleep. I got him bed with him and just tossed and turned. I felt bad that it took me so long to put two and two together. At 11 he was awake, crying again, so I did what I could do (feed him) and he went back to sleep. He seems to be back on an "every two hours" feeding schedule, but if that's what I can do to make him feel better, I'll do it.

When I left this morning, he and Patrick were snoozing away, not quite like he and I snooze away, but still, cozy. Patrick stayed home with him today, and last night got his "Sophie" giraffe, a teething ring that can go in the refrigerator, and one of those mesh feeding bags (filled frozen bananas) ready. We just didn't want to send him to daycare. I know, I know, I'm sure they know very well how to deal with a teething six-month old, and next time maybe we'll be more blase about it, but I'm telling you, since it took us so long to get a clue, I think we both feel guilty. He'll have fun with his papa today, and tomorrow with me. On Saturday we're getting up really early for a six hour drive to Santa Cruz for a family reunion, and I hope that goes okay. He'll get to meet my mother's family this time, and I hope they get to see how cheery and happy he really is.

My prediction? He'll have teeth by the time we get back on Sunday.

Woefully out of touch with my "heritage"

2011-08-02T15:24:00.000-07:00

A friend of ours had a little baby about a month ago, and she has been observing "quarantena," a Mexican tradition I was unfamiliar with, but now kind of fascinated by (I've seen it spelled both "cuarantena" and with the qu-. I have no idea which, if either, is correct).

There were a few stories floating around (on NPR, in the NY Times) about a similar Asian tradition called "doing the month," and I'm starting to really get interested in this idea of isolating the new mom and her baby to protect them and ensure post-partum healing.

I didn't do this (I think we waited a couple of weeks to take the baby anywhere other than doctor visits after we brought him home, but I definitely went out with him, I just don't remember where) because I was unaware of this tradition (and maybe if I'd heard about this then I might've made fun of it, thinking it was "old fashioned"), but looking back, I can see how special that time was, how tired I was, how much healing I still had to do (and STILL have to do!), and how much I needed to get to know my little boy.

All that stuff happened, just not in a protected environment.

I like the idea of it.

Here's an article from Slate about post-partum traditions. And here's an article about other traditions, "cuarantena" amongst them.

As you can see, there's lots to read about!

In case some of you aren't aware, I'm Mexican. I know, I know, I skew "other," but because I don't speak Spanish (very well; or "at all," if you want to get really technical) or identify with my heritage, it's always been easy for people to think I'm from somewhere else (Tahiti!). I just wasn't raised in those traditions, and mostly, that's been OK for me. My parents brought me up just fine. We are who we are and I'm fine with that (except in the 10th grade, when my Spanish teacher - from SPAIN - sent me home from Spanish 101 with a very strange [to the ears of my family] and highly mockable accent). There are things that now, with a greater understanding of their value, I'd love to learn, but you know? I have all the time in the world. And I can share them with JP, too.

The never ending adventures of a breastfeeding mother...

2011-07-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

On Monday, I started feeling some pain in my left breast. It was sore. I remembered that over the weekend, Jules had seemed to be latching on much harder than usual. At the time I didn't really think about it much but on Monday, I realized he was probably doing this because I might have a plugged duct, and he wasn't getting as much milk as he's used to getting.

Plugged duct! Doesn't that sound like an issue you'd have in your bathroom? And not, um, your breast?

Then, while I was pumping at work, I noticed that I wasn't getting anywhere near as much milk from that breast as I normally do. This isn't the one that had the abscess; my left breast has always done twice as well as the other one. And now I'm only getting about an ounce of milk per session, which is really poor production (I usually get 3-4 ounces from the left side, and 1-2 on the right. Sometimes more on the right, never less on the left).

This comes on the heels of a conversation I had with Jules' daycare teacher, who suggested that we start sending more milk. I currently send him to daycare with five 4 ounce bottles. He almost never drinks the fifth one. But she thinks that he's still hungry (so give him the fifth bottle! But like I said, they never do). So on Thursday, I sent a couple of 5 ounce bottles, and three 4 ounce bottles. He didn't touch the fifth (4 ounce) bottle again. So I'm a little confused. He only got 2 extra ounces of milk that day. Then on Monday, Patrick tried the 5 ounce bottles and said that getting that extra ounce in him took awhile. I don't think he needs more milk. Also, the daycare thinks he's ready for solids, but I totally disagree. For one thing, I've been reading that he needs to be sitting up mostly unassisted. He's not. He's trying, he's getting there, but he's not sitting up yet.

On her advice, though, I let Patrick give it a try while I was at work. He made Jules a teaspoon of rice cereal, mixed with an ounce of breastmilk, and let him taste it. Jules didn't seem to have any trouble swallowing (it was very, very watery) but boy he did not like the taste.

So in addition to trying to wrap my head around the idea that I now need to produce 20 ounces of milk a day (seriously, that's just not possible, not even on good days), the idea that we need to start solids is freaking me out a little.

Monday night I was still feeling sore, so when I went home, I used heat on my breast and that relieved some of the soreness. I stayed home with Patrick and Jules yesterday and continued the heat while nursing, and now I feel fine. But my supply is still low. I read this on kellymom.com:

Plugged duct

Milk supply and pumping output from the affected breast may decrease temporarily. This is normal and extra nursing/pumping generally get things back to normal within a short time.

Occasionally a mom may express "strings" or grains of thickened milk or fatty-looking milk.

After a plugged duct or mastitis has resolved, it is common for the area to remain reddened or have a bruised feeling for a week or so afterwards.

and, I feel a little better about it, knowing that a decrease in production is normal, but I hate seeing a decrease. It really bothers me. It reminds me of the time period leading up to my abscess getting infected, and I hated that! I was just so miserable then.

I was emailing with a friend of mine who has a lot of experience/knowledge about breastfeeding, and she had good information for dealing with the duct. It feels so good to have people to talk to about this stuff! Being home with Jules all day yesterday really helped. I kept thanking him for "helping to make mommy feel better." The soreness was painful! Today I'm back at work, and I plan on pumping every two hours. It's harder to do; even my incredibly generous and understanding boss starts looking for me sometimes, but I need to take care of this.

I emailed Jules' pediatrician yesterday, and she confirmed that 16 ounces of breastmilk during the time he's in daycare is an adequate amount (actually, she said that I could send whatever amount of milk that I can pump easily; 16 ounces used to be easy!). She reminded me that when he starts solids, the amount of breastmilk he needs will decrease, but she also said that I could wait a couple of weeks.

I know what my issue is with solids, though, and I know why I'm dragging my feet. I'll probably write more about it when I get it figured out. I'm working it out in my head first, and I need a little time... and I want to get this production thing back to where it used to be. One issue at a time!

A note about kellymom.com: it's an awesome website put together by a lactation consultant. It has answered all my questions (and I have many). I think I visit the site daily. I feel so good about this site that today I ordered a t-shirt to support it.

If you are or you know a breastfeeding mom who doesn't already know about kellymom, please check it out. There is so much good information there, and it's a wonderful resource. Especially during those 3 a.m. feedings when you wonder if you're doing something wrong.

Song of the Day: Hello Hooray by Alice Cooper

2011-07-20T08:30:00.000-07:00

I've been on an Alice Cooper kick for the last couple of weeks. I don't know how this happened but up until recently I never paid him much attention. Then one day I listened to "I'm 18" and I don't know, finally figured out that's such a great song, I'm sort of ashamed to just now be noticing it.

On Patrick's advice, I downloaded a couple of albums (School's Out and Billion Dollar Babies). I haven't paid much attention yet to School's Out because I was kind of instantly sucked into Billion Dollar Babies (which is funny because I know "Billion Dollar Babies" was written about the success of "School's Out"). My favorite song right now is "Hello Hooray."

I mean, I'm not sure if this song was written ironically to go with the whole theme of the album, because you can listen to it that way, or you can just listen to it as a great song. I do love his sense of humor, and this song in particular is just so fun. "I feel so strong!"

And, the guy can sing, which I also never really thought about. He's doing his fair share of screaming, but there are moments when he sounds like a totally different person (I've been trying to confirm if that's even him singing on the song "Mary Ann" - when I first heard it I thought some Paul McCartney had somehow gotten on my iPod. I was all, HEY. HOW DID THIS PAUL MC CARTNEY GET ON MY IPOD?).

Anyway, there you go. "Hello Hooray" is the song of the day. Give it a listen.

Note: somebody told me that Alice was a conservative (and frankly, I don't really care) but according to Wikipedia, he doesn't believe in mixing rock and roll with his personal beliefs. This story (from Wikipedia) makes me so happy:

Although he originally tended to shy away from speaking publicly about his religious beliefs, Cooper has in recent years been quite vocal about his faith as a born-again Christian. He has avoided so called "celebrity Christianity" because, as Cooper states himself: "It's really easy to focus on Alice Cooper and not on Christ. I'm a rock singer. I'm nothing more than that. I'm not a philosopher. I consider myself low on the totem pole of knowledgeable Christians. So, don't look for answers from me."

When asked by the British Sunday Times newspaper in 2001 how a shock-rocker could be a Christian, Cooper responded "Drinking beer is easy. Trashing your hotel room is easy. But being a Christian, that's a tough call. That's real rebellion!"

Throughout his career, Cooper's philosophy regarding politics is that politics should not be mixed with rock music. He has usually kept his political views to himself, and in 2010 said "I am extremely non-political. I go out of my way to be non-political. I'm probably the biggest moderate you know. When John Lennon and Harry Nilsson used to argue politics, I was sitting right in the middle of them, and I was the guy who was going 'I don't care.' When my parents would start talking politics, I would go in my room and put on The Rolling Stones or The Who on as long as I could to avoid politics. And I still feel that way." On occasion he has spoken out against musicians who promote or opine on politics, for example in the run-up to the 2004 presidential election, he told the Canadian Press that the then crop of rock stars campaigning for and touring on behalf of Democratic candidate John Kerry were committing "treason against rock n' roll." He also added that upon seeing the list of musicians who supported Kerry, "if I wasn't already a Bush supporter, I would have immediately switched. Linda Ronstadt? Don Henley? Geez, that's a good reason right there to vote for Bush."

Having recently invoked Don Henley myself, I'm so glad to see that Alice and I are on the same page. For some reason this makes me very happy.

Spider-iffic. Yay.

2011-07-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

This morning, after I got out of the shower, I sat down on the edge of the bathtub to put some lotion on my legs (this lotion: this stuff is genius good, I'm addicted to it), and I felt something on my leg. I wasn't wearing my glasses yet: I can find my legs just fine without them. I thought it was one of my own stupid errant hairs (postpartum alopecia sucks) that was tickling my leg, so I didn't think anything about it (I should've known better: this has happened to me before). But I kept feeling it, so finally I brushed it... and saw something black go flying across the bathroom.

It landed on the white shelf and I grabbed my glasses, and I saw that, of course, it was a spider.

A spider. A spider was on me. A spider was ON ME. I screeched (yeah, yeah, I screeched) something unintelligible, and I heard Patrick rushing over to the bathroom. He knocked on the door (he's so polite, but dude: I SCREECHED. You can COME IN), and then he came in. He saw the spider, then left to get something to capture it with. He came back with a little glass bowl and a piece of paper. While he was gone the little bugger moved but he found it and took it outside, declaring, "That's just a garden spider."

As far as spiders go, there's no "just" in describing them. And how's he such an expert on spiders? How did he know it wasn't a baby brown widow?

Anyway, later on, the baby was taking a nap with him, and I was doing the dishes, when I found another one in the sink. What the hell is up with all these water-loving spiders? I went to tell him, but JP was sprawled out on his chest so he couldn't get up, so.. I went to deal with it myself. I got another little glass bowl and the Babies R Us coupons we just got in the mail yesterday, and I got the sucker. I put another little glass bowl on top of the other one and left him on the counter. He's a smart spider: the ad is a picture of two babies against a bright green background, and the spider only sits on the brown parts in the photos of the babies (hair, eyeballs; nice). There was a touch and go moment when, right after I caught him, he appeared to have curled up and died, but nope, he's still kicking it in there. I'm waiting for Patrick to be able to escort him out into the yard. If he's a garden spider (IF) then that's where he belongs.

Two spiders in one day! And I think I made some kind of breakthrough here. Yeah. I think I did.

...any way the wind blows (crash!)... - Edited.

2011-07-06T13:23:00.000-07:00

A friend on Facebook posted a video by Porkka Playboys of their cover of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody, and it's pretty awesome. I love the drummer's tiny cymbals, and the soprano sax solo is note perfect. Thanks to them, I've had that song in my head a lot lately.

Jules likes us to sing to him, and I, for one, am willing to oblige. He was crying the other day while riding in his car seat in Patrick's car, and I successfully distracted him from whatever was upsetting him for about 30 minutes with every Neil Young song I could think of. Apparently he really likes the sound of my voice! "Old Man," "Southern Man," "Heart of Gold," and Patrick helped me out with the lyrics to "I Am a Child" were his favorites. Then we got started on the Creedence - we had a great time. Maybe lyrically, or thematically, these aren't appropriate songs to sing to a baby, but the style is exactly right. Neil's whiny voice (and my whiny voice, imitaing him) seems to be just what Jules' ear likes.

(Regarding the inappropriateness of these songs for an infant: I don't know. He hears mommy being loud and a little silly, and of course doesn't comprehend the words I'm saying. "I hear screaming and bullwhips cracking" means as much to him as "this little piggy went to the market" [which, by the way, he also loves]. One day we'll explain things to him. For now he hears music and words, I guess, as just sound. I mean, he's still learning English! For all he knows, I could be singing to him in Japanese.) <-- I just spent about 20 minutes looking for a cover of "Heart of Gold" in Japanese. I know it's out there, I just need to do a longer search.

The other day I discovered that he also likes mommy's version of "Bohemian Rhapsody," so I've been singing that to him, a lot. The neighbors probably think I'm crazy. But I'm telling you, my 5 month old baby loves the way I sing all the falsetto notes. Those opening lyrics ("Mama! Just killed a man!") get his attention every time, and his eyes open up wide, and he smiles. That kid just loves listening to me sing!

He might be the only one, but I'll take it. One happy audience member is all I need.

I'm annoyed

2011-07-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

But it’s a long silly story and I’ll get over it.

Punchline: I got in the elevator with a co-worker a minute ago and she goes, “I think the damn cat peed in my purse.” And what do you know, the eau de cat pee has been in the office all morning! MYSTERY SOLVED!

Snug Tuck Pillow - Success!

2011-07-05T08:09:00.000-07:00

It's been awhile, and I realized I didn't update you on the status of my Snug-Tuck Pillow order.

It finally arrived a couple of weeks ago - about 2 weeks later than I expected, yes, but finally here. I was eventually contacted by someone at the company by email, who let me know that the fabric I had chosen was out of stock - apparently that particular fabric was very popular. Would this information have been handy to have at the time I placed my order? Well, yes. Would an email with this information have been handy after I placed my order (and not two weeks later)? Yes.

However, as that stupid guy Richard Fish used to say on that stupid show Ally McBeal: "Bygones." Why? because it's a great product.

I love the pillow. Alternative fabric that's very similar to the original fabric I wanted was chosen, it was easy to put on the bed, it works exactly like the website says it will, and the baby is safe and secure on the bed at all times. We're even getting a new king-size bed soon, and I'm positive that the Snug-Tuck pillow I ordered will fit the new bed.

As soon as the new mattress arrives, I'll take a photo. Until then, thanks Snug-Tuck Pillow! It wasn't a flawless transaction, but the product itself is perfect.

Overheard: actual conversation

2011-07-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

Irene: Last night I had a dream about Dave Grohl.

Patrick: Really.

Irene: I was going to have his baby. He took me around and introduced me to his band and showed me his studio. You were mad but said I could stay with you but I said no, he's going to marry me, even though he's already married.

Patrick: Damn.

Irene: Then the next day I saw him with some other woman, saying all the same things.

Patrick: What a dick.

Irene: Yeah.

Later...

Irene: But don't worry, I didn't dream about the part where I actually GOT pregnant.

Patrick: Well, sure, he's like Jesus. Immaculate conception.

Motherlove

2011-06-30T10:16:00.000-07:00

I take an organic supplement called "More Milk Special Blend" to help with my milk supply (my lactation consultant started me on this, as well as fenugreek [which I get from GNC]; it seems to be working), which I get from a company called Motherlove. I also use their diaper rash/thrush balm on the baby when his rash gets bad (he's all clear right now!), and today I just started using one of their products called "green salve." It's to help with itchiness and skin irritations. I want to either stop using or use less hydrocortisone cream on my itchy skin. The other day I was desperate for some relief and I used the prescription strength hydrocortisone I have (I only use the non-prescription strength occasionally). Instantly I felt better, but I also instantly felt guilty - like a lot of medications, this one apparently hasn't been studied enough for there to be conclusive evidence either way about its effect on lactating women and babies, so the package instructions and most everything on the web says not to use it. However, my eczema is screaming right now and I have it in a weird (for me) place - all over my arms. Usually it's in small places, like the inside of my elbow, or on my hands. But now I have it on my neck, my arms, and my legs, and it's driving me crazy. I'm trying to stay moisturized, too, but man, nothing was helping until I used the 2.5% hydrocortisone.

I don't want to repeat that application, though, so I contacted Motherlove to see what they had to say on the subject. The woman who helped me (my order got complicated) said that some people with eczema are helped by their green salve, so I added some to my order to give it a try. Today's the first day I'm using it. I only put it on my arms (my left arm, for some reason, is more irritated than the right) and neck. I'm wearing nice pants today and I didn't want to get it on my legs.

The ingredients are extra virgin olive oil, beeswax, comfrey, plantain, marshmallow root, and calendula. It seems to be helping, though maybe I was too generous on the left arm, because it doesn't seem to have absorbed into my skin as well as on the other arm. I also put a tiny amount on that stupid red spot I always get over my upper lip. I still have the red spots but the skin doesn't look as irritated or raised, and I'm definitely not itching anymore. On the other hand, it smells a little funky (I guess it's an olive oil smell), but I suppose I can live with it.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with my new doctor for a physical, and I intend to ask him about my skin problems, but I doubt very much he will have anything "organic" or non-medicinal to recommend. But we'll see. Maybe this stuff will clear everything up by then!

I love this story

2011-06-28T15:22:00.000-07:00

Drunken Ohio Woman Accused of Spraying Deputies With Breast Milk

Read more: http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/06/27/ohio-woman-gets-drunk-sprays-deputies-with-breast-milk/#ixzz1Qc0ST66a

Some people really know how to have a good time.

40 things

2011-06-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

I feel like answering questions, so let's go!

1. Do you like bleu cheese?
Yes! I didn't like it for years, though. I'm starting to love it, and don't get to eat it often enough. Why is that, I wonder? Why would I think anybody cares?

2. Have you ever smoked?
Unfortunately, yes. I did it off and on when I was a teenager, then full-on as a young twenty-something because my boyfriend/ex-fiance did, finally quit forever when I was about 30 because instead of making me feel "cool," smoking made me feel "sick." Also, I could let it go easily enough, but Patrick was a more hardcore smoker, and I knew if I kept doing it, even a little, he would never quit. Thankfully, eventually, we both did. I did sort of like the ritual of it, and the smell of the (unlit) cigarette paper on my hands, but I don't miss it at all.

3. Do you own a gun?
Nope. I do, however, own a piccolo.

4. Favorite type of Food?
Good food, man. Good food. Not the kind of food that has a capital F, however (?).

5. Favorite type of music?
See no. 4. I played a lot of Jackson 5 for the baby this weekend, and also found myself humming Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" to him while I changed his diaper, and we listened to some Talking Heads while driving to the mall, and I practiced Mozart and Schubert on Sunday, but there's no specific "type" that is my favorite.

6. What do you think of hot dogs?
I think hot dogs are best enjoyed infrequently. And then with lots of relish and mustard. And toast my bun, please.

7. Favorite Christmas movie?
Umm. None.

8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
It used to be a Diet Coke (in a can ONLY) but I've given that up. Now I drink water. I know. How prison-y of me.

9. Can you do push ups?
Hell no, I can't do push ups, you crazy person.

10. What’s your favorite piece of jewelry?
My wedding ring, my Swiss Army watch, my "mom" necklace, my diamond necklace, my cheap-ass Banana Republic earrings.

11. Favorite hobby?
Fluting, reading, working on shows at City Garage.

12. Do you have ADD?
I don't think so?

13. Do you wear glasses/contacts?
Yes, have since I was just a little tiny girl with huge gigantic eyeglasses.

14. Middle name?
It was Laura, now it's my maiden name.

15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment:
I need to finish my water, I need to refill the pillbox in my purse with acidophilous and fenugreek, I need to remember to get one of my brake lights fixed.

16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink:
Water, Diet Coke, root beer

17. Current worry?
Not getting home before JP gets hungry; not finding time to practice at least once more before Thursday.

18. Current hate right now?
Traffic. Jaywalkers. Kids riding their bikes without helmets on. The 3:30 a.m. arrival/departure of my neighbor on his Harley. Feeling so tired.

19. Favorite place to be?
In bed.

20. How did you bring in the new year?
I was 9 months pregnant. I think I stayed awake but I can't really recall.

21. Someplace you’d like to go?
Home.

22. Name three people who will complete this.
Eh, I never pass these on. If you want to do it yourself, let me know.

23. Do you own slippers?
I had a pair from when I was pregnant, when I for some reason grew attached to them. I wore them all through my maternity leave, and then one day I took a really good look at them, and they suddenly grossed me out so I threw them away. I haven't replaced them yet.

24. What color shirt are you wearing?
Black, with a gray tank underneath. Happy summer!

25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets?
Who knows? I've never tried. I like my cotton sheets.

26. Can you whistle?
Nope. But I can play the flute and piccolo. Can you?

27. Where are you now?
In my head.

28. Would you be a pirate?
No...?

29. What songs do you sing in the shower?
A few examples: Elton John (Daniel, Levon, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road), David Bowie (Space Oddity, Changes, Under Pressure), Styx (Babe, Mr. Roboto, Blue Collar Man), Captain Beefheart (The Spotlight Kid, Too Much Time, When I See Mommy I Feel Like a Mummy), Beatles (Don't Let Me Down, I'm a Loser), George Harrison (My Sweet Lord), Cat Stevens (Katmandu)... and many, many more. Don't even think I know the lyrics to all these songs: I mostly make 'em up.

30. Favorite Girl’s Name?
That's hard. I like old-fashioned names like "Frances." There are others, I just can't think of any.

31. Favorite boy’s name?
Patrick, Jules, Robert, Andrew

32. What is in your pocket right now?
Nothing. Sorry, Bilbo.

33. Last thing that made you laugh?
My cute baby, who opens up his eyes in the morning, finds me staring at him, and smiles. Sweetie boy!

34. What vehicle do you drive?
A 2004 Honda Accord. It has 115,000+ miles on it, needs a new brake light, an oil change, and possibly to have its tires balanced and rotated. Definitely the tires need air.

35. Worst injury you’ve ever had?
Stupid breast abscess!!!!!!

36. Do you love where you live?
I like very much where I live. I'd like it more if it were shadier, larger, and with a remodeled bathroom.

37. How many TVs do you have in your house?
1 very large flat screen in the living room. There's a tiny TV in the garage, but I don't think it works.

38. How many computers do you have in your house?
Patrick has two laptops, a PC attached to the TV, and I have a laptop. We both have smartphones. And there's a least two computers in the garage, but I think only one is in use (Patrick's music computer).

39. If you changed your job, what would it be?
Stay at home mom for awhile, bookstore employee.

40. If you were granted three wishes, what would they be?
A college fund for the baby, yearly vacations to someplace awesome for the family, and I can't think of a third one right now.

Hormones, flutes, kingsize beds, and dream, dream, dream.

2011-06-27T09:24:00.000-07:00

I won't bore you with details but I have been having the strangest dreams ever lately. I'm assuming it's a result of not being pregnant anymore (awkward sentence, this!), and not a sign of insanity. I had weird dreams while I was pregnant, too (example, here).

Last night I dreamed that I had to swim down a big canal of water. It had some power lines in it, and I was scared about having to swim past them, and then I reminded myself that if they were live, I would've been dead. I swam past them without getting electrocuted.
Last week I dreamed that Alex, my friend from work, had stolen Tom Cruise's car, a silver BMW that was all tricked out and sporty.
A couple of weeks ago, I dreamed that I was in a TV show starring Rob Lowe, and I played his chauffeur/wife. Rob was a weapons designer (not at all like Tony Stark) and on the run from some bad guys.
Last night (or maybe it was the night before; no, 21 robbers did not come knocking on my door) I dreamed that I was the secretary to the President of the United States, and she and I were boarding a plane (Air Force One?), and the fact that the president of the U.S. was female was so normal that I was free to notice that she had a bad-ass black leather handbag and I was wearing a pair of killer pointy-toed pumps.
One night on the weekend I dreamed that my teeth were all rotten and gross.
Since having the baby, I've had the Bookstore Dream at least twice.
When we first brought him home (i.e., before I decided that it was OK to let him sleep with us), I would have the strangest sensation, after I'd gotten up to feed him and put him back in his crib, that he was somewhere under all the blankets. More than once I woke up completely panicked that I'd squashed him, when all the time he was safe in his Moses basket.

In addition to the crazy dreams (there are more! and I know I didn't give many details here, but these dreams are vivid, exciting, and very, very real), my darn hair is falling out. I've done enough Internet reading to know that this is normal, but seeing just how much is falling out is alarming me. Not clumps - huge swaths of hair (when it first started, I asked my doctor about it, and she sort of murmured, "I've heard that can happen." Needless to say, I found a new doctor. I've heard that can happen!? I liked that she was able to get me into the breast clinic in a heartbeat when I was having trouble, but I really didn't like that response)! They clog up the bathtub drain, collect in mats on the floor, and stick to the baby's clothes and hands. I am constantly picking hairs off of him, and since he's discovered that pulling mommy's hair is just as much fun as pulling daddy's beard (more so, because I think those beard hairs are more securely attached), it's a never-ending activity. Picking hairs off the baby. My hairs. After awhile I get grossed out. Luckily, I don't think he minds a bit.

The other thing is, I'm having a major eczema attack! It's horrible! I have prescription strength cortisone cream but I am really hesitant to use it while I'm breastfeeding. It's on my arms, a new location (yay?) and oh, man! Itch, itch, itch. Pick up hairs, pick up hairs, pick up hairs. Dream, dream, dream! Somebody told me that your body doesn't go back to normal, hormone-wise, for a year, after having a baby. A year! Is that true? I don't want to have to wait a year to normalize! Anyway, in the meantime, I am moisturizing like crazy.

Cool news: this weekend we bought a king-size bed! I'm so excited. I have to buy new sheets and a comforter before it's delivered. Hopefully I'll have time on Friday. And hopefully the bed doesn't come before then.

I don't think I've mentioned it here (Facebook is sucking away all my time I used to spend blogging), but last week I was asked if I could sub for a flutist in the flute choir who can't make it to this week's concert. I haven't played my flute in six months! I worked it out with Patrick, freaked out about leaving the baby all night (I don't usually get home from Culver City on flute choir nights until about 10:15), and got out my flute and played some scales and long tones (and JP didn't cry or fuss; in fact, he went to sleep). I went to the dress rehearsal on Thursday and it went pretty well. They're playing some hard music this quarter! The rehearsal was fun - I was able to concentrate and mostly kept up. I'm playing piccolo on one piece that's gorgeous, and on another (Mozart; I forget the title, I'll have to tell you later), there's a huge section of double tonguing that I may not get in time. I hate double tonguing. Luckily my stand partner has worked it all out and she can play it. I just might let her go for it and instead count my way until the next doable part. I don't usually chicken out like that but come on, a week? Did I mention that piece is in 1? It's tough!

Yesterday I let the baby play on the floor with his blocks while I got in a good 45 minutes of practicing. It might be the only practicing I get to do, so luckily he was very happy rolling around, playing with the little piece of cardboard that was in the box the blocks came in. He's such a good baby. As long as I rememeber to count and can stay in tune with everyone, it should work out just fine for the concert. Patrick's going to bring him to see mommy play but I doubt he figures out what's going on. Still. I'm excited to be playing again.

I think the music on the stand is flute 2 of the Schubert.
If flute 2 is that hard, I shudder to think what flute 1 is like!

So tired!

2011-06-09T09:57:00.000-07:00

I think I was warned that this would happen but I didn't really believe it.

I have never been so tired in my entire life.

My allergies are acting up, and my doctor said I could take ceterizine (generic for Zyrtec) in the evenings if I needed extra help (she also said it's okay to take while breastfeeding; though the manufacturer doesn't recommend it). However, she warned me that it would make me sleepy.

I'm not taking it. I'm not crazy - if I get any sleepier I'll be incapacitated. Comatose.

Example: this morning I went to pump. My work has made this really easy for me, and I'm lucky because it's been a good experience (so many people told me about their struggles with pumping at work, which leads to the horror of issues with milk production, but so far it's been fine for me). There's a little lounge adjacent to the ladies' room that I usually use, but sometimes it's not available (someone might be in there taking a nap!). When that happens, the section manager next door to my office allows me to use his conference room. The conference room is bigger than the lounge (and my cell phone works in there so I can read something) but I like going to the lounge better because his room doesn't have a sink (so I have to go wash my hands, then come all the way back...). Anyway, I was in the conference room this morning, getting all set up. Turned the pump on. A couple of minutes (maybe 1.5 minutes!) went by and I realized that I had forgotten to screw the bottles on.

I basically pumped a tiny amount of milk onto my pants.

Stupid. Luckily it dried quickly and didn't stain (don't think breastmilk doesn't stain: it totally does).

Before I had to go back to work, it was easy to get my housework done, and I could function a little better on the amount of sleep I've been getting. But now that I have to be at work at 7 and awake (not just awake! Functional!) all day, it's a lot harder. I still want to keep the house clean and get the laundry done but that stuff is less important than making sure there are enough clean bottles for the baby and that I get in some time "face jamming" with him.

During the week, I've been doing my best to drink enough water, eat enough, go to sleep as soon as the baby does... but dude. I am TIRED. And I've been having the craziest dreams, maybe because I don't get to sleep longer than 4 hours? Seriously, bizarre dreams! And there have been famous people in them - Rob Lowe, Goldie Hawn, that tall goofy guy on "How I Met Your Mother." Strangeness!

Everyone keeps asking me if the baby is sleeping through the night. Nope. He falls asleep around 8:30 p.m., and will sleep until 12:30 or 1:30. Then he wakes up to eat, but he eats just "half"... because he falls back asleep (and so do I). After that he's up again a couple of hours later... and then again, a couple of hours later. By that time it's time to get up for work.

I've been reading about sleeping through the night, though, and I'm not concerned that he doesn't. It would be nice to be able to nap during the day when I'm at work but with my pumping schedule there's no time (it would also be nice to take a walk! but again, there's no time). Anyway, I would miss waking up with him and having those moments with him to feed him.

I'm glad I have a short week: by the time it's Thursday, I'm so ready for Friday, when I get him all to myself.

I've got it all planned: we're going to sleep as much as possible. And maybe do some laundry.

Japan

2011-06-08T14:02:00.000-07:00

Photo by Dana John Hill. Taken from Wikipedia.

I've been thinking a lot about Japan lately. Maybe it's because of the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear breakdown that happened earlier this year. It could be - that all happened right when I had a newborn baby and though I was busy and tired, I also had a lot of time to think and listen to the news (he's a very hungry boy). Maybe it's because I want a Japanese Magnolia tree like the one in my parents' front yard. Maybe it's because during the week I was off before I had the baby, I re-read "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" by Haruki Murakami. Maybe having a tiny helpless baby in my care made me more open to the stories of people suffering. Maybe it's because while I was off on maternity leave, that show about geishas was on TV. I ate the last bowl of popcorn (a former favorite food that I now have no interest in whatsoever) since having the baby while watching it. Maybe it's because I've fallen in love with that woman Venetia and her show on PBS (we watched it again this weekend). I become so relaxed watching her, I don't know, make a tea cozy or arrange flowers. She's so deliberate and skilled at everything she does. It's like when Mister Rogers went to the crayon factory. She hypnotizes me.

Last week I got out my old copy of "Hiroshima" by John Hersey and started re-reading it while the baby was taking a nap. I think when I first read the book, as a teenager, I wasn't really paying attention. It's easy to focus on the people who survived and to allow the people who didn't, to slip past unnoticed. And, I'm not always a careful reader.

There's an excellent scholarly report on the publication of Hersey's book and the New Yorker magazine (which originally published the book as an article) here. I really enjoyed reading it.

There may be a way to link the bombing of Hiroshima (and Nagasaki) thematically with the earthquake/tsunami but I'm not a good enough writer or someone who has had enough sleep recently to do it. Even with enough sleep I doubt I could do it. I'm just thinking with my fingers, here. Tap, tap, tap, on the keyboard.

Tap. Tap.

Random.

2011-06-08T09:23:00.001-07:00

"It's like being the one guy smiling right at the camera in the photograph of the crew of the Enola Gay."

Best quote of the day:

2011-06-07T12:44:00.000-07:00

“Will these Democrats return their scandal-tainted Weiner money today?” asked Paul Lindsey, a spokesman for the Republican campaign committee.

Because, not to be crude or anything, but I now I kind of want some scandal-tainted Weiner money, too.

Read the article here: http://cityroom.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/06/07/republicans-challenge-democrats-on-weiner-donations/?src=twr.

Question: Is there a true non-partisan committee investigating political scandal?

Disgusted. I am.

2011-06-06T16:25:00.000-07:00

That Weiner guy is a d--k! I'll just say this: you can cry all you want, genius, you're still a dumbass.

I give that marriage 6 months.

I guess not all politicians are assholes but wow it sure seems like it. This kind of attention must be what they WANT, otherwise they would do something else.

See: John Edwards, et al.

Yes, everybody has flaws.
No, not everybody sends photos of their junk to strangers.
(Or do they? Thank God I'm not on THAT mailing list!)

Grow up, dude(s).

I'm sleepy and my eyes are red and wet from allergies.

2011-06-06T15:49:00.000-07:00

I’m playing catch-up (ketchup*!) with my boss's secretary regarding a change my department made while I was out on maternity leave and Oh My God does she make it complicated. I asked her if it was possible to go to makeup training and instead she gave me a copy of the PowerPoint they got at the training I missed, and is attempting to tell me the web address for logging on to the new system. She has given me about 900 different ways of accessing the website AND NOT ONE OF THEM WORKS.

I am, how do you say, FRUSTRATED.

In other news: it's a beautiful day, I have accomplished many things today at work in spite of feeling like a zombie, I treated myself to a whole foot long Subway sandwich instead of just a 6" and wow was that a satisfying meal, I was on time to work, I had a weird dream last night that my sister was going to marry an ex-boyfriend I had a long time ago (a situation I don't think she would be happy about in real life), a woman at work told me I look great for having a 4-month old baby, my Snug Fit Pillow still hasn't come nor have I received a "your Snug Tuck Pillow has shipped" email and I'm starting to get pissed (if you SAY ON YOUR WEBSITE that orders take so long, than you should HONOR THAT STATEMENT or CHANGE IT), I am a proud mama who has pumped 15 oz. of milk so far today with one more session to go (that's one extra ounce per bottle; I usually only get 3-4 oz. at a time), I quoted Queen in a comment on my own blog (see the last posting) and now I can't get that song out of my head (I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike!).

Today's bit of randomness: I want some roasted chicken.

*Who says this? Why do I now say it? Where did it come from? Why does it make me so happy? It's like "what's up / chickenbutt!", which some of my friends say and for some reason makes us all giddy like a room full of 9 year olds.

An overview of my experiences with nursing bras, breast pumps, and that kind of thing.

2011-06-01T10:36:00.000-07:00

Note my replacement key chain!

I've been back to work for about 5 weeks now (though I was out sick last week), and I've been using my Medela Pump in Style Advanced pump for about 8 weeks (I started early to get used to it, and because the baby started daycare a couple of weeks before I came back to work). While I have no other pump experiences and thus no other pumps to compare this one to, I can say that using it has been simple and convenient. I've had a lot of success pumping milk for the baby, and so I have no complaints, really. I got the one that's a little backpack; it was the only one they had in stock when I purchased it, but it's probably the one I would've chosen anyway. I like it.

I do have a couple of suggestions for Medela (as if they're reading this!):

It would be nice if the backpack was slightly larger and could accommodate the pump parts a little better. Sometimes fitting them in requires a bit of jigsawing and planning ahead. Also, I like to bring along a small hand towel and there's really no place to put it. Medela might look into coordinating a towel of their own into the design - a small black towel, with their pretty light yellow logo in a corner? They could charge more, and I wouldn't have to figure out the towel business on my own. It could fit in one of the side pockets, maybe.

Also, the pump itself, located in the bottom portion of the backpack, is set back a little too far. There's about an inch of space that could've been utilized better by bringing the face of the pump forward a little.

And, this is unrelated to the actual pump but instead to the bottles themselves: I had the misfortune of dropping a full bottle (with a cap screwed on tightly). I knew this nightmare would occur someday, so I did not cry when almost all my hard-earned milk wound up on the kitchen floor. I was pretty pissed off that the lid stayed screwed on but actually broke - the inner portion of the lid popped out in a perfect circle. I don't sterilize my bottles all the time (I use the microwave bags about once every two weeks; since my baby wasn't premature or have health issues, very, very hot, soapy water is my preferred method of cleaning them) so I'm sure it wasn't a case of having been weakened through some kind of overexposure to heat. I ended up losing about 3 ounces of milk, and for those of you who don't know firsthand, 3 ounces is pretty much a whole feeding's worth. That stuff is valuable, and every ounce counts. If this had happened earlier in my pumping experience, I would've been inconsolable. I'm not sure if I had a defective bottle cap or what, but now I am even more careful with the bottles, even if I know the caps are screwed on tightly.

Finally - I'm not sure if mine was just not sewn properly or if I've been handling it roughly, but one of the little tags on one of the zippers came off completely yesterday. This is no big deal, I simply replaced it with a little key chain my boss brought me back from a recent trip she took to Hawaii, but I thought I should mention it.

Before I had the baby, I bought a nursing bra from one of those Motherhood stores that are in the mall, and though it was less than $20, I wish I had waited. It was ugly, uncomfortable, and didn't fit well. Cheap, so I guess I got what I paid for (I have since donated it to the Salvation Army). Afterwards, I went a little crazy and purchased 3 Medela softcup nursing bras. I really like them - they're comfortable and kind of pretty. I also bought one with an underwire that I don't like quite as much - it gives me a bit more of a va-va voom shape than I'm comfortable with. I also bought their "comfort" nursing bra, which I love but only wear at home (not to work) because it makes me look a little bit like I'm wearing a sports bra - not quite as sausage-y as sports bras usually are. I don't like how it looks as much as it feels (super comfy, nice fabric, easy to use). As an extra, I purchased the funny little camisole/bustier thing that's supposed to make the whole pumping at work business "hands-free" with the idea that my supervisor might be able to find me a private cubicle (i.e., one with a door that locks, and a PC) so that I could do some work while pumping. It was a good idea, but unfortunately it didn't pan out. I use the bustier thing only occasionally - if I have something I want to read, for instance. It's a nice product, but it didn't end up working out for me. Oh, and I also bought a sleep bra, which is really a simple, comfortable, well-designed bra, but not something I really needed. Like I said: I went a little crazy.

I found out yesterday that Medela bought the Bravado line of nursing bras, and talk about pretty! If I needed more I would get one of theirs but I really don't. Their bras cost more than the Medela bras, but I do think they're prettier. They look more like regular bras.

The baby is now 4 months old, which means I've almost made it to my goal of breastfeeding for 6 months! I'm really proud of myself for sticking it out. It hasn't been easy but I think it's definitely worth it. Once we hit the 6 month goal, I'll see how I feel about continuing. A whole year for him would be, I think, totally beneficial to his development and health, so yes, that's the next goal, but we'll just have to see how it goes. I don't want to get ahead of myself.

Snug Tuck Pillow = Possible Fail (Updated)

2011-05-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

Update (Monday, May 30, 2011):

Sunday morning, early, I received an email from the lady making my pillow. She wrote to let me know that the fabric I had chosen was out of stock (this is the same thing the women in the forum I read had to say as well, but I'm just telling you that it's the same story, I'm not drawing any conclusions. Really. I'm not) but that it would be in on Tuesday; would I like her to wait, or go ahead with another, similar fabric? I wrote back (because I was up with the baby and had my phone handy) that she could wait until Tuesday, and if the fabric I requested was available, please use that, and if not, go ahead with the other. So. We wait and see. I'm sort of holding my breath here. I really want my pillow!

Original post (Saturday, May 28, 2011):

Dammit! I got all excited and ordered this seemingly totally rad solution to our co-sleeping situation... and the darn thing is MIA. I ordered it on the 12th, and the website says it should ship 8-12 business days after your order is placed.

It's been just about that, and here I thought I was being patient, when really, it appears that most people wait a lot longer, and I probably will too. I found some people online with not a lot of good things to say about the Snug Tuck Pillow People Customer Service Experience. Apparently the company has a hard time keeping up with demand. Other than the initial confirmation of my order, I haven't heard from them, and there has been nothing to indicate that there's a problem.

I'll keep waiting, I guess, but I was pretty excited about trying this out. Now I'm starting to wonder. The thing was not cheap, either.

SoundCloud

2011-05-18T17:30:00.000-07:00

I've joined SoundCloud!

Yeah, don't get all excited, I only have one thing to upload (and I still haven't done it yet, maybe later), and I don't expect to have any more. However! All the elements or planets or whatever aligned themselves perfectly and I have one performance, of which I am very proud, to share with you.

Later, yes, later.

I can't remember if I talked about it at the time and I'm too lazy to find out, but in December, when I was 32 weeks pregnant, I performed in a little workshop/recital at West Hollywood Presbyterian Church. I had worked on and performed La flute de Pan by Jules Moquet before and I wanted a second crack at it, so Patty, my flute teacher, allowed me to do it again. She doesn't usually let students do that, but I'm just going to come right out and say it: I am no ordinary student. If you are currently a student of Patty's and you're wondering why Irene gets special treatment, well, I'll tell you: I get special treatment because I'm special! Deal with it. And did I mention I was 32 weeks pregnant? Learning something brand new from scratch wasn't going to happen. I had been fooling around with the Moquet at home by myself, and it was easy enough to put together. It's a beautiful piece and I love playing it... so I did it again (only the first movement, "Pan et les bergers" - "les bergers" means "shepherds"), and I'm so glad.

The winter workshop/recital was full of lots of great performances, and Patty's students (mostly kids, but a few of us adults; as one of the adults, and one of the most advanced players, I went last. I've had the honor of going last for several years now) all played really well. I was also in a couple of ensembles (one of them, the Hallelujah Chorus, with me on bass, was kind of a train wreck, and it was totally my fault, but we won't talk about that now), but I was a little nervous about my solo, as usual, and, as you read on, as was to be expected.

I don't have a good track record when it comes to being prepared in advance. I think I've told you before that I love to play, but I'm often not very motivated to practice (though it's funny: once I get started [this is pre-baby] I can sometimes do it for hours. Or sometimes not. I don't have a lot of discipline. I wish I did, of course I'd be a much better musician, but I don't). My history, when it comes to recitals, is to "learn" my piece, oh, pretty much the week before. Of course I'll have worked on it before then, and I know where the hard parts are, but full-on mastery doesn't come until they very last minute, and as you probably know, "full-on mastery" doesn't respond well to last minute preparation. But, that's the way I do it, knowing very well that it makes for miserable lessons and a tear-filled dress rehearsal. Apparently I'm a glutton for this kind of punishment. I will also never change.

This is why I am a. not a professional musician, and b. I forgot what b. was going to be. <--Mommy brain!

Oh, the tear-filled dress rehearsal! Patty employs a young pianist named Mark Abulencia, and he's amazing - he's extremely talented as a performer, but where his talents really lie, at least where I'm concerned, is his accompanying. The guy can read minds, and can tell when a flutist is floundering, making shit up, and about to skip a whole measure or two (or, ahem, three). He's saved my butt many times by repeating the last bar of the music, slowing my too-ambitious tempos down, covering up my stupid breathing, and following me when I'm re-writing the music. And he does all that and sounds beautiful at the same time. He's also a sweetheart. My dress rehearsals (usually an hour in Patty's living room the day before the recital) have been the same since high school (Mark hasn't been playing with us for that long but I've had this pattern since then. Yes: I am a slow learner. Where have you been?): I walk in, usually before the player before me has finished, and start putting my flute together to quietly warm up. Patty, involved with her other student, avoids looking at me, which instantly puts me on guard. I know that I am ill-prepared, I know she knows I'm ill-prepared, and I know she knows I know... oh, you get it. And so I work on attaining the proper attitude to cover up my total lack of confidence. I usually come up with "combative," which is a really charming personality trait, and which works until I start to play, screw something easy up, and then it turns to "fearful" and "tearful."

There is sometimes quite a bit of cursing at these rehearsals. In between the tears.

Anyway, yes, I did all that this time. But please remember that I was also 32 weeks pregnant. I was big. I was having serious breathing problems, and it seemed like the only "easy" solution was to push the tempo. I have no idea what the ideal tempo for this movement is; maybe I should've found that out ahead of time. Pushing the tempo meant then that my fingers (and brain) had to keep up so that my stupid lungs wouldn't explode. And Moquet (or can I call him "Jules"?) didn't really help me out. Properly prepared, the phrasing probably would be fine for another, non-pregnant flutist, but I was not that flutist. So there was that to listen to, my weird breaking of phrases, and it was annoying, and it was worrisome, and then it was my turn to play, which is why I'm writing this long-ass entry in the first place.

I know that I will play my flute again. I know that I will perform again. I know that the baby and I may get to play duets when he's old enough and that I will hopefully be able to to teach him to love the flute as much as I do (and if not, he can do whatever he wants). But this recital, at the end of my pregnancy, felt like a big one. It felt like my last recital as a non-parent. Any playing I do after that will be as a parent. And I don't know, that felt serious to me. I wanted to sound good, dammit.

And you know what? I totally did. I am so proud of that performance. I have never ever played anything so well. I've never felt so powerful as a flutist, so in control. I knew as I was playing that it sounded good (if maybe a little sloppy, maybe a little too fast and a little out of tune, a little wacky on the breathing). It was nowhere near perfect. But it was really, really good. I don't know if I was playing for the baby (unnamed at the time, but now maybe you see why we named him what we did), or saying goodbye to my (long gone) childhood, or what, but I felt like something was happening, there, and I loved that moment of playing, and look, that's not always the way I feel about performances.

Patrick recorded it for me, and I have it on my iPod. When the baby was about 2 weeks old, I was playing music while feeding him, and it came on. It wasn't the first time I'd heard it but it was the first time I heard it since having him, and dude: I cried. My own stupid playing made me so happy.

After I played the Moquet, I then had to join my fellow flutists and play the Hallelujah Chorus (on bass, as I mentioned before). Someone else counted it off, and I stepped off a cliff. I think what happened is, I wasn't looking at the music (after my performance my brain was all scrambled), and so I played the first bar from memory... and that was as much of the music I had memorized. Oops!

So we started again... and the same thing happened.

Dude: how embarrasing! Still, once we got back on, I think it sounded okay. Playing the bass is fun, but I don't do it very often, so maybe I lack that bass player sense of responsibility and weightiness. I don't know. I only know I screwed it up.

I'll upload the Moquet later tonight and post it for you. Like I said before: it's not perfect. But it's the best I could do, and it was good enough for me to be very proud of.

Today is Tuesday.

2011-05-17T15:55:00.000-07:00

Today has been a much better day at work than yesterday. Thank you very much to those of you who contacted me via email or Facebook to tell me to hang in there. I was really tired yesterday, and I know that had a lot to do with it. And... though even I think this is mostly B.S., there will be a full moon tonight. For some reason I always get a little overly emotional at this time of the month. --> Keep reading:

And no, since we're sharing everything here today, I did not get my period. Yay!

For those of you wondering, there are non-baby things that I think about, and in fact I had something in mind just this morning, but unfortunately for you, I've since forgotten what it was. I do recall that I intended to write it down before I, you know, forgot it. Huh. Should've gotten on that sooner, I guess.

A minute ago I got an email from the baby's daycare that we need to schedule our "parent/teacher" conference soon, which is funny, because I speak to his teachers two times a day when he's there as it is. What more could we have to say to each other? This is actually the second email, so hey, maybe I'll call them up (though I know those emails are automated) and schedule something.

I ordered a Snug Tuck pillow for our bed last week, and I am going crazy with anticipation. Since we early on went against everything I thought I believed in regarding sleeping with your baby (I was against it until 3 weeks after his birth, when I realized we'd all get a lot more rest if I just let him in with us. And I don't even nurse in bed! And waking up to that sweet little face is something I will never give up!), and he's starting to try to roll over (I am so proud!), and I think Patrick would like to sleep with his head facing the right direction again one day, I started investigating bed rails. You can go ahead and do a search on Snug Tuck pillows and you will find a hundred blog posts exactly like this one (well, maybe not exactly) so knowing that what I have to say about the product (which I haven't even received yet) is going to be exactly like everyone else's comments... well, who wants to do that? Not me. Once it comes I'll post a photo, and a hopefully unique review.

(Snug Tuck pillow: a large bolster like pillow that attaches to the mattress on top of the fitted sheet to prevent baby from falling on the floor. Not squishy so baby won't, hey, get squished. Because a squished baby would be bad, right? I mean, I'm a new mom, but yeah, I think I'd prefer an unsquished baby. They're totally customizable, fabric-wise, and seem like the best solution. They get lots of loves on blogs and in mommy forums [full disclosure: I hate those forums! The information might be useful but they use so many annoying acronyms and cutesy sayings! "DD" for "darling daughter? Gag me. Just type the words! And who calls their daughter "darling daughter"? I don't know, they're not for me. I read somewhere that companies employ people to go in and correct the grammar on online reviews; I wish someone would do that with the way those people write in the forums [or here on this blog, yes, I know, shut up].] I looked at other guardrails and didn't like how hard they were. And, when J. eventually goes to his own bed [crib? what crib?] it will easily go with him. And the cover is washable. Mine is organic cotton, in a color I think they call "natural." It looks beige. Whatever, I just want it to arrive!)

There's an excess of parentheses and brackets in that paragraph. Oops. You know, somebody called me a "mommyblogger" today and I found that kind of annoying but I guess it's what I've been doing, so who am I to be annoyed? Maybe I'd better write another letter to Stewart Copeland soon.

Okay, so, I've exhausted all my words for today, I think. Gotta go make some more.

Week 1 of being back to work was easy.

2011-05-16T17:28:00.000-07:00

But today, day 1 of week 2? I am in need of some encouragement.

I'm tired. I miss my baby. Yesterday was a lazy day, but then in the late afternoon, we realized that we really needed to go grocery shopping, so Patrick and I took J. to Wal-Mart (not my favorite store, but they literally have everything we need; they make it so hard to go anywhere else). Their food selection is pretty good. They have lots of Kashi for me and Morningstar Farms for Patrick. I think that trip kind of messed up the baby's wind-down time in the evening because he was fussier than usual (he usually isn't fussy at all!) at bedtime. I was already feeling worn out so it was hard. Maybe I'm going to (finally) get my period soon because I was feeling that kind of tired.

I still am, actually. Our night-time feedings (usually two, between 12:30 and 2:30) turned into three, and I don't know, I think he could tell I was tired. And then instead of sleeping until 4:15 (like he did all week!) he woke up again at 3:30, hungry!

Today at work? I just miss him. I'm jealous of Patrick for getting to be with him all day, while I have to pump (I tried to go for it 5 times instead of just 4, since he's being fed 5 times at home or in daycare, but man is it harder. I mean, I have to work, too! I think I'm going to have to get that 5th one in at home, which sucks because I want to be with him when I'm home, not hooked up to the pump). I know he deserves time with the baby and it's so nice that he can do it, but... I want to be home, too.

Blah. I'm so lucky I only have to work 4 days a week! It's too bad they're loooong days but I have to remember I get to be home 3 days a week. I get that extra whole day that most people don't.

I can do this. Right?

Back in the saddle

2011-05-09T12:54:00.000-07:00

I'm back at work today.

I'm not thrilled about it. After being a full-time mom (for three months), getting up at 4:15 a.m. to feed the baby, take a shower and get on the freeway by 6:15 was not fun. I had no idea, when I got pregnant, that I would adapt to being home all the time so well (and with a minimal display of my previous lazy disposition).

I'll be honest: at 9 o'clock last night, after I put the baby down for bed and I was getting my stuff ready for this morning, I didn't want to go to sleep. I (cried) told Patrick, I don't want to go to bed because that means it'll be tomorrow sooner. But I did go to bed, snuggled up with my little cutie, and we got up at 12:30, 2:30, and 4:15. He's almost on a consistent schedule, but I was surprised he woke up at 12:30 (he usually makes it to 1:30). And then, when it was time to leave? I cried before I put the car in reverse to get out of the driveway (and again, when I transfered from the 91 to the 710. And again, when I got off the freeway and made that left turn towards work. And again, when I pulled into the parking lot).

In an effort to find something good about this, I have come up with the following Pros about being at work (the Cons I assume you can guess):

I can go to the bathroom alone, and whenever I want.
Shit! I knew there was another one but I've forgotten it already.

Since coming in at 7 a.m., I've pumped twice (for a total of about 10 ounces of milk; not bad), read about 200 out of 567 emails, realized that I forgot the names of two of my co-workers, eaten lunch, gotten two "we're doing fine" texts from Patrick, called him once to see how he's doing, and printed out 5 photos of the baby for my bulletin board.

It'll be okay. I know I'm not the first woman to regret leaving her baby. That said: it still sucks.

Wouldn't YOU want to be at home with this cutie?

My infant is keeping me out of the movie theater and for that I thank him and give him a big kiss on the nose

2011-04-23T02:28:00.000-07:00

I read "Water for Elephants" two years ago when my mother had her first knee surgery, so I didn't really have the time or interest to write a review (I'm Terrible at writing reviews anyway). At the time I just wrote (here: http://irenethebean.blogspot.com/2009/09/ride-home-and-week-prior.html) that I didn't like it.

The movie looks pretty horrible to me, too. Can Robert Pattinson or Reese Witherspoon act? Here's one movie I'm glad I'll be missing.

The weekend

2011-04-18T09:43:00.000-07:00

What a weekend!

After Jules' two days in daycare (which went okay... I'm still not crazy about the idea of it, but the reality is, it's fine.*), I was so happy to have him all to myself on Friday! I can't even remember what we did but I suspect there was lots of cuddling and cooing involved. He's so animated now, and happy in the mornings - he smiles all the time and though he's not quite laughing out loud, you can tell that he wants to. I do know that we went for my daily trip to Kaiser, where he got to meet Birdie, the nurse who changed my packing a few times last week and who I kind of fell in love with, she's so nice. Birdie was excited to meet him because I'd been talking about him a lot, and he, of course, charmed her as he has charmed every nurse he's come into contact with so far.

On Saturday, I got up early to go to Urgent Care to have my bandage changed and repacked, and that took forever. Jules and I were waiting for two hours, and in that time he had a huge poop, needed a costume change, and got very hungry. I ended up having to nurse the baby in the waiting room, which I was prepared for - I bought a nursing cover the other day for just these kinds of situations. Of course about 10 minutes after I started, the nurse called me. Actually, it was a medical assistant, and a male, and I think he was a little thrown off by seeing me breastfeeding. But once we were in the back, all the nurses saw Jules and commented on how cute he is. Of course they did. When we got home, my sister came for a visit, and she had a great idea - she suggested we take Jules out to lunch. Usually when my family visits we send someone out to pick up some lunch for us (my brother has been getting these really yummy chef's salads from Hof's Hut), but she was feeling adventurous (and it was so hot at my house on Saturday!). We decided to go to Islands.

Islands was the perfect restaurant for a baby - they have something they call a "sling," which is just a little hammock to hold the car seat. I've never seen it before but I think it means we'll be going to Islands a lot in the future. It was perfect - Jules was quiet and content for almost our whole meal (he did get a little fussy toward the end). We had a great time.

When we got home, Angie was playing with him on the couch when she saw something on his thigh that she thought might be ringworm. She's a pre-school teacher so she's seen a lot of ringworm. I called the Kaiser advice nurse to see if they would tell us we could buy something for it and treat it ourselves, but unfortunately, the nurse said that if we really thought it was ringworm, we needed to take him to urgent care. I guess because ringworm is contagious.

I wasn't looking forward to going back to urgent care, but they have a separate one for kids, and that was perfect - there was nobody there. The nurse who checked him out wasn't 100% positive it was ringworm (it was a very small mark), so she called in another nurse to consult, and then the doctor took a look. Between the three of them they decided it was only a little eczema, which I also have. Apparently it runs in families, unfortunately. They told me how to care for it, and we were on our way. I'm glad it wasn't ringworm. I was afraid he'd picked something up from daycare. I know he will but after only two days?

Anyway, after that we had a quiet night at home. Sunday Jules and I were both kind of cranky and tired, but we went to visit my folks - I had to get out of Long Beach's heat! Culver City is usually about 10 degrees cooler. It was a nice visit, though short.

Here's a picture from our outing to Islands. Fun!

Mommy looks a little insane here!

*I talked to another mother who has twins in the infant room with Jules. She was effusive with her praise of the center, and in particular of Jules' teachers. She told me she had also been nervous when she started bringing her babies there, and that she still calls every day but that she was happy with the care her kids are getting. And when I hung out Wednesday morning, her children did seem very happy and content.

Healing from the inside out:

2011-04-14T07:36:00.000-07:00

A post in which I attempt to avoid using the word "breast."

This week is better than last week.

I seem to be healing fine from my surgery. I've had to return every day to Kaiser to have a nurse repack and check my wound. I'm not a huge fan of this - going to Kaiser is a hassle. At first I was pretty pissed off about it but I'm trying out an attitude adjustment. I need to be more positive. It's true that at first it hurt me to repack it but as time goes on it takes less time, and hurts less, and the nurses are all good at it. And they all say it's draining nicely and looks to be healing. They have to repack it because the surgeon didn't close up the hole: I have to heal from the inside out. I did cry the first couple of times, but I'm not sure that was from pain. Just frustration that this has happened to me. But that's what I'm talking about - changing my attitude. I'm really lucky it wasn't worse, that there were no complications, that my family was able to come and be with me and help with the baby - lots of people have worse stuff to deal with, and here I am, with a loving family, beautiful baby boy who I can still nurse. I'm not going to complain anymore.

This week we started Jules in daycare. Even though I don't go back to work for two more weeks, I wanted a chance to adjust while I can be around the house and not all the way in East LA. He's going to go twice a week (he'll spend two days with his dad, two days in daycare, two days with me solo, and one day with me and his dad). It will eventually be a long day for him: Patrick will drop him off at 6:30 a.m. and pick him up by 6:30 p.m., unless he can adjust his schedule and leave a little earlier. I hope he can do that. Yesterday was Jules' first day. I stayed for the morning so I could check things out, and nurse him (to save my precious milk supply). We've met the teachers before and seen the place but I wanted to see how things really go. I stayed until about 11:30 and then I had to go to Kaiser. His class (the Infant room, of course) has about 6 other babies, all older than him (the next youngest is about 5 months, I think), and two teachers (other teachers help cover breaks or if they need help). The other babies are cute. I really enjoyed spending the morning there. While I was out, I called and his teacher told me how he was doing. Leaving him yesterday surprisingly wasn't very hard, and after I did what I had to do, I picked him up early and brought him home. His teacher told me he was a good boy, and I believe her. He seemed very happy.

Today we're doing it differently, though. We tried our "real" routine - we got up at 5 a.m. and I fed the baby. That takes about 45 minutes. Patrick got ready for work. When I finished feeding Jules, I brushed my teeth and got dressed. No shower. This schedule already needs tweaking! Also I'll have to have clothes ready because when I go back to work, I'm only going to have 15 minutes, 20 tops, to get ready. Then Patrick got the baby in his car seat, got the bottles and stuff he'll need for the day, and took him to daycare. I followed in my car to make sure Patrick got him checked in and settled okay (of course, he did). Then I LEFT.

That's right, I'm sitting on my couch in a baby-less house. It feels weird. I've already thought through how I'm going to spend my day: in about 30 minutes, as if I were at work, I'm going to pump some milk (before that I need to start a load of laundry). Then I'm going to clean out all the ancient toxic household cleaners under the bathroom and kitchen sinks. We're going natural. Then, as it gets closer to the time I need to go to Kaiser, I'm going to take a shower. I can't get my bandage wet unless it's right before the nurse is going to change it. This shower is going to be such a luxury! I feel guilty looking forward to it. We have to do a whole day of daycare, though so we know how much milk to send him with when I'm not all the way at work. Yesterday he only had time for one bottle (though I sent two) before I picked him up.

After Kaiser I might go out for lunch. I'm thinking Subway but it might be nice to go somewhere and sit down, and read a book. Maybe my favorite Mexican place, which is close to Jules' daycare. I'll stop by and check on him and try to control my urge to take him home.

Well, an alarm is going off in the bedroom that has never gone off before (7:30 is a weird time for me to have set an alarm), so I guess that's my cue to stop wasting time and get started on my chores. If I have to be away from Jules I want to make the most of it and do the things that are hard to do while I'm focused on him. Otherwise I'll just sit around today and mope.

Thursday

2011-04-10T12:33:00.000-07:00

Hey, so let the breastfeeding/boob stories continue!

Thursday I returned to Kaiser to be checked, and Dr. T decided that yes indeed, there continued to be infection, which meant that further action (surgery) was necessary. It was about 4:30 p.m. when he made this decision.

Thing to remember: I (stupidly) thought whatever was in store for me would be nothing more than a in and out procedure.

Dr. T sent me to Emergency; apparently this is how they do it. Patrick met me there. I told him to wait for me for an hour and if I wasn't done by then (ha ha! Seriously, I had no idea) to take the baby home. They let me nurse before they checked me in, but since I didn't know I was going to be staying, I didn't have my breast pump with me. After they checked me in, they took me back to a bed, and I proceeded to hurry up and wait. Within 20 minutes, I was crying. I missed my baby. I haven't been away from him for that long since he was born. After an hour, Patrick came back and said he was taking Jules home. It didn't seem right to make them wait in the waiting room with all the sick people.

It took the doctors awhile to check on me, and while I was waiting, my sister and brother were texting me. Angie asked if she should come to be with me and at first I said no but the more I thought about it, the better having someone with me sounded. They both decided to come.

Finally, after a nurse came and started an IV of antibiotics (and made me take a pregnancy test!), an ER doctor came to look at me. He was nice enough but unfortunately he had a huge, disgusting booger in his right nostril. It was grossly distracting. He wasn't a surgeon, he was just there, I guess, to assess my situation. Later a surgeon came to check me out (I had been asking the nurses for water, which they refused to give to me. Well, they didn't "refuse," they just neglected to get it. Eventually one of them explained that they had to wait to see what the surgeon said before they could give me anything to drink). This guy pissed me off, because he said things about breastfeeding after the surgery that weren't right. He told me that I should wait 3 days afterward to breastfeed, that I should pump and dump all my milk during that time because I didn't want the anesthesia to get into Jules' system. He said that there was a possibility the infected fluid could get to Jules while he was feeding. Now. I've been reading all about this abscess thing for awhile, and though by this time they had started an IV of antibiotics that I hadn't yet checked out (I did later), I knew that what he said about the anesthesia, about breastfeeding, was wrong. But I didn't say anything. I just sat there and stewed.

My brother and sister got to the hospital right before they took me to the OR, just in time to collect my "valuables" (cell phone, eyeglasses, car keys, wedding ring). My brother went with me to pre-op where things suddenly got very serious.

I still thought this was no big deal. But when you're lying in a bed with an IV in your arm, and an anesthesiologist suddenly shows up, hey, things have progressed wildly beyond "in and out." I'm not telling the story very well - at some point someone, another surgeon, showed up to explain what was going on and that my abscess needed to be drained and that I might have to stay overnight in the hospital, but I don't really remember when that happened. The pre-op nurse (a dude named Rudy) was nice, and he tried to find a breast pump for me in Labor and Delivery but amazingly, they didn't have one. My sister went to my house to get mine but I never used it. Later, when the anesthesiologist came, a youngish Asian guy, he was really nice. He told me that though he wasn't sure about the antibiotics, he was positive that once I woke up, it would be safe for me to breastfeed. This jived with everything I read. He was the first person to understand how important breastfeeding is to me.

My brother hung out with me in the pre-op room , and I tried to be calm about the whole thing, but look, I've never had surgery before. I've never had anesthesia before. I was scared.

The good part is, when it was time to get the thing started and the anesthesiologist came back, the last thing I remember is him telling me, "this might sting a little." It did. And then I woke up sometime later.

At this point I should ask my brother to write about what happened because all I remember is someone saying I could go home. I don't know what time it was. I don't remember getting dressed. I do remember Rudy pushing me in a wheelchair downstairs. My sister drove me, Dan drove my car.

I hada big bandage on my breast, taped down with what felt like all the tape in the world. Dan said they told him I was supposed to go to general surgery on Friday to be checked... or maybe this was on one of those after visit summary sheets Kaiser is so fond of? I don't remember. Anyway, we went home. Patrick had fed the baby one feeding from my precious frozen supply, and one feeding of formula, but I was still a little out of it and not 100% sure I should nurse, so I did a dumb thing: I pumped from the breast that hadn't had surgery, and I threw it away. I wish I hadn't done that. Overnight I leaked a ton of milk.

So Kaiser, apparently wanting to dope me up, prescribed an antibiotic (safe while breastfeeding) and some pain medication (Norco; not recommended while breastfeeding). I chose not to take the Norco, and instead am relying on good ol' 200 mg of Advil. I haven't had much pain. I also haven't had a shower.

On Friday, my mom and dad and Dan came over (Patrick had to work). My mom and Dan watched the baby, my dad took me to get checked. A nurse "repacked" my wound, and let me just tell you, that sucked. She removed and replaced what felt like 100 feet of gauze-y stuff. Saturday I went back by myself which may have been a mistake but I survived. Jules too.

Anyway, that's it. There are more details I could tell you about but I think I'm okay now. I hope.

Never-ending adventure

2011-04-01T07:28:00.000-07:00

So I know the following won't be of interest to most people, so if you're not interested in breastfeeding, you have my permission to go away and do something else instead of reading this. Personally, my thoughts lately have been on almost nothing else for the past 9 weeks, but I understand that it's a big world out there with other things to do.

I'll just be blunt: I think I have mastitis. What's that (wait, I thought the only people left were those with familiarity in the topic)? It's a plugged milk duct.

I'm so bummed about this. For one thing, it tool me a week to put two and two together. For another thing, I'm bummed that of the three doctors, including my mid-wife, plus a lactation consultant, who, upon hearing my complaints (fever, chills, achiness), not one of them, knowing I am breastfeeding, asked about my breasts or even looked at them (fever + chills is one of the main symptoms). Maybe that's not fair. But I did try to get help, and instead I got a couple strong prescriptions for a skin problem I don't have, a diagnosis for a bladder infection I also don't have, and I was told that my right breast just "doesn't produce as much milk as the other one." Right. You think it's because there's a blocked duct?

And because this process took so long, I've been worrying that there will be complications, like an abscess, which could require surgery.

But, on the plus side:

1. Feeding the baby, since getting help last week, continues to be pain free.
2. My faith in my primary care physician is restored. She's 8 years younger than I am but a sweetheart, and much more thorough than most.
3. The nurse got me an appointment for today in rhe breast clinic, so I don't have to wait anymore.
4. Jules is smiling and cooing and talking to us so much, he's such a happy baby! Being tired and achy and having this stupid lump? Whatever. I want to play with my son.

Not shown: 1 small bottle of Advil.

2 months old today!

2011-03-25T20:53:00.000-07:00

Well, we made it - it's been 8 weeks since we brought our little guy home and as people say - time flies! I'm shocked at how different he is now. He's still pretty sleepy but staying up a lot more during the day. He has tummy time and smiles and even sometimes laughs - his smile is super cute. More than one person has commented on how serious he can be, and how "intense" his little stare gets. We joke that that's when he's "sucking your soul." He has lots of fans, including all the nurses at the Kaiser Downey OB department. And my midwife thinks he's the cutest.

When Patrick goes off to work, I'm usually feeding him, so when we're done, I cuddle him up in the bed with me and try to get a little more sleep, but usually at that point (7 a.m.) he's over sleeping, and ready to play. We hang out on the bed and he "talks" to me. It's very sweet. I love kissing him! He tries to kiss me back but his kissses are like round holes of sticky. Still: very, very cute. And today we tried something that a friend had suggested: even though I usually give him a bath in the evening, today I took a bath with him. He loved it! I didn't get very clean but we had fun.

After discussing my issues with breastfeeding with a couple of friends, and getting a lot of good advice and direction, this week I saw another (non-Kaiser) lactation consultant. She really helped us turn it around - I have a new technique for getting him latched that doesn't hurt at all. It's a little time consuming because I don't always get it right the first time but it's only been a couple of days - I think we'll get the hang of it. She assured me that when he gets bigger we won't have to do it that way anymore. I really don't care: no pain is awesome. She also assured me that his size is fine. She thought we were doing a good job, and she kind of fell in love with my baby - he has a way with people! And thanks to her (her name is "Ellen"), we're off that horrible "every two hours" schedule and on to an "every 3 hours" schedule. What a difference 1 hour makes, and I am not being funny.

Otherwise, we've been trying to stick to our daily routine of laundry and making the bed and cleaning the kitchen (I keep telling him I couldn't or wouldn't do any of that stuff were it not for him and his "help"), but this week was a little screwy - two doctor's appointments, visits from family... Next week I'll try to keep things calmer. He doesn't have his 2 month check up until next Wednesday but otherwise I'd like to stay around the house.

It's been raining here for the last couple of days and while I do love the rain and haven't really had to drive at all in it, I wish it would continue. Though: I'm cold!

Here's a photo of the three of us. My little family! Ignore my messy hair please.

Tuesday

2011-03-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

Today was hard! Patrick switched days with a coworker so he couldn't go with me to my appointment with the lactation consultant. Jules was sweet all morning and for the drive there, and just when we got to Kaiser and I was getting all cocky about my parenting skills, he lost it in the parking lot and continued to lose it all the way to the office. I found a bathroom and changed his diaper but he was still pretty mad.

At my appointment, the consultant (her name is Ruth) weighed him and then had me feed him so she could weigh him again. She wasn't super happy with his weight. At his last appointment with the pediatrician, she noted that he was small but wasn't concerned.
Ruth, however, is concerned that I might not be making enough milk.

It's true that I've been having trouble with one side but he continues to eat and poop and pee, and though it hurts like he'll sometimes, I keep feeding him from that side. I have no choice, I know I have to. I saw my OB a couple weeks ago about the pain, and she wrote me a prescription for ibuprofen, which mostly helps. Ruth said that she thought it was only because I'm so determined to feed him that he's gained but that he should be doing better.

I was bummed. I mean, I can take fenugreek to increase my milk, and she can write me a prescription if that doesn't work, but, and this might just be me being tired, as nice and helpful Ruth has been, I kind of felt like I am failing to Properly Feed my child. I'm sure that wasn't her intention, she wants to help, but I got upset.

Anyway, I bought a pump, which I will need when I go back to work. I need to practice using it. I came home and took my ibuprofen, fenugreek, and prenatal vitamin, and a little while later, fed Jules. But now I'm questioning if I'm doing it right and worried he's going to be hungry. She also gave me a nipple shield to try for the pain, and it worked in her office but here at home, Jules hated it and kept crying so I sucked it up and took it off.

Patrick is on his way home, and I'm glad.

6 weeks old

2011-03-13T13:15:00.000-07:00

On Friday, Jules had his six week birthday! But before I write more about him, I just wanted to say that I've been reading and thinking a lot about the earthquake, tsunami and horrible situation at the nuclear power plants in Japan - a little while ago I saw a photo at the Washington Post website of a little girl being tested for radiation, and that photo really horrified me and touched my heart. I'm hoping that the people of Japan can have some peace, rest, and a safe place to live very soon. You can help by making a donation to the Red Cross. http://www.redcross.org/. Or text REDCROSS to 90999 to make a $10 donation using your phone.

These last couple weeks since I last wrote have been wonderful. I'm feeling like I'm finally starting to get a handle on being a mommy. Jules and I have our quiet days where we make the bed, do laundry, eat, and hang out, and then there are days when we have visitors, and those days are nice too. He's staying awake a little more during the day, and that means tummy time! He's been letting me take a shower, which has been a treat. We got as a gift a bouncy seat for him, and I put it in the bathroom and let him sit there where I can see him from the tub. I also discovered that he likes sitting with me on the swing in the backyard (not a kiddy swing). And we've been going for walks around the neighborhood using the Baby Bjorn or the stroller.

He seems to be changing his schedule, and he's been a little bit of a grumpy guy in the afternoon. I'm pretty sure that's normal baby behavior; I'm just glad he's not having full-on crying sessions or colicky symptoms. He's also been super hungry - breastfeeding has gotten a little easier, and though I love the closeness with him, it's still pretty painful. On Tuesday I have an appointment to visit Kaiser's lactation consultant to buy my breast pump. I think that will help. I just hope I didn't wait too long - I think I was supposed to start pumping three weeks ago! I don't know, I read so many things, it's hard to know sometimes what I'm "supposed to do." It will be nice for Patrick to be able to feed him and I know they'll both enjoy it.

Here's a photo I took this morning. He's super cute, if I do say so myself.

4 weeks and 1 day old

2011-02-26T12:01:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Jules reached the 1 month mark, and his day was pretty exciting:

He's still on this crazy every-two-hours feeding schedule, so I was up with him every two hours (did I mention he's hungry EVERY TWO HOURS?) all night until 6:30, when Patrick left for work. Then the baby and I broke rule no. 1 ('no babies on the bed:" it's my rule and I can break it if I want to), and I discovered that Jules loves the bed, where he and I snoozed for a couple of hours peacefully, and, safely. Gosh he's sweet. He lies there on his back, with his head turned to me, and I curl my arm around him protectively, and we both fall asleep.

After that, I put the Moby wrap on, inserted my baby, and got some stuff done in anticipation of the arrival of the Merry Maids at 1 o'clock. What stuff? I washed all the bedding (requires doing 3 loads of laundry), I loaded the dishwasher and/or washed the dishes, and I got myself and my boy dressed so that we could go before they got here.

I took him to visit his cousins and his Aunt Stacey, and we hung out with them for awhile, where we watched HGTV on their giant television, he was admired by his cousins, held by his aunt, and had his diaper changed by me in big boy Matthew's cool room (that kid has neat stuff). Afterwards, we drove in the rain to the post office so I could buy stamps for his birth announcements (is it lame to send birth announcements after a month?), which I ordered last week from Tiny Prints and thought weren't going to come until March but they were rad and got them to me a week early, and without any extra charges or my even having to ask. They also came out really great, and maybe I will share them with you later.

Then we got something for me to eat, came home, and watched TV, addressed birth announcements, and napped (guess who did what?) until his dad came home. And the 1 month birthday celebrations began! No, not really. He was going to have a bath (and get his hair washed for the first time!) but it was just too cold, and I was tired. Yes, everyone has told me to "sleep while he sleeps" (which he's doing right now, in the Moby wrap) but to be honest, I just can't make myself do it. There are other things to do. When I told Patrick all the things I had done while wearing the baby in the wrap, he was kind of surprised. I won't lie to you: before we had the baby, on a rainy cold day like yesterday, if I had been home with nothing to do except wait for the maids, I would've pretty much done nothing. I wouldn't have done laundry or cleaned up the kitchen. I would've sat on the couch and watched reruns of "America's Next Top Model" or something like that. It's interesting that now it means something to me when I make the bed. I don't always get to take a shower, but I've made the bed every day since the baby came home (unless Patrick has done it), and I like that. Not being a slob anymore seems to be a nice side effect of becoming a mother. Patrick's been the same way. It's kind of weird, but good.

So the other day I received a card in the mail from my mother. She likes sending cards with spiritual messages and bible verses. In the past I've sort of ignored the messages and just thanked her for thinking of me. This card, however, was perfect in every way. She picked the perfect verse to send us, and though I'm always going to be a little suspicious about religious stuff in general, I really liked this card. Also, I think I get my corniness from her. Fine, whatever.

On the outside it said, "God wants you to remember: He is for you. He loves you. He believes in you. He will not fail you. He will provide for you. He will bless you. He will give you rest. (Mom underlined that part, and the next:) He will strengthen you. He will answer you."

I mean, jeez, rest and strength? What else do new parents need?

Here's the verse she hand-wrote on the inside, after her personal message for me and Patrick:

"We shall not all sleep but we shall all be changed." I Corinthians 15:51

Now, I think that verse is actually referring to the rapture but boy was it appropriate. It also reminds me of that line from the U2 song "Bad," where Bono says he's "wide awake" and that he's "not sleeping." I don't know what the hell Bono is talking about in that song, but I bet it's about Jesus (even though Wikipedia says it's about heroin; you have your opinions, and I have mine), and it seems like Bono and my mom are telling me the same thing (did I just write that? TOTAL CHEESE! Well, I told you I was corny. Still, I'm not going to delete it, even though I'm wrong about Bono's meaning. I both love and am driven crazy by U2, and I know my interpretations of their lyrics are juvenile sometimes, but those big gorgeous dumb guys know what they're doing, or they did, anyway ["Achtung Baby" and everything that followed: yech]). In one month the big change to our lives that we were told about and anticipating but not really able to conceive has happened. Patrick and I are now parents, to this gorgeous little boy. Our hearts are now attached to him. We've changed. I have changed. Mom was right.*

Happy one month, my little guy! We love you!

*Bono, not so much.

Wearing my baby

2011-02-16T17:49:00.000-08:00

Today Patrick bought me a Moby sling wrap for wearing the baby, and after taking about a half hour to figure out how to tie the darn thing, I've been wearing a very sleepy baby with much success ever since.

Things I have done while wearing the baby:

Started this blog post
Facebook
Watched "Gilmore Girls"
Randomly strolled through the house, picking up trash and, hey! throwing it away
Ate the rest of the blueberry tart from last week
A little dance

This thing is cool. I think the kid has gone poop, though, and I'm not sure I can get him out alone - Patrick's out in the garage doing something loud.

I'm a goofball, which is clearly evident in the photo below.

Check it out for yourself at http://www.mobywrap.com/.

Two weeks in...

2011-02-14T11:01:00.000-08:00

It's been two weeks since we brought the baby home! We haven't dropped him yet! The week went by pretty fast. To be honest with you, I don't really remember what I did earlier in the week - my brain doesn't seem to function beyond Wednesday.

Wednesday stands out because we had originally planned to go visit with my parents and Patrick's mom, but got a couple of miles on the freeway before the previous days' lack of sleep caught up with me, and I begged Patrick to turn around. There was traffic, we weren't going to make it at the time we'd planned for, and I was just exhausted and overwhelmed.

Instead, we called my parents and Patrick's mom, canceled the visits, and went home.

That afternoon we made an appointment for me to see the lactation consultant at Kaiser so that I could get a little help - Jules was doing okay but breastfeeding has turned out to be a little painful for me, so I wanted some advice. I realize that it does tend to hurt at first, and so I'm hoping that we will be able to past this, but on Wednesday, I was pretty upset about it. The lactation consultant is also, of course, an RN, and she eased my new mommy fears about a few other things that I had been (needlessly) worrying about. She advised me to "relax." Gee, where have I heard that one? She had a lot of good advice about the pain, and made some suggestions about positioning, and though it still hurts initially when he gets started, I'm hoping it will be better after this week. To aid in relaxing, I was advised to abandon recording the baby's feeding times (this was encouraged while we were in the hospital; I continued with it probably longer than necessary. It was making me nutso) and to 100% feed him "on demand." Understanding that I have maybe some anxiety about this kid's eating habits and my ability to feed him enough, she suggested we come back after the weekend to have him weighed and to determine I "did everything right." <-- Not her words. We do that later today.

We rescheduled the visits with our parents for Thursday, and it worked out much better. They all had a great visit, and I got Tito's for lunch. Thursday also happened to be my birthday, and it was a nice quiet way to celebrate.

On Saturday, my friend Missy and her daughter Hailey came to visit me and the baby, and Missy brought cupcakes from Hotcakes, my new favorite bakery in West LA. It was nice to see them, and to visit for awhile. Jules was perfect, and slept in Missy's arms for the entire visit.

Yesterday, Sunday, my family all came to visit and to really celebrate my birthday. My mom and sister helped show me how to give Jules his first bath, which was a little traumatic for him, but he was warm and cuddly afterwards, and he slept great last night, so all in all, it was a success.

This is Patrick's last week of vacation before he goes back to work... I've been so thankful that I've had him with me, he's been a great help, a wonderful daddy to Jules, and the best sandwich maker ever. After this week I'll have about 9 weeks with Jules before I have to go back to work myself. I'm not ready to think about that yet.

Here's me and Jules, from sometime last week. I think I took the photo on Friday.

A week of having a newborn

2011-02-08T20:51:00.000-08:00

So I think I'll keep writing this blog a week behind the events which I'll be relating. Does that make sense? Anyway, it's the only way I think this is going to work. It's Tuesday, and we've had JP home with us for nine days. He seems to be liking us, though he's quite the serious boy. At any rate, he hasn't started packing his little bags...

On Monday of last week, he had his first doctor's appointment, and we met the pediatrician Kaiser assigned to us. I was a little apprehensive about having no idea about this person, but she turned out to be really great. We liked her right away. JP had a touch of jaundice, or his test didn't satisfy the her, so she sent us home with instructions to fatten him up... in 24 hours. At first I was pretty upset abut it, and as a new mom, I guess I get a pass on this, the first doctor visit... okay, so I'll be straight with you: I cried. I didn't cry at the delivery: at this, something I learned later happens to most newborns, I cried. I talked to a bunch of people who experienced this same thing, and one good piece of advice that I got was to (carefully) expose him, in small doses, preferably through the window, to sunlight. So we dragged a comfortable chair into the kitchen (the room that gets the most sun), and I nursed him in there. She also wanted me to supplement the breastfeeding with an ounce of formula, delivered via eyedropper, at each feeding, so we did that. Patrick helped a lot with the formula.

The next day we took him back, and he was tested and weighed again, and this time he came out clear: no jaundice. I know it wasn't as big of a deal as I originally thought it was, but I have to admit, I was very relieved. He's such a little, sleepy guy, and oh so cute: I just wanted him to be OK. And: he was.

It took us a couple of days to get a rhythm down with the breastfeeding. I did great in the hospital, but for some reason once we came home, I seemed to lose my way for a day or two. It started to hurt. On Wednesday, I was having a really hard time with it - JP seemed to be hungry every hour, and I was really frustrated; the plumber was here (our toilet was backing up), making a bunch of noise, and I was sitting in the baby's room, losing it. Then the doorbell rang, and I heard Patrick talking to our neighbor, Terie, who had had the perfect idea of stopping by our house with a casserole and non-chocolate sweets.

Terie is a Labor and Delivery nurse, a sweetheart, and the best person, at that exact moment, to have dropped by. Her timing was truly excellent. I called to Patrick to ask her to come into the baby's room, and she did. She sat there with me for at least a half hour while I cried, and she explained what was going on, and then she explained that that's how it just is... and that it would get easier. She gave me some tips for making it feel better, and had so much good information that she made me feel like I could do it.

After that, JP and I had a bit of a breakthrough in the breastfeeding department. It still hurt (and still does) but it's a lot easier to deal with, and we're both doing much better.

Since then, we've discovered that our boy's favorite activity is to sleep. Boy, he's a sleepy baby! I've had to re-read (a couple of times) the section in the "What to Expect the First Year" book on sleepy babies to reassure myself that he wasn't sleeping too much, but it seems that 10-day old babies... just sleep. He's very good at it.

Speaking of the "What to Expect the First Year" book... that book has been a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, I know nothing about babies and so having a book like that is really handy. On the other hand, I find that sometimes I look one thing up and I end up reading something else, or the answer is vague, and I end up either more confused or freaked out about another issue... and I know I'm getting a little wacky with the new mom business (and Patrick does his best to reassure me that everything is OK)... but I think I'll settle down, eventually.

The big news is that a couple nights ago, I was finally able to stop setting alarm so that I could wake up in the middle of the night so that I could catch his hunger cues before they escalated to crying - my friends were starting to make fun of me. Last night I got 5 hours of sleep in a row, and felt like a million bucks. And I know he's eating enough because he's had much success in the wet/poopy diaper area and we're getting in all our feeding sessions.

I'll admit that there are still some things about him that are mysterious and that are probably 100% benign but they still worry me (for example, he's started making a funny little noise while I'm feeding him), but since he seems happy, and is eating, pooping and peeing enough, doesn't have a fever, and/or displaying any signs of distress... I'm going to assume it's okay and not go hunting all over the internet or in that darn book for an "answer." I'm not sure I agree with Kaiser scheduling him for the doctor once the first day after you take him home and then not again until three weeks later (seriously, they let us just take this kid home without confirming that we know what we're doing!), but we haven't hurt him and I've been assured that we can't "break" him... so we're okay.

Today I found out that the school I was hoping would take him for two days a week has a waiting list of about six months to a year. Since we applied in September, you'd think that might've been something they told us a long time ago, but nope. I've even called before to find out about this, so I don't really know what's going on. I know there are other schools but this one is for County employees and right across the street from Patrick's work, and we very much liked it the time we had a tour. We have a couple of other options but I don't like having only two months to figure it out. On the other hand, I wish I could just stay home. Maybe I'll start buying lottery tickets.

Well. I'm learning that motherhood involves lots of worry, an unimaginable sense of responsibility, almost instantaneous true love, and NO SLEEP. Patrick's going back to work after next week... so I'd better live it up while I have him here.

Here's a photo Patrick took of me while we waited for the doctor last week. I look a little tired, and a lot stunned. This little creature needs me... and I need him. I can't believe how quickly that happened.

One week ago yesterday - updated paragraph

2011-02-05T12:35:00.000-08:00

I'm so silly: when I posted the story below, I left off one key detail. Here's the corrected paragraph.

Once there, we flew up to the Labor and Delivery section, where the same lady I spoke to on the phone was manning the front desk with another woman. They were checking in another patient, and I tried to wait calmly with Patrick in the waiting area, but I was super uncomfortable, impatient, and a little annoyed. I believe I said to Patrick, "Why are they making me wait?" This area is supposedly a holding area where they evaluate you and you wait in a litte room until the doctor or midwife says it's time to go to the actual delivery room; it's where I would've waited if I'd come to the hospital two hours earlier. Instead, they took about 15 minutes to get me in a room, on a bed but it felt like forever. The two nurses were kind of funny - they were nice enough but not very speedy or good at getting me checked in. During that time things had definitely escalated. I was asked if I wanted an epidural, and I have to be honest: I said yes. Patrick asked me if I was sure and I said yes. I always said I'd try to do without but that if I needed it, I'd get it. That was my thinking, that I needed it. The woman who was going to be my midwife came in and checked me, and I was 7 cm dilated, and there went the epidural. The midwife didn't think there was going to be time. And so my drug-free labor began.

One week ago yesterday...

2011-02-05T09:38:00.000-08:00

Patrick and I are home with our new little baby boy, born last Friday night. Before we left for the hospital, I started writing down the events of the day, which, as you shall see, started very early in the morning. I wrote the rest in fits and starts all week. I can't say it's well done or ready for publishing to my blog, but I'd better do it while it's still relatively fresh.

Friday, January 28
9:24 a.m.

Hey, so, at 3 a.m., I think we got the show started.

I stayed up pretty late (around 11 p.m.) Thursday night, watching TV. I knew sleeping would be hard, because I'd been having a hard time all week, and I just didn't want to even try. Patrick went to bed (he said he was "taking a nap") at 8:30, but I stayed up watching old first season episodes of "Weeds" on Netflix and reading in the baby's room.

When I finally went to bed (Patrick woke up, which is good, because he'd crashed on top of the blankets in the middle of the bed), I wasn't really all that sleepy, so we stayed up and talked for awhile. Then the cats had a huge, fur flying fight in the living room, so I had to come out and squirt Franny with water (we didn't see the fight, so it can't be proved that she was the instigator, but chances are good it was her). Anyway, all I'm saying is, I didn't get to sleep right away. Patrick had to get up early for work, so he rolled over, but I was feeling a little uncomfortable, so I cuddled up with a bunch of pillows and tried to relax and fall asleep.

At 3 a.m., I got up to use the restroom, and realized that what I was looking at was probably what I've been reading described as "bloody show." Kind of a disgusting name but it's kind of a disgusting event. I'll spare you the details. We weren't sure what to do at this point, so we waited a little while, and then we called Kaiser's Labor and Delivery department at the hospital, and the nurse I spoke to explained that I didn't need to come in unless I had a gush of fluid, or contractions 4-5 minutes apart for an hour. I hadn't felt any contractions at that point, and the stuff happening down below certainly wasn't a gush, so we put some towels on the bed and tried to get some sleep.

Once I lay down, though, I started feeling what I can only describe as extremely mild, short (less than 10 seconds) menstrual-type cramps. This went on, at no particularly regular intervals for a couple of hours and then I fell asleep... only to be awakened by Patrick's alarm at 6:15. We had decided, in the middle of the night, that he would go to work, but try to get someone in to cover for him so he could come home. He'd been joking all week that I shouldn't go into labor on Friday because his subordinate would be out of town... I think we'll stop making jokes like that about stuff, in the future. (Patrick has two subordinate positions beneath him but one of them is a new hire, and he doesn't start until the third week of February.)

He went in, made a few phone calls, rounded up coverage, which involved his department's chief deputy, which is kind of a big deal. Luckily that guy is Patrick's former boss, and a nice man. Pat came home after about an hour, with a breakfast burrito for me, which may or may not have been a bad idea. I'm hungry but perhaps a lighter breakfast would've been better. It was good, though. I got up early because, coincidentally, we have a visit from the refrigerator repairman scheduled for today between 8 and 12. I'm glad Patrick's here. I wasn't looking forward to having to ask that guy to take me to the hospital.

I stopped writing at this point.

As the day progressed, so did my labor symptoms. Patrick and I hung out, and then I tried to rest. I probably should've started writing this earlier because while I know that sometime between 1 and 2 p.m. I started having real contractions, I don't have any memory of what they felt like. I stayed in the bedroom, sort of timing them (at this point there was about 15-20 minutes between each one). At 3, I went out into the living room and told Pat we'd better start seriously timing them. I had been told the old 4-1-1 rule (four minutes apart, lasting one minute, for 1 hour) for how you would know when to go to the hospital, and my contractions at this point were about 5 minutes apart. I used some of my Lamaze training and tried out the positions we'd been told to use to help alleviate the pain. The one that really worked was putting one foot up on a chair and stretching - that one helped a lot. At 4, after an hour, we called Labor and Delivery again. I told the nurse the deal, and she said, "Oh, that sounds like active labor! You'd better come in." Then she asked me a million questions, and I started to have another contraction, so I told her I had to put the phone down. When I came back she was all, "Oh, yeah, you're in active labor." I'm not sure if this qualifies as a "well, duh" response for her or me. She started asking me more questions, but she would take forever, which was a bit annoying, to be honest, if I was supposed to be going to the hospital.

Anyway, once I finally got off the phone with her, we grabbed my bag and got on the freeway. It was Friday, at 5 p.m., and I was worried there would be a ton of traffic, but Patrick got us there without driving like a maniac, in 14 minutes. During that time, I had 4 contractions (plus one in the parking lot). Let me tell you: you do not want to be having contractions in the front seat of a Mitsubishi Endeavor on the 605 freeway.

Once there, we flew up to the Labor and Delivery section, where the same lady I spoke to on the phone was manning the front desk with another woman. They were checking in another patient, and I tried to wait calmly with Patrick in the waiting area, but I was super uncomfortable, impatient, and a little annoyed. I believe I said to Patrick, "Why are they making me wait?" This area is supposedly a holding area where they evaluate you and you wait in a litte room until the doctor or midwife says it's time to go to the actual delivery room; it's where I would've waited if I'd come to the hospital two hours earlier. Instead, they took about 15 minutes to get me in a room, on a bed but it felt like forever. The two nurses were kind of funny - they were nice enough but not very speedy or good at getting me checked in. During that time things had definitely escalated. I was asked if I wanted an epidural, and I have to be honest: I said yes. Patrick asked me if I was sure and I said yes. I always said I'd try to do without but that if I needed it, I'd get it. That was my thinking, that I needed it. The woman who was going to be my midwife came in and checked me, and I was 7 cm dilated, and there went the epidural. The midwife didn't think there was going to be time. And so my drug-free labor began.

I was in a bed there for about 15 minutes, and during that time, those two nurses couldn't seem to figure out how to check me in. It was almost funny, and mostly annoying. One of them tried to tell me I needed to sign a form at the desk, but I told her, and the whole room, "I'm not getting up again," so she brought in a laptop on a rolling cart for me to sign electronically. That didn't work out (Patrick said it wasn't hooked up properly). Anyway, what all that meant is that I was not registered until I had been in the delivery room (I think Patrick ended up signing something) for quite some time. My not being registered even delayed me getting my IV!

I was then taken at what I realize was more than just a regular old brisk clip to the delivery room, and on the way, I was pretty much curled up in a ball on the left side of the bed, trying to keep my arms inside while they turned corners, having more contractions.

Patrick and I took a tour of the hospital and the labor and delivery section last week, and while I had been impressed at the time of the tour with the gorgeous room I would have my baby in, when it came to the time, it really didn't matter what kind of room or what it looked like: I didn't even notice. And, without my glasses, I don't really even know what the midwife looked like. She was soft-spoken, African American, and very nice, but otherwise, nope, wouldn't recognize her if I walked into her. My nurse's name was Le, and she spent the most time with me, answering and asking questions. She was at my side pretty much the whole time, which I think might be unusual but I'm not sure. And during the whole thing, Patrick was there, talking to me, keeping me calm, and holding my hand.

Le said a couple of things to me that were interesting during the contractions: she told me that I was doing fine, and that I shouldn't get "out of control" because it would be better for me and the baby. I asked her what she meant by out of control, and she explained, flailing around and screaming. I didn't do either one. I moaned quite a bit, of course, but during the contractions I tended more to curling on my side. I am ashamed to say I don't think I did any of my Lamaze breathing during the contractions. That stuff, aside from the stretching I did at home, kind of went out the window. Oh, maybe not: Patrick probably used the Lamaze training more than I did, because he did a great job keeping me focused and (mostly) calm.

When it was time to push, I'd been having contractions at the hospital for about 2 hours. It didn't feel that long and I only know because I knew what time it was. My midwife came in, all suited up in her (as Patrick called it) welder's mask, and Le got to work on my right side (Patrick was on my left). For some reason I felt more comfortable talking to Le instead of the midwife; I guess I recognized that she had a lot of work to do. The midwife told me when to push, and Le counted. I was a terrible pusher. They wanted three pushes per contraction but I couldn't do it. I managed 2 most times. Pushing went on for about 30 minutes. I remember saying to Le, "Le, I don't like this," and I kept apologizing for making (ahem) messes she had to clean up. I also said, toward the end, "Le, I can't do this anymore." It was hard, and horrible, and while of course I've forgotten what it really felt like, I do remember being scared and hurting, and wanting it to be over. I also surprisingly felt sleepy, like, "Oh god, I just want to sleep." Nobody really said to me anything about seeing the baby's head or anything: for all I knew I was going to be pushing forever. I was also doing a bad job of keeping my thighs open - I kept wanting to keep my legs together. The midwife had to admonish me a couple of times.

But then, they told me I needed to give some really big pushes, and I tried, I really did... and that's when I had the baby, which felt like a huge relief, and I felt a hundred times better. They put him on my chest, and I said something that's just between me and the people in that room, and then I said, "Is he okay?" Le said yes, and Patrick and I cried, and then they took him away to check him out and I had to deliver the placenta, which, to be honest, was even more disturbing than delivering the baby, though, I wish I had remembered to ask to see it, because I've been curious about that thing all this time.

Another nurse came by to wash the baby up, and Le had work to do on the computer, and the midwife congratulated me and then left (I thanked her, of course), and then they finally got around to having me sign a paper I was supposed to have signed before I went into labor (my experiences with the Kaiser nurses after those first two were perfect; every nurse except those ladies was professional and sweet and took extremely good care of me. I don't know why the B team was on in that other room that night, but they were the only ones who were even a little incompetent).

We stayed in the hospital through Sunday afternoon, and my parents and brothers and sister came and visited us, and Patrick's mom, and his brother and his wife (his other brother and his wife were sick and so couldn't come). It was nice to be taken care of and have room service for meals, and a nurse to check on me and the baby. When it was time to go home, Peggy, the very nice charge nurse that day asked me about my stay and care. I told her how excellently everyone had treated us, and said I was trying to figure out which one I wanted to come home with us. She laughed. To be honest, I probaby would've picked her, if it had been possible, though there was a little Filipino nurse named Annie who I liked just as much. Annie kept bringing me extra juices and cookies, and offering Patrick coffee. She was very nice, and helpful with the breastfeeding.

We've been home a week, and getting used to the baby's schedule has been a little stressful. Breastfeeding is hard work. Patrick is home, and helping out a lot. We've got a lot to learn. I've gotten overwhelmed and freaked out by my whole new life, but I've also looked into that little face and felt something I never, ever felt before. We didn't know what to expect, but we're loving our little boy, and we're so proud and happy to have him.

His name is Jules. He looks just like his daddy.

I'd better go, it's almost time to feed him.

Couldn't sleep last night

2011-01-27T13:18:00.000-08:00

I didn't sleep all that great last night, but I wasn't all that upset about it for some reason. I tossed and turned a little bit, got up several times during the night to use the bathroom, and after being up for about an hour, I wrote a few emails on my iPhone to a friend. It was some okay writing, so I thought I'd share my thoughts with my friend, with you. Nothing earth-shattering but I haven't been blogging much, maybe it's because of Facebook, and I wanted to prove that I have been writing something, even if it's just silly little emails.

Here are the highlights:

2:58 a.m.
Moony moon moon. What a gorgeous night.

We had a giant (really, really) raccoon in the backyard on Monday. He was fearless, snuffled his way all over the yard. Franny and Dora went nuts.

I can't sleep. Obviously.

Sent from my iPhone

3:28 a.m.
Dora just cruised by. She's such a little princess, in her teeny tiny kitty-cat high heeled shoes. She didn't stay long, I think she was checking on Patrick, making sure I'm treating him right. She lets me pet her more these days but he's her man.

Franny is no princess. She's a pest, a circus performer, a screen door climber, a giant stomach (we call her Sto-Match), babycat, a perfect small headed Magic Cat. She's the world's worst hunter of the cat kingdom, but so enthusiastic about it, you hate to point that out. I love her and hope she lives forever. Yesterday I was sitting in the baby's room, in my new chair, with her on my lap, and she was trying to eat my shirt buttons. I think she's a genius.

Pregnancy hormones right now have me all smoothed out. I'm pretty happy; I feel good about things. I worry that after the baby comes I'll get depressed or sad, which I know happens to people and is perfectly normal, and that I won't be a Good Mother, but even the worry has no sharp edges. Right now I feel great, and I see that continuing. I just wish I could sleep.

3:47 a.m.
Tonight I made Patrick rotate our mattress because somehow the giant mattress label was at the top of the bed, and I could feel it through the sheets, and it's been bugging me forever. But when I woke up about an hour ago I realized it's because now I'm sleeping on his side of the bed, upside down, and that's weird. And now I'm hungry.
Yawn.

There was a fast-food Mexican place in west LA on or around Olympic and Bundy in a minimall next to a 7-11 that I can't remember the name of that had the best taquitos. I want some now, with the fluffy guacamole they made, and sour cream, and a large Dr Pepper. I think that joint closed at least 5 years ago, probably way more. The French bistro on SM Blvd that me and Frederique used to go to closed. I just discovered that tonight. They had a yummy warm beet salad. And made terrific gin & tonics even though I had no idea what a good gin was (Frederique would choose for me. Usually Tanqueray, I think).

Well since I could do this forever I'd better try sleeping again. I wish you could hear Patrick snore. The light on my new clock radio can be completely turned off. That seems like an innovation clock radios could've made years ago.

At this point I guess I fell asleep. I slept hard, and for a long time - I didn't wake up until the phone rang, at around 10:45. I don't even remember waking up when Patrick went to work, and I always wake up when he goes to work, for my goodbye kiss and to tell him to have a good day and to not drive like a maniac. The phone call was from the repair people who are coming out to fix our refrigerator, which hasn't been staying cool. I've got a ton of yogurt going bad. They're not coming until tomorrow, so I need to clean the thing out, and I haven't been looking forward to it. And now, though I have eaten a banana, I need to get dressed and figure out what I'm going to have for lunch.

I have no cutesy closer for this post. Huh.

2011-01-25T21:11:00.000-08:00

I haven't blogged in ages (a week?) and I thought I'd better check in before anybody thought I'd gone off and had my baby or something, because, nope, I'm still here at 38 weeks and some days.

I'm still feeling great.

I had a check up today, where the doctor did a quickie ultrasound to verify that little no-name (more on that in a second) was head down, as she suspected (he is). It was a trip to see him, all blown up and big now. He's practically real, isn't he.

So see, we thought we'd come up with a name, but it turns out that that name was one of (if not the) most popular name of 2010 (yep, you guessed it, unknowingly we'd chosen "Aidan"), so now we've turned back to the drawing board. Time's getting short, though, so we better figure this out. Soon.

The baby's room is mostly ready for him (he needs pictures on the walls and decorative items; it looks a little plain), we successfully installed the car seats in both cars (and had the Lakewood Sheriffs examine to make sure we did them right), my hospital bag is finally packed... so we're ready to go.

I've been off work for about a week and a half, and I have to admit: I love it. Loving it. Could not love it more. I haven't had such an extended amount of time off in forever, and though I know it will all come to an end when the baby comes and my new life begins, I'm really enjoying it as much as I can.

So. I'll keep you posted on what happens next.

Driving lesson of the day: merging*

2011-01-12T13:35:00.000-08:00

When merging, one should remember the following simple rule:

The car in front, stays in front.

This means that if you and I are in a two lane on-ramp merging to one lane on the freeway, and the front of your car is ahead of mine, you win. I don't care what lane you're in. On the other hand, I'm in front of you? I win. If you speed up to pass me, and then you're suddenly thrust into the existing traffic on the freeway, and then have to slow down, and now I have to brake because you have a need to BEAT ME, that's suddenly a dangerous situation for everybody. Quit it. There are spaces for your car if you are courteous, watch the flow of traffic, and use your head.

Other important things to remember:

Match your speed to the cars already on the freeway. They're the real winners; you're just some loser joining the party after the fact.
Speeding up to pass me makes you an asshole. "Ooh, now you're in front, asshole," will be the thought in my mind. That extra 10 feet wasn't yours to begin with, but now that you're there, Ima let you keep it, since it clearly means more to you than me.
You being an asshole doesn't change the way I drive. Knock yourself out.
If you're already on the freeway (congratulations! you're a winner!), stay out of the far right lane unless you're getting off or otherwise have a real need to be there. You make merging that much harder for the losers trying to get on the road, and you're just in the way. Get over. Pay attention.

Last but not least:

Use your turn signal for every lane change and every time you turn. If you're pointing your car at me, I need to know about it. And then, just like you turn off the light when you leave the room (should turning on or off a light in a room ever be a matter of life or death), turn it off when you're done.

Thanks!

Drive safe!

*I possess no qualifications for writing this piece except that I love to drive, and I do it a lot. I've never been in a major accident. I put over 18,000 miles a year on my car, and I do it all armed only with an 80 GB iPod Classic (black). Also, my brother-in-law works for Cal-Trans (<-- not a qualification, but I just thought I'd throw that in).

P.S. Today's post was inspired by Cheap Trick's album "Dream Police," which I started listening to last night on my way to my breastfeeding class, but finished this morning on the drive in to work. "I Know What I Want" is pure, no. 1 driving music perfection. Try it.

Re-reading a book

2011-01-07T18:48:00.000-08:00

I first bought and read this book about 18 years ago. I remember picking it up from the tiny Parenting section we had at the Crown Books in the Culver Center, and standing there for about 2 hours straight, reading it. Maybe I didn't read it all in one sitting (or standing) but that's what I remember.

It was the first Anne Lamott book I'd ever read... I'm not sure what drew me to it, but whatever it was (the cute little baby on the cover, maybe!), I really enjoyed it. I think she wrote it before her full-on conversion to Christianity, though I'm not sure if she was still an alcoholic at the time. Anne Lamott has a voice that I really admire and that has always made me laugh and think. When I found out all those months ago that I was pregnant, one of the first thoughts I had was to re-read this book, but for whatever reason, I put it off. This book is about her experiences with her son Sam, and she makes having a little baby boy feel very real and terrifying, and doable, in a crazy way.

Tonight I finally resolved to get to reading. Or I should say, re-reading.

I'm ready for my tesseract now, please.

2011-01-04T08:10:00.000-08:00

I know I've got a reputation as a chronically late person, so it may surprise you to learn that I am capable of (and indeed, compelled to) keeping track on a mile-by-mile basis of the minutes required to complete my commute every morning.

It's about a 20 mile drive from my home to work, and so herein starts the (often incorrect, it should go without saying) calculations. You might think, if you live anywhere other than Los Angeles, that a 20 mile drive, most of which is conducted on the so-called "freeway," would take anywhere from 20-25 minutes. I mean, 60+ miles per hour seems like a reasonable speed, especially at 5:30 in the morning, right?

Duh. You would be wrong. Dead wrong. And I would be late, which I am, almost every day.

(Even Google maps says this is a 30-50 minute drive, so clearly I am delusional in my insistence that this drive should take 20 minutes. CLEARLY.)

For one thing, the first 1/2 mile of my commute through my neighborhood requires me to either drive out of my way down my own street to make a somewhat illegal left turn across four lanes (four usually empty lanes, but in the rain and/or fog we've been having, to say nothing of the blackness of the mornings and the death wishes of some of my neighbors, those four lanes are treacherous) or to wait three minutes for a light to turn green. On my schedule, three minutes is a lifetime. This light likes to mess with me, sometimes almost about to turn... and then at the last minute, it changes it's mind and stays red. If you watch the opposite traffic signal, or the "walk" sign, you will see it blink, blink, blink, turn solid, even the street light itself turns yellow, as if to say, hey, cross traffic, slow down, this little lady wants to - nope, staying red for two more minutes, sorry. I've been tempted to run that red light when I'm particularly late and the morning is particularly solitary, but no, I would never do anything quite so irresponsible. Oh no. Not me.

After that, I'm finally on the freeway about 3 miles later, and that particular freeway has a surprising reputation, at 5:30 in the morning, of being pretty free flowing (if there's traffic here and I've left later than usual, it's at this point when I start thinking about calling in late to work). I spend the next 7 or 8 miles speeding along at a nice clip, watching the clock the whole time, knowing that at this pace, I could be at work in... 15 minutes? (My lack of math skills being well-known by now, I'm sure, so bear with me.)

It all sounds doable, and thinking positive is certainly a skill needed for navigating the roads of Los Angeles (and avoiding road rage and/or high blood pressure), and so for a few moments, until I come to the connector from that freeway to the next, I'm pretty confident and emotionally prepared to be on time (being on time requires advanced planning just as being late does) - driving in freeflowing traffic will do that to a person. But then - the connector. That blasted connector. It goes around and then under the freeway you just left (and there's a big white bird-like image painted on the underside of that freeway; I haven't had any luck finding out what that's all about, so if you know, email me, because I've been curious for about 3 years), and there's nice green foliage/weeds on either side, which you have plenty of time to observe, because most of the time, you're going nowhere fast. The next freeway is older and narrower and more heavily traveled and the merging skills of some of the other drivers on the road leave much to be desired, so it could take awhile to finally be moving along with the rest of the world.

These past few weeks, when my fellow commuters have obviously taken some time off, changing from one freeway to another has been a breeze, a delight, an exercise in making a smooth steady left turn to the left (what, you think you can make a smooth steady left turn to the right? What are you? High?), changing directions from mostly north to slightly more north, and west, but on normal early mornings, sitting on this interchange or whatever the dudes at CalTrans would call it, which is, I'm sure, less than half a mile in length, becomes the point when all my careful calculations, my plotted speed, my joyous inner voice whispering "I'm going to be on time!" become "Oh, shit, I'm totally late."

And now the mathematics begin running backward, in that way that it does for those of us who read "A Wrinkle in Time" and only pretended to understand the science behind it all (or I should say, pretended to pretend, as that book, and everything in it, including the famous tesseract, is totally fiction). Now my countdown changes from, "I have 8 miles to go, and 12 minutes to get there," which is a positive, to "If I can continue at this speed [usually 35 miles an hour once I've merged onto the new freeway] I will only be 10 minutes late, but if I can speed up to 60 in the next 3 miles..." to "I will be on time to work if I can get this baby up to 120 miles per hour."

You should know: I drive a 6 year old, four-door, 4 cylinder Honda Accord. I believe the speedometer goes up to 120, but I've never taken it past 90 (or was it 95?), so at this point, that 120 miles per hour is all theoretical. Anyway, the amount of road necessary for that manuever would be wasted. And now I'm all, "Okay, I'll only be... five minutes late..." "I'm only 8 minutes late..." And there starts another typical weekday morning. This is my routine four days a week, pretty much every morning. The drive home is another story, and usually takes longer.

However, on a personal note, I only have 6 more days of work until I'm off on maternity leave, and as long as the baby doesn't come early, doesn't come while I'm on the road, or at work, I'm pretty excited about that (the hospital is almost exactly at the mid-point between home and work, but I've read that driving while having contractions is a bad idea, go figure). Also, it would be so lovely to sleep past 7 for like 10 days in a row.

Because I know when those days are up, and our little baby comes to stay, we won't be getting any extra sleep at all. And I'd like to stock up while I can.

I think Oprah stole my haircut. Or am I wearing a wig?

2011-01-03T15:36:00.000-08:00

Granted, I could spend a little more time on my hair to get it this shiny and under control, and also, I think I had this haircut originally in 1984 and hey, I don't look this good in orange, and to tell you the truth, I really hate Oprah most of the time - but this is my haircut. Somebody at the Aveda salon in Long Beach must like Oprah because this is the exact haircut I had last, and while I kind of like it most of the time, I've made a personal committment not to get any more haircuts until all these crazy layers grow out.

Reality shows: drug rehab

2011-01-03T10:47:00.000-08:00

I have no idea who this woman is.
I did a Google Image search for
Frankie Lons, and while this sort of looks like the
woman on Celebrity Rehab,
how would I know if it wasn't?

There's an article in the LA Times about Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew on VH1, and Intervention, on A&E (click on the title of today's post and you'll go to the article). It's not a great article (What! the LA Times wrote a superficial article?), but it reminded me that I've been annoyed by these shows a lot lately. Not so much Intervention; my only complaint with that show is that I'm usually watching the last three minutes wondering how they're going to fit everything in (and yet they always do). I have no business commenting on addiction or recovery, but I watched "Celebrity Rehab" this weekend, and saw an interaction between Shelly Sprague, one of the people on staff at the recovery center, and one of the so-called celebrities that really bugged me.

The "celebrity" in question was Frankie Lons, who is always referred to as the mother of somebody apparently more famous than she is (but I've never heard of either of them). The celebrities were having lunch at Tender Greens with Bob Forrest and Shelly in Hollywood, where they had been taken, apparently in an attempt to intermingle with real-world temptations (not at Tender Greens; I'm talking about being in Hollywood. I recently went to Tender Greens in Culver City and I think I fell in love. I'm ready to go back. So for me, showing the celebrities at Tender Greens was a trigger. Oh, those tricksy rehab people!). One of the actual celebrities, Leif Garrett, did have the reaction I think Bob was expecting, and he tried to, I don't know, order a beer or walk out. That was sort of underplayed so that the following could be focused on:

While they were eating lunch, Frankie wanted to know why she couldn't have a non-alcholic beer, and instead of answering the question, Shelly got confrontational with her and responded "That's a question only an addict would ask."

Maybe so, Shelly, but why don't you also explain it to her instead of just being sarcastic and dismissive? Maybe Frankie doesn't understand that there actually is alcohol in so-called "near-beer"? Maybe she still doesn't understand her addiction or what her reaction to near-beer would be? Maybe there's a better answer, like explaining why it's a bad idea or why you think that's a straight up dumb question? I don't know if there was a deeper conversation off-camera, but what was shown was antagonistic instead of helpful.

The show has been getting on my nerves not only because I think the experts are terrible listeners or because I question the celebrity status of people like Frankie Lons or Rachel Uchitel (or Jason Davis, or that guy who was on TV a long time ago, or that other guy named Jason), but because I wonder how much help these people are actually getting, which makes the whole thing feel like a waste of time. Seeing the story of that guy Jason Davis isn't helping anybody, and neither is Rachel Uchitel, who suffers from "love addiction" (also, apparently she has a degree in psychology, which proves a point I'm not going to make right now). These are just people who want to be on television. I truly believe that.

Drew has been annoying me for years on Loveline, where he's often super impatient to the slow-ass kids who call in (it's true that some of those kids need help forming a sentence, but Drew's on-air persona has become cranky and mean; his own perceived "celebrity-dom" seems to affect his ability to actually talk to people in a non-condescending manner). He brings some of that confrontational style to this show, and while I think these adults should be able to handle it, so many of them are stunted and helpless in a way that's sad and a little disgusting that I think his attempts to get smart with them backfire because they're too stupid to get it.

So there you go. Rather than attempting to write a closing paragraph that's clever and insightful, I'm just going to end this post abruptly and by calling the hapless celebrities on "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew" stupid. I feel great about that decision.

This is strangely timely, but only my friends on Facebook (Cindy!) who have been paying attention to my status updates will understand why.

2010-12-30T12:04:00.000-08:00

The woman upon whom Liesl von Trapp in the movie "The Sound of Music" was based died yesterday.

(That sentence right there is proof of why I'm not a professional writer. This one, too, perhaps.)

Click on the title of this post to read the article.

For my photographer friends,

2010-12-30T11:48:00.000-08:00

The NY Times posted a story about the end of Kodachrome film and processing that's very interesting. Not enough pictures, but still, good.

Click on the title of this post and you'll be taken to the story.

My morning reading - updated

2010-12-30T08:18:00.000-08:00

A while ago, I read a few articles in the LA Times about a little girl named January Schofield, who has a serious and severe mental illness. The Great and Mighty Oprah also did a segment on her, and I'm sure other news organizations as well. The story made me sad because she's so young and because her family seems so dysfunctional (her father, for one, seems a little bit to me like a publicity hound; he's supposedly writing a book about her, and he keeps a blog about her in which he writes disturbingly personal details about their lives). Anyway, every once in awhile I do a google search to see what's going on with her, if anything.

Today during that search, I happened upon a blog called "Incorrect Pleasures." I've only been reading it for a little bit, so I have a very light grasp on the author's point of view, but she (?) wrote about Jani (January Schofield's nickname) in an interesting way from a perspective that I don't know anything about (the author says she has a condition called "synesthesia," and suspects Jani might have it as well). The author of the blog makes a lot of statements that sound logical and scientific but I don't know enough (anything) about the subject or her to be sure if they're true. That said, it's definitely interesting reading.

One of the other topics the author writes about is Syd Barrett, and though I know I told you that I wasn't really interested in Syd a few days ago, I've just started reading her piece on him, and it's pretty good.

I love this quote, which actually made me laugh, and made me want to tell you about what I've been reading:

Pink Floyd went on to become massively popular and commercially successful, their style evolving towards progressive rock, a popular musical genre that would enable millions of dim young men with limited prospects to experience the feeling of intellectual exhilaration without the necessity to read, learn or do anything much.

I'll keep reading and let you know what I think at the end.

Conclusion:

It was definitely a very good, thought-provoking article. The author (who uses a pseudonym for the blog and so is anonymous) appears knowledgeable on lots of subjects related to mental illness and autism and that kind of thing, and I only say "appears" because these are subjects that interest me but in which I am not qualified to judge anyone's qualifications, if you understand what I'm saying.

As I said before, the name of the blog is "Incorrect Pleasures," and here's a link, if you're interested. She writes on many subjects, and I think I'll be back for more soon. I am now totally interested in synesthesia. It's fascinating. Here's a Wikipedia listing of people who have/had it.

This is awesome

2010-12-29T13:00:00.000-08:00

From the NY Times, a post about a scammer, two lovers (maybe), and a poem that will never be.

http://pogue.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/12/23/a-day-with-an-e-mail-scammer/