Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Wardrobe Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: these shoes from Payless. Oh,wait -- I can wear these shoes today because I just bought them last week! I love how these shoes have simple lines that will go with a lot of different outfits, yet the chain (on the black shoes) and the string of faux diamonds (on the gold shoes) give these shoes a little oomph. I really needed a couple pairs of closed-toe shoes because it seemed almost everything I own is open-toe or even flip-flops! As a new mom who can't always keep up appearances on the toenail front, it's nice to have some shoes to slip on that don't reveal my chipped nail polish when I need it.

And a note about the gold shoes: they aren't tacky gold, but a nice soft gold -- just enough to be metallic. They are almost beige. This pair also comes in white and green. I went for the gold in memory of my grandmother, who kept a pair of gold strappy sandals in the closet that I loved to try on even though I wasn't supposed to.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Bathtime lessons learned

1. The "no more tears" slogan on certain baby washes shouldn't be taken literally -- just ask Flybaby, who cried for 15 minutes after a few suds accidentally dripped down his face.

2. Even though you have held a naked baby while preparing the bath with great success in the past, it doesn't mean the naked baby won't eventually take advantage of the situation and decide it's a good time to squirt out the biggest poo you have ever seen. On you. And then smile at you.

3. The googly-eyed frog bath towel looks even better on Dad's head than on baby's head.

4. If you are a cat, it's best not to leap onto the bathroom counter where a baby is being bathed and sit within firing distance of the baby, or you could get a faceful of something wet and unpleasant. And the humans of the house won't be able to do anything but laugh.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

Just for fun

Because it seems to be all about me this week. . . .

Have you seen those M&Ms commercials? Did you try it out for yourself? Here is my M&M alter ego.

And here is my South Park alter ego. (Thanks for the link ref, Plain Jane Mom!)

Try these out for yourself! It's a great waste of time! I'd love to see what you come up with.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Ya just can't get enough of me

Yeah, right.

But after being tagged to write six weird things about myself and now five things you don’t know about me within a week, I feel flattered. So, here goes with the five things:

1. I have a couple of scars. One of them is on my face, but mostly people don’t seem to notice it. I got the facial scar in a car crash JP and I were in when we were 17. The other scar is on my arm. I tell people I got it in a fight with a tough Puerto Rican chick, but really it happened when I picked up a trash bag, and a piece of glass poked through and raked across my skin. (And please, I’m not disparaging Puerto Rican women. Where I grew up, they really were tough. They didn’t take crap from anyone!)

2. I played flute when I was in junior high and high school. I wanted to play the drums. That’s probably why one day, I came home from school to find my mother had bought me a flute. So, flute it was.

3. I come from a crazy blended family, so I have six brothers and two sisters (that I know of!). My oldest brother is old enough to be my father (a young father), and the youngest is 10 years younger than I am. I am the youngest of the girls.

4. You know how those Bowl games always have a Miss Bowl thing going on? Well, one year in college, I entered a Miss Bowl competition. There was no parading around in swimsuits or anything like that, thank goodness. I didn’t really like the experience, and I didn’t even make the first cut. I just thought it would be fun to say I tried. (And really, it would have been fun to wave to the crowd while going down the street on a float, even if I was just a princess and not the queen.)

5. I have a sudden desire to try hang gliding or kiteboarding. Maybe sometime in 2007, I’ll actually get to do one of them!

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Wardrobe Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this knit kimono-style dress from Delia's (yes, the teenager's store). Actually, I'd wear it not today, but for Flybaby's upcoming baptism. I'd order it online, but I don't think it would get to me in time for the blessed event. On second thought, maybe I'll order it and wear it another time, because I usually like to stick to solids for "important" events when you know you're going to be photographed. Prints really date your look, while solids and simple lines look more timeless. That way, in a few years when Flybaby looks back at his baptism photos, he won't roll his eyes in shame at what his old ma is wearing.

Monday, January 22, 2007

The boob flu

Mastitis, ugh. Feverish. Ears ringing. Achey all over. Skin tingly. Hardly enough strength to lift Flybaby. Tired as ever. Oh yeah, and that miserable, red, painful, swollen breast. Saw doctor and taking approved antibiotics. Missing you all.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Wardrobe Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this outfit by Banana Republic. Most of the time, I'm in jeans and a tee anyway (or shorts and a tank top when it's warm). Aren't a lot of moms? The addition of the belt and the cool bag makes this casual look more pulled-together, and the necklace is a nice touch. You could dress the outfit down with more casual shoes if you wanted to, and you could wear this outfit a lot of places.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Six weird things about me

Kim at In Full Bloom tagged me for the following "weird" meme.

1. I specialize in weirdness. Seriously, I seem to attract weirdos. Once in college, this strange guy came up to me, handed me a note, and walked away. The note said he had a feeling he needed to get to know me and if I thought so too, I should call him. (I never did.) When I worked in an office, people came to me with all their weird questions. They would even begin with, “I have a weird question,” so my motto became, “I specialize in weirdness.” If you have something weird, bring it to me.

2. I once danced in the Superbowl halftime show. Is that weird? Maybe not. But it is weird that back then, there were no celebrity performances. Today, you can’t really have a Superbowl halftime show without a big name attached. It’s also weird that I went from someone whose legs wouldn’t be still -- who lived to dance -- to, well, the person I am now. I still love to move. For example, nursing Flybaby for 45 minutes makes me itch from the bottoms of my feet to the pit of my stomach.

3. I like peanut butter on plain yellow cake. My stepmother, a professional cake decorator, thinks this is weird. When she would make a cake and cut off the tops to make the cakes level, I’d scoop out some peanut butter and slather it on the cake tops. Yum.

4. I have a hat collection. The hats are in two rooms of the house. Some of the hats are vintage. Some of the hats fit. Most of the hats are now gathering dust. And as many hats as I have, sometimes I still want to get more. This past Christmas, I pointed out a special hat to JP as a hint for a gift, and he gave me a look of pity. What’s even weirder is once I read an article about a model who has the same birthday as I do, and she also has a hat collection!

5. I love to travel, but I hate flying. Oh, the places I would go . . . if I could muster the courage to get on a plane again. JP and I flew to the Bahamas for our babymoon last June, which was fun. I mean, not the flying part, but the actual babymoon. Most of the must-see places on my list require flying. If I could just take a knock-out pill and be unconscious for the trip, I think I’d be OK. Wake me up when we get there!

6. I have a missing tooth. I know, you’re thinking I’m a backwoods hick or something, but I don’t think it’s that noticeable. My tooth weakened because my face slammed into the windshield during a car crash when I was 17, and the tooth broke later while I was eating a salad. An oral surgeon suggested an implant, but that meant filing down the two teeth beside the missing tooth, and I thought, “What the hey?! Why ruin two perfectly good teeth just to fill in a gap?” I know I should get with the times because everyone seems to be doing cosmetic dentistry, but I guess it’s just not a priority with me . . . .

OK, even though this smells like a chain letter, I’m tagging the following bloggers to write about six weird things about themselves: The Pregnant Pause, h&b, Newlywed Land, soleclaw, My Journey and Interrupted Wanderlust.

“According to the rules, each player of this game starts with the '6 Weird Things about You.' People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says, ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog!”

Thursday, January 11, 2007

I am parent, hear me roar

Maybe I should have saved this post's title for when I have to pull out the old "Because I said so" line when Flybaby because a "why"ing preschooler.

But anyway.

As I was turning 35 {choke!}, I was lamenting that society was no longer going to care about me. Already a part of misunderstood and ignored Generation X, I was leaving the 18- to 34-year-old demographic that marketers/society pines for, supposedly because this is the time in your life when you are making decisions, including which brands to buy. That's why marketers love these people, and they buy air to advertise to these people, so TV shows are written for these people, and TV helps form our ideas about our society and blah blah blah the theory goes. (Hey! I didn't make it up!) Turning 35 made me feel so ... so unimportant. Sniff.

News flash: I'm not through making decisions about my life or about what I buy. But, yes, it nice to be able to save time at the store because I already know which laundry detergent I'm going to get.

What does this have to do with parenting?

As a new parent, I'm being courted by marketers all over again. New parents have extreme buying power. Parents buy not just for themselves, but also for new, impressionable little lives. Just trying to pick out items for my baby registry was nothing compared to the endless choices that still lie ahead. What kind of baby food will I feed Flybaby? Or will I make it myself? Either way, there are purchases involved. Where will I buy his clothes, now that he is growing so fast? What toys should I buy that are educational, age-appropriate and fun to play with? And that's just for me -- what toys will I get for him?

So I was lucky enough to be invited to join the Parent Bloggers Network. You've probably heard of it. It hooks up companies with bloggers who will give honest reviews of their stuff. As a blogger and a reader, I love it when people blog and comment about what works for them as a parent. (As was the case recently when nice readers commented that Hyland's Teething Tablets were fab.) And I have the chance to do the same thing, as part of the Parent Bloggers Network. It will be fun! Bring on the reviews!

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Wardrobe Wednesday

What I'd wear today if I could: this sheer animal-print top from Forever 21 (which also sold cool baby clothes for a while, but the link is gone from the site right now). I'd wear it over a nude cami and throw on a black blazer and some jeans. Pull on cute black ankle boots. It would also look nice with a black pencil skirt.

Monday, January 08, 2007

The mother of all memes

Mrs. Chicken of Chicken and Cheese started a fiction story, and great and many bloggers have had the chance to add to it. Now it's my turn. Please read our tale. How will it end? Oh, the suspense!

The Mother Of All Memes
(by Mrs. Chicken of Chicken and Cheese)

I thought I saw him at the grocery store. It was raining that afternoon, and he had an umbrella. The red and white triangles that made up his portable shelter partly obscured his face, but I caught a glimpse of his eyes. Those eyes. Huge, blue and empty.

When he left me I remember searching their vast cerulean expanse for some sign, some flicker of love. It rained that day, too. Why does it rain when you lose someone you love? My tears left him unmoved. I don’t know why that surprised me.

The baby kicked in my cart and I let my gaze fall on her face. Her father’s eyes stared back at me. Green eyes, warm and full of life."Mamma?" she said. "Mamma!"

(by Binky of 24/7)
The question-turned-exclamation jarred me out of my reverie. There was pressure in my temples and behind the hazel tint of my colored contact lenses. "Mamma's here," I cooed. My voice was a manufactured kind of soothing. I leaned in and brushed a kiss over Bethany's forehead, where a drop of rainwater hung like the tiniest Swarovski pendant. Its chain was made of fine blond locks.

"What do you think, baby girl?" I asked as I pulled her into my arms. "Is it time to go home?" Her searching legs and center of gravity found all the right contours as she settled atop the jut of my hip. I tugged at her coat until the hood framed her face, then I stepped into the rain. A small deluge of water streamed off the curve of the lowercase "o" on the Save-A-Lot sign and landed at the back of my neck. I could feel the tag from my shirt sticking sharp and soggy to my skin.

I sighed against Bethany's face and tried to avoid the bigger puddles on our way to my twenty year old Civic, which was miraculously close. One row over and three cars ahead, I saw a familiar red and white umbrella spanning the gap between an open door and the driver's seat of a rusty 4Runner that had to be as old as my own piece of junk. The guy I'd mistaken for Paul sat sideways and watched the rain as he talked into a cell phone.
(by Tony of Creative-Type Dad)
Hastily reaching into my purse holding Bethany firmly, I could faintly hear the sound of his voice. His mumbled words were almost too reminiscent of Paul’s. The way he laughed as he said "Gouda" into his plastic phone brought back imagery of the two of us, sitting together last winter on the living room floor, sipping Merlot watching "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous". Occasionally Paul would jokingly burst out vocabulary in his comedic English accent – expressions like "Don Perignon!" and "Caviar Dreams!" oh, how I loved Caviar and that faux bear skin rug.

With keys finally in hand, stumbling to open the rusty car door, I could sense this stranger's stare against my cheek. His phone chatter abruptly ended and I could hear the sounds of squeaking cowboy boots crushing the wet pavement.

(by Occidental Girl of The Occidental Tourist)
My mind was suddenly full of so many thoughts vying for my attention at the same time that I couldn't think straight.

It can't be him, I thought, no way. What would I say? What do I look like? What am I wearing???

The answers came in rapid succession: It could be him, it's okay if it's him because I'm not angry anymore; I could talk about my fulfilling life that I've enjoyed since knowing him, like this beautiful child I created with someone else, without him; I look like shit but since I'm too hard on myself in general, I probably look just fine; men - especially Paul - don't notice what women are wearing unless it's nothing at all. Then, they notice.

When you coincidentally encounter someone you loved once, a long time ago, the traitorous mind tends to retrieve only the good memories and leave the battles and frustrations out of it. This leaves us to wonder what in the world we ever thought was wrong and maybe it was a mistake to end the relationship. After all, doesn't every relationship have ups and downs? Ours certainly did. It was passionate, without a doubt, but in every area: the loving AND the fighting. It was when the fighting overtook the loving that we fell apart. I wonder if he ever thought about all of that, even now. Paul didn't seem to notice many things unless they were stark - naked or otherwise.

And yet, here he was - maybe - coming over to talk after all this time. I took a deep breath, then turned around.

(by Meg of Maine-ly Megin)
"Hey." He practically whispered.
Oh. My. God.
"Hi." Was it relief or despair?
"I wasn't sure you'd remember me."
"No, I..." Not Paul. Not Paul. Not Paul. Who the hell was it?
"Peter Johnston, I sat behind you in statistics freshman year.

Peter freakin' Johnston. I felt my pulse in my neck, and I focused my breathing the way I had 15 short months ago in labor. Not Paul.

Peter held his umbrella over me and the squirmy Bethany. Idle chat. Wife, 3 kids, new job, just moved into town, wife hasn't met anyone yet. Not Paul. Not Paul. Peter was bursting with the need to share his happiness, which allowed him to simply see an old acquaintance, not someone's former lover plagued by mere memory.

"Dinner sounds great, I'd love to meet Lisa and the kids."

With the baby buckled in and my door as close to closed as it got, I watched Peter close his own door. The rain rushed down the window and distorted the images. It blended the head and brake lights of the cars winding their way through the parking lot.

(by Bethany of mommy writer)

The seven-thirty hour, the one right after dinner, is always the worst. Waiting for Daniel to come home, feeding and changing Bethany for bedtime, cleaning the kitchen. It's a nuisance and a routine all the same.

That is, until Daniel comes stumbling into the back door in nothing short of drunkeness.

"Hi honey," he chirped balancing himself against the cracked linoleum counter kicking off his shoes, "Sorry I'm late."

When isn't he late?

"S'okay," I look up from the over-used skillet I'd been tackling with a worn Scotch pad for the last 15 minutes, "Had a good time tonight?"

Daniel only tripped past my shoulder to the spaghetti, waiting in the stained Tupperware and fixed himself a plate of dinner.

It's just as well. I didn't have the energy to congratulate him on an obvious vacuum sale. Not today. The office post-sale drinks in celebration are too habitual, if not an excuse. And it isn't as if he'd just made a commission worth writing home about. It was more like we'd be able to splurge on groceries. Or buy Bethany the expensive diapers.

"This is good," he chewed, spilling sauce to the edges of his lips. The edges I used to adore when he spent more time smiling.

"Bethany went to bed easily tonight," I said more to myself than Daniel. "For once anyway."

Daniel shoveled another tangle of noodles into his mouth. He was either too drunk to realize I was trying engage him in conversation, or plain ignoring me.

I rinsed the pot and placed it beside the sink where the drying rack should be, the one I was too lazy to take from the bottom cupboard. Patting my hands on the stretched blue jeans that hugged my legs for the last two days, I pecked my husband on the forehead and walked towards the bedroom.

Just before leaving the hallway, I called back to him, "Your nemesis, Peter Johnston is back in town. We're having dinner with him, wife, and kids this weekend."

(Heather of Cool Zebras)
I paused for a moment just inside the bedroom door. Ahhh. There it was, the choked sputter of breath, then silence.

I allowed my thoughts to wander while I pulled on my well-worn flannel nightie.

Peter and Daniel had been at odds since they were five. Preschool battles over who got the first cracker evolved into teenage hostilities on the basketball court. B Squad basketball at that. If there was something they could compare, you could bet there would be a pissing contest about it.

I’d avoided both of them in high school.

I continued my bedtime routine and tried to ignore the clink of bottles from the kitchen. I pulled at the corners of each eye and slipped out my contacts. Even to me my eyes looked tired, my skin drawn. It has been too long since I’ve dyed my roots.

The woman in the mirror looked sad, but then one corner of my mouth started to twitch.

I loved that Peter had no idea that I married Daniel.
(by Christy of yankeeinontario)
As I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, I thought about the fireworks that were sure to happen during dinner next week. I wondered about Peter's wife. Would I like her? Would she like me? What would I wear? Could I possibly get myself poured into a pair of slacks without the 2% lycra content that allowed me into my jeans? Would I be able to carry on an intelligent conversation about something besides the newest Fisher Price offering or the latest guest star on Sesame Street?

I worried myself into a wide awake tizzy until I heard Peter dragging himself up the steps in his drunken stupor. He slammed the bedroom door against the wall and the baby woke up, howling with the injustice of being awakened. "Now you've done it, you ass!", I hissed at Peter. I hauled myself out of bed, cursing my husband, too drunk to tend to his daughter. He was snoring, face down on the bed, when I returned after quieting Bethany. And here I am, 1 a.m. Still awake.

(by Tater and Tot)

It took 2 full hours before I fell into a deep sleep. My buddy anger had given up and dosed off, but my good friend discontent was up and ready for a party. I tossed and turned while the tides of thoughts surged through my mind. Is this really as good as it was going to get? Was this life to its fullest? This certainly wasn't what I dreamed of when I was a little girl. I never thought to add dirty dishes, laundry, half-nights of sleep, poopy diapers and stained Tupperware to my pretend play. Nor did I think that my thoughts would drift toward a "what if" life with an ex instead of spending time with any of the other 25 letters. I’ve watched enough Dr. Phil to know that I only think about Paul because I can make the pretend relationship however I want it to be.

But then there is real life - and Daniel. Complacency is his best friend. He’ll sell Kirbys door to door for the next 30 years and never be bored - or promoted. He’ll have the same celebratory drinks at the same bar with the same guys and revel in the predictability. He’ll be obliviously happy and expect the same from me.

"If only it were that easy," I whispered out loud before drifting off into a hard, dreamless sleep.

But not before I felt the very first quickening deep in my womb. Sixteen weeks. Right on schedule.
(by Michelle of NewDotMom)
The days of our week tripped by, falling and stumbling over one another like my own emotions. The dreaded sameness wearied me as it sustained me - I could drift on the eddies of the routine without thought. And then, finally, it was Saturday night. Bethany was bathed and fed earlier than usual - there was no way I'd be trying to feed a cranky toddler in someone else's home. It was basically asking for a full-body dousing in applesauce and strained peas. Of course, I thought, getting drenched in baby food might be a step up on the fashion scale if a miracle didn't occur in my closet sometime soon.


Silence greeted me from the den, where dual screens vyed for my husband's attention. The television screamed, the XBox roared, and the man I'd pledged to love, honor, and cherish all the days of my life sat open mouthed between the two. "Daniel! What are you doing in here? We need to leave soon, I'm not dressed, and you need to watch Bethany while I get ready." Still, silence. Either he was deliberately ignoring me again, or he was starting to experience hearing loss from all those surround-sound speakers he kept blaring at top volume. I finally stepped between Daniel and the TV, positioning my body so that he couldn't see the game.

"What the hell!? Laura, move your wide load outta here. I'm trying to watch the Skins."

"Look, you need to watch Bethany for a little while. I have to get dressed - and we are leaving in forty minutes. Dinner with Peter and Lisa, remember? We never go out anymore - we are not cancelling this. So I don't want to hear it, okay? Just... here!"

I plopped Bethany onto her father's lap, and smiled in spite of myself. Seeing her beautiful green eyes and their older, larger counterparts in Daniel's face reminded me of what was good and right in our house. Maybe not every day, maybe not every minute, but mostly. My hand involuntarily sought out the soft curve of my belly, and I sighed. Then I turned on my heel and stomped up the stairs to wrestle with my clothes decisions. I was going to have fun tonight, no matter what Daniel did or said.
(by Kristi of A Beautiful Mess)
Wiping away my tears of frustration, I pulled my tousled hair into a clip. I walked over to the small closet that Daniel and I shared, and picked out the newest outfit in my wardrobe, which was hardly new at all. It didn't matter; the night was destined to be a failure anyway and whether I looked good or bad wasn't going to change a thing.

My stomach began to flutter, reminding me of the growing life in my womb. The innocent baby that would be born into this miserable marriage. I sat down on the unmade bed, the tears flowing, my thoughts racing. How did I get here? I'm not in love anymore. Was I really ever in love with Daniel in the first place? Something needs to change; I just can't do this anymore.

Simultaneously, the chiming of the clock and the cry of a neglected child snapped my mind back into focus. Bethany stood in the doorway, tears staining her cheeks. I hollered for Daniel, but was met with only stiff silence. Already knowing what that meant, I went to check on him anyway. Of course, there he lay, passed out on the sofa, with cold bottle still in hand. There would be no waking him. I was all too familiar with this routine.

Stoically, I collected Bethany and my purse and headed out the door alone.

(by Desitin's Child)

In the car, I had time to take stock. To my credit, I was not late. I had planned ahead and had a fed, rested, clean child; and a diaper bag with everything she'd need in it. My clothes were presentable, if not fashionable, and there was even gas in the car. I am a competent person, I reminded myself. Then I remembered Daniel on the couch, and thought, I deserve better than this.

I turned onto Arrowood, deliberately taking the slow route to give myself more time to think. Crazy scenarios hummed in my ears like movie music, simultaneously seductive and ridiculous.

Peter and Lisa and I will become really close, and when they hear about Daniel's habits, they'll insist that I leave him and come and live with them. Our kids can all share toys and clothes, and... No, what would I do for money? I'm pregnant and have a toddler.

Peter and Lisa will propose a menage-a-trois, and then... No. With all those kids around? that's just impossible.

They'll be so taken with my level-headedness that they'll make me their business partner and... Come on, I can't even balance my checkbook.

This dinner is just an elaborate ruse. There is some dramatic surprise waiting for me. There's somebody they want me to meet, a handsome widower, or - maybe it's actually Paul. Okay, stop it already.

I forced myself to turn off the movie music and think like the serious scientist I used to be. I had a phone, a change of clothes for Bethany in the trunk, and $40 in cash. And I had just turned onto Peter's street.
(by Mrs. Maladjusted)
As I tumbled awkwardly out of the car door in front of Peter's house, I cursed the forgotten clumsiness that comes with pregnancy. I already felt many more months pregnant than I was, but that was all too much to think about at the moment. All I wanted was a nice glass of Chardonnay to settle my nerves, knowing full well that regardless of recent studies about a glass of wine or two being okay during pregnancy according to some doctors, I wasn't willing to risk the stirring and developing life inside me. Not when there was the chance it could come out much like the amazing child currently waiting surprisingly patient in the back seat for me to rescue her from the cage of her car seat.

I pulled Bethany out, along with my bag of tricks as I liked to think of it, containing all we could possibly need to get through the evening (you know, aside from a new husband, a new situation, a new life...). "Stop that!", I told myself.

I tucked her onto my hip and headed for the door, ringing the doorbell of the gorgeous and impressive two story cape cod in a neighborhood I dreamed of living in my entire life. Complete with white picket fence and playset off to the side yard, Peter and Lisa appeared from the outside to have it all. Fancy home, expensive SUV parked in the drive. Such lucky people in such an unlucky world it seemed. How could I have possibly have anticipated the very different story waiting to great me once I walked through that fateful door.
(by Something Baby Blue)
Peter welcomed us as he lightly bounced their youngest child. The first thing that struck me was the sight of this cherub with rosy cheeks and big blue eyes. He had to be six months old. Past the impeccably decorated entrance, my gaze fell on the graceful figure. I saw her standing in the living room. I stood frozen like a deer in headlights wondering if I could bolt. My mind was racing. Without a doubt I knew that Peter's wife was Paul's Lisa.

I took a deep breath and regained my composure. I had never met Lisa. The piercing pain had only slightly dulled from when I found the letter that she wrote to Paul. It ultimately triggered the beginning of our inevitable demise. With the evidence in hand I had confronted him and he confessed that he was seeing his ex-girlfriend Lisa. Paul had been convinced that she was going to leave her husband and they would live happily ever after. I had seen her photo in the pewter frame that he had kept turned over in his desk drawer. I had always wondered if he had it on display when I wasn't at his apartment. Here I was now standing in her new house being greeted by her husband and this perfect child.

(my turn)
My mouth was dry. I should just apologize and give my regrets, bundle Bethany back in my rattletrap car and drive off into the night. Forget Peter and Lisa, forget Paul and Daniel, too.

Lisa’s perfect smile gleamed, inviting me inside.

I had to know. Who was this person? What did she have that I didn’t -- at least in Paul’s eyes?

“I’m sorry my husband couldn’t make it,” I said, following Peter and Lisa inside. “He had to work late,” I lied.

“What does he do?” Peter asked.

“He’s in sales,” I said. At least that wasn’t a lie.

Fortunately, there weren’t any more questions about Daniel. If I was lucky, I could make it through the evening without Peter knowing it was Daniel I married. Even luckier, getting by without Lisa finding out our shared connection with Paul.

Bethany warmed up to Peter and Lisa’s oldest, three-year-old Pete. (Had it been only that long since Lisa? Since Paul?) Their rosy-cheeked baby, Ella, sat and watched the older children play.

Peter mainly replayed humorous stories from school while I acted at making conversation and pretended it was normal to have dinner with the woman who stole away the love of my life. All the while, I was absorbing everything: the delicious food I was unable to really taste, the punchlines I was unable to find funny, the bright, homey décor I’d never match. And Lisa. If I could have opened my pores to let everything about her saturate me, I would have, to find even one little thing about her that made her better than I am.

Even as she served dessert and coffee later on matching, chip-free china, I couldn’t grab onto anything that set her apart. She had the perfect smile and hair. She was pleasant. She was a good cook. Lisa was perfect.

Lisa was boring.

As I excused myself to the wash room, where tiny guest soaps and hand towels were set out, my mind wandered back to Paul. Did he really think Lisa would leave all of this for him? Of course, she didn’t have “all of this” at the time. But, still. Silly man, chasing after perfection that he couldn’t have.

A tired Bethany almost seemed relieved that it was time to go. Still acting, I thanked Peter and Lisa for the evening.

“You have a wonderful home and family,” I said, like a script.

“Ah. The ones you love matter most,” Peter said, hugging Ella. “I’m sure you know how it is,” he said, tickling Bethany.

The problem was, I thought as I walked back to the car with her, I didn’t know how it was. I knew that’s how it should be. For her, for myself, and for the little one growing inside me.

(Stay tuned... The conclusion will be written by Mrs. Chicken)

Friday, January 05, 2007

The mama is right!

Flybaby had his four-month doctor appointment. He was weighed (16 pounds) and measured (26 inches) and is basically never going to be this small again even though I think he's getting too big for his britches. Literally.

Our pediatrician always talks to us first, then examines Fly. This time, we compared how lame our New Year's Eve celebrations were. (JP and I win for the lamest. Ever.) When exam time came, I mentioned I thought Flybaby has been teething. The doctor said teething usually starts between six and nine months. Then he checks Fly's gums anyway and declares, "Mom was right!" He showed me the makings of a little white thing pushing through Flybaby's lower front gums (or would that be gum?).

I secretly felt so proud of myself for knowing.

Of course, when Fly wakes up at night after only an hour of sleep and he is shrieking more loudly than JP and I can talk, you know something has to be up.... Today, Flybaby has taken short little cat naps -- punctuated by shrieking, of course -- and despite the gum pain reliever and a little Tylenol, he stays alert with the pain until he overtires himself and then it's time for another cat nap and on and on....

We have been given teething rings and teething toys galore, but at four months, Fly is too young to hold onto them long enough or isn't coordinated enough to chew on them. I tried a refrigerated, wet washcloth, too. Last night, JP calmed Flybaby down with an ice-water-chilled pacifier.

It's so hard to be a baby.

At some point today, I put Flybaby in the Pack n Play to watch his mobile because I had run out of things to do with this wide-awake child in pain. (And at 16 wriggling pounds, it's not so easy to carry him around all the time.) As I lay there watching him, it occurred to me that maybe instead of me entertaining him, he is actually entertaining me.

It would be great to hear your stories of when you knew something intuitively as a parent!

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Wardrobe Wednesday

I'd like to start something new with this fresh new year: a regular style post. I only hope I can keep it up!

What I'd wear today if I could: this dress by Free People. Oh, spring! The dress also comes in red/pink, but I think the blue/green color makes it look more unpredictable. And I hardly ever wear blue or flowers! (Free People also has an interesting blog I've been following for a couple weeks now.)

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Am having major computer problems today. Error messages galore. Problems with cookies that won't let me leave comments on good people's blogs. Errggh.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

One year later: Proof positive

One year ago today, JP and I found out we were having a baby. Here is my post from last year!

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You cannot just go to a store and buy a pregnancy test. You have to buy several other things with it. That way, you look nonchalant. And you hope the cashier and bagger won’t say anything. Either this time, or the next time you go into the store.

You’re supposed to take the test first thing in the morning. I tell my husband that’s what I’m doing. I follow the instructions to a T. I cannot breathe as I see first one line, then two, appearing on the stick. It’s very fast. There’s no faint coloration. There’s no maybe.

I’m pregnant.

I carry the stick back to my husband. He’s now cleaning the cat litter box. I can’t get his attention. Sulking, I put the stick down on his nightstand along with the test instructions. He can look at it for himself.

And why is cleaning the litter box more important right now?!

He finally sits down to look at the stick. He reads the test instructions.

He’s impressed the instructions claim the test is 99.9% accurate.


We don’t get out of bed for a long time after that. It’s a holiday, anyway.