Let's play catch up, shall we?

Grab your coffee, folks, this one's a doozy!
(This is what you get when I don't blog more than a picture or a recipe for a week.)

Weiner, whiner.
I am a spoiled, spoiled wife. I spent weeks talking to my husband every day. And then . . . we went three days with no phone call and it just about broke me.

You don't realize how cherished those conversations are (even the ones where neither has anything to say, or you're both pissy), until they aren't there.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done. So over this deployment crap.

Yes, I am that customer.
The husband ordered me an absolutely rockin' anniversary present. He ordered it before our anniversary, which was the 1st, and I just got the email with the shipping info and tracking number on Friday. Their site claims 7-10 day shipping. Friday was day 13. Strike one.

I checked the tracking number from UPS, and saw that it said there had already been an attempted delivery. Which was odd, because I was home all day (because I have no life) and even saw the truck, but never had the buzzer ring. Late Friday night, I checked the number again and, lo and behold, it said the package was delivered. And it was signed for by someone that clearly did not have the same last name as me. Strike two.

I called UPS and found out that the sender (where the husband ordered from) had written a 0 instead of a 1, and it had been delivered to another apartment in my complex. So, UPS, not at fault.

This morning, I called the company to resolve this issue (I use resolve lightly - I generally demand my way or the highway). I lucked out and got the chick who can't think of an answer for herself and had to put me on hold every 13 seconds. After going round and round that I did not actually have a brand new Kitchen Aid mixer, Artisan style in Pistachio, sitting right next to me, she wised up and called UPS herself. While I sat on hold. For a very, very long time.

I don't know what she got out of her conversation with them, but when she came back on the phone her explanation was that UPS delivers your package to your neighbor's house when you aren't home. (*scratches head*)

In the end, she had three options for me: 1) Go over there and ask them for it myself (Nope, not happening). 2) Have them send out a trace through UPS for it, and then have it delivered striahgt to me from them. (Again, not happening, we paid for a new mixer and damnit, I'm getting a new mixer - not one someone else may have done who knows what with). 3)Send out the trace, which would take about 10 days, have it delivered back to the company, and then they would send out my new one. (So, I will have waited 4 weeks by then. Nope, not happening.) Strikes three through five.

So, I told them to suck it and cancel my effing order.
(Well, not really in those words. But I wanted to.)

We just can't have nice things!
Looky, looky what has come to live with me!


When I jump into something, I dive all the way in. So, having found a penchant for sewing, I got myself a serger. Logical step, right? (Yes, you are entitled to roll your eyes at this point.)

The project list is piling up, and the storage for fabric is growing full.E is going to be one stylin' kid, if I can get the hang of this. And, if I don't break it any more than I already have.

Yeah, that's right. The machine was in my possession for less than 20 minutes before I broke the thread rod. Well, actually, my dad broke it by reclining the seat in my car back onto it . . . but we aren't telling him that.

Someone tell her to stop growing up!
So, the reason for the complete and utter lack of sleep? Well, I could blame Burgh Baby for starting the trend and sending out the word to all kiddos to protest sleep at all costs . . . But, shockingly, there seems to be a real explanation this time.

Teeth number 7 and 8 have shown up. Yes, folks, that's 8 teeth in 7 weeks. Nothing like life in the fast lane of development.

And speaking of development . . . I'm going to go broke buying new pants for this kid. (Unless I can keep scoring them for less than $2.50 at Old Navy like I did yesterday.) She is not even 9 months old, and we had to size up to 18-24 months. I put her in the 12-18 right before Christmas, and they are now mid-calf length. (Yay, capris!)

I was smart though. I snatched up a couple of 2Ts as well. You know, for next month, when these don't fit.

Mommy ain't too bright, now is she?
Note to self: Do not teach the kid a new trick and make her laugh while she is eating peas. Not only do they stain the carpet, but green cat puke stains worse. And cats puke when they eat peas. Even just one.

Well, we survived that one.

Sooooo . . .

~ Christmas is over! Yay! Whoohoo! The happy face can come off and I can go back to my routine of only being social on the weekends. No more family oriented holidays. My mom and I are going to split a bottle of champagne for our lonely and boring New Year's Eve. I'm pretending New Year's Day is just an ordinary Tuesday and not my anniversary. Valentine's Day is a non-holiday in our house anyways. I may be back in Georgia in time to take E to the St. Patty's Day Parade. And then . . . then . . . then there will be a homecoming ceremony to go to! And if it doesn't happen before Easter, I'm going to be a slightly annoyed. If it doesn't happen before E's birthday, I'm going to be really, really annoyed. Really.

~ Being on autopilot with a smile pasted on should be convincing. But, clearly I need some more practice, as every time I find myself in that mode, the in-laws think I'm pissed at them about something. I mean, chances are I'm annoyed about one thing or another, but usually it's so far off from what they think it is, it's kinda funny.

~ There are two of the same toy sitting in my living room. Each given to E by a parent of mine. Each of which doesn't really care for the other. And, of course, each toy has just enough variation to them that I can't pass them off as exactly the same. So, we will play musical toys when the respective grandparent comes over.

~ E's closet is now stocked with a full winter wardrobe. In sizes 12-24 months. Which will fit this spring. When we move back to Georgia. Where it's at least 80.

~ It is absolutely impossible to find a swimsuit for a child in the middle of winter. Let alone a non-skimpy adult one. We may be attending the baby swim class in t-shirts.

~ Teeth are evil. Teething is evil. E and I both agree on that one. Sleeping patterns are shot to hell. 6pm-8am one night, up three times the next, up every half hour the one after that. Tonight I'm on edge and the apartment is absolutely silent in hopes she'll at least get till early morning.

~ My mother came up with a new reason to love being a grandparent. E and I slept over two nights, and in the morning my mom recounted how happy it made her to hear E wake up and to know that she didn't have to go get her. She claims she thought about getting up for me, but her bed was awfully cozy and somehow she just fell back asleep.

~Despite lack of sleep, the two of us can be really silly. E has started to get laughing fits where she laughs so hard she falls over. This is especially prone to happen when I'm looking like a madwoman and chasing her around the house on all fours.



Well, there goes that sleeping baby thought. In the time it took to upload that there picture, the wailing and banging on the crib music player thing has begun.

Oh, joy of joys.

I know, I know. Payback's a bitch and this is what I get for those angelic first 8 months.

It's over

The blissful streak has finally ended. After 181 days of sleeping 12 + hours, E woke up in the middle of the night for the first time.

Sure, there were nights during the whole learning to roll phase where she would whimper enough to get me to flip her back over. But we won't count those. They don't even come close to this madness.

There was crying, there were tears, there was fighting not to lay down, there were high pitched wails . . . but worst of all . . . there was puke. Green puke. Mmmm, peas. Yum!

It never dawned on me to strategize how to handle this mid-night waking thing. Do I pick her up? Do I just rub her back? Do I let her nurse? Do I change her diaper? All those little things that could just maybe lead to this becoming a very bad habit. I probably stood next to her crib for a few minutes, dumbfounded, trying to figure out just what I was supposed to do. I tried all of the above options, and then some, valiantly hoping she'd fall back asleep. And then she puked, and solved my dilemma.

While I wrestled with the crib mattress, cursing it to release the death grip on the sheet, E passed out on the floor.

I guess, sometimes, you just need to get it all out. Literally.

How to Nap:101

Step 1: Whine.
Step 2: Refuse to nurse.
Step 3: Refuse to lay down.
Step 4: Whine more.
Step 5: Follow Mommy into the bathroom while she does laundry.
Step 6: Whine more.
Step 7: Get comfy on cozy blanket with lots of toys.
Step 8: Realize Mommy is not listening to you and is going to take a shower.
Step 9: Whine more.
Step 10: Try to pull self up on shower curtain.
Step 11: Cry, because shower curtain is too slippery.
Step 12: Find blankie in clean clothes basket.
Step 13: Clutch blankie and suck thumb.
Step 14: Make Mommy wonder why you're so quiet.
Step 15: Pass out.
Step 16: Let Mommy take a super long, hot shower and then wonder how to get you to your crib and off the hard floor.

Happiness is . . .

Baby hands. Soft, gentle baby hands.

Putting E to sleep tonight was one of the more difficult nights we've had. The second she's out of the bath it's an all out war to get a diaper and pajamas on. No small feat with slow motion movement on this end. Add to the mix inconsolable sobbing, complete with crocodile tears and pauses to hack and sputter. Great for the stress level.

At one point, I could feel myself on that cry/scream/yell/bang your head against the wall point. I set the wriggling, screaming bundle of unhappiness down on her floor blanket and went into the bedroom and just screamed into my pillow. Got it all out.

When I came back to the living room, E was still sobbing, but now looking at me like "Why don't you love me, mama?"

Made me feel just wonderful. (sarcasm there, for those of you without that radar).

Finally I got her calmed down, fed and into bed. And she just laid there with her eyes wide open, staring at me. Like I was abandoning her or something.

Guilt is a powerful thing.

Out she came, and onto the bed we went. Snuggled up and face to face. As I was stroking her hair, mushing about how much I love her and how sorry I was I lost my temper, she reached her little hand up and stroked my cheek. And then reached out with her other hand and clasped my thumb.

So, there we were. Her hand on my face was the sweetest touch I've ever felt and, even just for a little while, made everything else disappear.

Jingle jangle

There are certain toys of E's that I have a deep disdain for. The Learning Puppy is pretty high on that list. Nothing says freaky like hearing "Hug me!" or "That tickles!" coming from a box in your packed up house in the middle of the night.

However, one other particular toy ranks just a little higher on the annoyance scale than that song filled pup. The Clink 'N Chew Keys are the most annoying things in my house right now. If you so much as breathe in their direction, this fake jingling sound keeps playing. Over and over and over. And there is no off button. Heaven help us if E is almost asleep and I don't notice them on my way to put her down. That is one of her favorite noises. "Jingle jingle jingle" go the keys. "Play!" goes E, eyes wide open, ready for action.

Even worse though, is when those stupid keys become a new play toy for the cats. Sitting alone, in the faint glow of just the computer screen, and hearing "jingle jingle jingle" coming from under the dining table is enough to make me just about jump out of my skin. Clearly their basket full of feline appropriate toys is no longer appealing.

When they start playing with the toy piano and stacking rings, we may have to have an intervention.

The newest trick

So, E's newest trick is coughing. Lord help me, my baby loves to cough. I'm going to take her places, she'll be hacking away, and people are going to look at me like I'm that horrible mother dragging around her sick child.

My mom was getting over something this weekend, and was coughing a lot on Friday. On Saturday, the first thing I heard from E was her lovely imitation. She thinks it's hilarious.

They must laugh deep down inside

Tonight, the baby got her bath and then ate and was drifting peacefully off to sleep in my arms. So, I sat her up to get that last burp before she was totally out. And, I ended up wearing most of what she had eaten. Lovely. Off to be changed, both of us, and then back into the chair with a super-happy and wide awake E. Cautiously, I let her eat again, hoping we wouldn't have a repeat performance. Content, she drifted off again and was soon that wonderful dead weight that sleeping babies are. Off to bed she went. No sooner had I tiptoed out of the bedroom, a car alarm went off. Right below the window. Un-happy and wide awake E. After shutting all the windows and reluctantly turning the AC on, we headed back to the chair. And rocked, and rocked, and rocked. Finally, she was that lovely dead weight in my arms again. I slid slowly out of the chair and began the shuffle towards the bassinet. It's a very calculated shuffle, only the feet can move, and perhaps a little sway of the hips, but nothing of the upper body can so much as twitch. The bedroom was dark and I silently congratulated myself for navigating around the chair and between the bed without stubbing my toes. And then it happened. Out from under the bed, shot the furball known as Rascal. He had all the room in the world, but clearly, between my feet was the most logical path to take. In a desperate attempt to catch my balance without flailing my arms wildly, and thusly dropping the baby, I twisted around to land myself sitting on the bed and managed to knock a whole stack of things off the chest. Which promptly woke the baby. And she cried. The bottom-lip-quivering-make-you-want-to-cry-too-cause-it's-so-pitiful cry. She was, of course, wide awake.

So, again I shuffled down the hallway and back to the chair, where our new little routine started all over again. And the cats slept soundly at my feet, most likely plotting their next ambush.

Do you wake the sleeping baby?

It's all my fault. I should have known better than to wrap E up in my handy-dandy Ultimate Baby Wrap, which I have finally figured out how to use, and take the trash out. And then take a walk around the complex. And look at the pool. And then go out on the balcony and play with my plants. And sit in my chair and watch the sun set.

Cause now it's 10pm and I have a soundly sleeping baby on me. A baby that still needs her bath and to eat before going to bed for the night. And I know that once I wake her up for that, we're going to be staying up for a while. And I'm kinda ready for sleep now, not later.

I am seeing a pattern with her though. Bedtime is going to be moved way up from 9 to more like 7. 7 is when she usually passes out on her own, and then I end up waking her to give her a bath, and then she is up for a while. Bath time is officially now at 6. It's a good thing I don't have a life anymore.

The Begining of the End

It's the end of the world as we know it . . . The countdown is on. Too bad we don't actually have a date to count down to. So, we'll count up. The closer to 365 we get, the closer to the end we are.

It's day 3. Whoo-hoo.

R&R was over one day, the next the baby hit one month. It really does seem as if time is flying by. I don't want her to grow up too quick, but the faster time passes, the faster Misha will be home. It's apparently all give and take with this time thing.

Each day the baby teaches me something new. It may be about myself, about her, about bodily functions, anything. She amazes me every minute. Sometimes she even causes me to amaze myself. Today I was discussing the fears I had had before she was born - not loving her, not knowing what to do with her, even not wanting her - and now, I can hardly fathom how I could have felt any of those things. Fears are still there - being a bad mother, not talking to her enough, being boring, not providing enough stimulation for her on my own - but the love I feel for her just grows and grows. It's quite sappy, I know.

Today I learned:
1) If you're patient, she will sleep. And then you can too.

2) Jeans will dry in three minutes with the hairdryer on them, after the 'explosion' has been washed out of them.

3) 8 am is now officially morning. Not 11 or 12. Those days are long gone. (And I think they left with Misha).

4) Glasses or contacts really should be worn when changing a diaper. Just to prevent wondering why one's hand is now all wet.

5)The customer service person at Target will only take as long as possible to do a simple return when the baby is very, very unhappy.

Had it not rained, we woud have gone on a nice walk in the park. But, it rained. So, we hung out at Grandma's (she officially declared herself not Grandma today, but hasn't come up with a better name yet, so Grandma still stands). Yesterday however, I strapped on the Baby Bjorn and we walked up the road to the grocery store (I got some cherries, and they are quite delicious). E was not the happy camper, as I stuck an adorable hat on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. She's sticking to her guns on the whole hat hating thing. But she was pretty damn cute.

The walk was a wonderful thing, cause by the time we got back, she was passed out. And so I got a nap too. Naps are great.