For The Rest. Of Our. Lives.

Smile Friday

2012-02-17T02:30:00.000-08:00

Another gem from her 6 month shoot. I mean, just look at her! If you're not smiling, you have no soul.

Smile Friday

2012-02-10T02:00:00.000-08:00

This is easily one of my favorite photos of Hannah. She's 6 months old here, and she's always this happy.

January 2012 Resolution Roundup

2012-02-07T09:11:00.000-08:00

I'm hoping to help keep myself accountable with my New Year's Resolutions by blogging about them monthly. Maybe I'll let myself fall off the wagon in December....just in time for more resolutions!

In January, I was busy. I thought work was slowing down a bit, and it did. Unfortunately, that lasted only about 5 days or so, and now we're full throttle yet again. At least I'm earning lots of overtime, right? Let's see where I am in Resolutionville, shall we?

1. Being Healthier.

I'm not exactly where I'd like to be, but I'm back on the wagon/bicycle/horse. I've made a few vain attempts, but I didn't really "get serious" until last night. In early January, I checked out some of my local fitness options. I'd really love to be able to swim at the park district, but by the time I remembered to sign up, the $40 fee for 2-3 nights a week really wouldn't be worth it this late in the winter season. I'll investigate again for the spring. I looked into the waterobics classes, step-aerobics, and fitness center all available to me at my local park district. The fitness center is pretty nice, but was packed with resolutionists when I checked it out. I'm hoping that it'll be a little more open in the coming weeks. The park district classes all looked pretty good, but again, I'm signing up too late, and I don't want to throw that money away. An option on the table is signing up for waterrobics ($15) and using half of the pool as my own personal open swim while the elderly do their jazzercize on the other half. I talked to the lifeguard, and she said that technically I need to sign up for the class going on at that time if I want to use the pool, that way if I drown, it's no one's fault but mine. I figure if I get in the habit of swimming now, I'll be more likely to go to the outdoor pool this summer.

I'm also investigating dance classes in the area. I know everyone's all Zumba crazy these days, but I'd rather learn a style of dance. Before we got married, I took some ballet classes and really loved it. Unfortunately, none of those are offered for adults through my local park district, so I've got to investigate the suburbs.

Last night, after weeks of putting it off and telling myself I was too tired, I popped Jillian Michaels back in the DVD player. In short, she kicked my ass. Again. My legs and arms are sore today, but it felt good to be active with a purpose. I had to take a few pauses--I haven't done the 30 day shred since just before I learned I was pregnant--but I did it. HA!

2. Reading more.

I'm really proud of this one. I have been reading more, and I've forced myself to wake up the other side of my brain, the side that relies on creativity and literary analysis. It's been fun! I'm reminded of why I enjoyed my literature classes in college. I've read a few books since the start of the year, and I'm in the middle of Bossypants, by Tina Fey. I'm loving that I'm reading again, and I'm loving that it wakes up that part of my mind that had been a little sedentary for a while. It makes me want to go back to school and get the degree I keep talking about getting.

3. Blog more.

Proof! I've been trying to keep my creative side awake with blogging--actual, for-real blogging--and not just memes that go around here and there. It's nice. I know I piss people off, and that's okay. I'm putting myself out there and it's not always pretty, but at least you know where I stand on things.

4. Save more.

Again, the only issue I am not comfortable publicizing. We're working on this. Because the cost of everything has gone up, we're looking at scaling back in most areas. With the threat of the teachers union going on strike, we need to take the necessary measures to provide for our child. We already took a few steps in that direction, and I feel pretty good about it. We'll take a few more steps, and go from there.

5. Simplify.

Another area of progress! I have four plastic bags of stuff to take to church. We've skipped Mass the past few weeks, so I am so far behind in that area. The goal is to get that stuff out of the house before Friday.

6. Follow through.

This one's a little harder to blog about because it involves an internal commitment from myself. So far this year, I think I've done pretty well. I fall here and there, but take Resolution #1, for example. I stopped talking about getting healthier and took actual steps to make it happen. More of that needs to happen.

7. Recipes.

I'm doing it! I've been making new food, and I've even taken pics of a few new meals. I made a soup last week that was to die for. I need to be a little more consistent with this, and I need to make time to blog this stuff.

8. Less swearing, more church.

Uh, yeah. So far, 2012 is a wash. Back on the wagon!

Book Review Tuesday: Two Kisses for Maddy: A Memoir of Loss and Love

2012-02-07T02:00:00.000-08:00

Continuing my weekly book reviews, today I'm writing about Two Kisses for Maddy: A Memoir of Loss and Love, by Matthew Logelin.

I need to say that this book is incredibly hard for me to review objectively. I've been reading Matt's blog since March 26th, 2008, the day it came across my cooking message board and a day after his wife died. I, like millions of others, was instantly hooked. For some background, Matt and his wife Liz were expecting a baby girl in May 2008. Liz had a difficult pregnancy and wasn't gaining weight, resulting in a small fetus and weeks of bed rest. On March 24th, their daughter Madeline was delivered via c-section and was transported to the NICU. Liz had to wait 24 hours to hold her baby, and she had just a few moments with her daughter before she was placed in a plastic box with a feeding tube to keep her healthy. Twenty-seven hours after her daughter was born, Liz died, the victim of a pulmonary embolism to her lungs. Matt's high school sweetheart, best friend, wife, and now mother of his newborn child died without ever getting to hold her daughter.

The tragedy in and of itself is heart-wrenching. Matt's writing in the weeks and months after Liz's death kept me coming back. Top it all off with his reflections of fatherhood, all alone with a newborn who was born seven weeks early. Holy crap.

The reasons this book is hard for me to review are many. First, this is a story I've been following for nearly 4 years. I feel like I know Matt and Maddy. Second, I've met them, so I do kind of know them. (Here's where I'd link to the blog post detailing my visit to LA, but I started it and never completed it because I suck at life. So.....)

Oh, how I love this.

Seventeen months old and very, very okay with strangers

Aaaaaaaand, nap!

Matt was totally and completely chill. When I tweeted him and asked if I could meet up with him, he was so incredibly calm about it. He welcomed my best friend and I into his home and was completely open about everything. (I'll touch more on that later). He let us sit on his couch, play with his child, and drink his beer.

These pictures were taken roughly a week or so before Matt flew to India to write this book, funnily enough. Again, super chill. "I'm leaving for India in six days and I'm not packed. Sure, strangers! Come on in!"

The third reason this is a difficult review to write is that Matt's story touches so close to home. He and Liz were high school sweethearts who dated in their last semester before college. They dated through college, grad school, and in different time zones for years before getting married. They had very different adolescent experiences, despite living a few miles apart. Matt towered over Liz by a foot. Liz had lost all her jewelry in a burglary, and Matt made a heartfelt promise to slowly replace it ....I could go on, but on nearly every single page, I read something that took my breath away. "It could be us. They could be us."

(In another strange similarity, a song I've always wanted played at my funeral called, "Dress Sexy At My Funeral" was played at both Liz's funerals/memorials. Until I found Matt's blog, I thought I was the only one who'd ever heard of it. Creepy.)

Unfortunately, this won't be a truly objective book review. But I'll do my best to be honest.

Now. Matt's memoir of his last days with his life and his first year of fatherhood isn't a light read. It's probably not a book I would recommend reading in a public place unless you're okay with sniffling, crying, and looking like a crazy person. For example, the train ride to and from work isn't where you want to be seen reading this book. Not that I would know anything about that....

As a reader of the blog, I was very familiar with the story. I'd heard it all before. What I didn't know were the small, intricate details of those days. Whether because they were too painful to recount until he wrote the book, or because in all the shock of losing his wife and becoming a father so suddenly he never shared those details, it was nice to have some more background. Matt writes in a way that he lets you in to those moments. I didn't feel like I was peering behind the curtain, I was in the room with him, waiting for Liz to wake up so she could meet Madeline. I could smell her hospital room and hear the panic in his voice when Liz slumped over, and I felt the rush of air behind me when he was pushed out of her room. That moment is raw, and he has an impossibly lovely way of sharing it with his readers.

While the story is the same, (duh!) the book differs from the blog in many ways. First of all, the writing. Matt has an e.e. cummings quality in his blog that doesn't carry over to the memoir. This is a good thing, because I think I'd stop reading and just keep turning pages if it wasn't in a format that gives me time to read and reflect before turning the page and starting the next chapter. The book does include small peaks into the blog and an introduction to each chapter, for those unfamiliar with Matt's story.

The first year or two of Matt's blog, he posted photos and stories of life with Maddy, but he also posed questions to the readers (mostly women). Questions about parenting and, "Crap, how do I [____________]?" and "What do I do when [________]?" The memoir describes the struggle, but not so much "How do I change a diaper in public?" The struggle is more, "How do I do this alone? How can I keep going without her?" (In the early days of the blog, this was a question Matt asked almost daily.)

TKFM also gets into the real loss of Liz. Matt discusses in detail Maddy's first Christmas, and the empty feeling that permeated the house. He tore my heart out when he described crying with Liz's mom and for the first time saw the pain of a woman who had lost a child, something that had rarely been touched on in his blog.

Matt writes that he wanted to talk about Liz and wanted to let people know it was okay to talk about her and share stories about her. He writes about the internal struggle to keep Liz's memory alive, and to channel his wife's spirit for his daughter, even though it was always painful to do. He writes about being a social pariah because no one knew what to say to him after Liz died. On more than one occasion, he writes that the better of Maddy's two parents had died. You want to sit next to him, hold his hand, and tell him he's doing a hell of a job given the circumstances. And it gives you an appreciation for the dead and you start to wonder why no one speaks their names after they've passed.

The memoir concludes with Maddy's first birthday, seemingly appropriate, as it was also the culmination of the first year without Liz. Even though I knew this, I wanted

Even though the memoir is peppered with names of family and friends who helped him and stepped up to be pillars of support throughout what can only be described as a shitty, shitty year, it's largely a solo flight. The description of being alone in their house at night for the first time is kick-you-in-the-gut heart-wrenching. I felt completely enveloped in the silence.

The tone of the entire book is largely bittersweet. I think this is largely because, by the time the book went to print, Liz had been gone for 3 years. Plenty of time had passed, but what was really impressive to me is that Matt wrote it in such a way that it felt like Liz died days ago. The emotions are raw, and I still can't bring myself to go back and re-read the entire first part. I have to put it down before Liz dies. There's really no way to describe how impossibly unfair it is.

Something Matt really stresses in his memoir is that he doesn't want to forget Liz, and doesn't want others to forget her by not talking about her. When I met Matt and Maddy, he talked about Liz as though she was in the next room or just out for groceries and would be back any moment. His house was relatively clean--he gave us a tour of the whole place--but he apologized for the mess, saying, "Liz never would have let you in here with it looking like this." Both of Maddy's Weirnermobiles were on display, and he half-joked that Liz would have demanded they live out in the yard. (See the blog for deets on that.) When Maddy climbed onto her play piano, he said that in twelve years together, he'd never heard Liz play, "...and she was fucking amazing, or so I was told." There was a touch of regret in his voice, and whenever Matt wrote about the what-ifs and never-weres, I heard that note.

In the face of all this awfulness, there were light-hearted and amazingly happy moments. Matt's inital successes as a parent gave him more strength, and with each hurdle, he grew more and more confident. Matt also went into greater detail about establishing The Liz Logelin Foundation, a non-profit aimed at helping the newly widowed (with families) overcome those early, horrific days without their spouse. With the establishment of the foundation, in addition to the blog, Matt garnered a fair amount of media attention in the first year without Liz. Matt was on Rachael Ray, Oprah, and easily a dozen other talk shows. Throughout the entire book, he never once name drops or makes note that he was ever on television and effectively a blogging celebrity. The book is the detailing of what happened after Liz died, and I appreciated that Matt kept the focus on Liz and Maddy. He never even says, "I went on Rachael Ray with Maddy and felt like shit the whole time because I shouldn't have been there." Amazing.

Because I was familiar with Matt and his story, the excessive use of "colorful language" throughout the memoir didn't phase me. In fact, I barely noticed it. And he says, "fuck" a lot less than I would have. However, it's definitely an issue with some readers. If you hate four-letter-words, check out the blog first and see if this is a story you want to read.

There's no one in the world, not even the people who have truly hurt me, who I would put in Matt's position. Personally, I think he's handled himself with a fair amount of grace and dignity. TKFM is a fast read, though not a light one. Matt writes as though he's talking to you and welcoming you into his home--and I speak from experience. He doesn't whisper Liz's name, or follow every mention of her with some garbage like, "God rest her soul." He is completely open and honest about their life together, and it's clear that their 12 years together were far too short.

Before I wrap this up, I think it's worth mentioning that the book isn't a complete sob fest. Matt's sense of humor is very evident throughout. His early parenting experiences, his resourcefulness, pictures of Maddy and Liz. Basically, he does a nice job of keeping you from feeling like you're at a funeral. There are so many happy moments he shares, and there were moments where I laughed and chuckled, and came crashing down with Matt. In a few moments, he'd made me forget Liz was dead, and each time I turned the page, I felt a sting of loss all over again.

I'd definitely read this again, but I'll need to wait a while. I'm too much of a sap these days.
Grade: A-

Smile Friday

2012-02-03T01:30:00.000-08:00

Girl is obsessed with her Baby Einstein. And when that dragon-dinosaur-puppet-freak thing comes on screen? EVERY MUST STOP. EVERYTHING.

It's really quite adorable, once I stop freaking out about her going blind because she's got to sit right in front of the screen.

Book Review Tuesday: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)

2012-01-31T03:54:00.000-08:00

In an effort to read more and become a little more discerning over what I read, and in order to keep up with my New Year's resolutions, I'm going to be posting book reviews each Tuesday. That's the hope, anyway. I know I'll miss a few here and there, but the idea is to read more books, post my reviews, and ultimately knock out two resolutions with one stone. And, these reviews will be my opinions and aren't anything close to print quality. I don't know anything about writing a book review, except to write what I liked and didn't like. I am the ultimate non-authority figure.

Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)
Mindy Kaling

I received a copy of this book from Brian and Robyn for Christmas. I was pretty pumped to see this, since I love The Office, and Mindy as Kelly Kapoor cracks me up every single time. (Remember Phyllis' wedding?)

On the whole, I enjoyed Mindy's memoir. She writes conversationally, and her memoir includes one-liners and a sardonic tone that I myself have often used.

I feel like I should mention here that this is NOT "great writing". Shakespeare, she is not. But for a book of this type, that's perfectly okay. No one wants to read a memoir that's didactic and ridiculous. And it's nice to know that Mindy has a sense of humor about herself and her career up to this point.

The first few chapters are my favorite. Mindy has a way of relaying the events from her youth as though she's sitting down with a girlfriend over coffee. Her description of herself as a fat Indian child are especially entertaining. ("Do you know how statistically rare this is?") She has a really great way of telling her audience about the realization that her junior high besties weren't the super fab group she thought they were, coming on the heels of a slumber party in which she was the only one tickled by Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks.

The first few chapters are written really well, with lots of heart and thought tucked in for good measure.

After that, especially in the last part, the writing feels really rushed. In the introduction, Mindy mentions that this is NOT Tina Fey's book. But I couldn't stop from feeling like she was under the gun to get her book printed because Tina Fey's book was coming out. (I have not read Bossypants.)

While Mindy's conversational tone lends itself to the first part, the latter parts of the book read like you're standing at your high school reunion, talking to that girl you were sorta-kinda-friends with who made it big, politely exchanging stories about your life since high school, all while she's sipping her drink and scanning the room, looking for her best friends or ex-boyfriend to enter the gym.

Obviously, The Office is a huge party of Mindy's life right now, and, at this writing, what she's best known for. She does a great job talking about her experiences there, though she's not above a little name-dropping throughout that chapter. She's also sure to mention specific episodes that she's written and/or directed. Basically, lines of this chapter read as, "The Office yada yada yada blah blah blah the episode, "Michael's Last Dundies", which I directed. Blah blah blah Dundies, which I also wrote." It comes across as though she's trying to make sure we know she's a writer/director/actor on the series, not just Kelly Kapoor. I'm uncertain if this is bragging, or just a poor explanation of everything she does as a member of The Office crew.

For reasons unknown, maybe so she can't be sued or out of respect for her former colleagues and employers, Mindy changes the names of everyone in the book who isn't directly associated with The Office and the two-woman show that launched her career, Matt and Ben. For a time, she lived in New York City and was a production assistant on Crossing Over with John Edwards. She doesn't really comment on whether or not she believes Edwards has supernatural powers, but notes that the shows gave comfort to people who were grieving and hurting. But she never refers to Edwards or the show by name. She calls it Bridging the Underworld with Mac Teegarden for some reason. In this instance, I think she could have said, "I was a production assistant for a television show that attempted to connect the living to the other side", but I'm not a writer, editor, or production assistant. Ergo, I know nothing.

I'm still trying to figure out why she chose to include a chapter titled, "These Are The Narcissistic Photos On My Blackberry." It doesn't add much to the book, just the knowledge that prior to award shows she likes to check herself and make sure her makeup looks okay and that she's not smiling funny.

Her eulogy, written by a friend, is pretty funny. It's the kind of eulogy I'd like to be given at my own funeral, given by my best friend who can say, "I'm so glad I can finally say these thoughts out loud."

Overall, this is a good, light, relatively entertaining read. Fans of The Office will/should be pleased. This is a great beach or treadmill read. I cranked it out in a week because my reading time is limited, but it's easily finished in two days if you have the time to read.

Grade: B+

The past few days....

2012-01-24T18:04:00.000-08:00

Plbbbbbbbt. That pretty much sums up the last few days here in Chez AngieandGraham.

First, Graham came down with a cold. He was pretty much down for the count, which left me on Baby Duty. Then I got walloped with a 24-hour head-thing. Graham was pretty good about taking over, especially in the mornings when I needed to sleep off my head-thing.

On Sunday, we made a noble effort to get to church, and technically, we were there. We parked in the lot and everything! The true reason we were there was to check out the parish school. We've lived here 2 years, and we've only seen the school basement for Bon Jovi Tribute Band concerts (Yes, that's a real thing) and Market Day pickup. We decided to check out the school because it's a very real possibility that Hannah will be a student there someday and we wanted to see the facilities and talk to current families.

Oh, and we're big nerds with backgrounds in education who have unrealistically high expectations for our obviously-a-genius-child's educational future.

[Pause for riotous laughter]

We had fun at the open house, and we got aaaaaaaaaaaaallllllll kinds of fun looks from parents and teachers. "Where's your older child?" "Right here. This adorable, not-yet-walker right here is our oldest and only child." ::wide eyes:: "Oooooooooh...."

As a teacher who attended plenty of open houses and met with new and prospective parents, I knew they were sizing me up. And I knew exactly what category they were placing me in. It's okay. In their shoes, I would have done the same thing. And on Monday in the teacher's lounge, I totally would have said, "Did you see that couple with the infant? Ugh. I hope they don't send their daughter here. Can you say, "Pain in the butt?"

After Sunday, Hannah's demeanor started to change. She was clingier than normal, a little warm (but no fever), and she'd go from zero to pissed in no time at all. She was also coughing a hell of a lot, after practically losing her December cough. I got her some baby cough syrup (something hippydippy that tastes like baby crack) and baby tylenol, and while it helped, my wee one just wasn't feeling like herself. On Monday, her babysitter said she had a fever and her nose was running non-stop. We took her to the pedi to see Dr. Amazing, who said her lungs were clear (YAY) but she had an ear infection (BOO). Today, Graham stayed home with her, and while her demeanor is better (YAY), her nose is still runny (BOO).

In summation, sick babies totally suck. My poor kiddo doesn't know what's wrong, just that she doesn't feel good, and "BuhBuh" (Mama) needs to be around all the time for hugs and cuddles.

Also, sick baby screams? I didn't realize humans could hear that tone.

Thankfully, my boss has been amazingly understanding. She let me leave early to take Hannah to the doctor, and she asked about her multiple times today, making sure I wasn't trying to be stoic and leaving my sick baby. Amazing. Have I mentioned how much I like where I'm working?

So that's that. A long few days. A sick baby. Cold as hell again. Can't wait for my baby to feel better.

PYHO: Carpe Diem, my ass

2012-01-18T08:57:00.000-08:00

Just this morning, I read this article.

Funnily enough, I'd been working on a blog post on this very subject for a few weeks. I'd been going back and forth in my head for over a month, feeling guilty for feeling this way when there are millions of women in the country who would gladly give their right hand to be stuck in a public place with a kid having a major meltdown. It would mean they were mothers. Friends of mine have been to some very dark places just trying to conceive, and whenever I'd complain or gripe about a rough morning or two hour bedtime, I'd feel guilty. In their silence, I could hear their responses: "At least you have someone to dress in the morning. At least you're a mother. Why aren't you more grateful? Why do selfish people like you get to have babies, and I can't?"

Over the Christmas holiday, I got to see one of my best friends from high school. I hadn't seen Kate in over a year--I was pregnant the last time we got together. I was so barely pregnant, I don't know if we knew that Hannah was Hannah.

Kate is one of those women who, even as a teenager, we knew was destined for awesomeness. She's brilliant. She's one of the smartest, most intelligent, and well-spoken people I've ever had the pleasure to know. She's incredibly perceptive and kind, and when she asks about you, you know she means it. She stopped by for a visit with her niece, and the first question Kate asks? "How's parenthood?"

My response? "It's hard!"

That's not to say it isn't wonderful and rewarding, but damn if it's not hard. Some days, it's easier than others. Hannah's in a good mood, and she wants to play and snuggle and laugh all day.

Other days, I want to climb in bed. I want to tell her, "Okay, you don't want a nap? I do! Go watch your stories and wake me in an hour. Trust me kid, one day you'll need a nap and you can't take one."

On days when her teeth are killing her. (She's 13 months and has 12 teeth. Someone kill me.)

On days when she's extra clingy. (I don't always mind, but sometimes, I need to pee and would like to do so in relative privacy.)

On days when I'm home alone and she's tearing the house to pieces.

On days when she doesn't feel like getting into the car, and I have to wrastle her like a hillbilly, and I'm pretty sure my neighbors think I'm beating her with the seat belt.

On days when we're at the grocery store, and she's done. When she doesn't cry, but screams and begs to be held, then let down, then picked up again, then put down, and then OH MY GOD WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU WHY WOULD YOU PUT ME DOWN I THINK YOU HAAAAAAAATE ME!

In those moments, I think back and remember the moments when I had dignity. When I could walk in and out of a store in 10 minutes with my head held high and no emergency cookies or pacifiers in my pockets.

I love my daughter. She is, without question, a walking, breathing miracle. Sometimes, though, it's so hard to "seize the moment" and "treasure every last minute" because she's a person with thoughts and feelings and ideas that don't always jive with mine. I want her to wear her mittens, and she wants to run around naked. When I have to wrestle her and shove the mittens on her hands because it's 11 F. outside and sending her outside without proper gear on is child abuse, I'm not "seizing the moment" because I'm busy seizing the child. When her diaper is awful and gross? SO not seizing the moment. When I was nursing and she bit my nipple? Not a moment I cared to seize.

I'm okay with that.

I think parenting is a little like childbirth. It's awesome and terrifying all at once. It's going to hurt. You are going to have parts of you ripped open. You think, "I can DO this! I am a champion!" and inevitably, at some point, you end up begging for drugs because you're losing your mind.

But it's also awesome. You look at yourself, completely amazing by what the human body is capable of doing. Not only can I grow some elbows and push a person out a small space, but I can also simultaneously drive a car and pass a cookie back to a screaming toddler. I can hear my child cry and know exactly what's bothering her. I can walk into a room and instantly scan it for potential choking and stabbing hazards. (Suck it, RoboCop!)

And, much like childbirth, I think we forget the pain. The memory fades after a while, and we think we can do it because the payoff is pretty freaking awesome. Baby smiles and snuggles. Watching your child learn to walk. Watching the act of learning take place as they figure out their shape sorter. Hearing them say a new word for the first time. Asking for kisses and getting a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss in return. Getting snuggles and contented sighs at bedtime. Coming home from work and getting a big smile and squeal, just because you exist and you are, in that moment, the most important person in the world.

Those are the moments I hold on to. Those are the moments that will make me clutch my heart at 90 (hopefully not a heart attack). And those are the moments I try to remember when my toddler strips me of all my dignity while we're at Target and she's done for the day. Those are the moments when, at the end of the day, I can say, "Today sucked. But, it's over, and for the most part, this parenting thing is pretty bitchin'."

In Which I Resolve.

2012-01-10T13:16:00.000-08:00

Ah, January, you saucy little minx. You sneak right up on me every year, and I always make "in my head resolutions", which, much like my "in my head recipes" and "in my head conversations with my husband about things we want to do" never seem to make it out of my mouth.

No more! I am relying on you, bloggy friends and readers, to help keep me accountable.

I have a lengthy list of resolutions I'd like to keep for 2012. After all, if it's our last year of existence, why not make it a good one?

I need you to comment and email and bug the heck out of me. Help me stay on top of these resolutions, particularly when I fall off the wagon and hide out with a package of cookies. So, here are my resolutions for 2012, in no particular order.

1. Be healthier and live healthier.

Yes, this is one of those "weight loss and exercise more" resolutions that everyone else makes this time of year. Bottom line: I'm a fat ass. I am overweight for my frame and body type. I'm chubby. My husband doesn't care, and my daughter doesn't care, but I do. I care. I need to lose some of this excess weight that's hanging around me, and overall I just need to live a healthier lifestyle. This means eating less crap (and sadly, consuming less soda. Waaaaaaah!) and being a little more active.

2. Read more.

I love to read. It's one of the reasons I majored in English, and one of the reasons I want to be a librarian. Since getting my first real job (I don't count my first job out of college because it afforded me far too much free time. It was essentially "College Plus), I haven't made time to read for fun. I haven't exercised that part of my brain enough. For Christmas, my sister(-in-law) and brother(-in-law) gave me Mindy Kaling's book. It's funny, and it makes me laugh, and while it's not exactly the best well-written memoir on the market today, it reminds me that there are books out there that are worth reading. To keep this resolution to you all, I'll be posting book reviews weekly, to prove that I AM reading. So there.

3. Blog more.

This one is where you guys need to call me out when I don't do it. I enjoy blogging. I love to write, and writing has always been a kind of therapy for me. When I don't write often enough and keep my thoughts to myself, I find that I'm crankier, sloth-i-er, and much more scatterbrained. Even if I'm writing something more than a touch ridiculous, blogging and writing helps me. So when I don't post? Bug me. If you're my friend on Facebook, bug me. If you're not my friend on FB but find me and bug me.....well, that's creepy.

4. Save more.

We need to save more money. I'm not going to share financials with you because it's one of the few things that I don't feel comfortable sharing on the interwebz, but trust me. We'll be sticking to this one.

5. Simplify.

I own a lot of crap. I need to streamline my life a little more, starting with my belongings. I recently read an article on CNN.com that discussed going through someone's belongings after they've passed away. The author had recently lost her father and was hesitant to part with anything that had once been precious to him. I totally get it. I'm totally that way. But when Graham and I talk about moving, or when we need to rearrange furniture (again) because we have something clunky and awkward to move around (again), I'm always amazed by the pure amount of crap I/we own. So this year, I'm simplifying. I'm getting rid of the garbage I can't seem to part with, starting with the useless stuff, and moving on to more sentimental items. My goal is to get rid of one bag of stuff a month. Even if it's a small bag, it counts! Why? Because it's my blog and my resolution and I said so. So there.

My pledge to you is to post pictures of the garbage I'm getting rid of. AND I can say that I'm already ahead of schedule because in addition to putting together a bag of stuff to donate to church, I also broke my largest Pyrex mixing bowl the other day. Literally thousands of pieces of glass were scattered all over my kitchen floor. My kitchen is minus one piece (that will be very missed). BUT! The good news is that if I die tomorrow, that's one less thing my family needs to decide what to do with. You're welcome, America.

6. Follow through.

I have awful Adult ADD. I've never been diagnosed, but I swear (I SWARE!) I have it. I get so easily distracted. I start projects with the best of intentions, and then I get sidelined by something else. I'll start cleaning the bathroom and bust out the windex to do the mirrors, then decide to clean every window and glass surface in the house like I'm strung out. At least all my glass surfaces are clean? I need to complete projects from start to finish. The end.

7. Try more new recipes.

I am addicted to cookbooks and recipe sharing websites. Over the last few months, with work being so incredibly busy, I fell into the trap of using my old standbys over and over again. While I can make a bitchin' pot pie, it's a little too much over and over again. We get bored of it. I am going to try more new recipes, blog more recipes over here, and if I try out cookbooks and don't like them, they're being purged.

8. Swear a little less, go to church a little more.

Self-explanatory. I need to watch my language, particularly when it comes out of my mouth and lands on the ears of my kiddo. She's a mimic these days, which means if I say it or do it, she's following suit. Did I tell you guys that she's started playing with blocks and pretending she's on a cell phone? I'm in trouble, dudes.

In Which I Explain. And blog.

2012-01-10T10:00:00.000-08:00

So, if you haven't noticed, I have royally sucked at blogging lately. Sucked, I say! I keep meaning to--and wanting to--but my job has gotten so busy and chaotic lately that I haven't had the time. If I had extra time, I'd blog at work. Unfortunately, I have a crazy fear of being caught not working by the IT people (a fear I never had when I was the lone IT professional at my previous job), and we can't afford for me to be out of work right now. Since I can't blog at work, that leaves me nights and weekends. I usually try to keep weekends for family, unless I'm home all alone with nothing to do (LOLZ). I have a longish commute home from work, so by the time we're done with dinner and Hannah and general "at home-ish" things, I'm so damn tired that I don't have the energy to blog. I'm a firm believer that if you have nothing to blog about, don't bother. Look at Hyperbole and a Half. She blogs infrequently, but has a huge following because her blogs are kick ass. And funny. I don't have a big following, and no one wants to read my random, one-sentence thoughts on shoes. That's what Twitter is for.

As a way of explanation, I work for a non-profit in Development. Or Advancement, depending on the day. The calendar year just ended, if you hadn't noticed. During the holiday season--which, if you're Target, begins in April--you were probably bombarded with requests for donations or gifts. In your email, your snail mail, on your way in to Walgreens...damn bell ringers. I apologize on behalf of all Development/Advancement workers everywhere, because I was one of those people harassing your inbox. Our annual campaign kicked off in the fall, and I was literally Go! Go! Go! in my office all day, everyday. From November to early January. I was working all the time. A twelve hour day for me was not uncommon.

Ew.

I was tired a lot.

Now that things have calmed down quite a bit, and my desk doesn't have a small mountain of paperwork I have to deal with, I'll be blogging more. In fact, it's one of my resolutions for 2012. (That's another post.)

So. How have you been?

::tap tap::

Is this thing on?

On Your First Birthday

2011-12-06T20:47:00.001-08:00

Dear Hannah,

Last year on your birthday, I wrote to you about all the hopes and dreams and wonders I had for you. The days surrounding your birth were pretty incredible, and I should have known that you were going to come into this world guns a'blazing. And did you ever!

In the hospital, I tried to rest up before your arrival. You had other plans. You kept kicking the external monitors, making them thump, and then rolling over to the other side so the nurses had to come in and adjust the monitors. All that movement meant no rest for Mommy.

Your arrival into the world was more of an "eviction process", since you found me to be a hospitable living environment. You came out squirmy and scared, screaming until you and I met for the first time. You were so beautiful and warm, exactly the same temperature as me. You were my perfect little girl.

When you did arrive, you were so tiny! Every nurse and doctor warned me about the potential complications at birth, but I should have known then who you were going to be, because you came on your own time, in your own way, proving me wrong every step of the process.

For the first few weeks of your life, you were an average baby: eat, sleep, gassy smile, poop, repeat. At 5 weeks, you made eye contact with me and smiled for the first time. You recognized me! At 8 weeks, you stopped being a newborn and you became A Person. Tummy time, infant rattles, mirrors, it all became the stuff of infants. You had more interesting and important things to take care of. Ever since, you have been trying to stand, roll, laugh, crawl, walk, play, and have fun.

You love to laugh, and it's my greatest joy to be the master behind the giggles. Everyday I tickle you, make faces and weird noises, and make sure you go to bed having laughed a great big belly laugh. Your smile lights up a room. I have yet to meet anyone who doesn't think your smile can't melt a cold, black heart.

You are spunky, determined, sassy, and independent. You don't let anything, or anyone, stand in your way. You have quite the personality on you. Everything you say, every word and baby babble, is said with great importance and earnest. You quickly figured out that we grownups used sounds to communicate, and you wanted in on that action. You have been babbling and talking forever, and it will likely never stop. I just know that you are going to have questions that demand answers.

You despise nap time and always have. No amount of begging, pleading, feeding, and praying would get you to go down. Just when we thought we had you fooled, we had to come up with another way of convincing you to sleep during the day, because you hate to miss out on anything. Nothing gets past you, and if you think there's fun to be had in another room, by golly, you'll find it!

You are also crazy smart. You get that from your dad. You can follow commands and say words and sign signs. You can crawl so fast, stand on your feet, push up on your tippy toes, and reach for what you want. You know where we keep things and hide things, and we can't ever count on being able to hide things from you, because you automatically go looking for what you want. Blockades be damned! You WILL find it! You say Dada, Mama, book, touch, tongue, kittykitty, pretty, milk, more, buh-bye, nice....the list goes on. When we sing "Teenage Dream", and I say, "Just one touch, now baby I believe!" you reach out and touch me, all while saying, "Toooooooooooooooooouch!" When Jane walks into the room, you light up and say, "Kittykitty!" You recognize us and yourself, and when your favorite toy or puzzle piece goes missing, you aren't satisfied with a substitute. You want YOUR Mr. Dog, not another's!

You love music. On Thanksgiving Day, while watching the Macy's parade, you stood still, completely enamored by the Broadway performances during the pre-show. When Daniel Radcliffe danced, so did you. You love singing and dancing and always sing along in the car. Christmas music is your absolute favorite. We dance everyday, and your little head-bob gets me every time.

You love to eat, and you'd eat all day, everyday if we let you. You have days when you're picky, but eventually they pass and you're back to nom-nom-noming on everything in sight.

You, my dear, are a big, big fan of moi. You are always climbing towards me, crawling at me, pulling up my legs and wanting to be held. Sometimes you reach out and just want to hold me or hold my hand. When Daddy tickles me and I say, "Noooooooooooooo!" in my funny voice, it upsets you. Each time it happens, you cry and come to Mommy's side. You are always reaching for me. It won't always be this way, and I want to enjoy it for as long as possible.

Your comedic timing is impeccable. You can make me laugh for hours with just a look or smirk. You know exactly when you shrug your shoulders or give me "that face". Your laugh is infectious.

You love to do so many things. You know exactly what you love and you don't care who knows it. More importantly, you are loved by so many people. Everyone who's met you thinks you're the bee's knees, kiddo. You will never stopped being loved for who you are, and who you are becoming.

It might be a little heavy, maybe even a little unfair, to tell you that you saved me. Even when I didn't want to be saved, when I didn't think I was capable of loving anyone more than I love myself, you were the one who turned me around. You made me a Mom, and you, sweet baby, are the only one who could have made that happen--it was a job meant for you alone.

Hannah, before I met you, I was just breathing. Inhaling and exhaling. I didn't realize it, but I was. Now I savor every moment with you. I breathe you in and squeeze you tight before you wriggle away and find something else to get in to. I love watching you play and learn and grow. When you smile at me, you light up my whole world. The worst part of my day is leaving your sweet smile

Baby, the day I met you was the day I started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. You've helped make me complete, and it was you who made me realize that I always wanted to be your mom. I love you to the moon and back, and I am honored to be your mommy. You are, and always will be, the daughter I always wanted. Baby, no one loves you like me.

Happy Birthday, Presh.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-30T20:12:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween, from Twink, Rainbow Brite, and Red Butler!

Stay safe, eat some candy, and get your ghostie on!

Life's Lessons: The Damn-Its-Cold Edition

2011-10-21T12:05:00.000-07:00

Aaaahhhh.....Friday. It's about damn time. Normally I'm ready for Friday, but not completely desperate. Today was another story entirely. Today alone made me want to hit the reset button and climb back in to bed until Friday rolled around again.

So. Where are we these days?

1. Camping with a baby? Easy peasy.

2. Just be sure to bring extra....everything.

3. And watch out for the baby who wants to eat everything in sight. Like leaves and sticks.

4. Speaking of sticks, we learned last week that walking sticks (bugs) are evil and deserve to be killed without mercy. Especially when they execute sneak attacks!

5. Graham learned that I really, really, really don't like bugs.

6. Meanwhile, at work this week, I've been battling with a software program that someone effed up. Not fun.

7. It leaves me wondering why I'm the one that had to go to training for this, when I know what I'm doing and the person who didn't know...just didn't go? Who knows?

8. So....this means extra busy work for Angie. Oy. I'm not looking forward to our department status meeting on Monday when my big boss asks why certain things weren't done. Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. I hate that feeling. That "I forgot to do my homework" feeling.

9. Blah. I can't wait until this day is over. I missed my train because of a douchebag who decided to "test" the emergency button on my first train, so I was an hour late for work. Then my online training didn't load, and now I've got broken software to deal with.

10. Who's gonna be drinking a big ole beer tonight? THIS girl.

PYHO: Mine

2011-10-12T09:05:00.000-07:00

I don't like Taylor Swift. Her songs are cute and very catchy, but I can't listen for too long. Girlfriend writes a song about everyone she's ever met, and unless there's some good dirt to hear, I really don't want to listen to a self-righteous song about her 6th grade math teacher or the lady who stole her parking spot at Target. Part of me really wants to shake that girl. She has awful taste in men. I mean really, Taylor? You dated John Mayer, of all people. What about him made you think he wouldn't be a douche? And then he dumped you? GASP. Wait wait! I have a brilliant idea....let's write another song about this! Yeah! That'll learn him!

Maybe I'm being mean, but for as mature as this girl comes off in her interviews, her songs are all very...young. She's taking real-life situations, some of which are very personal and painful for her and the other people involved, and she's essentially making bank off break up #6948. If she were my ex, I'd be pretty pissed.

There's one song, though, I can't get out of my head. I'd like to, but I can't, and I think it's because every time I hear that line, I think of my baby girl. The rest of the song has absolutely nothing to do with us, or my life, or my situation, but when she sings about "the best thing that's ever been mine", I can't NOT think of Hannah.

I can be proud. I'm vain. This weekend my sister-in-law and I were comparing stretch marks (we party hard) and she said she was proud of them; they're her battle scars. Me? No way. I don't like them. Not that I'm waving my stomach back and forth for the world to see but if there was a way to erase them completely, I would.

Over the last few years, I've assembled a short list of things that I've been most proud of. My college diploma. My wedding ring. My singing voice. My house. My small-but-mighty collection of aging books. My large collection of books in general. That one pair of jeans that makes my butt look really good. But the fact is that out of all of them, there isn't one I'd trade for my baby girl. There is nothing that can make a bad day better like she can. And while she means many things to many people, and while she's so loved by so many, she's mine. (Okay, and her dad's, too. But dammit, she came a'screamin' outta ME, so I get first dibs!) Hannah Grace is my daughter, my baby girl.

I'm not wild about Taylor Swift. I'll probably never go to her concerts, and unless she starts singing big girl songs I won't go out of my way listen to her music. But I will always have a space in my heart for this song, because without a doubt, Hannah is the very best thing that's ever been mine.

Life's Lessons: Downtown Edition

2011-09-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Hello, Friday! How ya been? I've been forgetting to link up to Life Lessons the last few weeks, and now that I'm in the swing of things with my new job I finally have the time to do it! (Andohya I remembered, too.)

1. I've been commuting to the Loop everyday for software training. It's nice because I only take one train and I'm in the Loop for a total of 3 stops before I get off and walk a block to my building. Software training for work can be incredibly boring.

2. It can also be pretty interesting and exciting when you're a nerd such as myself.

3. 9-5 training over a 5 day period, however, is far too much. Me no likey.

4. I am fully convinced after the last two weeks that liking your job makes all the difference in the world. From now on, I will never work in any job I don't like for any longer than is absolutely necessary.

5. Last weekend we went to a birthday party, a baby shower, a meet & greet with Hannah's future prom date (Hayden), and my cousin's wedding. (Not necessarily in that order.) That was way too much for one weekend. #stupidness

6. Going back to software training, I've been struggling to make time to pump during the training because the 15 minute breaks they allow us (two of them) are not long enough. So I've been taking 25 minute breaks. My instructor is cool with it.

7. It is not, however, easy, because my daughter is self-weaning so my supply is dropping and her EIGHT TEETH have made the girls a little sensitive as of late.

8. My not-yet-ten-month-old has eight teeth. Eight individual pearly whites. Ocho~~cinco~~. That makes my head and boobs very hurty.

9. Eight teeth also means she's incredibly interested in Big People Food and she's quickly losing interest in purees. She'll eat the purees, but only if she's still hungry and there's nothing left. Kind of like how I'd only marry a Packers fan if we were the last two humans left on earth, and there were no sheep. Are there sheep?

10. Everyday I look at my bitty baby and I can't get over how BIG she is. She's got her dad's build and height for certain. She doesn't like to wait for anything--a trait she gets from me. She's so ready to be a toddler. The next two months are merely a formality as far as she's concerned.

11. Speaking of Big People Food, we discovered this week that Hannah likes, nay, LOVES pasta! I made Pasta alla Norma a few days ago and she nomnomnom'd on penne after penne until she was full. Carbo loading? She really IS my daughter!

12. Pasta alla Norma, if you don't know, has eggplant, tomatoes, mushrooms, and onion. Hannah tried each vegetable, except for the onion. She ate all of them and loooooooooved it. I'm calling it a parent win!

Exhausterpated

2011-09-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

Yes. Yes, I am. Exhausterpated. It's my made up word, yo!

All week I've been in training for a software program for work. I'm actually learning it this time instead of being self-taught like at my old job, and unsurprisingly if I learned nothing else this week it's that I was doing a lot of things wrong. All that time = wasted.

The fun part of all my training is that it's downtown so I can take the L everyday and my commute is less than 30 minutes. THIRTY. MINUTES. Amazing!! I don't mind my hour+ commute, but having a short distance to travel is super fun.

Work is really heating up. My school's annual Homecoming celebration this weekend so I'm going to be gone a total of 20 hours or so on Saturday and Sunday. Booooooooooooooooo! BUT BUT BUT! What makes it worthwhile is that I really like my job. Really. I'm super happy at work. I am excited about going to work each day, and the time passes quickly because my brain is engaged, I'm not just hiding out, hoping I won't piss anyone off before I go home. Miracles happen, people.

So...my blogging has taken a back seat this week because I'm short on time between work and home. I will be back with a vengeance next week, though! I've still got to post Hannah's 9 month update, photos from the apple orchard, etc.

These Things I Want To Remember

2011-09-26T06:30:00.000-07:00

Hannah's first year is quickly coming to an end. In a few months, my sweet baby will be one! As each day passes, I realize that I'm starting to forget some things, and I want to write them down so I can look back at them some day, and maybe even share them with her when she's older.

1. One of the first things I said after she was born--if not the first thing--was "She has back hair." She was white and gray and covered in goo, and she still had a fine layer of lanugo on her in some spots. I guess after the rush of labor and pushing my baby out of my body, words and emotions escaped me.

2. One of the most amazing, shocking things when she was born? That her body temperature was exactly the same as mine.

3. The small, soft noises she'd make as a newborn, and how even moving her head back and forth required so much effort.

4. The first time she smiled at me. On purpose.

5. As she became more aware of her surroundings, and hearing her test out her vocal cords to make sounds to communicate with us.

6. Hearing "ba ba ba" and "da da da" for the first time, and hearing her repeat it back to me.

7. The first time she sat up and got onto her hands and knees after I laid her down to bed, complete with shit-eatin' grin and a that "Screw you, big people!" look in her eyes.

8. The way she laughs when she learns something new.

9. Her smile and giggle when she bounces in her jumperoo.

10. The way she reaches for me when she falls down (or when the floor falls up) because she's hurt and all she wants is a little comfort.

I'm going to miss this stage.

PYHO: I am enough.

2011-09-20T19:19:00.000-07:00

I had a friend for a while in college and afterwards. We don't talk much anymore, it's been well over a year since our last conversation. Like every good ~~creeper human~~ old friend (?) occasionally I'll find myself looking for her blog in my bookmarks to see what's new, if there's anything worth reading up on. And lo and behold, I find her blog has changed. Again. There's usually a final post directing readers to a new blog designed to reflect a new position or outlook on life, and that is only if the blog hasn't been deleted entirely from the Internet's memory. I've gone back and forth over this pattern in my head, and while part of me admires the visual change, the new blog commemorating this new start or outlook, the commitment to "the new me her", the other part of me is left scratching my head. I've seen her blog frequently over the last few years, and much like Madonna sans entourage and strange British accent, she goes to lengths to completely reinvent herself and find a purpose in life. If Carrie Bradshaw were here, she'd probably say, "I can't help but wonder...what about her isn't good enough?"

I've blogged before about the struggle to keep it all together. It's hard to balance everything in life. Quite frankly, there aren't enough arms on my body or hours in the day to make it all work. How can I go to work (and perform well!), bathe and feed my baby, and keep the house in decent shape? How can I find time to fit in piles of dirty dishes, laundry, go over the budget with Graham, and still watch Glee and play on the interwebs? How can I remember to make time for myself in all of this?

I can't. Something's gotta give.

With my new job, there's a definite balancing act we're working on these days. We're trying to find a new routine that works for us and is best for Hannah. It hasn't been easy. I've been dealing with a lot of guilt over the last week, wondering if we made the best decision. What if I was staying home? Then Boops and I would be together all the time, and I wouldn't miss her all day. But if I did that, our income would take a hit, and I'd feel guilty about that. And, knowing myself as I do, I'd eventually tire of being alone with Hannah all day. I'd crave adult interaction.

I keep feeling like I need to be more, do more. I look around and feel like a bad grownup because the house is a mess. I clean but then feel like a bad mom because Hannah wants my attention and is starting to cry and crawl towards me. I play with Hannah on the floor and Jane comes scrambling over as she's been recently diagnosed with ADD--Affection Deficit Disorder. If I devote my time to Hannah and the cat, it's only a matter of time before my husband starts to feel neglected. And if I throw myself into everything else, I start to deteriorate.

It's really easy, looking at blogs, to compare yourself and feel less than. SAHMs make me feel guilty for working. Working moms make me feel guilty for not making more money, or making enough. But then I have to stop myself and say, "You ARE enough, dammit."

My family doesn't need a super woman. They don't need me to rearrange my life and priorities. I don't need to delete my blog and start over to convince myself that this reinvention is going to fix some or all of our problems. What my family needs is for me to be me. They need me to be a mom who plays with her baby when the dishes need to be done. They need me to know when to stop blogging because laundry is piling up. But what they need more than anything is me. Me & my undivided attention.

I'm enough. I'm good enough. My working-mama-laundry-slackin'-commuting-back-and-forth-self is enough.

Work Update: One down!

2011-09-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

Why hello there! It's been a few days. I've been thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire in my new job this past week, leaving me little free time.

Overall, I really enjoy it. I love some of the work I'm doing. I was annoyed at the start of the week when I had to do some clean up left behind by the woman I replaced. She was given a few assignments that never got done...so what the hell was she doing? Who knows?

Regardless, I'm glad to be there. I'm happy, and that's huge. I'm not earning any more or less than I was earning before (though the drive/travel up there does require a little more spending on our part), but I don't dread every step of the way. I don't have a huge knot in my stomach each morning. I don't feel worthless when I talk to my boss. In my previous job, I felt those things everyday. Not fun! My apprehension at the end of my maternity leave in March was...awful. I didn't want to leave my baby, but I didn't really want to return to work there, either. After being on basically a second maternity leave all summer, I knew it would be hard to return to work. I was afraid I'd have the same apprehension I had in March, but surprisingly (and refreshingly) I didn't!

I don't want to go into too much detail...maybe some day. But for those who aren't "in the know", my old workplace was so terribly toxic for me. I came home everyday tired and grumpy. I complained about everything there. It began to affect my whole outlook--my life, my marriage, my car....my cat! I started to look for a new job over a year ago, and then we found out I was pregnant. There was no point to leave. I had time built up and days set aside for my maternity leave. I couldn't very well begin working at a new school or new company and then have to take a maternity leave after four months. I knew it'd be best to stick it out and just deal with all the crap I had to deal with. And I did, or at least, I tried. And it wasn't terrible...I knew my last day was coming, and I left my classroom in excellent, more-than-capable hands. I had almost 4 months to stay at home and far, far away from my job.

When I returned, I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe things had gotten better? Wrong. Terribly wrong. There were major issues with the leadership there that were causing, in my uneducated opinion, a functional breakdown in the course of the school. When I came home at the end of a day, I'd be tired and worn out. I was so angry all the time. I realized it wasn't fair to keep working in this environment. It was affecting my marriage, my daughter, my home....even my cat. I couldn't keep doing that to myself, let alone the rest of my family.

Once I made the decision to leave, I felt so much better. I was able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. The day I turned in my keys and pulled out of the parking lot was a good day indeed. Hannah was in the backseat and I told her to take a long look because we wouldn't be back anytime soon. A good friend of mine was really encouraging and helped me sort out all my conflicting emotions. In an email, she told me, "One day you'll drive past that place and you'll say to Hannah, 'I used to work there, and I got out. I left so I could go back to school and make life better for all of us.'" That was pivotal, and so, so right.

I was nervous to begin working in my new job. I was afraid that perhaps I'd made myself look too good on my resume. Perhaps I'd misrepresented myself in my interviews...what if I wasn't as awesome as they thought I was? But after a week, I'm feeling much more confident about my job, my abilities, and the co-mingling of the two. I really like what I've done so far, and everyone I work with has been exceptionally friendly. And, major bonus: I eat for free on campus. WINNING!

I know there will be days and weeks and months where I am not honeymooning on my job. There will be days where I come home angry and tired. As long as the good days outnumber the bad, I'll be alright.

My first day: Who else would like to see the girls?

2011-09-13T02:30:00.000-07:00

I started my new job yesterday. So far, so good. It was, naturally, a lot of orientating and learning about the school and my department. I think I'm really going to like it there, and I can see myself staying there until I get my degree completed. Or, another great opportunity could come my way next year! Who knows?

I spent the day getting familiar with the computer and the programs on it. I spent a good chunk of the afternoon yelling at MS Outlook because it wasn't doing what I wanted it to do. Good to know that some things never change, yes?

I've got quite a bit to accomplish this week, but allow me to tell you a story.

I am sitting in my new office. Pumping. The office door won't shut completely because it's old and warped. Throw in some humidity and it just doesn't close. I was able to close it by propping up some old computer towers in front of the door to keep it shut.

I was warned that Big Boss doesn't acknowledge closed doors. A few people told me Big Boss will see a closed door and walk right in, seemingly unaware that the door might be closed for a reason. I thought Big Boss might stop by today to see how things were going, but I figured I had some time. I set up my pump and got to work.

Weeeeeeeeellllllllll......a few minutes in, I see the door jiggle. I say, "Hello? Please don't come in!"

A few moments pass. I feel a tingle on the back of my neck. My spidey sense tells me it would be wise to turn around. I move my swivel chair around so I'm facing the wall. (For reference, my pump was set up on the desk, which is L shaped and faces the door. If you're at all familiar with breast pumps, you'll know that this was an awkward set up once I turned.)

Mere seconds after I turn around, I hear the door jiggle again. The computer towers jump forward, and Big Boss sticks his head in the office!

THIS. HAPPENED.

Quick thinker that I am, I ducked down and asked for a moment to compose myself. I turned off the pump, buttoned up my blouse, and stepped out of the office to have a lovely, jovial conversation with Big Boss. He seemed to be completely unaware of what just happened, though he did ask if I had Hannah with me in the office, so I think he may have figured it out.

SO. Since the Hilarious Gods Of Awesome keep doing this to me....who else wants to see my boobies? I might as well just put that out there since the universe keeps putting me in this oh-so-OSSUM situations. Between the UPS guy and Big Boss, it really can't get any more mortifying.

Why I Never Have To Sign For UPS Ever Again, or Why Our UPS Driver Doesn't Come Back

2011-09-08T20:23:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I'm about to share this story.

Back at the end of May, when I was still at work, I picked up Hannah from the babysitter's and walked home. Graham had a meeting after work and took the car. It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and as soon as we got home I left the door open and opened up some windows to let in some light and air.

As soon as I took Hannah out of the car seat, she started rubbing her face in my shirt and headbanging my boobs. Much like me, she makes her motives clear. I said to myself, "Screw it!" I unbuttoned my shirt completely, dropped it on the bed, and walked into the living room so I could nurse Hannah and spread out on the couch.

About 10 minutes in, I hear a truck outside. I glance over my shoulder and see a UPS truck out front. The driver approaches the door, holding a small box.

The doorbell rings.

The screen door opens.

UPS guy walks in. YES, HE JUST WALKED IN TO MY HOUSE.

He says,

"UPS!" As friendly as he could possibly be!

Cut to....

Me. On the couch. Nursing.

Shirtless. Boobies and stretchmarks on display. Child slurping hungrily.

Me: (smile) Oh, just drop it on the couch! I'd greet you, buuuuuuuuuuuuut.....

UPS guy: (white face, open-mouthed)(backs away)

He runs down the walk and hops into his truck, never to be seen again.

No, really. We have the same UPS guy in this neighborhood. Hannah's sitter has lived around here since 1998 and has always had the same driver. Since that day, anytime UPS comes to the door, or anywhere near our block, it's a DIFFERENT DRIVER. And they all just drop the packages and run. I am. not. kidding. We are officially "that family".

I don't know how to feel about this. On one hand, GOOD! He shouldn't ever come 'round these parts again! Who just walks into someone's house?

On the other hand....what the hell??? Did my stretch marks scare him off? Is there something off-putting about my home? Or was it the mere sight of a topless, stretch-marky woman relaxing on the couch with a suckling infant a bit too much for him to handle?

I imagine he thought his, "Dear Hustler, I never thought this would happen to me" letter would have ended much differently.

PYHO: Ten Years Later

2011-09-07T03:00:00.000-07:00

In lieu of a PYHO this week, I'm posting my own 9/11 story. A brief PYHO is at the end, reflecting on what it means now that I'm a mom.

Let's be honest: We've all been waiting for this coming September 11th since the first awful one ten years ago. In the early years, the first few anniversaries, historians and pundits all wondered and asked the same questions. "What lessons will we learn from this? What will Americans take away from this? In ten years, twenty years, what will we know about this day?"

Ten years ago, I was a high school senior. My priorities were simple. Keep dating Graham, find a college to attend in the coming fall, and find a way to convince my dad to let me take my car with me to college. I had simple needs and wants, concerns that most 17 year old girls have.

That morning, I woke up conscious of the crisp air, the warmth of the sun on my arm as I drove to school, and acutely aware of how blue the sky was in Chicago. It was a perfect fall day. Driving to school we listened to the radio and I laughed as I heard about someone flying a plane into the World Trade Center. Hadn't someone flown a twin engine into the Empire State Building a few months back? "Morons who can't freakin' fly! It's probably raining and cloudy over there, too." I had no idea.

When I got to school, most girls were already buzzing with the news. I walked into my first period class, Chamber Singers, and Ms. Cunningham had the TV going. It was an old model TV mounted to the wall, black and white with a relatively fuzzy picture. I remained fairly unconvinced that this was a "major, catastrophic event" until I saw Ms. C's face. I looked up at the TV and could see a split screen. Both towers were on fire, and the Pentagon was also in flames. I heard Tom Brokaw's worried voice and prayed to God it was just a bad news day, a freakish series of events that this was all happening today.

We, the Chamber Singers, were preparing for some event....a school liturgy or some performance. I can't remember that detail now, but I do remember Ms. C positioning her piano so that she could see the TV so she could watch while we sang. I remember Sherri Devereaux gasping, her face white, and pointing to the screen. I remember all of us singing and staring at the TV as the first tower fell. I remember praying that everyone got out, doing my best to be optimistic that the tower hadn't yet opened for the day so that no one would be inside, then knowing full well that at 9:00 Chicago time, lower Manhattan would be filled with tourists and New Yorkers alike.

I remember going to Ms. Cruse's American Government class next. I remember the smell of the building that day, the heat of 900 girls crammed into an all-girls Catholic school. I remember rushing out toward the marble lobby because it was cooler, and looking out the front entrance expecting to see.....I don't know what. I remember the rush of cool air on my skin when I walked into Ms. Cruse's classroom with all her west-facing windows wide open. I remember my polo shirt clinging to my back and my polyester skirt hot on the back of my knees. I remember Ms. Cruse coming in to our room in a blue and white sleeveless dress, saying, "Okay, let's talk about what we know." I remember our Principal, Ms. Nolan-Fitzgerald, coming over the PA to pray and encourage students and teachers not to dwell on the events of that day, and to focus on school work. She cancelled all after school activities that day, and our theatre director, Ms. B, was pissed. "We have rehearsal!"

I remember going home, listening to the radio, and hearing the DJ on US 99 choking back tears, encouraging everyone to fly their flags no matter what, even if they weren't properly illuminated at night. I remember passing house after house with a flag out front. I remember talking to my friend Katie later that night, and I remember wanting to not talk about it anymore. It was too confusing, too overwhelming. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as bad as we all thought. Maybe they'd find more people alive than dead.

A year later, my family drove to New York City. Not just to see the damage, which at that point was basically two large holes in the ground. We also went to see my mom's cousin, Nunzio, who lived in NYC with his wife and kids. Nunzio, by the grace of God, skipped a work meeting that morning to have breakfast with his kids. He would have been in the towers had he not gone home.

I'll never forget the silence at Ground Zero. In a city of millions, surrounded by traffic and buses and noise, there was a perfect silence. I wasn't sure how to process what I was seeing. I wasn't looking at a smoldering pile of rubble. I wasn't looking at a cemetery. I was looking at what appeared to be a construction zone. I didn't feel reverent or overwhelmed by emotion, just....uneasy. Instead, I paused and swallowed a lump in my throat whenever I passed a board with a handout, a picture, a "Have You Seen Me? Last seen in the north tower!" My heart dropped for those families. They will never know exactly what happened to their loved ones, and I don't know if that's for the best or not.

Shortly after Hannah was born, hours after they'd stitched me up and wheeled us downstairs, I looked at her and held her close. Maybe it's strange, and perhaps I can chalk it up to the post-labor euphoria and adrenaline I was feeling, but I'll never forget looking at her and thinking, "He's still out there." I was so sad that I had brought a child into this world and the mastermind behind That Day was still out there. Ten years ago, we never would have imagined that he'd still be alive. "Mission Accomplished", right? Wrong. Of course, Hannah and That Man only lived in the same world for a matter of months. She will never know the fear of watching the nightly news and seeing a poorly cut video of him released by his minions. She won't ever have to look at him and wonder what exactly he's orchestrating next, and for that I'm so very thankful.

But....in all the unfortunate aftermath, even ten years later, and ten years from now, she'll never know what we lost. On that day, she will never know what each American lost as we watched the towers come down. And she'll never be able to fully realize it. She'll always have to take off her shoes at airport security. When she goes on her first plane trip without me, I won't be able to walk her to the gate and say goodbye. She'll never be able to get on or off a plane with her mom and dad waiting at the gate. She'll never be able to get on an airplane, with our without me, without me sending up a prayer. She'll never know what it means to "fly the friendly skies".

I am glad that I don't have to explain the events of That Day for quite a while. I have a little more time to mentally prepare myself for that conversation. I hope, for the sake of all of us, that she never feels indifferent towards 9/11. I hope that no matter what, no matter how we talk to her about it, that she knows exactly what that day means to everyone who lived it. I want her to know why we remember it. I want her to know that it's more than just a day of service and remembrance, though service is an excellent way to celebrate the lives lost That Day.

Funnily enough, Hannah was born on December 7th, Pearl Harbor Day. I hope that as she grows, she understands the importance of 9/11 and December 7th and her place in American history.

A note for my newest followers...

2011-09-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hey! I've got new followers! Sweeeeeeeeeet.

I'll get along to checking out all your blogs soon, but I thought it best to post a few things about myself first, sort of a "get to know ya" (which might be completely pointless if you've already creeped on the rest of our blog).

Feel free to comment and add your own tidbits about yourself.

1. I curse a lot. Fair warning.

2. I'm working on it, though.

3. Currently battling postpartum depression. Hence #1.

4. I already swore a lot before then. Just as my husband!

5. I'm mildly obsessed with my cat and may subject you to photo essays (such as this) with cat-ese captions from time to time. Fair warning.

6. I'm a mama to a sweet baby named Hannah. You'll see a lot of her 'round these parts.

7. Married to Graham, who is incredibly tolerant of.....me.

8. I've got a raging caffeine addiction.

9. I have a nephew! I finally get to live my dream of being a super cool hippy aunt. Someday, I'll take both kids to the state fair, feed us all nothing but junk food all day, buy all-day-midway passes, and end the day with a puke session of epic proportions.

It's the right thing to do.

10. I also tend to do things like this. And this. And this. I.....might need a new hobby.

Thanks for visiting! XO

Life's Lessons: End of Summer Edition

2011-09-02T14:45:00.000-07:00

I cannot believe it's September. Wow. I can't even wrap my mind around this.

1. Summer passes much more slowly when you're unemployed. But not nearly as slow as if I was unemployed through forces other than my own.

2. Speaking of employment, I start my new job on the 12th. Wahoo!

3. This summer has given us time to relax as a family, have some day trips and a mini-cation, and enjoy the lazy days as they come.

4. It's also given me time to make ice cream. Homemade. Ice Cream.

5. Which, btw, isn't exactly "easy".

6. But once you get the hang of it, it's not all that hard, either.

7. Speaking of summer and the end, pumpkin spice lattes are back at Starbucks. Oh geez....

8. Those are the death of me every year. Oh, I do love them.

9. As I'm writing this, I'm listening to The Warblers. Hannah? Oh, she's rocking out.

10. I need to keep my camera handy for moments such as these.

I Heart Family Picnics 2011

2011-09-02T07:02:00.000-07:00

I am terrible at taking photos every year at the family picnic. Some year I'll get better at it.

Anyway, in July, we all got together in Plainfield for the annual Foley Family Fiesta, a.k.a. I Heart Family Picnics #something or other. It's a good time to see everyone, and this year was special not only because it was Hannah's first outside picnic (after last year's car accident/t-shirt fiasco), but because our second cousin Peggy is engaged to her long-time boyfriend Jeremy.

Not too many photos of this year's picnic, but it was a good time. Hannah got to swim in a legitimate pool (i.e. not the 6-incher we have in the garage), we got to eat some food, and we had a great time relaxing with the fam.

Really unsure of this "swimming" thing.

"Mommy?"

Hannah and Daddy

Aw crap...Justin lost the baby.

Me, sucking at bags.

Who took this photo? I think that's Justin, Graham, Mary, and maybe Hannah.

Mary and Justin, head to head

Hannah and Gramps

Hannah says....I've got a cousin!

2011-09-01T01:31:00.000-07:00

When we explained the concept of "a cousin" to our daughter, she was totally pumped. Someone to hang out with and have fun with? Someone to play with? Someone to cause mischief and mayhem with? Yessssssss! So, aside from the little guy's parents, no one was more excited to welcome Declan to the world than Hannah.

We hope you're listening, dude!

PYHO: The "C" Word

2011-08-31T06:30:00.000-07:00

For too long, I've not been truly honest.

I believe in God. I believe in Jesus. I believe in the Bible. I believe Christ died for my sins. I believe in Heaven and Hell. I believe in the power of prayer, and I believe that if I do it right, I'll go to Heaven when I die.

Why yes, actually. I do. I do! And I'm not ashamed of it, either.

It's hard for me to say these things out loud sometimes. It's not that I have doubts or don't believe. Quite the contrary. I do believe in Christianity. It's just awkward for me to "admit I'm a Christian" in secular company. It's frustrating to be "outed" in the company of friends who then stare at you, aghast, and say, "You? You believe in that stuff? But....but you don't seem like 'one of them.'" And I'm not sure how I feel about that. Am I "one of them"? Or not? Because you can't be both.

Sometimes I don't do the best job of living my faith out loud, let alone speaking it. I curse. A lot. I'm lazy and prideful and stubborn. I definitely don't pray like I should, attend church each Sunday, think before I speak (or type), or put others before myself. I'm really, really stubborn, and I like getting my way. Often. I try, but I fail at it each and everyday. I'm not exactly the best, most shining example of what a "Godly woman" should be.

With friends who don't believe, I keep my mouth shut. SURPRISING, I KNOW. Me? Who is widely opinionated on every other topic ever? Yes. I suppose that's because religion is such a sensitive topic. I've found you can't just storm the castle of unbelief with your Bible and your pitchfork and expect to transform and enlighten your friends. It's a big turnoff.

I'm often asked by friends who don't believe, "Why? Why bother?" Sometimes that's accompanied by "...because there's no proof!" or some other such statement, reminding me that they think it's all just a nice story, a way of telling people how to be good human beings. A way of scaring ancient societies into playing nice with each other. A way of exacting control over weak-minded individuals who are scared of the here-after.

So why believe? Why put myself out there and put my faith in someone I have never seen? Why believe in the invisible when the visible is around me each and everyday? It's simple, really.

Because I have seen God.

I've seen God in small children exploring their world and speaking honestly. I've seen God in teenagers passing out granola bars to Chicago's homeless, using a strength and honesty most adults will never have. I've seen God in my legs, when I walked away from a car accident that should have killed me. I've seen God in my daughter, who is a miracle I get to wake to each and everyday. I've felt God in the love my husband has for me, and in the selflessness he brings to our home each day. I see God everyday, even if I don't realize it when I see it.

Most of my friends don't believe at all. It's not really something that's affected our friendship since faith doesn't always come up in casual conversation. When it does, the topic is usually "The Church" and "Churchy People", and that's where a number of their frustrations and turn offs lie. I understand. I've been a member of a dozen different churches and no matter what--no matter how wonderful or full or empty and sad--churches always get it wrong. I like where I'm attending church these days, and I loved my college church. Both buildings and congregations have been integral parts of my faith formation. But still, churches--man made bodies--get it wrong. How can they not? Women and men are fallible. We all make mistakes, even if they're well-intentioned.

Church members get it wrong. Pastors and priests get it wrong. Casual Bible readers get it wrong. Bible scholars get it wrong. Politicians get it wrong. Average bloggers and blog readers get it wrong.

I disagree with most of the "moral majority" in this country. I don't consider myself anywhere close to the religious right. I voted for Obama. I am pro-life, but I believe in pro-choice. I don't think that Muslims are evil or that Jews are going to Hell. I like gay people and I don't believe they're all going to hell, either. I don't believe in any "gay agenda", and I'm pro-marriage for everyone, not just the heteros. I believe in science. I don't believe in using religion as a scare-tactic to scare voters and swing the population to the right, and I believe that when you do that, God gets pissed. I don't believe God wants us to be scared of Him, and I don't believe He's sitting up there, A-OK with people using His name to scare, shame, and threaten.

I believe. I go to church. I call myself a Christian. And yes, I still believe in all of the above. And I think--with the exception of the pro-choice thing--God's probably okay with that.

But so many of those people who get it wrong? Sometimes they also get it right.

How can I not believe when I've seen churches power together to rebuild a home for a member after he lost it in a tornado? How can I not believe when strangers provided a home-cooked meal for 30 college students each Sunday--often without a thank you? How can I not believe when someone quotes the Bible in a way that passages I've heard my entire life are suddenly made clear? How can I turn away from God when How can I deny the existence of something greater when I've been so richly blessed through no doing of my own? How can I look at my daughter and chalk her up to a happy accident of science? Even if I don't see the beautiful creation that I am, I can't deny that my daughter isn't made up of more than a meeting and division of cells.

There's a lot of crap in this world. There's a lot gone wrong everywhere you turn. There's a lot that can't be explained, and it's hard to look someone in the face and talk to them about your God, the one who's loving and kind and who fixes all things....especially when they've been dealt an awful, unfathomable situation. And sometimes, I just can't explain why I believe in Christ when faced with something like that.

But what I can do is live my life. I can continue to be an example, the best example I can be, of God's love and goodness. I can continue to improve on myself and continue to pray. I can continue to have faith, because I know what's waiting for me when my life is over. And maybe someday I won't have to answer when someone asks me why I believe, because just by looking at me, they'll know.

We're Aunt Angie, Uncle Graham, & Cousin Hannah!

2011-08-31T03:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, at 5:44 p.m., my sister(-in-law) gave birth to a fabulous, beautiful, wonderful baby boy! I'm an AUNT! I've never been one before, and I'm ecstatic for them. (And for me! I'm an aunt! Woo hoo!)

Declan James weighs in at 8 lbs, 5.2 oz, and is 22 inches long. He's a gorgeous combo of his mom and dad. This is a picture of the happy family of three*:

*Artist's rendering

**I've seen a photo, and he's much cuter! (Not mine to post, though, not without parental consent.)

Congratulations to the new mommy and daddy! Your life is about to change, and parenthood isn't easy. Some days it's hard. Really hard. And some days, it's easy peasy and life is good. No matter what kind of day it is, it's a pretty awesome ride.

Welcome to the world, Declan! Aunt Angie, Uncle Graham, and your favorite cousin, Hannah, can't wait to meet you!

Welcoming Baby Robyn & Brian

2011-08-29T18:58:00.000-07:00

In early July, we got the chance to shower Brian & Robyn, parents-to-be, with lots of presents and love for their little one. Working closely with Robyn's mom, we secured a location and a cake and date and time. All that was left was to have a little fun!

First, we all got together. The shower was held in Robyn's family church way up in Crystal Lake. It was....far.

Celebrity Baby Game

One of the first things we did was invite everyone to play in a "Guess the celebrity baby photo" game. I found pictures and wrote clues. I was....not successful. I'm no good at stuff like that. Some of the clues were a little to esoteric. Shower fail!

Celeb babies & coloring pages

Another "game" we played...when people arrived, they received a coloring page. Each page had a letter of the alphabet on top, as well as the ASL finger alphabet hand sign representing that letter. (Robyn is an interpreter for the Deaf, so his her mom. Robyn's brother is also Deaf.) Everyone was asked to color a picture or pictures that start with their given letter. They were all put into a binder for "Declan's Alphabet Book".

I drew a very pathetic excuse for a panda.

We ate some food....

The spread

Played some games.....

Some prizes

Ate some cake....

Dairy-free cake for the Mama

And as Brobyn opened gifts, we all got to decorate a few onesies or t-shirts for their little baby. This, my friends, is a terribly fun activity.

My sister-in-law Mary couldn't make it to the shower because she was in Paraguay, visiting her bestie. Her mama took it upon herself to decorate a shirt for her.

"Aunt Mary went to Paraguay and all I got was this t-shirt. Que pasa?"

Cousin Lindsey, with her sister Kim, made a kick-ass onesie for Hannah at my shower (photo TBA). Kimberly was off in the Caribbean for this shower, so Lindsey was on her own this time. Thanks to the magic of smart phones, Google, and the search term, "cartoon abs", she came up with this:

Because we live so far, I wanted to make sure my nephew gets to know and love me as much as he will his Aunt Mary. So, I told him what I want to hear:

This baby has great taste.

All told, it was a good day. The mama and papa to be had a nice time (I'm pretty sure), and we were glad to be able to celebrate with them and help them prepare for their little one. From here, it was less than two months before their lives changed forever!

Springfield Stay-cation Vacation

2011-08-28T21:39:00.000-07:00

At the end of July, we went down to Springfield to visit my brother & sister (in-laws) one last time before they became parents (yay!), to get away for a few days and chill out, and to take in some of the sights downstate has to offer. If you're not familiar with central Illinois, let me tell you this: Lincoln is bigger than Jesus down there. Lincoln is everywhere.

Here are "just a few" photos from our trip. We had a blast, and while we didn't take pics of everything, let me also say this: We played Catan, and the Catan debate will live on. I think someday we might have to implement some house rules because the actual rules were a little confusing. (But Robyn will probably still win, regardless of whose rules we play by!)

First we went to the state capital building. It's really lovely. It's also probably best they built it 150 years ago. It's so gorgeous and ornate. Can you imagine the government trying to justify building a structure like that now? The taxpayers would crap themselves.

I paparazzi'd them outside the capital.

Cool architecture

We spent quite a bit of time inside wandering around. It's a neat building if you ever get the chance to see it.

The State of Illinois welcomes YOU!

Hannah didn't have to go through security. Graham and I, however, looked shady.

I thought this was cool.

I love the dome.

Surprise!

Shock and awe

Every state needs a seal.

There are statues everywhere inside. It's kind of ridiculous.

Some upstart politician. Can't remember his name.

Painting of gigantic proportions.

Neat-lookin' and skinny skinny door.

IL's other favorite politician: Stephan Douglas.

Richard the First has a statue here, too. Dad, here are your tax dollars at work.

The governor was not in that day. His office, however, was open.

Office of the Governor. No Blago here.

Custodian too? Times are tough!

Rules need to be followed.

I like that he has an "open door policy". I wonder if that policy is in place when he's actually sitting behind his desk.

Governor's desk.

I, clearly, cannot be trusted in nice places.

Rules need to be followed...by everyone but me!

From the second floor.

It was a Friday afternoon, and everyone had cleared out for the day. Good to know that, should there ever be an emergency on a Friday afternoon, NO ONE will be around to handle it.

What makes him so special?

Supremely awesome.

Except the Lieutenant Governor. She's got power. Kind of.

Yes.

Statues and artwork. All. Over. The. Building. There's an entire hallway dedicated to ex-gov's of IL.

John P. Altgeld. One of IL's governor's, and also the namesake of Graham's first school.

Then we noticed that someone was missing......

Portraits of two of the last 3 governors. Note the lack of space next to George Ryan for Blagojedouche.

Let's play a game! Spot the corrupt governors!

There's quite a bit to see in the capital building.

Hall o' Statues.

Carvings depicting IL's history

We went off in search of our representatives, and found....no one.

Senate chamber

House chamber

Higher up. More dome.

I know I took quite a few pics of the dome. I can't help myself. I'm a sucker for gorgeous glass work.

I'm not fancy enough to pee here.

Afterwards, we walked around the exterior of the capital where there are still more statues and memorials.

Police and Fire memorial.

Being artsy.

Capital exterior

Sundial is not set to daylight savings time.

Okay, note the photo below. You can't quite see the kid in the picture (holding the hand of the lady in the red shirt), but note the composition. The woman at the back is....pushing an empty stroller. The woman at the front is....holding the hand of a kid who looks to be about 7 years old. TOO BIG FOR STROLLER.

I'm super judgy today.

The next day, we hung out at Uncle Brian & Aunt Robyn's house. We took some photos....

Yum!

Then we told Hannah to get excited....Declan is going to be here soon!

Later that day, we went to a few other Lincoln-ish spots. We started at the old capital building.

This building is interesting in that they took it apart, brick by brick, and rehabbed it. They put in central air, electricity, and even an elevator, all while trying to keep the integrity of the building.

The giant poles are holding up the senate chambers upstairs. Yes, really.

This cracks me up.

My heart, it goes pitter-pat.

We stopped for a chat with Mary Lincoln who was, sadly, not crazy.

Normal lookin'.

Always happiest in a library

Nifty

We took a tour of the building which I wrongly assumed would be boring. It didn't thrill me, but I did learn quite a bit about the state and the building. Color me surprised.

Lincoln's last state paycheck.

Wavy glass.

Even Hannah learned something!

Knowledge is power!

Check out Virginia.

Another cool map.

Funny story: We're taking a tour in the old capital with a guy in period clothing. He keeps making eye contact with us, but I think that's because he asked a few nerdy questions and both Graham and I knew the answers (NERD ALERT). When we get upstairs, he stops in the Senate chamber, looks at us, and says, "Graham! That's it! That's your name."

We've met.....

Turns out they worked together at New Salem in 2004. This guy was a high school student at the time, Graham was an intern in the summer camp program. This guy is hardcore with his Lincoln history. Hard. Core.

Neat architecture.

Ceiling designed to look like the sun rising in the East

More artsy.

Shocking.

Governor's old parlor

Signs

Governor's old office. Lincoln was in this room when he learned he'd been elected President.

Lincoln used this very elevator.

This is where you went to sign up for the Army.

House Chamber.

On the last bit of the tour, we went to the House chambers, where Lincoln served. This was also the room where his body lay in state before burial. The ceiling in this room was also designed to look like the sun setting in the West. The architect designed it such to remind politicians that "the sun rises and sets with them." Pretty cool.

Lincoln laid on that stage up there, right below Washington.

We made an attempt to visit the law office, but we got there after the tour had started, and by the time we caught up, Hannah let us know she was tired. Loudly.

The next day, we went to visit the Lincoln museum! It's really cool. Honestly. You can't take pictures except in the rotunda, so the pics you take have to count.

We wanted to take this seriously, so we started out by seriously posing with the Lincolns. Even the dead ones.

God don't think stuff's funny.

When you start learning about things in the museum, you start off in Lincoln's youth. We met young Abe!

Smile!

Every baby will be envious.

Contemplating things.

Being inappropriate. Again.

When we were done, Hannah and I took a break in the gift shop.

Woo!

Yeah! Chairs are awesome!

We went home, got our stuff together, and took some final pics with Hannah's aunt and uncle. The next time they see her, they will be a threesome and Hannah will probably be driving cars and working at McDonalds. Gotta get those memories in.

Taking photos of a very cranky baby.

Yay family!!!

We had a great trip, and it was so nice to get away for a few days. We were very blessed to be able to stay with family--pregnant family, at that--and see not only Robyn and Brian (sometimes I call them Brobyn. Makes me feel like I chill with celebrities) but also Mary, Justin, and very briefly Mom G. We played games: Killer Bunnies (Yes, really), Catan, and Chicken Foot, the latter being the most important.

Next up.....Baby Brobyn!

Life's Lessons

2011-08-26T16:04:00.000-07:00

This has been a busy week! I haven't had time to post or even think much because of all the garbage we've got going on. And, I realized on my drive home that it's the last weekend of summer. Ick. How....ugh. So sad. :-(

1. Someone needs to slap me next summer and say, "Hey stupid! It's AUGUST!" That way, I'll make my last summer weekends count.

2. Then again, maybe I'd make them count like I did this year, by relaxing with my kiddo as much as possible.

3. Taking your cat to the vet? Not fun.

4. Cats hate driving in cars. They let you know by howling. Loudly.

5. Getting fingerprinted for work is "a process that takes only 5 minutes." However, it takes a lot longer when the biometrics place has weird hours and is only open 3 days a week. #longlongwait

6. Puffs are addictive for babies.

7. Meetup.com is a good place to meet people.

8. Unless they're from Brookfield. And they belong to the "official" moms group.

9. Because they deny your request to join their group. Because you're 10 minutes away. Because it's too far.

10. Exclusivity! It's what's for dinner.

Things are looking up

2011-08-19T06:26:00.000-07:00

Some friends of ours have had a pretty lousy 2011. Last month, things started looking up for them. One got a new job, and the other got a raise. And, at the Brad Paisley concert earlier this month, they were a mere six rows away from him during his second set out in the cheap seats. With all the crap they've had to deal with since 2011 rolled in (one has a parent who is dying, the other had a parent die suddenly), they are optimistic that the second half of 2011 won't suck quite so much.

When my friend started her new job, I said, "Okay, universe. It's my turn. Lay it on me."

I've had some phone interviews and a few in-person interviews. One interview went okay, but I spent the rest of the week thinking about everything I should have said and didn't, and as the days passed and I didn't get a phone call, I knew I wouldn't get the job. And I didn't. In fact, I got a letter addressed to one of my references at my home address, telling me the position had been filled. When I called to let them know that someone had made a clerical error, it was another 2 weeks before I got any sort of response or apology from that. Odd, no?

Ultimately, it was a good thing I didn't get that job. I left my job in June due to stress. There's nothing smart about taking a new job that would be just as stressful.

And truth be told, it's hard to stay focused at work when everyday leaves your stomach in knots. I like working, but I was so much happier and relaxed on days off and weekends. I was able to enjoy being home and spending time with my baby and my baby daddy.

So, the interviews continued. And I had a promising interview and a very promising follow-up. I had another good phone interview. And finally, late last week, I got a job offer. Friends, blog readers, lend me your ears! I, Angie G@%$%!@|(, am gainfully employed!

I'm excited about this opportunity for a few reasons, one being that I get to use the creative part of my brain again. I'll be working at another school, this one is located over an hour away from home (hellooooooo commute!) in a much different area. Much.

What makes me happy and justifies my sense of self-worth as a contributing member of society is that they interviewed me twice, and I found out today that it was because I was the most qualified candidate, but I live so far away that they wanted to justify hiring me instead of hiring another candidate.

In the spring and well into June, we were worried about Graham's job and whether he'd have one to return to after his July hiatus. I wondered if voluntarily leaving my job was the smartest decision. I thought that if we were both out of work, we'd look like ridiculous tools to our families. Graham's job couldn't be helped, but me? Me? Oy, I'd look like the biggest moron in the world. Who voluntarily leaves a job with nothing lined up in the worst economy in decades?

I'm happy to say that things are hopefully looking up for the G Crew for the remainder of the year. I'm on the path to Better Living Through Science (a.k.a. happy pills), we're both employed, and we're both feeling really good about the future. No matter how long we're in the city, or no matter where we end up, we're together, and we have a fabulous daughter and wonderful cat who will see it through with us. Amen, friends. Amen.

Real Fan Days at the zoo

2011-08-16T06:19:00.000-07:00

The weather in Chicago for the last week has been absolutely amazing. The highs have been in the 70s or low 80s--quite cool for August but spectacular for making the most of the last days of summer. Saturday's weather was amazing throughout the morning and early afternoon, so we went to Brookfield Zoo for White Sox Real Fan Days. Hannah's last zoo trip was warm and she slept through most of it. This was much more entertaining for all of us because she was awake the entire time! AND, I got the chance to ~~indoctrinate~~ introduce Hannah to the superior baseball team in Chicago.

First, we visited with Southpaw, the mascot for the White Sox.

He is not a furry dinosaur.

Then, I got the opportunity to sign the crowded-because-they-are-more-awesome-than-the-Cubs side of the Crosstown Classic baseball.

So many signatures!

Woo! Signing an inflatable baseball is ZOMGAWESOME

I wrote "Sox win!" and signed my initials.

The White Sox half of the ball was uber-crowded with signatures, a clear sign of their superiority and the devotion of their fans. Unfortunately, Graham made us wander over to the other side of the baseball.

Signing all over the place because there was so much room.

He had plenty of room to sign his name because no one wants to associate with the Cubs (this season, anyway).

He chose to spoil it by signing his daughter's name on the undignified side of the baseball. Someday, she will look back at this in anger.

So not the way she signs her name.

Then we took a stroll and saw some animals. Graham was bummed there weren't any monkeys hanging around outside--he wanted to see them fling poop at someone. As we made our way toward the South American Coast building, we saw a few photo ops we had to take advantage of.

Butterflies are free!

Bats are gross and vile creatures who fly into your hair.

Before we went inside, we gave baby girl the chance to splash in some over-chlorinated water. She didn't actually get to play, but she had a blast watching the big kids.

Water is so much fun!

Yeah water!

This is almost as fun as my swimming pool!

Soon, very soon....

It dawned on us that we haven't given Hannah enough reasons to send us to Shady Pines Retirement, so we gave her another reason, for good measure.

"Just you wait, Big People...."

Inside the fish house, we realized we missed Aunt Mary.

"Hey there, Mr. Grumpy Gills!"

"Just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."

Then we realized we missed Aunt Robyn & Uncle Brian, too.

The Catan Debate probably isn't over.

After we were done missing people, Hannah was distracted by the birds of flight in the penguin exhibit. She was also distracted by the stench of armpit. It. Was. Everywhere.

We side-stepped the Bear exhibit this time, but we made time to see the bison roaming around their home.

We gave them a home.

She didn't care all that much.

"Meh."

Then we stopped and saw the giraffes, this time from the other side. We had a much better view and didn't have to use the giraffe-cam the zoo provides.

Once again, she was riveted.

"What's that over there?"

As we wandered toward the gate, we were almost nose-to-horn with a rhino! He was just laying out by the front of his little space, right in the shade, which just happened to be up close and personal to all the people at the zoo.

"Why hello there!"

"He's got a big butt."

Ginormous.

Then, as the clouds rolled in and our nice day disappeared, I decided to get artistic. I failed.

On the whole, it was a nice few hours at the zoo. Our membership is proving to be money well-spent this year. For as nice as it was this weekend, the zoo wasn't terribly crowded so we got to see what we wanted to see and spend time together. Family win!s

Eight Months Old!

2011-08-14T18:17:00.000-07:00

Hey look! A monthly update that's not a month late! Woot!

Well, if you've been paying attention, you know now that Hannah is 8 whole months old. That's ridiculous. When I was 8 months preggers, I thought I was going to die before I met my baby. I feel like the first 8 months of her life have whizzed on by. She's humongous, and I know I say it each month, but she really is growing like crazy. I can't get over how much she's changed.

Month 1. Month 2. Month 3. Month 4. Month 5. Month 6. Month 7. Looking at her one-month photo session reminds me that I need to take a picture of her wearing her Baby Legs again. They don't fall off! She's got some thunder thighs holding those puppies up.

Speaking of thunder thighs, Hannah weighs approximately 17 lbs. It was hard to get a good reading at her last weigh in because she wouldn't stop scooting on the scale. Last week the closest they could get was 17 lbs. The week before, she weighed 16 lbs, 15 oz. The nurse weighing her tried for a few minutes and just called it a scratch at 17 lbs. Squirmy Wormy? Most definitely.

Hannah's world is still very small, but her level of curiosity is ridiculous. She wants to see and touch everything, and then shove it into her mouth. That, naturally, makes eating pretty easy. There's very little we feed her that she won't eat. Her favorite foods are sweet potatoes, apples, peaches, green beans, and BANANAS. Holy hell, does that kid love bananas.

We've also branched out into the world of self-feeding, or rather, Hannah's told us that she's moved on to self-feeding. She's been reaching for the spoon and grabbing at purees for quite a while, and now that we've introduced her to more textures, she's started eating/playing with different finger foods. Mum-mum is her favorite right now, probably because it's easy to manipulate and she can bite or nibble at it. She's been introduced to puffs but right now those are ending up on the floor, in her lap, in the high chair...pretty much everywhere except her mouth.

She's played with teething biscuits, but she mostly sucks on those. She likes the taste, but they're so hard that she never gets a good enough grip on them to bite down.

The last few days have been interesting because something clicked in her head and now she can push herself up on all fours. We were playing over the weekend and she went from laying down to the baby push-up to all fours all in one motion! Graham and I have to start moving things like the fish tank filter and the cat toys now that she's starting to figure out how to move all her limbs.

Not that she's got any trouble moving herself as it is. She loves to roll around and that's her preferred method of getting from Point A to Point B. She is very independent and explores everything in her world. When she wants something, she's very vocal about getting it. Sometimes she doesn't think she's done nursing--or more appropriately, when she just wants to use me as a human pacifier--and I move her to my shoulder, she's been known to throw herself around and worm herself back down to my boobs. This is far more difficult to manage and much less hysterical than when she was a newborn and would headbutt anyone and everyone until there was a boob in her mouth.

And, like most babies, she's crazy about her feet. She's especially fond of them when it's time to change her diaper or get her dressed for the day.

Her favorite toys? Anything that makes a crap ton of noise. She loves her stacking cups and just recently figured out how to bang them together repeatedly. She has a V-Tech nursery rhyme book that is annoying as hell--so naturally she loves it. She also loves her "smart phone", which was a gift from friends of ours.

Anything having to do with music, really, is a big favorite of hers. Maybe this is because I've always been a singer, and since the day she arrived I try to sing to her each day. Whatever the reason, she loves music! I'm not going to complain, because it's something that we'll be able to share as she grows--provided her tastes don't change.

We read to her each night, and lately our bedtime favorites include, "I Love You All The Time", "Wherever You Are, My Love Will Find You", "The Runaway Bunny", and "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" (Hey, they can't all be sentimental!) She loves books, but that's just a side-effect of her love for paper. Anything that crinkles, snaps, crackles, or pops, and she's on it like white on rice.

Nanner continues to be incredibly easy-going and happy. I really can't get over it! She makes friends everywhere she goes--much like me--and she's a people person for certain. At church over the weekend, we saw some women we hadn't seen in quite some time (because we've been super bad about going to church) and they gushed over how big she's gotten and how alert she is. My kid? Oh, yeah, she ate it up.

Funnily enough, she knows more people at our parish than I do! Her babysitter was always taking her to and from school with her sons each day, so Hannah is well-acquainted with the principal, teachers, and families of St. Rene. I can't wait for the parish picnic in a few weeks so I can formally introduce myself as "Hannah's Mom" to some of these mystery families.

We couldn't have a month go by without everyone's favorite feline!

PYHO: Working Mama

2011-08-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

(Linking, like usual, to Shell.)

When I was a kid, my mom stayed at home with us. She and my dad always emphasized the importance of education, and college was never an option that was off the table for us. It wasn't a hope or a pipe dream, it was expected. Neither of my parents went to college, though my mom did go to nursing school for a short while. A college degree meant everything to them--it meant open doors and a job anywhere you wanted. It meant you were educated and intelligent. It meant we'd have our pick of any job we wanted. When I'd ask my mom why I would consider going to college (because a mom who stayed at home was all I knew), she'd say, "So you can get a job and work and earn money."

Whoa. That was huge.

Of course, in 1993 my parents never could have imagined the worst economy in decades was awaiting their children, and with changing times and demographics, a college degree simply doesn't mean as much as it used to.

Not that that means much to me. I loved college. I loved the experience, and the day I earned my degree was, at that time, the happiest day of my life. It's still in my top five, and probably always will be.

I love being able to put my degree on my resume. When I was teaching and working at the boarding school and later the elementary school, I liked being able to talk to my students about college. I hoped that I was helping to plant a seed with them. Whenever a student asked, I always said, "Education makes all the difference. I have my job because I have an education."

It's a lesson we're hoping to instill in our daughter early on.

Now, this statement will probably come as a shock to some moms, particularly the stay-at-home (SAHM) variety. It might even get some panties all in a bunch. Here we go.

I like working.

There. I said it.

Yeah, I do. Generally speaking, I like having a job. I love the satisfaction I'd feel each payday. I liked knowing that payday was every two weeks. I like knowing that I earned that paycheck.

That statement probably sounds completely ridiculous coming from someone who voluntarily left her job a few months ago. But, that situation was....complicated. I left voluntarily because the situation I was in just wasn't working anymore. My stress level was through the roof and I was coming home defeated everyday. It was affecting my marriage, my daughter, my self-esteem, and even my cat. I had to leave.

I like to believe that I'm an open book when it comes to pretty much everything, but out of respect for my former coworkers I won't elaborate on the specifics.

That said, It was the right decision, because my stress level decreased drastically during my last week. The first day I woke up and didn't have to go in, I felt amazing. That doesn't mean I don't want to work at all.

I like having a job. I like having a more set schedule than what I have now. I like being able to put on real clothes and dress like a professional. I like being able to use the other side of my brain. I like feeling useful.

This summer has been a gift. I've been able to be with my baby everyday and I've loved almost every second of it. (Hey, she's not all peaches and cream everyday!) I love the smile I get from her in the morning, and I love playing with her during the day. I've enjoyed our walks and "swimming" in the pool. I've loved watching SVU on Tuesdays, sleeping in and napping during the day, gardening, trying new recipes, exploring parts of the neighborhood, and watching my daughter grow each day. It's been incredible, and I'm so thankful that I was able to spend a few precious weeks with her while she's still little.

But--and here's the part that will piss some people off--I've also found myself getting restless. It's hard for me to not feel like I'm sitting around and not doing anything. I'm anxious to get back into "the working world" and have a job. Sure, women who stay home with their kids are working, that's a given. I think part of my restlessness comes from having one child, and a pretty easy child at that. At nap time, she goes down. At lunchtime, she eats. When I have errands to run, she comes right along. Basically, she's not crampin' my style. In two years, it's not going to be this easy. Add another kid or two into the mix and....screw it. I have it easy, and that's definitely not lost on me.

All summer I've been doing what I can to keep busy 'round these parts. Sure, I do the dishes. (Sometimes. That's Graham's job.) I do laundry. I clean up around the house. But I don't see all those things as "working". Those are chores. I do those anyway. I did them when I was working, and I'll continue to do them when I've got a new job. And yeah, sometimes the house just stays dirty. I feel like I need to get a sign for the front door that says, "Please excuse the mess, but we live here."

Bottom line, I'm a better mom when I'm working. I loved my maternity leave, and I didn't want to leave my baby and return to work (though that was mostly in response to the situation I was in), I became a better parent when I was working.

I learned to balance my life a little more. Graham and I both learned the importance of getting out of the house on time, not two or five minutes later. I learned to use my time wisely.

Mostly, and more importantly, I learned how to savor every moment with my daughter. The hours between getting home from work and her bedtime were precious and few. So we made the most of them. We played. We waited to answer the mail. Sometimes I'd just let the phone ring so I could hold my baby.

There's a culture online that's seeping into my everyday world that seems to be saying SAHMs > Working Moms. And that bothers me. It bothers me a lot. Because I'm not by any means the greatest, but I'm a damn good mother. My daughter is and always will be one of my highest priorities. Working outside of our home doesn't make me a bad person or a bad mother. Being her mommy is the most important job in the world, but when I go to work in the morning and come home in the afternoon, I find I'm a better mom. I'm performing at my peak. I'm more focused on my work, and then when we're home I'm more focused on my baby.

Sure, it kills me that someone else gets to play with my daughter during the day and there's someone else making her smile. But at the end of the day when we pick her up from the sitter, Graham and I get the biggest, sweetest smile you've ever seen. We'd miss out on that entirely if we stayed home. I'd miss out on the afternoon hugs and playtime. I'd probably be at the end of my rope if I was home alone with her all day. Instead, I get to give my sweet baby extra kisses and hugs in the morning, and extra kisses and hugs in the afternoon. I get to treasure days off because they're rare, and I get to look into a face that says, "Hey! You're back!!!!"

I can't wait to get back into the workforce. For the time being, I'm going to treasure the time I have at home, because I know it's finite. I don't know if I'm going to regret being a working mom. I hope not. I think it makes me a more complete person. I want my daughter to see me feeding different parts of myself. I want her to see that she has choices and isn't expected to stay home and "mind the children" simply because she's a female. I want her to see me working to live, not living to work. And I want her to see and understand that when I'm at work I'm a professional with a job and something to contribute, but when I'm home, I'm home.

Seven Months Old!

2011-08-09T20:52:00.000-07:00

So I kind of suck at getting her monthly updates posted in what some might call a "timely manner". Oops. Better late than never? Or ever?

The parent who first had the idea to take monthly photos of their little one said it first: "These pictures are getting harder and harder to take!" Why? Because I have a baby who is increasingly interested in the world around her and wants to explore EVERYTHING. It's wonderful and miraculous and amazing, but also impossibly difficult to take a picture of her unless I restrain her. Have you ever tried to restrain a baby? It's not easy. Kinda leaves you asking, "Oh my God, how is she stronger than me?????"

Month One. Month Two. Month Three. Month Four. Month Five. Month Six.

As you can see, Hannah's growing like crazy. Her dad's genes have kicked into high gear and she's shooting straight up. She's most definitely a G@%$%(@!( baby, that's for certain.

Note: the above photo is important. She discovered the skirt at the bottom of the chair. We'll come back to this.

Hannah's eating lots of purees and quasi-solids these days, and I am attributing her insta-height to the introduction of solids. I'm a medical professional, and thus I can state the previous with conviction. I did my undergrad at Google University and went to med school at WebMD State. Top of my class over there.

Her favorite things this month? Bananas, bananas, and more bananas. For shiz. It's like baby crack for her. I cannot shove the darn things in fast enough.

She also likes to roll around pretty much everywhere. This month, she really figured out how to worm her way around to get to what she wants. She can't crawl, but she doesn't need to. Eventually she'll find a way to get to what she wants. For example, when she's sitting up and something is just out of reach, instead of leaning forward, she'll just thrust herself forwards and land on her belly. She's got balls, that's for sure. She is NOT afraid of getting hurt, until she does, and then she's unhappy.

She's also developed a bit of a Napoleon Complex. Girlfriend totally thinks she's bigger than she is. It's really hysterical.

Her comedic timing? Impeccable. It's a crime that she has no idea what she's doing. She's always on cue with a smile or laugh or giggle, and I still don't know what's funnier--that she's doing it at all, or that she's doing it completely unprompted and without any idea why it's funny.

Also, she hates to smile and laugh.

Absolutely hates it.

I swear, sometimes it's like we live with Lurch from the Addams Family.

Obviously, I'm full of crap. This kid smiles and laughs all day. It's all she does! Unless she's crying, and that's usually because one of three things happened:

1. She fell over and bumped her head.
2. She's hungry and just realized it, in which case baby is HONGRY. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING AND FEED MEEEEEEE! (This is a trait I practically gift-wrapped for her.)
3. She's overtired and hasn't napped well (or at all) because she's too busy looking at everything around her.

Generally, she's a really happy and relaxed, chill baby. Not a day goes by that I don't look at her and wonder why I am so blessed.

Okay, remember that picture from before? Look at the above photo. See how she's all "ZOMG CHAIR SKIRT IS THE BEST THING EVERRRRRR!!!!"?? Yeah. About 0.00002 seconds after I took this photo, she flung herself forwards and hit her head on the hardwood floor. I immediately swooped in--cue Tiger Mommy Mode--but the damage was done. Girlfriend was too fast for me. She laid on the floor in stunned silence for about 3 seconds and then---holy hell--she screamed like I had just drop kicked her. She had a goose egg on her head for about a week, poor little one. But really, when she woke up the next morning, she was her same happy, bubbly self. It was like the night before had never happened.

Seriously. Why are we so lucky?

Wow.

2011-07-20T07:31:00.000-07:00

Well, color me stunned.

I've gotten a surprising number of responses to The Post. I figured I'd get a few comments or emails. Nothing that long could go without notice, especially with all the colorful language I used.

I am completely blown away by the support and love I've received across the board. Friends and family who I didn't even know read the blog have reached out to me. Perfect strangers have stumbled across this little speck on the interwebs and have offered up support and online resources.

For one of the only times in my life, I am speechless. Go ahead, ask my friends. I've always got something to say. I'll wait.

...
......
............

[insert crickets chirping]

Yay, you're back!

One thing that's left me completely gobsmacked are the adjectives being thrown my way. Words like "brave" and "courageous" and "strong". That confuses me because I'm none of those things in real life. If I had to describe myself I'd use words like "annoying" and "loud" and "opinionated to a fault".

I chose to share because writing--if you hadn't already guessed--is therapeutic for me. I've always been a writer and I've always found it easier to put my thoughts into words on a page or in a blog. It helps organize the mess of thoughts in my mind, and sometimes I'm able to go back and make sense of everything going on in my life. It's my "Aha!" moment. Thank you, Oprah.

Once I shared the post with a few people (read: two), I started to feel a little more confident in sharing this with others. Both readers (Graham was one of them) said the same thing, "It's raw, but...." I had some concerns about how raw it was going to be. I mean, I'm using language I wouldn't use in front of my grandma AND I'm openly discussing mental illness. Not exactly "tea and crumpets" conversation. But both said that they felt like other people could benefit from this. That it was a story that someone else would read and say, "Me, too," or "Me, three." I thought they were skeptical, but I chose to publish it because I had the support of a few, and I thought that was better than sitting on it and sharing it with my cat. I wouldn't call myself "brave" for posting and sharing. Crazy, yes. User of poor judgement? Absolutely.

Ultimately, I hope that there's at least one person in my life who can read this and get something from it. Whether it's a realization that they might need to seek help too, or whatever they take away, I hope that at least one person walks away feeling better.

I love blogging, and I love sharing our life with all of you, whoever happens to stumble upon our blog. I'm humbled by the outpouring of support I've received, and I am so thankful for all the offers to listen and talk. I'll probably take you up on that sometime soon. But really, now that I've started sharing, if YOU need to talk, I'm here to listen.

She wants me.

2011-07-09T21:20:00.000-07:00

"I want you to want me.
I need you to need me.
I'd love you love me...."

--Cheap Trick

When I was anxious throughout my pregnancy and the early days of parenthood, I was so afraid that Hannah would hate me, or that she'd prefer her dad over me, or her grandma, or her babysitter, or anyone else. I had myself convinced that my baby couldn't love me, or wouldn't.

She's definitely a daddy's girl. Her face lights up when she sees Graham. And, after a long day at work, she smiles when she sees me and her legs start kicking like crazy. Still, I've always felt that I was her "second" option to Graham. There have been so many times when no matter what I did, she never calmed down for me. But, when Graham picked her up or entered the room, she'd burst into a huge grin and kick wildly for her daddy.

I wanted her to love me above all others. Isn't that the secret wish of every parent? It's a selfish wish, yes, but I think that at some point, we'll all get a secret thrill out of knowing our child wants to be in our arms over anyone else's, even that of their other parents.

Well. That was then.

Separation anxiety has begun to set in with Hannah. I've noticed it growing over the last few weeks, but especially when she's in the same room with us but not in our laps, like when she's in the jumperoo or the bumbo. At night when I put her down to sleep she fusses a little more than in the past and she reaches up towards me. If she's cool with being in the jumperoo but I dare to leave the room to use the bathroom or answer the phone, she cries and fusses.

Basically, I've noticed that if she's not with or near me, she's distressed. And I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it.

On one hand, I love it. I love knowing that she loves me and wants me. I love knowing that she feels safest in my arms.

On the other hand, I'd also like to be able to pee in silence.

But you know what? I wouldn't change this. My baby wants to be held. Is that so terrible? It isn't.

My baby, my seven month old, wants to be held. I can do that. It's only for a little while, and some day, she won't need me or want me.

Reaching

2011-07-07T20:18:00.001-07:00

Yesterday, Hannah reached for me for the first time. Best feeling ever.

Adventuring in Semi-Solids: Butternut Squash

2011-07-06T01:26:00.000-07:00

I was really excited to start squash with Hannah because it's one vegetable Graham really doesn't like. I was hoping she'd like it so that I can start incorporating it into more of our dinners. Two against one! Victory is mine!

So far, Hannah really enjoys it! When I introduced squash, she started jumping up and down in her high chair and couldn't wait for me to sit down. Unfortunately, she thought I was bringing her sweet potatoes, because the look on her face was pure disappointment. She warmed up to it soon, though, and when the bowl was empty she started fussing and crying. Mmm...beta carotine. It's what's for dinner!

Fourth of July Weekend

2011-07-05T14:51:00.000-07:00

Fourth of July has always been one of my favorite holidays. I love pretty much everything about it, including the heat that comes along with it. Last summer, something I was most looking forward to was this summer and being able to share some of my favorite summer activities with my baby.

We started the weekend by dragging out the kiddie pool and letting Hannah "swim" a bit.

The morning of the Fourth, Graham and Hannah woke up early and had a little photo shoot on the front lawn.

All day, it seemed like Hannah knew what was going on. She wouldn't go down for a nap no matter what we did. We resorted to carrying her and wearing her all day in the Baby Bjorn. It was exhausting, but as long as she was with us she wasn't terribly fussy, so we went with it.

After a long afternoon, we decided to take Hannah for another swim while Graham grilled up some steaks and corn.

Right after we went swimming, Hannah had a complete meltdown. Zero to cranky in .0 seconds. I took her inside, cleaned her up, and put her straight to bed. She was down and out for the count before 6:30 p.m. and she didn't wake up until 6:30 this morning! How she slept through all the ruckus and home-grown fireworks displays out here, I'll never know. I must've checked on her 40 times last night--a total record! Normally I'll check on her once before I go to bed, but I kept sneaking upstairs to see how she was faring through all the sonic booms the city residents are known for. Thankfully, she's her mother's daughter, and she slept through it all.

In the words of my brother-in-law, Thanks America! Happy Summer!

Happy Fourth!

2011-07-04T12:45:00.000-07:00

When we explained the concept behind Independence Day to Hannah, she didn't quite get it. When we told her there were fireworks, ice cream, parties, and celebrating, she got a little more excited.

Fireworks?! Yay!

I can't wait to see stuff blow up!

Can I lay on the ground like this?

Or sit up like this?

Then we look up at the sky and go "Ooooh!"

"And 'Aaaaah!'"

"I am so excited for explosions!"

"Bedtime? Whatchu mean bedtime?"

"Aw. Poop."

"Can I still practice my oohs and aahs?"

"Yay!"

"I love Independence Day!"

"Mommy is good. Mommy is wise."

Gleek Out!

2011-07-03T07:07:00.000-07:00

Because my poor kid won't be nerdy enough already....

A few bars of Darren Criss or Lea Michele and she gleeks out, just like her mom.

Baby girl, you have no idea how much nerdiness is in store for you.

I am so sorry.

Aunt Mary Comes to Vsit

2011-07-02T19:05:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Aunt Mary came to visit before she went off on her fantastic voyage to South America. She hadn't seen Hannah since her christening in April, so we all wanted to make sure Hannah and Aunt Mary got reacquainted.

Hannah had a great time with her aunt, and she even wore her "I Heart My Auntie" onesie to show Aunt Mary how much she loves and appreciates her.They'll get a chance to see each other again in a few weeks when Mary returns and we all attend the yearly family picnic.

Mary arrived in Paraguay earlier today for a fabulous vacation and visit with her bestie, and Hannah says this: "Have fun, Auntie Mary! I love you! Bring me back a present!!!"

Swimming

2011-07-01T08:48:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, it was important to my mom and dad that we learn how to swim. Neither of them know how to swim, though they see the value in knowing what to do if you happen to find yourself in say, the ocean.

We took classes at a local high school We were taught by teenage boys from the swim team who needed either service hours or something to do all summer. They weren't the greatest swim coaches in Chicago. I specifically remember one class that began with a "thumbs up" check of all the kids in our group; they wanted to see who had John Candy's thumbs up.

Valuable stuff.

I was one of the older kids in our group, so I was awkward and uncomfortable in my swim suit around all the small, chubby kids. We also had to wear swim caps which, at home in my bedroom mirror, made me feel like a synchronized Olympic champ. Out in public, I felt like a walking penis.

There's another piece to the puzzle, for you.

Swimming with all those smaller, younger kids made me feel so awkward. I was "the tall one" for one of the last times in my life. I towered over some of these kids. Combine that with a fear of deep water and it wasn't hard to spot me standing on the sidelines.

I watched the smaller kids enviously. I wanted to run and jump into the water. I didn't want to be afraid. I wanted to make my parents proud of me.

One day at the end of the summer, the let us climb up to the tall diving board and do pencil dives into the water. A swim coach was there to catch us if we freaked out on the way down. Everyone was jumping, even my sister. From my position in the pool, it didn't look that high up. I wanted to give it a shot and see what the big deal was.

When I got to the top, I froze. I was petrified. Everything looked so small and I couldn't walk to the end of the diving board. My knees locked and I couldn't go forward. I wanted to back down, crawl down the ladder and run home. I couldn't back down. There were angry kids on every rung from the top on down and they weren't going to lose their spot in line for the likes of me.

I took a deep breath, locked my knees together, and dove off the end of the diving board. It wasn't quite so traumatic as I had imagined.

It starts here.

2011-06-30T01:58:00.000-07:00

I have postpartum depression.

In the blogosphere, PPD.

PPD.

Yeah.

I've talked before about some of my issues. I don't even want to link up to them because I've posted so much about it already.

It started with my pregnancy. Me + pregnancy hormones = pure insanity. Once I got over the initial shock of actually being pregnant (after having convinced myself that there was no way I could possibly get pregnant without years of struggling for it) I was elated and terrified. Elated because it's the best news you'll ever have. Terrified because I am, without question or pause, the most selfish person I know. I didn't know how I could give up so much of myself for so long. I like to sleep. I like to drink. I like to go on long walks alone. Motherhood and pregnancy pretty much takes a hammer to all those things and beats the shit out of them until they vaguely resemble what you used to know.

At least until your child starts sleeping for longer than 4 hours at a stretch.

I was fairly anxious throughout my entire pregnancy. Even though my husband and my doctors assured me I was FINE, that the noxious green ecto-coolers I drank a few days before the BFP couldn't possibly have harmed my baby and that my anti-depressants had no effect on the embryo that would eventually become Hannah, I was anxious. I was anxious everyday. Some days were better than others. Some days sucked. Some days, I couldn't swallow because the knot of fear and anxiety that was living in my stomach had crept into my throat and even taking a deep breath made me burst into tears. Some days, I felt like my life was ending and not just changing. I had nightmares that piles of dirty diapers just got higher and higher and that my boobs sagged to the floor. I would start thinking about all the nights that the baby wouldn't sleep and I'd damn near hyperventilate.

I was afraid to be happy about my pregnancy. I was afraid to get attached and bond with my baby. I felt it so deep inside me--something was wrong with my baby. Something terrible was going to happen and if I got attached I'd be setting myself up for heartbreak.

Privately, I'd talk to Hannah. I'd write her letters. I'd go on walks and talk to her and scare the neighborhood kids at the playground. I'm 99.9999% sure they thought I had eaten some kid and was taunting him openly as he digested slowly in my stomach.

Talking to her helped, but I was afraid to get to know her and truly bond. I was afraid to fall in love with her. Graham took me to the library and we loaded up on books. We each took turns reading to her at night during the summer. Reading to her, sharing with my unborn baby my favorite hobby and guilty pleasure, took the edge off. I was still scared. When I relaxed enough to feel that my baby was in fact, going to be okay, I was scared about my ability to parent. I knew that Graham would be an awesome dad. I had zero doubts about his skills. It was ME I was worried about. What if I held her and she didn't stop crying? What if she hated me for those ecto-coolers from Kasia, the Polish bartender? What if the ultrasounds and blood tests missed something and she was born with a heart defect or some god-awful disorder? What if, what if, what if.

Here's the part where I interject about "What to Expect" and how wonderful and awful it was for me at the point in time. It validated my fears that I did some harm to my baby, then it scared me shitless because HOLY GOD, I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THAT WAS POSSIBLE. My inner alarmist lived for the drama that came with "that book".

I love to sing. I used to sing all day, everyday. I'd sing in the car, in the shower, while doing dishes....anytime. I loved it. Last summer, I stopped singing. It was--for me--the first sign that something was really wrong. But, because I'm Angie and I'm an open book but I keep some walls up because I'm a big pain in the ass, I ignored this sign. I'd started to convince myself that all these changes and the loss of interest in some of my favorite activities were the result of Pregnancy Hormones From Hell. Once I had that baby, I'd be back to my old self again. I'd have my body back and I'd start to feel like me again.

By the end of my pregnancy, I was excited to finally be un-pregnant, but I was terrified to give birth. The pushing, tearing, ripping, swelling....birth isn't for the faint of heart and I have a relatively low threshold for pain. I was also so, so afraid that the unthinkable would happen during labor and I'd leave the hospital without my baby. I never, ever minding hearing her heartbeat while I was laboring and I never let the nurses turn the fetal monitor down because I could hear her heart beating and I knew she was still okay.

By the end of my pregnancy, I loved my baby. I wanted to meet her. I wanted to see her and hold her, but I was still cautiously optimistic. I was not entirely convinced that everything would be okay.

When I was finally in labor, I was scared about everything that came with it, but I was thrilled to be looking at life after pregnancy. I was aching to see my feet again. However, I knew that, given all the emotions and issues I had that developed as we attempted to close on our house, and my history up until that point, PPD was a near-certainty. Graham was keeping an eye on me, but naturally he had his own fears and concerns about fatherhood. I can't blame him. We both had plenty of time to get used to the idea of parenthood, but I had nine months to get to know our daughter. He was about to get a crash course in "Hannah".

Right after she was born, in the hospital, we were smitten. I was stunned that one second I was pushing down hard, literally ripping myself a new one, and less than a second later a white, wiggly, very confused looking baby was naked and laying on my chest. She was squinting around and so warm and beautiful. I was in shock. I kept thinking that I should have been so overwhelmed and in love that I needed to burst into tears, but I couldn't process. Instead, I just looked at her and was in awe of her beauty. Adreneline surged through my body and all I could do was look at her. I didn't feel any pain or shock, just the amazing awe that comes with bringing a person into the world. My body hadn't failed me. Despite what my mind tried to tell me, I brought a healthy, gorgeous baby into the world.

A few minutes after birth, she was diagnosed with a slight heart murmur and I felt somewhat vindicated. I'd look at Graham and say, "See? SEE????? I did have a reason to be concerned, Graham!" And, because he's patient and wonderful he'd reply with, "She's fine." And she was. The entire time we were in the hospital, all I could do was look at her. She was gorgeous. She was perfect. How on earth did I have anything to do with creating the most perfect thing I'd ever seen?

The weeks immediately following her birth are kind of a blur. We were exhausted. I was tired and it hurt to sit down. I had stitches in places there should never be stitches. I ached. My entire body ached.

Holding Hannah helped. She was happiest in our arms, and holding her was something we could both do. But in my heart, something was not right.

I was a walking contradiction, like a Nazi who hates herself. I wanted sleep and I wanted Hannah to stop crying. I wanted to hire a night nurse and a maid and a nanny to take care of her so I could get some damn sleep. But anyone who changed her diaper or comforted her--anyone who wasn't me--made me feel like an instant failure. I knew they were doing it better than I had been doing it. My mind told me she wanted to be closer to her daddy and her grandparents, not me. They could do it better.

Hannah developed reflux and putting her down on her back for any amount of time made her screech and scream in pitches I haven't heard since high school choir. More than that, her screams didn't sound like baby noises. Instead all I heard was, "BAD MOMMY! BAD MOMMY!" Over and over and over and over again. I'd start shaking because I knew it was the truth. I was a baby mommy. I had no idea what I was doing, and Hannah knew it. She got the shaft in the parent lottery and she wanted out. Each time she cried, all I heard was "FAILURE! FAILURE! YOU ARE A FAILURE!!!" It made me sick to my stomach, and I wanted to crawl into a cave and leave my entire life behind. If I was a failure, she'd be better off without me. I couldn't stop thinking that we'd made a mistake, that our decision to have a baby was a bad decision when her mother was completely inept. There were moments when I wanted my old life back.

I tried to shake these thoughts. I kept telling myself, "This is what the life of a new mom is like. This is it. These feelings will go away once I can get more sleep. All I need is some sleep."

For about a month, Graham was exceptionally supportive. He knew that baby blues was something everyone dealt with, and when I had a rough day he was so patient and supportive. He'd remind me that until my body adjusted that I was going to have rough days here and there. When I had a rough day, he would take Hannah out of the room when she fussed so I could have some time to myself, he'd do all the housework, everything. It's funny--your body has nine months to grow and change as you work together to create this new person, and your hormones adapt along with everything else. Then, you push out this baby and it's a forcible eviction of all those hormones. Suddenly your body is clueless because OH MY GOD EVERYTHING JUST CHANGED WHERE'S THE BABY??? I would literally go from feeling a-okay to bawling on the floor of the bathroom because I knocked over my hairbrush climbing out of the shower and GODDAMMIT WHY CAN'T I DO ANYTHING RIGHT??!?!?!?!

Everyone told me to sleep when the baby slept. But I had no interest in napping during her naps. I couldn't make myself relax enough to catch a break. I was tired at night, but more than anything I was just....tired. Not "Man, I'm sleepy and gonna catch 40 winks," tired, but "Shoot. I'm just gonna sit here and stare at the wall" tired.

While I was not sleeping, I'd look around and start beating myself about everything that was wrong with my life at that moment. Our house was a mess. Dishes were piling up. I hadn't changed clothes in a few days and I'm pretty sure I last showered in October. Then Hannah would start crying again and I'd sigh one of those sighs that reaches down so deep inside you feel it in your bone marrow. I'd have to convince myself to stand up and go to her. I was so angry. Angry that she had reflux. Angry that everything felt like it was dumped on me. Angry that no one seemed to know what I was going through. Angry that I was angry during what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of my life. Angry for not enjoying and appreciating this time more.

I started to detach from her. When she needed a diaper change, I'd just change it and not talk to her at all. When it was time to get moving and go get Graham from school or if we needed groceries, I'd bundle up Hannah but I'd say, "Okay baby, let's go." No interaction, no first names. Just going through the motions. I kept thinking--again--that if I got more sleep, I'd be fine. I'd try and bargain with her. "Just go to sleep for an hour, baby. An hour! If we both sleep for an hour, Mommy will be so much better. Please just sleep."

Christmas was awful. I didn't want to go anywhere, but I didn't want to spend Christmas at home. I didn't want to go anywhere and I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to see anyone but I was still proud and wanted to share Christmas with my daughter (even though she slept through most of it). I felt like, well, like I'd just had a baby. None of my clothes fit and even taking time to shower was a struggle. I didn't want my picture taken but as is always the case with my dad and his brothers, no one listened and snapped away. "One more picture....no just one more picture....no really, just one last picture." In half the photos, Hannah is screaming. She's tired and she'd had enough, but I'm still forcing another smile for another goddamn photo. I normally have had enough of my photo being taken after, oh, 2 or 3 snapshots. But naturally, for Hannah's first Christmas, everyone wanted, oh 200-300 snapshots. Whenever I argued--whenever--it was, "Oh just one more!" and "It's her first Christmas!" It took all my inner strength, what was left of it, not to walk out the door and leave. Not kidding. I looked at the door and it spelled freedom. Freedom from photos. Freedom from noise and dirty diapers and a crying baby and my entire family. I didn't care. I wanted out. I wanted to be as far away from Hannah and the cameras as was humanly possible.

In those photos, you can see I'm full of shit. I look tired and my smiles are completely superficial. I didn't want to smile. People are hugging me and I'm tense. I was barely at "functioning" and smiling was about 12 steps after that.

Most nights when she cried out, I just laid there and let Graham go get her. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't do it. I was so tired and I needed sleep. Why wouldn't she let me sleep? One night, I put her down and I swear to God she was out cold. In the 23 seconds it took for me to lay her down and walk back to my side of the bed, she woke up screaming. I couldn't go back to her. I just crawled into bed and pulled the blankets over my head, hoping that eventually she'd stop shrieking and we could all get some sleep.

Somehow, I became afraid of my baby. I couldn't make her reflux go away. I couldn't make her stop crying. She was like the math section of the ACT. I'd look at her tiny body and her mouth open so wide it took up her entire face, and I was scared. I didn't know what to do anymore.

Some days were better than others, but for the most part I felt like a shell of my old self. I didn't recognize the woman I saw in the mirror. I didn't like her. In fact, I hated her. Superficially, she was ugly. She was fat and scarred and her boobs were gross and saggy and not cute and firm like they used to be. She was grotesque. I hated, hated, HATED when people commented on my appearance. I wanted to be invisible. Comments that were meant to be uplifting were reminders that I wasn't invisible. I didn't want anyone telling me I looked good when I knew they were full of it. No one looks "good" when they just had a baby; they look like they got hit by a truck. Someone--I don't remember who--was amazed at my stomach afterwards. He or she reached out and GRABBED my stomach and said, "Wow! Look how much your stomach went down already!" I don't remember the face or the voice, but I remember the words and I remember the hand on my stomach, and I remember that all they ended up grabbing was a handful of body fat and swollen uterus and stretch marks. I felt like The Human Blob in that moment. I don't remember if I said anything out loud or if I punched them right in the junk, but I do remember my brain telling me over and over again, "Fat! Fat! FAT!!!" in that creepy Leo Blume voice from "The Producers". My head was spinning and my heart plunged right into my fat, swollen gut. It was awful. It didn't matter that my stomach "went down". Whoever grabbed my stomach knew the truth. They felt all the fat and skin hanging down. They knew what was hiding under my sweater. I had a hard enough time grappling with how my body looked--very much like the side of an elephant--and now on top of that someone else knew too? I was so mad at the universe. What the fuck did I do to deserve this? Why couldn't it just have left well enough alone? Why did I have to be the one to have the first grandchild? Why did I have to share my baby? Why did everyone need a piece of her and me?

Most of all...what the hell was wrong with me? I knew something wasn't right, but I still convinced myself that if I slept more, I'd be okay. Just a few decent nights of sleep and I'd be at 100%.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw Jabba, NO, Pizza the Hut. (Name that movie.) True story, I didn't do much looking in the mirror. Or in the shower. My first shower at home left me crying as the water ran down. I looked down and saw my stomach and wanted to vomit. I saw beyond my stomach and gasped when I saw how swollen and deformed I was. Naturally, it makes sense. I had just PUSHED A HUMAN OUT OF MY VAGINA. That's messy business. If you tell me you had a vaginal birth and walked away without stitches or swelling, I'm going to call you a liar. And naturally I had stretch marks because at the end of, oh month seven, Hannah had run out of room. My body did what it was supposed to do. I had prepared myself for the pre-baby changes. I was definitely not prepared for the post-baby changes.

Graham heard me sobbing and came to check on me, and he made the all-too-unfortunate decision of peeking in on me while I was in the shower, at my most vulnerable. There I was, naked and sobbing over the fate of my formerly sorta-cute body, and I tried to wrap myself up in the plastic shower curtain, begging him not to look at me because I was disgusting. He wasn't disgusted. He'd seen me give birth, so the image I saw in the shower wasn't news to him. He still told me I looked hot. He told me I was beautiful. I called him a liar. I forced him out of the bathroom so I could cry in peace. I was so angry. SO angry. WHY ME? Why me? Why did I have to drink so much that night? Why wasn't I more responsible? Why did I have to have a baby in the first place? Why did we think this was a good idea? Why did I have to be so sick for 20 weeks? Why did I get stretch marks? Why did my body have to be so misshapen? Why did I have to give up my body for 40 weeks, and now my boobs? Why was it 6 weeks postpartum and why was I still bleeding? Why did my baby have reflux? Why wouldn't she sleep unless she was being held? Why did I have to have a baby in December? NATURALLY it was so I couldn't go outside and exercise.

I felt like the universe had conspired against me. I heard all this noise in my head and over all of it was the sound of my baby crying. I'd had enough. One particularly bad day in February I'd had enough. She screamed all morning and as we were leaving to go to a mom and baby group, I screamed at her. I shouted at her. "Stop crying! Stop fucking crying already!" I felt awful, but how much more was I supposed to take? I was only one person and I just wanted something about my recovery period to be easy. Why'd I end up with a clingy baby with heartburn?

As we were leaving the moms group that day, we passed a "Safe Haven" sign. I'd seen them before but this one caught me like a deer in headlights. I stared at it for a good 10 minutes on the sidewalk outside the hospital. Hannah was over two months old, and all I remember thinking was, "It's too late. Goddammit, It's too late."

Say it with me now. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

Writing this down is absolutely mortifying. Humiliating. I'd never hurt my baby. I love her so, so friggin' much. I debated whether or not to even share this because it's...well, you read it. It's awful.

I cried the whole way home. Bawling openly driving down Kedzie, praying to God I didn't see anyone I knew because I didn't want to have to explain myself. When I got home, I pulled Hannah from the carseat and just hugged her so close to me, apologizing over and over. I can't even find the words to describe how low I felt in that moment. Had I seriously considered leaving my baby in the hospital? Who does that? How could I do that? I had an amazing, precious life in my arms and I thought about leaving her there on the sidewalk. The horror I felt made me vomit. I was the worst excuse for a mother. Hannah deserved better. She didn't ask to be born, and when she was she ended up with me. This poor little baby deserved so much better and she got me. I prayed to God that I would have a stroke or a heart attack or a sudden brain aneurysm, anything to take me away so that my little girl wouldn't grow up with a mother like me. I prayed for it nightly.

One thing was clear: either I needed help or I needed to leave my family behind. They didn't deserve this. Graham and Hannah deserved better than what I was giving them. I cried for over an hour, looking at my sleeping daughter and just telling myself that she didn't deserve a mother who was broken. She didn't deserve a mother like this. Then, I thought about my birth mom and the issues I've been dealing with me whole life, and I didn't want to put Hannah through all that. I didn't want her to look in the mirror and wonder if she looked like me. I didn't want her to look at blond strangers in the store and wonder if that's the woman who abandoned her. I needed help.

At my postpartum check up, when my doctor asked about "that anxiety", I broke down. I had started feeling detached from my baby. I wanted to love her, but I was so tired. I was too busy not sleeping and I didn't have time to catch up on sleep. I kept telling myself that if I could only get a decent nap I'd fall back in love with this little person who I had known so intimately.

I told my OB everything, and I felt better and worse. I hated saying those words out loud and admitting that I was an unfit parent.

She told me I wasn't an unfit parent, that I had postpartum depression. My heart sank and I didn't really know how to feel. I was glad to have a name for what I was feeling and so glad that this wasn't "the new me". But I was disappointed in myself for not seeking help earlier, for not noticing that something wasn't right and it wasn't just a matter of sleep or no sleep. I was angry that I let myself get to this point.

My OB gave me a phone number and a name, and I started seeing a psychiatrist. I hated it. I hated her. She put me on Zoloft and I said a silent, "Fuck you" to those little blue happy pills each time I took them. I hated that I needed a pill to get me to "normal" (my normal). But, even though I felt I wasn't deserving of happiness or self-improvement, my daughter sure as hell was deserving of a mom who was as close to her A-game as possible. And you know what? As much as I hated it, I really did need it. Taking the Zoloft drowned out the noise in my head and suddenly when Hannah cried, I didn't want to roll over and pull the covers over my head. I wanted to go to her and comfort her. I wanted to spend time with her. Instead of wanting to run every time she wanted her mommy, I started to smile. I wanted to comfort her and each time she smiled at me, I felt like a million bucks and not like I didn't deserve that smile.

At my last appointment with the psychiatrist, I mentioned that with the warmer weather and the sunshine, I was starting to feel manic on the Zoloft. (S.A.D., meet Zoloft. Wooooooooooooooooooooooooocrazy!!!) She told me she felt it was time to pull me off and see how I did. I was open to it because I was feeling better. Hannah was sleeping through the night, and I couldn't wait to get home from work to see her. I loved watching her grow and change. I adored each minute we got to spend with her. I was in love with my daughter. That was a huge victory for me. Her cries didn't remind me that I was a failure or a bad mommy. I felt so, so much better.

I felt ready. That was two months ago.

A few weeks ago, I started to feel a little rocky. Hannah had started waking up again in the middle of the night because her teeth are coming in, so I wasn't sleeping as well. I was preparing to leave my job and the stress of that was weighing on me and Graham. Our basement was filling up with water--again--and the cost associated with that was adding to our stress. Once again, I told myself that when we all started sleeping again, once the stress went away, once our basement didn't require a snorkel and floaties, that I'd feel better. It's summertime and the livin' is easy. I was going to feel better.

Yesterday, I lost my shit on a box. A random, run of the mill cardboard box that was sitting in the hallway. I was about to take Hannah for a walk and I tripped over it, cutting my leg. A normal, rational Angie would have said a curse word or two, but yesterday's rant sounded something like this: Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fucking Fuck Fuck Fucking Bugger Bugger Bugger Buggity Buggity Buggity Buggity Fuck Fuck Ass Balls Balls Fuckity Dick Shit Fucking Willy Willy Shit Fuck and Tits. (Name that movie.)

Today, Hannah bit me. Twice. On the nipple. I screamed out, dumped her in Graham's arms, ran to bed and bawled for over an hour, feeling like a failure again because I can't breastfeed my daughter without her biting down. Hannah wouldn't go down for a nap and she cried because she just wanted to be held. I couldn't make my baby nap and I couldn't feed her and I couldn't do anything right.

In the last few months, I've had zero interest in anything that used to make me happy. Cooking, eating, baking, singing, reading....all of it seems like too much work.

I need help and I'm going to get it. I don't want to go back on Zoloft, but I know I have to. I hate it, but I'm not a good mom without it. I'm starting to think I'll never beat this, that I'll always have this cloud hanging over me, but maybe with the Zoloft and some counseling, it won't be so bad. I can learn to live with it.

All I want is for my daughter to be happy. She deserves the best we can give her, and over the last few months, she hasn't gotten close to my best.

Daddy's First Father's Day

2011-06-29T06:12:00.000-07:00

Hannah and I had been working hard for a few months to make sure Graham had a good first official Father's Day. After a rocky start to the weekend (basement construction!) we decided to go to church and spend the day at the zoo before trekking off to visit Hannah's grandpas. Hannah gave Daddy a special photo frame, a garden gnome, and a grilling book & bottle of BBQ sauce for Father's Day! She like to put presents together, just like her mom.

Once we came home and changed, we were off to the zoo!

"I'm ready, Mommy!"

Satan baby!!!!

First, we stopped to see some giraffes. Hannah was riveted.

Shortly after this, she woke up. It was so humid outside that we stopped and took a breather in front of a lake.

"NOMWATERNOMNOMNOM"

"Hey! When did you guys get here?"

Then it was time for an obligatory Daddy-Daughter picture on Father's Day.

Then Mommy got in on the action.

We had a good day at the zoo. We saw some bears....

Dirty.

Drank some milk....

Living the good life.

And took the all important fountain photo.

Yeesh...one of us really needs to lose that baby weight.

Before it was time to go, we stopped in the butterfly garden.

Hannah just took it all in.

Once she was done absorbing, she decided I was done with photos.

"Gimme dat."

"Yeah, dat right dere. It's mine."

"Yeah, this is for serous. Gimme."

"Well this is just getting ridiculous."

"BUTTERFLY"

"Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah! Gimme dat...."

Overall, a good Father's Day indeed!

PYHO: My baby won't keep.

2011-06-28T07:17:00.000-07:00

Once again, linking with Shell.

I like cleaning. I like having a clean house. Most days, though, you wouldn't know it.

Since Hannah was born, our chores have taken a hit. Our living room, especially, looks like hell. Our coffee table is covered in a bunch of papers and pieces of whatever I'm working on at the time (this week, it's her baby book). One end table is covered in photos, and has been for months, because her dad and I have been neglecting her photo album.

I don't remember the last time I vacuumed. This week, a few days went by without either of us doing the dishes. And we don't have a dishwasher.

I've been making a weak attempt to keep our bedroom as a "safe place" that's free of useless clutter and looks like a room that a guest would like to stay in. Instead, there's at least one laundry basket full of clothes in there, and I can say without second guessing myself that my bed isn't made.

Our office-library is a sty. There are still boxes of unpacked books up there.

My living room is covered in a fine layer of dust that I "keep meaning to get to" but never seem to find the time for.

And you know what?

I don't care.

Nope. Not one bit.

Newborn

Sure, there are days when I look around and can't stand it anymore. There have been moments where I just jumped right in and started tackling project after project until I was exhausted. I've had sudden rushes of adrenaline that pushed me to deep deep deep deep clean my bathroom until any remaining drops of Lord knows what--if there are any left--are spic and span. I love the feeling of productivity, and when my house is clean I feel more like a "grownup".

But truth is, with an infant, keeping up with the housework on my own is pretty impossible. I do what I can, but there have been so many days when there are more dishes than I can handle and I can't remember when I last swept the floors. While it bugs me, I really don't care. A dirty house used to really stress me out--and sometimes it still does--but since Hannah arrived, it's easier to overlook the dust.

Two months old

I want to spend more time with my baby. I do dishes or scrub the bathroom when she naps. I don't want to just plop her in the high chair and talk to her while I sweep. Hannah likes to be with us, anyway, and I can't sweep with her on my hips. I can get by with her in the Baby Bjorn, but eventually she tires of hanging on me and she wants to be free so she can stand and lean and roll.

I can't believe I have a six--almost seven--month old. The next six months are going to fly by for us, and then I'll have a toddler making messes and running around. I don't want to miss it because I was so worried about cleaning my living room.

I had an aunt who woke up everyday at 4:30 to clean her house before work. Totally not my style. I wish I had that sort of drive, but it's never going to happen. In 20 years or so, I can be the woman on the block with the super clean house. Today, it doesn't matter that the floor needs to be swept, because she's six months old and before I know it, she'll be sixteen.

Six months old

Sometimes it's embarrassing when someone comes to the door and I know our home looks messy. For the most part, I just deal with it and get back to playing with my baby.

Whenever I start to get frustrated with the state of things and try to multitask, I have to remind myself of the following. I heard it once as a little girl and it's been on my mind a lot lately.

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

...

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

-Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Adventuring in Semi-Solids: Sweet Potatoes

2011-06-28T01:03:00.000-07:00

Years before we even thought about babies, I knew I was going to make my children's baby food. I've done a lot of research on making and pureeing baby's first foods, and so far it couldn't be simpler. With the exception of cereals and yogurt, I plan on making all her food for as long as possible.

I wanted to make her food for all the same reasons other moms choose to make baby food: it's easy to do, no preservatives or weird chemicals, I know exactly what's going in there, blah blah blah. I've also found that it's much, much cheaper than buying jarred food. For example, a few weeks ago I bought sweet potatoes for $1.50/lb. I was able to get 10 servings out of that, and that works out to about $.15 a serving. The other day I made a huge batch of pureed peas and that worked out to approximately NINE CENTS a serving. Since I'm cheap....sign me up!

Sweet potatoes have joined the ranks of rice cereal as one of Hannah's favorite foods. I used a little rice cereal to thicken up some soupy sweet potatoes and oh man....I'm pretty sure rice cereal & sweet potatoes have officially trumped my boobs. Baby done been happy! A note to future parents everywhere: if you ever want to laugh--a lot--give your baby the spoon and watch him or her lick it dry. Observe the following:

Sprucing up the joint

2011-06-27T05:22:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite things about summertime is that one can spend a great deal of time outdoors and never get sick of it. At least I don't get sick of it. I don't even mind the rainy, gloomy days because I usually go out anyway, even for a few minutes. I'll pull some weeds in the garden or clip some herbs, anything to just get me out. A few weeks ago we had a string of gorgeous days and when Nanner was napping, I took some time to take a few photos of the ole homestead.

Until we got married and moved here, I never realized how much nicer our porch looks with flowers out front. It really makes our house look like a home. That said, I always have very little to do with the gardening--that's where Graham's a viking.

Last fall, right around Halloween, we took a trip to Menards--Mecca for the cheap homeowner--and I chose a few different spring and summer bulbs. Graham did some work out front, mostly with the lava rock and the edging, and he planted my bulbs. We got tulips and daffodils in April and May, and in June my irises finally bloomed.

Hello, gorgeous!

They were definitely worth the wait. They've since fallen off, but they were lovely while we had them.

This little bugger is called a lobelia (I think). I just love that color.

And check out that cute pot! I DIY'd it!! It was almost foolproof. It needs a few touch ups, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. I think I'll give it a touch up at the end of the season since I've got some spray paint left over.

This, my friends, is a begonia. And, believe it or not, it's gotten bigger and lovelier in the weeks since this was taken. When I was a kid, I didn't know what a begonia was, except that old ladies grew them. During our first year of marriage, this was one of the first flowers I planted in our window boxes on our balcony. I've always had a lot of luck with them, and they really do some good for your soul, doncha think?

When this rash of rainy weather passes, maybe I'll post some photos of our vegetable and herb garden. I'm really pleased with my perennial herbs and my basil plants are out of control. I'm seeing some pesto in my future!

Adventuring in Semi-Solids: Oatmeal

2011-06-26T06:46:00.000-07:00

After a few days spent sucking down rice cereal in its various forms, we decided it was safe to move Hannah on to oatmeal. I realize we probably could have moved straight into sweet potatoes or squash, but I decided to play it safe and give her oatmeal as well. I wanted to get her used to different textures and tastes, and once we've introduced a variety of foods into her diet, we can start changing it up a little more and give her cereal or oatmeal for breakfast, maybe some yogurt, and fruits and veggies for lunch and dinner.

Oatmeal wasn't as big a hit as rice cereal. However, she still had a lot of fun opening her mouth nice and wide, rolling some of it around on her tongue, and sucking the spoon clean.

Jumperoo Diva

2011-06-25T08:10:00.000-07:00

Right around the time Hannah could hold her head up for longer than 1-2 seconds at a time, we started putting her in her jumperoo for short periods of time. We alternated between the jumperoo and the bouncer as a safe place to put her when we had to walk away for a few minutes to do something that needed both of our adult hands, like laundry or dishes. At first she tolerated the jumperoo for short periods of time. Being small, she still wanted to be close to us and spend time with her mommy and daddy, and her little legs weren't quite long enough to touch the floor, even at the lowest setting.

Once she hit her 6 month growth spurt, wow--WOW! She bounces off the floor with both feet (she was doing the one-legged hop for about a month) and she can turn herself around to play with all the gadgets and doo-dads on the jumperoo. She's also started reaching for the dangly fish at the tip top of the jumperoo, probably because she wants to shove them in her mouth along with everything else.

A few weeks ago, on a Saturday when they let Mom sleep in, Graham got some sweet photos & video of her having the time of her life. Enjoy!

Adventuring in Semi-Solids: Rice Cereal

2011-06-24T18:45:00.000-07:00

Shortly after Hannah's 6 month check up--literally, a few hours--we started her on the journey to a new frontier: mushy food! I was really excited to start solids with her, especially because she's had teeth since the beginning of May, and my boobs were ready to go on strike. Have you ever been bitten by a teething baby? I tell you what--OW!! (Name that movie.)

We started with rice cereal, and it was a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig hit. Kid could. not. get. enough. Photographic proof of her first* steps into making huge messes at dinner:

*This was technically her second solids experience. I couldn't wait for Graham to get home, so after she napped and was recovered from her vaccines, I spoon fed her about a tablespoon of rice cereal and she gobbled it up.

Hannah's Got A Message

2011-06-24T01:51:00.000-07:00

Hannah's very first cousin is due this September, and like the rest of us, she could not be more excited! Since she's still new around here, she wanted to share some of what she's learned with her cousin so he won't be quite so confused when he arrives. She's so thoughtful like that.

Personally, I think she did a nice job explaining what's going to happen to him once he arrives.

PYHO: Get off that damn phone

2011-06-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

The irony is that I've spent time typing this on my laptop. I say it doesn't count b/c Hannah's napping, so what else would I do, dishes? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Juuuuuust kidding.

Over the last few weeks, I've found myself irrationally annoyed with people who have smart phones and cannot put them down for any reason whatsoever.

On Sunday in church--church, people!--I see parents checking their phones and responding to texts and FB messages.

At the moms group I go to sometimes, I've seen moms spend more time looking at their phones than at their kids, then look totally surprised when Junior has a bump on the head and an owie from getting stepped on, because she was too damn busy looking at something OH SO IMPORTANT.

I've seen people looking at their phones while driving. I've seen people stop in the grocery store to play Angry Birds. I've seen associates at Walmart stop and check their iphones and droids instead of cleaning up the sty that is their section.

Mostly, I'm suuuuuuuuper annoyed by parents who spend more time with their phone than their kids, especially when their kids are young and not capable of sorta-supervised independent play.

Now, I have an ipod. I love it. I've got all sorts of kooky apps that I've downloaded. I love playing Angry Birds and Words With Friends. I like that I can check the weather and the score of the Sox game. I love that I have a few different play lists and that it's got this handy Nike+ feature so I can take it with when I go for a run. I even have a ridiculous "Tiger Blood" app that I downloaded around the time Charlie Sheen announced that he was doing 40 gram rocks that didn't have any affect on him thanks to that Adonis DNA his dad Marty passed along. But I know when to put it down. I walk away when my baby girl starts to fuss because she's just woken up from her nap and her gums are throbbing. I don't bring it with us on walks around the block because I want to talk to my daughter and show her birds and flowers and everything there is to look at; I don't want her to think my face has been replaced by my purple ipod cover. And I especially leave it at home when I'm in church. Nothing is so important that I can't turn my attention away for an hour or more.

I have a few "friends" on FB who are constantly--literally, constantly--checking their phones. At work, because they're bored. In church, because they're bored. On their way to and from work because--gasp--they're bored. You know the ones, because we all have at least one or two in our feeds. These are the people who "like" every. single. status update. They post the most ridiculous things and really, in my opinion, these are the people who are ruining social media. "At work!" "At the Bulls game!" "At the Pump-n-Go! Wow! Gas is really expensive!" "Going to sleep!"

I used to feel sorry for these people. "Gosh, poor Emilio. That damn phone is all he's got!"

Now? Not a drop of pity, just pure, unadulterated annoyance.

There is no place in my life for people who spend more time on their phone than in real life. There's so much to see and do, regardless of who or where you are. And especially if you have kids--this bears repeating--they're only this small once. Your kids aren't going to wait until your phone battery dies to do something cute. They're not going to hold that first word in their mouth so you can finish up with Angry Birds. Kids are going to do what they want to do when they want to do it. Can't all that time on your phone wait until they've gone to bed? I love messing around with my ipod (cuz I'm too po' to have a smart phone), but I do most of my messing around once Hannah's gone to bed.

My time with her is too precious. I'd rather be with her than destroying green pigs, anyway.

*Linking up once more to Shell.

Well, that was fast!

2011-06-21T15:12:00.001-07:00

I don't want to divulge too many details and jinx myself in the process, but I had a very promising phone call just now. Squee!!!

Letters

2011-06-21T14:04:00.000-07:00

I used to write letters to things and seasons, just to express my frustration with them. For example, between 2006-2007 I wrote the "Dear Winter" series, which basically consisted of the following:

"Dear Winter,

You really, really suck. Go away.

Love, me"

Since I'm frustrated with my current employment situation (read: lack thereof), I felt the need to compose the following.

---

Dear Telephone,

Please ring. For the love of God, please ring.

Love, me

Dear Prospective Employers,

Please check your email. For the love of God, please check your email.

Love, me

Dear Prospective Employers,

If "the position has already been filled", why the EFF is it still posted on your website?! Stop getting my hopes up. Sounds like whoever is in charge of keeping your website current isn't doing his or her job. Fire them and hire me!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Love, me

Dear Prospective Employers,

I'm seriously not (that) crazy. Please hire me.

Love, me

Hannah in the Swimming Pool

2011-06-21T05:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I posted photos of Hannah's Memorial Day Extravaganza!!! While she was "swimming", I took a short video of her playing with her daddy. Enjoy.

Memorial Day 2011

2011-06-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day weekend is the official start of the summer season here in Chicago. And, we were lucky to have an exceptionally warm weekend, despite the rain, and we had a gorgeous Memorial Day. As Aunt Mary always says, everything must be documented. And it was.

First, we started off with an attempt at another video message, this one for her cousin (who is still incubating).

Hannah was much more interested in her feet than in talking to her cousin. So, we had to cut it short.

Then, we took some time to take a holiday-themed photo shoot. Because, why not?

Once the sun came out and the weather warmed up, Graham filled up Hannah's kiddie pool so we could take in some sun and get baby girl her first "swimming" experience.

So very confused.

"I don't know what's about to happen, but I'm pretty sure I'm not gonna like it."

At first, she was a little....unsure.

We threw in some bath toys to help her feel more at home. She still wasn't having it.

"I don't get this. This is not bathtime."

Once she realized she could splash in the pool the same way she splashes in the tub, she was cool with it.

"Fishay! Why are you sleeping!!!"

"Fishay?"

Overall, a good weekend. We got some sun, Hannah got to swim, she didn't eat all her sunscreen, and we all got a day off thanks to our military. Yay Summer!

Happy Father's Day

2011-06-19T02:50:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day to all the amazing men in Hannah's life.

Hannah has the world's greatest dad. No, really. It's a fact.

I knew you were going to be a great dad years before Hannah was even a thought or consideration on the horizon. I never imaged you'd be so incredible.

And, true story, there was only ever one choice for her godfather.

Hannah loves Uncle Brian!

Baby Girl has two of the proudest grandpas this side of the Mississippi.

She really is so, so blessed.

Happy Father's Day.

PYHO: Back Off

2011-06-15T11:26:00.000-07:00

(Some friends of mine have been linking up to "Pour Your Heart Out Wednesday" with Shell. I've been meaning to join in for some time now, but I kept forgetting. Now that I have a little more availability, I hope to do this a little more often.)

(Warning: Curse words and plenty of sarcasm ahead.)

Anyone who knows me well knows that my middle name might as well be, "I Have An Opinion About Everything." There are few situations in which I will keep my mouth shut. If I do hold my tongue, you can bet I'm going to discuss it later. Some people might think I'm tacky or rude, but I don't really care. I am who I am. And, when I can and feel it's appropriate to do so, I'll hand out unsolicited advice like I'm Oprah and it's her Favorite Things Show. Advice and opinions for everyone! YOU get an opinion! And YOU get an opinion! Everyone gets opinioooooooooooooons!!!

Ironically, I get annoyed when people share their unsolicited opinions and advice with me. Like, really, really annoyed. Snarling dog annoyed. Back-the-hell-off annoyed.

When we found out that we were having a baby, there was no way to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of advice I was about to get. Everyone from my mom to my boss to my coworkers to my friends to ladies at the supermarket gave me advice. And each and every piece of advice was something I SHOULD. BE. DOING. And naturally, each piece of advice I got contradicted the advice someone else had given me the day before. I thought, "Hey! I'll counter this with 'Thank you, but I'm following my doctor's advice.' That will stop 'em!"

Instead, I got really bizarre looks from people, like I'd just said, "Really, there's no problem with heroin, especially when you're pregnant. It's just a recreational drug." And when I repeated myself, some people got even MORE forceful with their advice, as though my OB was mentally retarded and couldn't possibly see me through a healthy pregnancy. "NO, you don't understand Angie. You really need to be blah blah blah wah wah wah...."

It got to the point that by the end of my pregnancy, I didn't even listen to the good advice people passed along because I was so tired of everyone opening their mouth and telling me that they knew better than I did. I damn near bit a woman at work who tried to tell me that oatmeal helped your milk production. She was absolutely correct, but I just could.not.take one more piece of unsolicited advice.

Since becoming a mommy, it's almost gotten worse. I'm starting to think that half of the people I worked with felt I was completely unfit for motherhood and adulthood in general. It's only *mildly* insulting when someone who doesn't know your child tells you why they're crying and what you should do to stop it.

It's obnoxious when anyone--friends or strangers--tells you that your baby isn't dressed properly for the weather.

It's obscene when you're chastised for the parenting decisions you make--like vaccines or circumcision or working or not working--as though you made those decisions with the intention of actually hurting your child.

Because really, I chose to go back to work because I was so tired of being at home. Damn baby. She's so NEEDY. And whiny! God, she can't do anything for herself.

And, we chose to follow a normal course of vaccinations because we like seeing her stabbed with needles. I get a little thrill out of it each time she looks at me with that "OMG WTF WHY DID YOU LET THEM DO THAT TO ME" look on her face.

There is a small group of people in my life which has left me pleasantly surprised. They respect our decisions as parents and seem to understand that what Graham and I choose to do regarding our family is what's best for--gasp--our family. They might not agree with our decisions--I could really give a shit if they don't--but they respect them, and that's what I appreciate.

And then, there's that rather large (to me, but we all know my world view is a little skewed) group that wants to remind me at every possible moment that the parenting and life decisions I've made are BADBADBADBADBAD.

We cloth diaper (mostly), and that's bad because it's so much laundry. But we also use disposable diapers at night and on the road, so we clearly don't care about our environment.

I waited six months to start Hannah on solids because she wasn't ready, so I'm either selfish (because she relied solely on me for her nutrition) or ridiculous because WHY wouldn't I feed her solids the minute she could steady herself in a high chair? Or, because the calendar told me she was four or five months old, I should have started solids RIGHT THEN AND THERE because I could. The only hold up is me.

Hannah sleeps in her room in her crib. We must not care about her well being because she's sooooooo far away from us. And obviously, I'm a selfish mom because co-sleeping is the best possible arrangement for our family.

I'm a working mom, so we're either too poor for me to stay home or I don't care about her enough to stay at home with my baby. And when I leave work early to go home to her, I'm sending a message that I don't care enough about my job to stay late. Naturally, when I stay late it means I'd rather be at work than at home with my daughter.

And, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. I could go on, because every decision I've made has Hannah's mom has been/will be put under a microscope. But, I won't. Why? It won't solve anything.

To everyone who thinks that the decisions we've made are the wrong ones, I say this: Fuck you.

I love my daughter. She means the world to me. Sure, sometimes I make the wrong decision. I've never been a parent before and unfortunately for her, Hannah's the test dummy. I'm the oldest too, so I get that. Doesn't mean I'm happy about it.

But I would never, ever, EVER make a decision about her based on me and my selfishness. I would never make a decision about her care because it made my life easier. I would never make a decision about her that could put her in danger or make her sick.

When I ask for advice, it means I want it. I don't call her doctor's office just to say, "Hey, what's up, yo!" I call and say, "She has a cough, and it sounds like this. Want me to bring her in? If not, what should I do?"

We waited to start solids because she wasn't ready at 4 months and she wasn't ready at 5 months. We moved her to her crib upstairs because we wanted our bedroom back, yes, but because she wasn't waking up 75 times a night. She was ready. I went back to work because I--whoa!--like working. I just didn't like my job. My working means I'm making money. Making money means we can give her more, whether it's clothes or opportunities or an education or a friggin' pony. We chose to follow a regular course of vaccinations because hey! I really liked not having polio. I figure that's something Hannah will come to appreciate too.

When she's crying and looking around for me, she's either overwhelmed or hungry. And when I say she's hungry, I mean it. Holding a crying baby and telling me that "she just ate and couldn't possibly be hungry" isn't helping, it's just pissing off my baby.

What I find truly insulting, though, is when someone tells me what she needs. I have known her from the very beginning--before she could open her eyes in utero--so who the fuck are you to tell me what my kid is crying about and when she needs to be fed and when she's old enough to do A, B, and C? I'm her mommy. You damn well know that I know what she needs.

Bottom line: everyone needs to back off. When I want your advice, I'll ask for it.