At Least There's Guacamole

I used to be a good packer.  I actually liked packing, especially the requisite pre-packing shopping excursions.  I was so careful I hardly ever needed to visit a store at my destination, save for the occasional bathroom-related emergency.  In Greece, I was so insanely constipated that I didn't poop for 6 days.  6 days!  Can you imagine?  Of course, when I did finally go, it was in a toilet that wasn't flushing properly and I ran out of the restaurant screaming at my friends that "we had to leave. NOW!"  Whatever.  It was worth it-Greece is gorgeous.

Now, I have become a terrible packer.  Not so much for myself, but for the little.   I can't seem to handle the extra pressure.  We pretty much have to go shopping every time we get somewhere because I've forgotten to bring a sippy cup, diapers, wipes, pajamas, snacks-you name it, I've forgotten it.  Right now we are on a quick getaway to Mexico and I'm lamenting my idiocy at forgetting truly the most. important. thing. ever.  The lullaby toy.  We've used this to get our son snoozing ever since my brilliant friend Paige gave it to us as a baby welcoming gift at 8 days old.  I forgot it once before, in Atlanta, but then we were able to run to the local Target to grab another one.  Now we have the pretty one specifically for travel.  Fat lot of good Violet does when she's sitting in the closet at home.

The first night and day were rough.  My voice does not lend itself to lullabies.  Campy, loud Old McDonald, Wheels on the Bus, that's my wheelhouse.  But soothing I am not.  I was trying to sing the mister to sleep and I swear he started covering his ears.  We've since worked it out by basically pushing the crib into the closet.  What?  The door is cracked a bit.  This kid is part vampire-he needs darkness when he sleeps. Any ray of sunlight in the room and he's up and ready to party.  I know those stupid blackout shades I put in the nursery would come back to haunt me. 

Thankfully, he's the only bebe at this resort, so everyone else thinks it's hilarious and cute when he shouts or runs around the pool without his diaper while I'm trying to change him.  His new favorite word is "pee pee" and I can't tell if it's the act, the result or the weapon he's talking about or all three at once.  Time to be more careful with my word choices.  No doubt my son will be the one cursing at his preschool.

Hatsa luego!

(My) Mama Knows Best

 

Naps are for losers, yo!

My mom is here visiting.  This is awesome for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is that she can offer parenting advice every other minute.  Now, normally I'd say this would be mildly to somewhat annoying, but right now we are in the thick of a naptime regression and I am losing my mind.  Does my son not realize that his naptime is for my ever important internet perusing?  I've already given up trying to use my phone for anything besides capturing his antics.  Please honey child, spare me the one vestige of sanity I have all day!  Fun times around these parts lately.

It started about a week ago when his nap shrank down from about 100-140 minutes to about 60-70 minutes.  Ouch.  That was miserable, though I had no idea what was to come.  Now, I'd be happy with an hour, considering it's been 30, 40 minutes in between shrieks and howls.  I have no idea what's causing this issue.  He's still sleeping 12 hours at night and doesn't experience major bodily harm upon waking like he must during the day to produce these horrendous screams.  Are his daydreams that scary?

So at least my mom is here to comfort him, especially when I'm quaking in fear that we're all losing the nap.  That cannot happen.  It will not stand. 

But, the main tidbit that my mom offered this week is to stop asking my son so many damn questions.  It's true!  I never noticed but I give him all the authority in our relationship.  Do you want to eat?  Is the food good?  Would you like some more?  Is it time to go to sleep?  Are you ready to brush your teeth? And on and on and on.  And on. 

She pointed out that I give him more agency than I give myself.  It's such a simple concept, but I only realized the power play once my mom mentioned it.  Also, I'm not exactly helping his language skillz by encouraging him to answer y/n to everything.  By trying to engage him in conversation, I'm probably doing exactly the opposite.  Strangely, I've noticed that he always answers "no" in a whisper and "yes" in a shout.  That's a good thing?  According to the gospel of my mama, instead of always asking him what he wants/needs/thinks, I should be telling him what's happening.  Might as well pretend like I have some idea.

That's How I Roll

She stole my workout outfit

You know how people always say that the best thing to do when you're tired is to exercise? Well, I never believed them either. Why would I want to go and make myself more exhausted by working out? But, then I had a baby and was more tired than I ever knew I could be. So tired that I regularly went into the shower with my glasses on. So tired that I had the vocabulary of a 12 year old. So tired that I once fell asleep while pumping. Once. But, after I got the OK from my doctor, I dragged my tired (and fat) ass to the gym. Not just any gym, a mom-friendly gym with day care. Nothing motivates you to work harder like hearing your baby screaming in the back room and knowing you don't have to go and get him. I went with some of the other moms from my amazing playgroup (still going strong 10 months later!) and we encouraged each other. The other ladies in the class were so impressed that we could tell our little ones apart based on their cries. I still can hear that wail when I close my eyes, even though Mr. Monk hasn't cried like that in months.

I became obsessed with spin class. I loved the sense of camaraderie in the class--we were all going over that hill together. I also really appreciated the constant support and compliments the teachers gave us--I was doing a good job, wasn't I? At least I knew how to ride a bike! During those first few months of motherhood, I was so happy to not have to think at all for 45 minutes. No mouth to feed, no diaper to change and no gigantic laundry pile to stare at me expectantly. I just needed to push and pull my legs through the cycle, one after the other. The repetition was addictive. Plus, some of the teachers played some kick-ass music that got us all feeling like we were dancing on our bikes. I've never loved Rihanna or Michael Jackson more. It was my time.

I stopped going over the summer after we went away one month and then again the next. My husband decided that I had to do the insanity workout program with him because he knew he'd never do it by himself. While we didn't totally finish it, we gave it a good run. Between four weddings and lots o' travel, it was impossible to keep up with a 6 day a week workout. Too much life to live. I still do the insanity workouts every few days, but my desire to exercise has all but evaporated. Until today.

I went back to spin and it was like a homecoming. All those endorphins. All that pop music. I realized that there is something to working out around others and not just staring at a man screaming at you through your laptop. It somehow just feels more effective when others can see you sweat. And? Not even remotely tired now at 11 pm. Not sure that's such a good thing.

Cheerio!

Last night as we were flying 33,000 feet above land, I kept picturing my little baby’s face. His blond swirling hairs, his pretty red mouth and his itty bitty nose appeared under my eyelids as if to tell me that he’s always with me no matter how far I go. I left him once before for a night but I was only a car drive away. A ten hour flight is a whole nother deal. He and his sweet toes are on another continent! Though I know everything will be fine, it’s still scary to imagine being so far away if anything should happen. But, it won’t. I know, I know!

He was crying when I left, though I think that had a little more to do with him dropping his bottle than his fear of missing me. I’m fairly certain that he’ll be so spoiled by his two grandmas that he will hardly notice I’m gone. As long as the milk lady left her milk, he’s chillin'. And leave it I did, down the plane’s drain. That was rough. Bye bye 10 ounces. I’ll be throwing out a lot more this week. What a waste. I may try to see if I can donate it here since I can’t freeze it and bring it home. Somehow, I have a feeling that there is a good deal of bureaucracy involved in that. Though, maybe I should just sell it and pay for the trip (whoa...no!).

I’m so excited to sleep tonight (first time I’ve stayed up 36 hours straight in YEARS) and wake up to London tomorrow. We spent much of today walking around and getting lost, which is my favorite traveling pastime. I’m quite good at it.

Also, on the plane yesterday I discovered a new obsession--FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS! Holy moly, that is an engaging show. The Mr. had to shove me to realize that it was our turn to disembark the plane. I kind of wanted to ask him to wait for me till the end of the episode. I know I’m super tardy to the party but I need to Netflix that series asap.

All the single ladies

Why is it that for the two days that daddy is off with friends pretending he's back in college, Mr. Monk decides that he wants to start the party an hour earlier than normal? When we normally don't see each other until 7:30, a 6 am wake up cry seems downright uncivilized (as does my decision to stay up till nearly 1 am last night. Stupid kindle and your easy-in-bed-reading ways). Yes, yes, I realize I am a lucky duck that the baby is normally a champion sleeper. Of course, because he woke up too early, he's been acting like he's getting his period all day. Just whiny, bratty and maybe a little bloated.

I am not cut out for single motherhood.

Speaking of single motherhood, I am currently reading a very witty, touching and thoroughly engaging (see idiotic sleep time above) book on the subject called "Operating Instructions," by Anne Lamott. It's a memoir capturing her son's first year and the most honest book on motherhood I've ever read. So honest that the author admits to wanting to leave her screaming baby out on the front porch all night to test his survival instincts. I too have wondered how Mr. Monk would fare on his own in those wee hours of the first few months. The book conjures up moments that are in turn hilarious, frustrating and incredibly beautiful--pretty much exactly like raising a child.

End of an era

You know it was a good wedding when you can hardly speak the next morning. When I was younger I used to love having a cold because I thought I sounded all sexy and hoarse like Demi Moore. In reality, it's more reminiscent of a frog. Then again, when I was really little I used to think it'd be cool to break my leg so I'd have to use crutches. This poor kid in my class, Howie, used to break at least one bone every year. Thinking of it now, I realize he probably had osteoporosis or some sort of bone disorder, but I was sooooo jealous of his casts and how he got to go down the stairs on his butt. Clearly, my issues go way back.

Anyway, we had a wonderful weekend at our friends' farm chic wedding in northern California, surrounded by love, sunshine and hay rides! Mr. Monk loved being a part of the festivities. So much so that he started cheering during the ceremony. Heeeeeeyyyyy!!!! Eeeeeeeeehhh! Hiiiiiiiiiii! He just wanted to express his joy for the happy couple. Thankfully, we sat on the aisle and made a quick break for it. There were loads of other babies around, which helped ease the burden (and shift the blame).

Although we had a few "were we out of our damn minds for not getting a sitter?" moments, for the most part, he slept. He slept during the cocktail hour. He slept through the dinner. He slept through hours of outdoor music and his parents dancing their asses off until 2 am. He even slept in a bowling alley the night before the wedding! How redneck is that? We parked him in the arcade section and rolled on for hours. He never made a peep despite the blaring house music, laser lights, oh and the soothing sounds of 8-16 pound plastic balls smashing into wooden pins all night long. Our next kid won't sleep at all, right?

As always after a wedding or any celebratory weekend, I feel a little sad today. There is something so magical about seeing a whole slew of friends (or family) in one place where nothing else exists but the need to have fun and share the love. Mr. Schneed and I realized on our way home that this was our last wedding. For now. We have a few more single friends, but no pending engagements/weddings. We are officially olden. After five years of spending every spring-fall going to at least five weddings (one year as many as 12!), this is just downright depressing. Time to start planning some reunions.

When the cat's away...

First trip without the babe was a success! Granted, the baby daddy was here with him the whole time so I knew he was in good hands. What I didn't know is how easy it would be for both boys. I figured I'd come back on Sunday afternoon to a mess of a house, an exhausted dad and a baby clamoring for his mama. Only one of those actually came true and that's only because the dog decided that 5 am was a good time to start campaigning for a walk. Mr. Monk was an angel baby all weekend. The little traitor! I was secretly sort of hoping that he would be just a tad difficult to show my husband what I do all day. But, mostly I am glad that things worked out so well. That way, I can plan a monthly girls trip...hah, if only.

It was, in a word, awesome to be surrounded by adults for the whole weekend. There was little to no baby talk given that none of the other women had children. The lone pregnant woman seemed happy to ditch the pregnancy chatter for the weekend too. Highlights from the weekend included an intense discussion of whether having sex for three hours is technically possible (or pleasurable), a two hour long hike (walk) along the gorgeous northern California coastline, collaboratively cooking and eating a taco feast that featured no less than ten distinct dishes and nearly as many libations. And, of course, sleeping in until 8 and then GOING BACK TO SLEEP!

As much fun as it was bacheloretting it up, I did miss my family. Thankfully, Mr. Schneed sent me continuous pictures videos and texts detailing their adventures. Seriously, he took him out no less than four times on Saturday?! Some days I am happy if I manage to change both of us out of our pajamas. When I got home, we celebrated father's day by waiting for an hour and a half for pizza. Why no, I am not kidding. That's what the weekend's greatest dad wanted and that's what he got.

Two other random things I learned this weekend:

1. There are zebras in Mendocino (and sometimes giraffes).
2. Grilled leeks are quite possibly the most delicious thing ever.

Ten things that would bother me at home, but somehow don't on a tropical vacation:

* Being woken up by Mr. Monk at 5:30 am the first morning.

* Being woken up by Mr. Schneed at 5:30 am the next morning.

* Hearing unidentifiable animal sounds outside window while trying to fall asleep.

* Eating my weight in ice cream and shave ice.

* Watching lizards crawl up and down the walls of our bedroom.

* Navigating around a centipede on the shower door handle while trying to get out.

* Cleaning mashed papaya bits out of Mr. Monk's hair.

* Cleaning mashed papaya bits out of my hair.

* Getting caught in at least two rainstorms a day.

* Possessing untameable hair that seems to grow horizontally by the hour.

Nothing Good Happens Past 3 am

I have not been sleeping well. Never mind the fact that I have a 6-month-old baby. He sleeps like a champ. I wish there were contests for baby sleepers because my little one would win. Only night sleep though. Day sleep is a whole nother story, and not a fun one. But, getting back to my sleeping issues, this past weekend while up in Tahoe, I confronted two of my biggest nighttime fears: being eaten by a bear and being crawled on by a spider. Guess which one actually happened?

No, I was not eaten by a bear, but I could have been because on Friday night I awoke at 4 am to find the apartment door wide open. I was so confused and freaked out that I immediately thought a bear clawed its way into the place. Putting aside the fact that if a wild bear got into my home, I’d probably not have been woken up by just needing to pee, I shook D awake and told him he had to go into the hallway to check for a bear. As we both stood baffled in our PJ best, we heard the howling wind and realized that the dang door blew open by itself. Well, not entirely by itself as it was helped by D when he forgot to lock the door. Now maybe he’ll start to understand why I have to ask him at least three times about his locking certainty. You would think that time last month when our neighbor called to tell him that he left the garage door open would have been enough…anyway, our itty bitty baby managed to sleep through this whole fiasco. Even Tonydog didn’t beg to go out like he usually does at the crack of dawn when we go up there. Perhaps the crazy, door-blowing-down wind scared him too.

The next night’s slumber was far more sinister. Somewhere in the fives I was minding my own business and enjoying the security of a thrice-locked front door when I started to feel a slight tickle. At first it was on my neck and I assumed it was one of the eleven thousand hairs that fall out every day from my head (seriously, how is there any left given how much is all over my bathroom floor?). I instinctively flicked the swath of hair off my neck and turned over. Then, I felt another itch on my chest. Again, I tried to rub off that annoying hair thinking that I should have put the unwieldy mess in a ponytail before going to sleep. Finally, there was a distinct feeling of movement on my arm. While half-asleep, I reached down and plucked something off and threw it across the room. My eyes flew open and I screamed. WTF?! I turned on the light as D groggily wondered if the door was open again. I told him that I thought I felt a spider and let out a huge shudder. Of course D goes, “oh yeah, I think I felt that.” I railed at him for not waking me up and instead letting this evil thing crawl its eight legs all over me while I slept innocently beside him. First rule of marriage: always wake your spouse up when there is a third party in the bed. I turned on the light and saw the little beast trying to escape. What, who me? I’ve been on the floor this whole time. I snuffed that creep right out. Normally, I don’t like to kill things but this guy (I just know it was a male trying to cop a feel) had it coming. The rest of the night was shot for me as I felt like I had been dropped in a spider-filled snake pit (only thing worse than spiders are snakes. And sharks). I am still trying to erase that experience permanently from my brain. Where is the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind when you need it?

But, still, the baby sleeps. Some dreams do come true.

And so do some nightmares.