Stroll Up and Be Counted!

Hypothetical:
How would you handle this situation?

It's your birthday and to celebrate you make reservations at a new, hip restaurant with two of your closest friends. Since you endured the stress of 9 months of pregnancy and the pain of childbirth, you decide you'd like to bring your 10 week old child to dinner with you rather than leave him home alone to fend for himself for the evening. Besides, he's adorable, he's well behaved, and above all, he's cultured in the art of fine dining.

You arrive at the hypothetical new, hip restaurant on time and give your name to the hostess but not before she takes one long scathing look at your stroller whilst flames ignite out of her ears/ eyes, her head spins around 420 degrees, and she vomits green foam for 10 minutes. You are somewhat startled by this behavior, but continue to await a response that may signify where your table is located for the evening. Once the Hostess from Hell regains her composure, she mumbles something about "it being a busy evening" and "if it wasn't a busy evening they could accommodate a stroller" -yada, yada. You lose the last part of her speech whilst your head detaches from your body and explodes in a catastrophic display of anatomy all over the hip, new crowd at the restaurant.

Once the Snatch Face of a hostess realizes she has provoked the four corners of hell upon herself by inferring you leave the restaurant and a perfectly good reservation for 5 people because you have a perfectly well behaved child in a small and inconspicuous stroller with you (God forbid), she scurries off to get assistance from her manager. After a small army is assembled to deal with this evident fopah of the restaurant world, your patience and the patience of your party is wearing dangerously thin and bordering on death-spree rampage. By now the entire restaurant is staring at you and condemning your behavior amongst the worst things capable of a human being, not to mention your boobs are on fire, your hormones are flowing like the River Nile, and your feet are swollen to the size of watermelons thanks to the first time you've worn heels in a year.

Some sort of consensus is reached among the restaurant army and a small, beetle man escorts your husband away to assess a possible seating option. He returns a short while later motioning everyone over to finally be seated at your table. After running over as many high healed shoes and polished loafers as you can en route, you arrive at the table. It takes a good 10 minutes to figure out where to put the stroller and position yourselves before you can sit down and immediately you grab the wine menu and start ordering by the case. Dinner goes off without a hitch from there. The baby sleeps, the wine and food come and go, dessert is enjoyed, the bill is paid, and you take your exit, stopping only to run over as many loafers and toes as possible once again, this time for sport. You seek out the beetle man to give him a healthy tip on your way out but he is no where to be found. Upsetting, but you'll let the karma gods know where to find him now that he's redeemed himself.

Getting to the question: Would you have bowed to The Man, left the restaurant with your tail between your legs, and ate at McDonald's, or would you have stood your ground for procreating people everywhere and enjoyed the hell out of your birthday meal?

And that's a question for the delegates.

[In completely unrelated news, try Fig and Olive, a new great restaurant that's also kid-friendly.]

BFF's In The Making

Welcome Max!

Griffin's new best friend was born Wednesday at 3:29pm with be-a-utiful brown eyes and possibly red hair. I cannot wait to meet the little bugger at Thanksgiving and tell him all about his mommy and daddy and lots of fun stories about high school and college that he can blackmail them with later. Ah the joys of meeting your spouse at the tender young age of 15. And also meeting your friends for life then too that will remember everything you do to recount to your children some day. This poor generation to come. They're going to be in therapy for-ev-er.

Mickey and Minnie No Longer Cutie

Today is a great day. (Cue patriotic music). It is a day that changed history. It is a day people will talk about for weeks to come. I present October 18th, My Birthday. Wow 28 seems altogether too old. And in honor of this sacred day, yesterday I received two birthday cards, three presents and was completely happy. Until this morning...

When I received two mouse poop turds. Definitely not on my list. Nor did I circle them in the Sears Christmas Catalog.

Really? For real? Seriously? Just checking.

Because I'm pretty sure the last four days have been chock full of cleaning up mouse poop, canvassing every hardware store within a 16 mile radius for mouse traps, displaying said mouse traps all around the kitchen, plugging every hole I can find with steel wool (thank you Caitlin) and lying in wait for the creature to dare a move out in the open. I finally broke down and told our super even though he probably can't stand me b/c I'm on the phone with him every day about something or other*, and he came up to put a couple more traps out. So basically you cannot walk into, around, or through our kitchen without losing a toe or five to one of these traps. And yet...

Two mouse poop turd morning. Happy Birthday self!

*Did I tell you the joke about our heat, or lack there of, and the missing boiler debacle of 2008. No? Oh, it's a doosy. Methinks thou dost protesteth a whole shit ton about the missing boiler parts, Sir. Senior. Sensei.
**Besides, there are two poor souls who depend greatly on my ability to put food on the table, or in the boob, and heat in our house. I will not let them down.-Off to seek the Turd de Mouse.

Dear Rude Child Haters at all NYC Restaurants

Shove it. If I want to take my beautiful, smart, hilarious baby out to dinner with me I will do so whenever the hizzy I want and I don't give a rat's ass if that makes you uncomfortable in some way. It's probably because you're cold and heartless and eat small children for breakfast a la Grinch, or your panties are so far up your a-hole you can taste them. Either way, I'm not concerned for your health and happiness or freedom of religion.

That being said, the next time someone shoots me a dirty "get that stinking, breastmilk eating, poopy butted baby out of here" look I'm totally going Chuck Norris on their face until they resemble more a roadkilled opossum and less a human being while they beg for mercy out of their pointy little snout. Yeah, I'm talking to you Annoying German Guy with your rat-faced, mangey dogs pissing all over the sidewalk tables we're eating at. And yes this is possibly a hormone fueled rant but isn't it nice? And food for thought, if Senor Norris had these hormones on his side, he'd kick everyone's asses a WHOLE LOT FASTER.

Soon! Soon!

Boy oh boy oh boy, do I have some doosies of a picture for you! But alas, no time to upload now, the husband is yelling something about business school and assignment overdue, yada yada. He's always yapping. As if, that is more important than me showing you what I have to show you. Ugh, argh, and bleh.

Today In My Life, III

Today in my life part 3 actually happened 5 days ago, that's just the way things go sometimes, sue me. And that day in my life I left a restaurant, baby in tow, with my bra unstrapped and my jeans unbuttoned. It took me 4 blocks to realize it. Wow. What a stunning display of intellect that was.

On Some Serious Notes

As the second month of Griffin's existence comes to a close, I can't help looking back at these last 8 weeks with complete and utter disbelief. Gina, go grab your kleenex.

I cannot believe what an amazing ride this has been. I have a journal that I try to write in every day and rarely does that happen two days in a row, but still, I know this time is going to fly and I want to remember as much of it as I can. The problem is, I can't find words sometimes to describe how I'm feeling and how much love I have for this child. Now, I've never been one that has trouble communicating her feelings or anything else for that matter. But these feelings are so complex and so intense it just won't suffice to say really, really or extra, extra.

The best comparison I've managed to come up with over these 8 weeks is a religious one, and I hope I don't lose anyone here because I'm not trying to spread the Word or solicit Christianity. But the truth is I think I finally understand what all of my Sunday school teachers were trying to say when they described how God loves each one of us because we are all his children. I can see the love God has for me in the way I feel for Griffin every morning and every night.

Every smile he gives me or sound he makes is the best gift I've ever gotten times ten. Ten thousand even. I get choked up just telling him, "Mommy loves you," and "I love you". Because those words are so trivial to the feelings behind them. I want more than anything in the world for him to understand how much love there is for him in G and my life. It surprises me every day that my breath catches in my throat when I see him sleeping.

There has been frustration and exhaustion in these last few weeks, even pain and many tears. But I never expected any less and I never ever expected the payoff and reward to be so tantamount. I relive the hard parts to remind myself where we are now and how much we've overcome and how grateful I am to be here looking back. Sometimes I remember children I took care of in the NICU and their parents spring to my mind. I have all new respect and appreciation for how hard every day is for them when it's their child who's suffering. I don't know how they do it. I have been so blessed to have a healthy pregnancy, and a healthy robust child who's demeanor and personality are unbelievably warm and soft.

Aside from the pictures, let me tell you how I see my son. Griffin is so sweet. He's so affectionate and his heart is always on his sleeve. He spends his days quietly studying everything around him or begging me and his Dad to hold and cuddle him. He snuggles right into my shoulder when I pick him up and breaks into a huge gummy smile when he makes eye contact with me. He coos, he "yells", and he farts and burps, all equally well. I love every sound. He cries, yes he definitely does, but only for a reason, be it hunger, discomfort, or exhaustion. He's patient, mostly. He loves people.

In a word, he's indescribable.

Growing Pains

So, evidently I gave birth to the Incredible Growing Baby. The past three days I've dressed him in brand spanking new 3-6 month size outfits and all three of them are too small.

Witness the Incredibleness:

Day One of this outfit and his knees stick out. Awesome. Note to self: should have invested in Carter's.

Day One of this outfit too. Does a high school gym teacher come to mind when you see this one?

Also, we like sitting up in chairs nowadays. Laying down is for wimps.

But... Sometimes it doesn't work out quite like we'd planned. And that's okay too.