No Argument Here

To get right off to a "TMI" moment with you, I need to tell you about something serious.

You may have experienced this yourself, or know someone who frequently TMI's you and therefore you heard it from them, but there is a bit of humor in it so I feel the need to share. Sharing is caring anyway.

When you get pregnant one of the perpetual list of things that happens to you is an alien takeover of your (how can I put this delicately?) "poo-center". You know what I'm talking about. So all your life your poo-center has been fully functional and operating of its own accord without much involvement on your part and then WHAMO, poo-center meltdown. Which is difficult to handle because you don't even speak poo-language to begin a dialogue with your "center" about what the problem is. Maybe other people who have had malfunctioning poo-centers there whole life know this language, but you are not one of those people, you poo normally (usually).

Cut to Saturday night when Grant and I had a rare, very rare "date night" out. We're getting ready to go and all of a sudden I begin to feel not so hot so I decide this poo-center thing has gone on long enough. I send Grant out to buy as much prune juice as is legally allowed to be purchased at one time and laugh my insidious little laugh. I will not be defeated by my rogue poo-center! When Grant returns I eagerly fill my glass up to the rim with prune juice and begin the consumption. 10 ounces later and not even an inkling of progress. I go back to the refrigerator and much to his horror, fill the whole glass up again. As I'm gulping down the syrupy liquid I glanced over at him sitting at the kitchen table with the most frightened look I have ever seen on his face. It occurs to me then as my brain does a quick rewind memory montage of our entire relationship starting back in high school that this moment is special. It's as special as the anticipation of our very first date, or the moment before he asked me to marry him, or the day Griffin was born.

This is the moment I realize myself in the exact instant I am living knowing full well that I am sharing it with the person I love most in this world. And it is also one of the most stripped down and nakedly honest moments of our relationship, and how it has changed and is continuing to change every day. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing, I say to myself, change is perpetual and healthy. And after the shock of this new change in our lives subsided a little, I began to see a new perspective on our life with 2 children, and I let some of those old expectations go. We function now as a couple more fluidly than we ever have, we rarely disagree on important issues, and we sleep soundly in comfortable naivete every night. So I nod my head confidently, turn to him and say, "Well. This is definitely not the pre-game I'm used to".

And You Better Believe I Left My Name, Address, and Phone Number

The other night whilst finally resting after a long day, Grant and I were drifting off to sleep when all of a sudden we heard what sounded like a barage of carbombs going off in our backyard. Needless to say, after we changed into dry pants, we were none to happy for the disturbance. I was convinced they were bombs, of course they were bombs, and if you even tried to suggest otherwise I was going to feed you to the bombs exploding just inches from our apartment. In case I haven't made my point, BOMBS.

Grant was not so convinced after the "bombs" continued for 5 or 10 or 85,000 minutes, so he wanted to go outside to investigate. Investigate the bombs? You are out of you everloving mind my friend. In case you haven't noticed, we have 1 child and another on the way and I'm pretty sure we're not set up with life insurance plans yet so like hell I'm going to let you go outside to investigate the bombs. Bomb investigation is no longer in your future, Dear One, move on.

However, that one tends not to listen to the hysterical rantings I've been prone to lately, so he went out back to see what was going on. He thought maybe it was fireworks, but we couldn't see anything so I was flying through every news channel waiting for the bomb destruction coverage on TV but not one thing was said about it. Finally, we both went all the way outside and could barely see the tops of fireworks over the tree line of central park. Turns out, the NY Philharmonic and the Shanghai Orchestra were having a concert and some ass-brain thought it would be a great idea to set off a thousand fireworks over a city of 9 million people living on top of each other at 10:30 at night, on a Wednesday.

Well. Did you ever see someone dial 311 faster than the speed of sound? Because I sure as hell did and when the friendly customer service representative asked me exactly what my complaint was, he may have heard something like this, "ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME WITH THESE FIREWORKS AT 10:30 AT NIGHT AND KID SLEEPING, BABY IN UTERO, WOMAN STRESS LEVELS IN PREGNANCY, NAUSEA, VOMITING, BOMBS, HUSBAND DEAD, NO MONEY, MASS DESTRUCTION, F-ING SYMPHONY IDIOTS, SHANGHAI REDICULOUSNESS, SUE THE MAYOR, DEATHSQUAD TO PARKS DEPARTMENT"!

It's been a few days and I'm still waiting for my complaint to be followed up on.

If I don't hear anything soon, I'm calling Chuck Norris. I swear I will.

And Then There Were Two

Just when you thought it would be safe for you to have me housesit for you, I wrecked the Cadillac again. Translation: We're expanding our little spiraling sphere by 1 more human and my obstetrician is contemplating early retirement.

Several blog worthy stories to include here:
At the ripe age of 23 months my firstborn has learned what it means to die*. (*Not really, it's a bad joke.) Because for all intents and purposes "The Wonder Pets" have d.i.e.d. Now I don't know if you know about these pets and how wonderful they are, but let me save you the agony. They Are Not One Bit Wonderful. If you've seen one extremely long and repetitive and annoying episode, you've seen all 4 million of them that air an obscene amount of times every day. And thank you to whoever brought them into my life, I may send some bedbugs your way.

Well, Griffin was so obsessed with "The Pets" that we watched multiple episodes a day for several weeks before vacation. Which coincided perfectly with the alien takeover of my nausea sensors which were permanently set into overdrive times a trillion. But I never made the connection until later... So after returning to our house after vacation, I decided we were exterminating the Wonder Pets from our lives entirely. And do you know what happened? Now whenever I'm unfortunate enough to hear a note of their opening song I immediately throw up. Isn't that beautiful? Also, can I send this phenomenon in to one of these TV marketing research surveys?

Comments: Your show literally makes me vomit. Please advise.

One more. I've given in to the fact that this is going to be a massive pregnancy, what with the fact that we now have 400 restaurants that deliver to my house. (Did you hear that? DELIVERY). But the interesting and perplexing thing is that the two biggest cravings I've had are for food from restaurants with 2 major problems: 1. They're both in Columbus. And 2. They've both been out of business for at least 10 years.

And my answer to these conundrums is this: Call Grant and explain the situation. If he cannot fix it, it is his fault.

And now you know my OB's pain.

Here we go again!

Wherein I Once Again Thank the Lord I Have Faith

Holy hell has it been that long? I kept thinking of you (my solo reader that may or may not be my mom) and hoping you hadn't forgotten me. It is I, and I am alive. For now.

Much to fill you in on in the meantime, starting with the fact that it's so f-ing hot right now I'm hanging out in my microwave for some relief. Also, we went on an amazing vacation to White Birch Lodge a few weeks ago and I cannot say enough about lake water swimming. Except that I'm a million miles away from it right now and that is undesirable.
Here's a pic:That's the whole fam-damly on the husband's side, plus the 3 absolutely edible babies that pretty much took control of the vacation and had there way with it from the beginning. Obviously. Griffin had more fun that you can throw a rock at, which he did, over and over and over. It was quite interesting one day how he threw a kicking and screaming fit on the beach because he couldn't pick up the 14 ton boulder that was parked in the sand so he could throw it in the water. He's his father's son, I'm telling you. Not at all like me.

Another funny story goes something like this:
3am: wake to get ready to go to airport
4am: car arrives
6am: flight to Chicago
8:30am: running up airport gate with pee* running down my arms, onto my pants, down my legs and into my sandals. *Not my pee.

There's something calming about the feel of your child's pee drenching your clothing in a public place that you're just going to have to take my word for until it happens to you. Or maybe it's the direct hand of God reaching down to pat you on the back and say, "Hey there, you're going to be alright. Some day."

Summer Lovin'

Well, here we are again. Sweating our bejesus' off in this city with about a jillion people also sweating their bejesus' off directly adjacent to ourselves. Awesome.

And no, I will not apologize for letting my child run around in his diaper with no clothes on at the park because if it were up to me, I'd be doing the exact same thing. Unfortunately, Park Police do not agree with me. They lack all sense of imagination. Poor people.

But seriously though, Griffin loves him some water works at the parks nowadays. He starts asking for it when he wakes up in the morning and it's the last thing on his mind at night. Kind of like me and Reeses Peanut Butter cups. Now you understand the obsession. Wait till you see the pics.

3 to the Izz-0 And Still Got It

*Griffin Story Alert*

So his new thing is, how can I put this delicately? Farting. And then sheepishly in a very quiet voice announcing to everyone in earshot, "Toot".

The other day he was raving on about something or other to me for a full 14 minutes of uninterrupted toddler-babble when he passed a little gas. He didn't even take a breath and stop before he goes, "toot", and kept right on talking.

Which sets you up for yesterday's event when Grant and Griffin were playing in the living room while I did some work on the computer in the next room. I hear random bumps and yells scattered with a few musical toy interludes and finally someone rips a huge one which jarred the very bones in my spinal column. I wait for it, and Griffin yells, "DADA TOOT! DADA TOOOOOOT!"

Happy Birthday, Babe. We love you.

Now Auditioning for Deadliest Catch, Season 6

I cannot quite explain my excitement for this week and this weekend's events. Grant is graduating! Holy hell in a tuition basket, these last 2 years flew by. And this whole week leading up to Sunday's graduation is full of celebrations and parties that we can actually participate in because we have the most valuable comodity to new parents anywhere - babysitters! S. to the c.o.r.e. my friends, yes. My most favorite of the events being a dinner cruise around Manhattan, which I've wanted to do since we moved here 4 some odd long years ago, but never have. And alas. It is this week.

However.

Friday forecast:

And I was surprised, why?

To All the Mom's I've Loved Before...

Mothers Rock*.

*Disclaimer: At this time I must disclose that I, myself, am a said "mother" and thereby hold certain financial ties to being a "mother" and therefore so what.

My mother and my relationship has run the gamut of emotions in my lifetime, as do most maternal-daughter relationships I would contend. We bonded early or so I was told, since it began at birth and lasted for several years of which I have no memory, but the fact that I survived and was a pretty happy and extremely intelligent child is proof enough for me. Then we went through our headbutting stage, which I might pinpoint to start when I was 4 years old (meaning the first formable memories I do have of my life) and ending at about 24, so that was brief. But around the time that I had Griffin, and you may have heard this before, my entire perspective of mothers completely went out the window and crashed on the pavement 4 stories below, injuring hundreds of people. There's just something about pushing a gigantic human baby out of your you-who that says, "Gee, my mom's a pretty f-ing terrific and classy lady. I better make her a really special construction paper card right now". Trust me, if you don't understand exactly what I mean now, you surely will someday soon.

Over the course of the last 2 years my suspicion of her awesomeness has only grown. If I thought pregnancy was challenging, raising a 1.5 year old absolutely blew my mind. And it's not even the disciplining that gets me, it's the teaching. Over and over again with the teaching. This is a spoon, this is an apple, this is your bathtub, that is your peepee now leave it alone for the love of the lord. Don't blatantly hit the kid that stole your truck, just make it look like an accident. Say please and thank you but only to grownups or if a grownup is watching, otherwise kids your age will think you're a dork. I mean, was there a course on this in college because I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it and possibly had a plan and budget in mind to outsource my childrearing responsibilities when this time came. J/k! Ha. Haha. Okay, well maybe just a few hours a week at most.

But I think I do an okay job of it, and that is because of my mom. As these situations of being a mom crop up here and there with Griffin, I find myself remembering that I know what to do. As if I read this book somewhere along the line that told me all the answers but then I totally forgot I read it so when it comes back to me, I'm totally surprised and thankful for that book. Only the book was my mom and I'm still reading it every day, every time I talk to her. And the scariest part about the whole thing is now I've realized I need to read ahead, because at some point I won't have the book to consult anymore. And yes, I'm sorry I just went there on a Friday morning when the sun is shining and the birds are chirping there little heads off but the reality is I have never been more aware of my parents mortality than I am as a parent myself. So hug your mom today and tomorrow and your dad to because 1 or 2 days a year is not enough to thank them for being everything to you as a child, and more importantly as an adult.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

It'll Keep You Busy, But it Ain't Getting You Anywhere

The things my child says these days absolutely throw me for a loop. Case in point, we met some of our friends for a picnic lunch yesterday at the Turtle Pond. Grant took Griffin over to the water to take a look and there were tons of turtles and ducks milling around. Grif takes one long look at the activity and goes, "TURTLES! Mama turtles and baby turtles and Dada turtles". Shut up, he really truly did.

Not to scare those of you who may not have children yet, but to give you a heads up as to what you may or may not experience as a first time mom, I'd like to wax you some philosophy right now. You may have heard the term, "mommy issues" or seen an episode of Dr. Phil wherein mothers spout off about everything that they think is wrong with their perfect life. And if these people drive you absolutely insane, you are not alone. However, there is some truth to the stress that new parents experience that is usually completely foreign to them, ie me.

When Griffin was first born I felt a lot of anxiety about nothing in particular, but mostly that I was doing it wrong. I come from a big family that has a million people in it, half of which are under the age of 11 with new nieces and nephews popping up here and there, which has blessed me with the knowledge and confidence to lovingly raise children of my own. However, that does not mean I've been spared the feelings that I could be doing it better, which I believe is probably something many parents deal with on a regular basis.

Unexpectedly, the baby is the one who has solved this problem for me. He's not even 2 yet and he has mastered so many things. I mean, he started from nothing and learned how to communicate, learn new skills, have a sense of humor, show patience (sort of), and share affection. Oh the affection. Last week he was playing at the park with a little boy we'd never seen before and when the boy had to leave Griffin stood up, opened both his arms wide and said, "Come here", motioning the boy to bring it in for a big boy hug. I mean, come one, that would melt even Kim Jong Il's cold dead heart.

So to sum it all up, the kid - he's fine. We all need family and friends to help support us and remind us that we're doing a good job. And worry is a rocking chair I don't even want in my house.

Dapper Little Island That He Is

I apologize for the neglectful neglectfulness I have been rightly accused of committing lately. Turns out upending your whole existence to move less than 5 miles away is much more involved than you would think. But alas, we are in Manhattan now, and life is good.

I want to make one quick point here before I go on and that is to apologize for hating Manhattan for so many years of living in New York. I think it was that Brooklyn was my one first love of the boroughs and will always be on my drunkdial speeddial list forever and always, and that my perception of Manhattan was my first experience with it - which was Chinatown from 7pm to 7am 3-4 days a week, sprinkled with a subway strike, and kind of getting fired*... (Which lets be frank, I wouldn't wish on my most gorgeous and successful worst enemy, even on a bad day). Follow that up with our move to the Bronx which was one of the worst decisions we have made in our lives (yep, seriously) though necessary at the time, and constantly wishing and hoping and dreaming of living in Manhattan for the last two years, and you can see why I taped a sketch of Manhattan on my dartboard and you know that's never good.

Enter Manhattan. With it's debonair little bowler hat, pencil thin necktie, complete with perfect vodka martini to completely sweep all 3 of us off of our feet. {Insert huge sigh and deep yoga cleansing breath.} (Only not so much with the baby and the vodka you know, I mean what would the neighbors think?)

Stay tuned for Act II, I haven't even begun to tell you about Magnolia and it's proximity to my front door. Scary.

*(slash) resigning.