Doing My Part

Things are happening. At an alarmingly fast pace. No time to sit, think, pee, blog. The baby - he is insatiable these days. Apparently, I no longer think in complete sentences. Just realized this. Crap.

But seriously, it's important that we, you and I, don't lose our "alone time" just because I had a baby. I mean, we need to spend time on this relationship to make it work. So, I've put the baby down, he's amusing himself at the moment (which - sidebar - now includes him playing with himself "down there" - which is scary to me because I thought maybe we had a year or 11 to wait before that happened, apparently not. Something else that would have been useful to read in "What to expect..." - thanks for that), and I can devote my full attention to you and your needs.

Enough about you, let's talk about me.

What is it about this economy crisis that just gets me spend-happy? Take for instance last Friday. My friend Meghan and I decided to jump in the car and head to the Woodbury Commons outlets up here in no man's land, aka the Bronx, (and why do people say "the" Bronx instead of "Bronx"? I mean, you don't say, "I live in The Manhattan or The Brooklyn" do you? Case in point, number 435 reason why I "dislike" THE Bronx). I then proceed to flip the f--- out and buy over $200 worth of baby clothes for the Incredible Growing Baby, because have you seen the pictures? He's already 4 feet tall. Apparently someone's been slipping Miracle Grow into his food. (Just kidding you sicko - that would be extremely harmful albeit it makes a good joke).

So here I am without a job, married to a husband without a job, living with a baby without a job, taking care of a dog without a job - who I might add is dangerously close to being without a home if he keeps taking up residence between my feet as I walk around the house, in an economy that is in the shitter. Please, Mr. and Mrs. Joe Q. Public, take a lesson from me, everything's absolutely fine! Go out and spend money you don't have! It's great fun.

[Death gasp.]

My OB-Gyn, The Miracle Worker

I feel it is my sworn duty as the educator to the childless masses to inform you of a delightful new development in our lives as of late. Remember how I told you about this back in November? Well! Friends. Don't go out and get your tubes tied just yet. There is progress on the V-jay jay front.

After consultation with my doctor which went something like this, "PLEASE, please, please, pretty, pretty please, f-ing are you kidding me, I want to die, do something before I light myself on fire to help me, please" she took mercy and wrote me a little prescription for estrogen which completely changed the ballgame. Thank the good lord almighty and then some. Give that woman a raise.

So no worries that after you birth a child you'll never have sex again, because you will. And it will be great. Well, I can't vouch for the great part because I don't know what kind of sex you're having to begin with, but hopefully its good? That's a hypothetical there, you don't have to tell me how your sex is, actually never tell me how your sex is, ok? We're just going to say yes, we have it and it's just fine, got that? Whew. Got a little nervous there for a sec that you might comment and tell me about your bedroom exploits and jeez how I don't need to read about that tomorrow morning.

Alright, what else do I need to tell you about? Oh yes. My sister had her baby! Her name is Lindsey and she is a-dor-a-ble so much that I need to eat her and contemplate doing just that on a daily basis. Pictures are forthcoming, she was born last Friday the 6th at 5 pounds and she has tons of brown beautiful hair. Gina and baby are doing very well and are at home enjoying some R & R. So the circle of life spins once more for our family and now there are 14 grandchildren for my parents: Gabriella, Ben, Grace, Mary Kate, Emma, Alex, Julia, Anna, Rebecca, Logan, Joey, Griffin, Aedan, and now Lindsey. I cannot believe how wonderful they make my life and how much I miss living in Columbus just so I can see them grow every day and listen to them spout off the philosophy of 9, 8, 6 and 4 year olds.

Happy late Valentine's to you all!

Discovery: Daucus Carota

Me? I'm not all that into cooked vegetables as a side dish. They're kind of smushy and taste very bland. All in all, they don't contain the staples which make every food enjoyable: fat and cheese. However, the young one doesn't know this yet. He's been diving into carrots, peas, sweet potatoes, even prunes. I know he's mine because he came out of "down there", but I'd otherwise doubt it because me and peas? Nada and niente.

Witness: The discovery of carrots...
Caption: (Spoken with a British accent, because I don't know why - I'm the author that's why.) "I'm not entirely sure what you are trying to pull here. This does not taste like milk. This whole ordeal is entirely too messy. Remember the good old days when you just hooked me up to the boob and called it a day? But in the spirit of the new year, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and try one more bite".

Caption 2: "Wait one bloody second (See? I told you he's British), an exciting turn of events has occurred. What I dost think, I no longer thinketh about our little orange root vegetable. Let me assess the situation again, Milady".
Caption 3: "By God, I think I like these carrots. Mom. Carrots! Have you had these things?! They're fantastic. Whoever invented them should be promoted and given a big hug".
Final Caption: "Mom. Mo-o-o-om. Carrots. I love them. I want to go there".

And so ends another day of table food success. He's an animal at the dinner table. And yet, he is my son, so did you expect anything to the contrary? Other than the fact that he's contrary? Because that also means unequivocally that he's flesh of my flesh.

Blagojevich Was Their Web Designer

"The ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, the shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's... (Error: The knee bone is no longer connected to anything because the owner of said knee bone doesn't know how to ski and therefore lost the connection of knee to rest of leg). The end!"

Take home message: Get to ski lodge early to secure snowboard before they run out so you don't wind up on ski's that you don't know how to use. Thereby paying millions (okay, tens) of dollars in medical bills to fix your dumb broken knee cap.

By the by* and all kidding aside, skiing is not so bad. I may have to retract my earlier statements about skiing, skiers, those amongst the ski and so forth.

Upcoming will be pics of the ski lodge we stayed at while at Hunter Mountain because I would be selfish to keep them to myself when truly, you need to see the majesty that is the Friar Tuck Resort and Spa for yourself. And we, the management, use the term "Resort and Spa" so loosely we're practically impeachable.

*Don't know what the hell this means but felt like exercising my poetic license this Friday am.

Pushing His Political Agenda

He's always doing this when I least expect it.
He's the sneakiest little lobbyest you ever did see.

What's that? 'More toys, less tears' you say? Well, of course! Great idea! Promote him! Give him that suitcase of cash we have lying around here somewhere from those nice Bailout people.

Happy weekend everyone.

A Side of Salmonella

Does it occur to anyone else that every news program is exactly the same on any given topic and that it only changes minutely from day to day. As if you were watching a time lapse camera only in slow-mo? How irritating. I never realized it before because I rarely catch the news on a regular basis. And since we're going green (aka dirt poor) we don't get the newspaper anymore so I've lost that consistent repetitive news update bug.

So let me give you the NY minute of our nation's news: President has a blackberry, Everyone's got diarrhea from peanut butter, It snows, and Republicans hate Democrats.

Now spend your time doing something more worthwhile like catching up on Cheaters or any SVU episodes you missed the first time around on TNT. You're welcome!

Heath Ledger

On a more serious note, I was very touched to see that Heath Ledger won post-humously Best Supporting Actor for playing the Joker last year. I don't know if it's because we were former neighbors in Brooklyn, or because he's a young dad of a young child himself, but I've been very moved by his untimely death and the fate of his daughter and her mother.

Few things stun and sicken me more than the early death of someone our own age. I think it reminds me of how mortal we are and how final death is. I've never been a dare devil type of person or in denial about my mortality. In fact, I've seen death often in the work I do as a NICU nurse. But even those instances were usually following a very serious illness or diagnosis not compatible with life. Heath's death is different.

Whether or not he intentionally took his life or if it was an accident, I would never judge him either way. If, though, in fact he did commit suicide, millions of questions arise in my mind. Why did he think it was so bad he couldn't handle the situation he was in? Why did he feel like he couldn't talk to his former girlfriend? Parents? Friends? Psychiatrist? Anyone? Did he think of the future his daughter will face with him gone? Was he trying to save her from something he thought he was doing wrong? So many unanswered questions.

I guess my point is, I'm sad for Heath, and his family. Though we didn't know each other, I feel like it could have been prevented. And if there's anyone out there ever contemplating doing something similar, stop, call me, I'm here for you and I care.

Today In My Life, Part VI (I think)

I tried to flick someone off while driving down the WSHW only to realize I had mittens on*. So frustrating.

*Sadly, this is not the first time this has happened with the same pair of said mittens**.

**When I realized this, I laughed out loud and had to swerve to miss hitting the curb.

Pharmaceutical Destroying Badass Alert

Holy scream-factor, Batman. Let me just initiate some of you into the world of a five month old with double ear infections:

SCREAMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. Scream! SCCCCCREAM! SCREAMYSCREAMYSCREAMSCREAM. SCreAM. scREamO! Yell. ARGH! Blah!

Translation: DEATH AND DESTRUCTION and/or Armageddon.

In related news, it took me 2 hours, 2 pharmacies, 1 heart attack, several quarters, a new pair of underwear, and $16 to get one amoxicillin prescription. Fan-f-ing-tastic. And do you know what I did with the little pink bottle of magic majesty this morning? I DUMPED HALF OF IT ON THE F-ING FLOOR. Because that's how I roll. That's why.

Hitting the Refresh Button on Life

Ahhh. It's just past 10am and I'm online with my coffee as my companion and the bambino snoozing soundly for his morning nap. Finally, some sense of order is restored to my universe and I feel awesome. (Sidebar: Witness Grif with his laptop. Now go ahead and die of cuteness).

(Let's just ignore the fact that my apartment looks like it OD'd on Tequila and cocaine last night and lost the contents of its stomach all over the place, shall we?)

So back to my mustache... No, I was not always blessed with this proliferation of hair. It seems with the coming years, I not only desire less the binge drinking affair but also grow unsightly facial fuzz. Before you run for the trash can to heave your morning eggs and waffles (or if you're a New Yorker - your coffee with a side of double espresso), please understand I do not have a real problem, it is more an infrequent nuisance of a stache. However, it cannot be overlooked when it needs taken care of and who am I to offend society's personal hygiene norm by doing so.

Hitherto, I used to take care of this little "issue" with my usual and consistent mani/pedi around the corner from our apartment in Brooklyn (have I mentioned enough about how much I loathe/ murderously hate our new neighborhood over our old dear, lovely, happy, special one? No? Remind me to extrapolate that later). But times change and people quit their jobs and have babies while their husbands simultaneously quit their jobs and pursue post graduate educations of which they curiously have no money to pay for. It happens all the time. And in the destruction and aftermath lies my mustache.

No longer a minor pinprick of my spa routine, it has escalated to part of my mad dash to get ready before an important event, along with bushwacking my eyebrows and haphazardly waving a razor over my legs to give the impression of "Clean Sexy Temptress" not "Musty Idaho Lumberjack". Oh, such is life. I have no qualms nor embarrassments about it any longer.

So on this special day in US history I challenge all of you: Embrace your facial hair, ladies*!

*It just makes us more cuddly in the winter.