Holiday wrap-up

Miles driven in order to visit in-laws: approx. 900

Helpings of stuffing eaten: infinite

Meals consumed at McDonald’s in the last week: 4

Articles of baby clothing sacrificed to road trip poop incidents: 1 pair gray socks, disposed of in a gas station trash can in Prunedale, CA (coincidence? I think not.)

Number of potentially inflammatory conversations accidentally had in room with baby monitor: 1

Dollars’ worth of Nordstrom gift certificates received: $180 (!)

Plans for New Year’s Eve: 0

hot vs. not

Well geez, people, looks like I’m having a pretty good week.

What’s Hot:

• Having all my gifts bought/wrapped/shipped
• Getting my Christmas cards in the mail
• Taking Friday off in order to get a long-overdue haircut and highlights
• Having paid our property taxes and not having to worry about that for another year
• The awesome new velvety pants my husband got me at J Crew last night
• Bacon

What’s Not:

• Not being able to find the Napoleon Dynamite talking pen that I was going to put in my dad’s Christmas stocking (so Dad, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry you’ll be missing out on the magic)

in which man boobs are acceptable, and perhaps even encouraged

the wave

Sometimes I feel like this blog is an outlet for my annoyances about motherhood. All the complaining about post-baby hair loss and terrible memory (mine), and the constant pooping (his) must make me sound an ungrateful wench. Which, let’s face it, sometimes I am. But sometimes I sit back and reflect on how I feel like I’m the luckiest person in the world.

Case in point: Evan recently learned how to wave. For the last few days, we’ve been sitting there and waving our arms frantically, saying “hi!” and “bye bye!” in those ridiculously chirpy tones that new parents innately use. Recently, during this embarrassing charade, he lifted up his arm and flopped it up and down a couple of times. I think he realized immediately that he was on to something, because we erupted into cheers and applause as if he had just won the Nobel Peace Prize, found a cure for cancer or even just emptied his own Diaper Champ. He broke into a huge grin and began flapping that arm up and down some more. Now, after a little practice, it takes only one or two loud “bye-byes” and a couple of small waves on our part to get him going.

I have no idea if a baby’s first wave is that much of an emotional event for other parents, but I was dumbfounded. It struck me that I am raising a real live human being here. He’s no longer a little blob. He is an ACTUAL PERSON who is learning how to COMMUNICATE. This parenting thing is really amazing, but is an unbelievable responsibility. I felt pure joy when I saw that wave. But afterward, it mixed with a little bit of fear, because now I have to be a good example. He is watching what I do and mirroring it. Now I don’t just have to take care of his basic physical needs. I also have to do my best not to screw him up! It really is an awesome responsibility.

But it is a responsibility that comes with so many rewards. People tell you about this before you have kids, but it’s hard to really get it. I know that I really truly did not understand. I honestly never thought seeing a little hand bobbing up and down would make my eyes well up with tears. It did, and for the first time made me feel like a real parent.

Although this real parent thinks it would rock if he could empty the Diaper Champ just once.

lethal combination

Note to self:

Please keep in mind that feeding the baby pears and barley cereal at the same time is a bad idea. The pooping, it has only just begun to let up.

Over & out.

provided by the management for my what?

Have you ever noticed that the packaging for toilet seat covers always bears the slogan “Provided by the Management for Your Protection”? I would just like to be the first to give a big hearty shout-out to The Management for protecting my nether region. Really, it’s touching to know they care. If they cared that much, you’d think they’d give me a personal escort to walk me out to my car every night, or maybe they could warm up the temperature a bit so I don’t have to drink a constant supply of calorie-laden hot chocolate in order to stay warm in the frigid zone that is my office. But who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Late-onset pregnancy brain…

… or early-onset Alzheimer’s disease? It could be either. As an example, let me share a couple of recent conversations that took place between my husband and I.

Conversation #1
Me: “What is the best way to get to the car dealership to have my car serviced? Should I take the freeway?”
Him: “No, I think you should go to Moulton and then turn right on Lake Forest.”
Me: “Oh, never mind, I figured it out. I can just take Moulton all the way to Lake Forest and turn right.”
Him: “Did you not just hear me say that?”
Me: “Huh?”

Conversation #2
Okay, so I had another incident in mind, but I don’t even remember it now.

I better go and find me some ginkgo biloba.

family photo

Here we are on our vacation to Cabo. You'll note we are smiling. That, of course, is because this was taken BEFORE the heinous poop incident took place!

Am beginning to finally recover from the trauma...

if only it were a vacation from poop

I just got back from a fabulous family vacation in Cabo. Loved it. Warm days, beautiful clear water, delicious margaritas and gosh dang it, the best freaking guacamole I have ever tasted. The entire trip was about me finding new and innovative ways to include guacamole in my meals. Oh, who are we kidding, they were not new and innovative at all. It was more like “bring me some more chips” and “oh good, there’s a fish taco I can dip in guacamole.”

But anyway, it was truly a great trip. There is only one incident marring the lovely surface of this vacation. And it is an ugly one. It involves a diaper (Evan’s, not mine) that was horrifically dirtied the minute, and I actually do mean the actual minute, we sat down in the airplane to go home yesterday. So there I sat, holding my super stinky baby on my lap until the captain turned off the fasten seatbelt sign. Safety first! I merrily walked him down to the lavatory thinking we’d just flip down the little changing table, plop him down onto it and whisk off the offending diaper.

But NO. there was no changing table to be had and the not very helpful flight attendant refused to let me use the open space near the lavatory. Instead, he handed me a blanket and told me to change him on top of the toilet, with the lid down. I was game for it until I went in and discovered that America West has the TINIEST airplane bathrooms I have ever seen. There was barely enough room for me, let alone the squirming poopy wonder.

Not having another choice, I figured I’d just go for it and try to set a record for the fastest diaper change in history. But it was not to be.

The makeshift changing table, aka the toilet lid, was way too small. His head hung off the back while his feet kicked wildly. Once the pants were off the twisting and shrieking started. Then, once the diaper was off it was a race against time to remove all traces of poop while the twisting and shrieking continued. At one point the situation deteriorated into what can only be described as a flailing poop fling fest. I frantically pulled out wipes, dabbed and swiped at him as best I could but what can I say, there were casualties.

Like the sleeve of my shirt, for example, and the spots of poop that were probably left on various surfaces after I could no longer take the carnage and vacated the lavatory. I’m pretty sure I dropped an f-bomb in there, and those of you who know me know it’s extremely out of character.

On behalf of all parents everywhere, I blame America West. Any flight that is more than an hour long must have a proper facility to change a diaper. Otherwise, everyone suffers. Like any passenger on flight 6301 who visited the rear right-hand lavatory after we were done in there.

amendment

My aforementioned husband has filed a complaint about my last post and demanded a retraction. Apparently he feels that it made him look like a bad cook who prepares only Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper. My point was, if the cooking is left to ME, we eat Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper (unless it is Saturday afternoon, where he feels free to whip up a double batch of the Ramen. Don’t deny it!). However, to be fair, when HE cooks, we eat things like pasta with delicious homemade tomato sauce, broiled salmon with brown rice and other yummy fare.

So, I’ll shout it from the rooftops: NOT ONLY does he refuse to let us starve, but he selects delicious and nutritious entrees and cooks them up with a smile.

He’s a regular Martha Stewart.

Except that Martha probably wouldn’t leave her socks on the floor right next to the laundry hamper.

OK, so I suck at the blogging.

My newfangled working-mom lifestyle hasn't left me much time for two major activities: blogging and working out. Oh, who are we kidding, I didn't work out that much before, but now I have a great excuse. HELLO, I'm a working mother. When could I possibly work out? And don't tell me to get up any earlier. Ain't happenin.

I just think it sounds so weird to have the "working mom" title. It sounds to me like I've suddenly become a 40-year old woman, and yet I still feel like I JUST got out of college. And speaking of college (and I promise you will see these two things eventually relate), I also realized that I don't really have time for cooking either. (Hmmm, see above note about working out - the same thing applies here.) Thank God I have a fantastic spouse who likes to cook and makes sure we don't starve. But right now, not starving is the operative word. In fact, the last time we went to the grocery store we bought two things I haven't regularly consumed since college (see, I told you there's a connection!) -- Top Ramen and Hamburger Helper. I crap you not.

I'm not proud of it, but it happened. It's not healthy, but as my mother says: "It will sustain life."

Over & out for now, I swear I will try to update more often...

a touch of the OCD

I’m not sure why, but anytime I walk up and start waiting for an elevator to arrive, I feel compelled to push the up or down button – even if there is already someone waiting there and the appropriate button is already illuminated. Why is that? I mean, I can see that the elevator is coming, so why do I feel like I have to push it again?

I also push the “Walk” button at a crosswalk multiple times, as though it will make the sign say “Walk” any faster. I guess I just need to jaywalk more.

somebody, please stop me from yelling "IT'S A BREAST PUMP!"

So the working mom thing is actually going swimmingly. I dropped him off at day care and did not cry a single tear. (And then proceeded to feel exceedingly guilty: I mean, am I not the World's Worst Mother for NOT crying buckets of tears upon separating myself from my baby all day???") Anyway, I digress.

The only complication is that I am not only a working mom, I'm a still-nursing working mom. Which means that I lug around not just my laptop, purse, and the baby's day care bag, but also a pseudo-laptop-looking bag that contains my breast pump, along with an attractive little matching lunchboxy bag with an ice pack in which you store the milk. So, my shoulders are getting rather sore carrying all this gear around. But again, I digress.

It's funny, at first I though I'd be super discreet about the pumping thing. And I am, for the most part, but sometimes I pick up the pump and the lunch box bag, walk to the elevator and head up to the 6th floor where our company's Lactation Lounge is stationed. (And by Lactation Lounge, I mean a depressing, empty white office with individual sheets of 8 1/2" x 11" printer paper taped to the window. You know, for privacy. No one else calls it that; I have just nicknamed it the Lactation Lounge to make myself feel better.)

Digression.

Anyway, so while I'm lugging my dairy supplies around I always wonder which of the zillions of people I pass on the way to the Lounge know where I'm going. Some of the women, I'm sure, are onto me. But the clueless ones will smile and say "what brings you to our neck of the woods?" and I usually answer something like "just visiting!" or another perky inane comment. I fight the urge to say "Actually, I'm going into an empty office to take off my shirt, attach my nipples to this here machine and milk myself like a cow. Any questions?"

I have no idea why I feel this weird compunction to be so honest about it. I am such a private person in normal life and I don't really feel the desire to shock anyone. Maybe I just don't care anymore. I have experienced total desensitization.

BOOBS BOOBS BOOBS. See, it doesn't bother me at all. That's how I roll.

tomorrow

Tomorrow, I go back to work after four and a half months being at home.

Tomorrow, I won't get to take a lovely, mid-day leisurely walk pushing Evan in the stroller.

Tomorrow, I will get to speak regular English to grown-ups, instead of baby talk to a four-month old. (but I'm not sure it's better.)

Tomorrow, my time will neither belong to me or to my baby.

Tomorrow, I will probably wonder what I was thinking in coming back.

Tomorrow, I will wear waterproof mascara.

Tomorrow, I find out if I can hack this working mom gig.

Wish me luck.

cinnamon takes a back seat to no babka

Okay okay! I like Kelly Clarkson. There, I said it.

It's like that episode of Seinfeld, the one with the black & white cookie. Jerry and Elaine are sitting in a bakery discussing cinnamon vs. chocolate babka. Elaine questions the legitimacy of cinnamon babka and Jerry vigorously defends it! He says something to the effect of "Anytime you ask someone 'what makes this so delicious?', the answer invariably comes back 'CINNAMON'."

This exactly parallels my recent radio-listening experience. Every day I find myself in my car, listening to the radio and wondering, "who sings this catchy little ditty?" and the answer, invariably, comes back "KELLY CLARKSON."

Every single time.

oops, I did it again

Have you ever had a random conversation with someone that went so poorly that you just wanted to run away? I was at the mall today, and ran into this girl that I hardly knew from college. I think she and I had the same major and were in a couple of classes together, but I am 100% positive I wouldn't have known who she was if she hadn't come up to me and said something. Here's a little flavor for how the conversation went down:

Background: the Nordstrom coffee bar, where I was waiting for the illicit cookies & cream frappucino thingy that I ordered at 10:30 am. (I confess! I couldn't help myself.)

Girl I Barely Knew in College: "I know you. Didn't you go to Westmont?"
Me: "Yes."
GIBKIC: "Rebecca, right?"
Me: "Yeah. Is your name Shelby?"*
GIBKIC: "Yes. "
Me: "Wow, you have such a good memory! I never would have recognized you."**
GIBKIC: (with an awkward smile) "How old is your baby?"
Me: "He'll be four months old next week. How old is your daughter? (referring to the toddler she was pushing around in a stroller)
GIBKIC: "HE is almost two."***
Me: "Well, it was nice running into you! Have a great week!"

*Name has been changed to protect the innocent.

**Footnote on embarrassing comment #1: Why did I even say that? Why did I just blurt out the fact that I clearly think she is the most forgettable person I have ever come across? DUH. Seriously, it's time I got some tact.

***Footnote on embarrassing comment #2: In my defense, that kid needed a haircut, STAT. Long blonde femmy hair = me automatically assuming it's a girl. Maybe not as bad as asking someone who's not pregnant when they are due, but still... oops.

Here's hoping it's another ten years until I run into HER again.

apparently

Without being consciously aware of it, I know all the words to Guns 'n Roses "Sweet Child O' Mine." I had no idea. I discovered this interesting tidbit 15 minutes ago in the car, while I was serenading my four-month old by singing along with the radio.

I wonder what other song lyrics are lurking inside my brain? And more importantly, what other things have I forgotten because said lyrics are taking up space in there?

an interview with kiki

Allrighty then, the interview game continues. These questions are from Kiki:

1. Which celebrity do you most resemble or have been told you look like?
Ever since The OC came on, I've been told repeatedly that I look just like Seth Cohen's mom. You know, Kirsten? The one who became an alcoholic? I personally don't think I look much like her, but you be the judge (FYI, that's me on the left):

On another note, I've been wondering... should I cut bangs? Anyone reading this please vote by leaving a comment. But I digress.

2. Would you rather it always be daytime or always be nightime? Why?
I would love it if it were always daytime. I'm not much of a night owl (remember, nothing makes me happier than going to bed at 9:00!) and I think it would get pretty depressing if it was dark all day long. The one drawback I can think of regarding permanent daytime is that I would have to come up with another excuse for not going running. "It's dark out" would be rendered useless.

3. What happened in your last dream?
I have no idea -- I hardly ever remember my dreams. The weirdest dream I can ever remember is that one time, years ago, I dreamed that an entire family that I knew had died in a car accident. (Morbid, I know.) After I woke up, for almost an entire day I actually thought they were gone. Then, my mom mentioned someone from that family was coming over. I was aghast that they were still alive, but really happy.

4. Would you rather have ginormous feet or ginormous hands?
DEFINITELY ginormous feet. They would be less noticeable, don't you think? Only because I don't typically gesticulate with my feet in conversation.

5. Shag, Marry, Push off a Cliff:
Johnny Knoxville, Sean William Scott, & Jessica Simpson. (Dukes of Hazzard theme)
Okay, this one is a piece of cake.
Shag: Johnny Knoxville.
Marry: Jessica Simpson (not because of any latent lesbian tendencies, but rather that if we were married I would have access to all of her awesome clothes, shoes and purses! It would almost be irresponsible NOT to pick her.)
Push off a cliff: Sean William Scott. Sorry Stifler.

_____________________________________________________
Want to play?
The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying “interview me.”
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

things that make me happy right now.

1. Making quesadillas in my toaster oven. I believe that quesadillas now outrank cinnamon toast on my list of favorite everyday snacks.

2. The progress of my teeth-whitening project using the GoSmile system. I know I've already discussed my fondness for my Sonicare toothbrush, so I won't go there again, but this is a close second. (Am currently v. obsessed with dental health and whiteness.)

3. Ron Burgundy's exclamations in the movie Anchorman, including:
"Great Oden's raven!"
"Uncle Jonathan's corncob pipe!"
"Hot pot of coffee!"
...et cetera.

4. Watching Entourage. Good vicarious fun. Also, watching Dawson's Creek reruns on TBS. Reminds me of the day when Katie Holmes was a regular annoying actress instead of Scientology's puppet.

5. Going to bed @ 9 pm.

6. An email my husband sent me this morning in which he admitted narrowly avoiding a tragic misspelling. Apparently, he signs off his work email with "Regards" or "Best Regards," but had inadvertently replaced the "g" with a "t" in an email he composed this morning. He caught it in time, but is it wrong for me to almost wish he hadn't? Just to see what would happen. Still laughing.

I'm sure there are more but I'm not feeling especially creative right now. Perhaps will add more later. Peace out homies.

because mommy was poking him in the eye with a sharp stick

... or at least that's what my husband is telling people.