The Cheeks Wakes Up

One Month Alive

1 Month Old

(Don't worry, mom - she was 

only barelegged for the pic)

Congratulations to me! 

I've managed to keep The Cheeks alive

pretty much on my own for an entire month; 

this is huge! Yep, today The Cheeks turns 

one month old; I've decided to celebrate her 

monthstones on the day she was born (the 28th)

 instead of every four weeks so today we are 

really partying, which means she is eating extra

formula and I am sticking stickers on onesies

in an attempt to capture this moment in a decent pic

(we're both kind of failing at our respective celebrations).

There have been a lot of ups and downs this past 

month and there will continue to be but I gotta say,

I'm enjoying this adventure more than I dislike it.

Earlier today, I took a moment and scrolled back

through the posts I've written since she was born 

and couldn't help but wonder, have I become

a "mommy blogger"?  Ugh, that's a classification 

I gotta admit I'm not crazy about.  At all.  Not one bit.

Why? I don't know.  I'm just not comfortable with

the word "mommy".  I don't like it and never have; as

a matter of fact, it's on my list of words I hate, along with

disgusting gems such as "panties" and "potty" (ugh,

just typing those words makes me cringe). I wish

I could come up with a substitute title that I like

because The Cheeks is going to have to call me 

something and as rad as I am, it's not going to be Ali.

Momma is better than mommy, in my opinion, although

I can't decide if it's better to spell it like that or "mama".

I looked up "mother" in about 30 different languages and

although there are a few variations, it's pretty much

the universal root so there's not a lot of hope there.

So, you can see why I'm not too keen on having

that title define my blogger status: I'm still me.

My subject matter may have increased with

the addition of this new topic but I'm still the same

writer, writing about issues that are most 

pressing to me and my experience and lately,

those just happen to center around motherhood.

On the bright side, if I accept and embrace 

the "mommy blogger" classification, then I'll

finally have a niche in the blogging community,

something that I've not been able to establish.

Something to think about, I suppose.

So, what have I learned this past month of motherhood?

A few things, the most important being this:

My life may have changed significantly

 but I am still the same me.

And Now, A Word from Our Sponsors...

Ok, so this isn't a word from my sponsor, it's just some 

words inspired by and taken from The Sentence of Dave.

Apparently, since I've been on maternity leave, my super 

smart (and often smart ass) colleague has taken it upon 

himself to champion the fight against charter schools. 

Although I'm a public school teacher, I've always believed in 

choice - that is, until I voted Governor Christie into office and he

began to promote his own fiscal agenda under the guise of "choice"

 for our families and then inferred that because I belong to a union,

 I am "selfish, self-interested, greedy" and "care 
more about putting money in [my] own pocket, and 
the pockets of members, than [I] care about 
educating our most vulnerable and needy children".

Ever since Christie launched his attack on NJ public school
teachers, I've felt a fool for falling for his campaign bullshit
 and have been more diligent in my efforts to determine the truth 
behind his rhetoric. Since school vouchers are his weapon of 
choice for his latest attack on public education, I feel it's 
important to understand their impact on public schools.

The more I read and think about charter schools, 

the more I'm inclined to agree with my friend Dave. 

In theory, charter schools appear a good idea because they 

afford choice to communities with failing public schools.

Unfortunately, that choice serves only to band-aid these 

failing schools while they continue to fester under its cover.  

I could go on, but why bother when you can go here to 

read Dave's recently published editorial on the subject or here 

to check out his latest side project, a blog devoted solely to the subject.

And if you're not interested in education and would prefer

some lighter reading, check out this instead; 

like I said, he's a smart guy but for many, it's his smart 

ass comments that make him truly loveable.

*I apologize for the formatting issues.

3 AM Thoughts

Last night - or was it early this morning? - while I

was feeding The Cheeks, my mind went off time traveling;

I made a note of some of its destinations because I thought

 those 3 am thoughts would make a good blog post.

What prompts our mind to dig back into its archives?

A thought? An image? A conversation?

I tried to figure that out last night when my mind

led me back to late high school and a few days 

spent in Kennett Square kissing boys and crashing cars.

From there, I journeyed to the basement of a raised 

ranch where I bumped into an R.E.M. t-shirt worn for

30 days straight (not by me) before moving on to

one of the coolest apartments I've ever been in.

I got drunk for the first time in that apartment, 

at a small, intimate gathering thrown by an underage kid 

whose absentee mother owned the place. 

While The Cheeks finished up her bottle, I wondered about 

that kid and what he's up to now. He was a good friend 

for a short while: we wrote letters to each other, shared music 

and bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 at back yard parties (we were

 both partial to orange, I do recall). He was funny but I don't 

think his life was much fun: he lived in State College but

 his mom's place was in Milton. Recognizing that all these years

later made me sad and as I rocked my babe to sleep, 

I wondered what separates a mom from her child?

It's crazy how one's mind can be cloudy yet clear: during

that late night feeding, I barely kept a steady hand (thus 

spilling formula down my baby's neck) yet the names of 

everyone I encountered during my time traveling were 

crystal, even if the faces were obscured by years. 

Hoboken Moms

Tuesday morning, The Cheeks and I ventured out in to the 

winter snow and made our way to our first meeting 

of the Hoboken Hospital New Moms Support Group.

The Cheeks bundled up for her big adventure

I heard about this group from my friend Michelle; 

a few weeks ago, she even texted me an early 

morning reminder that it was meeting that day, but

I had to pass because I couldn't pull myself together

in time to make its 11 am start. I planned on going last 

week but, of course, an ice storm ensued and thus the

meeting was canceled; when I called the hotline this morning,

the recording announced that the group would meet despite 

the snow so I had no excuse but to get myself out the door.

I arrived a few minutes after 11 and was surprised to find a 

room of women and strollers; part of me assumed that I would

be the only loser there, so I was pleased to find others. In 

the next 30 minutes, the size of the group quadrupled.  All

in all, there were about 30 women and babies there, which 

was a bit overwhelming.  I surveyed the group and made 

mental notes of which moms I wanted to befriend: the

ringlet-ed blonde who has already hired a night nurse, 

the girl with the English accent who has the hair cut I 

thought I was getting when I hacked mine off in a 

hormonal fit, the pretty cocoa skinned gal whose 

daughter was dressed identical to mine and the flush 

faced Bjorn wearer whose son slept the entire 2.5 hours.

After a bit of hub-bub, the group leader introduced herself 

and suddenly, I wondered if I was in the wrong place.

Was this a meeting for all new moms or just the ones in

need of her lactation consultation? Within minutes, I realized

that I was, by far, the minority member of the group which 

sucked, because there's no affirmative action advantage to 

parenting.  I sat there for over an hour trying to connect 

with someone but it was clear that most of the girls weren't

interested.  It was bizarre - for a group of "new moms", 

there seemed to be an established social hierarchy
and I was clearly at its bottom.

As we went around the room introducing ourselves 

and asking questions, one by one, girls started moving about

and little cliques started forming.  One group of girls took over 

a corner and, between diaper changes, made plans to see a 

movie. Another posse who clearly viewed themselves

as the power group walked over to a table of oddly shaped

apparatuses, strapped them around their waists, and

 proceeded to whip out bubbies right and left (one
 so large, it looked like a small version of the Astrodome).

At that point, I broke out in a cold sweat and so did 

The Cheeks however her sweat was accompanied by

a sharp, distinctive cry (much like the one I wished I could 

unleash at that time). Just as I found an empty corner and 

managed to secret out my Ready to Feed 2 ouncer,
wouldn't ya know it, it was my turn to talk.  

All eyes were on me as I shoved the devil nipple 

into my babe's mouth and announced my name.  

Looking down at the bottle of Milk of Beezlebub,

Bluntly, I asked if I was the only mother exclusively

formula feeding. Of the 32 girls, just 2 others raised their hands
and, of course, neither was on my preferred list of future friends.

Hell, even the girl who hired a night nurse and dropped the F

bomb three times is giving her kid the boob (and let me just say,

in the words of a Seinfeld episode, they looked "real and spectacular").

I have a lot of flaws but one thing I am is self aware.  Even

though I personally find myself amusing and great company, 

I realize that I'm not everyone's cup of tea.  My first impression

often fails and today was a clear example. However whereas
 I used to want everyone to adore me, I now realize that those

who aren't drawn to me off the bat are rarely my type;

therefore, it makes sense for them to stare at me with  

vacant expressions when I crack one of my sarcastic barbs.  

Toward the end of the meeting, my radar began to work

properly and I found myself chatting in a small group of girls.

While none of them are formula feeding, they were all
from my original preferred list (Bjorn girl) and didn't

judge me when I mentioned that parenting got a lot easier 

when I started drinking in the early afternoon; one even

asked if she could join me! It made rejection from

the other moms a lot easier to handle.  

Hell, I'd rather hang with the Wino Moms

 than with the Tiger Moms any day!

Weekend's End

The Cheeks, January 23rd, 2011

The weekend has come to an end, and

so has my mom's stay in Hoboken.  I met my

parents in Delaware Water Gap on Thursday; no, 

that's not grammatically incorrect - DWG is not just

a geographical formation, it's a town, too, that has a 

diner, appropriately named the Delaware Water Gap Diner.

That's where we met up for a bit of breakfast so my dad 

could spend some time with his granddaughter before making

a 180 and heading back to Watsontown, sans my mom.

My mom, The Cheeks, and I drove in the opposite direction 

back to Jersey where my mom spent three days encamped at 

Headquarters.  I was nervous, I'll admit, about having three

adults and a baby sharing 700 square feet but it turned 

out to be the best three days I've had in a long time.  While 

Matt was at work, my mom and I indulged in hours of reality 

and HG tv, while she held a double blanketed baby (because

 our place is quite drafty) and I puttered around making sure

that everything was in its place. At night, the four of us 

hung out together. Luckily, my mom and my husband get

 along famously: they share a common love of hanging 

out on the couch and watching 48 Hours Mystery. 

Grammy Kline and the blanketed Cheeks

My mom insisted on getting up with The Cheeks for her 

middle of the night and early morning feedings (she has a 

bottle around 10:30 pm and then usually sleeps until 

2:30/3 am.  After that bottle, she falls back asleep and is 

out like a light until 6/6:30 am).  Our girl is highly scheduled, 

a modified Babywise baby; it works for us and affords 

me a bit of sanity during what has been a fairly crazy time.

So for the past three nights, Matty and I have slept through

the night, for the most part.  My innate alarm went off each

night at her feeding times and so I checked the monitor

screen and watched as two robed arms reached in and

stole my baby from her crib.  I felt guilty allowing my

mom to do my job but I would have had to fight 

her for the position.  As she said, she's waited "65 years 

for this". Whereas that is an exaggeration, she truly

feels that way so who am I to deny her dream?

Yesterday, The Cheeks had a lot of visitors. The gorgeous

Balasa sisters came to visit in the early afternoon, arriving

with the most beautiful outfits; I can't wait to dress my

little girl in her adorable lavender sweat suit!

Alina, The Cheeks,  Stefania, and me

Then in the afternoon, Matt's mom came to hang 

out with my mom.  The two grandmothers enjoyed 

a long afternoon of grandparenting while Matty and 

I endured an even longer afternoon at Ikea, a trip

that culminated with us ditching our cart mid-check 

out line because the Elizabeth store was full of a 

bunch of animals.  We just couldn't deal.

To top off the weekend, last night we went on 

a hot date to Anthony Davids while mom spent some

one-on-one time with our girl.  We stopped at my 

favorite Hoboken hot spot, The Blue Ribbon, to

pick up a bottle of Frei Pinot Noir and then made

our way across town to the restaurant.  We put our 

name on the list and then walked to Helmers for

a few Palms.  It was really nice to be out, just

the two of us, on a date night but I did miss

The Cheeks - thank goodness my mom has become

text savvy, because we were able to go back and

forth a few times to keep each other updated.

This morning, we found ourselves back at the DWG 

Diner where we enjoyed another breakfast/lunch

with my dad.  Both he and Matty discovered they 

weren't alone in what each assumed was his own

novel idea to hook a formula IV up to babies to 

make feeding times more efficient and effective.

Pappy Kline and The Cheeks in a pose forced 

upon both by my mother...

My mother and I were not amused (or rather

I pretended that it was a bad idea in order to 

keep up appearances as a good mother). As

we drove back to Hoboken, we talked about

how great the weekend had been and Matt remarked

several times that we need to do this on a regular 

basis, and not just because it afforded him a 

get-out-of-weekend-early-morning-feedings-free card.

I agreed that we need to do this often; I want my mom 

to spend as much time with her granddaughter as possible.

I feel an enormous sense of guilt and sadness that we don't 

live closer to my parents and that they don't have the 

opportunity to see The Cheeks on a regular basis, so 

this is a good way to ensure that they can.

However, I think that mid week visits are in order; 

those weekend early morning feedings are essential 

to seal the bond between Matt and his daughter...

Thank You

Since my last post, I've received so much love

from many of my readers and friends.  I am so grateful

to all of you who took a moment out of your hectic 

lives to email, text or call me to offer your stories 

and support; each and every word is truly appreciated

 and has served to bolster my spirits during 

this happy but emotional time.  I've heard from old

friends and new ones; from college buddies and blog 

buddies; from as close by as Jersey City and as far 

away as Northern Ireland and Alaska.

Each of you has proven that I am not alone;

that you are not alone; that we are in this together.

Baby Eliza is an absolute love and each day, Matty and I 

look at her and marvel at this little soul who is ours to 

love and protect. At just three weeks old, she is a pillar 

of strength and proved that to her dad the other evening

when he put her on the bed on her stomach and

within a few moments, she had pushed herself

up and turned herself onto her back.

Personally, I've been trying to keep myself centered

by looking for the silver lining in each situation.  

As of late, The Cheeks and I have been

venturing out on our own during the day and 

this week alone, have made two significant 

trips: the first to visit Jen and Co. in Basking

Ridge for the day and the second, to the

Delaware Water Gap where I met my parents 

and returned to Hoboken with my mom,

who will be spending the next few days with us.

The days have been filled with light, which

allows The Cheeks to really shine.

Evenings, however, are still my beast

of burden. Once the sun goes down, so does my

mood and confidence.  I spend too much of my time

anticipating what's to come and worrying about

how it's going to go. We have established a nice 

bedtime routine, however it involves sacrificing our

bedroom to The Cheeks for the first part of her 

evening sleep. While she luxuriates in 1/3

of our overall living space, Matty and I spend the

evening quietly confined to one room.

Thankfully, we really like each other but

even that doesn't make it easy.

I'm so thankful that my mom is here and 

willing to take on the middle of the night

feedings for the next few nights; I'll get

to sleep through the night, in theory. In

actuality, I'll probably keep the monitor

on because I'm a control freak and will feel 

super guilty that my mom is parenting my child.

But isn't guilt what parenting is all about?

Eliza Cockatoo

Yep, that's how we roll in 700 square feet;

bird, baby, what's the dif?

A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

This is hard. Really hard.

I have never been one to romanticize 

anything and I certainly didn't romanticize

motherhood while I was pregnant: I knew it 

would be tough and that it would have its ups

and downs.  I just never realized that the downs

would be so down and that the ups would be

few and far between at this stage.

I wish I could say that I feel this way because

I'm sleep deprived but that's not it.  I'm not

sleeping like I did before I had the babe, 

that's for sure, but I'm getting enough sleep 

to function at a fairly normal level.  I 

don't feel physically tired but I must admit 

that I am emotionally drained.

I adore my little tootsie and love her with

all of my heart however every time she

fusses or cries for a not obvious reason, 

a little part of my heart breaks and along 

with it, part of my psyche crumbles.

Babies are so unpredictable and try as

we might to anticipate her needs and keep

her well fed, dry, and secure, our patterns

are not secure and she can throw us for

a loop at will.  Logically, I recognize this

is the way it is and I accept it

but in actuality, I find it unbearable.

Only a few of my friends have ever expressed

my reality of parenting a newborn and so

it's to those friends whom I look for advice and 

comfort, because we seem to be the extreme

minority compared to other mothers who 

proclaim this stage as a magical one in which

the babes do nothing but eat and sleep as

their mommas gaze at them from behind

loving, tender shaded lenses.

My reality is that each night, I cry and

feel pretty worthless.  I worry that I'm going

to turn my husband against me and in turn,

against the baby that rules my life. I live in fear 

that the dreaded C word will rear its unforgiving,

relentless self and take possession of my child.

I agonize over each change in body process,

over each red mark that appears on her 

unblemished, delicate skin.  Is she 

tolerating her formula? Does she have gas?

Is that a rash? Why did she spit up a fraction

of her dinner?  Wait, did she spit up or was that 

just drool? Why is she crying a half an hour 

after her bottle when for the past two weeks,

she's taken it and then fallen into a deep slumber?

Is that a rash or just pimples from resting the

side of her face on the mattress?  

But dammit, it's an organic mattress! 

Many friends have reached out to me in

support and I've used each and every one of 

them as a crutch to get me through this stage; 

without them, I would probably be curled in a corner.

I text messaged my high school bff 22 times

yesterday and at least that many times the day 

before, and the day before that, asking one question 

after another.  I spend hours on the phone each

day with my partner in crime down in Philly

(who has a son a few months older than E);

I grill her on everything baby and ask the

same questions day after day as she patiently

assures me that this too, shall pass.

I confess all of my most horrible thoughts

and feelings to my soulmate Strachan, 

knowing that she won't judge me but will

set me straight when my words turn to melodrama.

I write endless emails to people, pouring out

 my soul and exposing all of my weaknesses

to the point that some of them have

taken to ignoring every third one... 

Last night after I was up consoling E for

an hour or so, I crawled back into bed wide awake

and reached for my iPhone instead of the video monitor

(which yes, I broke down and walked to Target at 8:30 

the other evening in the snow storm to purchase) and

scrolled through some tweets.  As always, there was a 

link to a blog that I religiously read so I opened it, 

only to have my heart sink at its subject matter.

For the next 30 minutes or so, I laid there 

paralyzed: is it possible?  Is there even a remote 

chance that I could end up regretting 

having a child? Because at 3:30 am when

little E won't stop fussing and I'm feeling 

helpless and weepy, and am sick with worry that I'm 

 causing her harm, I wonder if parenting will 

ever improve or if my attempts will always be

ineffective. Because if my best, most selfless

efforts fail to keep this child safe, happy, and healthy,

then I will feel much regret for giving her a life 

that does not live up to the one that I want for her.

But as I mentioned earlier, my logical self

knows that this time will pass.  My hormones

will, eventually, even out and each day, the

sun will shine a few moments longer. I know

that in the future, our love for little E will 

serve her during her darker moments, 

the ones when the hard rain is a-falling.

And for now, I must allow it to serve me as well,

 because I am so in love with my little girl.

The Before, During and After

It began in a snowstorm.

Yes, of all days that I was scheduled to be induced, the blizzard of 2010 had to commence in the wee hours of that morn...

Hoboken was a disaster and when I say disaster, I mean it was its own State of Emergency; not a single road was plowed until the storm had ended Monday night.  Then all hell broke loose and we began our trip to the hospital...

One would think that with the 46% tax increase a few years back, the city would have some money (and the sense not to piss of its residents) to get the plows on the road at the first dusting.  Hmm, is Dawn Zimmer in cahoots with Bloomberg?

I used to think that Hoboken was a civilized oasis in the midst of urban chaos but that was then, this is now; animals, this town.  Animals.

Fortunately, once our hour long exit out of this mile square dropped us into neighboring Weehawken, we were pleased to find that it's a town ruled by logic: "Hmm, Supervisor, I hear there's a big snow storm on its way". "That's right, workers, get out there and start keeping 'em streets clear when you see the first flake!".

Yep, this is probably 1.5 miles from our front door...

Our trip to Ridgewood was speedy and uneventful, save spying a few poor souls who had attempted to use on/off ramps that led to nowhere but giant plow banks of snow.  Upon arrival at Valley Hospital, we were ushered into a birthing room where Matt was plied with sandwiches and treats and I was treated to a string of Cervidil.  Matty got comfy in his pull out chair bed and I took charge of the remote.  Game on.

The next morning, I was awoken bright and early and hooked up to a few more lines: the Pitocin had commenced and for the next 14 hours or so, my darling husband was held captive by my television choices; by fortuitous grace, I caught the beginning of a Bethenny Getting Married marathon and we watched the entire thing.  By the middle of it, Matty was willing to admit that she's damn funny and down to earth.  Hallelujah ! (she is, after all, my idol). 

Unfortunately, my path seemed to mirror hers, because after 25 hours, 14 of those hooked to pitocin, I refused to dilate and just like Bryn Hoppy, Little Eliza Skye LaPointe was delivered via C-section (or as MacDuff tells Macbeth in the final act of the play, she was "from [her] mother's womb [timely] ripp'd") at 8:10 pm.  I will not use the language Matty used to describe the procedure itself but I'll say that from my spinal tapped point of reference, it was the closest to starring in a science fiction film that I'll ever come... but it was all worth it because her head is perfectly shaped... lol.

My recovery, however, was a bit of a disaster, as I left the hospital 8 pounds heavier than when I entered and by my second day home, my swelling had increased to a disastrous proportion (thanks to 4 days hooked to an IV and the surgery itself). I could barely move or get in and out of bed without Matt's help; when I did walk, I had to drag a leg behind me - very attractive and practical for a new mother with a tiny infant to care for.

This is mild compared to how it got...

Yep, those early days were a nightmare: there's nothing worse than not being able to physically take care of your baby.  Matty did almost all of the feedings and changings for days; thank goodness he was off work for a week and a half or I would have gone out of my mind.  There were moments, like when the right side of my body swelled to twice the size of the left, that I honestly thought I wouldn't make it.  I was convinced I had a blood clot -the hospital had warned that I should notify my doctor immediately if the swelling grew "uneven"... hmm, 2:1 is pretty uneven... but luckily, despite the unbalanced bloat, I was fine. 

Monday was my two week check up and I'm happy to report that I was finally able to wear socks! And my Uggs slipped on instead of having to be forced over my former Stay Puff Marshmallow Man feet! Dr. Rooney surveyed the incision and reported that I am the only gal who's managed to remove the glue that covered the opening on my own, which is apparently a good thing (and considering there was a box labeled "scalpel" pulled out when I entered the examining room, I'm glad I am good at glue removal, too, even though I haven't ever done as much as look at the incision area).  

Matt is a superstar dad who enjoys feeding her immensely and tolerates changing her when I'm not around... he wouldn't mind that part at all except that is the only time that The Cheeks (as we've affectionately taken to calling her until she's old enough to hate us for it) is taken to screaming bloody murder on the changing table.  Who thought it was a good idea to design baby clothing that requires one to shove a small, soft head through a smaller, more rigid opening?  

Her fussing doesn't bother me, though, because I know that she may look like her father but like her mother, she is drawn to the dramatic and is just practicing for her first time on stage when she'll hopefully  play the role of the doomed ingenue!

And so, that's that.  I'll leave you with a pic of the Cheeks, taken by Celine Marie Photography whom many of you will recognize as my former partner in crime over at Life as We Blog It and who also shot my amazing wedding photos in Scotland.

Gotta go check on The Cheeks; hopefully, the crack swing has done its job and I can pop her back in her crib and catch some shut eye!

My Severed Self

Parenthood is such a mixed bag;

I adore Miss Chubby Cheeks because

 not only is she gorgeous and sweet,

she's ours.  The best part of this whole 

gig is the relationship between Matt 

and this little human who depends on us.

Little girls love their dads and I'm so 

glad I have given her the perfect pop;

the rewards are great and endless.

But to achieve greatness, one must sacrifice

and that's the part of parenting that is tough.

During the day, I'm full of joy and confidence

and parent happily; sacrifice comes easy 

during those light filled times.  But at night,

I feel like a severed self: detached from the

me of just weeks ago, from the life I used to 

live here at Headquarters, the one that 

consisted of just Matty, me and Pinks.

I'm willing to sacrifice anything in my 

present and future for my daughter happily

and without regret however it's 

yesterday's sacrifice that comes

back under the cover of darkness

and haunts me each evening.  

I can't pretend that I don't miss the old me

and acknowledging that fills me with guilt but

I'm not going to lie.  If there's one thing I 

can't tolerate, it's the lies perpetuated by moms

who are too afraid to tell the truth or whom

refuse to admit it to themselves and one another. 

I wish people had been more open with me

about their genuine experiences instead of

saying, "oh, don't worry - the minute the babe

is placed in your arms, you'll be so overwhelmed 

with love that you'll forget all of the bad stuff".

Well, I haven't forgotten and I won't forget 

and yes, I may be overwhelmed but love for

my daughter is only part of the whirlwind.

 I plan to be open and honest about my

experiences so that other women like me 

can, perhaps, allow my words to serve as a 

guide to help them through their experience.

Luckily, a dawn follows every dusk and 

new days bring new joys. I may be

severed from my old self but my new self

is firmly tethered to my best work yet:

Presenting Miss Chubby Cheeks, 2011

Hold On To These Moments As They Pass...

"The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl..."

This year WILL be better than the 

last because we found the pearl.

Baby in a One Bedroom

Life since Eliza has been amazing but I gotta admit that living in a one bedroom flat with a newborn is tough.  Currently, the only space to house her crib is the bedroom because that's the only space in our place that has a spot that the kitty can't access (every where else in the house has a surface Pinks can jump onto and then into, that is, if she wanted to.  Personally, I don't think she has much interest, however it is a consideration and a strong one at this point.

I never wanted the crib in the bedroom (the only co-sleeping arrangement I'm interested in is the one between myself and my husband) but with that as easiest option at this point, we've gone with it.  

Matty needs his sleep whereas sleep has never been one of my priorities: I don't require too much sleep and only crash when I push its boundaries to extremes.  But Matt's the one who is working right now and, well, needless to say, having the crib in the bedroom is not working out.

We've tried several approaches to this situation and have formulated many game plans in the week she's been home to try and ensure we all get some sleep.  We try to put her down in our room around 8; we've established a little ritual to soothe her and let her know it's bedtime.  We turn on her ocean sound machine and flick on the dimmest little nightlight, (which took FOREVER to find because apparently, they are no longer in vogue - screw you, Target, for making us run to Home Depot!) 

Once she's in her crib, we then stay up and try to find some semblance of our former selves by watching DVR, Facebooking, bill paying, Booyaaing Jim Cramer, making out on the couch (ha! you believed that one for a minute, didn't you...) until we go to bed around 11.  We change into our nightclothes in the living room (well, Matt pulls on sweats and I go to sleep in whatever pajamas or yoga pants I've been wearing all day, along with my umphteen layers of sports bras, Belly Bandits, compression tanks, etc. and we sneak in to bed. The room is already prepared for our arrival: the bed is turned down, Pinks' treats are within easy reach, my series of leg elevating pillows are in place, our phones are charged and on nightstands (or under pillows), and my meds are sorted.

At that point, E is usually asleep making her little baby noises; they comfort me by reminding me that I've kept her alive another day but they make Matt a little crazy because, you see, he can't stand noise of any kind unless it's a television or sporting event.  On Saturday mornings when I used to write at the opposite end of the flat, if I forgot to shut the bedroom door tightly, the sound of the keyboard would drive through him like someone was tapping out Morse Code on his skull.

Today (um, it's sometime in the early morning hours right now) is Matty's first day back to work and so of course, everything got all banged up last night: we've been lucky that her schedule has matched the one we want for her, but that changed today and we had to improvise.... which means that I had to ignore Matt's protestations and insist he go to bed and shut the door while I stayed with her in the "outer realm" until I was sure she was asleep.  He did so reluctantly and no doubt felt terribly selfish, which is certainly one character trait he does not possess.

This can't continue every night; we need to crack this one-bedroom-living-with-an-infant code because I don't want to be locked out.  He needs to sleep but I need to be with my husband because, well, I just do.  I love him.

But while I'm confined to the outer realm, I'm trying to make use of the time here. One positive is that I have begun my own version of professional development via YouTube.  In the past hour, I have a). learned how to use a baby aspirator and in turn, found some sick satisfaction in sucking out all of her boogies and b). despite my usual inability to follow directions, after several viewings and a bit of trial and error, I figured out how to use a Moby Wrap (which is where she is soundly snoozing right now). Not only that, I cleaned the kitchen, too, and am now enjoying the sound of the dishwasher (I have an obsession with making sure that every dirty dish is clean when I awake each morning) while I catch up on email and my internet life.

Later today, I'll find a solution to this problem because I am goal oriented and to be honest, need a sense of accomplishment to get me through this first day alone with the baby.

Because remember how I said that I don't require much sleep and that it only catches up on me when I push it to extremes?  

Well, 17 hours of sleep spread out over 6 days just may be the start of my breaking point.

Puppies, Anyone?

My bff just bred the most adorable puppies and is offering them to excellent homes for a fantastic price; I say this because I know how much she paid for their momma and it was over twice the amount she's asking (why? Let's just say she didn't expect Jesse to have a litter of eight and would love to see them homed soon)!

You can check them out here

The Road to Motherhood Begins at Recovery

I know, she's gorgeous, right?

Seriously - I'm being completely objective because

I would be the first to admit if she was funny looking

but she's not because she looks EXACTLY like her dad; 

it's really kind of creepy.  But she had to be born beautiful

because I just had the worst week of my life and there's no 

end in sight.  My inducement that ended in a c-section was a 

nightmare and my recovery is not going well at all due

to soreness, numbness, and the fact that I am seriously 

swollen to twice my size.  That's not a joke; it's terrifying.

Thanks for all of the support and I'll write more 

when I'm feeling better; no need to comment and I 

apologize for not returning emails, calls, text, etc.

I'll get through this but like pimpin', it ain't easy.