Happy Birthday, Eliza Skye!

I can't believe that two months have

 passed since my abdomen was sliced 

open and this little lump was pulled out!

Little Miss Eliza Skye spent her two 

month birthday lounging in her bouncy

chair, sucking down bottles of formula,

and sleeping on her tummy in her crib;

according to her happy disposition, it 

was time well spent.  At this stage, she is 

smiling a lot, gurgling, and yes, bapping 

like crazy while doing leg lifts at night.

I'm pleased that we have managed to keep 

her alive and kicking; we will find out 

tomorrow just how good of a job we've 

done when the doctor tells us how much

 she has grown in the past month. 

Happy Birthday, Cheeks!  

Public Service Announcement

In between moments spent loving and caring for little Eliza, I will be spending today attempting to catch up on correspondence: emails, thank you notes, FB message and comment returns, voicemails, etc.

If there's time, I may even have a blog in me...

Unplanned Hiatus

On Monday afternoon, my bff from high school called and asked if I was interested in road tripping back home to PA with her.  This is something the two of us have done since I moved to NJ a decade ago: if one of us is heading west, we invite the other along to lighten the misery of Route 80. 

However this trip was to be a first. It wasn't going to be just the two of us this time, or the two of us and one or two of her kids... no, this trip was the real deal: two adults, a nine year old, a six year old, a five year old, a five month old, and of course, my eight week old darling of the blogosphere!

Yep - Tuesday morning, after pumping our newborns full of formula in hopes that they would sleep the ride away, we installed my car seat base next to hers and the seven of us piled into the minivan to begin the trek.

Now, driving from her house in Basking Ridge to our hometown in PA can take anywhere from 2.5 hours if you ignore all posted speed limits to 7 hours if you get stuck in miserable Poconos traffic and there's construction on 80; one never knows what's in store, which is why we don't come home more often.  Needless to say, we both began the journey with a slight stomach ache and crossed fingers.

The Cheeks usually sleeps during car trips; I have a cloth cover for her car seat that turns it from a room with a view to a sensory deprivation chamber and when we travel, I opt for the latter.  Since she cried halfway from Hoboken to Basking Ridge (note to self: NEVER take the Pulaski Highway after 9 am on a weekday), I was pretty sure she would be good to go for the long haul and she was: she slept the entire trip to PA, even through the Wendy's burger run!

Jen's kids were awesome, as always.  The three older ones sat in the back row of the van like three little ducks and happily wiled the time away watching movies and playing Angry Birds on our iPhones (Lillian, age 6, got me through the level I've been stuck on for weeks!).  Spence, Jen's five month old, bapped happily from his car seat and only needed me to wrench my body around and feed him a bit of a bottle once.  Jen and I gossiped about everything from our Facebook friend request queues to tougher stuff, like the reason she had to make the trip home.

I'll admit that I was scared to make the trip at first.  Going out of my comfort zone with E hasn't been as easy as I had thought it would be before she was born; the anticipation of road trips and crying fits does paralyze me a bit however I knew I had to make this trip because it gave me the perfect opportunity to surprise my mom with a visit with the light of her life.  You see, my mom had been in Arizona visiting my aunt and was returning late Wednesday night.  What better thrill than to find me waiting for her at the Williamsport airport instead of my dad?  The trip from my aunt's home, door to door, is about 17 hours but you wouldn't have known how exhausted she was because after one look at me, it registered that where there's daughter, there's granddaughter and her face lit up like an electric light orchestra.

So that's what I've been up to; I didn't want to blog or Facebook until my mom was home and had had her big surprise.  My parents laptop is usually in use by my Ebay addicted dad, and since I didn't bring my Mac home and I hate blogging via iPhone, I've been MIA in my online life.

We head back to Hoboken tomorrow morning and I'm REALLY looking forward to seeing my Matty and so is Eliza... she'll remember him, right? hee hee.

Lunch Club

The Cheeks before heading out to lunch,

 dressed in her velour NJ Housewife track suit 

that Aunt Alina bought her. It has bell sleeves 

and is utterly adorable, just like her expression.

Wednesday lunches with my new friends (who just so happen to have babies) have become my weeks' highlight.  It not only forces me to get out of the house with The Cheeks, but I've also tried three new restaurants, six new wines, and a grapefruitini (which, I'm sad to report, did not meet my expectations).

Best of all, of course, are the friendships I'm forming with like minded souls... ones who also enjoy a drink at lunch! hee hee...

Seriously though, when I was pregnant, I snubbed my nose at "mommy groups": the idea of getting together with a bunch of strangers to talk about our "feelings" made me want to vomit pacifiers. More than once during my pregnancy, I climbed up on my soapbox and delivered the following rant:

"I mean, like, come on - I have, like, so many friends as it is and, like, most of them are moms.  If I need a "mommy friend", hell, I'll call one of them.  Seriously, (insert Matt or Laura's name here), you're not going to find me at one of those, like, "Mommy and Me" bullshit support groups. No way.  I'll be, like, way too busy bustling the baby into the MOMA on my own, or, like, driving to Philly to see Jen and Mose, or flying off to London to spend the weekend with the girls - you know, I'll be too busy spending time with my REAL friends!"

I know, I can be awful, right?  Well, I really thought that was how it would be... ha! We all know how that turned out, considering I spent weeks one and two crying on the phone to Erica and the Jens, texting morose paragraphs to everyone I knew, and blogging the real deal.  Thank god for my friend Michelle up in The Heights (who is, by far, one of the most positive, inspirational people I have in my life and a freakin' terrific friend).  She sent me cheery, supportive texts encouraging me to check out the Hoboken Hospital support group.  Texts that were written in just the right tone, one that intrigued instead of putting me off.

Don't get me wrong - as I wrote here, that meeting was not my cup of tea and I haven't gone back but that's because I met these girls that first day.  It served its purpose and served it well; if I hadn't met these gals, I absolutely would have gone back with the sole purpose of stalking the room for others.  

Today, two of the girls each invited a friend to join our Wednesday lunch club.  Each of those girls has a little girl, so now the count is even: three girls, three boys.  It also means that The Cheeks now has adorable competition because they are beautiful baby girls, were dressed to the nines, and have fabulous names: Addison and Beatrice... this means I need to step up Eliza's game since I'm used to her being the prettiest, best dressed, and best named girly).

I mean, does it get cuter than this?  Maybe baby

Evelyn, but come on! She's 7 weeks and practically

holding the teddy that her daddy got her for Valentines!

Ever read The Alchemist? It's a simple fable that delivers a strong message I believe and have passed on to others (the most interesting being a cute gypsy boy from the South of England who played the tambourine).  Coelho writes that if you want something, all the universe will conspire to make it happen, that it's a small world, and blah blah blah.

But it's true: after I had my baby, all I wanted was to feel like me again.  I spoke of wanting her not to cry, of wanting my swelling to go down, of wanting time to spend with my husband, of wanting to be closer to my family but what I really wanted was to recognize myself once more.

It's been a long road, traveled over a little under two months, but I've managed to make my way back toward myself.  Not completely, but I'm almost there and this group of girls has been instrumental along the way.

And here's the Coelho kicker:  one of the new girls is from Lewisburg, which is my college town (that is 8 miles from my hometown).  That's in itself is crazy, but what really blew my mind is that her stepmother is from W-town AND is the mother of one of my high school friends*!  How's that for it's a small world?  Just when I was feeling so far from home, home presented itself in the form of a brown eyed girl with a girl of her own! Woo hoo! Another townie in town!

Some people collect pottery, some wine corks.  I suppose I collect friendships.

I got lucky - what makes this group of "mommy friends" work is that they feel like friends, not like "mommies". These girls are my type of girls; each is unique in her own way and whereas we share many qualities, we are worlds apart in other aspects.  As a group, however, we complement one another and the dynamic works. 

But most importantly, when I'm with them, surrounded by a sea of strollers, burp cloths, diaper bags, and breast feeding cover-ups, I don't feel like a mom: I just feel like me.

*For my hometown readers, I'll give you a few hints: this girl graduated in 1990, played field hockey, and was the only one in school who called her boyfriend Mike, "Miicchhaaeell".  She also has an older brother that most of us girls had a crush on at one time or another.

Motivation

I need to get my act together and finish writing my novel instead of spending my time watching foreign films, doing laundry, and thinking about finishing my novel.  To be honest, whenever I sit down to work on it, instead of writing toward its end, I spend hours re-reading and editing the 189 pages I've completed.

Which is an exercise in futility.

I need to stop obsessing over sentence structure, grammar and mechanics and focus on getting the words on the page.  I know where it's going, I know where it's been so why do I keep starting at the Prologue? I shouldn't line edit until it's finished - as a writer and as an English teacher, I know that.  I preach that to my own creative writing students but I fail to follow my own advice.

Let's face it - when I finally finish it, it's probably going to need heavy editing regardless if I spend hours line editing it as I go.  When I pass it on to friends for their first beginning-to-end read, because most of my friends are English teachers, they will no doubt take editing notes.  Those notes will feel like brutal attacks the first time I read them but will make the work better in the end - I know this.  And if the work ever makes it past the slush pile, a professional editor will make even more brutal edits; this is a fact.

So why am I wasting my time editing now?  Am I procrastinating?  Is it part of my obsessive compulsiveness?  Is it the curse of an English teacher who has spent the past 16 years editing student work for grammar and mechanics?

Who am I kidding - it's all of the above and therefore it's clear that I need a new approach.  And a  simple one, at that: from now on, when I sit down to work, I'm not going to open any documents labeled with its title.  Instead, I'm going to pick up right where I left off in the story and continue moving forward until I reach the end.

Sounds pretty easy, right?

Ha! It's been so long since I've written any new material, I'm not even sure where I left off.

Which means that I need to break my newly created rule and go back into my files to figure out where to begin again... but I promise to stay away from the Prologue! I'll just re-read Chapter 11 and I won't change a word!

Well, maybe one or two...

Valentine's Day

Eliza Skye spent her first Valentine's Day

 breaking all of the rules by napping on

her tummy, just like she did all weekend

 at Grammy Kline's house, except there 

she was covered in multiple blankets, too.

I couldn't wait for Matty to get home to

present her with my Valentine, so I gave it

 to her early; she didn't really understand 

but seemed to appreciate the thought. 

When her daddy arrived home from work,

 there was a flurry of excitement as she 

gave and received many Valentines.

Her daddy got her the sweetest card

and a little stuffed bear that makes

it very clear how he feels about her.

She got her momma some flowers 

and her daddy a Hoboken mug, plus his 

favorite chocolate peanut butter treat.

Right before her nightly Bedtime for Bonzo

ritual, a parcel arrived on the front stoop.

It was from her Auntie Babe and contained

a gorgeous silver spoon, perhaps since 

she wasn't born with one in her mouth.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Stream of Consciousness

First, a confession: I copied and pasted the title of this post.

Yep, I went to Google and typed in "Stream of", knowing 

exactly what I wanted would pop up.  Let's face it - that

C word is a tough one for me to spell and I'm really lazy.

Moving on.

Today was a good day.  I met up with my new friends

(and Eliza's suitors) for lunch at Bin 14.  They run a 

pretty sweet deal for "moms". I wish they called it the

"People Who Need To Get Out and Socialize and 

Just So Happen to Have Babies" special but hell,

I would take advantage of it even if they called it 

"Cheap Eats for Gals Who Should Be Exercising".

We may have gotten screwed, however, because 

whereas we were told that the special was any pizza 

for $10, another chick wrote on an email chain that 

the special is ten bucks for anything on the menu.  Grr. 

Oh well, it probably worked out for the best,

considering that I have severe issues with options: 

I can NEVER decide when faced with many and 

once I do, I'm convinced that I made the wrong choice.

I navigate life best when operating within parameters.

How does this post relate to its title?  Well, it wasn't

meant to be a digression from my original thought, 

although that's what it's turned into.  No, I sat down

to write about something that streamed from thoughts

I had while reading my bloggy BFF's post today but

now I'm kinda written out and don't have the motivation

to fulfill that objective.  Plus, The Cheeks is making

little bappy sounds, which means she could start howling.

That's part of her new bedtime routine: we put her down 

around 7:30 (ok, so it's been more like 8:00 lately since I've 

been super lazy in the mornings and have pushed back 

her first feed in exchange for an extra hour of sleep. Yeah, 

yeah, before you go getting all "that's Babywiseabuse!" on 

me, just know that I still have to wake her for that feed

because my girl, like her father, enjoys a morning lie-in) 

and then within 30 minutes, she starts making bapping 

sounds (I love that word. I stole it from this and yes, you

must listen to Josh Ferris read it for full affect and yes, 

I tweaked its meaning to suit my needs). Her baps may

or may not lead to howls and the howls may or may not

lead to Matty stuffing her cheeks with a two ouncer.  

You never know with these little martians, do ya? It's 

"one of the many defects of their kind. Also, weak arms."

(anyone know where I stole that quote?) 

Crap. I keep digressing from my original idea, which

streamed from reading that Ash just read The Outsiders

for the first time. Now, I don't care what any of the

literati say - I freakin' love The Outsiders. Ponyboy and

I, well, we go way, way back.  I even dated Dally for a 

while, back in the day and hell, through them I met M&M ,

Mark and Bryon and yeah, it's real shitty what happened

to those boys, too (you can read about that here). 

During my early teaching years, I taught my own group 

of outsiders that, in an eerie way, paralleled the one Hinton 

created when she was 16, right down to a Socs-vs-Greasers 

style rumble (Varsity Jackets vs. Carharts) and the tragic

death of the group's "pet", who also died heroically in a 

horrific fire while trying to save the life of a girl whom he 

barely knew (who, sadly but not surprisingly, died, too). 

That's what I was thinking about writing about today

because that kid meant a hell of a lot to me. He would

appear in the doorway of my classroom after school

sometimes and I would invite him in, knowing he was

just going to sit there and silently shake his head yes

or no in response to my litany of questions meant

to verbally engage him.  One year at Christmastime,

we were dismissed early for snow and man, I can 

still remember how that day felt, like there was the 

light of promise in the sky. Anyway, I walked out

to my car that day and found a snow covered envelope 

scribbled with his handwriting placed on my windshield.

It was stuffed with a Currier and Ives style card and 

a homemade ceramic reindeer ornament that will 

always have a place of honor on my tree.

I think about him all the time, and about another boy

from that group, too, but their stories are for another

time because to tell them in winter when it's already

so dark and drab would be to do a disservice to my

own mental state and no doubt, to yours as well.

I'm not sure if I met my objective for this post but

if nothing else, I'll let its title serve as an introduction

 to an exercise in form and function. And on that note,

The Cheeks has stopped bapping so I'm going to 

go pour myself a glass of wine and enjoy some 

couch time with my husband, who has probably

been waiting, patiently, for me to move away 

from the Mac so he can get his hands on it.

On Scheduling

For 32 years now, my days have been scheduled,

not by choice but because that's how long I've 

been in school and schools are run by bells.

Although I like to envision myself as a 

go-where-the-wind-takes-me type of gal, the

truth is, I'm not: I thrive on routine. Shocking, eh?

Yep, the majority of my travels and adventures 

have been, for the most part, thoroughly

 researched and well-planned before executed. 

Control issues?

Absolutely.

So when I found out I was pregnant, I made

a great effort to seek and sort out parenting 

methods and approaches.  I wanted to be well

informed in advance in hopes of finding one 

that would be a good fit for us and our lifestyle.

I looked closely at friends with kids to determine 

which sets had personalities closest to ours and

then I took an even closer look at their family dynamic 

to see if it matched the one we wanted for our own.

I think two important aspects of successful parenting

are knowing who you are and how you want to live.

After all, one person's heaven is another's hell.

I have friends whom I adore yet I don't want their lives

so I sought the advice of those I want to emulate.

Thank goodness I know who I am and what I need.

I need structure.

I need routine.

I need a schedule.

When I first got pregnant, a friend told me that the hardest 

thing about being a parent is ALWAYS being the parent.

She said, "Think of it like this: it's your job to do the hard

stuff, whether you like it or not.  It won't be easy to say 

no, to punish, to restrict, to deny but it's your job to do 

just that when necessary.  You won't do your kid any 

good by giving in to them just to make yourself feel

 better. Kids need you to be the parent; it won't be easy

 in the moment but it will make it much easier in the end".

Now, I gotta say that this particular friend is a kick-ass 

mom and her kids?  Well, they are pretty incredible:

well behaved, well mannered, smart, quirky, compassionate -

hell, everything you could ever want your kid to be, 

they are (yes, they are all extremely attractive, too, just

to stick the knife in and twist it around a bit) but best of 

all, they are happy and nice.  Really, really nice. 

So when she told me to read this book, I ordered

it immediately and then spent the next four months

calling her or texting her for clarification (or, um,

rather simplification since my brain didn't function

during pregnancy). Matt and I talked about the pros 

and cons of using its method and decided to try it.

Thus, The Cheeks has been scheduled pretty much 

since birth and it's been a godsend for us.  She first 

slept through the night at four weeks and has continued 

to sleep an average of 7 hours a night since.  She's 

eating more food than she probably needs and in her

first month of life, she grew 2 inches and gained 2 pounds

(which puts to rest the Babywise controversy, IMO).

In my next post, I'll elaborate on what we're doing

 (which we've modified from Ezzo's book and from my

two zillion conversations with friends) and let you

 know how it's worked for us, just in case anyone

 out there in Bloggyland is interested.

Scheduling works for us because it complements

our lifestyle; it may not work for everyone. Outside 

of the obvious, there is no wrong way to parent.  

There's your way and there's my way and 

the right way is the way that works for you.

Row, Row, Row, Your Boat...

Just a few years back, we girls were all over

the map - literally and figuratively. Whereas we still

are spread out around the world, surprisingly, our life's 

journeys now seem to be in close proximity. I guess this 

convergence began back in 2008, when Abbie married 

Jamie in a small ceremony in London. A few weeks 

later, a gorgeous lochside Scottish reception followed 

and it was at that reception at Lake Menteith that 

I met Lindsay, Abbie's best friend from Uni.  

A single Scottish lass living in Switzerland, Lindsay was 

fresh out of a long term commitment. Although still a bit 

nostalgic for that relationship, she maintained a sunny and 

positive disposition and spoke of looking toward the future with 

great hope.  The two of us figured that since we already shared

a friendship with the bride, we might as well share a room 

that weekend as well and that was just the beginning.

Lindsay, Yolandie, and me the night we first met:

it was, of course, the beginning of an amazing friendship!

Lindsay and Abbie, dancing up a storm at Abbie's wedding.

That was two and a half years ago and man, how our worlds 

have changed! Only a few weeks after Abbie's 2008 wedding,

Lindsay met and fell in love with with the very dashing 

Daniel.  In the spring of 2009, Matty proposed and we were 

married the August after.  Then, that autumn while in Idaho 

visiting my aunt and uncle, I got a text from Lindsay saying 

she and Dan were engaged; five months after that, I announced 

my pregnancy and we all celebrated both this past August here.

Barely a month later, while the girls were gathered (without 

me) in London for a girly weekend, Abbie shared the news

 that she was joining me in the realms of motherhood - an

announcement that thrilled me to the core (let's face it, life 

is always better when you journey together in the same boat!).

So here it is, a few months later and I'm happy to say 

that the crew list on our lifeboat is now +3, as Lindsay has 

officially announced her pregnancy! It blows my mind that 

in the few years since Abbie's wedding - despite that our 

footfalls land in three separate countries - we girls have 

managed to follow in one another's footsteps.  

Congratulations, Linsday and Daniel!

We can't wait to meet Baby MacZingg!!

Welcome Aboard!

Running From the Devil

Tuesday was the best day of motherhood so far:

The Cheeks and I had a very productive day, meaning

I had time and energy to blog and she slept, played 

on her play mat and napped on schedule. Woo hoo!

Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, however, 

was the worst night of motherhood and it had nothing

to do with The Cheeks: at 2:30 am, Matt came down 

with a horrific stomach virus and I developed an even

worse case of the "what ifs" that made me just as sick.

What if I catch it? Who will take care of the baby?

What if the baby catches it?  Is that possible?

What if it's not a stomach virus but the Ebolavirus?

What if I'm suddenly widowed with a newborn?

What if that call from AllState that went unanswered

was to inform us that our life insurance payment 

wasn't properly processed and thus, I'm not only 

a single parent, but a poor one as well?

These are the thoughts that consumed me as I tore

through the cleaning products aisle at Target the 

next morning, throwing anything into the cart labeled

"kills 99.9% of all bacteria and viruses" and thus 

solidifying the end of my commitment to green products.

I bought industrial size containers of bleach and Lysol

(the latter which, by the way, was only available in two 

scents: Disgusting and Putrid - , come on! Who wants their 

home to smell like baby powder or vanilla covered puke?).

I spent the morning disinfecting the bathroom and wiping

down all surfaces, in addition to washing my hands until

they were red raw.  The Cheeks seemed not to notice the

chaos swirling about as her mom moved quickly from

bathroom to laundry room in an attempt to outrun the devil.

Once I had done all that I could do, I stuffed The Cheeks 

with formula before stuffing her into her snowsuit and

car seat.  I lugged her and the oversized diaper bag that

I swore I would NEVER carry outside and somehow

managed to get the City Mini out of the trunk of the car,

snapped the car seat onto it, and pushed her through

the snow and ice to 1st and Garden, where I met up

with Tina, one of the moms from the support group.

Together, the two of us made our way single file across 

town to The Turtle Club, where we were joined by Marni

and Brenda (Bjorn girl!).  It's restaurant week here in 

Hudson County, so we decided to take advantage of the $13 

pre-fixe menu (and an additional $16 worth of wine).  It 

was great - we had the entire front room to ourselves and

our four babies (Eliza was a hit as the only girl amongst

three very adorable boys) and thus had plenty of room 

to spread out and take care of all of their needs while

we laughed and commiserated in an effort to fulfill ours.

Upon return home, Beezlebub met me at the door and so

I began the disinfecting process once again.  Taking care

of a newborn and a sick husband is exhausting but the

fear of becoming the sick one is much, much worse.

After put down, I ran to the laundry room and threw 

the final load of the day into the dryer, then ran back

upstairs and threw myself into the shower.  By 9 pm, 

it was lights out and I was asleep on the couch.  When 

I awoke at 4am to the sound of The Cheeks crying for

her bottles, I was amazed that I still felt normal and hadn't

succumbed to the Devil's curse. Six hours later, I'm 

still feeling good and only have 2 more loads of laundry.

As for how The Cheeks is coping, well, see for yourself:

The Cheeks Predicts...

Yesterday, The Cheeks practiced looking for her

shadow in rehearsal for today's big event; you see,

I've decided that in order to get the most out of 

motherhood, one must get the most out of one's child

and after seeing her perfect plank position yesterday,

I've decided that The Cheeks must become a soothsayer.

And with her natural ability to crane her neck and look 

around, what better way to start her career than to

put her skills to test predicting whether or not spring is

on its way or if we're going to be stuck in the house until May.

 The Cheeks practicing her plank position:

she's either really interested in the world around

her or she's going to end up a fitness guru like my gal Amanda C.

People want to know the future, and considering

the onslaught of paranormal programming on television,

unlike teaching, I think this is one vocation that has room 

in its market for more talented professionals. Plus, The Cheeks
is fortunate to have educated, reliable mentors like one 

of my favorite former students, Laura (who knows 

all things paranormal) and of course the guidance 

of Chip Coffey's Twitterstream (too bad that, according

 to what I watched on the Beverly Hills Housewives, 

Alison Dubois is quite the class A bitch because

 I really, really liked Patricia Arquette's portrayal of her).

So, how did this morning go?  Did The Cheeks see her shadow?

Is it the beginning or have we finally come to the end?
 Well, let's just say The Cheeks made it quite clear that unlike
dogs and Paris Hilton, The Cheeks doesn't perform on command:

The Cheeks, sleeping through her first 
official attempt at predicting the future.

The Cheeks, passed out during what was to be 

her second attempt at predicting the future.

Pinks, trying to help out by showing The Cheeks

how to wake from hibernation and exit a burrow.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, and that perhaps
soothsaying isn't a talent one can choose for one's babe,
The Cheeks turned, gazed deeply into my eyes, and
at that moment, a little voice rang clear as a bell in my head:

"Puh-lease, Momma - I'm not a show pony: I 

don't pose or deliver on demand.  Leave me be! My 
powers will come forth when I am good and ready!"

Look at those clear eyes! 

This is a little girl who is sure about the world

and isn't afraid to let others know that she is in charge.

And with that, I put her back down on her Boppy

for a nap (which is, I learned on Monday, a clear

violation of its intended use) and guess what? 

A few moments later while I was catching up on

episode of one of my favorite reality shows, I caught

her in the act, waving her arms wildly in the air, 

conjuring up a spell or charm that will, no doubt, fill her

parents' hearts with happiness and pockets with cash!

The Cheeks is available for readings according to her 

schedule and in between feedings and nap times,

at the affordable rate of $125 an hour, which is less than

the cost of some SAT tutors!  I mean, why study for the SAT

if you're going to end up guiding deep ocean fishing trips,

or starring on The Jersey Shore, Season XXIV?

Reality Sinks

Each summer, my girlfriends and I come together from all corners of the world to holiday together.  This year, it was their turn to come to me and so last August, while we were all together on the Isle of Mull, we began to plan a beach holiday for this coming August and chose North Carolina as our destination.

A few weeks ago while G-chatting, we picked up that discussion where we had left off and by the time we signed off, we were almost giddy at the thought of spending a week together someplace like this with friends and babies.

Yesterday, we emailed back and forth for hours trying to figure out the logistics of the holiday: direct flights as opposed to non-direct ones. Would it be easier to vacation on the Cape instead, since flights from London to Boston are more accessible for the girls abroad? Should they rent cars at the airport or catch a shuttle?

Today, however, the "what ifs" set in: Abbie is due at the end of April and is nervous about traveling abroad with a young infant and as much as it breaks my heart that her family may not join us this year, I know that I need to understand.  We've always maintained that we not disrupt our lifestyles when babies came along and we pledged to do just that, however we're discovering that whereas everything usually sounds better in theory than it is in reality, parenting is just the opposite.

Theoretically, everything related to parenting is terrifying and the unknown is a new mother's worst enemy.  Reality is never as bad as thoughts of what could be but recognizing that while planning for the future is terribly difficult to do.

I hope it gets easier and that my girls and I find a way to make it work because I need them desperately, particularly now that we have entered(are entering) motherhood together.  

The good news is that Eliza's fairy godmother is making the trip from Abu Dhabi, come hell or high water, and will be here to spend that week in August with us... well, that is if she can find someone to take care of her fur baby...