15 months

The entire time I was pregnant with my son, I questioned whether or not I was really cut out to be someone's mother. I didn't think I had the heart, the ability, or the personality to raise a child who would grow up feeling loved, nurtured, and protected. I had myself convinced of this, up until the very moment he was placed in my arms for the first time. After that, I knew. I knew that all of my worrying had been for naught. In fact, I was convinced that I was put on this earth to be a mother - to be THIS baby boy's mother. For so long I had struggled with wanting to know what my role in this lifetime was supposed to be, and on that day in that recovery room my wondering stopped. I made a silent vow to that baby in those first few precious moments to love him more than anyone else in the world, to protect him, to teach him, to give him the best life possible.

So today, at his 15-month checkup, imagine my surprise when the doctor told us that he's currently maturing a bit slowly. He has gone from the 65th and 70th percentiles for weight and growth to the 25th percentile for both. His soft spot is still open. His speech apparently isn't what it should be (?), and he's still not walking independently. He communicates with us - he does talk, but apparently the lack of phonetecism is something that the doctor wants us to keep an eye on. Walking is officially a 15-month milestone, and when the doctor asked if the baby was running all over, I imagine I had a bit of the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face, and I told him that, while the baby does take 6 or 7 or 8 steps on his own, he's still primarily crawling and not walking independently. So we're keeping an eye on things.

Mother guilt being what it is, in all its infinite, never-ending, round-the-clock glory, set in and immediately made me place the blame on myself. What in the world have I done wrong? I've always considered myself a fairly intelligent woman - am I not smart enough to teach my son correctly? From day one I've interacted with him as though he were my peer - always carrying on conversations - NEVER doing the baby-talk thing (drives me nuts when people try to baby talk to him even now - he looks at them like they're stupid)...we've read to him since he was 2 months old. I don't know a mom who gets down on the floor and plays with her child more than I have and still do. We read almost constantly during the day. Plunk my kid down in front of the television at 15 months old? Never. Not in this house. We value human interaction in this family, and he has never shown any kind of interest in the television, anyway. Is it because I didn't breastfeed beyond 3 months? My body physically stopped producing milk due to a thyroid disorder - that one wasn't my call, and to this day it kills me to think about the physical and emotional benefits that were lost.

I'm at a loss. If, at his 18-month checkup, things haven't progressed much, then, I imagine, the real concern will set in. I don't know what else I can possibly do. Is it because he doesn't have a great deal of interaction with other kids? Well, isn't it that way for most only children who aren't daycare babies? We don't have friends or acquaintances here with children anywhere near the same age group as my son, and playgroups seem to be nonexistent in our area.

Please don't excuse my worries for anything other than concern over his well-being. I'm not the kind of mother who will be devastated if her son winds up having some kind of delay because it's a burden, or it's embarassing, or it's extra work or money for her - and I have met people like that and frankly, they make me ill. I don't want him having struggles and a hard time growing up because he might wind up being a little behind his friends. I don't want kids making fun of him. Kids are awfully cruel, and I'd hate for my baby to be the punchline of someone's joke, the object of someone else's pointed finger.

If they day hadn't started off swimmingly enough, we find out that he has a symptom or two of certain metabolic disorders and diabetes. So now I'm trying to collect a urine sample from a child still in diapers. Imagine a codpiece - this is what the specimen collector looks like. It's very sticky and adheres to his boy parts - ouch - and is too small to collect anything. So that's been fun. The doctor assures us there's nothing to worry about, but wants to run the tests just to be cautious. So waiting for that news will be joyous.

I'm sure that I'm just being a typical worried mom. I'm sure he'll catch up to where he's supposed to be. He's beautiful, he's healthy, he's so much fun to be around, and most importantly, he's loved and he knows he's loved.

I wonder when Motherhood: The Manual will be published?

The darndest things

As the annoying little yapper downstairs began yet another one of its non-stop bark-fests (this is the same dog, we were assured prior to signing the lease, that NEVER barked), my sweet, genius 14-month old looked at the front door, threw up his hands, and said, "Be quiet!" That's my boy!

Address change

To my regulars -

I'm trying to figure out if I can change the web address for this blog without having to lose my previous posts. If, one day, you try to get here and my blog seems to have disappeared, fear not - just use Google and search for "antifungal cream for worrywarts," and you'll hopefully be lead to the new address. Hopefully.

Why the hell won't my kid sleep? We've tried everything. Now he's not sleeping during the day, either. There is nothing wrong with him (unless I look at this as a red flag for autism, which I'm really trying hard not to do).

He. Just. Won't. Sleep.

Happy New Year; 14 months

The first day of the new year. 2008. I wish I had something prophetic to write about, something filled with wit and wisdom...but alas, I'm sick and it's early, and my brain isn't willing to cooperate.

I'm trying to decide if I should have a resolution or two. I can't make the overused, underdone resolution of losing weight - I have a fetus to grow. I could do the whole "I'm going to stop swearing" thing - but whenever I've done that I've let the f-bomb slip several times before lunch, and really, what's the fun in having a completely clean mouth? If I feel the need to clean it up I'll brush my teeth and chew some Orbit. I could say that I'm going to try to become a better Christian, leading me to become a better wife and mother, but even after 12 years of being brainwashed attending a private Catholic school, I'm not sure I really know how to go about that.

I could resolve to be the hell out of this apartment and into a nice neighborhood by the time the baby comes. I could resolve not to keep my mouth shut, just as a way of "keeping the peace," when people are phony and rude to my family.

I could do the dishes more often.

I've never really understood why people make resolutions. I get the whole "new year, new you" and starting fresh thing, but what is it about a date on a calendar that suddenly propels people into wanting to better themselves? Shouldn't we want to one-up ourselves each and every day?

14 months
How did my baby come to be 14 months old? How has he gone, seemingly overnight, from an infant who fit snuggly in the crook of my arm to this big pile of kid...who still likes to snuggle, but who doesn't fit quite as well? Surely I must be experiencing some kind of back-to-the-future phenomenon, and I'm only here in this moment for a short period of time. No? Well, it was worth a shot.

Progress is being made with walking. I thought for sure he'd do it for real at my parents' home during Christmas, but nothing more than 5 or 6 steps at a time. What have I been saying? Any day now!

Somehow, without our telling him, he has learned that there is a baby in my stomach. For the past few days he has become obsessed with lifting my shirt enough to see my stomach, pat my belly, blow it a kiss, and say "baby." I was floored the first time he did this. Neither my husband nor I ever explained to him or directly told him that there's a baby in there; it's a concept we figured he'd not quite be able to grasp yet. But in some odd, sibling/baby-intellect sort of way, he just knows. I find solace in that - I hope it's a sign of what will be a close relationship bewteen the two of them. Not incest-close, but friendship/protection/love-close. Just thought I'd clarify.

The word list is slowly growing. Mama, daddy, kitty, big, ball, banana, caca, car, Elmo (God help me), big caca (for the really gross diapers), uh-oh, book, meow, oh boy, oh man, good boy, bocky - his version of "broccoli," and I'm sure there one or two more that I've forgotten. Most days, he really does seem quite intelligent. I've witnessed or heard kids twice his age who can barely mumble something that slightly resembles a groan. Then there are his weird days - he'll crawl along and suddenly stop to strike a downward dog position, hold it for 30 seconds, and then sit up and shake his head and wobble around because, I'm assuming, he has made himself dizzy. He makes us laugh, that's for sure.

He loves to splash in the tub like a big boy. He has already become a picky eater - no leftovers, please. He growls every time he sees Cookie Monster in the store. He shows no interest in watching television, thank goodness. He'd rather be active. He has quite the personality, and I can definitely see both the Irish and Italian tempers already. I love him to pieces - I *still* don't know how it's going to be possible to love another one this much!

Inconclusive

That was the ruling on the gender ultrasound yesterday. This child is already deciding not to cooperate with me. The tech *did* say that she thought she may have spotted 3 dots bewteen the legs - which apparently signals a girl - but they weren't spread far enough for her to make an official ruling. Three dots.

What if it's a boy and he has 3 balls?

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays

Five more days 'til Christmas! Honestly, I feel like such a kid again during the holiday season. Now that I have my own child who can semi-understand what's going on at this time of year, it's all the more special to me. Our first Christmas with the baby last year was, obviously, special and a memory I'll keep forever, but he was too new last year. This year, my heart melts every time I see his eyes light up when he looks at Christmas lights, decorated trees (pretty-pretties, as he calls them), and when he turns the radio on to play Christmas music or when he says "ho ho ho" whenever he sees Santa.

Our goal as parents is to, of course, spoil our child(ren) at Christmas, but also to instill a sense of what the season truly is about. I look forward to teaching the Jesus-is-the-reason-for-the-season stuff, to carrying on traditions and creating our own that will, hopefully, be carried on some day, and to performing some kind of holiday good deed every year. Of course, I am beside myself with excitement at the thought of playing Santa this year. Nat doesn't quite fully get Santa yet, but he's learning. I don't see the point in spending hundreds and hundreds of dollars on Christmas gifts - the true meaning tends to get lost - but each Christmas will be special. I look forward to finding new ways to make memories...for just Nat this year, and for Gumdrop as well.

Speaking of Gumdrop - we (hope to) find out the sex tomorrow at the gender ultraound. The plan, however, is to have the tech write the sex on a piece of paper and stash it in an envelope to be opened on Christmas day. A bit of a Christmas surprise.

We'll be spending Christmas Eve and day with my family. Memories of Christmases past have flooded me the last few days. Early years with the entire Italian side of my family crammed into my grandmother's small, small home on Christmas Eve...followed by the Irish side gathering at a great aunt's house later that evening. Home to bed, and up early to see if Santa had, indeed, stopped by.

So much has changed in the years separating then and now. Family dynamics and relationships, traditions - I suppose such is true for many, if not most, families out there. Still, though, it makes me sad that things have changed so much - my children won't grow up surrounded by and knowing their extended family the way my sisters and I did - but it also makes me extra thankful for memories that I have and what still remains.

Merry Christmas to all of you - may your holidays be merry and bright, and filled with much laughter and love.

Motherhood

My child will do anything to keep from having to take a nap. This includes falling and hitting his head hard enough to make him loopy and sleepy, warranting a trip to the ER and a CT scan to rule out a head injury. Once that was cleared he decided to get an ear infection which magically turned into a full-blown nasty cold approximately 2 hours after leaving the ER.

I guess he won. No one slept last night. It was like one big party.

Motherhood.

Ho ho ho

My child wasn't thrilled about seeing Santa. I think Santa was equally un-thrilled about seeing my child. Even *before* the baby started creeping out about being on a strange old man's lap, Santa made a comment about how he'd probably cry and then rolled his eyes. He didn't even "ho ho ho" for the baby. Lame. We were, as you can see, suckers enough to buy the photo commemorating the event. He was too new last year to be taken to a busy mall, so this is our first picture with the baby sitting on a pedophile's Santa's lap.

Baby #2 checkup yesterday. I love waiting 45 minutes to an hour in a waiting room, only to pee in a cup, listen for a heartbeat that I couldn't even hear, asked if I have any questions, then sent on my merry way. I will, however, have an ultrasound next week to hopefully find out the sex of this child. Then I can stop calling it "it" and "the fetus" and by his or her chosen name. I do know, however, that this child is already huge, and that it has an attitude problem, as it kept kicking or punching or head-butting the doppler as if to say, "Get that damn thing off the roof of my house!"

I realized that I never posted a 13-month update on the baby. Still no walking - seriously, any day now. How long have I been saying that? He "talks" more and more every day - he can say mama, daddy, book, kitty, pretty pretty, tree, oh man, cheese (as in for the camera, or when he wants you to smile at him), ball, hi, bye bye, zoom (for the vacuum), Jesus(for Baby Jesus in our nativity set...not as an expletive. I think.) car, and caca (for a trash can, paper/dust/lint/hair/junk on the floor/couch/pant leg/rug, or for "Hey lady, I just went caca in my pants.") When he's not endlessly repeating "caca" he's speaking in tongues, and he constantly leaves me wondering what in God's name he's saying. He has finally started to clap his hands, something I thought he'd never do. Just started doing it one day, and in the right moment. Smarty pants. He loves to play with cars and makes a sort of "vroom vroom" noise when he moves them. He's obsessed with Winnie the Pooh. He enjoys washing his "parts" in the bath and dunking his head under the water. He loves to turn the radio on the listen to Christmas music. There are days when it must be on ALL DAY or he's not happy. By the time the hubs gets home on those days, I've had more than my fill of Bing and Dean and Eartha Kitt and the guy who sings the song about the little boy who doesn't have enough money to buy shoes for his dying mother on Christmas Eve so that she can look nice when she meets Jesus later that night. Seriously, dude - was that song really necessary?

They say that I won't last too long on Broadway....

For Elisabeth and Heather

The story of how and why I chose to pursue singing is so incredibly long. I'm not sure if you want the entire back story - if you do, let me know and I'll be happy to write it. It'll just take forever. For now, I'll just give you some cut and dry answers.

My singing ambitions didn't come about until just a few years ago, the result of a medical incident, a book, a Broadway recording, and a Broadway actress. I had always had secret ambitions of acting...or something in the entertainment field. I had a lot of people tell me that I was funny, that I had incredible timing, and that I could be a true comedienne. But singing? Nah. Never really entered my mind.

Once I had ambitions, I immediately decided that I wanted to be the best. I tracked down a well-known voice teacher in NYC and arranged to meet her. I lived in Albany at the time. Fast forward a few weeks - she decided that she wanted to work with me, and we set a day and time that I would go into the city to meet her, show her my raw talent and we'd figure out where to go from there. After meeting for her and singing for her, she told me that she loved my voice and that I had potential to make something big out of it. But what direction did I want to go? In the beginning I decided that I wanted to work to pursue musical theater...or, more specific, I wanted to be on Broadway, damn it. I asked her to be honest - did I have it in me? It would take some work, she said, but I had a unique sound that would be perfect for the stage...but she did encourage me not to close my mind to other genres. It would be later that I learned I had a voice for jazz - a bit raspy, sultry...once I found it I loved it. This woman has worked with countless Broadway actors/actresses, Celine Dion, Christina Aguilera...and now me! Wow! Could I really make something of myself? I felt that she believed in me, I knew that Will believed in me, and for a small time, I believed in myself. After a while, though, I began to doubt what I could do. I held back. I talked myself down a lot. And then I got pregnant. I "pursued" this dream - a dream that was once so fierce and seemed so possible - for close to 2 years.

What was I in? Nothing. :) And I don't regret a single thing. I took a chance on something that, at one time, was so big to me, and, in retrospect, was probably near impossible. I wrote a letter to my voice teacher shortly after I had my first baby. I wanted her to see the amazing thing I accomplished. She called me after a few weeks and we chatted. She let me know that, had I stuck with what I was doing, she believed with all her heart that I would've been able to accomplish other amazing things. And she urged me not to give up.

My favorite musical? I have a special place in my heart for Wicked. Wicked when it first opened on Broadway, not the traveling show, not the crazy-fan-girl show that it has become. I read the book long before seeing the musical, and it touched me in a way that a book never has. Sounds crazy, huh? Especially since it's a book about the Wicked Witch of the West. Ha - I can name one person who would surely not be surprised - he/she doesn't know that *I* know he/she reads my blog. Boo! I also love Rent, although I never saw it with the original cast...and I'm pretty sure I would have loved it even more if I had been lucky enough to see it early on. Amazing story, amazing music.

Favorite musical actress? Idina Menzel...kind of goes along with how the whole story started. I find her voice amazing. It was *her* voice teacher I found, her voice teacher who actually felt me worthy enough to work with. I had the wonderful experience of meeting her one night after a show. Not just a quick pass-by on the street. I was able to spend a bit of time with her at the Gershwin, talking like normal people...she's simply amazing to me.

I could honestly go on and on in this post. All of that was another lifetime ago, though. I'm a mom now. Gone is the skinny(ish) girl with sexy hair extensions who walked around the streets of NYC, going to auditions, forever carrying around a bag filled with sheet music and a demo cd, just in case. No regrets. I miss that life sometimes, even though we were flat broke living in NYC...but had I pursued it further, I wouldn't have the amazing little baby toddler asleep in the next room.

I'd give my left arm for some Motrin

I'm feeling terribly uninspired. I can't come up with anything witty or comical or remotely interesting to blog about. I've had a bitching migraine for the last 3 days and am convinced that my brain is slowly deteriorating as a result. I imagine it'll just be a matter of time before the remains start to seep out of my ears.

So to you, dear readers, I make this request. Whether I know you or not, give me something to write about. I don't imagine I'll receive a flood of comments, but if I do I'll address everything over a few posts. The topic request can be anything. A question. It can be serious or funny. It can challenge something I've written about before. If you don't want me to know who you are then just comment anonymously. As long as it's not incriminating, I'll write about it. Bring it! :)

Dr. Karen Giardino in Williamsville, NY

If you live in or around the Buffalo, NY area and are in search of an endocrinologist, please heed my warning - do NOT see Dr. Karen Giardino, member of Meadowlands Endocrinology. This practice is highly negligent, completely unprofessional, and doctors and staff do not follow NYS rules and regulations pertaining to medical practice and procedure or to the release of medical records. The staff are anything but knowledgeable and medical care received is well below what is expected from a board certified medical professional. Do not place something as valuable as your health into the hands of Dr. Karen Giardino and/or Meadowlands Endocrinology in Williamsville, NY.

End of my PSA for the day. Ugh. Off to find a new COMPETENT endo so that my thyroid levels can be accurately monitored, ensuring that I don't lose this baby. Good grief.

*disclaimer - all information in this post about dr. karen giardino is based strictly on my own experience with her and/or her practice. i have no facts that will prove this is an ongoing issue, so if you're looking to sue me, don't bother - i got nothin'.

Asking for good thoughts and prayers

There was a massive earthquake in the Eastern Caribbean yesterday, including the island of Martinique. My baby sister is currently there for a study abroad program through college. Thankfully she's okay, but I know she's worried. I'm asking for all of you out there in blog land who believe in some kind of higher power to please keep her and her fellow students (as well as all of those involved in the quake) in your prayers/thoughts...for a safe remainder of her stay and a safe trip home. Thanks.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a schizophrenic, and so am I

Gotta love psychologist humor.

People amuse me. I suppose that it's partly due to my educational background (holla for a currently useless Master's in counseling psychology), but also partly because I consider myself incredibly socially awkward and introverted, and there's something cathartic about observing others' idiosyncrasies and neuroses.

There are two specific types of people who really tickle my funny bone. The first is people who are passive-aggressive. What's the point? We've all done it, but there are some people out there who turn such behavior into a real art form. It really is funny, though, to watch someone try to intentionally piss someone off, or hurt someone, or push someone's buttons, all because it makes them feel better about their pathetic state of being. Humorous. Why do you think Marie on Everybody Loves Raymond got some of the biggest laughs?

My favorite people are the habitually schizophrenic. I say habitually because they've paid their shrink to give them a less forbidding diagnosis it's my opinion that there's a little somethin' going on upstairs, but when it has been observed on a pretty consistent basis, it's hard not to have that professional personal opinion. I often notice that passive-aggressive behavior and habitual schizophrenia go hand in hand. Now, I don't know who reads this blog (unless you openly admit that you're my stalker, as one faithful reader recently has - hi stalker!), so if you take offense to my post...well, tough. It's my blog. Chances are I'm *probably* not talking about an observation I've made about you, since I've most likely never run into you in person. I can say, though, that I'm not referring to anyone in my family. Unless you're my husband, because I do find him to occasionally fall into this category, but this particular post isn't about him. Although it could be. In any case, when I encounter these types of people, I feel as though I've had a run in with Sybil (no, this isn't about me, either. Although it could be.), and it brings such excitement to my day, but I can't say anything because then people will know that I think they're nuts.

Side note - If you haven't had the experience of watching Sybil, I highly recommend it. You'll never look at your mother or enema bags the same again.

I also enjoy the people who are abusive to their children in public. Disclaimer - I don't enjoy seeing the children being treated the way they're being treated. "Enjoy" was completely facetious. End disclaimer. In any case, I can't narrow it down to a specific demographic, but there seems to be some kind of trend in the different types of people I see doing this. The best place to see these people? The malls or the grocery stores, but in other places, too. You'll know them. Usually moms, acting in ways that vary from the "benign" (smacking your child across the mouth or on the hand) to grabbing the child by the hair or around the arm in such a way that you just know will leave a red mark (if not a bruise), and usually saying something like "I'm going to punch your face in if you don't knock it off" or "Shut the &$*@ up - I'm on the phone." It all turns my stomach, really, and in my gut I know that these children will grow up only to perpetuate the cycle, have their own 6 or 7 children, and treat them the same way.

Four pieces of toast later, this post has gone in a direction completely different than I had intended. I guess we're all a little bit schizo sometimes.

I guess we're all a little bit schizo sometimes. Wait...didn't I just say that?

To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal

Pregnancy. Gotta love it. Why is it, though, that pregnancy is filled with extremes, from one end of the spectrum to the other, and, with each subsequent pregnancy, said extremes come earlier and are much more...well, extreme?

Take, for instance, morning sickness. For the majority of this pregnancy, I haven't been able to look at a crumb of dry toast without running to the toilet to throw up things my grandmother ate. However, there have been days, like today, where I can't seem to get enough to eat. There I was, sitting on the couch while the baby slept, innocently watching LMN, and before the movie was over, I had eaten an entire ball of port wine cheddar with almonds (God bless those holiday cheese balls) and a pomegranate. I feel like Grover running back and forth in an empty room saying "near.....far....," except for me it's "eat.....puke...." and I'm running from the fridge to the toilet.

Another blessing? You leak when you're pregnant. From every oriface imagineable. Except when you're not dripping/juicy/overly lubricated, you're dry. As a bone. In the desert those Kid Nation kids call home. Extremes. Diarrhea. Constipation. Runny nose. Dry nose. Leaking God knows what from God knows where, only to be faced with the oppostie dilemma the very next day.

Weepy. Homicidal. Insomnia. Exhaustion. Get me that Duggar woman on the phone. I need to know why she did this...what, 17 times? It's a wonder she's not holed up in the nut hatch somewhere.

Gift giving

Instead of buying mass-produced, possibly lead-tainted items this holiday season, take a different route - check out this website:

http://www.etsy.com

I'm not selling anything (Are you kidding? My idea of being crafty is making coffee filter "stained glass" things with vinegar and food coloring. Thank you, Mr. Wizard.), but I see a few things I'll likely purchase. If you stress out over buying gifts like I do, this site might be a godsend. Unique gifts, free of lead and other toxins...unless you find that one seller who thought it would be funny to put arsenic inside their sock monkey.

21 + 10

So yesterday was my birthday. Another year older and another year wiser, right? On some things, at least. Being a mom has definitely made me wiser in areas I never imagined. Of course, there's that mommy-brain thing - you know, the thing that makes you unable to recall your own name at times, makes you call your child by the cat's name at times. Mommy-brain. Makes even the most intelligent person feel (and sound) rather dumb sometimes. I've become a bit wiser when it comes to finances. I've become quite economical (read: cheap) in the last year. I've come to appreciate things that are truly important and have begun to place less importance on the cosmetic, the trivial, and the things that do nothing for me or my family.

But surely I can't be 31. Impossible. Didn't I just get married? Didn't I just graduate from grad school? Or better yet, college? 31 is 9 years away from 40. 31 implies grown-up. While I've definitely grown up (and out, ugh) in the last year, I certainly don't feel like a grown-up. Like an adult. I still laugh at inappropriate times, I still find those Helen Keller jokes impossibly funny, I still burp like that guy on The Simpsons, I'm still messy, I still like to be loud and make noise...those aren't the characteristics of someone who is grown up. A kid at heart, I guess, is what I'll always be. Not so bad, is it?

Happy Thanksgiving! May you all count your blessings and have much to be thankful for on this day. I know I do!

Thanks and giving

It's that time of year!

Thanks, whomever, for making us move to Buffalo. I appreciate the promotion you gave my husband, but why couldn't you have offices in a better city? One of the nurses at the OB's office saw that I moved here from NYC. "What brought you to Buffalo?!" she asked. My reply? "Satan." She nodded in empathic agreement.

Thanks, China, for trying to kill my kid.

Thank you, housing market, for going to pot when we really need our own house. Shape up after the first of the year, would you? There's a house in Amherst that has my name on it. I'm over apartment living, and I refuse to bring a newborn home to this place. Annoying dogs and gangster music do not a happy baby make.

Thank you, maternity clothes designers of the world, for making this winter's clothing line the most hideous I've ever seen.

Thank you, Writer's Guild, for screwing up my evenings. My favorite shows are all into reruns. Now what am I supposed to do? Greedy bastards.

Thank you, BBQ pork roast that I made last night, for smelling like an autopsy. Add that to the list of foods I'll never eat again.

Oh - this was supposed to be about giving, too.
Thank you, whomever, for giving me morning sickness again. Vomiting at least once a day for the last 13 or 14 weeks has been a real treat, let me tell you. Oh, and the crippling nausea that goes along with it? Score one for you. Really. You haven't lived until you've thrown up rice.

I jest. I kid. Mostly. Sure, these are all things that I'm bitter about but I like to look at the humorous side of them. In reality, I have so much to be thankful for this year. First and foremost, the sweet baby boy sleeping in the next room is the biggest blessing I've ever received. I think I was too tired from newborn Nat last Thanksgiving to really take the chance to reflect on what I was thankful for, and so I'll make up for it this year. I'm sure this time next year I'll also be giving thanks for Gumdrop (who has a name, I just need to find out the sex before I can start calling him/her by its chosen name).

We're spending the holiday with my parents and younger sister. This will be the first time in a few years that we'll be there for Thanksgiving and I'm excited. Thanksgiving was always big in our house. We weren't able to go last year because I was still on "travel restriction" from my c-section, and Nat was only 3 weeks old, so we stayed put in Brooklyn. My father will inevitably have come Christmas tunes blaring when we get there. Hopefully we'll get there in time for Nat to see some of the parade. We'll definitely look for Santa at the end. There'll be good food and the feeling of being home again. Since the birth of Nat, I've definitely gained a new appreciation for family...things seem to mean more to me, certain things are more important now than they used to be. The notion of carrying on/starting new holiday traditions with my own family excites me.

Rent the movie Home for the Holidays. If yours is one of those families who puts the fun in dysfunctional (and let's face it, everyone's family is like that to some extent...and if yours isn't, well, then, that's your dysfunction, weirdo), then you'll appreciate this movie.

Happy Thanksgiving, blog world. Travel safely, enjoy your friends or families, and may you have plenty to be thankful for. :)

Medical un-professionals

It took 2 idiots nurses to obtain a blood sample from the baby today. From a finger poke. These women were idiots. One looked like a tranny and barely spoke comprehensible English - I'm convinced she must've gone no further than the 8th grade and obtained her "degree" from Jim-Bob's Skewl of Nersing. She actually had the nerve to YELL at my son when he started crying and wiggling because what she was doing was hurting him. Because she was incompetent (she poked the finger in the wrong place), nurse #2 (not a tranny, but she was more interested in my Uggs than anything else she did) had to step in and give it the ol' college try. My baby's blood was going everything BUT the little vial...nurse couldn't manage to hold it still enough (the baby's hand wasn't moving) to collect what she needed so she told me they'd have to poke again. Yeah - um, no. Two fudge-ups are quite enough, ladies. You've got enough, you're not poking my kid again. Nurse #2 then switched her focus from my shoes to everything her 1 year old does that my baby doesn't do. Maybe if she put as much attention and interest into taking care of what she needed to do, the little situation wouldn't have happened. I don't care about your daughter. Do your job, nursey, and get the hell out of my face.