Thanks, Mer!

Luca loves her strawberry onesie.

Crib Notes

We finally did it....we moved Luca to her crib.

For awhile, I had a really good excuse for not moving her. That being: she hated her crib with a passion. I'd managed only to get her sleeping in there one time, for about 4 minutes, before she awoke, realized where she was, and threw a huge fit. She was practically inconsolable. So, choosing to take the easy way out rather than face more sleepless nights, I decided to let her stay in the bassinet until she outgrew it.

She outgrew it.

A few weeks ago, she started waking at night after having slept through the night since she was about 6 weeks old. So one day, I decided to put her in her crib for her nap. 3 blissful hours later, she woke up. Compare this to her average nap time of 20-45 minutes anywhere else, and I was sold.

So, she's sleeping in her crib now. It was hard that first night. I was sad to have her so far away (well, not THAT far since our house is small, but certainly not arm's length away anymore). However, she seems to like it. I think it was her time.

Which leads me to another thought I've been pondering. I did this True Colors training for work...you answer some questions that tell you whether you are Blue, Green, Orange, or Gold. If you care, I'm Blue, then Green, then tied for Orange and Gold. Anyhow....our trainer was talking about how Orange people are impulsive and free...how they follow their hearts and are not afraid. He mentioned that if you give the test to people of all age ranges, the kids in the group are far more likely to be Orange. It makes sense: from the day they are in school, that sense of freedom and adventure is squelched. We tell them to color within the lines, to eat certain foods, to sit quietly in class. So, as we age, we lose our 'Orange' and become more Blue or Green or Gold.

This isn't entirely bad. We can't very well have millions of adults running around saying and doing whatever they want because they never learned how to self-monitor.

However, when he was saying this, all that guilt I had (and moms can ALL relate to the guilt that comes with just about every decision you make about your kid) I had about her sleep habits faded. The guilt over letting her sleep in bed with me. The guilt over napping on the couch with her for 2-3 hours off and on while she nurses. The guilt over not forcing the crib on her or not letting her 'cry it out'. All gone. Why torture myself over these things, when she has the rest of her life to learn to abide by society's time clock?

So what if she didn't sleep in her crib until she was almost 5 months old? So what if I nurse or rock her to sleep every night and most naps? So what if, when she cries, I pick her up and hold her? One day, my little girl will grow up. She'll learn to keep her hands and feet to herself, to not speak without being called on, to color within the lines. And so, for now, I will rejoice in letting her Orange side shine.

Baby Goes Bump

I think every parent can probably relate to this: since the day our sweet little bundle of joy exited my womb and entered this big bad world, I've been waiting for her to fall or be dropped. Not waiting as in "I can't WAIT for this to happen!", but waiting as in, "Am I going to drop her? What if I did? Would she be ok? Would they call Child Protective Services on me? What if she falls off the couch? What if I fall asleep ON the couch with her ON me, and we BOTH fall off the couch?"....and so on and so forth. The thing is, you KNOW when you bring home that sweet, precious new life that the poor thing is bound for the floor. You just don't know when, why, or how.

So you wait.

And then, one day it happens. And so, here is how it happened for us.

I was getting on the freeway, in rush hour, to drive home from work. I'm on the phone with my friend Meredyth, kvetching about health insurance costs (sure sign you're getting old....), when my other line rings. I pick it up, and hear my sweet husband and the baby crying in the background. I ask "Is she having a bad day?" (he picks her up at daycare on his way home). What I hear sounds something like, "Baby...crying...has a boo boo...don't know what to do." (Please pause here for a moment to appreciate the sweet mental image that is my 6'5", 280 pound husband saying "boo boo"....)

I stopped breathing. I swear I did. I had to register her cry. Was this a "My finger got pinched and I'm mad!" cry? Nope, not that. Maybe a "Daddy accidently scratched me." cry? No, way too manic for that.

This was it. This was THE cry. THE cry that I knew could only accompany either THE drop or THE fall.

"Honey, tell me what happened?" I say tentatively. I am not really wanting to know.

"She fell. She hit her head. She is crying (well, duh, love)."

"Ok," I say, trying my best to sound composed, "Call the pediatrician. Or go to the E.R. I am going to hang up while you make a phone call, and you are going to call me back and tell me where you end up taking her, ok?"

"Ok." Click.

So, I switch back over to Meredyth, and the calm dissolves into a fit of sorts. You know the kind where the person on the other end of the line is vaguely aware that you are sputtering and choking, and yet NOT clear about whether this is a laugh or a cry.

"Mere, I need you to calm me down. I need you to calm me down so I can drive home." I say. Except, remember the sputter fit previously mentioned? So it comes out something like, "MERE! I *SOB* needchooto *SOB* medow *SOB*. Calmedow *SOB* so I drive ho *SOB*!"

Fortunately, Mere is a smart girl. So smart, that had her own dad not dropped HER on HER head, we're sure she'd have cured cancer by now. She decodes my sputter fit, and asks what happened. I tell her, and then promptly abandon her to switch back over when Darrick calls me back.

This time he wants to know what the Pediatrician's # is. Like I know while in the midst of panic. I tell him where to find it, and just then my phone beeps.....because my battery is almost dead. I order him to call me back as SOON as he knows what's going on.....

What feels like 45 minutes later, he calls back. He says she's stopped crying, and sputter fit girl becomes wild mom trapped in rush hour traffic while her baby NEEDS her miles and miles away. I order him to call the Dr or go to the E.R. I care not if she is in perfect health. I must have it in writing from someone with an M and D after their name. And then I ask: "By the way....what happened?"

"She was in her car seat. On the kitchen table. And she fell onto the floor."

Furious mental calculation: table (T) height is 2.5 feet, carseat (C) adds about.5 feet and the floor (F) is tile.

T + C + F = one hell of a lot of bad possibilities.

And one hell of a spastic mom.

He hangs up, under strict order to take her somewhere - ANYWHERE - where someone with a medical license can assure that she still has a future as a quantum physicist.

And then...it happens....my cell phone battery dies.

And now I am stuck in traffic on a Tuesday afternoon with my baby needing me at home with who know what kind of permanent injury and no cell phone.

I race as fast as one can race during rush hour in a mini van, and get home. The garage door goes up and...NO CAR!

I am now convinced that something horrible is wrong. My child will be disfigured!

I run inside (in pointy-toe heels, natch!), frantically plug my cell into the charger and try to call Darrick. My phone shuts off. I power it on and try to dial. It powers off. I freak out and yell at it, "You WILL work you motherf%cker!!!! I pay $80 a month precisely so you WILL WORK WHEN I MOTHERF%CKING NEED YOU TO!!!" And then, adult that I am, I stomp my feet and throw the phone down and run around the house like a madwoman, cursing my husband for not leaving a note.

And suddenly, I hear a beep.....the answering machine! Genius! He left me a message here since he knew my cell was dead. I take the stairs as fast as I can, press the button and curse the automated man who is too slowly giving me the message intro.....and....

It's not him. But it IS our Pediatrician's office asking if we took Luca to the E.R.

The E.motherf%ckingR.

I sprint down the stairs and speed the 3/4 a mile to the E.R., and run in the door, like a mad woman. Like a movie, where the manic mother tears through the door screaming "Where is my BABY?!??!" Except, no scream because I see them right away. She's in the carseat, not facing me.....I brace myself for something, anything. Blood. A giant knot. A broken bone. A lethargic, depressed, limp baby.

I tear into triage, where they are, throw myself on the floor and peer in to see Luca....a purple bump on her forehead and a HUGE grin on her face.

Yes, friends, she was fine. 100% perfeclty fine (the picture below was supposed to be of her bruise and was taken the night she fell...see it by my thumb?). In fact, the only other time she cried all day was when they took her temperature.

Darrick was not as fine. He was sweaty like only a dad who just went through hell could be. And, funny enough, he was SO apologetic to me and SO concerned over whether I would forgive him that the nurse asked if he was babysitting or if he was the Dad.


So, it happened, and it was dramatic and scary and horrible. And yet.....a little part of me is relieved. Now I no longer have to worry when she'll have her first fall and just how hard she can hit salitillo tile and from what height and still be ok (the answers are pretty hard and about 3 feet).





Now I can move on to obsessing over when she will choke on her first penny.

Seinfeld

I've noticed something over the years. You can categorize people into two main groups: The Watchers and Those Who Did Not Watch. We're talking about Seinfeld here, people. Keep up.

Of these groups, I fall into the latter.

This can be problematic. Because, you see, The Watchers are BIG fans of Seinfeld references. They integrate them into their daily lives. You can pick these people out quite easily. They are the ones you overhear in line at Starbucks saying, "It wasn't a pick!" or "No soup for you!". They begin sentences with "Remember the time Kramer...." and have the show as a MySpace friend.

By the way, if this last one applies to you, you should just go ahead and back out of this blog right now.

So where does that leave us, Those Who Did Not Watch? Well, my friends, it leaves us in the cold (and this is where The Watchers remember the episode where the fat, short guy gets caught with a small weenie post swim...).

It happens like this: You (a Those Who Did Not Watch - or TWDNW) are talking to someone at work (a Watcher, unbeknownst to you), when suddenly, said Watcher throws in a Seinfeld reference, and you're left to blink slowly at them because you clearly do not comprehend the code in which they speak.

Example:

:::someone sneezes::::

TWDNW: "Bless you!"
Watcher: "Why do we say bless you? We should say 'You're Beautiful!'."
TWDNW: ::blink blink::
Watcher: "Didn't you ever see that episode of Seinfeld where..."
TWDNW (cutting off Watcher): "I didn't watch Seinfeld."
Watcher: "Oooohhhhhh....really? Why not? It's only the greatest show in history! I mean, what about the time Jerry -"
TWDNW: "Uh, yeah...no. I hated that show. Sorry."

And so it goes.

I'm sure you've guessed by now, but I am not a Watcher. I am one of TWDNW. If I had to guess based on my experiences, this makes me a rare breed. In fact, in just about every significant adult relationship I have had (co-worker, friend, etc.), this conversation has manifested itself in one way or another at least once. It's like a rite of passage in my adult relationships. Once we have that conversation, we can talk about pretty much anything, because my big, bad, dirty secret is out in the open.

I was one of Those Who Did Not Watch. So, no, I do NOT remember the time that Elaine....

Just For Kicks and Puppy Love (2 posts in 1)

So, the other day, our little family was just hanging out (ok, Darrick was trying to nap, but Luca and I weren't letting him). Luca was wearing this super cute dress and being very playful and happy, and the light was so great, and I thought it was a picture perfect moment. I started snapping pictures of her with Darrick, and these are a few I came out with:

Anyhow, as I was shooting these, I realized I've done this before! So, just for kicks, I thought I'd share the pictures we took the day we came home from the hospital. It's amazing to see how she's grown so much already....

I also thought I'd share more 'My baby loves my dogs and they love her' pictures. This is me breaking all the rules by letting Luca sleep (a) on the couch, (b) laying on her Boppy, and (c) next to the dog. And that last picture is Pig sitting guard between Luca (on the playmat) and the front door):

Seriously?

Me: "I'd like a grande Lite Blueberries and Cream Frappucino."
Starf*cker: "A blueberries and cream lite frappucino grande?"

Urg.

(See below if you're currenlty confused. And from now on, pay attention.)