3.06.2008

the birth story, before I forget

If I don't get this down, I'll forget the details. I'm sure a few have already slipped through the cracks.

This is me right before we left for the hospital on October 16. It is the only pregnant picture I have. I only asked Micah to take it because I realized it was my last chance. I was scheduled to be induced 30 minutes later.
All told, I only really gained a Sasha.

We got to the hospital at ten minutes early. In the lobby, I asked Micah if we could just sit for a second. I was getting really nervous. I sat on the edge of a small fountain and tried to soak up all the serenity. Then I noticed another pregnant couple coming into the lobby, and told Micah we'd better get checked in before them in case there was only one whirlpool room available. I wanted it.

I didn't get it. I basically forgot to ask. When I remembered, a nurse told me it wasn't a good idea because I was being induced, and I would be strapped up to an IV and machines and all that.

The room we got was nice and big. The maternity ward was dark and quiet. I kicked Micah out of the room while the nurse asked me "personal questions." When he came back, he had coffee and a pastry that I couldn't have a bite of.

That's about when all the peace and tranquility ended. Enter the inept nurse that couldn't get my IV in. Two tries later, I was in tears. She stopped trying and sent another nurse in, who got it on the first go. I declared her my new BFF. For the first few hours, people came in non-stop. Nurses, doctors, my doctor, and more nurses. An anesthesiologist to discuss epidurals. My parents. Micah's brother. The hospital-provided doula.

Oh god, the doula. I hated her right away. She was by all accounts a nice, outgoing, grandmotherly type. She had a dome of white hair and a pudgy tummy. My problem with her was pretty stupid. I found her too nice, too chatty, too eager to get all up in my space. She forcably gave me a foot massage and then put some totally ridiculous blue socks on me. I still can't grasp why I didn't like her, I just didn't. A few hours later, when my mom was sitting with me and I was supposed to be relaxing, she would not shut the hell up. She just kept talking, and then she'd talk more...about me relaxing. Even my mom stopped replying to her in an effort to shut her up.

One thing about Sasha's birth that still bothers me is the fact that I was induced at all. We never had one great reason, just a bunch of small, decent reasons. The induction was suggested by my doctor after I complained of being really uncomfortable, plus she was concerned about the baby getting too big, and the doctor wanted to be there for the birth, but she'd be out of town the next week. Every single medical professional that came into my birthing suite asked why I was being induced, and every single time I flubbed up a decent answer. I didn't have one. Induction rates are on the rise all over the country. I don't necessarily feel like a victim, like it wasn't my choice, but I don't want to do it again.

It took until around 2:00pm for the Pitocin to start working. They start it in small amounts and build until you are having steady contractions. Upon arrival, I was already dilated three cm. By mid-afternoon, I was up to seven. Ten is crowning. One of my main concerns leading up to this was that I be able to move around and get in different positions. This, of all suggestions I'd read previously, seemed to be the most important. Lying on your back is the position least conducive to having a child, but it is most convenient for the doctor, so that that's what most women are told to do. However, when you are hooked up to a million things, alternate positions are hard to achieve. It's hard enough just to turn from your left side to your right, which is what they told me to do. Lying on your back decreases blood flow to the baby.

Once I hit seven cm, I started having regular contractions. They weren't unbearable at first. I was riding them out pretty well. Micah stood next to me and watched the contraction monitor near the bed. I think he was scared and unsure of his role in all of this. Maybe we should have prepared better as a couple, but in the end it wasn't a lack of good support that caused the c-section.

The contractions got stronger and harder to breathe through. I made it through probably twenty before I decided I wanted an epidural. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what the worst of the contractions felt like. I remember feeling like I was cheating myself out of a certain experience that I had been kind of excited about. I believed it was an essential challenge to my inner strength. But the pain was intense, I was scared, and I knew the game plan had to change.

The general practioner on duty came in and said that my doctor suggested we break my water to get things moving. Several days ago in my doctor's office, she said "don't let them break your water without the epidural first." I repeated this to the GP. She said I would barely feel it, and I would be fine. I wish I had felt more empowered. I wish I had put my foot down. I can be the bitchiest, sassiest chick in the world, but it seems in the most critical times, I don't stand up for myself. But these were medical professionals, and who was I to question them? Right?

So one of the nurses or doctors or students - fuck if I know, there were so many in and out - put her hand inside me and declared my water unreachable. The baby hadn't dropped far enough. PHEW! YESSS! No water broken without epidural! She left the room.

Not ten seconds later, a doctor I'd never met came in and said rather cheerfully "oh, I think we can break it," or something equally confident and disturbing. She then proceeded to perform the most painful manuever on my body that I could possibly imagine. Couldn't have been much easier than actually shoving that baby out, but in fucking reverse. I started crying hard and fast. I absolutely felt like I had been violated, but because there was no ill intention, I just had to suck it up.

To make me feel better, I guess, everyone in the room started raving about the anesthesiologist on duty as we waited for him to arrive. I was still so shaken up. I saw a look I'd never seen on Micah's face - total terror - as I screamed and cried while she broke my water. We held hands while we waited for the anesthesiologist. We were truly shaken up. (I'm realizing I'll have to edit this before Sasha reads it one day. I don't want her to think it was as bad as it actually was at times).

When he arrived he was kind, but all business. Getting the epidural was one of the strangest things I've ever felt. First, it feels like a bee sting as they numb it. Then, when the giant needle is being placed, it's like someone is poking you in that funny spot in your elbow, but in your back. The contractions were still coming, making sitting still, which is essential, almost impossible. The freakiest bit is being able to feel the doctor pushing the needle around in your back. I actually had to help him place it by letting him know where I felt it. When the medicine kicked in, I was in heaven. Micah visibly relaxed as I began to smile again.

As soon as I was numb, they turned up the Pitocin again. At this point it was early evening, I guess. I was really sick of laying in bed, but there was nothing to be done with my legs totally numb. Micah would tell me when the contractions were coming because I couldn't feel them at all. It wasn't active labor, so it's not like I had to push. Mostly I just lay there and entertained the constant flow of medical and hospital staff. I was still 7cm, and I had been for many hours, despite the constant increases in Pitocin.

The doula I didn't like went off duty. A new one, who was far less intrusive, introduced herself. At this point it was just a waiting game, so she didn't bother me much with what techniques we'd try during labor or foot massages.

Finally they decided to just leave me alone and let the meds work. It was about 9:00pm. I had a hand-held control that let me increase the epidural meds whenever I needed to. Micah was exhausted and wanted to lay down, but the chair in the room was a sad excuse for a bed. Oh sure, it "kicked out" into a bed, but you couldn't lay on your side and it definitely wasn't soft. After a few minutes of grumbling, I rang the nurse and asked for a cot. She was nice, and within five minutes, a cot! He promptly fell asleep.

No matter how many times I clicked the bliss button, I was feeling really intense pressure in my pelvis, and I knew when I was having contractions though they weren't very painful. Sasha was moving down. Every few minutes the pressure would subside and I'd try to fall asleep. I might have dozed off a few times. The room was completely dark. Nurses would come in every thirty minutes to check me. Around midnight, the GP on duty came in and checked me. Still 7cm! No progress at all. Sasha's head was moving down, but the rest of her body wasn't. She was getting coneheaded.

Looking back, I can see exactly what I did wrong if I was expecting to deliver her naturally. She wasn't going to move fully into my pelvis while I was laying there with my pelvis basically shut. Turning from side to side might be healthier for the baby, but it's not great for opening things up. I had certainly read enough to know that there was no way she was coming out vaginally. Perhaps I was not-so-subconsciously more terrified of delivering her than having a c-section? Then again, when your lower half is totally numb it makes it hard to facilitate much of anything.

My doctor called me on the phone in the room. She was still on call, thankfully. She said the lack of progress was troublesome, and since Sasha's head was getting increasingly bent out of shape, she wanted to do a c-section right away. I don't remember how this made me feel. I think I must have been mostly relieved to have my baby and be free of all the discomfort. It had been an extremely uncomfortable day.

I was wheeled into the surgery room around 1:30am. The new doula pulled up a chair and held my hand while they increased my epidural meds and got me prepared to the point where Micah could take over. I so appreciate her silent support. I liked holding her hand. Micah came in, all suited up, and they started cutting me. I didn't feel anything except a little jostling of my belly. I was hot, nauseous, and the oxygen mask they put on me was slipping off. They pulled out Sasha and I heard her cry a little. I heard someone says her fingers were really long and she could be a WNBA player. Micah went to her and cut the cord, which had already been disconnected from me. I was adamant that he not look at my cut-open belly, because a few months before my friend Steph's fiancee fainted and fell when he looked down there. Then he brought her over next to my head and sat down. The three of us were there together, quietly, while they stitched me up. I did start crying when I first saw her. I continued to cry because I was so fucking uncomfortable. They tilt the operating table for some reason, and it was causing my neck to get tight. Then I could feel everything they were doing to me. I felt pulling and pinching. After I practically yelled this, I quickly got more meds, which made me nauseous. Then I said I was going to puke, but I never did. The last thing I remember saying in that room was "Are you almost done? PLEASE!" I heard my doctor from the other side say they were almost done, I was doing great. I looked at the clock. They'd been stitching me up for an hour. I was at the end of my rope. I couldn't appreciate my newborn daughter, right there next to me, because I was so fucking uncomfortable.

When it was finally over, I don't even remember getting the epidural taken out. I don't remember falling asleep back in the birthing suite. I don't remember anything until I was being wheeled to a different floor where the nursery was. Suddenly it was 6:00am and a bushytailed nurse was asking me if I wanted a shower, water, more pillows? Anything? Food, I said. She said not until the doctor's clearance, but I could have juice. Yes, please. A gallon.


Soon they brought Sasha and Micah in. He had been watching her in the nursery the whole time. The next four days were quite the experience. There were people walking into and out of my room ALL THE TIME. I couldn't get a moment's peace. Then again, I have never been spoiled so righteously in my life. Anything I wanted was given to me. I got to pick food off a menu. I got more pain meds upon request. In the middle of the night, when I was exhausted beyond comprehension, the nurses would bring Sasha in every two hours to nurse and then come get her so I could go back to sleep. The room had the biggest windows and the best view. I stared at the sky all the time, knowing I should soak it up; people pay big money for such a view. Despite all this wonderful stuff, I bitched all four days about wanting to go home. Once home, all I wanted to do was go back. I daydreamed about going back for two whole months.

And now, four and a half months later, things are pretty smooth. The baby has a somewhat consistent schedule and we now sleep next to each other most nights. My body has downgraded its need for sleep, and Sasha rewards me by coming up with new talents every day. The best way to describe it...it's like unwrapping a present you know will be exquisite. Literally everyday she discovers a new sound, move, or expression. She has recently discovered her feet, and she's getting more affectionate. Babies are neat, especially mine.
This mom thing is hard, but amazing.

2.25.2008

jot it down

- The saddest occasion (which happens all the time)? The baby is sleeping on me, Micah is sleeping in the other room, and Avery isn't trained to fetch the remote, which is always just far enough out of reach that I can't do a McGyver to get it. (Developing your inner McGyver, by the way, is a requirement of having a baby.) I have been stuck watching some unbearable shit. I have the infomercials for Extenze (for that certain male body part), the Bender Ball, and this one mineral makeup, totally memorized. I need to learn to throw heavy things squarely at the power button on the tv.

- Must start picking my own lottery numbers. Some couple just won using their grandkids' birthdays. And I'm noticing that if you get more than one line on a Powerball ticket (line meaning chance to win) the Powerball number is often the same! Horseshit!

- Are you watching that show In Treatment on HBO? Homigod, it's become an obsession. It doesn't help that they put all five weekly episodes On Demand before they even air each week! I like watching it in the middle of the night when every one seems to be able to sleep except me. It makes me want to be back in therapy...but only if Gabriel Byrne is the therapist.

I love it when Sasha:
- plays with my shirt when she's nursing. I only have one shirt with a busy pattern on it, and it happens to be very soft, so when I wear it she stares, mesmerized, while her hands work it like she's knitting me socks.
- tries to eat my nose
- LAUGHS! OMFG you guys, she LAUGHED, just one little donkey-braying syllable, after which my entire body melted into a pool on the floor and Micah had to scrape me up before the dog licked up my left leg.
- wears a dress. It's a rare occasion but it needs to become regular.
- watches the dog. And watches the dog more. And more and more and more. She finds Avery fascinating. If he only knew! He's too busy being fascinated with me.
- screams. She totally gears herself up for it. Her breathing gets heavier, her arms and legs start to flail, and then she lets out a couple starter screams. When she really gets going, she screams so loud that she even startles herself.

I do not love it when Sasha:
- has gas. She basically groaned ALL DAY yesterday. I know it's the new food.
- is tired. Insufferable little squirt.

2.22.2008

American Gladiatress

Dude, my baby is huge.

Also, life is a teensy bit more fun whilst wearing a ponytail near the top of your head. Just try not to swing it.

Mmkay, though, really...my baby could knock you out. She's Herculina. She can pull herself into a standing position if you hold her hands. Then she just...stands there...for minutes and minutes and minutes and I'm pretty sure she's going to be too tall for gymnastics but I'd settle for rugby or shotput!

Right now she is bouncingbouncingbouncing in her Jumpster, which I'd perform oral on if it had genitalia. Just out of gratitude, you know? She is in love. Sasha + Jumpster 4 eva. Or until 30 lbs, which might as well be 4 eva, that's how far away it seems. For some reason, I assume Sasha will always be a ten pound baby. But seriously, dude, she's huge. She feels heavier every time I pick her up. 17 lbs! And OMG! We got the go-ahead to start giving her REAL FOOD! She is already shitting more!

Messy carrot-face pictures to come. For now, sink your teeth into the deliciousness:






mmmm nomnomnom cheeeeeeeks


(and that would be drool, not her first piercing.)


















Oh, and Sasha asked me to update you RE: new stuffs...



what she actually said was,

"Dis mah new office, where I computes."

2.08.2008

home sweet oh neverfuckinmind

Oh jeezum, here we go again. There's something that I want. When I want something, I usually want it RIGHT NOW. I'm impatient, but I'm also a really good initiator. I am fucking fantastic at getting projects off the ground. When I want something, I usually get it. I am absolutely convinced I could get just about anything in 24 hours if I really try hard enough.

I WANT A HOUSE. If there is anything more annoying to want RIGHTNOW, please tell me what it is. And yes, serendipity can be forced. It wouldn't take a miracle to line up a house in a day, but poor, poor Micah would beg me to back the fuck up for a second. Because girl, you cuh-razy.

Our apartment building was recently sold. Immediately the new owners announced they'd be installing central air, heat, and new windows. Living with these updates has been less than ideal. Workers of all varieties show up to do their little bit almost every day, with little to no warning. Sasha has been woken up by drills, hammers, and unobservant workers who want to coo at her loudly. Micah and I have been...uh...interrupted. So has breastfeeding. The workers leave the place dusty, even when I offer to move furniture so it won't get that way. There is no end in sight to these updates. We never would have moved here if we knew this would happen.

And there is simply no one to blame but me about picking a place with such a shitty fucking kitchen. I literally have this much space to cook. One tiny square of counter. I'm pretty sure the refrigerator was the very first model on the market.

So. I WANT A HOUSE.

So. What did I do? Well last week I spent a few days looking for houses online. I made a short list, and Micah and I drove to see them. Deciding that one was absolutely perfect, and cheap! cheap! cheap!, I called the agent. The house had eight other offers. We hadn't even been approved for a loan yet. I got pissed, discouraged, and suddenly the idea of getting a house seemed like nothing but heartache. We'll probably be looking at foreclosures, which are owned by banks, which can take two weeks to decided and they almost never bargain. Fabulous. I don't understand how so many people live in such expensive houses. I know most people aren't rich. But why does it seem so unfair that we can't afford a $200,000 house even though that's totally a lower-than-average price here? Are people just that in debt? I don't get it. I just don't fucking get it. I deserve a $200,000 house. It's not so ridiculous.

Then Brenda tells us that her elderly neighbor just moved into a nursing home. The house wasn't on the market yet. It has 3 bedrooms, just like we want. It's two doors down from family (babysitters!). I'm seriously hoping Brenda will work some magic on them. Who wants to put a house on the market when there are buyers available? Even if it means taking less than you think the house is worth, wouldn't you do it? Please, please...send the good juju.

I WANT THAT HOUSE.

2.02.2008

mah stuff

Dees mah hats. I has three.

Dis last one I like bestest. I's a Libra. Did u know we like clothes?

I has slings. One for the mama,

and one for the daddy. Sometimes I falls sleep.


Dis me and mah cousin Quaid. I would like one of dees stuffs he got pleez.


See, I plays in it good! Sometimes I falls sleep. Already told you dat!


Dis mah favorite dress. Mama told me to say dis.

I wears dis dress wif dees shooz. Dis stuff makes Mama cry! Dey are SHOES, Mama!

Dis me and mah dog. I like him pretty good. He very soft but his mowf kinda stinky. He gib me kisses.


Maybe next week I'll show you sumfin real special...my first toof! Mama told me to tell you she sez "WTF?!" and also "ouch."

1.23.2008

holy hairloss, Batman

Ugh. Just...ugh. My hair is falling out like I done it wrong. I don't think I shed one hair all nine months of pregnancy, which was pretty awesome. You really notice the lack of hair everywhere. But now, because my hormones are balancing out, I am finding hair everywhere. It's disturbing.

I've rediscovered the online forums that I used to visit when I was pregnant. Each month has its own club, basically, of women with the same due dates. Well, now it's a Playgroup, so I can go see what other women with 3-month-old babies are going through. Yes, other people are losing their hair. Other women have achy joints, especially knees (possibly dehydration! must up my already-upped water intake!), other women have concerns about getting their breastfed babies to accept a bottle. Other babies are rolling over, and Sasha is not. I try not to get uppity about this, because I've read enough mommy blogs to know that the Look What My Baby Does! game is cruel. But still. Why isn't she rolling over? Also? Can I just mention that I am not finding my big, revered baby book to be helpful? It makes me feel like I'm not doing this job correctly, and that if we do not HEED THIS ADVICE our baby will have Issues. My opinion on the matter is...is the baby alive? Check. The enlightened parenting can happen when I'm getting some really great sleep. (Does that ever happen? Please? Oh god.)

The newest thing taking up space in our tiny apartment with the sole purpose of keeping the baby entertained is a Jumpster. It attaches to a door frame and holds her up so she can bounce, jump, or just hang limp, you know, chillaxin'. I suspect she's a few weeks too young for it, but I do know that she absolutely loves to stand up straight, supporting herself entirely. We just keep our hands there to make sure she doesn't fall over. She really gets into it. Anyway, back to the Jumpster. Here she is in her first attempt:

She mostly locks her knees and stands there. For now. I have great expectations for this contraption.

Not long after I found out I was pregnant, Micah and I were visiting his brother Bob, who owns a Native American souvenir shop out in the country (random, yes, I'll have to tell that story one day). During this visit I noticed, for the very first time, that they had baby moccasins. I scribbled a mental post-it and then totally forgot about them until a few days ago, when Bob's wife Kathy gave us these:

Which are totally perfect for Jumpstering! The thought of my baby's delicate little biscuity sweet feet scraping against that wood floor...like all the world's nails on a chalkboard. Mostly she's a barefoot little scamp, because I have sock prejudice. I've noticed that everyone likes to expose my baby to their pet peeves. Micah hates having anything constricting around his neck. Half of his shirts are ripped to avoid this (and the other half are deemed NOT FOR WORK, i.e. "don't you dare fucking rip them! It's not a fashion statement!") So I frequently find Sasha with her zipper pulled down to her belly, because "she was hot." Well, I hate wearing socks, so I must admit my baby never wears socks. First of all, there is a fit problem. They either cut off her circulation or fall off. Her feet are rarely cold, just so you know. Don't you be calling CPS on me! Brenda always has her sleeves rolled up because she has a rolled-up sleeves type of job. So of course, I found Sasha with her sleeves rolled up while under Brenda's watch.

What pressure to perform. What pressure to not royally fuck the fuck up.

Lastly, would you like to enjoy some tummy time with my princess?

1.18.2008

screw Wednesday

Hello! Here I am! Baby Land sure is grrreat!
No really, it is. Mostly.

The baby is wonderful. It is the lack of Me Time and cold weather blues that make me feel a little crazy some days. But sometimes cool things come of boredom, right? Like how I suggested we reorganize the apartment and suddenly the t.v. and cable were unplugged and we were committed at that point. Apartment reorganizing feels itchy and chaotic while it's happening, while colossal dustbunnies are exposed, while you find strange aspects of familiar areas. As long as the t.v. is unplugged, I feel restless, like, ok, we're officially DOING THIS, let's move it along, pleeze! We're at T-minus 2 hours for Housewives - the real kind, not the desperate kind, Micah. You'll love it. Now where's the fuckin' futon gonna go?

Baby is stirring, dangit. How long should I let her stir? Until she cries? Until she cries hard? Am I spoiling her if I don't let her squirm for a minute? Will this make her greedy and demanding when she's older? FUCK ME, THIS IS HARDDDDD.

Some pictures? I thought you'd never demand. (I just went and turned the baby towards the t.v. I keep my Great Mommy Award on the back of the toilet, in case you were wondering. But Mommy needs to bloooog, damnit. Let her! LET HER HAVE HER MINUTES, CHILD. Am I not blogging ABOUT YOU?)

First of all, this is Sasha and the blanket my mom made for her. The plain pink side is soft as...well, baby skin. Sasha has big love for this blanket.


When has taken to snorgling her face into the soft fringe when she's sleepy. I find this absolutely adorable.


This is Sasha with the infamous Brenda. Brenda is so loud and outgoing, it would be impossible for a baby to not be smitten. I found it very interesting that Sasha spent a long time looking at the words on Brenda's shirt. She also stares at the writing on my water cup. Already a reader! Hot damn!

Here is Curte, Micah's brother and good friend. Talk about smitten. He's head over heels for her. I think she tolerates him because he and Micah make similar noises.

This is Sasha making out with her other love, Chicken, who has a nice big orange beak for her to play tonsil hockey with. I believe the moment I captured here is Chicken gagging my daughter with his inexperienced kissing skillz.

This is me singing to Crankie NoPants.

I usually sing a very jacked up but hilarious version of that song that goes

Hush little baby, don't say a word, Momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird, and if that mocking bird don't sing, Momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring...

And that's where I get a little fuzzy about the lyrics. So I continue to sing, attempting never to succumb to a moment of silence, because when I actually get her to be quiet I don't give up until I'm good and sure, you know?

And if that diamond ring don't shine, Momma's gonna buy you a porcupine, and if that porcupine isn't sharp, Momma's gonna buy you a purple harp, and if that purple harp don't play, Momma's gonna buy you a sunny day...

That's the normal version. It gets downright sick at times, but she can't understand yet, so whatevs.

Now someone please engage me in some adult conversation. Someone other than my husband, mmkay?

1.08.2008

the faces of eve

I'm not trying to say that Sasha has multiple personalities, but actually...she does. Babies are very moody. She sobs and wails one moment and smiles and coos the next. It's hard to keep up with. But mostly Sasha is a very good baby. We definitely have Moments, but there are so many of the good kind, too.

There is something that Sasha would like you to know...

"I'm a badass muthasucka. Betta recognize. Yeah, it's a bonnet, what of it? Wanna step?"
Clearly, she is suspicious of the dangling lion. And absolutely furious with the giraffe. But mostly, this baby is chillin'. She takes life as it comes, enjoying the taste of her long, chubby fingers. If her fingers taste like her cheeks smell, I totally understand.

1.05.2008

that was yesterday

Yesterday was terrible. Micah and I bickered nearly all day, and Sasha would only sleep in 30-minute spurts. I look forward to her regular 2-3 hour naps, as they provide me with opportunities to do extravagant things, like take a shower. We were all crabby all day long. I experienced a new low as far as handling stress. In a bitchy tizzy, unable to locate a cigarette, I stormed out of the apartment. I drove to the nearest 7-11 and bought cigarettes and a tall, solitary Lynchburg Lemonade. Then I parked in the park and slammed that motherfucker while sucking mightily on a cigarette and listening to angry music. Once my attitude was fully adjusted I went home. I was embarrassed and hugged the baby tightly. Things got easier. But I didn't really get over it until we went to visit Micah's sister Brenda. His brother Curte lives in her basement, so we frequently split up when we visit. I stay upstairs with the baby and Brenda, and Micah and Curte smoke cigarettes and drink beer in the basement. Lately it is the only time we get apart from one another.

Brenda is quite a character, and she's become the older sister I never had. She's 49, menopausal, divorced, and every bit a Leo - fiery, independent, and proud. She has frequent hot flashes and carries a bottomless glass of wine. She's deaf in one ear, has a slight speech impediment, and speaks at a higher decibel than the rest of us. She adores the baby, and because she never had any kids of her own, she relishes every opportunity to hold her, cluck at her, and tell her she's the prettiest baby in the world. When her extremely intelligent and animated pug Henny Penny starts barking at the television, Brenda half-heartedly tells the dog to shut up. She's hoping Penny will wake up the baby, because Sasha just isn't any fun when she's asleep.

Brenda knows Micah better than anyone, except maybe Curte. After Micah's mother died when he was four, Brenda stepped in and treated Micah like her own. She was married at the time but considered her husband such a baby that she thought it wise not to have any actual babies with him. So Micah spent a lot of time with them, and they filled each other's voids. They took him to Disney World. He stayed with them when he wasn't getting along with his dad. When he was sixteen, they hired him at their small concrete company and tought him all the skills he'd need to be the valued concrete worker he is today. Because Brenda knows Micah so well, she is the perfect ear when I'm frustrated with him. So last night I sat at her kitchen table and drank wine with her, letting all the dirty details of the day bounce off of her. Since she's a little deaf I never know if she's picking up exactly what I'm saying, but she always gets the gyst of it. She does most of the talking, which is usually fine with me. We compare our road-rage tendencies. She asks me to help her put music on her computer because she'd really like to get a HiPod. (I am too amused by this error to correct her.) She often speaks in complete paragraphs, even when it's just her and Penny in the room.

"Henny Penny! Do you want some Dr. Pepper? Here. Here's the cup. Oh you don't want it? Is it flat? Don't be a brat, have some. There. See? It's still good. Ok, Henny Penny, we need to empty the dishwasher. Then I need to smoke. Oh, let's smoke first. Wanna go outside? Hmm? Gabby? You need a Dr. Pepper?"

Brenda turned her neat-freak tendencies into an income. She's a self-employed cleaning lady for some rich folks around town. She doesn't just clean, she does whatever needs to be done, such as put up Christmas trees and clean up after parties. She seems to genuinely enjoy the work, and her clients are constantly giving her things they don't want or need anymore. Some of these gifts are bestowed upon us, like a fabulous wooden bunkbed and a decidedly unfabulous gold lamp. Last year Brenda was given a parrot named Maggie. Maggie scares me, but only because she really seems to enjoy Micah. I'm pretty sure she wants to have his babies and hates me because I beat her to it. She likes to climb up on Micah's shoulder and whisper in his ear. Yes, whisper. Apparently she says "watch it!" and "gotcha!" and has even told Micah she loves him. She nestles her head in his hair, right behind his ear, and climbs into the hood on his sweatshirt. This behavior intimidates me, especially after Brenda demonstrated how jealous and territorial Maggie can be. Brenda tried to get close to Micah and Maggie, dancing frantically on his shoulder, snapped her beak at Brenda's face and only missed because Brenda moved in time. The bird is terribly keen, so I try not to make eye contact because I think she'll take it as a challenge. She wants my man, and might decide to peck me to death. I tell her she's pretty a lot.
A half an hour with Brenda will set your mood straight. It's impossible not to be charmed by her. Eventually she will get you to have a glass of wine, or settle into her big leather couch and watch tv, or take this ugly gold lamp, or whatever it is you're resisting. Her reasons are always better than yours.

Everyone needs a Brenda. I know she'll be a person Sasha is always excited to see, and she'll always come with a story after hanging out with Aunt Brenda, who said Sasha can call her Sissy if she wants, just like Micah did when he was a baby.

Sasha, by the way, is doing just wonderfully. Except for shittastic days like yesterday, she's a gem, a doll, a peach. I'm learning her language a bit better, evaluating her moods more accurately. She eats her hands all the time and recently learned how to roll onto her side. She makes noises galore, including a charming coo and an alarming grunt (mostly gas related). She heaves her body to and fro, so you really have to keep all hands on deck when she's on your lap. I love her more and more every second, and secretly think she's far more adorable than any baby we've seen lately. Or maybe not so secretly.

I'll try to get back to posting on Wednesdays, and I promise I'll post some pictures next time.