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?

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?

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.

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.