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.

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."

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.

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."

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?