snot

Each step sends a throb to my face... and then to my temples... and then to my ears. Snot is on the verge of cascading out of my nostril, but I sniff it back up because my hands are full and I can't reach my sleeve, and especially not a tissue. I'm sick. I am a mom, and I am sick.

I can't remember if I used the thermometer for Bay's temperature, rectally, or if it was a different one. I also wonder if I cleaned it after I stuck it up there. It doesn't matter and I stick it in my mouth to see if a fever will accompany this head thing.

All I need is a good night of sleep, I think. And then I laugh.

What a joke the flu shot must be as I am now sick for the second time in two months. They said that because I am a new mom, I need the flu shot and the H1N1 vaccine. Did they forget that new moms do not actually sleep and that their immune systems are low and that injecting them with virus' may not be the best idea. I don't actually know how the whole vaccine thing works, but all I know is that I got them, and now I'm sick.

Bay grabs the thermometer out of my mouth and tries to stick it in his... not because I was doing it, just because he puts everything in that little saliva pit. It had only climbed to 96.5 so either I am literally cold, or I need to do it again. Forget it.

Hopefully this tea is laced with super strength serum or something.

At the top of my hate list...

Heaps and mounds form in all areas of my room. It seems as if there is a magnet underneath every empty place on my floor, pulling clothes to it. Growing by the minute, I wonder if the piles will eventually cover my bed as well and if I will become one of those people who just sleep with their clothes... because there isn't any more room on the floor.

Colors and whites, baby socks and onsies, granny panties and nursing bras. Laundry is taking over my life.

I have a dilemma. Most of my clothes are in the "hand wash only" category and the rest are a "lay flat to dry" making my pile of dirty laundry a daunting task. There is the top that you know will shrink, even if it says "machine wash cold and tumble dry low" so you've never washed it - ever. Until someone comes over to help.

Trying to juggle a clean house and a healthy baby by myself at the same time has proven to be harder than I had ever imagined. My clothes are everywhere. I can load the dishwasher... and even unload it (it may take a few days). I can wipe down the counters and throw baby toys in a bin. But the laundry, I absolutely cannot get motivated. In fact, I am writing instead of doing it right this very minute.

My friends are the best help and when they see these piles overflowing into the hallways and peeking around every corner, they try to get me ahead of the game. I love them... until they shrink my favorite Anthro shirt, or wash a load of whites with one red onsie that hasn't been washed yet.

How do I politely tell them that washing everything and then leaving it folded in my room means disaster? Sure, the pile may be clean, but it does NOT mean that I will be jumping at the first opportunity I have to actually put it where it belongs. And so it sits. It get dug through. It ends up back in the dirty clothes pile because I can't remember if it was clean when the two piles accidentally combined.

I hate laundry and I am the only one who can do it. It isn't a matter of control; it's a matter of survival. Which stretchy workout pants will survive the longest after accidentally being dried because someone was just trying to help?

Alright, I am going. I have a mountain of laundry to climb... and then another one... and another...

Men. Just a bunch of babies...

I am sitting on the couch ready to go to bed, but the thought of actually getting up, brushing my teeth, washing my face and putting in my night guard keeps me sitting here. My leggings are cinched at the ankles making them really (cute) hard to get off, too. And where is my tank top with the built in breast pads? I think it's dirty. Crap. I'll have to rig something up to absorb my leakage that often times leaves me soaked in the wee hours of the morning. I'd rather doze on the couch for a bit while a completely mind numbing program is blaring in the background instead of getting up to get the rest that I complain about not having every day. This sort of craziness is easily justified while seriously sleep deprived.

I had my friend over last night and had nothing to talk about... or contribute, rather. She is dating a new guy and had that twinkle in her eye... that feeling that he could call at any minute and that they could talk about nothing, but it would be amazing. He's met a few of her friends, and he's told her that he likes her and although they haven't had any talks about exclusivity, they are definitely seeing each other quite a bit! This friend of mine hasn't had a boyfriend in almost a year and has sort of floated around keeping her options open. Every night is a possibility for Mr. Right! I listened to her last night and found myself envious of her butterflies. I remembered the mornings that you shave your legs in the shower because you know you'll be seeing him later. Now I'm lucky if I shave my legs once a month. And who cares if I shave them at all? Baylor? Nah... he likes me just the way that I am.

I woke up this morning sort of yearning for that excitement. And then I talked to Jen. My best buddy was dating a guy for about a month until she realized that he wasn't for her and she let him swim off into that big pond... or sea... or whatever. Of course, she is the crazy one and he tells me so in a facebook message. That's right, he wrote me a message, here in Seattle, about why Jen dumped him. I've never met the guy! He said that he was worried about her. Worried that she may not know that not everyone is perfect and that one day, she will realize that even the man that she deems worthy of her time may actually have a flaw, but to not let that flaw ruin her life because he could be the man of her dreams! OH! Thanks for the enlightening bud. Where is your crystal ball? So nice of him to make sure she knew that she will never be completely happy. So settle? So thoughtful.

I was shopping today when I ran into a friend who is having trouble with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend seems to have a wandering eye... or thumbs, as he has been a sexter texter with other ladies, and we aren't sure what else. She caught him, confronted him, and is giving him another chance. I think my favorite part was when he asked her "ok, so I messed up. What do I need to do now to get us back to where we were?" It was as though there was an equation or a planned process that they needed to follow and POOF they would be back to where they were - happy. Everything forgiven, but not forgotten. It's just not that easy.

Back to being sleep deprived and missing butterflies... it's not so bad. Right when I start to wonder if I can survive another day of poop and puke, I am reminded that I've got it made. No weirdos with a hypothesized vision of my love life and no sexters with a need to have a harem of women in their inbox. I have a perfect man who laughs at everything that I say and never wants to leave my side! I guess it's my job to develop my little man into a grown man who is emotionally stable, successful, handsome, polite, honest, funny, kind, loyal and faithful.... and on and on.

Should be a piece of cake... I am his mom, aren't I?

And now it's time for bed.

Hey MA

Baylor can see. He sees colors and shapes and people... and can no longer be entertained by the freckles above my cleavage. I used to be able to toss him into my front carrier apparatus to hit Nordstrom or the grocery store; but satisfied he is no longer. He wants to check out the action happening all around him.

Grocery shopping has become somewhat of a task. I can't really bring a stroller into the store because I need to push the cart. Bay hates sitting in his car seat attached to the cart and will scream the entire time - quickly ending our shopping experience. I did this once and made it half way down the first aisle before turning around and leaving the store. I started leaving him with my sister or trying to shop a little while he is with his dad, but I decided that I had to look that temper tantrum square in the face and say, bring it.

I unloaded him from the car and placed him in my Ergo carrier (similar to the baby bjorn) and grabbed a cart. He seemed to be happy and we carelessly cruised the meat section until... oh no... a screech of a sound coming from my neckline. Here is comes... the meltdown.

He arched his back and wailed like someone was sending jolts of pain up through his toes. His crinkled forehead and curled lip revealing his toothless gums are surrounded by his clenched fists next to his face. He let out a scream followed by a snort and I knew our ergo time had officially ended.

I stopped in the middle of the aisle and managed to unclip myself to get him out of the carrier to bring him to my hip, and he was cured. Each aisle provided an incredible world of shapes and colors that kept him mesmerized as he griped onto the shoulder of my shirt. I finished my shopping holding my drama king in one hand, while pushing my cart and reaching for items with the other. I can't believe my biceps aren't bursting out of my sweaters.

Finally to the counter after what seemed like a journey through a supermarket jungle, the checker grabbed my cart and started scanning my items.

"Cuuuuuute lil guy you have there."

"Oh, thaaaanks!"

"How old is he?"

"3 months..." now shut up and bag my groceries, I thought.

"3 months!? I remember when my boys were that little. Here, I HAVE to show you a photo of them!"

Great. Now I have to stand here with a dead arm even longer to look at photos of a guy's children who I don't even know.

"Oh, they are just cute."

"Thanks, MA!"

Ma?

"Do you need help out today, ma?"

Why is he calling me "ma"? I'm not his ma.

"Uhh... sure, I guess that would be great."

"No problem, ma."

Should I say something about him calling me "ma" because it's really freaking me out.

"I'm just the silver car over here, but put the groceries in the back seat because I have a million strollers in my trunk..."

"Don't you worry about a thing, ma, I'm a pro at this stuff. I've got your purse and I am putting it in the front seat so you don't lose it, ma."

IS HE KIDDING RIGHT NOW?!

"Ok. Great. Thank you." I got in my car and drove home. Apparently I was everyone's "ma" that day. Weird.

My sleepy one.

Fervently sucking on his orange pacifier, his eyes begin to roll back, further and further until he is no longer stimulated by dangling toys and is fast asleep. Dreaming about how much his mom loves him and brown silver dollars that produce his favorite food, his tiny finger twitches and he is human.

A small body with little control, perfectly shaped and gentle. How innocent and special he is.

Each breath he takes reminds me that I am the luckiest mother on the planet and that there is nowhere else I would rather be. His gummy smile and squinted eyes make me feel like my heart is actually expanding in my chest and before long, I will be one huge heart walking around pulsing, quite possible grossing people out.

One arm straight up and the other placed above his fragile skull, he is relaxed and I can examine his tiny fingernails and imagine what story each deep line on his palm will tell.

He jerks awake and lets out a cry. My face is the first thing he sees and he is soothed with a soft shhh-ing. His exploring hand feels around my face until he finds his spot, curled into my neck where it is warm and safe. His eyes close again and I know I have five more minutes of watching him calmly rest.

Manolo BLAHniks and Headbands

I threw on my lululemon gear, of course, and a black head band to hold back my unruly bang grow out, and headed downtown for the dentist. My appointment was at 9am, so I was rushing to make it on time knowing that black pencil skirts and tucked in dress shirts would be also making their way downtown... for work.

I parked in my usual place and entered the bustling sidewalk to walk the two blocks to my dental high rise. I was trying to pull off the "sporty" look, like I had actually just gone for a quick jog or a yoga class before heading into work for the day. I actually was just too tired to take a shower and put on real clothes. In front of me was this gorgeous young woman in a perfectly fitting pair of slacks with a crisp white collared shirt and Manolo pumps that looked like they were killing her feet, but nobody would ever know it. Her shiny black hair cascaded down her back, ending in a precise straight line. Hate her. She was reaching into her bag for her phone as she turned the corner into the same building that I was entering only four steps behind. Huge rock on her finger... of course. She definitely hadn't had babies yet... nobody has a waist that small after the miracle of hip movement to grow a basketball in your gut.

Off the phone, she hit the elevator button and then I caught a glimpse of her profile. ELIZABETH! Oh no. It's Elizabeth. Not "Liz", but "Elizabeth". Like the Queen. The most put together, stunning human being I know. Also the one that makes you feel like you have something black in your teeth and she notices it the whole time, but gets off on not telling you because she likes to imagine the moment that you catch your reflection and go "ahhh man! nobody told me!" as you replay all of the people that you recently smiled at. Yep. That's her. She only started being nice to me last year after I told her I was dating an NFL player, like I could only then be on her list. Anxiety burrowed into my chest and an automatic monologue started to form in my head....

oh heyyy, yeahhhh, oh noo, I'm not working downtown anymore. Nope. I actually moved back from Chicago... yeahhhh. Why? Oh, because I got pregnant. MmmmHmmm. Yep. He's 10 weeks old. I look great? Ohhh thanks, so do you! Suuuure! Call me sometime! I'd love to. MmmHmmm. Good to see you too!

And so I hid behind a doorway and watched as a member from my past life boarded the elevator and surely got off on her desired floor. It wasn't that I was embarrassed or ashamed or jealous. It wasn't that I'm not proud of myself or happy about all of the decisions that I've made. It's just that sometimes I feel like an alien visiting Planet Allison and all of the Allisontians are staring at me because something's just a little different. An elevator ride simply isn't enough time to get deep and explain what it's like to feel your son move inside of you for nine months, and then after you push him out of your body with every ounce of strength that you never knew you had, he smiles at you and you are forever in love with someone who didn't exist last year. It's hard to share something so special with an acquaintance who you were pretty much only competitive with every time you bumped into each other at fabulous parties. We weren't playing the same game anymore... we had been placed into different leagues.

I mean, who knows, maybe she could have related? It looked like she really loved her Manolos and I don't think they existed last year either... they were totally from this season.

Ah, Crap.

Fall is here and it seems that the changing weather has caused a major writer's block. It could also be because I've been responding to emails with one hand as my baby is in the other, making typing a bit of a challenge and discouraging me to write any more than I absolutely have to. I've been using "text lingo" in emails - and if you have received one of these abbreviated messes, I'm sorry.

Bay is growing so quickly and I am getting the hang of this mommy thing... I think. I've now started looking at newborns and inserting the oh so annoying, "awww, I remember when they are that small..." like I have multiple children who are all full grown and in college. Then they look down and see my 8 week old and wonder what the hell I am talking about.

Being out and about with Bay, I think my favorite question has been if I like being a mother. What would happen, exactly, if I answered in a less desirable fashion? "NO, I REALLY HATE IT." It's sort of a no brainer... Everyone is going to initially say yes, because they are spending every minute of every day trying to be the best mother, and if they don't feel like the best mother, they are definitely faking it to seem like they are. Women were put on this earth to have babies, right? We should just KNOW what to do! I've decided to share a few of my favorite things about being a mommy.

Bay pooped and I went to change him. As I lifted his little legs into the air to get a good wipe, a rocket fart shot poop directly onto my hand and up my arm! Mortified, I looked down at the mustard feces and then at my little darling who, like clockwork, gave me the most adorable smile that I had ever seen. Pulling my eyes away from my new arm decor, I reached over to the wipey container and there is was. MORE POOP! Scanning the surrounding area, I discovered it everywhere! Little yellow blobs freckling the entire changing station. I quickly covered Bay in a new diaper fearing that another rocket explosion would occur and stuck him in his swing - which, by the way, is the best invention ever. My laundry pile grew and everything got a great wipe down, but the whole thing is just a little gross. I felt like I needed a hazmat suit with sanitizing chemicals. I mean, this was poop, right? Is a moist cloth really going to sanitize all that needs to be sanitized? Are little green, microscopic monsters breeding and going to invade my home, starting with the changing table covered in smeared poo?

This is my life. Poop. Wearing poop, worrying about poop, wiping poop, and dodging it as it flies across the room. No wonder I've had a writer's block. I swear, I really do love being a mother.

Now that Bay is here, and visible instead of inside of my belly, there are a whole slew of new questions. "Awwww, cuuuuuute, how old is he?" "Awwww, just a new one! What's his name?" "How's he sleeping?" "CAN I HOLD HIM?" Can you hold him? Hm. Creepy lady working in the safeway deli with a hairnet and gloves? No, you may not hold him. Four year old little lady with hands about the same size as Bay's? No, you may not hold him, sorry. It's tough to deny people the pleasure of bundling my little man in their arms. I'd just rather not endure the agonizing feeling I get when I hear him cry because they are doing it wrong and instinctively want to rip him out of their arms.

People talk about schedules and patterns and all of this very technical stuff when it comes to babies. What does each cry mean and how long can they go without eating in the night? Such complicated little beings, always changing and growing and right when you think you have them figured out - they throw something new into the mix. Mommies are obsessed with their babies, as they should be, and are forever trying to figure out exactly what they are doing, saying, feeling, implying, requesting or craving. This is a good thing, but it can also make you feel insane.

Every mom likes to think their child is just a little bit more advanced that other babies their age. I know I do. We praise them for a hearty belch, we ooo and ahhh over a big poop, and we even console them when they've puked all over my recently dry cleaned top. When does it switch over to punishing them when they forget to say "excuse me" after a burp, or reprimand them for not flushing their little turd down the toilet. Not cute to puke on people? Say what? Sometimes I think Bay fully understands what I am saying as he has amazing conversation skills, obviously. Eye contact... a polite and adorable smile... a perfectly timed coo... and then he tries to fit his entire hand into his mouth right after he's just punched himself in the forehead. Can you imagine your date, a grown man, trying to do that at dinner? "Oops, sorry, I just like to punch myself in the face sometiiiimewmes (shoving fist into mouth while simultaneously trying to finish his sentence). Babies are cute. They get away with everything...

Perfect timing. My little prince has just awoken and is trying to tell me something with his wailing. I bet he's crying in Spanish or something. He's super advanced.