Tales from La La Land

As I mentioned the other day, Harper is starting to say a lot of words. Having some kind of proper communication is helpful when figuring out what she needs or wants. The fact that she can say no when I ask her if she is hungry is very helpful. The fact that she says no to basically every question, however, is not as helpful.

They tried to give me Cheerios, but I said, No no no.

They tried make me go to bed, but I said No no no.

They tried to brush my teeth, but I said No no no.

They tried to wash my hands, but I said No no no.

Anyway, she has no idea what she is talking about. I guess yes is a hard word to learn so rather than point to the shoes that she DOES want to wear, we have to point to every single pair as she says no to each, and try to figure out which pair she said no to, but meant yes.

Hmmm…Was that a real no? Or was that the no she gives when we ask her if she wants a Popsicle?

She’s also learned to say, “mine”, which is also a SUPER fun word. EVERYTHING is mine.

Sometimes I want to say, “Chill, bitch. This coffee is not yours, it’s mine. Can mommy have one thing is this house that is not yours?”

No no no.

So, last night I was giving her a bath and she was playing with her favorite toy. I picked up one of her crayons (the kind you can write on bath tubs with), and started writing her name. I didn’t get past H when she dropped her other toys, grabbed the crayon, and said, “MINE.”

So, I picked up a different toy, and she took it from me, and said mine. Assuming that she was logical, I said, “Well, can mommy play with this toy if you are going to play with that one?”

No. No. no.

So there she sat holding so many toys so as to make sure I could have none saying “mine” and “no”.

Thank God when I sneeze she says “blethyou” and it is the cutest thing ever in the world or I might wonder who invented kids.

So, right after Harper was born, I started noticing that I couldn’t hear very well out of my left ear. The problem proceeded to get worse, and after asking Laef to repeat himself 400 times over the course of the last month, he insisted I go to the doctor.

I don’t know exactly what I thought the problem was, but I certainly was not prepared for them to tell me that I have otosclerosis and will have to have surgery to replace a bone in my ear. This condition is apparently common in women late in pregnancy or during menopause.

So, yes, this is yet another thing that I will be blaming on Harper. I mean, it’s not enough that I pee while jogging, average 4 hours of sleep per night, have a beer gut (without the enjoyment of beer), and brush out giant amounts of hair each morning.

No, I also have to be practically deaf in one ear.

Now I am wondering what could be next.

All joking aside,  it doesn’t matter all that much.

We just experienced our first holiday with Harper, and I have to say that it brought out the kid in both of us. We took her trick or treating (yes, she is only 4 months old and did not know what the hell was going on) Monday night, and our excitement level was quite high. We both realized that this might be the last year we can eat all of her candy without her throwing a giant fit.

When we started walking down the street and approached the first house, we stopped and looked at each other.

“What do we do? We just knock on the door, right?”

Yeah. OK.

I mean, it has been like 25 years since I have been trick or treating (I just barfed typing that) and like 6 years since Laef has gone. We were rusty.

Most of the houses in our neighborhood had bowls with candy on the porch. I don’t know if it’s because people were out with their own kids, or if that’s how it’s done these days. That’s not how it was done back when I was a kid, which is a good thing because I didn’t exactly follow instructions, and a note that says, “TAKE ONE ONLY” wouldn’t have meant shit to me. Actually, yes, it would have meant, “TAKE AS MUCH AS YOU WANT AND RUN AWAY FAST!”

I tried really hard to only take once piece to put in Harper’s trick or treat bag, but it was not easy.

Laef: “Remember, you are trying to set an example for her.”

Me: “Bah. Fine. But we can take three pieces. One for me, one for you and one for her. That is totally legit.”

Laef: “Oooh. Get that flavored tootsie roll.”

I mean, no matter how old you are, a bowl full of candy is a hard thing to resist.

And no matter how deaf, tired or decrepit you feel, spending the holidays with your kids will make you feel like a child all over again.

While Harper passed out from her first Halloween experience, Laef and I dumped all her candy on the table and took turns picking what we wanted. It was like the fantasy draft of candy picking, and of course the last thing left was some janky candy corn.

Candy Corn > Tebow.

Well, after 10 weeks, it’s now official: Harper has been hazed.

For years, Sanch has tolerated us. I was too lazy to look through all the blogs, but there are way more stories. Like the time Laef took Sanch in the shower with him. Or the time we put a onesie on him.

He still gets his fair share.

I used to feel guilty that maybe Sanch was feeling neglected. Now I’m starting to think he’s actually happier. There’s just not enough time for us to torture him. He is also quite aware that we are preoccupied and knows that he can sneak on the counter or in the bedroom, and enjoy both for an extended period of time before we realize he is M.I.A.

Anyway, yesterday I decided to take Harper to the pool. She turned 10 weeks old so I figured double digit weeks qualified her for such an activity. And, also, I am running out of things to do with her. Well, things that are free. How many fucking walks around Brentwood can a person make in a 10 week period? I will tell you: TOO MANY.

Little babies shouldn’t be in the sun too much, but the pool we went to had lots of shade, and we used the kind of suncreen our pediatrician said was OK so don’t yell at me.

Before we could go, however, we had to make a quick trip to CVS for some Little Swimmer diapers. Turns out they only carry size medium, which is for babies that are 24 lbs. Harper is almost 12 pounds. I bought them anyway.

Laef is not the only MacGyver around here.

Athletic tape is this family’s duct tape. It will fix anything.

She’s a fashionista in training because once she had her suit on, you couldn’t see anything wrong.

I think I got kind of cocky during the first week of this whole baby thing. For the first four days Laef and I were running on pure adrenaline. Harper was eating on the regular with no problems, and that meant that she was sleeping really well for 3 hour stretches. So, at night we’d be getting enough sleep to get us through the next day.

Then the wheels fell off and she was having a growth spurt? Or was she sleeping too long towards the end of the day? Or was she gassy?

The number of questions you ask yourself every time she does – or doesn’t do – something, or changes what she was doing, is insane.

Whatever it was, she had a couple of nights where she’d only sleep for 1.5-2 hours per session, and that is when things started getting harder. Raising a newborn is hard enough, but with only a few hours of sleep and nipples so sore you dream of the 20 hour labor because at least with that there’s pain medicine, it becomes a different ball game.

The thing about the nipples is that the boobs are the key to the whole operation. I honestly feel like the past 5 days have been all about milk. Producing it, correcting the latch, timing her sessions, making sure I am keeping a good enough supply, pumping for a few extra minutes at the end of feedings if she didn’t nurse for as long as she normally does. Pumping so that we have a few bottles on hand so that Laef can do a feeding here or there.

Breast milk is liquid gold. Laef tried to dump out an ounce the other day and I almost tackled him. Every ounce has been made with excruciating pain and love. She will drink every drop.

So, anyway, right now we are in the stage of feeding her, changing her, rocking her, and waiting for her to wake up so that we can do it all over again.

Other highlights have included her taking a giant shit in the middle of a 3 a.m. feeding that stunk so bad I had to change her with my boob hanging out, which then proceeded to leak all over her face. (I was secretly excited because it was confirmation that there was, in fact, a healthy supply of milk in there). I don’t know if it was that or she was mad at me for interrupting her, but 20 seconds after I put the new diaper on she took another giant shit. At which point Laef woke up and looked over the bed at me. There I was, one boob out, with a look of bewilderment on my face that led to both of us laughing.

Of course, then I started peeing.

I’m a disaster.

But all of it has been more than worth it. I did not know I would ever feel this way. I have never cried so much out of happiness (and over exhaustion. And, wondering why the fuck I can not swaddle as good as Laef, which means she goes to sleep easier when he rocks her, which makes me question my skills as a mother. I also cry if she cries. Or smiles.).

So, I’m a crying, peeing cow these days.

The good news is that there’s absolutely no better wingman than Laef, and therefore I have been able to shower regularly and take Harper on long walks around the neighborhood.

Eating is another story as we try to scarf down what we can, when we can. Half eaten bowls of cereal are the new symbol in our house.

Everything is like a NASCAR pit crew around here. We do things – changing her diaper, dressing her, bathing her, swaddling her, take showers, go to the bathroom – as quickly as possible so as to not upset the princess.

By the way, is there anything harder than putting clothes on a newborn baby?

I was a bad, bad child. One of the things I was particularly bad about was Christmas. Or anything related to presents for me. I would do anything to find out what I was getting, and never thought twice about knowing what ALL my gifts were.

In fact, one year I desperately wanted some leather gray moccasins. While snooping around my mom’s closet one night, I found the bag that contained my coveted shoe. The next day – after my mom had left for work – I took the shoes out and wore them to school. Once I arrived back home – before my mom returned from work – I put them back in the bag and acted as if nothing had ever happened.

First of all: !!!! What the hell? Sometimes I remember things I have done and I don’t sleep for 2 days hoping this baby will never do some of that shit (she won’t because Laef is the best at hiding stuff. I mean, we’re in our 10th consecutive day of hanging out together in the house and I STILL have not found his secret stash). Second of all, those moccasins were wicked cool back in the day, and third, I believe they actually came back in style recently.

ANYWAY, I am terrible at secrets. Anyone who knows me knows this. Not only do I hate not knowing what my presents are, if I have bought YOU a present, I hate YOU not knowing what YOUR present is. So, it’s very likely that prior to Christmas or your birthday, I will have already given you your gift or told you what it is.

Soooo….this baby is KILLING me. It’s like the one present I want to see really, really bad and I can’t do anything but wait.

My past transgressions have finally caught up with me, and someone is torturing me.

Laef and I have been enjoying the fact that we can stay up late, sleep in, and read all the magazines that we never have time to read. We’ve haven’t spent this much time together since our honeymoon, and surprisingly we’re getting along quite well. We have figured out a way to share the TV, which means that Laef actually asked me the other day, “Is Alexis married to Peggy’s ex?” (this is a Real Housewives reference and the minute he said it, he was very angry and went back to trying to fix his fantasy baseball team). While he knows the happs on RHOC, I now know the entire St. Louis Cardinals starting line up, and somehow watched all of the NBA finals.

We’ve played Scrabble twice – and BOTH times Laef began with a Bingo, but we still finished the game, which is a miracle. We’ve played Wii, baked ourselves out of flour, gone over What to Expect The First Year extensively, learned how to use a breast pump (yes, even Laef), navigated through Babies R Us (nightmare!), and watched a ridiculous amount of movies.

And, yes, we’ve done all of the things they say to do to induce labor.

She is just not going to let us see her because she knows I need to work on my patience.

Yesterday was one of the more exciting doctor visits – we got to do an ultrasound! It’s always fun when you get to see the little peep moving around and hanging out. However, it is officially official that Laef and I should not be allowed to attend doctor appointments together.

Especially when it comes to ultrasounds. Last time it was all “labia labia labia”. This time it was us waiting in the room for the doctor and Laef letting me know that he was holding in his farts. Of course he didn’t have to fart the whole way over, but once we were crammed in a tiny room, he had “lots of farts”. The doctor was taking forever to come in and eventually Laef just decided that he could blame me, because, well I’m pregnant. And no one would even assume it was the dude farting at this point.

So we’re giggling about farting and Laef is cringing at my belly button and how thick my linea nigra is and wondering why my feet are wet with sweat. He’s basically making me feel like a beautiful princess when in walks the doctor.

And, he’s cute. And young. And FUNNY.

I say this only because you never know what you’re going to get. Most of the appointments are boring. You weigh yourself (GAG), pee in a cup (I’m sort of a pro at how to do it without getting any on my hands), goo up your tummy, and ask dumb questions like, “Will I die if I sleep on my back?”

You then receive what is almost a side-eye because, as doctors, these people have probably dealt with a lot of crazy. Usually they reign in the side-eye and humor you with a really sweet response like, “Um, no, you dumb bitch.”

So, ANYWAY, I’ve seen a couple of different doctors in my journey. My regular doctor, the labia ultrasound tech, a different male doctor when my regular doctor was out of town, and lastly, McCutie yesterday. And, I’ve been waiting for one of them to look like they came off the set of Grey’s Anatomy.

McCutie walks in and Laef and I are both texting on our phones and giggling about lame shit and I see him double take. He must be thinking: “Laugh and text now you crazy kids. Because you won’t be laughing OR texting for at least two more years! BWHAHAHAHAHA.”

He introduces himself and then looks at Laef: “So you’re responsible for this???”

Love this guy already.

We get right to the ultrasound to make sure that my cervix and placenta are far enough apart from each other. At my last ultrasound they were too close together. This would mean C-section.

So he’s looking for both, but the baby’s head is blocking his view. We do get to see her face and her little mouth is opening and closing and McCutie says: “Aw. She’s drinking. Probably her own pee. Yummmm.”

Then he measures her head and says it’s registering on the small size. He quickly says “in the normal range, just in the lower percentile. She’s fine!”

Me: “Great. So our baby is a pee-drinking, tiny-brained runt. I hope you realize that I will obsess about this for two days.”

McCutie: …

He quickly changes the subject and says those two dreaded words: “Transvaginal ultrasound“. He wants to be extra sure that the placenta and cervix are not hanging out together.

All I’m thinking about is the scene in Knocked Up where the doctor says, “You’re Next” to Seth Rogen while holding a giant rod. And then he says some other thing while looking at her vagina about her looking just like her sister.

I know. I need to act like a grown up. But two seconds ago Laef was farting and now this doctor expects the two of us to get through what will happen next.

I get naked from the waste down. Laef is becoming fidgety. I mean, when is the last time it was me, Laef, some other dude and my gyne all hanging out? The doctor comes back in, and I swear it was worse than it is in movies.

He pulls out a giant rod-like thing, puts a condom on it and covers it in lube. I can not even look at Laef. I am trying not to pee on the table.

Thankfully, we see what we need to see in a matter of seconds. It’s over. McCutie walks out and I look at Laef, and we bust up laughing. Like, what in the fuck is going on around here?

We are going to have to pull it together because one little trans-v ultrsound is NOTHING compared to what is about to go down. It’s actually not that big of a deal, but the truth is that anytime there are stirrups involved it’s just not a great time. And never did I imagine Laef would be next to me while I’m in said stirrups. No wonder hot passionate sex goes out the window after marriage. I mean, how am I supposed to maintain my hotness after my husband has seen me in stirrups?

I seem to remember posting a while back that I was going to hang up my running shoes and start swimming. Well, one of those things happened back then: I hung up the running shoes. I started walking, but for some reason I was having problems making myself go swimming.

Eventually I bought a bathing suit big enough to house the girls, and hid it away in a drawer. I just wasn’t ready to be the pregnant girl in a bikini, I guess.

Recently, walking also became uncomfortable so I finally decided to say fuck it and get my ass in the bathing suit and into the pool. I don’t know why I was having so much anxiety, but I spent the whole day talking myself into it. Laef even got me a UCLA water polo swim cap (which I still haven’t brought myself to wear), and encouraged me to just do it.

And now my only regret is that I didn’t start sooner. Being in the pool – COMPLETELY WEIGHTLESS – has been my saving grace. I am addicted to it. Not to mention the weather in LA has been phenomenal for the last week so being out in the sun and swimming around in the pool has rejuvenated me so much.

Laef came with me yesterday, and I don’t know what it is about swimming pools that make you feel 12 years old again, but we spent about 45 minutes in the pool saying things like, “RACE YOU!” and “See how long you can hold your breath” and “WATCH THIS: Handstand!” and “I bet you can’t egg beater as long as I can” (yes, Laef doing the egg beater in a pool IS as funny as you might think) and “Race me again!”.

I was only minimally horrified when Laef pointed out a group of water polo girls at the pool (nothing will make you feel 20 times more pregnant that a 6-foot tall athlete with perfectly tan skin), but eventually I didn’t really care. It felt so good to be in the water getting exercise and moving around without pain.

Aside from swimming all weekend, we went to the Cardinals vs. Dodgers game on Saturday night and didn’t get beat up. Cardinals won, Laef got drunk and I managed not to get us lost on the 110 freeway, so it was a perfect night.

Perhaps it’s just me noticing babies more, but we saw lots of babies at the pool and lots of babies at the baseball game. I know that we are about to spend many a days completely sleep-deprived and cranky, but I am really getting excited to bring the baby to the pool or to baseball games or any place else we go. I just can’t wait to show her the world.

Apparently it is not common for ultrasound technicians to refer to girl parts as “labia”. I have gotten a lot of questions about my last blog, the most common being – did she REALLY say that?

First of all: This blog is straight non-fiction.

Second of all: Even IF I made shit up to make our lives seem more cool and interesting, there is no way in a million, billion, trillion years that the word labia would have ever come to my mind in regards to how I found out I was having a girl. I thought there was some unwritten universal rule that girl and boy parts are referred to as “pee pee” for at least 3 years.

Third: She was a doctor, so she was probably being all professional and whatnot. It was Laef and I who couldn’t handle hearing about our daughter’s labia and made it like a 6th grade science class all giggly and white-faced. (Seriously, you should have seen the look on Laef’s face when she said it).

Obviously, we’ve never been through this before so I had no idea that most doctors don’t show you the labia. (I am really just enjoying typing labia at this point because I am immature and it is STILL making me giggle). But, after talking to my sisters, my friend Allie, my friend Amy and hearing from other moms, maybe the labia-bomb was meant specifially for us so that I would have something to blog about! Yay!

When people (my sister) email or text me and say, “You haven’t written a blog in two weeks! I am sooo bored. Write something. What is going on?” I feel bad for the blog neglect, but because this is a blog about our lives, there are weeks that go by where I have nothing to write.

A typical day is:

7 a.m. Wake up
Me: “Do you need a lunch?”
Laef: “Yes.”
Me: “Fuck.”

8:12 Rush out the door.

8:20 Yell at the same bitch in the BMW with weird bumper stickers who I somehow get behind every fucking day on Wilshire.

8:35 Arrive at work 5 minutes late.

11 a.m. Eat my morning snack (the same snack every single day)

12:30 p.m. Gym at lunch

4 p.m. Afternoon snack (the same snack every single day)

5:30 Leave work and cuss the whole way home on Sunset

6 p.m. Arrive home. Feed Sanch. Kill time until my stories come on.

7:20 p.m. Call Laef.

Me: “Hi.”
Laef: “Hi. Is everything OK?”
Me: “Yes. When are you coming home? I’m bored.”
Laef: “Same time I always come home.”

7:45 p.m. Laef arrives home. He plays Sporacle or reads. I read/watch crap TV/nap.

8:30 p.m.
Me: “I’m tired.”
Laef: “Seriously. It’s 8:30″
Me: “K. I will push it til 9.”

9 p.m.: Go to bed.

I’m not saying it’s lame (OK, it’s kind of lame). I like my routine and I like structure. But it doesn’t really bode well for good blog stories.

And then one day Laef puts oranges under the Christmas tree.

Or our doctor says labia.

And a blog post is born.

If not for Laef, this blog wouldn’t exist. And I know when he’s really proud of something funny he has said or done because he will follow it with: “Blog that out.”

This post has absolutely nothing to do with Antoine Dodson , but ever since I saw the AD Halloween costume, I’m thinking I really need it.

Anyway, I did not fall of the ship. I can’t believe I haven’t blogged it out since going on the cruise.

Highlights:

- After a day at the pool, and a few shots of Patron, Brooke ripped Stephanie’s bathing suit. Apparently she did not like the style and took the Peta approach, “You should go naked rather than wear this old thing!”

- After said day at the pool, I found a place to watch the Oregon vs. Stanford football game. Unfortunately, I was sitting among a gaggle of UW fans who showed no mercy when Stanford went up by about 3 touchdowns. These people were not nice. I guess that rivalry travels to the high seas. Luckily for me, the Ducks tore Stanford a new ass in the second half and the Huskies were silenced.

- The Casino. I won exactly enough to cover my bar tab for 3 days. That makes explaining a bar tab to Bossman a LOT easier.

- I can’t decide if this is a highlight or what, but every evening there is a sit-down dinner. You are supposed to dress up and act fancy. On the first night, we’re all playing along, trying to be on our best behavior when out of nowhere someone gets on a microphone and tells everyone to stand up and get ready to dance. And before we know it, Get Low is BLASTING. First of all, explain to me how sweat dripping down yo balls is appropriate dinner music. Second of all, I don’t care how old you are, how sober you are or how prudish you are: This song will get under yo skin. And there we were – my mother included – getting low in front of a bunch of strangers who were trying to finish their crab cakes. It. was. horrifyingly. wrong. And so much fun!

- Family. Between my mom and Art, all of their children and grandchildren were present with the exception of Laef, Neil, and Steph’s and Neil’s kids, Nico and Elisa. It’s probably the first time that all of us have been in the same room in…well, ever.

Lowlights

- Ship music. I don’t think we heard any music that wasn’t from the 70s or 80s EXCEPT that first night at dinner when we heard Get Low. There was no Gaga. No G6 song. No Biggie Smalls. No Madonna. On second thought this might have been a good thing. No one needs to see a bunch of strangers dancing to Blow The Whistle in broad daylight.

- Sushi bar. So, there was one tiny sushi bar. Of course the line was super long. My sister and I decided to wait in line anyway. When we got to the front, there was no ordering anything. They handed us each a plate with 3 rolls on it. Ummm….three rolls does not a dinner make. If you want more, gotta get back in line. WTF. Sake for dinner, it is!

Other than that, it’s hard to point out lowlights when I was chillin’ on a boat instead of being at work. There was the hairy chest contest on Sunday though. This was the lowest of lowlights. These dudes were so proud to flaunt their huge guts. Then at one point they decided to up the ante and include a hairy back contest. Come on people. Why?

Don’t forget to hide yo wife, hide yo kids and hide yo husband this halloween. Cuz they rapin’ errbody.

Two years ago when Laef and I went to St. Louis we stayed at an Econo Lodge that overlooked the freeway and had a full-length mirror in the shower. It was a smoking room because, well because that’s all it offered. The bed was covered with one sheet – not a fitted sheet, mind you. Just one sheet strewn across the nasty-ass mattress.

Back then, we weren’t married, and we were still paying off credit cards. The fact that we were even staying at a Lodge (I liked to close my eyes and think of it as a snow lodge with walls made of the finest cedar) and not in a tent at O’Fallon Park was a big deal.

So, last week we went to St. Louis again, this time for a wedding. We were fortunate enough to have a room at the Casa Nick Dozier, so we weren’t faced with the dilemma of Econo Lodge round 2. Now, Nick’s shower doesn’t come with a full length mirror (BOO!), and the guest bed appeared to have two for real sheets on it (how classy!), but he did have a gigantic stack of Playboys in his bathroom.

I don’t think I’ve seen Laef’s eyes light up that much since I told him that I would learn how to change a flat tire. (I ordered AAA, which is basically the same thing. Shhh). When we first got to Nick’s house, we were there alone so Laef picked up 8 magazines, walked out of the bathroom and said, “I’m gonna catch up on guy stuff.”

Which was my cue to catch up girl stuff – a 2 hour nap. It was a Thursday afternoon, and normally I’d be chained to my cubicle and, Laef would be stressing about some basketball-related incident, but on this day we were looking at boobies and resting. It was the start of a perfect 4-day vacation.

Later that night, sufficiently rested and boobified, we took a cab to Busch Stadium to watch the Cardinals play. The cabbie ragged on the Cardinals the entire way to the stadium in a way that only a cabbie could rag on the home team, and by the time we got there we were half expecting the Cards to lose by14 runs.

But, this was our vacay! Laef has been talking about going to the Cardinals game for a month. So, of course they were going to win! And they did, 4-0.

On Friday we went to see Nick’s girlfriends band – Killing Vegas – play at Voo Doo lounge in the Harrah’s casino. In case you didn’t already know, girl bass players are super hot. And, Layla did not disappoint. We wandered between the lounge to watch the band, and the casino to play blackjack. I might have called the dealer an asshole once, but it was only because I double downed on an 11 and he gave me a 2. Who does that?

We strolled in at 3 a.m., which meant we didn’t get up until 11 a.m. on the wedding day. I have a completely different perspective of weddings now. Because I know how much work and thought goes into every single thing that happens before, during and after the ceremony. This couple went all out, providing a full open bar, which is very brave. And appreciated.

Also, this is what happens when you have a full bar at a wedding and are drunk by 10:30 p.m.: 7-11. Funyuns. Packaged chicken sandwich that requires microwaving. Frozen pizza. Bad news, people. Bad news. Right now as I’m typing this I am trying to understand why I did not think to get nachos. I am kind of upset that I missed my opportunity. Hopefully there will be another.

We flew home on Sunday. Back to reality. In a sad, boring house that doesn’t have Playboys.

(That I know of)