Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Beaming

My little girl said "Mom-mom" tonight - to refer to me. She babbles "Mamamamama" (and "Dadadadada")  consistently, but tonight she really said it, as in saying her First Word. She crawled up to me as I sat on the couch and said it while she pulled on my legs. I picked her up and she said it some more. She repeated it back to me. When my mom said it, she turned to look at me and grabbed my leg. She crawled after me to the kitchen as I went to make her evening bottle, and said it while holding on to the baby gate.

I love you, Petal. I love watching you take in your world, and learn to give back to your world too.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Hungover

I went to a cocktail party last night and didn't get back until the ungodly (in my sleep-revering world) hour of 1 am. I happily gulped down the non-alcoholic punch and didn't feel even a twinge of envy of my friends pounding Jaeger shots (Shots aside, it was a very classy party - good work Bridge!)

Yet this morning I dragged myself up with Petal feeling like death warmed over, and quickly suckered Shakira into spending a few hours of quality time with her niece. When I finally emerged after 10 am, I mumbled through a sleepy fog through conversations with my mom and Jack, then asked my mom if she would like to spend a few hours with Petal while I put in some hours on my contracting work, feeling that it would take far less energy than chasing a rambunctious almost-toddler.

It's no secret to anyone that I used to be a hard core drinker. A hangover was a small price to pay for a night of mayhem - the word my 2 best male friends and I used to describe our shenanagins. We referred to ourselves as the Toxic Trio and loved nothing more than a night that was sure to generate epic sagas in the retelling for years to come. I had fun trotting out some of the oldies but goodies for my friend Nessie's new boyfriend last night (he's totally a keeper.)

In the past few years, I've cut way back on my drinking and because I'm currently taking anti-depressants, I'm not drinking at all. I'm proud of myself from emerging from a cycle of binge drinking that would put some rock stars to shame, but I don't have nearly as many good stories these days.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Clunk

I was just thinking the other day that my brain was starting to turn to mush and that it would be good to start my new assignment with my work at home job. With new work to start and loose ends I didn't know about to tie up on my last project, I now have plenty to keep me busy - my plate runneth over.  Don't you love mixed metaphors?

Friday, July 15, 2011

Long Time No See

We were supposed to meet up with Jack tonight at a family friend's home in Long Island. Unfortunately, a family member of theirs is unwell and we had to cancel the weekend. Jack is so swamped with work and school work that we're not going to be able to see him until August 5th. That means he will go over a month without seeing Petal.

We chose this separation, and, hearing how busy Jack is, I believe it is for the best. Petal is thriving here with the attention of my parents and sister (Shakira returned Stateside on Wednesday!) Her stranger anxiety has essentially vanished, and she is eating nearly every morsel of food we offer her. It just makes me sad for Jack that he has to miss out on all this.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Zzzzzzzzzzz

When I was pregnant and dreaming of life with my new sweet babe, I also did plenty of fretting. I don't know what newborns eat! How will I know if she's cold? I don't know how to give her a bath! But far and away, I worried most about how I would handle the sleep deprivation that is synonymous with new motherhood.

Dating back to my teenage years, I've had a tendency to lust after sleep as if after a particularly fine specimen of the male gender or a rich, luscious chunk of chocolate cake. In the ninth grade, I fell asleep during English class while watching Romeo & Juliet and had to turn in an assignment covered in drool. When I was a camp counselor the summer between my junior and senior years, I would conk out on the beach while my campers had their swimming lessons. Once I learned to drive, I would pass my car keys to a friend and curl up in the passenger seat while she busily drove us nowhere, as teenagers are wont to do.

I didn't outgrow this behavior as I got older. I remember an evening when I was a grad student during which I had curled up on a friend's couch and wailed at the cruelty of my friends who had come to round me up and take me back to my own bed. 

I also inherited my mother's ability to sleep through ANYTHING. There can be a freight train running through the kitchen and neither of us will so much as stir. Obviously, this was also of concern with the impending arrival of a squally newborn. My poor dear Jack is a light sleeper, and the decibels at which I require the baby monitor to blare in order to rouse me shatter his fragile sleep as though it were a Fabrege  egg.

Fast forward through nearly ten months of parenthood, and we have a sweet baby girl who sleeps through the night extremely well. The days of bleary midnight wake ups and stumbling to the crib appear to be behind us, at least for now.

But in the mornings, I still crave more sleep like a chicken pox-sufferer craves a good, deep scratch. I drink it in greedily, sinking in it, luxuriating in it. Thyroid medication, exercise, anti-depressants and caffeine have all failed to keep me from flinging myself into the Sandman's illicit caresses, morning after morning. Sunshine helps a little; when we lived in Arizona, I rose unprompted before 0700 each day. I thought I had outgrown my adolescent-like daily early morning coma. Ha.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Mormor

Mormor is Norwegian for "Mom's mom" and that is what Petal will call my mom when she's old enough to talk (she babbles like crazy, so it could be soon!) Mormor is so wonderful with Petal, my clingy little girl who would launch herself away from anyone else holding her to get to me now cries when Mormor leaves and she's stuck with boring old Mumma.

Petal is not the only one who thinks that Mormor is wonderful. As much as I hate living 400 miles away from my parents, I also feel incredibly lucky to have this uninterrupted time with them. My mom and I butted heads so much throughout my childhood, adolescence and even early adulthood. But she has always been one of my biggest supporters, and I like to think that now I am one of hers. I really hope that Petal will feel the same way about me one day.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Ringing in the 4th

Jack, Petal and I had a wonderful four (five?) day weekend filled with family and friends who love us. So why does it still sting to find out from Facebook that other far-flung friends were in the area and didn't make the effort to get in touch? I keep reminding myself to focus on the good times we had and the people who did make us a priority.  I guess something about being back in my old bedroom and driving on my old familiar streets brings out my latent teenage angst. It's a good thing Facebook wasn't around when I was in high school because I definitely would have gotten butt hurt about every event I wasn't invited to - I'm self-centered like that. I do try to be considerate of others and not post Facebook pictures that have the potential to make someone feel left out. But I'm sure I would not have had that sort of restraint in high school - my mean girl streak ran fairly deep in those days, the highlight probably being when some of my friends and I attempted to stare down some cheerleaders from a rival town, all because one of them had had the audacity to have previously dated my then-boyfriend. I'm trying not to get too lost on Memory Lane but it's hard when I'm constantly coming face to face with mementos from those days.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Back Again

I sometimes facetiously describe my upbringing as feral. My siblings and I were raised in a laissez-faire household, with few restrictions and fewer routines. I didn't begin thinking of our family as pretty far outside the mainstream until high school, when the differences became more pronounced. The attitude towards possessions in our house was that the idea of "personal" basically didn't exist - it was par for the course for me to wear a pair of my dad's jeans with a shirt left behind by one of my sister's friends on any given day. Grunge culture ruled in our house until at least 1999, so androgynous, ill-fitting clothing was highly sought after. My parents also had a relaxed attitude towards guests, and, as my siblings and I went to the same high school, it wasn't unusual to run into any member of the student body in my living room or out by the pond.

When I was in high school, I thought I had the coolest parents on the planet. No rules! No curfew! No chores! Not having to engage in meaningless rituals like family dinner! Years later, I read David Sedaris' memoirs and recognized elements of my own clan in his family's idiosyncracies.

Later in my 20s, however, I felt that I had been done a great disservice. I craved parents who would worry over whom I was hanging out with and what time I would be home. I wanted a home-cooked meal. I found it difficult to keep my home clean and blamed my lack of exposure to the process growing up. I reveled in eating a proper dinner with my husband each night and in maintaining a chore schedule. I was happy to be boring.

Now, I'm back in my parents' abode and seeing the chaos with fresh eyes. Sure, there are downsides, like the disgusting carpet on the second floor that my parents haven't quite gotten around to replacing. But the air of relaxation and being out of the rat race that permeates this place is undeniable. My dad typically doesn't go into his office until the afternoon - it means he has to work later, but it gives him time to enjoy a leisurely breakfast on the deck and maybe get a bike ride in. If the weather is particularly nice, he takes a day off work and he and my mom hit the beach (he has over 6 months of unused leave.)

I've become more and more convinced that a high-powered life is not for me. The European creed of "Work to live" resonates much more strongly with our little tribe than the American "Live to work." It's one of the reasons that Shakira is now an ex-pat. So here, on the 5.5 acres where I came of age, I will teach my daughter to embrace this crazy pack she was born into. I wonder if feralness is a dominant trait?

Glorious

We are here. Petal is adjusting well, the backyard is alive and lush with greenery. My mom had a juicy tidbit of gossip that we've been enjoying sucking the fat out of. Happy happy happy.