Here we go again...

This weekend I went to D.C. to visit Sister #2, who's finishing up her Master's degree in the city of creepy business people. I couldn't mention it ahead of time because my presence and that of Sister #1 was a surprise. Sister #2 knew that my parents were heading out to visit her, but our arrival took her completely off guard. It was a great weekend full of sightseeing, scrumptious meals, and waaaay too much wine. (Mike Z--you're definitely right about the wine!) I'd vowed upon my return to go into detox, but due to current circumstances, that's been impossible.

The Banker did wonderful with Becca in my absence. It was with no shortage of angst that I left her. Alone. With her Dad. The man who can watch an action flick, drool streaming from the corner of his mouth, unaware the house is burning down around him. But The Banker rocked the single daddy thing. Although I think he was really glad to have me back after four days on the job...he greeted me in the front yard with his arms outstretched, Becca swinging in the breeze.

The lack of effective detox is due to The House Hunt. We've been here, done this. Right before I found out I was pregnant, we were thisclose to putting a bid in on a "country home" with a few acres. Resistance from family members and an unexpected pregnancy stopped us in our tracks, but The Banker has continued to keep an eye out and on occasion we tour a home that looks promising.

Last week we found such a home. Totally rehabbed, gorgeous living room and kitchen, two-and-a-half treed acres, much closer into town than anything we'd looked at previous. And my dad, breaking his long refusal to look at homes that don't meet his desired locale, took a peek at the home yesterday. The result was a wee bit soul crushing. This house is the same distance from his house as the one we're in now--20 minutes. It's in the best school district in the state. The house isn't perfect, but we're looking into making it better meet our needs. But my dad's inability to say anything positive and his usual complaints of "too much land, too far out there" were regurgitated. Again.

I'm an adult. I'm fully capable of purchasing a house without my parents' go-ahead. But my dad knows a great deal about home building and I wanted his expert opinion. But he just can't seem to get over his own desires for where we live.

So we're at it again: The Banker frustrated and me with this sinking feeling in my gut. Do we buy this house? Or do we look at finding a few acres (harder to find in all this urban sprawl) and try to build something ourselves? What can we truly afford? The housing market sucks. I don't want to think of moving in the frigid winter. Why, why, why is this so dang hard???

Whew...

Becca is battling what we think is the stomach flu. The Banker and I were up all night waiting for her stomach to return to some semblance of normal. (The nurse on call claims that she received hundreds of calls from distraught parents with similar complaints.) Today she's not puking, but I can tell she's not 100 percent.

And the house is still in turmoil after our return, and I can't find a number of items that I just saw. Laundry, yard work, and cleaning all need to be caught up with. My hopes for starting a photo album of our trip are postponed until...after Christmas? And I've a freelance article looming that still lacks even a single interview. This weekend is jam packed and offers no time for catch-up.

How do people do this? How do they balance work, home, babes, families, and all the other demands of life?

Happy Returns

Drowning in laundry, mail, e-mail, house cleaning, unpacking, and life in general. So I just don't have time for a proper update...yet. But we've returned safely, Becca had a blast at my parents', and the trip was a great success. Here's a little peek:


A little girl dressed in native finery


A street in Cusco, which was considered the center of the Inca Empire


Part of the ancient Inca trail through the Cloud Forest


The view from one of our camps


And after four days of hiking, Machu Picchu

A fond farewell for now...

We depart on Friday afternoon, but before then there's just so much that has to be accomplished. Having never traveled with the added responsibility of being a parent, I wasn't prepared for all the planning--large and small--that this trip would entail.

Wills were signed, in triplicate, this morning. Tomorrow I undergo the blood and urine tests necessary for life insurance (since leaving The Really Big Company, I'd had no coverage). Nine days worth of diapers, wipes, cereal, formula, distilled water, and pureed veggies, fruits, and meats, have been dropped off at my parent's. The house needs to be cleaned for the house/dog/cat sitter. And The Banker and I need to double and triple check our packing list--then actually pack--to make sure nothing important is left behind. Peru is not the sort of place were you can run into a Quick Trip at midnight for any last-minute necessity.

But with all the physical preparations, I've been neglecting mentally preparing for this trip. It wasn't till I was on the plane to Australia that it fully dawned on me that I was going to be away from my loved ones for almost a year. Postponed panicking is how I cope. But this time it's different--I need to come to terms with what this adventure means. I will be away from Becca for nine long days. Even when I run to the store alone, it sort of feels like I'm missing a limb.

Can I handle this? Can my parents handle this? I know they've successfully accomplished this three times over, but it's exhausting, and they're not young pups anymore. Are we fit enough for this excursion? Will everything be okay?

If you're the praying type, I'd appreciate a few for a safe and enjoyable adventure and a few more that Becca will be safe and happy with my parents. If you're not the praying type, crossed fingers would do. Until we meet again--farewell!

So much to do...

I have so much I could be writing about. Like how Becca now leans out of other people's grasp and stretches her arms out to me, as if to say, "No, thank you kindly, but it's this lady I want," and how incredibly awesome that feels.

Or how I'm having a hard time coming to terms with my "new" after-baby body, and regardless of the miles jogged and salads consumed, my body is now different. As in rounder and less firm, (or in the case of my chest, shrinking and languishing), with an extra 10 pounds my frame refuses to give up, all of which makes me feel really crappy about myself.

Or how we're down to the wire on this Peru trip and there's so much to be done--lists made, shopping accomplished, bags packed, people prepped, guilt checked, body made fit.

But there's really no time to write about any of this, so I'll just update with some pictures of the Little Miss. Because all things aside, this ride is happening so dang fast. She's grown so much and is clearly her own little person now, full of likes, dislikes, and a stubborn streak the size of Texas. Love you, baby girl!

Don't "f" with the schedule

The Banker learned a hard lesson last night. The only problem is that I also had to suffer through the tutorial.

See, yesterday evening I was in the garage working on a painting project with a friend. The Banker was assigned care of Becca for the hour, hour and a half. Nothing extraordinary was demanded: Simply finish feeding her, amuse her, change her.

We'd barely cracked open the paint can when The Banker popped his head into the garage and announced that Becca was asleep. "But it's only 6:30 or 7," I said. "If she falls asleep now, she'll never sleep through the night."

"No," he responded in his ultimate wisdom. "She had a busy day visiting my mom, and she's just tired. It'll be fine."

Despite my repeated concerns, The Banker said that Becca was really quite alright. And she was. Until 10:30 rolled around and she was suddenly and irrevocably awake. And thus she remained until well past midnight. Any time she was put in her crib she'd scream with such fervor that she'd start gagging and coughing. (We have a stubborn child, I'm told. Gee, ya think so?!)

At one point in this exhausting trial, I whipped around and growled at The Banker, "I'm the Mom. I know her schedule. I know what she needs. When I tell you something, LISTEN, and don't "F" with the schedule!"

Becca finally exhausted herself in the wee hours of the night...and awoke in the wee hours of the morning. And now? Now she's sleeping through her feeding. Because someone "f"ed with her schedule.

Yup, she's alllll mine

Yesterday I had to lug Little Bits to a doctor's appointment. We had to wait some 40 minutes, and Becca did what Becca does when she gets bored--she blows raspberries. Which is really just a nice way of saying that she makes farting noises with her lips and spits. A LOT. I mean, she was soaking herself, and I could feel the spray from two feet away.

Of course, the waiting room was full and the ridiculous noise kept people laughing. I couldn't get her to stop--the sippy cup, binky, and teethers held no appeal. Finally when my name was called, I hauled her into the back and said, "Everyone in the waiting room will be a lot drier once we get back here."

The entire room erupted in laughter. What can I say? My kid's got talent.

Sometimes this seems maddeningly true...

"A woman knows all about her children. She knows about dentist appointments, soccer games, romances, best friends, location of friend's houses, favorite foods, secret fears and hopes and dreams. A man is vaguely aware of some short people living in the house." --Unknown

Simply Wow

Becca turned six months over the weekend, and I'm left wondering where the time has gone. You know the saying that time flies? Well, that goes double--no triple time--when kids are involved. Everyone says it, but wow, are they right.

She sitting up by herself. She has four teeth coming in simultaneously all in a row. She grabs everything and anything, and it all goes straight into the mouth. She yabbers constantly. The Banker and I swear we've heard "Mom" and "Hi."

I'm working on a short list of some of my favorite characteristics Becca has shown these past few months, just so I don't forget. Like the way she feels the breeze and throws her arms out, opens her hands, and sighs so contently into the wind. Or the way she takes everything in, stretching her neck, jutting out her chin and arching her eyebrows as she tracks something across the room. Or how she kisses--or at least I think it's kissing--open mouthed, with lots of slobber. Then again, maybe she's practicing to be a vampire for Halloween.

Tomorrow's her six-month check-up, so we'll get her latest stats. Little Bits, I'm just so constantly in awe of you!

An Aside

Last night I ran into a beautiful person
in an unexpected place,
and she gave me an explanation
I was not owed.

She shared with me a trouble—
But perhaps that’s not accurate...
A trial? A challenge?
I don’t know the details,
(and they’re none of my business)
so my response last night
might have been all wrong.

So if “I’m sorry” didn’t fit,
then I want to say:
“Things will be okay.
There’s so much strength
in your delicate stature.
People are pulling for you.
You’re a beautiful person,
and I want to wish you the best.”

Entirely Too Much Information

Well, it's official. Becca has completely transitioned to the bottle (along with cereal, fruit, and veggies)...and now I'm completely and totally uncomfortable. I guess I didn't understand how dang uncomfortable weaning would be. I mean, it's a don't-breathe-on-me-Oh-my-gosh-I-think-I'm-going-to-keel-over kind of hurt. I told The Banker this is what elephantitis looks like it feels like.

As an avid reader of dooce.com, I remember Heather B. Armstrong extolling the virtues of cabbage leaves in just this situation. And since exercise bras and rum weren't cutting it, I had The Banker stop by the store and pick up a head of cabbage on his way home.

And I can't believe I'm admitting this, but as I sit and type, IT'S WORKING. I have cabbage leaves in my bra and it's actually helping. I don't have the guts to take them to work with me tomorrow, but let me tell you, I'm putting those suckers on as soon as I get home. And if I'm really insane, I'll wear them to a party we're supposed to attend tomorrow night. I would smell like cole slaw, but I'd be comfortable.

And for those of you wishing you could bleach your brain after reading this post--I did warn you. The title of the post said Entirely Too Much Information.

First Trip to the Zoo...

Now and then

I used to have natural blonde hair…but then I experienced pregnancy hormones.
I used to have a (relatively) flat stomach…but then I got pregnant.
I used to think I was tough…but then I gave birth.
I used to think I knew what it was to be tired…but then I had a newborn.
I used to think I knew what love was…but then I had Rebecca.

Musings

Am finishing up (hopefully) my final week of part-time work at The Really Big Company. The project may extend into next week, but golly gee, I kinda hope not. My small taste of working and motherhood has made this much clear to me: I don't know how working moms do it. You all have my respect and utter awe, because this is TOUGH. I'm frazzled. The house is in shambles. The Banker is on edge. Becca is constipated. The dogs and cat are pissed. How do you women do this? You are incredibly disciplined and your talents need to be sung from the roof tops. There should be a national appreciation day JUST FOR YOU.

In other tough news, can I just say that this weaning thing is dang uncomfortable?!? So blessedly welcomed, but really difficult nonetheless. Part of me is going to miss this stage, the way Becca clings to me and makes happy chugging noises, the way that this one thing can make all right for her even in her worst of moods. But it's time. My body was slowly giving up before I even made the decision to start this process. Still, this is just one more sign that my newborn isn't so much of a newborn anymore. More like an adorable, vocal, stubborn little person. I don't know how it happened--and so fast!--but it's happened. What a ride.

Close up

Little starfish hands spread wide to gently touch my cheek,
her skin so achingly soft.
Lashes arch above the deepest innocence,
eyes seal grey one minute, hazel the next.
The most perfect rosebud lips
emit heavenly sighs and sweet giggles.

Just for Fun

Star Wars Horoscope for Libra

You are on a lifelong pursuit of justice and determined to succeed. You convey the art of persuasion through force. You always display your supreme intelligence. You have a great talent in obtaining balance between yourself and your surroundings. Star wars character you are most like: Obi Wan Kenobie

What Is Your Star Wars Horoscope?

You are Betty Grable

The ulitmate girl next door You're the perfect girl for most guys Pretty yet approachable. Beautiful yet real.

What Famous Pinup Are You?

My parenting skills

I typically take most of what The Banker’s family has to say with a rather large grain of salt. While I care for each and every one of them, I don’t have a great deal in common with most of his family members. (For that matter, often neither does The Banker!)

So when The Banker’s older brother insinuated in an e-mail that we were selfish parents, I initially brushed the comment off. After all, he’s an annoying, talkative know-it-all, whose wife dresses him funny and won’t let him have a dog.

But somehow the jibe rooted into some corner of my brain and it’s begun to ferment, growing in acidity and becoming harder and harder to ignore. I’ve tried to be many things in my short tenure as a parent, but selfish sure as hell isn’t one of them. It’s an insult that cuts to the heart of most any parent—that they put their own well being before that of their child.

The source of the comment was The Banker and my pending vacation to hike up to Machu Picchu. With the recent earthquake in Peru, The Banker’s family is in an uproar. (For the record, they are disdainful of foreign countries, most notably ones that don’t speak English or reside in the “safety” of Europe.)

The trip is only a shadow of the adventure we’d planned before I’d discovered I was pregnant, but I cannot express how much I’m looking forward to this excursion. It will be a breathe of fresh air, offering beautiful sights, a peek into an entirely different culture, not to mention some much-needed time for just The Banker and me. Becoming parents, while incredibly rewarding, is also hard on a marriage—it’s sometimes exhausting and isolating. (Why people would ever have children to “save” a marriage is beyond me! The lack of sleep, private time, quality communication, and more can take a toll.) But now I’m saddled with the idea that this trip, with its small, small “dangers,” qualifies me as selfish.

I made the hard decision to give up working (short of special projects and freelance writing), to spend every day with my daughter, raising her myself and trying not to let the monotony drive me mad. With only one income, we’ve learned to live on a much tighter budget. The occasional treats I granted myself (facials, horseback riding), are now a distant memory. Not feeling that 10 months was long enough to give up my body, I’ve spent an additional six months nursing Becca—a good portion of that going lactose-free. I try to put only the healthiest of foods in my body and hers, try to provide a home that’s safe, clean, inviting, fun, and friendly.

But it’s not enough. The Banker and I have been labeled as selfish parents, and while part of me thinks this is just damn ridiculous, the other part of me wonders if maybe there’s some truth to that insult.

Best ever

Sometimes when Becca hasn't seen me for a few hours--say first thing in the morning or after I've left her with one of her grandmothers for a bit--she gives me this look: Her brows lift, her eyes get wide and her mouth opens in the biggest, most ecstatic smile. Then, she hunches her shoulders, squints her eyes, shoves her fist in her mouth, and turns her body away as if she can't contain herself. Okay, it's crap to explain, but let me tell you, it's awesome to know that I get that reaction.

More procrastinating...

The Simpsonized Me...

Feast or famine

Only a month ago I was whining about not having enough freelance work. Okay, stupid, now don't complain about getting what you asked for. I currently have four articles due before the month's end, which is a decent load for me to handle.

But then out of the blue, The Really Big Company called. There's a special project they'd like my help with over the next three weeks, for about 15 hours a week. Hooray! Much needed money and mind stimulation. But how in the heck am I going to get all this accomplished?

And more importantly, how is Becca going to do with her grandmas for five hours a day? And why in the world am I procrastinating here when I should be getting a jump on those articles?! Argh!