Oh So Weary

My darling second child, henceforth known here as Cily, is (not surprisingly) nowhere near sleeping through the night. I thought I was tired before she was born, what with the having to get up to pee twice a night and then letting anxious thoughts about Everything Under the Sun keep me awake each time. Oh, but no. I have reached a new level of fatigue.

Cily eats every 2 to 3 hours, sometimes every 1.5 hours, around the clock. I am not breastfeeding this time around, and that is a whole ‘nother stressed-out post in and of itself. (Summary: My milk has dried up. Cily is a biter, lactation consultant was not helpful, pumping painful and not fruitful [i.e. pump for 20 minutes and get 3 drops of milk], I was preoccupied with packing and moving during the crucial two weeks after she was born, I am not healing well from the surgery, and for some time there I was barely eating -- all of which resulted in a kind of “perfect storm” of breastfeeding not going well. NOTE: Much as I love you and value your opinion, I am not looking for advice on this. I have received a plethora of well-meaning advice. Despite all that I know about the benefits of breastfeeding, I have made my peace with this happenstance.)

So we have set up a feeding station in the bedroom, bottles at the ready. Cily is now waking up, eating and STAYING AWAKE for sometimes an hour and a half at a time, screaming for part of that time, and being perfectly sweet but awake for part of that time. During the sweet time, we lie in bed next to each other and stare into each other’s eyes. I stroke her cheek and speak softly to her.

In the not-so-sweet times, like at 2 this morning, I swaddle the screaming one and we dance slowly across the bedroom floor to the Cowboy Junkies’ “Sweet Jane.” We sway and I tell her how tired I am and I sing to her, “Heavenly wine and roses seem to whisper to me when you smile,” and I thank God I don’t have to go to work in the morning. And then her sister screams from her room down the hall that she is scared of her closet, that she needs a drink of water, that maybe she has to throw up.

Two kids. Two little girls. It is a blessing. It is tiring. I love them.

P.S. Digital camera? Broken. Videocamera? Recording, but out of focus, so the recording of Cily's birth is all hazy and smudged like a French Impressionist watercolor. My darling husband, who (a) makes his living with film, and (2) lost all his childhood photos in a fire and is thus rabid about documenting our children, is livid. I'm trying to figure out how we can afford to (I) repair the videocamera and (314a) buy a digital SLR (it's the lens on our Canon SureShot that's broken). Merry Christmakwanzaakuh to us! My point: I don't have any new photos to post. We are resorting to our 35mm camera, but then we have to process the film, which we haven't yet done. Not to worry! These early weeks of her life are not lost forever!

Technical Difficulty, Part I

Oh my God. So after two weeks without Internet access, I am finally online, I just wrote a post and hit "publish," and Blogger tells me an error occurred. "Hit the back button," it advises me, and when I do, my post has completely disappeared.

What the Pf--??

I am filled with rage.

Worth a Thousand Words

Thank you to everyone for all your good wishes, compliments, and blessings!

I may have mentioned that when Celia was born, my sister came down from Ventura and took Viva back with her for a few days until we got out of the hospital (I may have mentioned it, I may not have, and I'm too pressed for time to go back and check). At any rate, we got home from the hospital Saturday afternoon, and my sister brought Viva back the next day. Here is a picture of Viva holding her sister for the first time, about 2 minutes and 30 seconds after she walked in the door:



It's a little blurry because it's a still picture pulled from video, but you can clearly see how thrilled Viva is. It makes me a little weepy to look at it.

Here is a close-up of Celia trying to eat her hand:

We are all thoroughly in love with her.

The Lovely Miss C

I promised you pictures, and here they are!


Miss Celia, just a few minutes after birth...


Little Miss C, after a feeding yesterday...


Up close and personal!

Sorry to Keep You Waiting

Goldang free Wi-Fi!   I have been Internet-access-free since Wednesday and haven't been able to figure out how to send so much as a text message to the blog. The Wi-Fi at the hospital evidently doesn't work and yet keeps telling me I'm connected. What the bleep??   THE NEWS:  I am thrilled to announce that the latest member of the Blah Blah Tribe has indeed arrived: Celia Lucy came into the world on Wednesday, October 22 at 3:51pm. She weighed 7 lbs, 2 oz and measured 19.25 inches long. All is well now, but it was rough at the beginning. She is, as I write this at 3:07am Saturday morning, still in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit because she had trouble breathing when she first got here. Happily, I have been able to breastfeed her (my milk is coming in with a vengeance!) – she latches on well and seems to have managed to get some colostrum, that really nutrient-rich pre-milk.    I have to say Thursday was the worst day, mainly because I'd been told they'd keep her in the NICU only overnight and then bring her to my room in the morning.  That was a big fat lie. I was awake and waiting for her and unable to get any real information due to a nurse shift change. Sweet Dub was home with Viva because my mother-in-law ended up having to go to work and couldn't stay with her. Viva was distraught because she hadn't been able to see the baby yet, and she has a nasty cough anyway so we knew they wouldn't let her into the ward. I had talked to Viva and she was crying over the phone because she wanted to see C. so badly, which made me feel worse. When I finally got to talk to the doctor in the NICU, she told me that because C. was on oxygen and an IV, they'd have to gradually wean her off of both and she probably wouldn't come out of Intensive Care until Saturday morning. Since at that point I was hostage in my room because I had both a catheter and an IV stuck in me, I did not yet have the option of going up to see her.   I hung up the phone and started bawling. Let me just say that there are few things more painful than crying when you have an abdominal incision, which led to this ridiculous vicious cycle of crying because I couldn't have the baby and then crying because it hurt and then crying some more just on principle.   To add insult to injury, my cell phone battery had died and the charger was at home (!!!). So I spent most of Thursday isolated, watching crappy TV, trying to get on the Internet, reading crappy magazines, and jonesing for my baby. Finally, they unhooked me from everything and I got to go up to see her at around 3:30pm. By that point, Viva and Sweet Dub had arrived and they went up with me. Viva was able to see her through the window of the less intensive area of the NICU – the section where they put the babies who won't be there long. Her face lit up just at the sight of her.   Words are completely inadequate to describe holding a newborn. Celia is so small, and so warm, and so Zen.  It is like holding a hug in your arms, if that makes any sense at all.   By the way, the name? We decided on as we were driving to the hospital Wednesday morning.  So that will evermore be part of family lore, that somewhere between Echo Park Animal Hospital and Jack in the Box on Glendale Blvd., we finally agreed on what to call Miss Thing.   "She looks just like you," Sweet Dub says. But then I must tell you she has dark, very straight hair, and beautiful dark eyes. Right now her skin is very pink. It seems she will be lighter in complexion than Viva, but one never knows with babies of color. Viva started "getting her chocolate" just a few days after her birth, so in the early "home from the hospital" pics, she is already quite brown.  It's hard to tell with Celia. I am fascinated by the recombination of our genes. She resembles Viva but she has her own thing going on. Shorter arms and legs – Viva was very long and leggy (and still is). Noses are similar, as are lips and chin.   I am writing this in the wee hours of Saturday morning to post later today. I've been told we should both be able to be discharged from the hospital today. Update at 8:27am: It appears that I have a few seconds of connectivity and I'm trying to post this. I will post pictures when we get home…

High Alert

I've been having contractions since 5:30 or so this morning. They have been intensifying but are still not at the magic "every 5 minutes, 1 minute in duration" level. Nonetheless, we've kept Viva home from school while we wait to see what happens and we've got all local family members on standby. I am cramping, hips are extra sore, back is killing me. It feels like this is it.

FYI: I'm using contractionmaster.com to time contractions.

Stay tuned...

P.S. If you can believe it, we still have no name for the baby. Trying to decide between two - I guess we'll wait until she gets here!

P.P.S. Cross-posted at Belly Overwhelmed.

Ever So Slightly Busy

I'm on maternity leave and to most people that seems to mean that I must be lying around with my feet up, watching home shows. Perhaps that is what I should be doing, but alas, I am also one of those people who can't sit still when I have a big block of time in front of me and major life changes on the way, to wit: having the baby and moving to a new house one week later.

One week from today, at about this time, I should be in the operating room having a human being removed from my uterus. While it looked like Miss Thing might come early, now I am of the opinion that she was just teasing us, as her sister did five years ago, and she will come exactly on the day she is supposed to. If she does come slightly early, I am hoping for Thursday - which is two days from now, and is my stepfather's birthday. Since he has been having numerous health problems, I think that would be kind of nice.

In the meantime, I've been trying to tie up every loose end possible:

* Viva's Halloween costume is almost done. She will be Barry B. Benson or my name ain't Mama Blah. (Well, technically, it's not. Whatever, you get the gist.)

* I have researched all of our state propositions and figured out how I am going to vote on each one (I vote by mail, so all I have to do now is fill out my ballot).

* I am halfway through online traffic school for that damn "did not come to a complete stop" traffic ticket.

* I've paid all my bills.

* I have completed all maternity leave paperwork.

* I have done an insane amount of laundry (in fact, I have a load in right now).

* I've drafted the birth announcement, created labels and bought stamps for the mailing, and bought the announcement cards to be printed when the baby arrives.

* I've packed almost all the books in our living room.

* I've packed all unnecessary bathroom items. Today I'm moving on to the kitchen (upper cabinets - all the dishes I use for entertaining, mixing bowls, wineglasses, etc).

* I created a "baby countdown" for Viva whereby I bought 7 small gifts for her (squirtgun, Play-Doh, SpongeBob cap, etc.) and placed each in a brightly colored bag, numbered 1 through 7. She gets to open one each night starting tonight and then cross the day off on the calendar. She does not know this yet.

* I finalized my hospital bag items. Bag is packed and waiting. All I have to do is throw my toiletries in and I'm good to go.

* I went back though my emails and finally found pictures of the house for you to enjoy:

Here's the exterior...

...the living room...

...and the patio.

* And now, I think I deserve a pedicure. Quick, to the Blahmobile!

Casita de Blah

I am very pleased to announce that the Blah Blahs have secured a house! We put a deposit down yesterday on a two-story, three-bedroom, two-bath Spanish-style house about five minutes from where we currently live. We will be paying a bit more than we pay now, but we will double our space, and we are two minutes from amenities like the post office, library and a very good public school. I called the school this morning and got all the registration information to get Viva transferred into kindergarten there in December.

We will be moving about a week after the baby is born, and while this sounds hellacious, I don’t even care because at least I will be off and have time to settle in.

Sweet Dub had told Viva he’d take her to the zoo yesterday, and I had told her in the afternoon we’d do arts and craftsy type activities. What happened instead is that we came home from seeing the house again all wired up, we talked a hundred miles a minute, we ate, set Viva up on the computer with a video game, and then we both crashed. We slept for a couple of hours while Viva rotted her brain and ruined her eyes at nickjr.com. This is not, needless to say, something we would normally do.

“Why am I so wiped out?” I said to Sweet Dub.

“You know what it is?” he said. “Relief.”

Yes.

P.S. Viva had the nerve to tell me she would be happy not to be sharing a bathroom with me in the new house because my soaps and things get in the way while she is taking a bath. Like I am thrilled to have to scoop up at least 15 little toys and action figures out of the tub before I take a shower every day. The feeling is mutual, sister!

Which Will Come First?

The house or the baby? Place your bets now!

As I get closer to maybe actually having this baby, you'll find I am posting more over here and less here at Mama Blah, just because I am a wee bit precoccupied.

But let me let you in on the latest with the house search. We have one house semi-finalized -- i.e. the owners have approved our credit and offered us the house, but we haven't signed a lease yet, and the house wouldn't be ready to move in until Nov.5th, after the baby is born, while I'm recovering from a C-section.

Today, Sweet Dub found another house, further away, but for $300 less per month. We are hoping to see it tomorrow afternoon and make a decision about what to do in less than 24 hours. Hopefully you will not have to hear any more about our agonizing over our housing issues for much longer.

The Search Continues…

Regular readers know that our landlord wants, as soon as possible due to his impending divorce, to move back into the house we’ve been renting from him for the last two years. If we have to move, we’d like to move before the baby is born --although that is now in 24 days. So, we’ve been looking at houses and duplexes and apartments and everything. As usual, when home-hunting, I am appalled by how much money people want for some crap. But here’s the latest wrinkle: at a couple of places, the owner wants to leave some of their stuff in the house. Then they don’t understand why that would be a problem.

I don’t feel comfortable having your father’s treasured grand piano in a house with two small children. Not only because we're paying for the whole house, including the large area of the living room that the piano occupies, but also because God forbid it should get damaged while we live here with two small children. Note: the response to this was that we could just cover the piano with something. So we should just walk around this hulking covered-up thing in the middle of our living space. By the way, no one in the house plays piano. Sweet Dub took lessons long ago, but you know how that goes…

Last night, we saw a house which was really well-suited to us. The owners want to leave a console table in the entryway, a china cabinet in the dining room (they’d take the china with them), a large Mission-style bookcase in the living room, and a 5-burner gas BBQ on the back patio. Again, we'll be living there with two small kids. I know they’re going to wreck something, and I’d rather it be something we already own so we don’t have to hassle with the landlord over it.

Well, we’re looking at another place tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed.

Wrapping Up Before the Weekend

Hey, guess what?

My bank just got bought out.

John McCain has changed his mind and decided he will debate Barack Obama tonight. Flip-flopper!

The economy is in ruins.

We still have not found a house to move to.

I forgot my lunch.

The baby will be here in just 33 days. While I have a variety of adorable outfits for her, I’m a bit concerned about where she might sleep. Thankfully, we do have a car seat, so if worse comes to worse, we can all sleep in the car! (The rear seats do fold down.)

In more encouraging news:

I have another baby shower this weekend where I will be warmly embraced into the collective bosom of some of my dearest friends.

I am slowly but surely crossing things off my work pre-maternity leave “to do” list.

We found another grant writer and he’s filling out paperwork in the Human Resources office as we speak. He starts in one week – my last week of work.

Viva has decided she wants to be a bee for Halloween. Not just any bee! Barry B. Benson from Bee Movie! Interesting take on the movie here, by the way. [In a related aside, does it bother anyone else when they give animated animal characters blue eyes? Like animals that never in reality have blue eyes, like penguins or horses or bees? What is THAT about?? End tangent.] I have already begun working on creating a costume for her, which thankfully should not be all that difficult this time around.

I found out that one of my work acquaintances, who I really like but don’t see all that often because she works at one of our other sites, lives in the same neighborhood that the Blah Blahs are trying to move to. She is cool – very grounded and sane, and we are already so on the same wavelength – we are both pregnant and due within two days of each other! So we will be on leave at the same time and may even be able to get together and dish during that time. She has a 4-year-old daughter and hopefully Viva would bond with her and pretty much instantly have a friend in the area. (Although actually we already have a few friends in the area – but this one would be within walking distance. Miraculous in Los Angeles!)

My former yoga/dance teacher was recently on the Ellen show. Take a look at the clip and you can see why her class was so much fun!

Funny story about my doctor’s office here.

And, that's a wrap. Have a lovely weekend, all!

Updated two seconds after posting because I forgot to add a link. My bad!

It's a melting pot! No, it's a mosaic! No, it's a rainbow...

Poll: Whites, blacks in U.S. disagree about prejudice

Wow, shocking news. These folks truly have their finger on the pulse.

The highlight of the article for me is:

Kelly Edmondson, 34, of Cincinnati, is a white Democrat enthusiastic about backing Obama. …She cares for her two sets of young twins during the day and teaches college at night; most of her students are black. In the survey, Edmondson said positive words such as "hardworking" and "intelligent" describe most blacks "very well." She said a few negative traits, such as "lazy" and "irresponsible," apply "somewhat well" to most blacks.

In a telephone interview, Edmondson said those attributes apply equally to all races. [emphasis added]

Well, yes. Exactly. I wonder what percentages a different poll would come up with – a poll which asked people their opinions of what traits the general American public shares, particularly if it were one that instead focused on class. I would imagine that there would be a fair proportion of people of all races who would characterize low-income people as "lazy" and "irresponsible." (And I'm not saying that I agree with them, I'm just saying certain leading questions are going to get a pretty predictable response. And often I think that people who do not have much exposure to people of color form their opinions based on what they see in the media - wait, this is a tangent that could comprise a whole separate post, so let me get back on point.)

This ties in, somewhat, with what I've been experiencing in the past couple of months. In our most recent house search, we have pretty much given up on the areas in and around where we live, which is where we have been looking for the past several months. We’ve started looking in a middle- to upper-middle class predominantly African-American neighborhood, even though that would mean a longer commute for both of us, because (1) we’d be closer to certain family members and friends (including Viva’s friends) that we see a lot; (2) quite simply, you get more for your money over there; (3) it’s a nice neighborhood, quiet with lots of trees and close to a major park; and (4) with certain addresses, we can actually get Viva into a decent public school.

I am surprised by the number of people who have said, “Why do you want to move over THERE?” and yet seem to think it is perfectly reasonable to expect us to look into neighborhoods far east of us or deep in the San Fernando Valley, which not only are further away in terms of miles, but also have a very small percentage of African-American residents. I am not surprised, but disappointed, by people who ask me if I’ve considered areas I’ve never heard of and then when I ask, “But are there any black people there?” look crestfallen and say, “Oh, I didn’t even think about that. I guess not.”

The issue is that no one asks "Why do you want to move over THERE?”about any other neighborhood where we've been looking. Hmm...if it only happened once or twice, I wouldn't think anything of it. But most people seem to be surprised that we would consider moving to a mostly black area.

One of the things that attracts me to the neighborhoods where we have been looking up until now is that there is a diversity of people – black, white, Asian, Latino, South Asian, etc. These are mid-city neighborhoods, and since we both work in the mid-city area, it makes sense for us to look there. However, this has not been fruitful, so we had to expand our horizons. One of the things that is crucial for us is to get Viva into a fairly mixed school which will also give her a good education. Fortunately, there is one in the neighborhood we’re looking at that she would be eligible to go to that is pretty balanced between white and black, with both Latino and Asian thrown in for good measure, and it has decent test scores. Neither of us is crazy about sending her to a school that is predominantly anything – whether white, black, Latino, or Asian. That is a major issue for both of us, and one which we have discussed extensively.

On the housing search: we haven’t yet found a place. Yeah. We would like to move during the first weekend of October, since the baby will be here at the end of October and I can’t imagine moving after a C-section, with a newborn. Our landlord has already contacted us about moving some of his stuff into the storage area. He clearly needs to move ASAP, which isn’t helping matters. All I can say is that when we know, you’ll know. I can’t say anymore about it at this point because it just stresses me out. As my boss said, “You’re nesting! And you have nowhere to nest!”

Yeah, it’s like that. Major suckage.

Blog Pondering

Curiouser…

This evening, Viva and I were talking about twin brothers in her class. I mentioned that I hadn’t seen them in a while. “They come to school later than I do,” Viva said. “But you know what I don’t understand about them? I never see their mom.”

“I don’t think they have a mom,” I said, without thinking. Viva gasped.

“Not have a mom? What happened to her?” she cried.

“I don’t know what their situation is,” I said, cursing myself. “But I believe they have two dads.”

“Two DADS?” Viva said. “Does one act like the mom, and one like the dad?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” I said. “Maybe they just act like two dads.”

I could see her filing this away in her brain. Oh, we will talk about this again, I can feel it. But in the meantime, she got distracted by her Curious George book, and I got distracted by the unbelievable amount of rice under the table. Did any of it make it into her mouth?

…and Curiouser

Yesterday I was at Target and in sort of a hurry (when am I not in a hurry) but trying to mellow out about it because they had only two checkers open. The woman in front of me had two piles of items, which she was paying for separately – one with a gift card and one with a credit card – and I think she was also trying to apply for an adjustable rate mortgage and access all her health records through the little card swipey dealio they had there, because somehow the transaction was much more complicated than it seemed it had to be. At any rate, once the cashier got to the second pile of stuff, I realized it was all underpants, of all different colors and varieties. Briefs, boyshorts, thongs, lacy polyester, cotton, she had it all. In all honesty, it was kind of fascinating to watch. The cashier was exactly the kind of young nerdly type that you might imagine – (I swear I can’t help it) well, you might imagine that this is the only access he ever gets to ladies’ panties, if you know what I mean. He was actually sweating a little bit.

So he rang up this towering pile, and I was watching the total add up with great interest. Because, hello, it was a lot of damn panties. And the total came to $175.12. FOR PANTIES! AT TARGET!!

Completely unfathomable. I can see paying that much for panties in a department store. But at Target? Wouldn’t they have to be something along the lines of $4.99 apiece? How many panties do you need? I started to wonder. Maybe she’s going on a long trip around the globe and doesn’t want to do laundry along the way. Maybe it’s something more salacious that I can’t even imagine because I am such a naïf. Maybe she has some sort of chronic uncontrollable bowel disease and it’s easier to just throw her underpants away. Maybe she’s a hoarder or impulse shopper and some switch in her head told her that today was Panty Day. Maybe she’s a good Samaritan and she’s buying underpants to give to a shelter or something. Maybe she’s a set dresser and needed underpants for a shoot.

Everybody’s got their story. What do you think?

P.S. By the by, new post over here.

Moving On…

When we last saw our hero, she was having a bad day and trying to turn it around. In that spirit, she said something along the lines of, “It could always be worse.”

That, my friends, is what we call ironic foreshadowing.

For lo, the next day, did her husband call her at work with the foulest of news. “Beloved Spouse,” he cried, “I have received the most foulest of news, news that will upon its hearing make you faynt and fall twitching into the Slew of Despond.”

Our landlord and his wife of less than a year are separating. He wants to move back into the house where we currently live. I am six weeks away from giving birth, and now we must find a place, pack our stuff, and move before the baby comes.

You know that we have been looking for a new place for months with no luck. Had I written this post yesterday, I thin k it would be filled with a lot more despair, and a lot of cussing.

However, the Blah Blah Family has no time for that. We have already been to look at one house and are setting up appointments for the weekend. I am trying not to focus on it unduly.

“This could all be for the best,” I said to Sweet Dub yesterday evening. Strangely, faced with the prospect of having to move on short notice, with a 5-year-old and an enormously pregnant wife, he was not receptive to such talk. In fact, he seemed a bit stressed.

“You keep saying that about everything,” he said. “Why do you keep saying that, and then nothing good happens?”

My default position, when faced with a crappy situation, generally tends to be immediate anxiety, followed by humor as an attempt to alleviate the situation, and then by an attempt to find something positive about the situation, followed closely by realistic action I can take to try and make the situation better. I am not a Pollyanna, but I do feel it’s a waste of time and energy to focus on the negative and besides, it generally only makes you feel worse.

And who says nothing good happens? As the old saying goes , God may not answer your prayers when you want Him to, but He’s right on time. Something good is coming.

Looks Like Someone Has a Case of the Mondays

Viva has a stye. Her pretty little sparkling eye is swollen and there’s a red lump on the inside of her eyelid.

Someone came into my office today, in a hurry, and after slamming themselves* loudly into a chair, proceeded to cough (without covering their mouth) in the general direction of, and maybe 18 inches away from, my open (half-full!) bottle of vitamin water. The bottle is still sitting there and I still really want to drink it, but I won’t.

Sweet Dub went home for lunch and called to tell me that I just received a $380 ticket in the mail for “failing to stop” in an intersection at 7:58 AM on a Sunday near the drugstore near my house. Since I was turning right on red, and there is no “can’t turn right on red” sign at that intersection, I am completely mystified by this. How can they argue that I didn’t even stop?? I don’t understand how they would judge that. I received a ticket for this many years ago, and I have since been very conscious of making a full stop before moving again. I am really skeptical that this even happened, but this goes down as “yet one more thing I have to appeal,” along with all the ridiculous crap my health insurance company refuses to pay for as part of a normal pregnancy.

Over the weekend, Sweet Dub said, “I can’t wait for this pregnancy to end!” No, he really said that. In the meantime, I have developed a varicose vein in my left leg, my hips are killing me, and the only way for me to sleep is propped up by 6.8 pillows. Please, tell me more about how much this pregnancy is bothering you. Love you, babe!

Oh, and also, my hips? Deserve a separate paragraph, because they really hurt, like on the morning when I woke up 5-plus years ago to pee and said, “Ow, my hips are really killing me” and my water broke two hours later. Yeah, it’s like that, except my water hasn’t broken and I don’t want it to because the baby isn’t ready yet.

Lunch time: I went to the break room and pulled out my frozen spanokopita and lovely green salad. Looked at the directions for the spanokopita: “Do not cook in microwave or toaster oven.” No, yeah. Since those are my only options for cooking my entrée, cursed soundly and then prevailed upon one of my co-workers for part of a Chinese mooncake. Salad and mooncake. Not quite gonna do it. Baby’s reaction seems to be, “Yeah, right.”

I always have to ask myself on days like this, “What was the bright spot in this day?” And when I can’t think of anything else, I know that at the very least, it could be worse. So much worse. I have a lot to be thankful for. Like, for instance, the fact that I can afford to buy vitamin water and spanakopita. And stye medicine. For the moment, anyway.

* Sorry, trying to be gender-neutral.

With Apologies to Dan Fogelberg

Earlier in the week, I wrote a really long post about the government bailout of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and how it is ridiculous that no one bats an eye over the government assuming control of these private financial institutions but that the minute you point out that the government should step in and do something about healthcare – like, oh, I don’t know, maybe some sort of healthcare reform? Create a national, single-payer system like many other countries in the civilized world? – people start shrieking about socialism.

I feel that we are in a healthcare crisis just as much as we are in a housing crisis, and I want somebody to do something about it. So I wrote this long post and then it just seemed to me, on reading it over, that there was a bit too much ranting in it. Yeah, I’m angry about it, and that translated into me not writing very well. I ventured over into Indignance, and I couldn’t find my way back.

So. I’m not expecting you to tune in here expecting sunshine and rainbows, but I also don’t want to raise your blood pressure. I could write a follow-up about work, but I’m trying not to raise my own blood pressure (right now, a healthy 90/62). I could write about my pregnancy, but that’s what this is for. What to do, what to do?

Ah, well, I give you this:

Viva: I had the funniest dream last night.

Mama: Oh yeah? What was it about?

Viva: We were having a marching band parade! [following me around the kitchen as I am trying to pull together both lunch and breakfast] Me? And my cousins? We were all in a marching band!

Mama: Wow, that does sound pretty funny.

Viva: Yeah! M was playing the trombone, and T was playing the drums! And – what else do you play in a marching band?

Mama: Um, there are lots of horns, like – the tuba? And cymbals, and different kinds of drums...

Viva: What about the flute?

Mama: Yeah, yeah, you’re right, they do have flutes.

Viva: Well, I was playing the flute. And Auntie Lola was there! And Grandma too! She was in the parade? And you know what she said?

Mama: What, sweetie?

Viva: She said, “I never got to be the leader of the band.” So I said, “Grandma, you can be the leader of the band!”

Mama [laughing snidely]: Oh my God, that totally sounds like something Grandma would say. It’s like a metaphor for her life.

Viva: And I made her the leader of the band! And she even had the swirly stick! What is that swirly stick called?

Mama: The baton.

Viva: Why is it called that?

Mama: I don’t know. I think it’s French. French for stick.

And, end scene. I’m just a living legacy to the leader of the band.


P.S. And can I also say how much I love this? I want to eat Marge’s hair. It looks like it must be made out of something yummy.

Laughter and Tears! The Yin! The Yang!

Bright Spot of the Day

On our way to school this morning, Viva says, “Did you know we have secret signs at school?”

I immediately think of kindergarteners either throwing gang signs (East-SIIIIDE!) or dressed in softly gleaming white robes, performing by candlelight scary occult rituals for which there are secret signs. Guardedly, I say, “No, I didn’t know that. What are these secret signs? Are they so secret you can’t tell me?”

“No. What you do is you hold up your fingers to tell the teacher.”

“Okay, and what does that tell her?”

“If you hold up three fingers, it means you need a drink of water.”

“Oh,” I say, relieved. “I get it now.”

“If you hold up one finger, it means you have to go to the bathroom.”

“I see,” I say. “What does it mean if you hold up two fingers?”

“PEACE,” Viva says with a heavy sigh, and then gets pissed off because I can’t stop laughing.

Shitty Spot of the Day

A new director has joined our department and today is her first day. Since I was one of only a few people here when she arrived, somehow it falls to me to get her acclimated. Eventually we are joined by one of my other co-workers, who shows this new person that she’ll be sitting (for the moment) in a cubicle. (Note: We are notoriously short on space over here; it took me six months to get an office when I started.) So my co-worker assures this new person that the cubicle is only temporary.

The new person, L., says confidently, “Oh, I know.” And turning to me she says, “How do you feel about having to move out of your office?”

“I wasn’t aware that that was a done deal,” I say. My boss had recently floated the idea that I might have to move to an as-yet nonexistent office, which I would have to share with someone else, and I had already firmly stated my opposition to that idea. It now becomes clear that this has been presented to this new person as something that is going to happen pretty much as soon as I go out on maternity leave. She realizes she has said something she shouldn’t and starts backpedaling. “Woops, don’t get mad at me, I’m new,” she says.

I am PISSED. Really pissed. I’m not pissed at her – what sense would that make – and I say so. I also say my understanding was that this whole discussion is premature, and we don’t know where I’ll end up. I then reassure her she shouldn’t worry about it. We move on getting her oriented and after a few minutes I excuse myself.

I go down to the parking garage and sit in my car and call Sweet Dub, and as soon as he answers the phone I start crying. (Lucky, lucky him.) I just think it’s pretty shitty to plan to move someone into my office while I’m off having a baby. I mean, shit, I’m seven months pregnant and trying to keep all the aspects of my life under control and I have really tried to not let this pregnancy interfere with my work life, and I feel under the circumstances I have handled it well up to this point. This is just what people do, right? But my feelings are hurt and right now I just want to throw my hands up in the air and go home.

Since Sweet Dub’s job is imploding (they had some kind of disaster yesterday which he is in the middle of running damage control on), I let him off the phone after a few minutes. Blow my nose. Drink some water and take a few deep breaths. Send good vibes to the baby, get out of the car, and go back upstairs.

As the morning progresses, people ambush me in my office and I end up having to rehash this incident three times. First with my boss, then with the co-worker who was present when it happened, and then with my boss’ boss, who swears he was the one who told me they were going to give away my office while I’m gone. As in, yes, that IS going to happen. The alleged plan is to build out a conference room while I’m away – cut it in half and put up a wall and a second door.

I am thoroughly sick of it. At this point, I have closed my door and every time I get down to work, someone else comes by and knocks and asks about some other fucking thing. So since I’m not getting anything done, I had to vent. And here we are.

Peace (that’s two fingers).

On Being Fearless

A recent post of Mango Mama’s about her daughter Olivia got me thinking again about Viva and her confidence. I’d had this post floating around in my head for a few days, but it hadn’t yet gelled (my brain is not as perky as it used to be). But what it boils down to is that while Viva has increasingly become more physically confident – plunging into the water without a second thought when swimming, shaking off bumps and falls when playing soccer, clearly feeling her power during kung fu – socially, she is still a bit timid.

I blame myself, of course. One thing about Sweet Dub is he is never timid about anything, so I know she ain’t gettin’ it from him. Dub has pretty much taken charge of Viva’s physical education lately, taking her bike riding, signing her up for kung fu (which is the cutest damn thing you have ever seen), and the like. When she sits with me to read a book together, or to write a note to someone, she is cautious. If she starts reading a word and mispronounces it, and realizes she is reading it wrong, she will look at me anxiously. “I can’t do it,” she’ll say.

“Of course you can,” I say. “You’re such a good reader. Sound it out. You almost had it, just start the word over from the beginning.” Then she will start over and read it correctly, I’ll praise her for getting it right, and nonetheless she may stumble over the next couple of words. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I’m thinking that (and I don’t want to blame the baby for everything, BUT) she is regressing a bit because if she’s having trouble with something, I’ll give her extra attention. Since she craves being with me or her dad or both constantly lately, this makes sense, but it’s frustrating.

Tomorrow is School Picture Day. (Oh yes, kindergarten started THREE WEEKS AGO, did I not mention it? So much for summer vacation.) This morning she said, “I’m not sure what to do for School Picture Day.”

“Sweetie, all you have to do is smile,” I said.

“But what if you don’t like the picture?” she said.

“How could I not like a picture of you? I love every picture of you I have ever seen,” I said.

“So no matter what it looks like, you’ll like it?” she said.

“Of course,” I said. “I really don’t want you to worry about it, babes.”

I started out this post thinking in my self-absorbed fashion that I had passed my tendencies toward a lack of self-confidence* on to my child – and indeed, maybe I have on some level. I should say that, having wrestled with esteem issues through adolescence and my early 20s, for the most part I think I am The Shizznit, though like all of us I have moments of self-doubt. But as I started typing, I realized what is truly going on here. (You see, the usefulness of blogging? Gives you time for a little evaluation, reflection and awareness and all that, if you only make time for it.)

I think the impending arrival of Rosie**, as Viva calls her, is making my little crumb cake feel a bit insecure***. And this is totally normal. And her constant wrestling with her daddy, and her constant testing of limits, is all about that. And now I just want to go pick her up from school and smother her with kisses and tell her I know she is scared that we won’t love her as much when the baby comes, but nothing could be further from the truth. Poor little thing and her fragile psyche. I don’t know how she could imagine her parents don’t completely adore her and would gladly throw ourselves under a train to spare her any hurt, but I guess that hasn’t fully come across.

Here’s to being bold, and to the confidence that comes from knowing that folks have your back. Here’s to making mistakes and having the courage to try again. Here’s to believing the positive about yourself.

* I know, hard to believe. My sister once told me, “You think you’re better than everyone else,” to which I snidely replied that her statement said more about her than about me. “Don’t hang your insecure bullshit on me,” I said. I love my sister, but you know how siblings can push each other’s buttons like no one else can? Yeah, it’s like that.

** Not her real name.

*** This weekend, I had to sing Viva an old Sesame Street song because she was making a card for a friend and she mis-spelled something and started freaking out about having to start over. Do you remember this song (sung by Big Bird)?

Oh, everyone makes mistakes, oh yes they do
Your sister and your brother and your dad and mother too
Big people, small people
Matter of fact, all people
Everyone makes mistakes so why can’t you?
If everyone in the whole wide world makes mistakes
Then WHYYYYY CAAAAAN’T YOOOOOUUU??

A Different Kind of Black List

Ooooh, I just found out about this today: THE BLACK LIST: VOLUME ONE.

In a new kind of living portraiture, a remarkable group of African-American notables share candid stories and revealing insights into the struggles, triumphs and joys of black life in the U.S. when THE BLACK LIST: VOLUME ONE debuts MONDAY, AUG. 25 (9p.m. ET/PT), exclusively on HBO.

I'm totally setting my DVR since Lord knows, I may be passed out on the couch by 9 p.m. But I'm hoping it's better than that recent series on CNN which, or so I've heard, pretty much focused on everything that's wrong in Black America. I realize the media feeds on and thus propagates fear, but was it too much to ask for a nuanced picture? Now, I am not sure why THE BLACK LIST chose to interview only "notables" in this, its first volume -- seems to me they could intersperse celebrity segments with other folks -- but hopefully they will remedy that with subsequent volumes. I'm interested to hear what they have to say.

And no, it hasn't escaped me that they're airing this on the first night of the Democratic National Convention, when for the first time ever a person of African descent is being nominated by his party to represent said party as their candidate for President of these United States. By the way, Michelle Obama will be speaking at probably about the same time that THE BLACK LIST is airing. Hmmm. I wonder if she'll set her DVR?

Updated to add: Oh, yeah, and a few new posts up over here.

Incoherent as I Want to Be

Have you ever read any tips on how to increase blog traffic? Perhaps the most oft-cited rule is to update your blog frequently to build your audience and to increase the number of chances for your blog's content to be noticed by search engines. Following close behind that is to respond to comments promptly.

Yeah, I'm kind of a sucky blogger these days. Sorry about that. And now, despite saying that, I have to log off because it appears that even though I was already late for work today, I left my child's homework in the car, and if she doesn't hand it in every day she won't get a sticker and because it is my fault (I jammed it under my tote bag and lunch box and jacket and all the other crap in the front seat because she had too many other things to carry), I will never hear the end of it. So I must leave work (for which - did I mention? - I was already late) and drive back to school so my child does not lose faith in me forever and evermore, Amen.

How's your day going?

P.S. Haven't been able to do anything about the house offer because my work friend's daughter went into labor off and on for 5 days and finally, finally had the baby Monday, a week past her due date. Hence and therefore, my work friend hasn't been at work.