When I was first pregnant with Happy Fun Baby, I knew I was going to have a boy. I knew it. All my dreams were of a little boy, the stupid necklace trick said “boy” – how can anyone argue with such solid evidence?

Several TV hours of Gilmore Girls later, I found myself longing for a girl. I know girls. I get girls. Boys? A baffling collection of hair and muscles and testosterone. I started dreaming about baby girls, little girls, daughters. My list of potential girl’s names started to balloon. I loved the idea of having a girl: nothing against boys, you understand, but a girl made sense to me, having been a girl myself.

Naturally, every armchair psychologist in the house is raising their hand at this point and going “Oooh, me, me!” As a little girl, what had I wanted more than anything? A mother who was, you know, reliably present. Parents who liked each other. Stability. What could be more satisfying than writing over my crappy girlhood by Doing It Better Myself? Little known fact: you do win a prize if your kids still like you when they’re grown. Look it up!

Given all that, the ultrasound in which my child’s gender was unmistakably revealed (wow – that sure is a boy, all right! Either that or he’s got an extra limb!) was somewhat disappointing, and the thing I found most disappointing? The clothes. Boy’s clothes are somewhat unthrilling. My dreams of a tomboyish daughter in stripey knee socks and boots took their reluctant place in my Maybe Later file, and I started thinking about how on earth I was going to raise a son.

Happy Fun Baby answered that question for me the moment he was born. He looked straight at us with his huge, calm eyes and I knew, instantly, that he belonged to us. Not in a sense of ownership, but in the “Oh, of course” sense you get when you solve a problem that seems complicated but turns out to be deceptively simple. Of course this was my baby. Of course.

The best thing a parent can do is give a child the opportunity to be the best they can be. Maybe it’s easier when your child is already so obviously himself. He knows what he likes and what he does not. He’s fiercely independent and just as fiercely attached to us. To me – he thinks I’m just the greatest thing ever, which is weird and cool and satisfying and terrifying all at the same time. Which I think goes to the heart of the Gilmore Girls dilemma – can I live up to being the mother of a boy? Can I do this without screwing it up?

I’m not disappointed anymore that we don’t have a daughter. I can’t imagine anything more perfect than my dancing, raspberry-blowing, meat-eating, singing kid.

Happy first birthday, Monkey.

technorati tags:happy fun baby, first birthday, one year

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Woke up this morning to several realizations. 1. My cold has not, as it turns out, been completely vanquished by my Mighty Immune System of Doom. Instead it has merely applied for a transfer and taken up residence in my lungs. As an entertaining aside, the baby is freaked out every time I cough, so last night went like this:

Me: (finally rolling into comfortable position) *koff, koff*
Baby: (half-waking, burrowing frantically into my side)
Me: It’s okay, I’ve got you. (rolling into flat-on-my-back position most favored by small child)
Baby: (sleep)
Me: (wheeze)

So last night did not result in a tremendous amount of sleep. What else is new, right? Except that today I have lots to do, which brings me to 2. It’s raining. Right, because I live in Portland, and rain is a thing which occurs during the winter months. I wouldn’t be too worried about it, but I need to get over to the post office. Admittedly, the post office is only like two blocks away, but since I’m still feeling all poor-me sick, I don’t relish the idea of bundling myself and the wee one and wandering out in the rain. It’s supposed to rain all week, so I can’t just postpone my errands (which, believe me, I would totally do). Plus, I really want to get these things in the mail! So I think sucking it up is a thing I should do.

Then, of course, there is 3. Our house is a complete fucking disaster, and I need to get it top-to-bottom sparkling by Friday. Why Friday, you ask? Because Auntie Pep and Uncle…dude, I so need to think of more aliases, because right now I’m going with Less Peppy, and that’s a nickname no one should have to bear, am I right?…are coming for the weekend. Their house in Santa Cruz is several things, but “a complete fucking disaster” is none of them. (For an example, see: my workspace, at left. Multiply by 1000 square feet.) Also? I am ever so slightly, very subtly, almost imperceptibly competitive. If her house is immaculate, my house had better be at least as immaculate. I will never achieve the Zen minimalism of her more-space-than-stuff home, but I can at least clean the grime off the floors and make sure the carpets are dust-free. (I am focusing on the floors because, if I get to the point where they’re visible, I will have won.)

So, yes. Stuff! To do! I have! And the day is not getting longer, so off I go. Koff.

technorati tags:housework, rain, portland, sick

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The common cold generally involves a runny nose, nasal congestion, and sneezing. You may also have a sore throat, cough, headache, or other symptoms. Over 200 viruses can cause a cold.

MedlinePlus Medical Encyclopedia: Common Cold

Koff, koff. One of those 200 viruses got me. Which is kind of funny, if you think about it. Ha! Colds are fun. Want to create a festive holiday sculpture out of my mountains of used tissue? No? Well, don’t say I never offered you anything.

I started to feel a little punk on Friday night, when my throat began to seriously hurt. My throat rarely hurts, so naturally I assumed I was being felled by some exotic avian virus and responded accordingly by staying up until midnight doing chores. What is up with me getting all uber-responsible the minute a virus hits my system, and how can I use this power for good instead of evil? I’m thinking petri dishes and injectible antibiotics.

My mighty immune system has rallied spectacularly, and after spending yesterday swaddled in blankets and shivering miserably, I feel almost well today. Sore throat: finally gone. Snuffles: less snuffly. My head is full of phlegm, but it’s benign phlegm now; not that evil, scheming phlegm of the last few days. Bastardly phlegm. Down with phlegm!

Just in time to miss the big Alt dot Life holiday party, unfortunately. Not So went in my place, but it just wasn’t the same, mostly because laying in bed = different from celebrating with friends. Unless you’re a polygamist. Which, hey, not my cup of tea, but as long as you have a big enough bed, right? I digress.

Not So and the baby had a lovely time, even though poor Not So didn’t really know anyone even peripherally, since they’re all My Friends From The Internet. I like that I have friends from the internet, and these are particularly good ones to have.

I got to see pictures after the boys got home. And then I had a cup of tea. But no polygamy. Follow along, kids.

technorati tags:alt dot life, adl, holiday party, virus, cold, phlegm

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I am not blogging about the Kim family, because I do not have the proper words.

I am not blogging about my anxiety, because who wants to hear about how my brain regurgitates at least a dozen possible-death scenarios for any given situation? No one, that’s who.

I am not blogging about my relationship problems, because we talked and things are better and I don’t want to jinx that.

Things are actually pretty good in the Cranky house. Right now Not So has the baby upstairs, so I have an unexpected window of solitude. It’s very odd and I don’t really know what to do with myself. I’ve already tweaked the theme on my blog (the new version of Tarski came out today, so of course I had to go and mess with everything after I installed it) and gone through all my rss feeds (including the ones on LJ, which is totally just an aggregator for me these days). I took a picture of myself with my camera phone. I read some BSG fanfic and wished, again, that I could write decent sex scenes. Now I’m…sitting. And it feels very odd.

I used to crave solitude the way some peope crave cigarettes. I’ve always been someone who has no problem going to a movie by myself or spending an entire day reading a book. On the other hand, I loathe sleeping alone and I get weird if I go too long without talking to anyone, but there you go. My incongruousness is endearing. You were totally just thinking that.

Now that I have a moment to myself, I feel like I should do something to take advantage of it. Paint my toenails, or clean the house, or write a paper. Something. Instead I’m doing the same thing I do when the baby’s in the room, only without the constant interruption and frequent play breaks. Solitude, these days, feels like a deadline I’ve got to meet. It’s exhausting.

technorati tags:solitude, busy, sahm

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The last 24 hours have been somewhat sucktacular. Last night I spent three hours working on some holiday-themed icons in Illustrator, only to have the program crash. But of course I had saved, right? Wrong. So three hours of work went *poof* and all I could do was stare at the screen and kick my own ass for being an idiot. Because who doesn’t save? Me, that’s who.

Then this morning I got up late, showered through the UPS guy’s arrival and missed the delivery of Not So’s new cell phone, which he’s been eagerly anticipating for the last week. This of course prompted a frenzy of weeping, since Not So and I have been having…I don’t know, problems?…and this is just another example of How I Manage To Screw Everything Up Due To My Incompetence As A Stay-Home Mom. Back when I was gainfully employed, we would never have had issues about whose time was more important. Back when I was gainfully employed, I had people paying me for my time, so I knew exactly what it was worth and could prioritize accordingly. If I chose to work overtime, I got paid even more. Now that I’m home all day, I have to somehow make sense of the fact that I am working all the time and still find myself with more things than I have minutes, and no one is offering me time-and-a-half as compensation. Or even hazard pay. Which, if you’ve ever changed the diaper of someone whose diet consists primarily of bananas, is really not too much to ask.

Lest you think I am always thinking in the negative, I will share with you this list of things that make me happy:

• Kittens
• Babies
• Sleep
• Autumn leaves
• Etymology

Now then. See? I am practically bursting with positive energy!

technorati tags:stay-at-home mom, SAHM, incompetent, bah

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I may be terrible at math, but even I know that Jessica + two hours of baby-free shopping = bliss. So why did a trip to Macy’s to get a winter coat end up with nothing but a sports bra and a headache?

It started out so auspiciously, what with Not So taking the baby to the office and me frolicking all enencumbered-like through the store. How long has it been since I’ve been able to take the escalator? I used to love escalators when I was a kid. I ditty-bopped up to the third floor, where the coats live, and, after studying the sale signs, picked out an assortment of outerwear in my price range and started trying things on. My requirements were modest: a warm, relatively waterproof winter coat that did not make me look like the Michelin man.

This is where it began to go bad. Coats, as it turns out? Do not like breastfeeding boobs. I have ranted at length about my mammaries in the past, but let me take a moment to reiterate: I. Hate. My. Boobs.

Even the XL coats – of which, I would like to point out, there were depressingly few – were somewhat snug around the chestal area. If I dared to do something like, oh, pull my shoulders back, the coat would be so tight that it actually lifted up off my stomach. I have atrocious posture, so it’s not like that would happen much, but still.

I finally narrowed my choices down to two: a cute black Kenneth Cole Reaction coat with a down fill, and a Columbia Sportswear snowboarding coat in the unfortunate combination of light blue and gray.

The Kenneth Cole should have been the obvious choice, except for that pesky not-fitting-through-the-chest thing. I kept trying it on, rationializing, and then reminding myself how $100-some-odd dollars is a lot to spend on something that doesn’t, you know, fit. The Columbia Sportswear, on the other hand, fit gorgeously. It was warm, I had complete range of motion, and – glee! – it had an iPod pocket! You may not know this about me, but I am a sucker for an iPod pocket. So, Columbia Sportswear it is, right?

Wrong. Columbia Sportswear? Not on sale. I was understandably confused by it being on a sale rack and all, but the clerk set me straight with a “…” and some gum-snapping. I get that retail is a crappy gig, but seriously? The gum thing has to go. Also, appearing to be the tiniest bit interested when a potential customer says “But the sign says it’s 40% off!” would do wonders for said customer’s state of mind. I am not asking for actual interest. Just the semblance. Perhaps an anecdote about misfiling. Anything but gum-snapping and a blank stare. Pleaseandthankyou.

So, no coat for me. I did manage to find a sports bra, and my logic is thus: if I can’t find something to wear that will keep me warm, I will wear something I can keep warm in. Which totally makes sense, as long as you suspend disbelief wrt me + running.

technorati tags:macys, coat, shopping

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I submitted a photo to JPG Magazine. Vote for me. You know you want to.

technorati tags:jpg magazine, photography

Blogged with Flock