Daily Diarrhea Update

Cha

Daily Diarrhea Update

Cha

Daily Diarrhea Update

Diarrhea

The Sisters Mortland

Just finished The Sisters Mortland. Ever read one of those books that has compelling characters, and pretty good imagery, and you can feel the sparks getting ready to fly, but then the book just goes nowhere? This is one of those books. I kept reading, hoping that the payoff would be there at the end. It wasn't.

See This Face?

See this face? This sweet, happy, benign face? Don't believe it. In approximately five hours, this face will be attached to a rear end spewing the most vile diarreah ever witnessed by a mother. That mouth? It will be vomiting all over me, my bed, my friend Camille's carpet in the house that she just put on the market. Her dogs will be licking it up. It is 2 am. I will sleep no more than an hour this night. The next couple of days, we will break out the Lysol and the Hazmat suits. We will wash mountains of laundry, and we will hug and cradle and soothe at all hours of the day and night.

Germs are malicious, devious little fuckers. May they leave my boy quickly, and never touch my baby girl. Feel better soon, Rolls!

Just Out of Reach

Just Out of Reach

Rollie enjoys an exhibit at the High Museum, Atlanta, GA. (Photo courtesy of Uncle Mark.)

Babies Would Taste Better if They Were Made Entirely of Blue Cheese

Once a year, in February, our friend D. Clay has his annual Nascar party for the Daytona 500. Actually, this could be a party for the Indy 500, or the bbq-eating 500 and I wouldn't know the difference, because what this is really about is the excuse to drink keg beer during the day on a Sunday in February. This is also an excuse to eat ridiculously perfect chicken wings, and the BEST GODDAMN BLUE CHEESE DRESSING I HAVE EVER HAD. (For anyone who remotely knows me, this is not faint praise. I have had my share of blue cheese dressing.) This is an excuse to strap the baby in the bjorn so as to better juggle plastic cup full of beer and wing dripping blue cheese. Oops. A little fell on Matilda's head. Nothing tastes better than blue cheese dressing licked off of a baby head. Yum.

Things were a little less relaxed than in past years, as Rollie is in full-on mingling mode these days. You could tell he was totally trying to lose Todd and I throughout the afternoon, so that he could hit on all the hot women there, especially Finesse and those totally smokin' Tokich twins. T. Spaceboy! Watch out - Rollie's mackin' on your lady friend. And I think she's into him. Seriously, a highlight was seeing the young lady who took our Spaceboy off the market - We love her!

Other highlights: Nessie finally got it together and made her ass to a Nascar party! Loved seeing her there, even if she did refrain from drinking beer out of a plastic cup. But she wore jeans! And we totally rocked the party with our boobs out, which is, according to Clay, why he invited us. Smart man. Always good to see Andy, and I got a good look at his new lady, Ginger. Nice. Nothing like putting how much your life has changed into relief by talking to Chad about how things are going with him and his five (count them, five) band projects. And unusually cold weather gave us a sighting of that ever-elusive, but much sought after Winter Clay.

Lowlights: Toddler meltdown, forgetting my camera. Although I don't know how i could have juggled, beer, wings, and camera. Probably would have had to put baby down.

All in all, a wonderful time was had by all. Oh, who won? I have no fucking clue.

Little Boo Boos

Rollie, thank you for taking ten minutes yesterday to show me every booboo you have and to have me kiss each and every one to make it better. It was the best part of my day.

Rollie Gets Crunk

One of the interesting things about being a parent is how all semblance of cool flies out the window upon toddlerhood. Sure, I can still go see Rogue Wave on a Saturday night (with much to do about babysitters), but on Sunday morning, I am still going to find myself hung over and forced to dance to the new Jack Johnson song from Curious George. Shit, I am even starting to like it.

You Master Me.

You know what's not romantic? You beating me in Scrabble.

Okay, I love you. No, not in a "husband, father of my children kind of way."

In a "you master me at Scrabble" kind of way.

Battle of the Planets, or How I Won Your Undying Love

Five years ago yesterday, Honey was in town for a visit. Honey, Lisa, Andy and I decided to go to the Fountainhead for drinks, and I had spoken with Robin about meeting her and friends of hers there later that night. We had a great time sitting around and people-watching and talking about old times, but i still hadn't seen Robin come in when we were ready to leave. So, I ran upstairs to check and see if she was there, and lo and behold, they had been there the entire time and I had missed her. It was after one, but I stayed for a while to talk to her, and say hello to some of her friends that I knew from college. Vanessa and Joel were there, and some other people, but I don't remember who now. Robin introduced me to you, and we chatted about Denver and how we knew Robin. I think. I don't remember that much from that night. You had a goatee and you were wearing a red shirt. I remember leaving that night, and saying how weird it was to see people I hadn't met since college, and that I thought there was something really likeable about Robin's friend Todd.

You emailed me at work the following Thursday, then we exchanged emails for the next week. I must admit that the origin of my love may have been the thought of you in tights. The next Thursday, we met for drinks at the Stein Club. You had to ask what I look like. You wore the Colonel Mustard shirt. I wore my brown leather jacket and wowed you with my knowledge of Battle of the Planets. We drank Shiners and we talked for hours.

Thank you for looking in the same direction with me. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Happy Valentine's Day!

Crutch Parenting

Recently, my sister told me about hanging out with friends of Mark (her husband). The wife, a recent addition to motherhood, was talking about swings, bouncy/vibrating seats, etc. and referred to them as "parenting crutches."

[Raucous, condescending, derisive laughter from veteran mothers everywhere.] Obviously, Honey, you have only one child.

For veteran parents, four months of age marks an anxiously-awaited milestone for parents everywhere. Yep, we, excitedly, have pulled out the epitome of crutch parenting, the EXERSAUCER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

May Matilda never grow out of it. . . .

Um, Your Fad is My Childhood

Last night, my sister and brother-in-law, Lisa and Mark, watched the kids while Todd went out to dinner and to see Nada Surf and Rogue Wave (Warning - audio after initial page). I don't particularly like Nada Surf, but I really like Rogue Wave, so I was pretty excited. We had dinner at our favorite Thai place, Ma Li. Whenever we get a night out, we go there, because we both love it; this does limit our experimenting of new restaurants, but frankly, Ma Li is so good, I could eat it for the rest of my life. I had the Salmon Thai Green Curry and it rocked, as usual.

We then had time to kill, so we went to Borders to look at books and fuel up (read: drink lattes to stay awake, because we are usually lounging on the couch at 8:30 pm.) I pumped in the car afterwards, and it started snowing flurries, which is a rarity here in Atlanta, and always imparts a magical feel to any evening.

We headed on to see the show at The Loft. Todd and I discussed that we hadn't been there since it had been Center Stage, which seemed like ages ago. Neither of us could remember the last show we had seen there. While waiting in line, it became apparent that we were the oldest people there. Todd said that the kids in front of us looked high school age, and that he was surprised when they pulled out their IDs and received their drinking armbands. Later, we realized that we weren't the oldest people; there was a couple in their fifties or so, lounging on a couch people-watching. We later ran into a kid that was probably 12 or 13 near the bar. We later saw him with the fiftyish couple - yep, they were his parents.

The opening band was not anything to write home about: Kings of France. Zzzzzzzz. Between bands, we did some really hardcore peoplewatching. Everyone was decked out all eighties and i think one of them was actually wearing a jacket and legwarmers that I owned in high school. Many of the attendees were in their late teens to early 20s, and we discussed that the younger ones were born while we were in high school! Todd actually admitted that he felt kind of out of place. We saw one person we know - Spaceboy! - and we think of him as a youngster, but he was downright elderly at this show.


Rogue Wave came on, and it wasn't too crowded, so i didn't have much trouble seeing. I hadn't seen them before (wish I had seen them when they played at the EARL last year), and had no idea what they looked like. Rock 'n roll crush alert! Benjamin Gibbard, you have been replaced! Lead singer boy is WAY cute. Love that just-rolled-out-of-bed mussed look. Poor Todd had to endure an evening of me drooling over the latest band boy. They were great. My only problem with their set was that they didn't play enough songs.

Nada Surf came on, and well, snoozeville. We left after four or five songs. I really would have liked to hear them play the one that I like, Blonde on Blonde, but not enough to endure the annoying crowd, and the rest of their boring songs. We left and headed back to the EARL for a last beer. Grabbed a table and commenced with still more people-watching. This was even better, because the place is well-lit enough that I could critique all ridiculous 80s getups. This is official notice: The pageboy/English dapper chap hat is OVER. Please stop wearing it. About one a.m., we headed for home (thanks to my fantabulous husband for taking one for the team and driving my ass around town all night), Todd proceeded to fall asleep on the couch, while i popped open a last beer, ate instant cheese grits, and watched the opening scenes of Almost Famous.

Supermom

Yesterday was a banner day. Our little wolverine, Matilda, refuses to sleep during the day. Why sleep, when there is so much crying her guts out to be achieved? (She sleeps great - 11 + hours! - during the night.) I read up on this phenomenon, and came up with a plan of action. It was a complete success! She slept for one and a half hours, in her crib, with no crying, yesterday morning. Then, she took another, no-crying hour-long nap in the afternoon!

Top this off with the fact that Rollie consumed, and enjoyed, over half of a tomato at lunch, and I am officially Supermom of the Year.

Tragedy Strikes!

Our remote is broken! We have to watch our digital cable the old-fashioned way: In real time, selecting channels by mashing the buttons. I had to watch fucking commmercials during Gilmore Girls!!! [gasp]

My Prince

This morning, I awoke to coughing and chatter from Rollie's room. He has a cold, but it is the functional type of cold that toddlers have - if you or I had the same cold, we would take to the couch with chicken soup and the remote, but Rollie wakes up like clockwork and is ready to start playing as usual at 7:15 am, cold or no cold. Rollie and Matilda usually wake each other up, so we usually all get up together at the same time, Todd getting Rollie changed and giving him breakfast, and me changing and nursing Matilda. This morning, for some reason, Matilda didn't wake up when Rollie did, so i had the luxury of lounging in bed for a few moments before jumping up. This is a rarity for the moms and dads of the world, but even when we grab these precious moments, we are unable to drift back to sleep; the baby alarm was set in the first few weeks of their lives and there is nothing we can do to change it. Once we hear the little angels, we are awake.

I lounged in bed, listening to the sounds of Rollie's constant chatter and then heard him say:

"Mama."

I heard the shuffle of his feet in the hallway. He came into my room and said,

"Mama, wake."

I peeked over the side of the bed to see him standing at the side of the bed, eye-level with me, with a huge, bright smile on his face. (F-ing morning people!)

Rollie said, "Hi, Mama."
I said, "Hello, Rollie."
He said, "Up, Mama. Downdairs."
I said, "Okay, sweetie, I'm getting up. I'll be down in just a minute."

Rollie turned to walk downstairs with Todd, then, turned back to me and walked back over to the bedside, hand held out to me:

"Help. Help Mama."

I take his hand, as I alight from the Royal Bed, Princess of the Morning.

Four Months

Matilda, you are four months old today. I cannot believe that in four months, you have so irrevocably changed my life. Life with one child still gives you the illusion that you are new to parenting, that you still have one iota of coolness, that you still hang on to your carefree youthfulness. Having a second child changes that forever. You become a family. Of four. With a minivan.

You blow bubbles at me now to get my attention. You shake your head back and forth and yawn when you are fighting tiredness, which is always. It is as if you cannot stand to miss a single second of your oh-so-exciting life: "Look, Mama is cutting her toenails! MUST.STAY.AWAKE." I try to get you to nap in your crib, but you fight it so much. You will cry and cry, then fall asleep for maybe 20 minutes, then you are back to the crying and waiting for me to come save you. You are different from Rollie in this way. Rollie was a great sleeper, great napper, and didn't want to be held nearly as much as you do. I sometimes get exhausted from how much more attention you require, but I usually get over it in the moments when I have time to watch you sleep and reflect on my love for you.

And I always melt at dinner time: You are whining because you want to be held. Daddy comes in from the gym, and he takes a shower, then comes down and walks you around the kitchen while I cook. The entire time, you barely take your eyes off of me. When I look at you, you hide your face in Daddy's chest, as if embarrassed at the look that has passed between us. Todd mentioned that maybe it was the breastfeeding that made you so attached to me, but I really don't think that is it. i think it is that breastfeeding requires so much of our time to be together, whereas your Daddy and I spent much of our time splitting Rollie's feedings down the middle. I guess it seems more than the act of breastfeeding, it is the circumstances of breastfeeding that require such closeness. I cannot pretend that I don't eat up those loving looks at dinnertime. Daddy said it didn't make him jealous, but i know that he would love for you to look at him that way. I think he doesn't realize how much little girls come to love their Daddies and that he just needs to bide his time. You will be throwing your hairbrush at me as you yell, "I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" soon enough.

In the mornings, you wake up like a shot! There is no languorous lounging in the crib. The minute the light wakes you, you let out a wail that wakes the neighborhood. We say you are zero-to-sixty in no time flat. You are, but as soon as i peek over the side of the crib, you let up and give me a big smile.

You are becoming a more efficient breastfeeder these days. You will eat ravenously for a few minutes, but now you become more distracted by your surroundings as you fill up, and you let go, not wanting to miss a thing. I am enjoying our breastfeeding experience more, now that it doesn't hurt. I would be lying if I said I won't be a little sad when it is over. I would also be lying if I said sometimes I can't wait for it to be over. You eat every three hours during the day now, which works out to about five times a day, or occasionally a sixth feeding if it works out better for us to get out and about during the day. You wake around 7:30 and you go to bed about 8:00. We are trying to get it back another 30 minutes, but i am not complaining about 11 hours or more of sleep at night, even if you refuse to nap well during the day. I am working on the naps, though.

You are laughing now, especially when you watch Rollie running and jumping around. You think he is the cat's meow. I hope you will always feel this way about him. Siblings are so precious. You also laugh when I tickle your feet, or kiss or raspberry your tummy. You laugh when Daddy holds you and i sneak up and say, "boo" or we pretend that i am chasing you and Daddy around the kitchen. Rollie usually gets in on this, too. Your laugh sounds a little goofy, but Daddy says he always found girls who snorted when they laughed attractive, so there is hope. Maybe one day, you will be lucky enough to marry your own band geek from Alabama.

You HATE tummy time. I insist you do about ten minutes every morning, but it usually ends in you crying so much that you spit up your breastmilk and then lie in it for about five minutes until i realize it. Sometimes I will sit with you on a blanket on the floor, watching you roll around, holding toys over your head, and making you laugh. You cannot roll over yet, but you do roll over on your side and lay there. Or if someone walks around you on the floor, you will crane your head back as far as possible trying to follow them with your eyes, and you will find yourself on your side. You are now holding your head up when we put you on your tummy, but sometimes you lose it and your head conks the floor. Kind of pitiful-looking.

You can kind of hold your weight on your feet when I hold you upright. You like that position, almost as much as your favorite, which is being held and walked, with the world moving by you as you watch.

You love Quint's dog kisses almost as much as mine, Rollie's, and Daddy's. You laugh when he walks by your bouncy seat - he is right at your eye level.

You are starting to squeal and make more noise at us, and you will do it to get our attention. I can't wait until we start having more conversations. I can't wait until you can walk. But yet, I can wait. Because I know i will mourn these times when they are gone. I love you, Tiller!

Here are your four month well-baby stats:
Length - 26 3/4 inches (>97%)
Weight - 16lbs, 48 oz. (95%)
Head circ. - 42 cm (75%)

Love,
Mama

We Are So Proud

This past week, Rollie said his first cuss word. It was, "damn." We couldn't be any prouder. Thankfully, his grandmother, rather than his parents, was responsible for modeling pronunciation of this one. In other Rollie news, he has taken to soothing his sister when she cries, modeling his mother's favorite exclamation upon hearing Matilda start to cry: "Pipe down!" Finally, when asked what he was doing this morning, he told me, with a very serious face: "Pire Fuck." Yep, that's a fire truck, folks.

All mothers should be so proud.

The Robert Smith of the White House

I recently watched a History Channel documentary about Abraham Lincoln, entitled, aptly enough, Lincoln. Rather than studying just the facts of his presidency, it focused more on his mental state during his presidency, and the battle he fought with depression throughout his life. He had two nervous breakdowns in which he became suicidal. He lost his mother early in his life and had a difficult relationship with his father. He lost his first love before they were married. He lost both of his sons at an early age. He was married to a woman who is now believed to have been a manic depressive herself, a woman to whom he initially called off his engagement, for reasons unknown, but believed to be related to his love for another woman, his love for another man, or his syphilis. She was a detriment to his political status, an embarrasment to the White House. She threw tantrums on the streets of Springfield and Washington. She attacked her own husband. She threw lavish White House parties on the same days that thousands of American soldiers were dying on battlefields, as if she had no concept that the world outside of her world existed. She was also a very superstitious woman, who held seances in the White House, and asked her husband to attend. He did attend them to humor her. Stranger still, Lincoln, after the death of his son Willie, would actually remove the lid from his son's coffin to gaze upon his face. He wrote poetry, including a poem about suicide. He also wrote a book about his religious questions, including his disbelief of the story of Christ. He had dreams of his son's death, premonitions of his own death.

"I am now the most miserable man living. If what I feel were distributed to the entire human family there would not be one happy face on the Earth." – Abraham Lincoln

The overarching theme I came away with was that this was a man constantly torn and depressed, our Goth president, our Robert Smith or Morrissey of the White House. Who knew?