six weeks tomorrow

Everyone keeps talking about “the new normal.” What does that even mean? I’m getting into online feuds with people in a mommy facebook group who live in Indiana and let their kids run around together in the neighborhood and think that there’s more danger in breathing “humid air” while wearing a mask than wearing one and trying to keep the numbers of infections from climbing. In New York city, they’re running out of room for the bodies. There aren’t enough refrigerated trailers and warehouses to hold them all. My friend Sol’s husband and children had to say their goodbyes and last rites to their uncle over Zoom (non-Covid cause of death). The family is being difficult about social distancing during the upcoming mass and burial. As if losing a brother isn’t hard enough. Nurses are being thanked for holding the iPad in one hand and the hand of a dying loved one in another so their family can be there when they pass. I cannot describe the raging fire of anger in my heart toward the people who think this is a conspiracy or made up by the media. Journalists are being furloughed, their pay cut, or simply being let go left and right, while people are so thirsty for information—and they NEED reliable sources. This is the kind of moment I’d always imagine having happened in the past that we were supposed to have learned from. Obviously we didn’t. The president is tweeting about all sorts of nonsense and looking for people to blame while having dropped the ball. Also denying statements made on camera. I’m so disheartened about society. 

At home, my resolve is wearing thin. I hope I can find the patience to be kind to my children, who have been on some sort of bizarre hunger strike—even things they love, like “nani cereal” they are not eating. We are trying so very hard, but it feels like we are failing at everything. 

It took me five weeks, but I made several pleated/tie-masks and got two rolls of stamps to try and mail them to our family and drop them to friends. I am disappointed in myself. I have seven boxes of fabric, not to mention two spools of twill tape (which I mailed to CC’s bff who is cranking out masks like nobody’s business). I just don’t have the TIME. H bought me this cool plexiglass/wood gadget to make holding the fabric down to rotary cut easier. I’ll admit, I wondered when he thought I was going to have time to use it, but dang has that thing come in handy. I have about 350 sets of masks measured out and cut up. I am making cotton straps and ironing them into bias tape—easily the most time-consuming pattern, but much more comfortable to me. Because of course that’s how I would do it. Hopefully I can get them made and to the people who need them, as Illinois has been requiring a mask to be out among the people starting today. 

There just isn’t enough time in the day. The poor children are left to entertain themselves for long stretches of the day, while we desperately try to maintain focus to get the bare minimum done at work. I have never in my life looked forward to a weekend more desperately than I have for the last five weekends. Their schedule is out the window, flown through a woodchipper and scattered in the wind. Kash takes naps later in the evening (like 5-7:30 or 8p), which is nice for trying to cook/clean up the tornado of toys, but then he’s up till 1 or 2a. I have a daily meeting at 8:30a—thank God not on video—and we are HURTING. It’s like the guy spinning plates. But instead of being able to do it, we just let them fall and dig more plates out of the cupboard. Ro has started writing her S and N backward all of a sudden and does not want to practice. We are still paying Ms. A to try to get her through this until the government money comes through (no sign of it). She’s going to hold our spots and credit us when things open back up again. She is worried about losing her livelihood and even commented that she might consider cleaning people’s houses… Ms. A always has loved a flourish of drama. 

My folks are still going into work. I worry so much for them. My mom works at the hospital and just masks up and sanitizes. Both she and my dad go to the store SO much more than H or I, who have only gone out four times in nearly six weeks. My brother can work from home but is losing his damn mind, alone in his big old house. He’s watching a lot of tv. 

We don’t have time to do the basics, let alone watch all the “it” shows, like “Tiger King” on Netflix and God knows what else. I’m feeling a lot of FOMO about that. At some point, though, I have to just accept that I simply cannot do all the things. I have a lot of anxiety—there is chest tightness that has been coming and going since February and my monthly cycle has shortened quite a bit. My hair is falling out. I feel like a jerk complaining about any of this in light of people losing their livelihoodS and even their loved ones. 

H’s employer has asked they take a PTO day once a week for at least the month of May (they, as my company, are hemorrhaging money despite being insanely busy because of the COVID-19 virus). Top brass are all taking 15-20% paycuts at both places (our CEO is taking a 50% cut, which still leaves him getting $5.5M, so I don’t feel too sad for him), and they’re going to cut nonessential workers’ pay gradually and let people go in the negative with their PTO. My significantly larger company lost $168M in the month of March. I’m having flashbacks of all my layoffs and panicking. Our plans to sell our house are on hold. I don’t know how the heck I would be able to online educate my kindergartener in the fall when I can’t even get her to practice writing her letters. 

These are strange times, which I’m sure I will draw from for the rest of my life. I hope that I will look back and think “I did the best I could with what I had,” but likely it will be more like “dumbo, why you squander all of that precious time?” 

day 21

DISCLAIMER: I generally don't drink, but right now I'm sipping Pinot Noir from a mug my brother got me that says "You are doing a fucking great job." And today has been one of the better days.

Last night I went out for the first time in 20 days. I fashioned a mask out of a "POW' "BAM" comic-style bandanna we got during a "superhero" themed giant project from 2016* and two hair ties. I went to the grocery store and bought a month's worth of groceries, then stopped at the daycare lady's house and picked up some preschool materials and gave her a check. It just feels like the right thing to do, especially because we have a taste of what it's like to wrangle these two maniacs all day long--God bless her for managing to take care of (and teach) 12 of them.

The store was a weird experience. There were masked people, unmasked people parents with wandering teenagers, couples trying to decide which box of Triscuit to get and a pregnant employee making flower arrangements. There was no milk, but lots of bread. There was zero toilet paper, but plenty of meat at the deli counter. There was no flour but lots and lots of veggies. These are strange times. There was a weird, Twilight Zone feel to the entire experience. My cashier was young and had on gloves but no mask. I realized very quickly what an error it was to get the "smallesh" cart but managed to pack it full. At check out I had to get a bigger cart to actually get the stuff to the car. And a lot of it ended it up kind of dented by the time I got home.

I didn't like it. I'm hoping to go another 20 days until I have to leave again. All these years, I've been telling myself I'm an extrovert, but I suspect a) I was an introvert all this time?!?! b) H has converted me or c) I'm getting old. Get off my lawn. This quarantine really hasn't bothered me one bit. We don't take these children anywhere anyway, and while I can make conversation with a lamppost, these last few days it takes more out of me than it ever did. I love not having to do my hair or put on makeup and the TIME SAVED not having to plan to drive somewhere? #priceless. I sent cc a meme today that said something to the effect of "I haven't been late to anything for a month!" Except I'm the last one to log into my 8:30am work standup call every morning...

Working with small children has been so challenging. I wish I could say that I've totally figured out this new job, but if we are keeping it 100, I really haven't. A few weeks ago when they were playing Headbandz Jr., Ro told H "You're much smarter than Mommy." That shiz cut deep, little girl. Later, H gently reminded me that nothing goes unnoticed around here, and likely my constant self second-guessing has been absorbed by these little sponges. So now I have to keep my abject panic about how much I have yet to figure out about this job even after ELEVEN months to myself. Fake it till you make it? We will see when I have to take call next week for the first time.

I think it's safe to disclose at this point, two glasses of wine and almost 15 since I started this blog, that I used to be a journalist, working at a pretty-giant-named newspaper. And now I work in healthcare IT. Even though this was never our intention, so does H. We have a very unique perspective of seeing this whole COVID19 thing play out without being on the floor anymore (which I was for several years). Holy cow, it's like I'm Elaine on Peppermint Schnapps.

Anyway, we are hearing about things that are terrible and worrying SO much about our colleagues, friends and loved ones. Someone on my team is working on documentation for "expired patients," allowing for nurses and physicians to document details of all kinds. And H is working on reports on how many COVID19 cases (and at what level) for his organization. Sobering, at best. Yet there are still people gallivanting around, meeting up in secret, going on playdates, because they can't stand to stay home with their Internet and their fridges full of food. It makes me stabby.

This thing could be a death sentence for my brother, and the very idea of that brings me to tears. The poor kid hasn't seen a soul in almost a month; he's doddering around his three-bedroom house all alone. I just want to go over there and give him a hug so badly, but I'm 90% certain the 'Rona has has passed through this house. There is no way in hell I want to expose him to it. He needs to re-up his Coumadin prescription, but his APN says he needs to get PT/INR labs done first. So I'm trying to find an N95 for him to wear for the lab test.

Last night we also tried to bake our own bread, in this curvy type of Italian loaf pan. It was, as Paul Hollywood says in the Netflix series 1 of The Great British Baking Show, "Calling this a disaster would be an insult to disaster." It was hard as a rock. We left it out on the stoop for the wildlife, and it went untouched overnight. What a waste of five cups of flour and two packets of yeast. I should stick to cooking vaguely directed meals that don't require any precision.

I have been obsessed with the Apple Music radio show "Rocket Hour" with Elton  John. He is a lovely deejay and plays all kinds of music. I'm hoping the exposure will allow my children to appreciate all kinds of music. They'd rather listen to the Frozen 2 or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse soundtracks.

Sleeping on the floor in the kids' room has been eye-opening. Kash will roll right out of his toddler bed, onto the floor and not wake up. Ro will have entire soliloquies in her sleep (she got that from me). Sleeping on the floor is hard on the hips. I generally end up sneaking into the twin bed with her or cramped up in the crib-turned-toddler bed with him. I haven't had a good night's sleep in years, so it's kind of moot. But wow, am I not functioning well. [insert shrug emoji here]. I am hoping so hard that my employer is not basing continued employment at productivity stats.

H is feeling much better, but of course the pessimist in me suspects this is a fakeout before he feels a lot worse, as has been reported about this damn "THE SICKNESS," as Ro calls it. I have never before truly appreciated how much he does around here with the kids. But after this past week where I'm trying to work full-time and stay-at-home-parent full-time with H laid up in bed, I kind of feel like I'm either the biggest charlatan in the world, or maybe I can handle more than I thought. I am praying even harder that no one else gets this thing.

I'm blathering, but you know what, I've never buzzed posted before, and any editing I had done to my posts is out the window, because two people under the age of 5 will only play with kinetic sand for so long.

I don't know what I'm trying to say. Maybe I'm trying to say that I feel like I should be learning a hobby or catching up on shows or cleaning my damn house so we can sell it in time to move closer to my parents so Ro can go to the same school system all the way through. The reality is that I can't even find time to shower, and any free time I have is spent reading (I refuse to watch TV news) the news or listening to news radio or scrolling through facebook, where the comments and reposts give me the dopamine hits I used to get from this blog.

It will be interesting to read this later, when this buzz has worn off.


*I also have been coloring on this very beautiful calendar from 2017 that I kept. Don't say hoard--er, WAREHOUSING--never came in handy. 

previouslies 2: all the posts fit to print

In 2011 I did this pretty comprehensive "previouslies" post. Here's where that leaves off, including some stuff I probably would have posted about, had I been doing this sort of thing regularly:

• In December 2011 I picked my brother up from O'Hare and flipped my car. That was possibly the first and definitely the last time I will ever leave the house without say goodbye to Jon after an argument.
• In February 2012 I started a new chapter in my career, fully putting the dungeon industry in the rearview (though I didn't know it at the time). My boss micromanaged and bullied, and I was her favorite punching bag. Giving so much while being made to feel incompetent is why I didn't post all that much. 
• In December 2012 Jon and I went on a gun-shooting /wine-tasting (not simultaneously) outing in Michigan with friends. Because I am me, the first weapon I ever fired was an AK-47. I pray I never hold another gun in my life. I didn't like how it felt to have that kind of power in my hands. It was a taste of the paranoid anxiety I would later experience post-partum. 
• In May 2013 I went into labor with my first child. After an immensely stressful several months at work, my water broke in my cubicle, 20 weeks early. The baby's lungs weren't developed enough for her to survive.
• In August 2013 we bought this house. Jon and our dear friend/realtor, Mala, did the legwork to find it. We were so excited to have a garage and a yard, and had big plans (like compost!). Less than a month after we closed, the pipes from the house to the street had to be dug up and replaced. I don't think we ever regained any homeowners' excitement and our yard looked like a construction site for the better part of four years (if you don't count when it was covered in snow). 
• Madelyn moved to Chicago.
• In December 2013 we lost baby #2 at about six weeks. She had a genetic defect (Trisomy 16).
• Jon started working at the same place as I did, but on a different team, in fall 2014. He is a natural, and people noticed.
• Two days before the one-year anniversary of Baby's due date, I delivered a healthy baby girl named Ro. She literally is the light of our lives. Grieving the first two are now complicated because technically we couldn't also have had Ro if they had survived. I had an emergency cerclage stitch put in to prevent labor and was on bed rest (and would have stood on my head for the entire pregnancy if I needed to). Delivering her separated my pelvis. I needed physical therapy and a walker to get around for the next four months, and the only thing I could do for her was nurse, then give her to someone else to be walked, burped, changed, bathed and the rest. Missing that bonding created a tender spot deep in my heart, kept sore by the guilt of feeling jealous and sad when all I should be is grateful. She kicks that very spot each time she pushes me out of the way to run to her father or says NOT YOU, MOMMY. I am happy that they have a great relationship, but I'd be lying if I said being left out doesn't sting.
• Jon's entire family came out for the holidays in 2014. I was thrilled to have both sides together for Ro's first Christmas. It was especially sweet to see her 2-year-old cousin Declan play with her. I wasn't exactly the best hostess, however, what with the walker, pain and trying to wrap my head around being somebody’s mother.
• I came back to work with pretty serious post-partum anxiety and my boss told me there could be a promotion. But they were "pretty sure they wanted to give it to" the woman who joined the team nine days after I gave birth (if you do the math, she was there for about three months and I had been there, slogging away, for three years). If I wanted it, I had to *prove* I deserved it. I was too stupid to see the mind game for what it was and redoubled my efforts. This was a very cruel thing to do to a lactating, sleep-deprived person who could barely walk, and I suffered as much as you can imagine. But I got the promotion. The other person was promoted a few months later.
• We took Ro on her first plane ride to see Jon's family in Southern California in September, 2015. She was 11 months old, met her great-grandmother, said hello to her sister, dipped her feet in the Pacific Ocean and caught her first major-league baseball game. We were there for our anniversary, too. It was a great time.
• My brother got an apartment in Chicago, within walking distance of Wrigley Field. He also *finally* started making some money back on his Cubs season tickets. I got to see them win the NLCS with him in 2015, which was amazing.
• Our "rainbow baby" turned one on Halloween. We celebrated, Oz-style, and everyone dressed up. Jon's mom flew out to see her granddaughter and hand-made her gorgeous Dorothy costume.
• My father's youngest sister, who lived in Mumbai, passed away from aggressive cervical cancer. I couldn't believe that I'd never see her again.
• In May 2016, our neighbors helped us break down our rotting backyard shed. There was a possum skull under it, and evidence that it was using the supports as a teething ring.
• My brother was set up on a date with a lovely Indian girl, who is friends with the wife of his BFF. Sounds good, right? Apparently she reminded him too much of me, which is a dealbreaker.
• HighCon was on tv, skulking around in the background on CNN during a Joe Biden speech. I always knew that guy would be famous. Now he and his dude have a house in the Hamptons that I very much hope we visit one day; it's beautifully appointed.
• My brother gave us a tremendous scare in August 2016 when he was retaining so much fluid in his chest and abdomen that his organs were impaired. He called me from the emergency room and had to be admitted. I believe five pounds of the stuff was drained out of him while he was in the hospital. He changed his diet and is controlling his sodium. But that was hella terrifying.
• My mom, Ro and I walked in the India Day Parade in my hometown on August 14, 2016. It's kind of a big deal because 40+ years ago when my folks settled in this place, there were only a handful brown people, and even fewer Indians. The existing community sure didn't make it easy for them. And now there's a parade!
• I went to my 20th high-school reunion in August. I had tried on about 25 dresses (including selections owned by a friend who goes to galas) but ended up with a $20 navy cotton dress from Target. And it was great. Had we been able to bottle the nervous energy in that country club banquet hall, we could have powered a city. I found out someone I never imagined had been reading this blog for quite some time (I had included the address in the wedding thank-you cards but didn't expect anyone to follow the link. If you're still reading, hi MSE!). I also got two apologies--only one of which I remember in context now (shame on me). Everyone should go to those things. You never know what can happen! Apparently the 10-year is when people hook up, and the 20-year is when people apologize...Perspective, amirite?
• My parents went to Singapore in September 2016 to visit my cousin and attend her daughter's First Communion. I was honored to be asked to make the veil. Jon and I realized that while they help us a lot with Ro, we can actually handle it ok without Nani and Papa. It's just nice to have them around.
• Ro started "preschool" at her in-home daycare. It still felt like a big step; there was a personalized backpack and all.
• Around this time, I sought a therapist's advice (a recommendation from two middle-school friends whom I haven't seen in decades--thank you, social media). She confirmed I exhibit classic signs of high-functioning ADD (and coped much better before kids, when I pulled all-nighters and only had to worry about myself). Many revelations followed. It is still a struggle. I didn't want to take medication because Jon and I were focused on trying for another baby.
• Our workplace had a huge project that had been in the works for years. In September 2016, my husband and I spent the weekend of our fifth anniversary working 10-hour shifts both Saturday and Sunday. We managed to get lucky and spent the money we'd saved for a celebratory weekend away on tickets to see Hamilton in October. It was worth every single cent to see it before the hype got nuts in Chicago. We were legitimately blown away and treasure having had the experience.
• I worked several overnights for the big project go live, including (my one day off in nine days) when I ACCIDENTALLY CAME IN TO WORK AND NO ONE STOPPED ME. This was a breaking point, because I thought I had messed up scheduling care for Ro and fought with my family for no reason. I started applying for other jobs.
• My college girls and I went to the "I Love the '90s" concert. Coolio, Color Me Badd, Tone Loc, SALT-N-PEPA and others. Salt-N-Pepa have still got it. The others made me feel kind of sad. The Allstate Arena parking lot was wall-to-wall minivans (we arrived in an Odyssey) and women were getting sloshed on tall cans of goodness-knows-what spiked fruit drinks. We almost got in a brawl with some broads in front of us who were so busy taking selfies they didn't realize they were spilling their drinks all over us. #goodtimes
• The Cubs won the World Series. I was at the game with my brother when they clinched the NLCS, and walked home through the drunken streets of the city in my David Ross jersey. It was *almost* as good as Grant Park in 2008. My brother was there for the actual win, and let me hear/see the pandemonium via phone (Shocker--I was working late that night while Jon and Ro were at home). I pray that more things in life can make my brother as happy as he was that day.
• I made Ro a pretty convincing Mary Poppins costume for her second birthday. She had a party at the jumping place and will not consider having her party anywhere else.
• I missed my first deadline. Ever. It wasn't for work, but still. A little of piece of me died that day. But you know what? The world kept turning.
• The country elected president number 45. I still feel some kind of way about that.
• My SIL a and our nephew, Declan, came to visit in November 2016. They had a blast playing together and exploring the children's museum. I wish we lived closer.
• PP and her dude bought a house on the South Side of Chicago that Quincy Jones used to live in! They didn't figure that out until more than two years later when they saw a documentary about his life and recognized their street.
• CC moved back to Chicago. I don't get to see her much because she runs content and social media for a publication that awards five-star ratings to hotels and restaurants around the world--and she gets to try those places! She got me a cool insulated water bottle from the Ritz Carlton in Lake Tahoe. It's a cool job, but damn, does that woman hustle. She recently got back from the Maldives.
• After multiple rounds of interviews, I got another job offer (commuting to downtown Chicago every day) and was about to accept. Then I peed on a stick. One thing my current job did let me do was work from home on bedrest. So I had to turn down the offer.
• Jon made Madelyn a "doggie deck" for her puppy, Frankie, who could tell I had a baby in my belly and would snuggle him. Sadly, her life was cut short because of a car accident when I was 22 weeks pregnant and she was about 22 weeks old. 
• I had a "preventative" cerclage put in at 16 weeks because by pregnancy NUMBER FOUR, they finally decided I have a bum cervix and maybe they should sew it up to keep the baby in.
• In April 2017 (Easter weekend), we revealed the baby's gender by having Ro open a series of plastic eggs in varying sizes until the smallest one burst open with blue m&ms and shared the video with the family. After all that we'd been through, we didn't want to make it into "a thing" until we had that healthy baby in our arms.
• I had an emotional Mother's Day.
• My college girls threw me a surprise baby shower, pretending it was pp's birthday party. I was overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude.
• PP took me to see Aladdin on Broadway (in Chicago). She had to escort me around the theater because of my delicate situation, but I'm so glad I went. It was so very good. SO good. I loved it. This was also the first time I used a ride-sharing service (that was weird).
• July 27, 2017 I took Ro to have ice cream with Ri and her two little girls. I dropped Ro off with my mom as she got off from work at the hospital and went for a "routine" appointment to have my cerclage stitch clipped because I was at 36 weeks. Apparently, during the 20 weeks the stitch had been holding my boy in tight, my skin had grown scar tissue all around it. This proved to be incredibly painful unimaginable ways--the MD couldn't get it out in the office, and called for backup. The backup couldn't get it out at the hospital's Labor & Delivery department, and called for backup. And the big boss (who started the practice and whom I followed from my old office because she's so good) busted out this huge, gray metal box with all sorts of Medieval-looking hatchety tools and STILL couldn't get it out. I felt all of that digging around, despite the IV meds. They took me to the OR and finally did it under an epidural. But they cut me up, so they had to cauterize the wound so it didn't get infected. At the end of all that, one of the OBs says "well, we'll know what to do for your next pregnancy." Uhhh...
• Madelyn got a new puppy and named her Olivia. She's more hyper than Frankie was, but is the same breed (Italian Greyhound).
• Again, I went beyond my due date. I was in labor for more than 24 hours and never dilated more than 2 cm, as cervical tissue that is scarred and tough doesn't really want to expand too much. TMI, but my doctor was trying to "break up" the scar tissue, manually, and I felt all of that, too. I just wanted a healthy baby; cervix be damned. But it just wasn't opening, so they rushed me in for a C-section. Apparently, he was practically knocking at the door. Kash was pulled out at 8:33 a.m. August 26, 2017. He is as limitless as the sky.
• I feel like exactly the kind of person I never wanted to be, having written only two posts here about him. I have spent just as much time marveling over his milestones as I did with Ro. But working full time with two small children? It's a wonder any of us are still alive, let alone documenting anything. Let me say that the entire time I was pregnant and rejected by Ro, I would hold my belly and say "please be mine. please be mine." And he does make me feel very appreciated.
• My MIL and Madelyn were watching Ro while I was trying to recover from the surgery and learn how to nurse this kid and make it from day to day in the hospital. Jon ended up having to stay home with Ro, who couldn't bear to be without him. My mom stayed with me in the hospital and would get up and go downstairs to work every day. I was doped up and they'd give me the baby in the middle of the night to feed--one time I caught myself nodding off. What if I had dropped him? Cue the exponential surge in anxiety. Those post-partum days were trying times, y'all.
• Guess what? Even though I didn't push to deliver Kash, the sheer widening of my pelvis to make room for him to grow messed with the ligament holding it together and it separated. Again! Hello, old friends physical therapy and the walker! 
• October 2017: We FINALLY got a handle on our Garbage yard. We got the front and back leveled and re-seeded by professionals.
• Jon turned 40 on Halloween 2017. I had presented him with a baby on his 36th birthday, and just grew him another, so I didn't think I needed to top that. He flew out to LA for a World Series Dodger game the day before his birthday (he saw them win) with one of his BFFs. Unfortunately they didn't win the whole thing, but he was back home in time to celebrate with his birthday twin.
• Ro wanted to dress as a witch for her birthday/Halloween. And she wanted another "jumping party." This time the theme was Sofia the First--the best princess of all, in the collective opinion of Ro, Kash and myself.
• There was a terrible fire in California, and the place where Baby's ashes were laid burned to the ground. I was much more sad than I expected. The cross remained standing, though.
• Ro and Kash met Santa at Kohl's. Ro wouldn't talk to Santa, let alone sit on anyone's lap, but after hemming and hawing, she got within 10 feet and practically whispered that she wanted an Elsa Barbie-like doll. Kash was his jolly self and bestowed smiles upon everyone in the store.
• We traveled to Ohio to spent Christmas with Jon's family at SIL m's house. It was really nice, and the kids did fairly well on the seven-hour drive back and forth. Ro had a blast with her cousin, Declan.
• I interviewed for a higher position at my employer. I did not get it. Jon moved to a different team in our company.
• We had a crazy amount of snow in February 2018. Jon threw Ro into a snowbank almost half as tall as he is. She sunk into the fluffy stuff and screamed with delight.
• My brother had been a bit...lax, shall we say, about checking in on his pacemaker. On Valentine's Day, 2018, he had to have heart surgery to replace it and have the new one attached to his heart. It was discovered that 36 years of stress from irregular bloodflow, 11 open-heart surgeries and living life, his liver has developed cardiac-induced cirrhosis. A week before this, a pipe in the unit above his apartment burst and destroyed his entire place. He moved in with us while his apartment was cobbled back together.
• In March I got pinkeye, then had a severe reaction to the medicine given to me by urgent care. My face swelled to Hitch  proportions, so much that I could hardly see, my eyes were smashed almost shut. I missed Angel07's '70s birthday bash, which sucked because I enjoy disco.  
• I interviewed for another position at my employer. I did not get it, either.
• Ro went to my friend's daughter's unicorn-themed birthday and rode a pony disguised as a unicorn. With all her heart, she believes she met a real unicorn. I'm hoping to let that slide for as long as possible.
• This was the year most of my friends and I turn 40. Several years ago, joking around, we talked about all going to Greece for our fortieth birthdays. The planners that they are, they actually made it happen. The gems that Jon and my mother are, they made it possible so I could go, leaving my 3.5y and 7m children for 14 days. I took off in May 2018. I am so eternally grateful for not having missed that opportunity to bond with my friends and take a severely needed mental break.
• I carried both a manual and electric breastpump through three countries and pumped/dumped everywhere from the beach to the club. I would be damned if my vacation was the end of my ability to produce food for my kid. I was worried Kash would reject me when I came home and steeled myself for the possibility, but he was very happy to see me. As was Ro. Thank goodness.
• Work stress escalated to new heights. There was a lot of drama that I thought would have been resolved while I was out on maternity leave, but in a shocking development, it had been left, festering, at my feet when I returned. I meticulously cleaned up that dumpster fire, then desperately tried to get away from my boss within the company. I finally realized that wow, I *am* competent, and even actually kind of good at this job. Imagine! My "work wife" and I managed to get onto another team, which came with new challenges.
• My brother invited us to Cubs Family Day at Wrigley Field on June 26, 2018. Kash was just learning to crawl, and he managed to army crawl on the actual field. Ro ran the bases but she was more excited about the inflatable jumping contraption. We have photos from the dugout that will last a lifetime.
• My dad *finally* relented and got rid of the hideous, overgrown evergreen trees in front of my childhood home (which had probably been there since 1978). Now the kids look forward to playing on the extra-wide stoop/sidewalk when the weather is warm. They can't play at our house because #mosquitoes.
• My cousin and her family came to visit from Singapore. We took the week to be tourists in our own area (Chicago is the best city in the world) and had so much fun at the Arboretum, Millennium Park, the Museum of Science and Industry, Shedd Aquarium, Brookfield Zoo, IKEA, the waterpark, all kinds of restaurants and playing around at home. I wish our families lived closer.
• Jon arranged for a few friends to do a cool escape room for my birthday as a surprise. Unfortunately we didn't beat it but it was fun. I would love to do another of those. He may have even ordered a bunch of random locks and stuff in the hopes of opening his own escape room...
• Little man turned one in August 2018: It was baseball-themed and I was a mess. I stayed up almost all night painting a comparable refrigerator box as Dodger Stadium with Kash's "stats" on the big screen (I had made a similar painting of the Emerald City for Ro's first birthday). We rented a park pavilion and a lot of the guests arrived before we did, with the food. But I think people still had fun. There were water balloons and so much Cubs-cake frosting all over the baby.
• Ro took gymnastics at the park district. She would not participate. I had to do the moves with her on the floor (sometimes moving her arms and legs for her), and she did not warm up until the last week of the second session, when she was all about it. But she could do all of the tumbling perfectly at home. Apparently those age ranges reference social readiness as well as physical capabilities.
• My old team banded together and ousted my old boss to another area where she would not have any direct reports, kind of like a coup. The person who had filled in for me while I was on maternity leave with Ro was promoted to her position. I can't help but wonder if the boss realized that she backed the horse that would kick her.
• My brother rented out his boss's brand-new bar for my 40th birthday. I curated a '90s hip-hop playlist that was appreciated by a surprising number of people. The paint was barely dry in the bar, but we closed that sucker down. And apparently the bartender was very generous and my friends--many of whom got babysitters for the evening--were not accustomed to drinking that much. We moved to a nearby hotel bar and closed THAT one out as well. I still hear about some of the subsequent hangovers.
• Ro wanted to be Sofia the First for her birthday. I ordered a beautiful costume as soon as it became clear I wasn't going to be able to make anything that year, not even four hours' sleep in a row. Her jumping party theme was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
• Work really went off the rails. Without belaboring the details, senior leadership hired a consulting firm to basically blow up everything I had designed and implemented for the previous six years...except it wasn't actually broken but working quite efficiently, as we proved time and again. And yet, when we pointed out the flaws in their plans, one of those jerks had the audacity to say "It doesn't matter that you don't want to do this, your CEO signed off on it." Clearly he didn't care about improving the business; they were going to take their money and bounce. Their proposal was for two people (myself and work wife) to essentially move the equivalent of the leaning tower of Pisa from one end of the yard to the other, brick by brick. But it would still be leaning and not improved much at all. We took our concerns up the chain and were told "it's dumb, but we have to do it" and that contracts had been signed. The consultants estimated it could all be completed by two dedicated people within three days. It took these two people more than 500 hours to do it over a three-week period, and I was still fixing it for months afterward . The deadline? October 31. I pushed and pushed and got it extended all the way to November 1. I worked more than 100 hours those weeks. I worked overnight October 30, because I didn't want to miss my baby girl's and husband's birthday. The consultants sat in my cubicle and wouldn't leave because #deadline. I got to the bakery at 7:02pm, begging them to unlock the doors so I could pick up birthday cakes. I missed trick-or-treating. I missed seeing them dressed up. I pretty much missed her entire fourth birthday. The adults didn't even have dinner because they were all waiting for me and it was simply too late. It was too late for too many things. I don't know that Jon will ever forgive me. But by that point I was so brain-dead, I didn't have the mental capacity to realize I should have just gotten up and left. That the expectations were beyond ridiculous. I got my resume out instead.
• Ro started ballet and tap class. She participated! A little. She says she "loves ballet," but I think the real thrill is seeing her dad or my mom or me through the window, watching her.
• Kash became obsessed with any kind of sports. But mostly BASEBALL! And when someone says "Go Cubs!" he loves to yell "NO! I SAID GO DODGERS!" Jon is over the moon. Ro roots for the Cubs. Sports makes people do strange things.
• February 4, 2019. I interviewed outside the company and didn't hear back. I thought they ghosted me. I accepted that I was staying and that staying was probably for the best.
• My brother bought a house eight minutes away from us in May 2019. It is the same raised-ranch layout as our house, short one bathroom and one bedroom. It has a deck AND a patio. And a garden. It's adorable and so much space for him. We are planning on crashing there while we sell our house. I have been taking one ball from the ball pit he gifted my children and leaving it hidden somewhere in his house, every time we come over. Eventually, he will have all of them, squirreled away under his bed, in his pantry, in the liquor cabinet...
• Jon is dedicated to making our home the "smartest" around. I swear, every piece of electronic gear is synced with a smarthome device, or motion detector, or app or camera. It's very helpful with the children, but a hacker could look in on us anytime in nearly any room to see that we are just trying to get through the day like everybody else. And we don't seem to get tired of pizza.
• May 2019. The outside employer called to see if I still wanted the job. I told my current boss what the offer was and she took a day or so before saying they wouldn't counter offer. Message received. I gave my two weeks' notice and shocked everyone who assumed I'd be a lifer. CC and I promised ourselves not to do that back at our first post-grad job in 2004.
• We hired a master gardener (my brother's BFF's wife's mom) to re-landscape our front yard. What a difference! She added hydrangeas, which I carried in my wedding bouquet. Of course, now that we are looking to move, I'm starting to warm up to this house.
• Ro adamantly doesn't want to play any sport but soccer, BECAUSE SOCCER IS HER FAVORITE. Jon turned on the Women's World Cup this summer and watched the U.S. take the title. Ro asked, "what is that on tv? Can I watch Moana instead?"
• Three months before what would have made16 years (on and off) at the organization, I took the leap to the new job. I'm so scared and a bit heartbroken. But not nearly as sad as when almost two weeks at the new gig went by without my talking to another human being out loud (just on instant messenger/email) outside of saying hello to the receptionist at the front door--then found out the old job already replaced me. I pray that I haven't made a mistake.

And here I am: Perched at the edge of a giant bed in a Grandstay Hotel in Wisconsin. Working on a certification for this new job. I'm alone and very lonely. I forced myself to stop in the tiny downtown near my hotel is and had ice cream for dinner sitting on a wrought-iron chair/table and peoplewatching, imagining a simpler time. Then I FaceTimed my family and felt sadder. Kash was reciting I Love You, Through and Through and I Am a Bunny to me because we've read them together so many times. Ro told me about all the fun they had with the sprinklers and the waterballoons at Nani's house and ran off to whatever she was playing. I wished Jon Godspeed and hung up.

I cobbled together what must've happened during the last few years by scrolling through photos on my phone. Now, more than ever, I can feel years--not just hours--whooshing past while I'm standing still, trying to process it all. I had a practical stranger re-create a photo of me taken in 2012 at this same training facility. Side by side, it is plain just how much I've gained in seven years. Weight. Wrinkles. Scars. Gray hair. Sorrows. Joy. Memories. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom?

Is this what it's like to get old?


For old time's sake, check out this ancient post about parking, back when I didn't use capital letters.

no space for George Michael

It's 2 a.m. I just cobbled together a playlist of '90s hip-hop for what will be a party thrown for me a month and a day after my 40th birthday. By my brother. Got it in just under deadline, as usual.

He's renting the third floor of a new bar in suburbia (full disclosure: his old boss is a silent partner) and there will be free drinks and appetizers for the first two hours. I’m concerned about how much it’s going to cost, but I'll admit, the empanadas excite me more than the open bar. He has even gotten them to do a signature Cadiz drink, "The Hemingway," which is something like rum and grapefruit juice. All my friends who drink are in love with the Paloma, which I think is tequila and grapefruit juice. I haven't really drank much (not even in Greece) since 2012, and honestly? I don't really miss it all that much.

I am terrified of being overserved and turning into a wailing, sobbing mess. I am legitimately planning to nurse a single drink the entire night. Even though it'd be my party and I could cry--I just don't want to. I'd ruin the evening for my brother and the friends who love me enough to go to a renovated barn in the northwest suburbs to drink and try to figure out how to get home to their children safely.

My track record is this: Whatever my underlying mood is accentuated by 1000 with enough alcohol. Back in the day, I used to drink and dance. Often in 4-inch stacked heels. I found a pair recently and was aghast that I'd ever been able to climb stairs, let alone break it down until 4 a.m. wearing them at Zentra. Later, when there was way less dancing and we were drinking in people's living rooms, that coincided with my heart being smashed to smithereens, and I spent each night out (coerced into joining my friends) sobbing like a cartoon spoiled brat. I cringe just thinking about it. The crying was ugly at best and downright humiliating at worst. I will always cherish my friends for taking care of me. And I knew my husband was forever when he saw the worst of me and he didn't block my number.

It’s 3 a.m. The boy just woke up and stood at the railing of his crib, wailing. I went in there and walked around with him, listening to Terry Gross interview Jake Tapper. I probably stayed longer than I needed to because I would have to turn the podcast off when I went to lie down. Unfortunately, Ro sleeps between us, still, a little habit she picked up when she realized she could get out of her bed, open the door and come in. That coincided with the baby moving into her room. I don’t have enough wits about me to try and fight it. I’m sweeping up Cheerios and oven-roasted beets at 11:30 pm and trying to find a blouse I don’t have to iron at 7 am.

I took the baby for his 1-year appointment. He is marvelous, as expected. I filled out the depression screening I’d missed at 9 months because Jon had handled that one. I guess I didn’t pass because the pediatrician called to say perhaps I needed to talk to someone. Jon agreed, because he really doesn’t know what to say.

I can’t decide if things are not right or if I have some unrealistic expectation about how it’s *supposed* to be. I do wonder when it was that the bucket I carry around to hold my joy sprung so many leaks. I’ll call the person. We will see.

Kash is crying again. Maybe roasted root vegetables weren’t a good idea.

she should have the option to like me

I'm really struggling over posting about Ro. She is simply amazing. And there's so much about her that's still developing. She's so much NOT like me, most days I'm trying to figure out how to best react to what she does. I read a story from a parent who refused to post about her child for fear the assessments about her at that time could stick with the kid forever. Or worse, impress upon her qualities that aren't true to her personality--once she figures out what that is.

My kid is so incredibly thoughtful and observant and charming. Even when she's pulling power plays like regressing on toilet training and responding to our requests with "No, I don't *have* to." One flash of that dazzling smile and I'm melting. Her father is a downright puddle on the floor.

She's stubborn. If she doesn't want to hug or thank someone, she just doesn't and cannot be bribed. I'm stubborn, too, but somehow became docile about things like that as I grew up. I don't want that for her--I don't want her to be 14 and not standing up for herself or 26 and getting trampled on in the office for fear she isn't being "a good girl."

She's shy. I can sit down on a strange park bench, turn to the person, dog, lamppost beside me and have no hesitation making smalltalk and possibly friends, even if it's just for the afternoon. My kid has a much stronger sense of stranger danger. She must be coaxed into her own house if she even suspects a foreign person is there. I worry she will find herself lonely or left out, and my heart pre-breaks for that eventuality.

She's a shrewd negotiator. Each time we ask her to do something, she responds with, "But first I have to..." even though she rarely gets to do said thing. And if we try to tell her the reason she has to let others have a turn/be patient/communicate what's going on with her, she will inevitably find a later situation in which to apply our logic right back toward us. Example:

Jon: We just listened to 22 Sofia the First songs. Daddy likes this band and they just came out with a new song. So now it's DADDY'S turn to listen to something DADDY wants to hear.
Ro: [proceeds to scream through 3/4 of the song Daddy wanted to hear] NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I WANT TO LISTEN TO WHAT I WANT TO LISTEN TO! NONONONNONONONONONONO!
Jon: [gives long lecture about taking turns]

The next day. Ro grabs the tv remote and sits next to Jon on the couch watching sports.

Ro: Ok, Daddy, you got to watch what you wanted to watch. Now it's my turn to watch what I want to watch.
Jon: [obeys her command]

The main thing I don't want to put upon her is my hangup that she doesn't like me. I mean, she loves me; I'm her mother. But 10 out of 10 times she prefers her dad, who is a special combination of the sun, moon AND stars for her.

Mommy is B team, only needed when A team is unavailable. And Jon is a good dad, so he's seldom unavailable. I have theories--most of them stem from the fact that after I delivered her, I was so incapacitated for so long by the separated pelvis that all I could do was lie in bed and have her brought to me to nurse. Jon pretty much did everything else--the rocking, the singing, the changing, the bathing. My mother was here every day, to take care of her own child. Daddy-daughter bond became so tight, there wasn't room for me. When I was finally be able to do things again, I found myself in another high-risk pregnancy, leaning on Jon to handle her by himself again.

During this last pregnancy, I found myself saying, "This one is going to be mine." Maybe it's because Daddy is so busy with big sister, but so far, that looks to be true. 

Everything will even out in the end.

twenty-two weeks

We did the math. Frankie and her siblings were born right around the time I got pregnant.

Madelyn was so excited, she was sending us photos even before she was even allowed to pick the dog up, after the requisite eight weeks. And after she brought Frankie home, I'd get cheery texts on Thursdays like, "Happy 15 weeks!"

Gray and white, Frankie is an Italian greyhoud with a tail that has so much wag that my two-and-a-half year old can't stop talking about it. In fact, Ro talks about her a lot when she's not around.

"Who's the most beeeyeeeaaauuuutiful dog in the world? FRANKIE DOG!"

I think the feeling was mutual. Frankie would bounce around from couch to floor to kitchen to couch to Ro, to dining room and back. The dog is taller than my kid when standing on two hind legs. Then she'd come to a rest--right on my growing belly. I swear, that dog knew I was growing a child earlier than almost anyone else. I always felt like she was saying hello to the son the rest of us have to wait until August to lay eyes on.

Having a dog-niece is the perfect situation for us. We are hardly home, either at work or at Nani's house, so it'd be unfair to keep any animal alone for so many hours. But Madelyn's dog could come and play, giving our kid the joys of having a pet without as much responsibility.

Madelyn tried to keep up with the dog's boundless energy with walks and nonstop playing at home. They were together 24/365--a perk of working from home. In fact, at 13 weeks (right after they put in the cerclage to keep my baby inside), Jon built Frankie a "doggie deck" so she could sit next to Madelyn's work desk, watch the happenings outside and nap in the sunlight. You know, re-energize for pushing boundaries. Like any growing child.

They'd come over on the weekend, chasing each other (and Ro) around the yard, catching the ball or Frisbee. But last time, a few weeks ago, Frankie found a way out through a gap in the fence. Madelyn chased and called her for a long time before bringing her back home. Madelyn was visibly weary and worried, just like any parent of a toddler I have ever known. Frankie just jumped around and played as if she hadn't given us a scare.

Tonight, Jon was taking the laundry to the washer when I heard him yell in a strange tone. I hobbled downstairs, not fast at all, but he wouldn't say what had been in that text message. He was dialing. I could hear Madelyn sobbing hysterically on the phone, and I only understood "Frankie. Hit by a car." Ro was prancing around us, sing-songing something about princesses. She heard the name and stopped to ask, "Is Frankie coming over?" Even though Madelyn said not to, Jon got in his car and drove to the city. I sat on the floor and cried. Ro gave me a hug, because "that's what makes people feel better when they are sad."

Ro realized something was wrong. Normally, it's rare that anyone but her father is allowed to do the bedtime routine. But she let me rock her and hold her. I didn't let go until long after she fell asleep. All I could think about was the incident at the mall. Ro and I had met a friend to play at a series of tubes, slides and climbing blocks semi-enclosed in the center of the mall. Everything was going fine until I saw my usually shy toddler smile at at me, turn and bolt away at top speed, right out of the entrance to the enclosure. I don't walk very well right now, let alone run, so I couldn't possibly catch her. Ro got about 15 stores away from her bellowing mother and almost turned the corner before she decided to stop. I cannot describe the pure terror that rocked me to the core.

So I have an idea how Madelyn may have felt when Frankie squirmed away from her efforts to put on the leash at the park, eluding her for 20 minutes before running right into the street. It's something she has never done before, and will never get the chance to do again. My heart breaks for Madelyn. And my heart aches for my child, who will likely not stop asking about Frankie for a very, very long time to come. Rest in peace, Frankie. I wish we had more time.

improvising

The thing that solidified how much I loved the Jumping place where we had Ro's birthday party is this: The young people who work there saw that my homemade banner, which was actually recycled from her Wizard of Oz birthday party last year (and I intended to hang in her room, which has yet to be decorated), was missing one of the letters.

So they created a solution.

The "I" is made out of paper and taped onto the banner.

Good work, kids.

it was a jolly holiday

I'm not sure how I feel about putting Ro's photo out there so blatantly anymore. However, I want to show you that I slapped together a damn fine Mary Poppins costume on the evening of October 30. Again, my brain only activated at about 6 p.m. when everything brewing in my head the weeks before finally clicked:

• She inherited a nice wool coat.
• I found a lovely light, thin maroon scarf at the $5 store.
• Madelyn got her some nice, shiny "ladyshoes."
• I found some paisley fabric ("carpet" fabric is hella expensive!)--this was my only purchase--and made a "carpet bag" from scratch. She still wanted to carry the Halloween candy bag she got at daycare instead. 
• I sewed a parrot head out of felt.
• I took her lightweight Cubs baseball bat and a small styrofoam ball, then cut off a leg from my RAGGEDY old scrub pants and fashioned a feather-light umbrella.
• My crafty sister-in law, M, had made us a bunch of paper flower prototypes before our wedding (FIVE years ago), which I had saved. I sewed them to a very Mary Poppins-shaped hat, courtesy of my mom's sister in India (the hat was part of a very India's-take-on-a-western-dress ensemble. It's glittery.).
• I made a clip-on bow to put on the neckline of her white onsie top. 
• I sewed her a long circle skirt, also in navy. 
• I braided her hair on top of her head.

She's holding the "umbrella."

If only that bag had unlimited treasures like the real one did. 

You'll have to imagine what it looked like with the coat and scarf, but I thought it was pretty cute and nearly everyone figured out who she was supposed to have been (save for one lady who said My Fair Lady?)

I have to figure out what I want her to be next year...unless she decides to have her own opinion. But for now, she's all about Mary: this kid demands "A Spoonful of Sugar," "Supercalifragilick," or "Jolly Holiday" (her favorite) at least 10 times a day. But heaven help you if you substitute Ro's name in the lyrics when you sing along. "NO! MARY!"

"Practically perfect, in every way."

jump

My kid turned 2 on Halloween (the same day Jon turned 39). We dressed her up as Mary Poppins and took her around to four houses where she refused to say "Trick or Treat," and wasn't even much into the candy. But she did realize it was her birthday--AND DADDY'S--and really enjoyed the balloons and cake.

Everyone in our lives was annoying me about a birthday party. I was hoping to get away without one this year, because, well, she's TWO. But after it seemed we would be having a series of dinner parties for which the house needed to be presentable and a meal/entertaining would be necessary for each, i booked a Jump Around/Bouncehouse/Pump Up place. They decorate, serve the kids food/drink and let them play their hearts out on all this inflatable equipment and other crazy toys. What's not to love? And the entire thing is completely done in two hours.

They have the system down to a science.

Ro is coming out of her shell. She was confused about why it was her birthday again, especially because I had just reinforced that "every day is not your day" and "this present is for someone else; you don't get to open presents every day" 72 hours prior to her party. But she went with it, and had a blast.

I was almost paralyzed by sensory overload. I think in my old age, I'm losing the ability to retain focus in any situation whatsoever. Perhaps it's because I don't sleep anymore. I felt a little shellshocked when it was over.

remarkable

Today I celebrated cc's birthday with her for the first time in YEARS. She's always traveling so one week she's in Turks & Caicos and the next she's in Newfoundland, Canada. Jet-setting around isn't quite as glamorous as it sounds, but it does sound exciting.

Ro stayed at her grandparents, where she dropped a deuce in the potty for the very first time. While I was sad that I wasn't there, it's likely it would not have happened under my watch anyway. It breaks my heart that my mother and the daycare lady are potty-training my child (for the most part). It adds to the guilt pile I have tied around my neck, slowing down every step.

Life is much shorter than any of us really care to recognize, while we have it. CC took a leap of faith and I pray that it brings her all the happiness she deserves. We should all be so brave.

i have seen the Wizard and he is wondrous

When I put in the order for Ro's birthday cake, and asked them to decorate it with a long view of The Emerald City, I was THIS CLOSE to having the inscription read:

"WE MADE IT, BITCHES."

Apologies to my cuss-sensitive readers, but I needed the emphasis. I went with "Happy 1st Birthday, Ro." The "we made it" sentiment will just have to roll down my face as I gaze upon her sitting in front of the cake in her grandma-made Dorothy costume with her plush Toto stuffed in a basket.

You know what we've been through, guys. This week will always be a bittersweet one. The first baby's due date was November 2, 2013. We laid her ashes to rest on October 29, 2013. And then we have our Rainbow Baby (this is an actual term for the one who lives after one who has been lost), Ro, who was born on her father's 37th birthday, a year ago tomorrow.

***

I took a week off of work to prep for this party, because this is MY PARTY, and I have come close to tears on multiple occasions, as is my RIGHT. Ro has no clue what's going on--she does refer to the dog as "Dodo," and will tolerate the ruby slipper slip-on shoecovers for a short time, but the cake, the balloons, the ridiculous mural painted on the side of an old refrigerator box; the pennant-style banner that I made with one-too-few letters and then had a mini freakout about? All that crap is for me. This is the pretend-Pinterest party that I had been thinking about all those months with her kicking inside of me, worrying that she may show up too early and not come home with us just like the first one.

No one else knows that terrifyingly disgusting feeling of water breaking too soon, the cerclage tied so tightly that what little walking I could do I did with a hobble, the horse-gauge needles stuck into my backside every seven days, and having to lie down and pray that the weekly ultrasound was going to say things were holding steady.

Medical people can conceptualize a pubic symphysis, but like my physical therapist, Kay, said (as she decided to treat me herself the first day she came to evaluate me and assign me to someone else) nobody can understand the agony of a separated pelvis like someone who's done it themselves (she did it running a marathon). Worse was the useless, helpless feeling you get when all you can do for your child is to sit in bed or a couch and desperately try to figure out nursing while your husband, mother-in-law and mom bring the baby to you and take her away to do all the diapering, bathing, walking around and other stuff you wish you could do. And it murders your hormonal heart when you go through all that to get the baby and she doesn't want much to do with you.

All that said, the scary pregnancy, the fiery hoops I had to somersault through, the horrible after-delivery recovery and post-partum rage (not officially diagnosed, but now that I'm far enough away from it, I'm pretty sure that's what I had)--ALL OF THAT was a cakewalk compared to how emotionally treacherous it was for me to go back to work and find I had to work twice as hard in two thirds of the time.

***

This is not to say that I think I had it any worse than any other parent. We all have our struggles. I have SO MUCH HELP, you guys. Seriously. My friends came to see me with food and love and support while I was on bedrest and when I was stuck at home. My mother-in-law came on the day after Ro was born and stayed to help for 12 days. My parents still come over every day. And my husband, he had to do much more than the average dad at the beginning. He does a lot more than the average guy today, too. Granted, he should be doing a lot for his own kid, but that doesn't mean it's not appreciated. I would never have dreamed to make it through nearly two years without all these people.

So we are having a party. I know I have bitten off more than I can chew. This week "off" was a lot harder than the usual working week. But I'm doing it for the 21-months-ago me, the 19-months-ago me, the 17-months-ago me, the 12-months-ago me, who didn't know if heartbreak was once again on the horizon, and especially the 3-6-months ago me, who didn't know if I could hold it together for another single minute, let alone months and years.

We made it, BITCHES.

vacation

I hadn't had a non-maternity-related time off of work in something like two years. We went to California for a week, and MAN was that nice. I was stressed about traveling with a 10-month-old, but she was a champion.

September 18, 2015. First time with her toes in the sand! Those swimming lessons paid off, in that she wasn't scared.

We spent some quality time with Jon's entire nuclear family enjoying cottages on the the most beautiful United States beach I have seen (Del Mar Resort within Camp Pendleton) in San Diego, then drove to Ventura (Jon's hometown) and met up with relatives and friends, and visited the resting place of our baby. 

Ro had a lot of firsts:

• First time on an airplane (a few very brief rough spots, but she did really well and took a 1.5-hour nap)
• First time eating In N Out Burger (only fast food she is allowed saved for the rare Portillo's treat)
• First time in a long car ride (took us FIVE hours to get from San Diego to Ventura, but we had to make a 45-min pit stop due to a meltdown. Ro glares at us at the mention of "carseat" now.)
• First time seeing the ocean
• First time frolicking in the ocean (assisted) with her cousin, D
• First time (helping Mommy) roast a marshmallow over a campfire for a s'more
• First time sitting in the sand with Aunt M and tasting it (the gross flavor and texture did not deter her from trying it again)
• First time climbing three (!) flights of steps at her Aunt A's house completely unassisted (and with great vigor)
• First time meeting her great-grandmother
• First time staying in the "Penguin Palace" room her Aunt Madelyn made at her grandparents' house
• First time eating sushi (she LOVED baked salmon and the seared tuna; the teriyaki chicken and rice were just ok)
• First time going to the church her daddy grew up attending
• First time eating guavas from the tree in someone's yard
• First time petting animals (a bunny and a cat), and learning to say "cat"
• First time going down a park slide (perhaps the daycare lady has taken her--but to me it was a first)
• First time actually waving with purpose (favorite person to wave at is her grandma).
• First baseball game at Dodger Stadium (next will be Wrigley)
• First hilltop sunset overlooking the ocean (and remembering her sister)

There were probably more, but she had a blast. It was a really great trip we will cherish forever.  

 The Dodgers lost, but it was still a fun time. September 21, 2015. Ro: almost 11 months

uncle

Long before I had any babies, long before I got married, long before I even met Jon, I told you that I will teach my children to address you with the Hindi honorific for mother's brother: Mama. It doesn't sound correct in the U.S., where a lot of kids call their mothers "Momma," but I am beholden to tradition, and you're not just some chump off the street that our people would call "Uncle." You hated that idea. Feet were virtually stomped. Voices were raised. There may have even been a threat to teach my children any number of foul words if I made good on my promise.

February 12, 2015. Ro: 3.5 months, Brother 32.5 years.

And what has happened? She is tangible now. You've been looking into her eyes for the last ten months. Today, she could call you "boogerface doodyhead" and you'd still try to get the moon for her. She tries to say your proper name, brother, even if she can only manage the first syllable right now. And while the photo she likes to kiss most is her own (as well as any mirror she encounters), she finds yours the second-most kissable. The rest of us--you know, the ones who wake up with her in the middle of the night, handle her excrement-filled diapers and sing 40-animal-verses of Old McDonald at a time in hopes she will sleep--are still waiting for our photos to be so blessed.

That she does. May 17, 2015. Ro: 6.5 months.

I used to tell people I had an idea what it was like to be a parent because of the way I have always loved you. And now I can confirm that I was mostly right--the only thing missing with you was the gripping terror that I might do something to screw you up (that was for mom and dad to worry about). The first time Ro looked at me, kissed my face and said "Mommy" was the most amazing thing I have ever experienced. But every time I look over and see you holding her, with so much love between the two of you, my heart threatens to burst. Sappy. So, so sappy. And sloppy. But real. 

Being a Mama looks good on you. My wish for you is to find the fulfillment that you so very much deserve in all parts of your life. Happy birthday, brother.

37

Good God, where does the time go? Someone told me about parenthood, "the days are long but the years are short." Holy mango lassi, Batman, is that true. Time is just blowing by SO DAMN FAST.

Some days I'm so overwhelmed by all that I should be doing better that I don't have time to enjoy beautiful little things, like my nine-month-old (!) looking at me and saying "Hey, baby." It's true, "baby" was her first word. "Hey" followed soon after. Then "ball" and "go" and today she started saying "oh boy." She is also crawling like a maniac and pulling herself up on furniture and feeding herself with only 30 percent of dinner falling on the floor. Progress.

Ro cries for us at 1 a.m. on the dot every single night. And she has since she turned four months old (she slept through the night from newborn until four months). As somebody who cherishes morning sleep more than your average night owl, saying I don't mind waking up with her earlier than 7 a.m. is truly saying something. Jon and I actually compete to be there when she opens her eyes, because morning smiles are worth whatever metal is more precious than platinum.

***

It's tough to work full time and feel like a good mom. GUILT. However, no matter how you slice the money, we would be homeless if one of us didn't work. GUILT. The daycare lady who watches her is amazing, and my mom picks her up at 2 p.m. every day so she has grandparents time before Jon and I come home. That makes me feel a little better, but also makes it easier for me to get stuck at work later.

Jon and I work at the same place now. He gave me a birthday card designed for a coworker. I liked it better than a treacly one designed for a wife.

I usually don't talk about work, but I can't talk about life right now without mentioning that my truly horrible, miserable moments have all revolved around fear and self-doubt surrounding work (not to say there haven't been some rough mommy moments, too; these are just worse). It's a career that does not come easily to me--I've mentioned before that it's like being in a neverending calculus class, and I purposely majored in something for which statistics was the only math requirement. That said, I like the job. I just wish I were doing something my brain was designed for (I had been, until that industry went kaput, and I had a mortgage to pay).

When I was on maternity leave, they hired someone to the team who rocks the job as if she were born to do it. Two weeks after I got back they said we were both up for the same promotion; me having been there for three years and she having been there for three months. I'm not going to lie: That stung a little. Then they said they could only promote one of us. So the pressure is tremendous to step up my game while taking breaks to pump, getting very little sleep and refusing to work 75 hours a week anymore. On top of it all, someone else quit and we're all in over our heads with workload. I do think I would be better suited for a leadership role than what I'm currently doing, but I'm not sure what they're looking for me to do to get there. Besides, it was very clear while I was gone that I am perfectly replaceable. This whole thing has been stressful, but helped me to see that you can love a job, but it won't love you back. A family, however, will love you back in spades. But you do need money to give your family all that they deserve...

***

I spend my time worrying about all this crap, and then I come home and watch my kid splash in the bath, try to say "ducky" after I say "ducky" and come crawling up and pull my pant leg as I am doing the dishes. And when I look into her eyes I see that I am necessary and useful. There is a good chance that even though I spent a lot of it paranoid and overwhelmed, I will look back upon this year as the best I've ever had.

what i suck at is efficient balancing

#6: What is your character good at, comfortable with? Throw the polar opposite at them. Challenge them. How do they deal?



Ha. This is perfect.

I have always wanted to be a mom. I clearly remember thinking to myself in junior high: Self, it doesn't matter what you do for a career--you can't die without raising a baby. I'm genetically inclined toward the snuggling, the loving, the encouraging and the supporting that moms do. What I am not naturally equipped for is all the other required stuff that is often not advertised: The juggling, the organizing, the planning, the foreseeing the future, the preparedness. The TIME MANAGEMENT.

So the last five months have been exactly what Pixar Rule #6 is all about for me. Not being able to sit, stand, lie down flat or on my side, bend, kneel, shower without assistance, let alone walk without a walker for eight weeks was quite a curve ball. On top of having delivered a small human for whom we had to do everything but breathe. I'm dealing. I completed home physical therapy and managed to move again without equipment (though it felt like the hobbling was going to be permanent), but I would be dead on the bathroom floor without my A Team: Jon and my mother.

And just when I got a semblance of an idea about what needs to be done and how, I went back to work. That is another post, but let's say going back to working full time three months post baby to a job where you used to put in 50-80 hours a week has been challenging, indeed. I would be dead on the street without the A Team.

So the house isn't as picked up. Exactly zero personal projects get done, including decorating the baby's room and organizing her clothes before she's gotten too big for some of them. I get my news from Facebook now. And there is certainly no time for television. But we are getting by. Again, shout out to the A Team.

I try to keep in mind this paraphrased advice I got from a very wise lady ("The Wife" to whom Omar is "Mr. Wife"): As long as you have the same number of people at the end of the day as you had at the beginning, you're doing all right.
 

in a nutshell

Once upon a time there was a very bored twentysomething. Every day, she worked the evening shift and was awake when her friends and family were either at work or sleeping, so she watched one Netflix movie a day (before there was streaming), read books and knit, but she was lonely. One day, she discovered a web log with good writing, started her own and bumped into some random, cool people. Because of that, she became very close to a few of the bloggers, especially Jon. Because of that, they started emailing every single day, then talked on the phone for hours and hours. Until finally they decided they needed to meet: Three years later, he moved across the country to be with her; three years after that, they got married; and three years after that, they had a wonderful baby.

cylon blanket

Handmade stuff has always had a very special place in my heart. Things that my nani or mom made for me are among my prized possessions. So it makes me sad that I haven't really made anything for my daughter (save for one knit dress I had started for my goddaughter four years ago and finally finished before Ro was born. She is already too big for it).

My mom goes to more baby showers than anyone else I know, so I liked to make blankets while I watched tv so she doesn't have to knit them all herself. She had been putting aside blankets for my kids since I turned 25 because "she might be blind/dead/unable to move her hands by the time I gave her any grandchildren."

This is one I made while Jon and and I bingewatched Battlestar Galactica in 2009. 

I had no idea she was also saving a few that I made for my kids. At my baby shower, she gave me two large wicker baskets: One full of new or beloved stuffed animals from my childhood, and the other bursting with eight rolled-up baby blankets. I had made three. It means so much that she thought far enough in advance to save things for my child from me, too.

February 10. Don't worry, she doesn't sleep with a blanket (or in this Rock 'n' Play) now that she discovered how to roll over.

It didn't even occur to me that our own child might one day be holding onto what I made while we were watching Starbuck and Boomer.