Planning

I've spent a good deal of the last year planning to be pregnant/ have another baby. 'I probably can't do that/ go there/ plan this' because of the impending arrival of someone who hasn't come. I've decided, instead, to now plan for not being pregnant in 5 months. If I do get pregnant, it will be a happy ands joyous reason to cancel my plans (or do it anyway), but unless and until that happens, I'm going to live my life as a regular old non-nursing, non-pregnant mom of one and train for a half marathon. I can't imagine having the time to train for a full again for quite some time, but a half I think I can do. And I think I could do it slowly even if I do get pregnant. But we'll see. It feels good to make a plan in advance, have something top train for and look forward to, and have some sort of personal satisfaction that's just me. I feel like so much of my pride rides on others: Solomon reflects how I feel as a mom, my kids at work and their progress reflect how I'm doing professionally. But this will be just me: the good and the bad of it. And I'm ready. I'm only starting from a place of doing 2 or 3 miles comfortably, so I have a ways to go. But it's much easier for me to run consistently when I have a training schedule to adhere to and a goal to meet. My goal is not lofty: under 2 hours, which I've done with ease, running several miles afterward on marathon training runs. But, I suspect the most I can hope to actually run is 3-4 times a week, and at the place I m starting at, under 2 hours seems like a good mix of attainable, while still requiring effort on my part. It also is just easier to think of and ay than some random specific number. Anyway, the race is in September.

Possible disrupting my training plans before they can even start is the fact I leave tomorrow for a trip back south. I'll be doing an Atlants-Nashville-Snellville-Monroe cycle. In the heat. In the 90s!! I can't in my wildest dreams imagine being able to run outside at any time of day in Georgia in June, although I know I've done it innumerable times in my younger years. But I suspect I'll be logging in a lot of hours doing yoga and cardio DVDs in the AC instead of good old fashioned running, so we'll see how that turns out.

I had an overwhelming amount of work to do at work before vacation. So I just didn't do it. Will be fun to see how much that bites me in the ass when I get in trouble upon my return. The packing and flight out are anxiety-provoking enough for the time being. You know how they have Mommy and Me movie times to go watch a flick with your nursing and/or loud kids and everyone is supposed to be tolerant? This really, really needs to be extended to airlines. This is a multibillion dollar idea, but I think it might require a bit more expertise and investment than I can front at the time being.

Projects

I've been meaning to make this post for forever--- but better late than never, right?? I have a couple more undocumented projects, including my two favorites, but you'll just have to be ont he lookout for those on another date! Intriguing, yes??

One of my first projects from several months ago. Probably Christmas-time. It's a box. With a hole. And we spend lots of time figuring out what treasures might fit in the hole, and by what means we can get them out again. Best recycle ever.

A poster mailing tube, which is the perfect size to shoot these little balls through.

A little trivet I picked up at Big Lots. We weave yarn through it (which I taped at both ends to help ease it through the holes).

Dying rice and pasta for our sensory table! Turned out so well I think.

Solly helping to mix the purple penne.

Practicing soaking up water with a sponge, then squeezing it out again. And fun to see the bowls alternate between full and empty!

The intended activity of practicing with clothespins.

The actual activity of breaking them into pieces.

Putting toothpicks through a spice jar! I let him do it for 5 minutes to make sure he liked it, then I quickly retrieved the materials, as I'm saving it for a plane activity! Small, quiet and light!

Potty Party Time

So, I think Solly is house trained. Meaning, he's potty trained decently well in the house, while naked or in undies. But I'm not convinced he can hold it for more than the 5 seconds it takes to rush him to the potty after he says he has to go. So, I'm not convinced we can actually take him anywhere without a diaper. But for right now, I'll take my small victory.

We'd been giving him a couple minutes to play on my iPad as a reward after successfully producing something on the toilet. Which worked in many regards because I really didn't want to use a food reward, but he dislikes stickers, and I couldn't think of another reward that he'd consistently care about (though I wish I would've done something movement-based like when we help him jump really high, or spin around in circles, or something like that, which anyone can do anywhere without any props). Anyway, this presented a slight problem, because we won't always have the iPad around when we're out and about, and obviously he won't have it at daycare. It also often creates the problem of trying to take it away at some point before he has to pee again. I can often distract him with something else and sneak the iPad away, but it has caused more than one tantrum when I have to take it away. So yesterday and today I started to try to mix up the reward system while simultaneously weaning. So, the expectation is that something good will happen, but it's not necessarily always the same thing. So that makes life easier (for me). I'm also trying to delay the time he gets the reward (after he pulls up his undies, after I clean the potty, and after I try to distract him with another toy instead), and if he doesn't ask for something, I certainly don't offer (which happened twice today).

The reward variability has, however, lurked us over into food territory. Which I really, really didn't want to do. But it all started with Trader Joes. My trunk door kept hitting one of my grocery bags as we were trying to pack up and leave, so I ended up taking out my container of chocolate covered raisins which was falling out and being troublesome. I put it on the roof of the car so that I could close the door, and started putting Solomon in the car. He kept talking about how he wanted beans, and I'm looking all over for bees, something big, or anything he might be talking about before I realize he's calling my raisins 'beans.'

So, then we got started with giving a bean for poop on the potty. Sigh. But it's half fruit. So it's healthy. Right? Right?

I know, I know...

It's been a super long time. Sorry.

So what's new? Something weird happened and I started really liking my job again. What happened was that I went on an interview. And I really really loved the clinical director- she would have been a great boss. She was raving about the parts of my personality (namely, my honesty) that have been criticized at my current job. Unfortunately, the job wasn't for me. Although it'd be close to home, the building was much more run-down than my current facility, and the therapy rooms were small, dark and shabby (but not shabby-chic). And... all the the therapists shared one office. I wrote her the next day and turned down the position, siting the longer hours and reduced pay from my current set-up as the reason (which was certainly a large portion of my reason). But even when she dropped my hours and increased my pay rate to more than what I'm making now, I still just didn't think it was the right move for me. Yes, I have issues with my boss, and yes I really really hate my commute. But, damn would I have to have a really awesome opportunity to give up my own office. I have a nice office. Large. Huge window with a view. Privacy to do what I want when I'm not seeing clients: be it eat, take a quick cat nap (shhhh), do yoga, talk to Gerard, play on Facebook, etc. I'm realizing 1) it would take a lot to give that up, and 2)there apparently aren't that many places that give you your own nice large office with a view. Another major consideration is my ability to set my own schedule. While scheduling clients myself is often a huuuge pain, and greatly increases the emails and phone calls to and from parents that I otherwise have to deal with, I've come to rely on it as a deal-breaker for being an almost-single (what we wives of men who work long hours and who are the obligatory go-to parents call ourselves), FT working mom. So, if my 9oclock cancels for next week, then I can schedule a doctor's appointment for that time, and not have to worry about it being filled without my knowledge or consent. Or if I want to go look at a preschool I just reschedule my morning clients and go do it. If my 4 oclock client cancels then I go home. I don't have to get anyone's approval or permission. No one really knows when I'm at work or not, and no one really cares. As long as I bill enough people at the end of the month, when I come to work, and when I cancel or reschedule people is entirely my business. And that's kind of freaking awesome. That would be really, really hard to give up. Basically the only way I'd give that up at this point is if I found a place really close to home that paid well enough to allow me to work significantly reduced hours to the point where I didn't have as many conflicts needing to come in late or leave early, because I'd have short work days. Unfortunately most job postings don't advertise salary or flexibility, and it can be so variable in this field, so if I have any hope of finding something, I have to keep going on interviews. I have another this week; we'll see how it goes.

Sh*t

Have I mentioned I taught Solomon how to say shit?? It's my go-to cuss word when I drop something, stub my toe, etc. Sometimes I hear him say it when he drops something, but I like to pretend he's saying 'shoot' or even some meaningless babble that coincidently sounds like shit. But last night, approximately 3 minutes before company came over to dinner, Solomon and I ran to take out a smelly bag of trash, and came back to find the Kota had eaten or licked or dropped not just one but both pizzas I had just lovingly made (and smelled delicious, PS), it was really beyond my control to yell out sssssshhhhhhiiiiiiiitttttttttttt as loud as possible. Which, of course, prompted little Solomon to yell back 'Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!' non stop until the doorbell rang and he forgot about cussing in favor of flirting with two girls.

Awesome parenting skills at work, I know.

But, lesson learned. If there's a word you really want to teach your toddler, just yell it out in apparent anger. Surely he will pick up on it, too.

Planning

So, I feel like I swimming with my head above water again (is that the right analogy?) and able to look at life more than one day at a time, which is how I feel like I've been surviving for a while now. Gerard and I have been trying, and I feel in a good emotional spot about the actual TTC aspect of everything (that's Trying To Conceive for you non-infertile people). Basically I have granted myself that label because I have met one criterion: I'm not constantly obsessing over it and taking pregnancy tests multiple times a day half a week before my period is even due. So that's pretty good, right? I don't know how mentally prepared I am to actually be pregnant, however. I'm still terrified of freaking out Solomon and ruining a fairly decent family balance we've settled into; I'm freaking out about the cost of childcare for two kids; Mostly I'm freaking out about having another miscarriage, or worse- late-term stillborn. I feel like every time I turn around I hear about someone else losing a baby in their second or third trimester. The thought makes me nauseous. I feel like even if/when I get pregnant again and even if it's a healthy pregnancy, I'll never again experience a happy, relatively carefree and enjoyable pregnancy like I did with Solomon. I'm afraid I'll be next to crippled with fear, and have anxiety over it's health the whole 9 months. I'm not sure how to move past it.

Anyway, I've decided I need to move along with my life instead of constantly being in a state of 'well what if I'm pregnant in 3 months?' etc, when it comes to planning... anything. I'm afraid to train for a race, to change jobs, to enroll Solomon in a FT daycare... I'm afraid to do anything because I don't know how much will change if I do get pregnant/ have a baby, etc. But now I'm resolute to planning the foreseeable future as a regular, non-pregnant person with one child. So that means that one child should go to preschool in the fall (we're going to what I hope will be an awesome preschool's orientation on Tuesday) here in San Jose, and that means I should change jobs and be closer to home and not be so wrapped up into trying to make sure I have maternity benefits by working at a place for more than a year (I also have an interview on Tuesday), and that means I'm signing up for a 5 mile race with Ben this summer- and maybe I'll even up the ante and find a ten miler or something, and that means I have to continue to work out consistently (I think I'm going to coordinate workouts with my old high school running buddy who lives next door). So, yes. Instead of constantly peeing on sticks, and planning what my due date will be if I conceive on this particular day, and how pregnant I may be at one particular event... I'm going to focus my efforts on planning real life events for the real life people in my family. And if we have to make room for someone else in the near future, fantastic.

My third musing

Aha! As soon as I hit 'Publish Post' I remembered my last musing!

Today I left the office for lunch, and our security guard opened the door for me and said goodbye. He's not our everyday security guard, mind you, he's like our sub when our regular guy is out. Point being I don't see him every day, and he doesn't know my name let alone my family situation. Anyway, so he had said bye, and have a good day... and then called out 'Oh and have a happy Mother's Day!'

Sooooo, how am I supposed to interpret this? I'm doing good to say happy mother's day to my own mom, let alone a practical stranger. I guess I'd say it if it happened to cross my mind to a friend who I knew for certain was a mother. But never in a million years would I say this to a random person I didn't know.

Is this something people do? Say happy Mother's Day to anyone and everyone, because presumably everyone has a mother to celebrate? Was I supposed to say 'you too?' Or do people only say it to people who are mothers? In that case, am I supposed to be offended something about my appearance screams 'Mom'??

Those 3 seemingly innocuous words just gave me that annoying and confusing 'I'm probably not supposed to be offended but I kinda am anyway, which probably says more about my own faults and neuroses than anything' feeling. It's one of my least favorite emotions.

2 Random Musings...

1- Ever notice how when you're in the South or East, everyone calls California 'Out West'

But in California everyone (everyone) says 'Back East.' Are you as intrigued by this as I am?

2-Damn. I know I had a second musing, but I've totally lost it. This wasn't it, but I will say that we finally broke down and bought crocs for Solly after one too many fights upon daycare pickup, when he has to release his pair (meaning the extra pair of crocs another family brought in for Solly to wear at daycare to minimize the flights Solly picks with their son as my child tries to steal his shoes... off his feet). He wears them so much at daycare that Aston- the boy who the crocs actually belong to- will go and get them for Solomon to put on when it's time to go, if for some reason he hadn't already been wearing them. So, I begrudgingly ordered a pair that came in the mail yesterday. I pulled them out of the box and Solly's whole face lit up. 'Shoooooesssss!' He was so happy. It made the purchase worthwhile for about 30 seconds, until he reached up for the box on the counter saying 'More!? I want more!' Sigh.

Dissecting the toddler brain

You're nervous already, aren't you? So am I.

So, before giving up and letting Solomon wear his pajama top to daycare this morning, I spent approximately 45 minutes chasing him down to change him, pinning him down to take off his beloved helicopter pajama pants, holding his feet still to put on clean pants while he frantically tried to put his helicopter pants back on, and then listening to him tantrum mercilessly afterwards. His tantrum could have gone on much, much longer (he was inconsolable until I finally wrestled the octopus into a mesh bag so they say by strapping him in his carseat-- the second we started driving he was magically happy again), and I'm still in awe of how only 45 minutes passed on the clock, because I'm pretty sure I aged at least 7 years during this ordeal.

Regardless of his random, spontaneous obsession with his helicopter pajamas, and regardless even his hoarding of about 10 objects he must have in his crib with him, and maybe 5 that must travel with him in the car, there is the one toddler act that drives me the most batty. It's the 'I want shoe! I want shoe! I want shoe!' But when I try to put on his shoes, 'Nooooooo,' when I try to hand him his shoes 'Nooooooooo,' but when I put down his shoes it's 'I want shoe! I want shoe! I want shoe!' So far this morning he's done that with: mama, up, shoe, keys, bottle, teddy, blankie and play doh. It really legitimately drives me bananas. Way more so that any other form of tantrum. At least with your normal, run-of-the-mill tantrums, you have an out. It'll make you a bad mom and susceptible to scorn and ridicule, but you know any second you want to you can make it stop by just giving in and giving him whatever he wants. So you have some little inkling of power or control you feel inside you, even if no one looking on might agree with you on that. But this.... is indefinite. You don't know what he actually wants, so never are you sure in your stance of giving into him, or holding out. Seemingly no one has the power or control, no one is happy, and there is no end in sight to the cyclical trauma of wanting something you don't want the second it is offered but wanting it soooooooooooooo bad when no one will give it to you. Ooof.

So, my question is: why?? Why on earth do toddlers do this? Surely Solomon is not the only guilty party. Please God tell me other kids do this too (really I want to hear that other moms somehow survive this... phase. Yes, that's the key, tell me it's a very short-lived phase.)

To lighten the mood

I didn't want to end my evening, nor posting with all those unsettled feelings. So instead, I'll share a dream I had. If you know me at all, you know I love to tell people about random dreams I had that they don't care a bit about, but I can't help myself from a sharing anyway.

So, did you watch The Voice last night? I did. Right before bed. So obviously I was auditioning in my dream. 3 judges turned around wanting me to be on their team. I said I was so shocked and honored, because I had really just come for fun, and support of a friend, and that I really couldn't actually sing at all. I told Adam Levine he was way too hot to work with, because it would just be way too distracting. Cee-lo didn't vote for me; I told Christina it would be too intimidating to work with her, because she could actually really, really sing, so that would be awkward (I left out the part that she's supposedly drunk all the time now, so probably wasn't my best career move anyway), so then I told Blake Shelton I'd be honored to be on his team, as I had the right mix of little crush on him, and respect for his voice and talent, and I was a country girl at heart- so it'd be a good fit.

So there you have it.

I have a pool party I'm supposed to go to on Sunday (this is no longer a dream, btw). Do you think if I work out every day until then (except maybe tonight because I'm tired) that I'll be bikini-ready by then? Ok, good.

Random musings you won't understand

Sigh. I have a lot on my mind, but haven't yet processed enough to be able to condense it all into meaningful, logical sentences.

I feel like I'm in the middle of my quarter -life crisis that is perhaps hitting me a few years late. My recent work woes are starting to create a feeling within me that perhaps I'm not the do-no-wrong, fiercely and independently intelligent and strong woman that I've been imaging myself to be. I feel like I've been perpetuating this notion that I know everything, so I shouldn't ask for help, because that would demonstrate weakness and acknowledgement that someone knows more than I do. And as egotistical and immature as it sounds, I'm still not sure I'm ready to admit that. It was relatively easy to admit in grad school, and in my fellowship year immediately following. But I was working at great, amazing places, and had undisputed incredible supervisors and professors to learn from. But now it's hard to reconcile the fact that maybe everyone else doesn't see me in this same fashion. And while I no doubt have an incredible amount to learn, but I'm just not able to wrap my head around the fact that people aren't immediately believing, respecting or even acknowledging that I actually do know a thing or two.

I'm sure that doesn't make a bit of sense, and I've probably contradicted myself somewhere in there, but I think it would hurt my head too much to try to reread and edit that, so it is what it is. The bottom line is I'm not happy or comfortable just swimming with the fishes. I want to be someone and do something. I don't just want to be an average, run of the mill clinician. I want some ooooof. Some Uuummmph. Some something. I don't know exactly what that something is yet, or how I'll get there, but I'm afraid I'm not yet on the right path of getting there yet. But maybe I just have to succumb to the fact that I have to wait before I achieve my something, and I have to put in my time and grunt work before achieving it, or even knowing what *it* is. Maybe this is the road I have to take in order to get where I'm going.

Ugh. If you read all of that and understood half, A+ for you.

Uh oh.....

Sooo... One of my worst fears has been realized today. A little boy at daycare started wearing Crocs, aka the bane of my pseudo-fashionista existence. Yesterday, Solomon was entranced with them. He was carrying them around when I came to pick him up. He was carrying them, biting them, fighting over them. It was quite the fight to get him to release the shoes, and he re-stole them at least once. But we eventually left, croc-less.

Today, however, I came inside and Solly was coloring at a table. Everything looked fine. Until he stood up and came to me. And he was wearing the shoes. Yes, the Crocs. And he was sooooo happy about them, you have no idea. Shoes!! He exclaimed, as if I had always deprived him of this luxury. I asked Leila how long he'd been wearing them. All day... All day. He found them and put them on himself, and has been wearing them all day. He about hyperventilated when we made him take them off.

What am I supposed to do now??

Have I mentioned how cute Solomon is???

Weekends like this make me wonder why the hell do I work so much?? It was so fantastic, you have no idea. I don't post enough photos on this blog anymore, so I'm making up for it- all in today's post. Quick recap of the weekend: awesome Easter Egg hunt (captured below), toy swap with Sue (trading each other's ignored toys), an awesome time in our pool that Solomon actually loved (the pool was pure torture for him last summer- this was our first attempt since then), beautiful weather, came to the city this morning and ate at my favorite breakfast place in my old neighborhood, met up with my old mothers group/play group (the girls I've known since Solly was 4 weeks old), ran into my old neighborhood running buddy who had a new baby in tow, more friends announced their pregnancy... I think that was the most of it. Was just an awesome weekend. So sad to see it end. One new idea to make my weekends a little longer (very potentially...) ( I mean very long shot potential not very strong potential) is below the pictures. So you'll have to scroll through them ALL!

I just like this photo because you can actually see the little candy dropping

Showing off his eggs. He was very proud of them.

You can tell this is a very determined walk.

Trying to eat one of his candies. Foil and all.

So shocked to find yet another.

I maybe have a tendency to come up with hair-brained ideas of what I want to do with the rest of my life that fizzle out after 2 days. Who remembers when I was convinced my calling was to be a midwife?? Anyway, so I have the opportunity to own a Stroller Strides franchise in a very affluent neighborhood in San Jose. That's a total exaggeration. I saw a posting from a franchise owner saying she needs to sell her franchise, and I emailed her. But you have to admit it sounds like a good idea. I love pregnant people. I love babies. I love working with and talking to/about pregnant people and babies. I love being with Solomon, and (at my best) I love working out and encouraging exercise in others. The neighborhood is very rich (as in my good friends that live there are shopping for house in the $1M range are having a difficult time finding anything that "cheap,") and has no shortage of SAHMs with extra cash to spend. It's a quick drive from where we live, and covers the area that we hope to send Solomon to preschool next year... so all in all a good neighborhood to market. She's already had the franchise up and running, so it would seemingly be easy to just keep the ball rolling, rather than trying to start something up from scratch. I don't have formal education, but have always been a runner, have coached middle and high school track, so I think I have a few tricks up my sleeve. And it would presumably allow me to have more time with Solomon. So to me, this definitely seems like an avenue to pursue... at least to find out more information. Am I crazy for getting a little excited about the idea?

** Speaking of preggos working out: Good luck to Sister at Boston tomorrow!!!!! And maybe I should go do a workout myself.

I think my job will be the death of me

I've been putting off writing this post because it seems too overwhelming to give it adequate background and justice to the myriad of emotions I have with my job. I've also toyed with the fact that I could not write this post tactfully enough that I would not be fired if the wrong pair of eyes somehow came across it. I've toyed with the fact that I'd like to get fired if the right pair of eyes somehow came across it.

I used to be putting up with this job until I got pregnant again, so I had somewhat of an end in sight. But now, this trajectory is seeming more and more indefinite, making the openendedness (that is totally a word, btw) of my job a little too overwhelming.

I could nitpick detail over detail of what makes my skin crawl about my job (keep in mind I mean my current placement, not necessarily my career choice)- but it boils down to the fact that while I love (some of) my clients and (some of) my parents, all of the other bullshit I have to put up with eats away at my soul. My soul.

The 1-hr commute in traffic each way doesn't help. The fact that my preferred client population is all but ignored is not sustainable for me. The fact that I'm put in borderline unethical predicaments with clients I don't feel trained in seeing, but I can't turn down because of billable hours- is almost a dealbreaker. The fact that I'm being pushed and pressured to come in earlier, stay later, and do events in the evenings and on weekends- my time with Solomon that I'd have to pay even more money on a sitter to be away from to go to work and not get paid-- is maddening. But the fact that my new(ish) supervisor for some reason has it out for me and harps on me for every little mistake- even when a mistake has not been made- is what is going to drive me out. I drive too far and make too little to not be doing what I want to do, and to be criticized unjustly in the process.

Part of the problem is my own ego. I think I'm too good at what I do to be wasting my time doing this grunt work and seeing these clients that I'm not trained to see. I feel like my clinical skills and training are being wasted, and even deteriorating from lack of practice. My ego also prevents me from taking my supervisor seriously, because I just don't feel I have anything to learn from him. I blame my grad school for this. It totally made me a snob. I worked with and learned from the top researchers and clinicians in my field, so it's hard to hold many others to the same esteem, especially when they aren't giving me due respect in return (FWIW he's not even in my discipline, he has a different type of clinical training).

There have been numerous occasions in the past few months where I went for a walk or did yoga poses in my office to center- not for exercise purposes, but to calm myself down when I'm on the brink of making a big commotion and quitting publicly, loudly and abruptly. Most of me wants to quit at all costs, but the more rational side knows my family depends on my salary, so I need to stick it out for the time being. I'm torn between taking the first decent job that roles around, and waiting for something great to appear, so I don't keep in this same pattern of holding jobs for a year then leaving.

Only time will tell. But anytime I hear of clinicians leaving, I think one word: lucky.

I'm a good mom

Did you know? I'm sure you did. But I got reaffirmed not once, but twice (!) today for seemingly no reason, so I have a recent bout of confidence.

I had spent all of naptime cleaning, and out apartment was looking better than it has in weeks. So I was loathe to dirty it up by cooking and eating dinner. And I keep hearing and thinking about Panera, which I haven't eaten at in ages, so Solly and I made a trek out. It was a typical enough experience, nothing unusual. Solly and I shared a sandwich and some soup, although he was mostly just eating bread and drinking his milk, which annoyed me. Solomon was flirting with some of the other diners, demanding more bread, dropping things then yelling 'uhoh!!' and refusing every food I offered, claiming 'hot!' One man who kept turning around to look at him was very impressed with his vocabulary. After I finished eating I still wanting a little something extra, so I opened up a bag of chips. As soon as I picked up the bag, he was yelling 'chip!' which I don't even understand why or how, because he didn't even see what was inside. And, we never have potato chips anyway. Anyway, I explained that I had finished my sandwich and soup, so I got to eat some chips. He hadn't eaten his meat or soup, so he could not have chips. Against all odds, this actually quietened him. I then asked him to clean up the food items he had thrown on the floor, and he helped me walk the trash over to the trash can.

Nothing special or extraordinary. But one woman stopped me and said, "I just wanted to say I think you are just a great mother." I was tempted to be offended that it was somehow surprising that I would be a good mom, but I decided against it and take it as a compliment. We then went to Trader Joes and he wanted every. single. item that I put in the cart. Nana! Nana! Open! Grape! Grape! Want grape! Yogurt! Open! Cold! Waffle! Waffle! Waffle! Milk! Bottle! Waffle! Waffle! (it had been a while since he had had a waffle, so was very excited about this!). He also has this fun new trick where he wants to help push the cart. So he expects me to hold him forward facing at about hip level and kinda kick the cart every so often (I mean, every 3 seconds) to avoid crashing into people. Please try this at home. I highly recommend it. On the drive home I had put the grocery bag too close to the car seat, so he managed to get into both the zuchini and the grapes during the drive. This did not make me feel like a good mom.

But then out of the blue I get a text from Gerard saying thank for being such a great wife and mom. No clue why he felt inclined to write it, but I'll take it.

In other news, Solomon got his first big boy undies this weekend, and big boy pjs. He's always worn the one-piece footsies but I just got him a pj set of a shirt and those really tight pants that look like long johns. I don't know why I find them irresistibly adorable. He liked them because of the 'caca.' But don't worry, that means a helicopter, not poop.

Marriage Dynamics

So, last weekend I got a minute to myself to go run errands. I had gone to my favorite kids consignment store looking for summer clothes, and actually walked away with clothes and not more toys like i normally do. But that's not what's surprising. I'm walking back to my car, and see another car pull up and park next to mine, on the driver's side.

I'm walking towards my door from the front side of the car. I see a woman in the passenger seat wave me on, to motion that I should get in my car first, instead of me waiting for her to get out of her car. No biggie. I walk past her and prepare to open my door. The parking spots are slanted, so now that I've walked past her, she has plenty of room to get out, even if I open my driver's side door. You follow, right? I'm fumbling for my keys when I see the husband walk around from the back of the car. He smiles and waits for me. Now I understand that a baby is in the back seat. It's taking me a while to actually get my keys, get settled in the car and close the door. I was trying to hurry, but it took so long I made a jokingly self-deprecating comment about how slow I was being. Anyway, so now I'm finally in the car with the door closed, and I look up to see the husband was opening the door for the wife, and then they walked off together. There was no baby in the car. He waited that whole time, and so did she (in a hot car I might add) so he could open her door...

My world was just rocked by this. I'm just really struggling to put myself in that frame of mind. It's so interesting. I brought up the incident to Gerard, who said that actually a couple we knew from Nashville did that also (I don't know them well enough to confirm or deny this). You agree with me that this is a little bit crazy right? I can't decide if I think it's sweet or really odd. It racks my brain with so many questions: What if she's driving? What if he's dropping her off somewhere but he will continue driving? If/when they have a baby, who will get the baby out? Will the dad get the wife or baby out first? You see where I'm going with this.

The incident happened to have coincided with some recent discussions on a parenting forum I'm on, discussing decision making power and financial set-ups between married couples. I think Gerard and I did a good job of discussing these things before getting married to make sure we were on the same page. And the fact that we had lived together also helped us get real-life experience. It was simultaneously fascinating and scary to see how different the dynamics are in some relationships. Scary because, although these moms seemed happy in their relationships, they described dynamics that I would never ever be okay with. They described setups where they seemed to discuss every single decision and purchase together, setups where if there was a conflict the husband had final say as the "leader," or lopsided finances where one spouse had to get an allowance from the husband, or even ask permission to buy a shirt or get a haircut. Some were SAHMs who dismissed their role with ignorance 'I have no idea how much money is in the bank account- so I'm not asking permission, I'm asking if we have enough money to cover it.' It just seems to odd. I sometimes envy SAHMs for how much time they get to spend with their child(ren), but I could never do it full time, if alone for freedom I have with my own separate spending account I can do with what I please. Not that I'm doing anything crazy, or that Gerard would withhold money from me if we had a different setup (I tend to be more stingy with money than him anyway). It'[s just the principle, to me.

Anyway, there's no real point or conclusion to this post, just some interesting philosophies that have been on my mind recently.

Toddler Paradise

I know, I know, it's been a long time. You thought I was gone for good again, didn't you?? Nope. Just very sick. The kinda sick that just won't go away. And, fun fact: prescription medicine doesn't do jack for me. Yes, I understand the irony of my mom being a pharmacist and my husband being a doctor, but I kinda think the whole pharmaceutical world is a crock. Vicodin, percocet, cough pearls, cough syrup with codeine... crap crap crap crap. They do nothing for me. Good or bad. I just feel nothing. Anyway, After weeks of coughing, congestion and even an episode of laryngitis, I think I'm finally on the upswing of things. Certainly not 100%, but I (think) I see the light at the end of the tunnel! Whew!

Anyway, it occurred to me today that I must live in toddler paradise. At least Solomon paradise. Seeing low-flying airplanes, trains and buses on a daily basis are the main reasons he gets out of bed in the morning. Well, and bananas of course. I think we would all combust if he didn't get to see all of those favorites on any given day. So, it makes me wonder, if I was raising Solomon in a different area where we didn't get to see trains, planes and automobiles (errr, buses) all the time, would he be miserable? Or would he accept that as his life and look forward to something else suburban kids see daily?

One good thing about living in an urban area is the plethora of toddler activities I can do on any given day, should I actually have the time. In less than 10 minutes I could be at a number of different parks or playgrounds, the children's discovery museum, Happy Hollow (which is what I really don't know how other parents live without), libraries with story time, numerous indoor play gyms, etc etc etc. But this isn't what I wanted to talk about. What I wanted to talk about is sometimes when the weather is bad, I need Solomon to play by himself so I can chill out, and I'm afraid the discovery museum will be too crowded, I'll take Solomon to the mall instead. He's usually happy in the stroller for a bit so I can walk around and pretend like I'm getting exercise. There's plenty of people watching, which we both enjoy, and lots of food, which we also both enjoy. We can go up and down the escalators a million times in a row (this is only for his enjoyment), and even go to their toddler play area for him to run around like a wild man.

Now, I don't go here very often, but I'm here enough to understand that some parents have an extremely loose interpretation of the word 'toddler.' Some kids there are way too old, way too rambunctious, and way too unsupervised. There were a couple kids there yesterday that got my blood boiling a little bit, but one 5-year old in particular.

There's this little slide-like thing Solomon spends most of his time on. He was climbing up it, and I'm not sure if he was checking his balance or what, but in the process touched this little 5 year old on the shoulder. Now, it was in no way a push, or causing any discomfort to this older boy. Biut apparently he took great offense to the touch. He immediately pointed both fingers as guns and starts pretending to shoot Solomon multiple times, right in front of his face. He turns to his friend and starts laughing and complaining how the baby touched him, meanwhile I'm simultaneously stunned, watching incredulously at the boy's 4 family members sitting silently not 5 feet away, and moving over to intercept. I wasn't 10 feet away, but by the time I got there he was shooting Solomon again, with sound effects. Now, I'm pretty laissez-faire, 'kids-will be kids' about a lot of things. But pretending to shoot my baby in the face with finger guns is not one of them. And letting your kid shoot a baby in the face with finger guns is not one of them either. I let all of them have a piece of my mind. The boy looked stunned. The parents just shrugged. I was kinda half-expecting some movie-scene moment where the other parents started clapping for me, or speaking up one way or the other, or... something. But no one seemed to care one way or the other. Sigh.

Anyway, last weekend we drove down to LA because Gerard had had his first weekend off (yes two full days in a row off!!) for the first time in maybe 6 months. So that was reason enough for us to go to LA. Maybe I'll post more about that trip later, but in an effort to keep with the theme of toddler paradise, I'll say that we found the. coolest. park. ever!!!! I had just downloaded Mom Maps on my Ipad, and this was one of the closest playgrounds to our hotel, and had a good review, so we tried it out. Woooowwweeeeee! Awesome, large play structures. Just really cool and interesting things to do, a huge sand area to play in, large animals to climb on top of, some huge rocks to climb on, a grass slide, rock abacus... it was just awesome. If we ever move to LA I insist we will be within walking distance of this park. It's as cool as any thing you'd pay to bring your toddler to. Solomon managed to turn my camera into this crazy setting, but luckily I finally figured out how to turn it off.

Random Musings...

.. because that's what I'm supposed to do on this blog

*I realize this might be an 'uh..duh' revelation for most of you, but how amazing are frozen vegetables??? I waste way too much money on vegetables that go bad before I get the chance to cook and eat them. And I waste way too much time chopping up and preparing vegetables. Why? Whyyyyy??? I've been getting some vegetables frozen for while, but recently made this great discovery of sliced mixed peppers, diced onions, etc etc in little frozen bags. I don't know if I didn't know these vegetables came frozen, since I typically picture frozen peas and corn, or if I just wasn't thinking in those lines or what, but I consider this revelation life changing. Just as healthy, less money, less waste, less time. I'm sold.

*Solomon's in one of those spurts when he's saying new words every day. One of his new words today is 'tickle' (or tih-toe, because he assimilates all of his words). He'll run up to you and say tih-toe, then laugh and laugh until he says stop! then he'll run away and regroup for a couple seconds before coming right back for more. Repeat x100.

*A less fun new word is move. Always accompanied by pushing. Rough translation: Get out of my damn way, woman!

*It really breaks my heart when we're on a walk or something, and Solomon waves to people and they don't wave back. I have to assume they didn't see him, because he is completely irresistible and who can ignore an irresistible baby waving at them? No one. That's the definition of irresistible. But he doesn't understand that yet. Which is why he also tries to say bye-bye to people after we close the door leaving wherever we were. So it just makes me sad that Solomon's charming efforts are going unnoticed, and the last thing I want if for him to give up and stop trying to say hi to people.

*Solomon loves dip. Whether it's ketchup, hummus, spinach artichoke, salsa.. whatever we'll let him have, he'll eat what we're willing to offer him. This is how I got him to start loving chili, also. He won't eat it with a spoon. But offer it with a tortilla chip and he'll go to town. What's awesome is that he'll rarely actually eat whatever he is using to dip, though. He'll just take the pita, chip, veggie or whatever and dip, suck off the dip, then dip again. Until it crumbles from sogginess or accidentally dissolves in his mouth. Jerry and George would have a field day with him.

*Less cute is his random tantrums around clothes changing. It's been constant recently. He refuses to the umpth degree to get his diaper changed or clothes changed. I see him do it with relatively little protest for Leila (daycare lady), but with me you'd think I had needles in his eyes and bees stinging his toes. Yes yes I know what you're thinking: distract him with a toy! Make a song out of it! Blow on his belly! If you're thinking anything so ridiculous in your head you are obviously not grasping the degree of this problem. We are talking well past what a toy can save. We're talking holding him by the legs so he's not head-first off the changing table. And physically restraining him on the floor so he doesn't run away. If you unzip his pj's in the morning he'll grab desperately at the zipper trying to pull it back up, or put the dirty diaper back on his penis that will help. Oh maybe he's cold, you say. Hah! Again, you don't understand. Putting on clothes is no better. Once you pop a shirt of his giganto-head, you'd think the worst of it was over, but he'll pull it right back over his head before you can get an arm through the sleeve. Pants are really epic battles, because he can get one foot out of the pant leg before you can get the second foot in. So usually he's in his pjs on the weekends until after his nap, and then just in a diaper and shirt the rest of the afternoon. It's awesome.

Solomon's *real* dad

Every pregnant woman dreams of the child they will soon have. When we found out I was expecting boy, I dreamed of a sweet baby boy, followed by an active little boy, eventually growing up to be a man. I've realized now, however, that I don't actually have a baby boy, or even a little boy. I have a monkey. It's unclear whether he recently turned into a monkey, or if he was always a monkey masquerading as a human baby (early evidence strongly supports this theory), but it is evident now that he is indeed, complete monkey.

Why, you ask, do you think Solomon is a monkey? It's apparent based on multiple observations:

-The kid literally wants to eat 5 bananas a day. I try to only let him have 2 or 3, but I'm convinced if I only offered him bananas for the rest of his life, he would be content. Banana was one of his first words (top 5). As a random side note, anyone in his life knows he has a very particular way he insists on eating his bananas. You must take it completely out of the peel, break it in half, and give him both halves, one in each hand. This is the only acceptable way. If you leave the little stump in the peel of the banana, for the love of God don't let him see it. He will insist you take it out. You should just put it directly in his mouth. If you put it in front of him, he will spend maybe 30 seconds trying to pick it up without dropping either of his banana halves. Then he will just lean forward and try to eat it right off the table with his mouth, pie eating contest style. Moving on...

-The monkey sound (oo-oo-oo-ah-ah-ah) was his first animal impersonation

-He is an active climber. I know that toddler boys are supposed to be, but I think he takes it to a new level. If I'm sitting he climbs on my back and head. If the fridge is open he tries to climb up the shelves. If the dryer or dishwasher is open he tries to climb inside.

-Up up up! Or bounce bounce bounce are his favorite words.

-He is also obsessed with swinging. He loves to swing. There are 4 swings at our favorite playground and he insists on trying out each and every one of them, right in succession.

-At a little gym class we went to last weekend there was one of those swings you have from your arms with. Oh the tantrum we threw ending that...

-He has no fear of heights, or climbing or swinging. No sense of caution whatsoever

-He is super curious. Wants to get into everything.

-He is incredibly mischievous, and loves to do things he knows he's not supposed to (These last two analogies are based on the monkey stereotypes researched and reported on by H.A and Margret Rey)

I'm sure there's more, but you'll just have to take my word for it. He is pure monkey... Now how do I break the news to Gerard??

Alahyuuu

Solly just said Alayyuuu to Gerard and I!!! Happiest mama, right here.

Marching Lion

So, I promised myself that after the mess of February, March would be my new start. Forgoing the analysis of Marching in like a lion, or even the start of the Lenten season, I am doing my best to have set the reset button for this new month and new outlook.

First of all, Solomon is wonderful. Amazing. And perfect. And I will cherish the more time I can spend with him individually. It's starting, slowly, to feel like less and less of a rush to have a second ASAP. Don't get me wrong, we're still trying, and I'm still anxious, excited and nervous, and it still stings a little seeing soooo many people in my life become pregnant, but I've talked myself into some perks of having a baby spaced out longer than we had originally been planning. Happily, I'm still young so don't have an immediate worry of my biological clock. And the longer it takes for a second one, the more money we can manage to save, the more stable we can feel, and the closer Gerard will be to finishing residency. And the longer it takes the older Solomon will be (brilliant thought, I know), so ideally he'd be more independent and easier to balance with a baby. Right now he's in this mama-obsessed stage, always wants to be held, and on any given morning will have a complete meltdown because I so dared to try to take off his pajamas. On these mornings I can't imagine another crying little being also fighting for my attention. So maybe, maybe, my world won't crumble if my children are spaced 3 or 4 years apart.

Semi-related to Solomon's intermittent craziness, I've decided to take stock of my life and my priorities. I've been so stressed out with deadlines, schedules, traffic, commute, dishes, etc that it feels too exhausting to even try to be a normal person. One of these priorities was making sure that Solomon gets to see Gerard everyday, as I previously mentioned. Maybe it doesn't sound like much, but in the life of an intern's family, it's a huge undertaking. It helps that Gerard's no longer on his ICU rotation like he was in February, but regardless we're doing everything we can to see him everyday, even if it's for 5 minutes in the hospital parking lot. I'll go out of my way to drive there after work, even if it adds to my commute time, takes away from my dinner-making time, and postpones Solomon's bedtime. Because this is a priority, and it's a priority I want Solomon to have ingrained in his head, and worth the sacrifices that both Gerard and I have to make in order to see it through. I think it's helping their bond already. Solomon has been increasingly willing to be held by and play with Gerard. And he's starting to call out for dada more and more on the way home from daycare. This is amazing to me. He's actually hopeful he'll see dada. He also recognizes the exact second we turn into the hospital (even rear-facing, which I find interesting) and will call out dada! dada! So this is worth more to me than cooking dinner.

And I'm trying to have renewed vigor an motivation at work. Don't want to get into it too much, because I'm planning on a longer post soon (I know, I'm such a tease), but I'm trying to get out of my work slump, which is secondary to both work frustrations, and my overall low morale/ sadness/ frustrations with fertility stuff, as well as of course trying to maintain a work/life balance for both Solomon and myself.

Lastly, I took Gerard to a Sharks vs Predators game this Tuesday. These are the NHL teams for San Jose and Nashville, by the way (because if you mentioned the team names of any other cities I surely wouldn't know what you were talking about). Sucked taking him out on a Tuesday night, and after his birthday, but it worked out well being a Predator's game, there was a little bit more availability of seats for under $100, and it was a night we could utilize our baby-sitting swap. It was my first hockey game, and was fun! It was nice to be reminded that even though we aren't in SF anymore, we still are in a "city," and there's still fun things to do very close by. The stadium was one stop up from the light rail, which is right in our backyard. So the trip to the stadium took maybe 10 minutes and $2 (well free, really, since I usually just risk being caught when I'm only going one stop). And then we were in a completely different world, and it was reminiscent of when we were dating and would do things like this. And it made me excited to imagine taking Solomon to sports games here and to go to Stanford games, etc. And that's fun to think about.

Ok, back to my sick day- which, now that I'm a mom, no longer consists of napping and watching bad daytime television. Somehow I'm busy cleaning, washing diapers, and worried my tacos used up any remaining scrapes we could have used for dinner tonight. And a honey-do list from Gerard (I thought I was supposed to do that??) I'm also debating whether or not I should work on a report for work. Uggghhh...

Edamame Tacos

Still not ready to post a longer blog. Eventually I will post about my struggles at work. And also m New Year's Resolution to be more crafty. Tonight I'm just going to post about dinner.

I go through phases of being semi- on top of it, when it comes to dinner... Trying to plan out recipes in advance and grocery shop for the week accordingly. I've never been super good about it- you hear about other people who do prep work on the weekends, plan their whole menus, etc etc. I've never been that good. At my best I think of 2 or 3 recipes that call for ingredients we wouldn't otherwise keep at home, and prepare for those. At my worst, I don't go grocery shopping for two weeks, so have no fresh produce, nothing good left to eat- and search through the fridge, freezer and cupboards wondering what in the hell we are going to scrounge up for dinner for yet another night.

That's where I found myself tonight. We had some ground turkey, but that was about the only perishable, nonfrozen food in sight. I've been trying to do what I can to sneak in vegetables when and how I can, because both boys do whatever they can to avoid them. Any time I made something with ground meat, it was easy to dice veggies and mix them right along with the meat- so that no one could just pick them up. So turkey tacos and bison burgers were done like this a lot, and were tasty. But Solomon is still deciding whether or not he's a vegetarian, and Gerard had graduated to eating his onions and peppers in slices instead of dices, so I haven't been doing that as much. Anyway, we had half an onion left, but no peppers or other suitable vegetables, and not even any spinach, which we use instead of lettuce. So tacos, onions and cheese was going to be a little boring. So I decided to experiment- without a recipe- which is something I never, ever do. I decided we could add some salsa for flavor, and corn to sweeten the deal for Solomon (he's a little bit obsessed with corn). Solomon will eat about any vegetable when mixed with equal parts corn (we do chopped zucchini or squash like this a lot), so I put corn in. I searched through the feezer, but the only veggies I could find were peas and edamame. Neither sounded particularly good to me in a taco, and I knew Gerard would put up a fight, but I through some edamame into my corn salsa mix and hoped for the best.

'Best tacos yet' Gerard said. Success! I as proud. Gerard couldn't even taste them. Solomon was weary of the green peaking out, and spent the first several minutes picking them out. But then he gave up on the task and figured it was easier to just eat them. I'll take it.

Iwahmah boop

So, I've started several posts recently that I haven't been able to dedicate enough time yet to do justice to. But I wanted to at least touch base with all my fans. :p

One phrase we hear a lot in our household (apartmenthold?) is 'Iwahmah boop!' which means, of course, I would like to read another book, pretty please! Solomon is turning into be quite a little book nerd, which is great, but is drastically lengthening potty time and bedtime because he wants...more... books... But, books are making our commute times every day much more bearable, so I'll take the other annoyances in stride. He has the same collection of books in the car, each of which I know frontwards and backwards. So I can always tell which page he's looking at by something he says or does, and I know the book well enough to talk to him more about what else he is looking at (he's still rear facing so I don't have any visual cues, even at a stop light).

I have maybe a million children's books thanks to my job, and by going to a Scholastic warehouse booksale a few years back that I majorly OD'd on. So, I'm trying to be more selective about my book choices now, so the good books we have don't get lost in an endless library of mediocrity. I've recently acquired three wonderful, wonderful books, however, that I just had to share:

Jazz Baby, Lisa Wheeler

http://www.amazon.com/Jazz-Baby-Lisa-Wheeler/dp/0152025227

This was in the sale section of my favorite children's book store, and it's been all I can do to refrain from buying this book for everyone I know. I love the diversity of skin color in the family, but mostly it's just an insanely fun read. It reads like a jazz song and is insanely catchy and fun. I'm trying to wean Solomon off 5 Little Monkeys in favor of this. I've mentioned before my sensitivity to not raising Solomon in an overly Caucasian-centric environment. So I love being able to share books like this that are a bit of a break from the familiar to me, but is a great- albeit limited- exposure to different cultures and experiences. We aren't sitting around as a family singing jazz frequently (or ever) but this book makes me feel like we should be. An excerpt:

Grandpa TOOT-TOOTS,

Granny sings scat.

Bitty boppin' Baby goes

RAT-TAT-TAT!

Mama sings high,

Daddy sings low.

Snazzy-jazzy Baby says "Go, Man, Go!

Beautiful Oops, Barney Saltzberg

http://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-Oops-Barney-Saltzberg/dp/076115728X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1299483518&sr=1-1

Picked up this book today at the Borders closing sale (can I mention how sad it is to see this bookstore in shambles and disarray? I feel like I've spent so much time over so many years browsing, studying, or hanging out in a Borders. It was sad to hear it closing, but even sadder to see it as a half-empty, disorganized mess. Sad...) Basically it's a book about turning mistakes into awesome creations. So a rip in a page becomes the mouth of an alligator. A drink ring stain becomes a bog for a frog. It is so creative and different. And inspiring. I was one of those children who just cringed when a paper was crumpled in the slightest or my name wasn't written perfectly. I'd sooner throw out a piece of paper with a slightly creased corner rather than do my homework on it. So I think that this book will help teach great lessons to both Solomon and myself.

The Peace Book, Todd Parr

http://www.amazon.com/Peace-Book-Todd-Parr/dp/0316043494/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1299483938&sr=1-1

My sister sent me this book and I'm in love. Solomon's also requested this a few times at bedtime which is a huge deal to break into his routine of 5 Little Monkeys, Pat the Bunny, and Baa Baa Black Sheep from his nursery rhymes book repeated infinitely. It's bright, cheery and engaging, and sends a message of respect and acceptance in simple, short ideas. I really like the overarching themes of helping others, as well as the acceptance and celebration of diversity. This is who I want Solomon to grow up to be. I want him to grow up to be this book.

A really really not so good day

I know, I know, this is going to sound incredibly vain and trivial, but it's been weighing on my mind recently that I'm just not cute anymore. I used to be cute. I used to feel cute. I used to get hit on. Hell, I even got hit on while I was pregnant. But now... I'm a mom. And I feel like that's the image I project, even when I'm not holding Solomon, and no matter what I wear. Even though I lost all the pregnancy weight relatively easily, I just feel... old. I feel like I'm not looking or living like I should be in my 20's. I feel like I'm 40. I try so hard to still dress cute and wear makeup, but it doesn't seem to do any good. I'm feeling lost.

I've wanted to dye my hair for a while now. But I didn't want to, being as I was trying to get pregnant. I've resigned to the fact that this just isn't in the cards, at least for now, so I bit the bullet and dyed my hair. Hoping for some sort of change, some sort of new vibrancy. Gerard didn't even notice. Even though I told him I was dying my hair that night, he still woke up and spent the morning with me and didn't even notice. So, fail. Even when I called him on it, he sputtered around and said something about the shade, but not anything remotely resembling that it looked nice. Double fail.

Not helping matters, Solomon's having one of those days where he's just screaming for no reason. When he has everything he wants, and I'm holding him and offering him the moon and stars, he still just wants to scream. I've been on countdown all morning until naptime, so optimistic because he only napped for an hour yesterday, and slept poorly last night. So I knew he was due for a really really good nap today. Because he's exhausted and terribly cranky. It's been right under an hour now and he just woke up crying. I think I might cry, too.

Poop and Rainbows

I came in this morning to get Solly out of his crib. I say 'good morning,' and he announces 'PooPoo!' while grabbing his butt. Yes, I'm aware. I do have a nose.

On the way in to work/ daycare there was the most amazing rainbow. I've seen several in the past two weeks, but this one you could see the full arch, and none of it was obstructed by clouds. I was bummed I couldn't point it out to Solomon, who is still rear facing, so when we parked at daycare we walked about a block to get a good view of it away from a bunch of trees. Keep in mind I'm always in a rush in the morning, and it was drizzling so a walk-long block was doing a number on my hair as well as my time. I point out the rainbow to Solly, who stares at it for maybe half a second. 'Bye bye' he says, with a wave, which is Solly-talk for this is lame. peace out. He then turned around and started heading back into daycare, calling out for Aston, his BFF.

I know where the rainbows and I stand...

Potty Time

So, for those of you who don't know, we've been doing the lazy man's potty training since Solomon turned 1, which basically means I sit him on the toilet a couple of times a day and hope he figures things out eventually. We get pees pretty frequently (although his penis is always out of the potty because he's playing with it, so he just pees on himself and me) and sometimes even poop. But anything in the potty is one less diaper for me to wash, so I'll take it. Now the problem is Solomon is a little nerd and obsessed with books, which had been our motivator to keep him on the potty for a few minutes. But now he wants to read every single book that we keep in the bathroom and throws a tantrum when I want him to get off the potty. So now I don't even like letting him get on the potty because I don't want to be stuck in there for 30 minutes.

But, that isn't the point of the story. The point of the story is today Solomon gave a grunt, and I gave him my silent what are you doing face? and he said 'Poopoo!' I was amazed at his revelation, so I yelled 'Poopoo in the potty! Poopoo in the potty!' So we ran to the bathroom and I was surprised to take off his diaper and find no poop- we had made it in time! He sat on the toilet and let out a massive... fart. Ah well, but we were so close! And I'm still proud of him!

Similarly, this past weekend he was having naked time in his bedroom. I left the room momentarily, and he came running to me saying 'Beebee!' I wasn't sure what this word meant, so I followed him back in his room, and he lead me over to where he had been playing and pointed on the floor where he had just peed! I didn't know he even knew that word, and I was surprised he cared enough about his accident to tell me.

***

In non potty news, with March coming, hopefully Gerard and I can start trying again. As excited as I am, and as long as and as much as we've been wanting another baby, I can't help but be scared. I love Solomon an obnoxious amount. I'd be really sad in some ways to have to split my attention away from him, and to have to share most all of our time together with another child. I also think he's so sickeningly cute and perfect, it's difficult to imagine loving another child as much as I do him. Of course, if/ when we are blessed with another child I'm sure our love will expand and we won't be able to imagine our lives without him or her. But sometimes it's hard to picture.

I see the light at the end of the tunnel

So, February is almost done. We have a week left and then we have a fresh start with March. I'm looking forward to a clean slate.

I've been officially discharged from PT! I feel like a normal person again and not a crippled old lady. I've been working out regularly, which helps with my overall mood and confidence, but I do not have the green light for running quite yet. Although, most of my workouts are confined to what I can do at 5am in my living room, or in my office on my lunch break, or at the playground while chasing after Solomon, so I doubt I'd be running much regardless.

This week is also the last of Gerard's ICU rotation! Q4 has been brutal on all of us. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the difficulty and stress of the situation so much that you forget it's temporary and just something you have to work through. He should be done with overnight call for at least a couple months at this point, so that should be a miraculous change of pace. Even though there will be nights he gets home at 10pm, this at least means he'll get some resemblance of sleep that night, which means he'll be able to act like a human being the next day. So that should be nice.

It might also mean I have a little time every now and then to go running at the gym, or- dare I say it- outside?? I can't even remember the last time I ran outside. It was before we moved down to San Jose, so yeah, before residency. That is a little terrifying. I knew it had been months. I did not know it had been almost a year.

His better hours come at a good time because I had just set a new constituent that we needed to do everything we could to have Solomon see Gerard every day. On Saturday Solomon and I went to have lunch at the hospital. Sometimes we'll just pull into the patient drop off and have Gerard come give Solomon a kiss and we'll drive off. But this is our new goal. I can't remember if I've written about this yet, but Solomon has been giving Gerard a really hard time recently. On the way home he'll ask and ask about Dada. When we walk in the door he'll go straight to the bedroom, open the door, and look in the bed hoping to see dada. If he's not there, everyone is sad. But, when he is there, Solomon is even more upset. He misses him so much, but angry and confused why he's not around so Solomon just cries and cries when he sees Gerard. It's heartbreaking. If I leave the room, they are fine and happy. I can hear them having a wonderful time. But if I'm in sight, it's a no-go. So Friday Gerard had a day off and kept Solomon home with him to spend some quality time. They had a great day. On Saturday morning, Solomon woke up, and I could hear through the monitor "Mama? Dada! Mama? Dada!" I was practically crying. It was so amazing to hear Solomon call out for him. Of course, he was at work and couldn't hear it.

I need to take videos of Solomon reading books and singing songs with me. It's the most hilariously adorable thing that has ever happened to this earth.

More light? I got my replacement phone today for free under warranty!! Whohooooo. I'm human again. And, I was too upset to even get into this earlier, but after a lengthy delay (partly my procrastination and partly the fault of the photographer and partly it being on back order), we got our wedding album on Friday. Well, no. We got a wedding album on Friday. It was not the one I ordered. In fact it was a style I expressly said I did not want. Drama I can't get into. But it's being redone and should be here "soon" whatever that means.

Lastly, I may have some relief/changes on the job front. But I haven't gotten into that fully yet and won't tonight. But I'm feeling optimistic. Oh! And I've been trying to grow my hair out. It's in that horrible transition mode now, but today I had the realization that I can fit it into a mini spiky ponytail!

So, here's too March!

Things I wish my toddler would learn:

** Saying "gooooooo!" immediately after we get to s stop light will not actually make me drive. I did not forget you want to go. Increasing your volume does not help me understand you better.

**Not every black person you see is your Dada. Please stop calling them that. It's a little awkward.

**On that note, you don't have to say 'Dada' in this weirdly low, raspy voice. Who taught you to do that? And why? You also don't have to use that voice when you say truck or sah-soh(obviously this is motorcycle).

**Speaking of motorcycles, yes, I will let you look at the one in our parking garage every. single. day. But no, you can't look at it in the morning when I'm trying to drop you off at daycare and get to work. And no you can't touch it. And no you can't have one when you turn 16. Or 46.

**I'm not trying to offend you, but your tiger roar and motorcycle sounds really sound quite similar. You really can't blame me for confusing the two.

**When I tell you "No!" It means, 'stop doing that and don't do it again.' It does not mean 'Say NO! the next time you choose to do this.' I do, however, appreciate the heads up when you're being naughty.

**Reading 5 Little Monkeys three times a day was cute for like a week. I'm over it. Can we stop now?

**I think it's totally adorable when you say 'shhh' every time you see a picture of a sleeping baby. But if the man across from us falls asleep on the train, you don't have to point to him and say SHHHH as loud as possible, because that kinda defeats the purpose.

**I'm very proud of your ability to label basic facial features. You've shown this off, and I get it. So, can we start decreasing the frequency that you poke me in the eye out of nowhere yelling 'eye!'?! If you want to keep labeling my nose that's ok, but can you point to it, or even poke it, but maybe not grab and pinch it with your baby claws and try to remove it from my face? That would be a plus.

(Several of these were cross posted on my FB page. Sorry if you had to read these twice, but the blog will be a better historical record than sorting through status updates by the time I miss those damn monkeys and want to reminisce. )

In case you were ever tempted...

Don't dunk your brand new phone into apple juice.

It will become possessed.

And sticky.

That is all.

Sigh

Ahh, February. This is a pretty bittersweet month for me. I've been dreading this month for a while, and now that it's here, I want it gone. I just want February to be done.

So, I had brief mentionings of this the last time I came to the blog. Now I'm actually ready to talk about it. Gerard and I have wanted a second baby close in age to Solomon. We see how much he loves interacting with the kids at daycare, or any kid he sees, and want him to have a sibling he can play with. We also look at the sibling relationships we each have and so want to duplicate that bond for Solomon. We were hoping for less than 2 years apart. We found out we were pregnant the day before Father's Day (I just couldn't wait that one extra day). It was amazing. We were both so excited and I took for granted the ease of everything. We had a new nickname for the baby, Bee. Soon afterwards, a close friend had confided in me that she was also newly pregnant! I was so excited for her new family, and excited to share our pregnancies which were only days apart.

I had been feeling naseaous for a few days, and abruptly began to feel better. I had also lost the sensitive gag reflex I had known so well during my first pregnancy with Solomon. I called the advice nurse, who gave me the 'every pregnancy is different' spiel but appeased me with an earlier appointment nonetheless. I went in on July 1st. Gerard had to work, so I went alone, which should have been fine. They started the ultrasound, and my OB asked "How many weeks pregnant did you think you were?" I immediately tensed up. About 6, I answered. Is something wrong. She showed me the empty gestational sac on the ultrasound. 'Well, I'm not seeing any yolk sac. Which may mean nothing, it may mean etopic, or it may mean that you're not as far along as you thought you were. I'd say about 4.5 weeks' I started bawling. I knew in my heart. My gut had told me when my morning sickness stopped so abruptly so early that something had happened. And, I had gotten the positive pregnancy test almost two weeks early, so it was barely even possible to have only been 4.5 weeks pregnant. My OB tried to keep positive, but it was all I could do to keep from crumbling. Stupidly, I started driving to work before I realized that I wasn't going to be able to see clients while crying my eyes out. So I picked Solomon up from daycare, went home and just held him. I flew out the next evening to visit my sister in a previously scheduled trip. It was helpful to be in a new environment to try to get my mind off of everything, but I felt like my mind was in a cloud the entire stay. My OB hadn't wanted me to go, so I could do the bloodwork every 48 hours to check on my hcg levels. I did them when I got back in town; they were rising- which was a good sign, but not as quickly as they would like, which was not as good of a sign. I went back in on July 8 for another ultrasound. The appointment had been set up for me by my OB directly, and the receptionist kept asking me if I was pregnant. I don't know. How far along are you? Shut the fuck up!

The appointment was not fulfilling. I was growing, but not as quickly as they would like. There was now a tiny yolk sac, but no baby. There was still a chance for a viable pregnancy, but it was looking dimmer. If the pregnancy progressed, we'd have to do genetic testing. 'Come back in two weeks' she said. 'Then we'll definitely, definitely know.'

Two weeks.

Two weeks. Sitting there day in and day out now knowing if the baby inside of you was alive or dead. I stayed home from work several of those days just crying. I cried myself to sleep every night. It was the most horrible, gut wrenching two weeks I've ever endured. I should have been 8.5 weeks pregnant. This time there was no question. It was not a viable pregnancy. I had the option of waiting an indefinitie period of time, taking the drug misoprostol to start the 'abortion' or have a D&C performed. I had already been waiting an excruciating period of time, but by this point I had already read all of the horror stories on the internet about the labor contractions and risk of hemorrhaging the drug brought, and the risk of scar tissue impacting further pregnancies that the D&C brought. So which was the lesser of 3 evils??

I filled the prescription for misoprostol still not knowing what I would do with it. I wanted to complete everything naturally. I didn't want any lingering doubt that a baby was hiding somewhere, viable, that I didn't give a proper chance. I didn't want that weighing on me. But I also didn't want to continue this torture cycle of just waiting. Solomon's birthday was fast approaching, and the last thing I wanted was for this to still be encompassing every fiber of my being on his first birthday.

So I planned to take the drug that weekend, and arranged for a couple days off of work. Graciously, the night before I was set to take the drugs I started spotting. The cramps and the pain were no match for the emotional turmoil I was under. All of the hopes and dreams I had already envisioned for our family of four were flushed down the toilet. Literally.

Little did I know the waiting had just begun. I was desperate to get pregnant as soon as possible. But I waited 5 weeks to get my period back again. And then I was supposed to wait 3 more cycles before starting to try.

I was so confident, so sure I would get pregnant on the first try again. Obviously, we were extremely fertile, and would go right about our business after this setback. The first month of trying we did not get pregnant. The pain that I felt was devastating all over again. I felt like everything I knew about myself and my body was a lie. I thought that I was broken, and would never get pregnant again. I was at a very, very low point. I realized I had not healed enough from the miscarriage to try again, despite my desperation for a pregnancy. So we took a month off before trying again.

In January I got pregnancy again. I didn't want to tell Gerard over text message, so I waited until we were both home to surprise him. I had barely even told him before I started spotting.

We hadn't even gotten a chance to open the bottle of champagne I had bought to celebrate.

This time, because it happened so early- a 'chemical pregnancy' is what it's called- we're only supposed to wait a month before we can try again. So, March.

One of my best friends is getting married in June. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I told her I planned to be very pregnant and would need a maternity dress. Now, I'll order the regular dress.

Someone else close to me found out she was pregnant a couple days before myself. So now I'll watch her pregnancy progress as I have just watched my other friend's.

My friend, who I shared pregnancy stories with over the summer, gave birth today. I'm so excited for her, but, alas, I'm sitting alone in my bedroom and I can't stop crying.

So I'm ready for February to be over.