Stop blogging and start sleeping, woman.

I was trying to decide what to bitch about (I mean, write) when I realized something: I've actually had a really great day. Most of my days are pretty swell, truth be told, but lately they've gotten even better. I've discovered a wonderful way to keep both myself and the babe smiling bright during the sunlight hours:

I run the little bugger like a horse.

Why did I not discover this sooner? Colleen tried to point me in that direction weeks ago but did I get the hint? No I did not. Instead I sat there watching B eat his floor, convinced that he needed copious amounts of tummy time. Which he did and I'm glad I gave it to him, but sitting around on the floor eating foam isn't exactly conducive to exhaustion and since mama wants more than 40 minutes to herself, TIREDNESS IS THE NAME OF THE GAME. So we've gone out. A lot. We've gone to the Gap (additional 20% off sale items!) and to the toy store and to the grocery store and to the pool and to music class and to yell at pigeons and to Developmental Movement class - and then back to (a now empty) Developmental Movement class to crawl around in a big empty room.

Let me tell you, we have had some glorious naps. This kid loves nothing more than to be outside and this mama loves nothing more than a happy, sleepy baby. Don't ask me what we're going to do when winter comes...

This morning, as I was trying to convince my child that eating his breakfast was fun and exciting and not something to be spit out in the guise of coughing (you're not fooling anyone, kid), I got to thinking about how privileged his life is compared to what I had growing up. Don't get me wrong, I loved my childhood, but I guarantee I was never sashayed to Developmental Movement on a weekly basis. My mother also didn't have the privilege of spending inordinate amounts of time making baby food which is my freaking JOY these days. Honestly I don't know whether to be proud or embarrassed by my son's diet. Today's menu:

Breakfast: Irish oats with blueberry puree, homemade applesauce, and agave nectar. (AGAVE NECTAR. Seriously, who do I think I am?)

Lunch: Scrambled egg yolk with fresh mozzarella, spinach with steamed tofu, pureed butternut squash, a few cubes of avocado

Dinner: Something called "Chicken Tomato Pastina" by Earth's Best (if it requires more than 2 ingredients, it's jar time, peeps), mushed peas, 1/2 a peach. (Don't panic, parents - he also had formula.)

Let's compare that to what I ate today, shall we?

Breakfast: Irish Breakfast tea (steeped for until practically black for extra oomph. Mama needs all the help she can get at 5:30 am)

Lunch: The breakfast I wasn't able to eat. (See: Developmental Movement class) 2 egg whites, 3 strips of soy bacon with flecks of melted plastic from a poorly chosen, non-metal spatula, coffee with extra sugar

Dinner: A spinach tortilla topped with potentially moldy lentils (it's hard to tell sometimes), a fistful of mozzarella cheese, some peach salsa from Trader Joe's, a large glass of $3 wine, a peanut butter chocolate chip cookie, 2 chocolate raspberry sticks. (Maybe one more peanut butter chocolate chip cookie. The evening's not over yet.)

Anybody else find themselves going hardcore Martha (or Mario) when they had kids? Should I have that second cookie?

*And I know I said I wasn't going to post any pictures but if I don't, half the family won't get to see the boy.

I feel so late to the party

Since we've been discussing developmental quirks lately (it's either that or Project Runway, which is totally taking a back seat to this season's ANTM even without the he/she) my friend Doyce told me about this crazy developmental hiccup thing the other day. At first I thought he was talking about metaphorical hiccups, but no:

Here's the thing with hiccups: little kids (up through like 2 years) grow SO FAST that their internal organs actually shift into slightly wrong places as they suddenly get more room. Hiccuping is the body's natural adjustment mechanism: all those little muscle spasms work all the interior squishy bits back to where they're supposed to be in the roomy new apartment of Baby.

So generally, hiccups = growth spurts, which = crazy appetite increase, possibly weird sleep (although honestly, from what I've read of your adventures, I don't know if you've ever gotten a 'normal' baseline to work from), and all the kinds of stuff that comes with a growth spurt. After the growing is done, there's around a month or so of him not being nearly as hungry and more attempts to figure out his body and such... and so it goes.

I have to say, right before the sleep regression the boy went through a hiccuping mania. Am I the last to know about this insanity?

She's a Superthrift (She's Superthrifty)

Okay, I've avoided talking about the economy because I have no idea of your various financial states and didn't want to mush anyone's manicure, but I saw this posting on UrbanBaby the other day and almost spit out my soup.

I can't imagine what it must feel like for dh to shoulder the burden of keep us all financially afloat. I work and make low six figures, but it still wouldn't be enough for us to live.

At first I was shocked, not because of this woman's seeming inability to live on two six figure incomes but because it was nice. I tend to skip the UrbanBaby boards because they're so petty and mean - and coming from me, that's saying something. But then I refocused on the fact that this woman CAN'T SEEM TO LIVE ON TWO SIX FIGURE INCOMES. (Maybe hubby makes more than six figures. That's the implication, no?) I know this is New York City. I'm very aware of how large incomes can seem small when measured against $16,000 rentals and $40,000 preschools but come the frack on. We live on ONE not-even-close-to-six-figure income and yes, it's very, very hard and no, our child will probably not attend private school and yes, our families still have to help us out sometimes with things like airfare for visits home which is plenty embarrassing, but good goddamn, $2,000 for flights?! And yet we still manage to pay our rent and live relatively debt-free. I WILL SAY that we have a lot of blessings where we live (a place I won't mention for anonymity's sake) so maybe I'm completely out of touch but if we couldn't stay afloat on that amount of cash, methinks it'd be time to move.

This economic crisis is scary, I will say that. What are you doing (if anything) to cut costs these days?

Bedtime?! But I want to watch the debate!

Continuing the trend of I Am Mommy, Hear Me Gripe, this 9 month sleep regression is seriously mucking with my ability to blog. Little dude has been waking up at 1:30 the past few nights which means that baby's naptime is now mama's naptime too. I am not saying that I mutter some mighty fine threats about giving the little dude something to cry about, but man oh manishevitz am I wiped. Most of the wakings are due to diaper dilemmas ("leakproof" my ass) or the fact that he can now sit with ease which leads to much middle of the night commentary. "Hey look, I'm sitting! Hey look, there's my toy box! Hey look, there's a cat! Hey, mama! Mama? MAMA?!"

I was so happy when he first said my name... (Speaking of which, how come "dada" is always sweetly cooed but "mama" is constantly whined or screeched? Where's the love, man?)

So yeah. Tired. Ninja parents, help me out - what do you do with those middle of the night poops? He used to sleep through them (or had them closer to waking, perhaps) but now that he's sitting in it, I guess it's more noticeable. I'm sure there's some sort of stealth maneuver to get that diaper changed but I have yet to find a way that doesn't involve massive wakefulness. (He's already awake but I aim to keep the stimulation as minor as possible. Tricky when you're wrangling a 9-month-old who's solely focused on shoving as much diaper into his mouth as possible.) SPEAKING OF KEEPING STIMULATION TO A MINIMUM, I'd like to have a little talk with the makers of baby pj's. What's with all the snaps, yo? 1,700 tiny little snaps up the front and down the legs and don't get me started on trying to get those friggin' crotch snaps lined up a 1 am in the pitch dark with a 9-month-old who's still squawking about the fact that his grump of a mother wouldn't let him put his diaper in his mouth. Try to get a baby back to sleep after that! Can't be done! And let me tell you, Pioneer Ali is of no use in these situations because she would have totally made that kid sleep in the lean-to by now. (I never could figure out what the hell that was...)

As annoying as all this is (it is. It is) there's a whole lot of cute going on these days. I've been taking baby boy to the pool every day (after renewing our $1,500 gym memberships you best believe I'm getting my money's worth) and he is digging it. Grandma introduced him to the "big" pool and ever since he's wanted nothing to do with the namby-pamby plastic number his mother keeps trying to force him into. I bought him a baby wetsuit (heated pool my ass) and he tools around with me (or the significantly braver lifeguard) like a baby Michael Phelps. I have to say, my dumpling of a baby is quickly being replaced by someone who looks suspiciously like a genuine boy. Still no hands-and-knees crawling but he's getting around quite well doing the soldier drag. I was in the bathroom the other day and heard this repetitive slapping sound followed by suspiciously giddy giggles. There he was, dragging himself out of the bedroom and into the hall like one of those prehistoric fish with arms. He was so pleased with himself I almost gave him run of the place but then he made a beeline for the litter box. (We really need to baby proof.) He's also eating a lot of new foods, mostly because I refuse to have a kid who only eats chicken nuggets. (Says the woman who was happily raised on fried bologna, Spaghetti-O's, and red Kool-Aid.) Of course the kid will eat chicken nuggets - I am his mother, after all - but if he also has a healthy appreciation for pad thai and vegetables I'll be pleased. I'm constantly amazed at the foods he loves. Pureed edamame, spinach and sweet potatoes blended into mush, broccoli puree, califlower mash (which I could only make once, due to the stench involved). If anybody has any easy (operative word) baby food recipes, sling 'em my way.

By my calculations the kid'll be up in roughly 6 hours so I probably ought to hit the dishes. Anybody else feel like they spend 90% of their time with dishpan hands?

OUCH!

Let's hear it for Dave!

http://gawker.com/5054512/letterman-pummels-mccain?autoplay=true

Pioneer Ali probably wouldn't approve of my lack of Bible reading.

So here's my new thing - whenever I start to get freaky about anything baby related I'm going to ask myself, "What Would Pioneer Ali Do?" Because I guaran-damn-tee that Caroline Ingalls didn't sit around wondering if Laura was losing IQ points because she skipped her third nap. No! She was busy making tar soap and balloons out of pig bladders! Sure I was about to write this whole big thing about how I feel crummy over the fact that baby boy went to sleep at 5:45 (!!!) because he refused to go down for his third nap at a reasonable time so instead of forcing him to stay in bed like the books say I dragged him to the pool which left him exhausted by 4:30 (which is precariously close to dinner/bedtime) but instead of letting him nap for an hour and allowing him go to bed later (which is what a nice, sensible mom would do), I rushed the dinner/bath combo and let him conk out early because the thought of having to entertain him for an additional 2 hours was more than I could handle without wine in the house.

Pioneer Ali probably wouldn't worry about that. Pioneer Ali would probably say something like, "Is the young'un still alive? Then it was a successful day." Actually she probably wouldn't even say that much because she would be in bed by now. As I should be, seeing as how someone was up at (deep breath in) 3:30 this morning.

I'll be in bed by 8.

Wait, WHAT?!

Amen!

The whippersnapper has decided that he is done with schedules. Done, done, done, done, done, diddly-diddly-done. We had a good thing going for awhile: 5:20 he'd wake up, breakfast at 6:30, nap at 7:30, snack at 10, nap at 12, lunch at 1, nap at 3, dinner at 5:30, bed by 7. Bim-bam-boom, goodnight. It was lovely, it was predictable, and most importantly, it gave me some much needed down time. But someone - I'm not saying whom - decided to hell with all that. I've done my damndest to stick to the routine but when you've got a kid screaming because he REFUSED breakfast (or worse, a nap) good luck trying to keep the critter at bay. I read Baby Wise. I know I'm supposed to hold him off until the next appointed feeding/sleep time but I just don't have it in me. Plus the kid is growing like a weed (according to yesterday's Well Baby visit, height-wise he's gone from the 25th percentile to the 95th in less than 3 months). Who am I to say that he isn't hungry? It's just frustrating trying to find the balance between steering the ship and remembering that your kid is a person too. (JUST LET ME STEER THE SHIP!) That said, I'm actively trying to release the reins. Bottom line, I can't force the kid to go to sleep just because I want him to. I can't make him eat just because the clock says it's time. Whenever I start to get really panicky about it (But the books say...) I remember what my mom said when I asked about my baby schedule -

"I fed you when you were hungry and put you to bed when you seemed tired. We rocked you or drove you around the block or stuck a bottle in your mouth until you went to sleep. You got up when you woke up. There was no such thing as 'Cry It Out' because everybody was doing the same thing to get their kid to go to sleep! "

Oh.

You know what I want for Christmas? A reassuring book. A book that says, "You know what? You're doing a fine job. It's perfectly okay that you're still rocking your baby to sleep at 9 months because you know what? It's not going to last. Enjoy that head on your shoulder and that warm little body against your chest because pretty soon he's going to go back to falling asleep on his own just like he did before this obnoxious sleep regression because bottom line, nobody goes to college still needing to be rocked to sleep. It's also fine that some days he refuses to settle and takes one nap instead of three or eats slightly earlier than he usually does because you have an important audition to go to and it's okay that you sometimes check your email while he's playing and claim he's "learning to play independently", because no matter what you do or don't do it's all going to come out in the wash. As long as you love your kid and pay attention to him and encourage him and try to keep his best interests in mind, and as long as you're not beating or berating or having sex with your child, chances are you're doing a great job." Where's that freaking book? Because it would sell like gold.

Can't even think about it...

I just did something I swore I wouldn't do. (Wore Spandex in public? Ate a bucket of hot wings?) I turned my Facebook profile private. After months of railing against secretive, elitist FB-ers I totally caved. I know, I know, I made this big to-do about the fact that FB is a public place and if people didn't want the public to see something than they shouldn't post it and blah and blabble and blech but, eh, I've changed my mind.

Maybe it's the fact that I've been reading a little too much about the Madeline McCann case (the 3-year-old who was kidnapped while on vacation with her parents and rumored to be sold to a pedophile ring. A claim that seemed so outlandish that the Portuguese police closed the case but was recently deemed credible enough to get Scotland Yard involved), or perhaps it was the slightly odd email I received the other day (I get a fair amount of "fan" mail from my published articles which, of course, I love, but there was something about this one that gave me the weirds). Either way, I realized that I've been less than opaque about the life my little guy leads. (Not that he has been threatened - or even mentioned - in any way! Don't panic, grandparents!) It's not that I'm blind to the fact that there are psychos at large, but a world where a 3-year-old can be snatched and sold to rapists - hyperbole be damned! - makes me a touched freaked. I've always been candid on this blog because I figured that the only people reading it were friends and family (along with some supportive fellow mommy bloggers) but according to my tracker, I'm decently read. (Not that I'm taking the blogosphere by storm. Folks like Princess Nebraska and Manager Mom get hella more hits than I do, I'm sure.) Still, I suddenly feel compelled to cover my tracks.

Anybody else disproportionately concerned that something is going to happen to their kid? Feel free to calm me with a bitch slap if I've gone borderline nutter...

Enough with the griping! Time for THINGS ALISHA LOVES!

Hollister Hovey -

The hipsters (and now the NY Times) are all over Hollister these days but I like to think I knew her when. (I only discovered her a few weeks ago - thanks, N! - but hey, I found her before the NY Times!) If you love all things eclectic and artsy and WASP-y in a Gatsby way (or if, like me, you've been searching for perfume that makes you smell "like a sexy fireplace") you'll love her.

Final Fantasy -

Not the game, just the name. Final Fantasy is the musical creation of a gay boy from England named Owen but that's not why I dig it. (Although I totally dated a guy for his accent once...) He plays all the instruments and strings them together via computer which sounds very techno and blah, but since Owen's background is solidly classical and his instruments are of the cello/violin/harpsichord variety, it ends up sounding really gorgeous and great. Itunes these, please: Many Lives - 49 MP and Your Light Is Spent.

Revo Baby -

Politically charged slogans for tots can be hit or miss, but Revo Baby does it right. Slogans like "I Will Not Be Pacified!" and tiny Obama tees are fabulous for the young and righteous, but my personal faves are the limited editions. I've got an Einstein in turquoise (time to size up!) but I'm also eyeballing the Mohammad Ali. (I'm still kicking myself for not picking up the Salvador Dali. Now discontinued!)

Really good vegan treats -

I'm not vegan but that doesn't stop me from appreciating a fine, butter-free baked good. Two plucky gals have set up shop at our nearby farmer's market (they also have a real store in B'klyn), offering one hell of a double chocolate muffin. (BTW, what's the difference between a muffin and a cupcake? Frosting?) The carrot cupcake at Babycakes is also pretty sweet if you're into that sort of thing. And I'm totally into that sort of thing.

Farmers markets with cappuccino machines -

Some genius chick set up an espresso machine at our farmer's market and is selling made-to-order coffee drinks from her stand. It's a crisp 65 degrees, apples and pumpkins abound, her coffee is organic and fair trade, her cups are compostable, and she's cheaper than Starbucks. All hail entrepreneurship!

Autumn's approach -

Love me some cooler temps, not to mention the layering possibilities...

Abreva -

After Friday night's non-sleep, I totally have a cold sore. Luckily I still have a squeeze left in my tiny tube of Abreva. ($20 for a tube the size of my thumb nail?!) Can't afford Abreva? Rub an ice cube on the sore several times a day. It's awkward and not quite as fast as the $20 dealie, but it works.

These guys -




* Skip the next few posts if you're sick of reading sleep-related grumping. Trust me, I'll understand.

More venting!

Wowee wow wow, peeps. Friday night was a doozy. That whole, "yeah, I'm off to bed now" thing I thought I was doing after logging off last? Please. Baby Homeslice is nursing some sort of crazy voodoo curse that forces him to crawl instead of sleep. I know I'm OMG-ing this crawling-while-sleeping thing to death but kiddo was up EVERY 40 MINUTES. We haven't had that kind of misery since Month Three. Every 40 minutes there he'd be, sobbing in his crib, rocking back and forth on all fours. This went on from 6 pm until almost 2 am. The poor kid was practically hysterical by the end, and frankly so were we. Finally we decided to give him some Infants Motrin (he was also grinding his teeth really hard) and that conked him out until 6:45 am. Today it's back to the 40 minute naps with long stretches of whining and frustration in between. I've done enough reading to know that this is just a phase and nothing to get all panty-twisted about, but whenever things are going wonky I immediately assume that it's permanent. (My child will never self-soothe again, he'll co-sleep forever and we'll spend the next 18 years waking up every 40 minutes!) Everybody says that once he's able to crawl he'll sleep beautifully, perhaps even better than before, and man, I'm ready for that. Have you seen the ballet "The Red Shoes"? In it, a woman buys a pair of red shoes that she can never take off and they force her to dance until she dies of exhaustion. That's what this crawling thing reminds me of. I've actually had to start holding him down during sleep to keep his body from forcing him up on all fours. I'm not sure how to help him with this. Can you teach a kid to crawl? Technically he has done it but most of the time he gets the legs going and ends up in Down Dog. Then he gives up and just belly crawls to whatever it is he wants. But he's trying... Really, really trying...

Speaking of trying (emotionally, at least) - the whining? MAN. I completely understand how hard it is to be a baby, I'm super sympathetic, but the boy has recently latched onto a certain pitch that short circuits my sanity. Actually, there's been a whole lot of button pushing going on lately. I don't know if it's him or me but I'm finding it very hard to be the Mother I Want To Be lately. He's definitely asserting himself, which is fantastic. Theoretically. In practice... Is it horrible to admit that it's kind of maddening? Take the nap I just finished putting him down for (that was a horribly constructed sentence); he was super, super tired (overtired, probably) and would not sleep. He has discovered that he can push himself away from me and so now when I'm trying to rock him, all he wants to do is straighten his arms (or his legs. That's my faaaaavorite) so that I can't hold him. Then he cries and flings his head on my chest and rubs his eyes and babbles baby nonsense about how he doesn't WANT to go to bed until I get fed up and put him in the crib for a Time Out (which, as we all know, is totally for me). Finally I dosed him with Infant Motrin and sang songs with lyrics and he drifted off. But it bugged me, you know? It bugs me when he acts willful, which is a terrible thing to admit. I should be grateful that I have a kid who's ABLE to act willful! Of course then I started spiriling about what a lousy parent I am and how I'm going to ruin my child for life and I shouldn't have gotten so mad when he kicked at me when he was on the changing table because he wasn't really kicking AT me, even though he scowled and grunted and aimed for me, and I REALLY shouldn't have swatted him with his blankie because of it (really shouldn't have done that...) and on and on until I exhausted myself with self-doubt.

I didn't think this crap started until he was 2. What gives, yo? Anyone else feeling like a shitty parent this week?

(Off topic - I need to find something else to relieve teething/growing pain. I feel like I'm constantly giving him pain relievers and as someone who believes in medicating only when necessary, this much Motrin makes me nervous. Frozen teethers work okay - I know you're not supposed to freeze them but he's not interested unless they're really cold. I always wet them so they won't stick to his gums and I hold them so his fingers don't freeze. He absolutely refuses to open up for Orajel but all the homeopathic stuff but seem about as effective as lip balm. What did you do when the teething got bad? Also, if anyone knows how to cook cauliflower for baby food so that it doesn't stink up the joint, I'm all ears.)

Sleep now.

Okay, more venting.

First of all, a roach just crawled across my coffee table. While I am not immune to the fact that I live in a giant high rise in the middle of New York City, surrounded by roughly (figures in head: 46 stories times 14 apartments on each floor, with roughly 35 people per floor equals...) a lot of fucking roaches is what it equals. But still, to have one come out in bright light, with two cats in the room, right in front of a human? That's wrong and disgusting and it makes me feel all crawly and dirty and like I'm a terrible housekeeper and now I'm going to spend the rest of the night worrying that a roach is going to nest in my ear and lay nasty little roach eggs. AND DON'T TELL ME THAT DOESN'T HAPPEN BECAUSE I HEARD A STORY ABOUT IT ON THIS AMERICAN LIFE. I mean sure, we keep the cat food on the floor and yes, there are toast crumbs and baby food droppings and god knows what else under the couch but FOR THE MOST PART I try to keep the place pretty clean. (Vouch for me, people who've seen it.) We just had the exterminator come last week so I'm hoping that they're just coming out of the woodwork to die off but regardless, gross.

Can I just say how great it was to have mom here this week? Just having an extra set of hands to keep the boy from going nuts with the (Almost) 9 Month Blues was invaluable. Man, being 9 months old is really rough. You’ve got the No Sleeps because your body keeps forcing you up on your hands and knees, Separation Anxiety making you extra special spooked because mom and dad aren’t around when you wake up on your hands and knees, Crazy Neurological Development making your brain buzz over the fact that you can recognize words like “sky” and “Millenium Falcon”, Big-Ass Growth Spurts making your joints hurt and your clothes too tight, and Tooth Pain because you can’t seem to cut a break between breaking teeth. Not to mention the fact that at 9 months, certain baby boys (ahem) really want to talk. I was hoping that the whole Baby Sign thing would ease frustration a bit but ever since I spent an entire afternoon convinced that Will was waving “bye-bye” when in fact he was making the sign for “milk” he’s wanted nothing to do with that crap. I can milk as many imaginary cows as I want - he ain’t playing.

Other weirdnesses at 9 months:

- Songs have to have lyrics. Humming “Lullabye” is no longer acceptable. In fact, it is slightly insulting.

- Cheerios are the most perfect food imaginable. All non-Cheerio food will be met with grunts of displeasure.

- Naps are 40 minutes, period. And if you have somewhere very important to go, like, say, a callback where meltdowns are a definite NO, naps may be skipped completely just to freak you out. Yet baby will miraculously hold it together, even though he’s gone 8 HOURS between rest periods.

- Baby will not crawl to father or mother, or even beloved grandmother. Baby will, however, crawl to daddy’s Millenium Falcon.

- Tasting mama’s arm and calf and thigh like a tiny Lestat is not only acceptable, it is necessary. When mama reminds baby “No Biting”, baby has no idea what she means. After all, he isn’t biting. Yet.

Damn you, Blogger!

Okay, I just need to vent a bit. I just wrote a whole huge post - long, involved, hopefully comedic - and I saved it. In fact I saved it several times like I always do, fearful that I will somehow lose a post if I don't save it 17 times before signing off. So what happens? I LOSE THE POST.

So mad. Give me a minute.

Help me out here, parents.

He hasn't even hit the 9 month growth spurt...

A quickie before grandma gets here:

Baby B is doing some kind of crazy sleep b.s. that I suspect is normal but I'm not sure how best to handle. Little dude usually takes 3 naps - the first one: 2 hours after he wakes up, the second: around 11 am, the third: roughly 4 pm. They last anywhere from 40 minutes to 3 hours, depending on how much he slept the night before and whether he's got teething pain and whether the planets are in alignment and I knocked wood and got the bedroom temperature just right. None of this is a problem. The problem is, now I put him down for the first nap, following his cues (eyes getting pink, yawning, pulling ears) but instead of drifting off he pops back up, usually on all fours. He's totally wiped - he falls asleep immediately in my arms - but it's like his body forces him awake. We do this dance two or three times (rock, crib, up! Rock, crib, up!) until the kid is thoroughly awake or I'm thoroughly annoyed. (For the record, he also does this at night.) I suspect he's dropping a nap but I always assumed babies did that because they started sleeping later (HA!) and didn't need it. According to the experts (Moxie, Weissbluth, the sleep expert to whom we paid astronomical sums) babies tend to need a first nap approximately 2 hours after the morning rouse. That'd work fine if he slept till 7, but he's up at 5:20 on the d.o.t. He just can't make it until 9 am. Hell, he can't make it till 8! We've tried putting him to bed later but at 5:20 that cock is crowing.

He's supposed to be down to 2 naps, right? I've been subscribing to the "whatever he needs" philosophy of parenting (need 3 naps? Fine. 2 naps? Whatever) but I feel like I should be guiding this ship a bit more. Am I just making a mountain out of a (perfectly acceptable) molehill?

And the time is 9:05 pm

I will be seriously shoddy with the posting for a bit. Will's grandma is coming to visit (hallelujah!) and all my free time will be spent showing off the babe and sleeping.

See you shortly - pert and well rested!

The boy had his first music class. Boy those teachers are perky.

I know, I know, enough with the politics - where's that cute kid? But the fabulous electriclady wrote a post the other day that got me a-thinkin'. She was kind enough to let me borrow it, so here you go:

I don't talk about politics much here, but anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am a hardcore liberal. Possibly a pinko commie except I like pretty things too much. I am not one of those people who is ever wooed by politicians in national elections, because besides the fact that I live in modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah in the bluest of blue states (and therefore it barely matters how I vote anyway), my vote can pretty much be taken for granted. The Democratic primaries were extra thrilling because for the first time, I was really being wooed--I got emails from Hillary and Barack nearly every day! I saw real campaign commercials! Everyone wanted me!

I consider myself to be pretty respectful of people with beliefs that don't jibe with my own. I may violently disagree with you on an issue, but I will have a courteous conversation with you about it, and I will respect your right to hold your opinion. I will even understand how you can hold that opinion (even if I think there is no way any logical person could arrive at that opinion).

What I am having trouble with right now is the folks who are still undecided in this election--the Independents, the undecideds, the people that both parties will be battling it out for over the next two months. To me, the stakes are so high in this Presidential election, and the contrast between the candidates and their positions on the issues are so stark, that I can't understand how anyone could be genuinely torn between the two. I can understand, say, feeling ambivalent about Obama/Biden personally, but holding your nose and voting Democratic because you want to preserve abortion rights and get out of Iraq. I can understand thinking that McCain just isn't conservative enough for you (before Palin hopped on board, anyway) and deciding to opt out of this election. But to be genuinely torn between these two poles? To be reading the papers or watching TV or standing at the voting booth on election day thinking, "Gosh, I just don't know..."?

I don't get it. If you are one of these people, can you explain it to me?

On a lighter note, Isis is totally taking Top Model this season

Okay, I never ever do this but this election totally has me fired up. The Obama campaign is starting to have financial troubles. He refused to accept government aid for his campaign because he wanted to raise the money by himself, proving that small donations from many can defeat big donations from few, but he's starting to struggle. McCain is 10 points ahead in the polls. 10 points. Sarah Palin admits that she doesn't know much about McCain's position on Iraq, or even what's going on there, even as she ships her son off. She believes in teaching Creationism in school. She belongs to the Wasilla Assembly of God, the people who brought you "Jesus Camp." (Netflix it and weep.) She doesn't just want to overturn Roe vs Wade, she wants to outlaw any and all abortion - even in cases of incest or rape. She has strong religious views on sex before marriage. (I'm very curious how she's squaring this with her own daughter.) She doesn't believe in teaching sex education in the classroom. She doesn't believe that global warming is real. She has absolutely no experience in international relations (she only got her passport last year). Contrary to what some overzealous bloggers have said, she hasn't banned any books - she just asked the local librarian what the librarian would do if she asked her not to carry certain books. (She says it was a rhetorical question.) I want a woman in the White House but I can't shake the feeling that Sarah Palin is just an old white man with tits.

McCain will be 72 when he takes office. 76 at the end of his first term. I'm just saying.

Whether you are a Hillary supporter or an Obama supporter, we have to help each other defeat "McPalin" by helping Barak get the money he needs to spread the word. $10, $20 - people like us make a difference. Please encourage your friends and family to help too.

Donate here.

Let's make this thing happen.

10 points for the guess!

Sorry about the lackadaisical posting. Baby boy has the sniffles and has spent the past few days whining his face off about it. That, combined with a heaping helping of separation anxiety and some hard and fast teething (the toppers are halfway in and I think I see three more on the side) leads to one seriously cranky family. I've also had a flurry of auditions (and by flurry I mean three) which is great - but no sitter, which means dragging the little guy to (insert notoriously unfriendly casting office here). I won't go into details about the awfulness but suffice it to say that I am no longer waffling about baby modeling. N to the O. Period.

On the plus side, my beloved Moxie had a meetup in Central Park which was a good excuse to enjoy the last few days of summer. It was fun and a little awkward, mostly because I tend to get really shy around people I don't know which I cover by being hammy and loud, which is super appealing. I also arrived sans baby (Will fell asleep right before we were supposed to leave) so I didn't have a nice, chubby ice breaker to help me out. Luckily Electriclady was there and offered to share her bamboo mat which saved me from feeling like a total dork. I also started talking to a girl (I always feel weird calling someone a "woman" unless they're significantly older than me) whom I immediately clicked with. As we were talking, she mentioned that her husband was also an actor. I turned and looked into the eyes of one of my biggest mid-90's celebrity crushes.

Oof.

Back when great unwashed indie flicks reigned supreme (let's hear it for '95!) I had a total thing for this guy. He wasn't hot like Ethan or super-sensitive like Robert Sean (I LOVED me some RSL) but he definitely ran with that crowd. When his wife pointed him out I just thought he was another hot hipster dad, but then he looked at me and smiled.

Bam.

The man has aged well. Totally warm... totally easy-going... (I can gush because I crowed about him when I got home. Matt just rolled his eyes and groaned. What can I say - he knows me.) I really wanted to say something to him but I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to launch into a big thing about how great his work is and what a shame it is that he doesn't do more movies but that I really respect his stage work and my god what a gorgeous family he has and did I mention I totally loved you in '95? So instead I just pretended not to know who he was. An actor, you say? Really? How interesting! How about this weather, huh? TOTALLY INSULTING! I mean, it's not like he's Ralph Fiennes (who I totally saw in SoHo once. Really tall and sweaty, and balder than you'd think). The guy does mostly theater now and would probably have loved a little fanfare. But by the time I recovered from his big brown eyes and his fantastic smile and his interesting teeth it felt too late to say anything. Plus I wanted to keep talking to his wife without her thinking I was just using her to inch closer to him. (For the record, I did not inch closer to him.) Eventually, once he left, I got the nerve up to tell his wife how much I admired his work. Hopefully she passed it on. I talked with her awhile longer until I remembered that I'd stuck Matt with Whinypants McGee and decided to take off.

I'm never sure what to do when I meet somebody new that I want to be friends with. It's happened a couple of times, where I'll meet another mommy that I dig. It's one thing if you go to the same playground or class, but when it's a one-time thing it feels creepy to be all, Will you be my friend? ESPECIALLY SINCE I NEVER SEE THE FRIENDS I HAVE! And I can only do playdates in the 'nabe because Will still takes three naps. (By the time I'd get to the Village the kid'd be ready to retire.) What do you guys do when you meet someone cool? Do you feel as sixth grade as I do? And have you guessed who my indie crush is yet?

I still say I was right.

What's an "asshole"?

There are many things that drive me nuts. Lack of sleep. Sarah Palin. Stupidity in all (un-comedic) forms. But what really sets me off are Things That Don't Make Sense. Many things fall into this category (jars that won't open, logic puzzles) but what really chaps my hide is idiocy. Take, for example, yesterday's trip to the post office. It seemed uneventful enough - I needed stamps, they have them - until I tried to pay. The large, bespectacled woman sat behind the counter, eyeballing my credit card.

"I can't read this," she said, examining the signature with the intensity of a border guard.

I apologized, assuming that my signature had rubbed off, but it was fine.

"Your handwriting, miss. I can't read it. I need another piece of ID with your signature on it."

I should have just left. I should have turned around and taken Will to another post office or come back when she was off duty. But... no.

"Um, I don't have anything else with me. Can I just write my signature on a piece of paper so you can compare the two?"

"Miss, I need to see another piece of information with your signature. This signature is not legible."

"Um, I don't know what to tell you. That's my signature. It's never legible."

"I understand that, miss. But since I can't read it I'm not allowed to accept this."

That's when things started to get ugly. I have a very short fuse with Things That Don't Make Sense. Pair a Thing That Doesn't Make Sense with a Person Who Refuses To Listen, and you've got a recipe for world class shit fit.

"What do you mean you're not going to accept it?"

"If I can't read it, I don't have to take it."

"It's a SIGNATURE."

"Yes, and it isn't legible."

Another thing about Things That Don't Make Sense - I feel an intense need to make the person understand why it doesn't make sense. And if that fails - if, say, they simply refuse to use the one brain cell God gave them... Well then. Make way for Superbitch.

"Let me explain", I said, warming up. "Signatures aren't like printing. They're called 'signatures' because they're unique to the individual. Often they are hard to read which is why they have you print AND sign -"

"I know what a signature is, miss."

"Mmm, apparently you don't." (Superbitch was on a roll.) "If I produce another piece of ID it will be just as difficult to read as the one in your hand because my signature doesn't change from card to card. You understand that, right? Because I'd be happy to explain it again."

Seriously, don't mess with Superbitch. She don't play.

I could have gone on (Superbitch has been known to make hour-long appearances in drug stores. Matt calls my temper tantrums "Rite Aid moments") but then I remembered that Will was in the stroller. Not to go all Afterschool Special, but it definitely gave me pause. This kid is going to learn how to be a human by modeling himself on me. Petty, shallow, grumpy me.

Oy.

So I apologized. I apologized for losing my temper and arguing when she was just doing her job. I ate that proverbial crow and it tasted like butt - but I did it. And if I have to, I'll do it again.

Or maybe next time I'll just leave the kid at home.

Anybody else lost it in front of your kid? Care to tell the tale?

HAIR WARS!

Cindy vs. Sarah! FIGHT!

So we all know Sarah Palin's teenage daughter is knocked up. But I'm sure the father-to-be, Levi Johnston, is an absolute dream!

From MSNBC:

On a MySpace page subsequently taken down, Johnston boasts, 'I'm a f - - -in' redneck' who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes. 'But I live to play hockey. I like to go camping and hang out with the boys, do some fishing, shoot some s- - - and just f - - -in' chillin' I guess.' 'Ya f - - - with me I'll kick [your] ass,' he added. He also claims to be 'in a relationship,' but states, 'I don't want kids.'"

Yep, an absolute dream. (Full article here.)

In order to appease the management, we're going from blinding white to linen white. Bold.

I'm hunkered down in our darkened bedroom sipping cold coffee while painters bang things and shout in Spanish about the idiot woman hiding in the bedroom. Someone - AND I'M NOT SAYING WHO (me) - decided it would be a nice idea to repaint the apartment. So here I am, stuck in the bedroom, which is the only room we're not painting. I'm not saying that my husband decided at 9:30 last night that it was a bad idea to paint the baby's room. I'm not saying that we'd spent the entire afternoon cleaning out the closets and taking everything off the walls and moving furniture to the middle of the room, or that we spent $250 on eco-friendly paint specifically so that it would be reasonably baby-safe, just to change "our" minds.

A-hem.

I know he's right. The bedroom has very little ventilation - the window is baby safe and only opens a few inches - and shutting him in a freshly painted room come come nap time is probably a bad move. But a freshly painted room! No more salmon pink paint peeking through the cracks! No more gouged drywall! It's for the best, it's for the best... He'll be attacking the walls with crayons soon anyway...

In other news, we're ankle deep in the dreaded 9-month sleep regression and it's a doozy. Anyone who's been there, feel free to commiserate.