Here comes Santa Claus...

The boy has discovered his penis.

He found it when I left him alone in the crib sans diaper. He spent a few minutes poking it before getting distracted by his blankie so I think we're safe for a few years. Do I even need to mention how much self-control it took to not grab the camera? (The years of potential therapy outweighed the hilarity. But not by much.)

In other news, I'm trying to get into the holiday spirit but I can't say's I'm feeling it yet. I have Christmas cards to make, stockings to hang, aluminum trees to place very, very out of reach, and yet I want none of it. Maybe it's the lack of snow. I am hoping to get to Bergdorf's to see their windows. Their take on the holidays is always strange and beautiful. (Pics complements of Hollister Hovey, whom I pretty sure I want to be when I grow up.)








I would give my left nostril to raid their props closet.

Parents, did you teach your kids about Santa? Parents and non, were you destroyed when you learned it was a lie? (I put two-and-two together when I thought I heard Santa and discovered my grandma stuffing the stockings and chain smoking.) And what do you do to get in the mood? The holiday one, that is. (Although, hey, a girl could always use pointers.)

11 month edition

Thanks for all your fantastic, loving advice. We ended up not going to the doctor, mostly because they weren't open on the day after Thanksgiving and going to the ER seemed more dangerous than the freakin' cold. Instead we loaded him up on pain meds and Vicks-ed the hell out of the boy and I'm happy to report that he's feeling much better. He's still a glazed donut (best Cosby story ever) and continues to cough up a storm but his energy level is sky high. Getting liquids down him is still a trial but he's taken a reasonable amount of formula today so I'm not as concerned. Man, sick babies are scary.

What's also scary? CHRISTMAS. We're not doing presents this year. Between the economy and our teeny abode, shelling out for stuff we don't need seems dumb. Instead we're thinking about sponsoring a child. The hardest part is finding an organization that isn't so in your face Jesus loving. Nothing wrong with Jesus - happen to think he was pretty amazing - but my own personal preference is to go with a slightly more secular place. (Or a tolerant religious one.) We had this same problem when we were looking to adopt. The places we were interested in required a Statement of Faith and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Partially because I'm only vaguely faith-y myself (I believe in something enough to pray, but I'm not sure what that something is) but also because of the implication that those who aren't True Believers are undeserving of children. But enough of my bias. Has anyone sponsored a child? And wasn't Sally Struthers great on Gilmore Girls?

In other child-related news, the boy is standing. Not for any length of time and not by himself yet, but he's definitely learning how to pull himself up. And of course that's ALL HE WANTS TO DO. Pull up, fall down, pull up, fall down, pull up, pause for coughing fit, fall down. And when he's not standing, he's crawling like a pro. Man he's fast! Like, "holy shit, that kid is fast" fast! It's a little unsettling. I used to have roughly 10 seconds once I heard the slap-slap of baby knees to finish up my Facebooking but now? Please. He's in the diaper pail before I can even stand up. (Seriously, the diaper pail? What's the obsession?)

His vocabulary is expanding a bit. Now in addition to the standards (hi, mama, dada, cat, good) we've picked up "this" and "that", and once I swear I heard him say "all done". He is also clapping at the appropriate part of "If You're Happy And You Know It" and waving bye-bye, which technically he was supposed to do months ago but we're more of a shout hooray, kiss good-bye family so I can't blame him for not catching on.

Oh, he has also figured out how to throw overhanded. Please pray for our television set.

I wrote part of this yesterday so pardon the time lapse.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYBODY! Hopefully you're all knee deep in stuffing and happiness. I'm waiting with baited breath to see how my ridiculously expensive turkey will turn out. In my yearly attempt to find a happy bird (organic, free-range, heritage, massaged, draped in gold) I spent far more than a person really should on poultry. And I didn't even get a whole bird! The farmer convinced me that since I was only having 4 people (actually 2 1/2, considering that Amanda doesn't eat meat) I should just buy a breast. I'm a sucker for a perceived bargain so I said sure. How much could a 6 lb. breast be?

It's Thanksgiving. They sell turkeys. You do the math.

Guess how much I paid? Higher. Higher. Trust me, you're not even close.

$35. That's how much I paid. $35.

What can I say? I was at the market, the weather was crisp and festive, the farmer was kindly and reputable... (There was also a line of people huffing and snuffing over the fact that I was taking longer than my allotted 3 minutes of farmer face time. Never underestimate peer pressure in impulse purchases.) When he said the price I just went with it. ($40 for a turkey breast? No prob!) But yeah, prob! Who pays that much for turkey? Pretentious, gullible bleeding hearters who just saw the Sarah Palin turkey video, that's who. (Have you seen that debacle? W-o-w.)

My first attempt at making T-day turkey. Ugly but tasty! (Love the meds in the background. Food styling - not my forte.)

You can take the girl out of the Midwest... From left: Amanda's famous rolls, sweet potato casserole, stuffing, green bean casserole, untouched gravy, more stuffing, mashed potatoes, homemade cranberry sauce, turkey and carrots (for a half-hearted attempt at healthiness)

The verdict?

Mmmm! Goob!

Oh man, the kid is coughing up a storm. He doesn't have the bronchitis bark but it's definitely deep and raw. He's refusing food and the bottle today but at least he's sleeping, which is more than I can say for the past 2 days. Any suggestions on how to get food/liquids down a kid whose mouth is clamped tighter than Ann Coulter's? (Did you hear she got her jaw wired shut? HAPPY HOLIDAYS!) I've tried slushy oj, his favorite grilled squash, egg yolks - anything I can think to tempt him - but aside from a few bites of the Thanksgiving feast, the most he's eaten are 5 or 6 pieces of puffed wheat cereal. It's scary when your baby won't eat. Or drink! That's even worse. Whenever he sees me coming with the sippy cup (or the rubber bulb or the tissues) he starts crying and swatting and "na-na"-ing at me. "For your own good" is a tough concept at 11 months...

Insert sneeze here

Of course with all the phlegm flying around I've managed to catch my own version of Baby Blech. Just follow the trail of wadded up Kleenex and you'll find me. Luckily I have a wonderful, loving, probably-angling-for-something husband who took over baby duty this morning so I could get an extra hour of sleep. I was so tired I didn't hear Will have breakfast (if you can call a handful of puffs and spit-out yogurt "breakfast". Gotta get this kid to eat). I also didn't hear one of the cats puke all over the bed. Now THAT'S tired.

Aw crap, the kid's awake. I was hoping for a marathon nap this morning. Time to make the donuts!

(*Also, if anyone has a suggestion for a leak-free - and BPA-free - sippy cup, I'd be all over it.)

I promise not to do this with the turkey on Thursday

It's true, I am making blueberry pancakes from scratch. It is also true that I just dropped a pancake on the floor, picked it up, washed it off, and threw it back in the skillet to re-cook.

Yes, it has come to that.

I had the croup a few years ago. My tongue grew mold.

Ladies and gents, we have our first cold.

It sounds so innocuous, doesn't it? Like you should wrap a shawl around it and bring it some tea. Very unlike the heartwrenching, sleep-stealing nastiness we experienced last night. Want to feel like the world's shittiest parent? Ignore your baby's middle-of-the-night coughing/muttering/whining in hopes that he'll put himself back to sleep, unaware of the fact that he's so congested that snot has completely covered his face, soaking the front of his pj's. Oh, and also has a 102 degree fever. Mother Of The Year riiiiight here.

When your kid is struggling to breathe (that ragged, "uh-uh-UH-uh" gasp familiar to anyone who's weathered pneumonia) you will do anything. ANYTHING. You will attempt to suction the snot out of the nostrils of a sobbing, wiggling, increasingly freaked out infant using a rubber bulb. (Using that damn thing is like hunting a pig with a fork - hard and stupid. But I suppose it's better than the Little House on the Prairie alternative - sucking it out with your mouth.) You will also spend hours holding him on your shoulder in a vain attempt to help him sleep while he screams in fury and confusion over the fact that he can't breathe. You will consider taking your child to the ER, convinced that the sickness has morphed into strep-croup-pneumonia-bronchitis-tuberculosis and curse the day you took him to that Mommy-Baby yoga class. (Damn those drooly little bastards!) You will realize that "The City That Never Sleeps" totally fucking does. (Why is there a Duane Reade on every corner and yet none of them are open 24 hours?!)

You will also want to make sweet, sweet love to the person who invented Vicks mentholated rub because it is the only thing that works, albeit temporarily. I think I have used up my yearly allotment in the past 24 hours. (Vicks Sweet Dreams foaming bath, Vicks Gentle Vapors plug-in, Vicks VapoRub on his chest... Do I even need to mention what all this menthol is doing to the cats?)

Any suggestions on ways to help baby breathe better are definitely appreciated. So far we have raised the head of the bed using two Harry Potters (those babies are tomes), squeeze-bulbed the nostrils, VapoRubbed everything else, and added a cool mist humidifier. We have not yet run a steam shower (mostly due to the fact that our teensy bathroom has no ventilation and we're waging a war with mold) or put Vicks on his feet. (Has anyone tried this? I've heard rumors that it works but it sounds a little kooksville.) At this point I'm game for just about anything.

That's one way to get my attention

Ooh, I just saw one of my entries featured on the Blogher sidebar! I realize that they feature everyone at some point but it still makes me feel famousy seeing it.

The boy keeps trying to put his tennis ball in the diaper pail. I should probably go take care of that.

If only I could donate sperm...

Today I realized that one day, probably sooner rather than later, the little guy's going to stop napping. And I will never. accomplish. anything. I'm not sure how I can have LESS time than I have now, even though I know it's true. The boy is edging awful close to one nap a day and even when he takes two I spend the whole time playing catch-up with the damn dishes. (Or sweeping or cleaning the toilet or frantically cooking turkey and squash so he'll have something for his next meal.) Naps are no longer luxurious stretches of writing time. Post-putting-the-baby-to-bed-still-more-dishes-cleaning-the-kitchen-sweeping-the-floor-taking-out-the-diaper-pail - is the only time I have to work on my writing and it seems to be taken up by email and the increasingly infrequent blog entry. When I was a nanny I used to get my nose out of joint because the woman I worked for would slip out to go to the gym or have lunch with her friends while I watched her kid. Back then I was so superior with my "I would NEVER!" attitude, fancying myself a better person. Now? Please. If I had the money, hell yeah I'd hire someone to watch my kid for 3 hours so I could go out! I have profound respect for the fact that she felt her time was valuable enough to make a priority instead of sitting around bitching about her loss of self.

Gotta get my hands on some cash... and maybe another glass of wine...

(But look at that boy with his squinchy nose! How could I forgo that?)

Craving pancakes

Warning - I'm wearing an extra tight pair of crankypants tonight. And we're out of wine! (So I'm having whiskey instead. Jameson's and pear cider. Odd.)

Surprisingly, the cranks have nothing to do with baby (he figured out how to clap yesterday! Today I got applauded for lunch. A mama could get used to this) and everything to do with my lack of competitive spirit. Scratch that - it has everything to do with my gigantic competitive spirit and the fact that I can't seem to find stuff to rub in people's faces. That's what it really boils down to, right? Sitting in these auditions, listening to people talk about their latest bookings with carefully modulated nonchalance (the passive-aggressive "mention your latest booking but then talk about how shitty it was" conversation? Ohhhhver it) and not having anything to add other than an occasional sympathetic nod ("Yes, the Four Seasons IS a terrible hotel") bites. Especially when you've spent the past 45 minutes parsing your two lines of copy, wondering if you should've worn khakis instead of jeans. I know it's all insecurity. Everyone's afraid, and afraid of seeming afraid. And it's not just actors - the uber-mommies have been on a tear. I hope I'm not stepping on toes but some of these big city mommies are the worst! Today I overheard two women one-upping each other on how many years they planned to breastfeed (one was planning on doing it until age 3, the other "whenever she (the daughter) asks to stop") and while I have no problem with breastfeeding (we all know what I went through trying to do it) I do have a problem with the palpable amounts of "I'm better than you" radiating between them. I see it all the time here. Sleep schedule mommies arguing with "they're only young once"ers, sling mommies giving the stink eye to stroller mommies... (Quick side note - I love babies in slings but there's one woman I'm friendly with who's been hauling her baby around for over a year now and the kid is a GIANT. He was 25 lbs at 3 months old. He's about 14 months now and is the size of a 4 year old. She can barely heft him to get him strapped on. It's so hard not to offer her a lift in my stroller.) The one-two punch of auditions/mommy weirdness has me feeling decidedly done. I'm not naive enough to advocate communal hand-holding - this is New York City, and I have elected to go into one of the most competitive careers around - but what do you do when you feel the creeping oog of "Well MY kid..." making its way up your gullet? (This also applies to resume rattling, boyfriend enhancing, or financial exaggeration.) In yoga class on Thursday we were supposed to introduce ourselves and say our child's name and the first thing out of Mommy #1's mouth? "This-is-Jonah-and-he's-already-walking-and-he's-only-8-months-old-and-he-has-two-teeth-and-he's-already-saying-mama-dada-ball!"

Did every mother in the class immediately troll their brains for their youngster's latests? You bet we did. So much for the benefits of yoga.

How do you all handle the scoodges? Or is this just a big city thing?

Every letter makes a sound! S says SSSSS!

Well, I have successfully consumed a glass of wine and 3 snack-sized boxes of Junior Mints so I think I'm ready to begin. Hard to pull myself away from the dinner-time TV, though. It's the only TV I get these days, what with me being one of those parents... you know, the ones who refuse to let their kid watch children's television or eat non-nutritious foods. It's not that I'm opposed to those things (if I never let the boy watch "Sesame Street", how's he supposed to learn Spanish?) but I know me: 5 minutes will turn into 30 minutes will turn into "Mama needs to take a trip to Tijuana. Here's the remote, kid." So I clamp down. No TV until age 3. No sugar/salt until you're (insert randomly chosen age). And most importantly, NO ELECTRONIC TOYS THAT TALK. This is a total holdover from my nanny days. It was a Dora the Explorer jobbie that did me in. After the 8,0000th perky-voiced repetition ("Maracas! El maracas!") I vowed never to let my child play with anything that required batteries. His toys would be wooden. Creative. Preferably Amish. Which worked fine until he started dumping out the entire contents of his toy box, staring forlornly at the pile of boring. That, combined with his obsession with button pushing (TV on. TV off. TV on. TV off. On. Of. On. Off. On. Off) led his father and I to conclude that he needed something new to play with. Something with buttons. Something that required batteries. So we went to the massive Toys R Us - the one with the indoor ferris wheel - and wandered the aisles. My plan was to get an old favorite, something wooden-esque, maybe a farm with a barn door that mooed when you opened it. Instead I found plastic. Lots and lots of plastic. And noise. Everything talks! Bless the voiceover artists who've lent their gifts to Elmo and Dora and John The Farmer (my favorite Fisher-Price toy has gone electric!) but I don't need you anywhere near my house. Unfortunately my son didn't get the memo because by the time we hit the Leap Frog section he was a goner. And this was no minor infatuation I'm talking about here - this was full-blown, grabby-grabby, where have you been all my life L-O-V-E. I let him play with each one so he could pick the toy he wanted (well, the one he sort of wanted. His first choice, the unbearably obnoxious Leap Frog Phonics Radio, was nixed immediately). Eventually he chose (clutched, horded) the Leap Frog Telephonics. It has a keyboard and whenever you push a letter it sings and chats in a vaguely 1940's telephone operator voice.

We decided to return it the next day.

Unfortunately my son didn't get the memo.

Baby B spied it as I was slipping it into the stroller and let out a series of yelps that can best be described as orgasmic. Then he slap-slap-slapped himself over to wrech his beloved toy out of his mother's evil, battery-denying hands, and spent the next half-hour pushing the letter Z to show her how much he loved her. ("Z says ZZZZ!")

Raise your hands if you let your kids play with crap. Now raise your hands if you were horrified to discover how much you enjoyed the crap when it got you 20 minutes of free time. (Oh, the hypocrisy.)

I saw comedian Lewis Black this morning. He was carrying a breakfast sandwich and muttering.

Never say "Well that was easy!" after putting your child to bed.

Don't reach for that glass of wine, all smug over the fact that the baby went down in record time. Don't wander over the the computer to check Facebook, all rosy with Day Over, content to crow that the boy was even a little bit awake (just like in the books!) because I guarantee, five minutes later:

"Mama?"

"Hi! Hihihihihi! Mama?"

Oh maaamaaa...

Is there some sort of 11 month milestone that I've missed? One that causes extreme alertness? Because dude does not-does not-does noooooot want to sleep anymore. Night time is still bearable (after I go back in he usually conks out quick) but naps? Please. I've been off the sleep books for awhile but I thought that nearly-11 month olds were only supposed to be going 2 1/2 - 3 hours between sleeps. Am I behind the times? Because baby is having none of that. He might handle a 3 hour before his first nap but that second one... He'll easily go four, sometimes more. (Sometimes there won't be any nap at all and he'll go for seven or eight hours before collapsing in a heap at 5:45, even though mama and dada did their DAMNDEST to convince the boy that sleep was necessary. Love those days.)

He CAN'T be transitioning to one nap. He can't. I won't allow it. Maybe it's the teething or the constant urge to stand (with help from mama. We've just mastered crawling; walking is probably still a ways away) or maybe there's a neurological thing I just don't know about but I can't for the life of me figure out how to control these naps. I'm trying very hard to let him lead but it's frustrating not knowing when my next break is. (That's what naps are really for, right?) Bless those of you who were able to get your kid on a schedule but my boy wants nothing to do with that nonsense. TRY AS I MIGHT. Plus I have a child who gives no sleep signals. None. Once in a blue, blue moon I'll get a yawn or a half-hearted eye rub but usually all I have to go on is my gut and a slight pinkish hue around the eyes. And Weissbluth's "9 and 1" schedule can bite my ass. Bite it. BITE. IT.

Is this normal? Is there some crazy developmental thing that I missed? And is there a magic elf who will clean my house and cook my meals so that I can blog during naps instead of work because I'm really wanting one of those.

For the record, there's been a ton of good stuff too but the gripes are more fun to convey.

Wowee. Wowwwww-eeeeee. What a week, folks. Maybe it's the teething or maybe little dude's coming down with something but hand me a friggin' fork, peeps. I'm not saying that there were a few nights when I wanted to dump the kid on the curb with a "FREE TO GOOD HOME" sign but if there'd been a gypsy camp nearby they might've ended up with a small, bossy addition to their tribe. Someone is learning that they can assert their own will and while I'm all for it, it's more in theory than in practice. Don't want to eat your green beans? I'll hide them in your potatoes. Don't want to wear shoes? I'll zip up your strollercozy and keep your feet warm that way. Don't want to put your diaper on? Don't want to stay put on the changing table? DO want to flip over on your tummy and inadvertantly (even though I totally saw it coming) grind your foot into the middle of a poo-filled diaper, effectively smearing it all over yourself while trying to crawl to your death off the side of the table while mama curses at herself for not changing you on the floor even though she can't quite figure out how to do it without leaving your feet near her ohsokickable face? Yeah, don't really have a solution to that one other than getting really, really pissed off. Matt tried to help the other day by saying NO firmly and loudly as only daddies can. It worked beautifully for about 10 seconds until the boy decided to flip over on the changing table again. Only this time when Matt said no and went to restrain him, Little Dude firmly and loudly said NO right back.

Um...

I thought the Terrible Twos (BUT HE'S ONLY 10 MONTHS OLD!) were about frustration at not being able to communicate but the kid's practically Marcel Marceau when he wants something. It's more that this behavior feels like a tiny baby fuck you! (Insert tiny fists flipping the bird.) I could go on about the defiance and willfulness and the fact that I know he's just acting on id so why do I still let it get to me? and man, the apple sure doesn't fall far from the tree and is it time for a drink yet? but you've all been here, I suspect. Some of you more than once.

While we're on the subject of being totally irrational, can we discuss feeling like the less desirable parent? I know that my baby loves me, adores me, thinks I'm the moon and the stars... but next to daddy I am chopped liver. I'd understand it more if Matt weren't around - the less available parent is always perceived as "better", at least for awhile - but I'm lucky enough to have a strong, fair, parenting situation. Matt's home during the day and spends almost as much time with the boy as me. (Maybe it's closer to 60-40. Okay, 70-30.) But it's still daddy that gets the excited morning kisses while I get the equivalent of a cool handshake. It's hard not to feel a little grumped out upon occasion. (Daddy didn't lose his tits and his tummy bringing you into the world, kid!) I'm not alone in this, right? Right?

Okay, eat woman, eat.

No means no, kid. And I mean NO.

Is it possible for the Terrible Twos to start at 10 1/2 months? Oy to the monsterfarming oy...

More when I get some sleep. Oy...

Ready? Set?

Can we just take a moment and acknowledge the fact that it is impossible to be a writer and have a clean house? I am officially unable to sweep and do the dishes and clean the litter box and cook and write. Naps just aren't that long. And since someone throws a shit fit the minute he's placed in a containment device (RIP Exersaucer) trying to multi-task during business hours isn't a possibility. Theoretically I could have a less clean house (and therefore more time) but trust me, I'm doing the minimum. If I had a bigger house I could shove the dishes in a closet and call it a day but kiddo is mobile to the nth and if I don't keep ahead of the litter (and the dust and the crumbs from the high chair that sits on the floor because I haven't had time to clean the dining room table that has been parked on our balcony for the last year, along with two benches, three folding chairs, and a bar), the boy and his pincer grasp will do the work for me. (Hey mom! Cat poop tastes like chicken!) Needless to say I love my boy more than life, feel totally blessed to have him, wouldn't trade a minute, but it can all start to feel a bit Groundhog Day. It's not that I miss my old life - I just see people with babies who seem to be able to do it all and I can't figure out how the hell they manage! They go to bars with strollers and bring their kids to expensive restaurants and live their life with a song in their hearts and a child on their chests. My son wants nothing to do with napping anywhere other than his crib which is great but when you're 10 blocks away from the apartment and the kid is hitting meltdown because you got the timing wrong on that audition/trip to the bank/baby class, it'd be nice if the kid could snooze instead of scream. No way he'd sit still long enough for me to get my drink on. (And if I'm spending $100 on dinner, ain't no way I'm bringing the baby.) At the end of the day, all I want to do is pop a pizza in the oven, pour some wine, and pray for a "Scream Queens" marathon. (Have you watched that yet? I heart VH-1.) Finishing Chapter 2 on my work-in-progress sounds like a big fat "nope". Some of you have childREN. Plural. And jobs. And yet you seem to have the energy type things semi-regularly and see movies and have sex (see: "childREN") whereas I feel like a tub of blah. There has to be a way to balance better. My mom keeps reminding me that I don't have to cook for the kid - that baby food and Spaghetti-o's exist for a reason - but I'm obsessed with nutrition. (For the boy, at least. I could give two craps what Matt and I eat.) Speaking of baby feeding, he's started eating meat. Real meat, not the pureed stuff he's been gumming. I browned some ground turkey with onions and holy smoley, youd've thought it was the Second Coming what with all the nummy noises. He's been eating solids for awhile but carrots and squash still seems like beginner food. Meat seems like MEAT. By the way, can I get a hell yeah about the time suckage of finger food? The boy took an hour at lunch and only managed to polish off 2 baby carrots, 4 bites of squash, and a few fistfuls of turkey. I suspect he should be consuming more but after an hour, dude, I'm done. (He's still getting 24 oz. of formula so I know he's not starving). Between the poking and the examining and the almostinthemouth and the dropping and the dropping and the almostinthemouth,ohnodropping it takes seven tries before anything gets ate. With purees I could just shovel it in, knowing that he was getting X amount of calories (and that I'd be done with dinner before he turned 10). Unfortunately I can't just put stuff on his tray and leave the room; he's in the fistfuls phase so there's no room for wandering. But man, finger food is teeeedious.

Oop, I hear the dulcet tones...

Working up a big batch of bitch! Haven't forgotten ye!

I have, however, lost any and all time/ability to write on a daily basis. Will try to remedy that today.

Yesterday I waited in line for 30 minutes outside of the New York Times for a copy of the Obama paper, along with almost 3,000 other people. SOLD OUT!

The more I audition, the less I like actors.

I was at an audition yesterday and overheard this little gem. Two women, obvious "frenemies" (you could hear the dislike in their Heeeeeeeys of hello) were attempting to make chit-chat in the overcrowded casting office.

Girl #1 (pointing at her friend's blouse): "Oh my god, is that Marc Jacobs?"
Girl #2: "I don't think so..."
Girl #1 (reaching around and grabbing tag): "Can I - ? Oh."
Girl #2: "Yeah, I think it's Anthropologie or something."
Girl #1: "I just wondered because looks exactly like one of mine that's Marc Jacobs."
Girl #2: "Oh." (pause) "What are you here for?"
Girl #1 (rolls eyes): "Just something upstairs..."

For any male readers who may not be well versed in Bitchery, allow me to parse this for you. Between the none-too-subtle dig at Girl #2's inability to afford Marc Jacobs (while letting it be known that Girl #1 can) and the faux-disdain of having to go "upstairs" (in this case, to the Callback Floor), Girl #1 swiftly and effectively peed all over Girl #2's day. I bring this up not because it was unusual, but because I see it every freaking day. I don't see men doing this, only women. What's up?

Granted, it's difficult to have a meaningful conversation that starts with "So, what have you been up to?" (Cue the resume showdown!) It's stupid and petty and nobody really gives a beep and it doesn't take a Psych major to understand that I'm toooooootally culpable when it comes to shit like this. If I'm feeling insecure and I can go from zero to Bitch in 6 seconds flat. Lucky for me the baby is like an automatic free pass from the pissing contest. It's hard to trump "creating life" when comparing accomplishments, even if your days are spent in oversized t-shirts and drawstring pants. (She says, looking down at her oversized t-shirt and drawstring pants.)

Did I mention that on Tuesday I auditioned to play a cyclops?

In other news, the boy has been asleep for 3 1/2 hours. I'm re-reading your comments about naps and ignoring the laundry.

(Today's question: Is my kid the only one who never gets the 3 meals, 2 snacks he supposedly needs? Seriously, there aren't enough hours in his day. Also, what gives with the only-eating-yogurt-and-wheat-puffs, kid? We're going on days.)

Go-BAMA! Go-BAMA!

First off, I feel like the meat in a sandwich of awesome. (Although McCain's concession speech left me a little weepy because you could tell he'd been crying. ) Still, thrilled for Obama. It was like New Year's Eve times twenty in the city. Horns, shouting, confetti... Awesome.

Now back to your regularly scheduled whine.

That'll learn me.

Complain JUST ONCE about the boy sleeping too much...

Yep, bub was up at his usual hour. Did it matter that he'd gone to bed two hours later than usual? No it did not. More importantly, did it matter that mama went to bed at the ripe old hour of 11:30 (versus the sensible 9:30) since surely the boy would sleep in?

We all know the answer to this one.

I'm trying to inch his bedtime later but at 6:30 the boy is done. He sleeps 11 hours on average which is great - but you do the math. And because he gets up so early, it's very hard for him to stay up. And even when he does go to bed later it doesn't seem to matter. 5:20 rolls around -

Mama?
Ma-ma!
Maaa-maaa!

I'm not saying I left him in the crib for an entire hour this morning (he seemed okay once he found his blankie) but we all know what I'm saying.

So what's life like at 10 1/2 months? Grabby. Reachy. With a little sobby talkback thrown in to keep things interesting. The boy has discovered that he can reach a heap of new stuff if he pulls himself to his knees. (Oh, the state of our bookshelf.) He's also obsessed with pushing buttons. A few days ago he learned to turn on the TV. I thought I'd be a genius and teach him to turn the TV off. All you parents know exactly where this is going. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. (small break to pull out all the DVDs and mess with the radio) On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off.

Oy.

I tried to distract him by giving him a lovely (de-batteried) remote control which he promptly tossed over his shoulder. (Mama didn't raise no fool.)

Lastly, we have a new tooth (9 total) and a new word. ("Hi!") He has figured out how to work the stereo and if he doesn't like what's on the radio, he turns on the CD player. Yes, really. And yesterday I walked past Sayid from LOST. Shorter than you'd expect. (I also walked past Angelina Jolie today, swear to Christmas. She was wearing the requisite sunglasses/giant hat combo that signals Celebrity but it was the giant dude guarding her that really drew attention. She was rushing down the sidewalk and looked like she'd just gotten her lips done. HUUUUUGE.)

Assume wine is involved with this post.

Apparently there is something called a "meme" going around and I have been tagged. I don't know what a meme is but it wants me to tell you seven random things about myself and since I haven't met a chance to be narcissistic that I didn't like, I'm gonna.

1) I have a large scar that runs from underneath my left boob around to the middle of my back. It's from the heart surgery I had when I was five. People often ask if it's from a boob job which seems odd, considering my boobs.

2) I wanted to be a professional ballet dancer from the ages of 10 to 17. When I realized that no matter how hard I tried I would never be good enough (or thin enough, or flexible enough) I stopped. I still love ballet and think that there is nothing better than sitting in Lincoln Center, listening to the orchestra tune up.

3) I saw my first penis in 2nd grade at my babysitter's house. The boy's name was Mike Holliday. He climbed up on the couch, pulled down his pants and yelled "SUPERMAAAAN!" before jumping off. I assumed all boys did that.

4) I spent the bulk of the 4th grade pretending to be married to Almanzo Wilder.

5) The talent I most wish I had is the ability to sing, followed by the ability to play the cello, followed by the ability to cook.

6) I find cereal for breakfast depressing.

7) As a child I hated peanut butter and jelly. Throughout the 6 years of grade school, I brought my lunch, and I would only eat two things: bean with bacon or cream of potato soup. Thank god for thermoses.

They were sold out of Cowardly Lions.

It started out okay, but take a few too many pictures and you get this.

For the record, 10-month-olds don't particularly care about "springing forward" or "falling back". For the record.

The boy has been on an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kick that might have won points with the Puritans but peeves his mama to the max. Little buddy needs to reset his time clock, pronto. How early is early? Try 3:45, peeps. I never thought I'd call 5:30 "sleeping in" but I'd give my right ear for a few extra winks. After his wake up bottle I can occasionally lull him back to sleep if I immediately throw on daddy's super-soft robe, turn on the white noise, and launch into "Wheels On The Bus". Sometimes that gets me an extra 40 minutes, sometimes it gets me a whole lotta baby backtalk. We're trying to edge his bedtime closer to 6:30 or 7 (versus the 5:30 he seems so attached to) because I am incapable of good mothering before dawn.

* UPDATE! This first part is no longer applicable. I hope.

Speaking of early morning rituals, apparently the boy is supposed to be off the bottle by 1. Is that true? Because that early morning bottle is ingrained. The other bottles he could probably do without but I can't imagine trying to get 8 oz. down him, especially at that hour, using a cup. He's just started figuring out how to get the sippy to his mouth (the actual head tilt is still tricky. Electriclady, I hear about becoming the kid's "drink bitch") and skipping it and going straight to breakfast seems weird. Usually we do a bottle when he wakes up, followed by breakfast an hour later. I know most of you breastfed so you probably didn't have to worry about it (why is it more acceptable to breastfeed after 1 year than it is to bottle feed?) Still, weaning is weaning and most of you have done that. Anybody have advice?

To wake or not to wake...

I'm actually working on a real entry (I swear) but I have a pressing question: Should you ever wake a sleeping baby?

Here's the thing - last night the boy slept for 13 1/2 hours. I'll give you a minute to re-read that since it couldn't possibly be true, but I swears it is. At 5:30 am I heard him stirring so I made his bottle, brushed my teeth, fed the cats, and made tea before realizing that he wasn't waking up. So I put the bottle away and went back to sleep. At 6:30 I woke up, convinced he'd be awake any second, reheated the bottle - and then realized that he still wasn't waking up. At 7:30 I took a shower, drank my (now cold) tea and convinced myself that something was gravely wrong with my child. Then he woke up.

He took a 3 hour nap this morning and he's going on hour two for nap #2. I AM NOT COMPLAINING. (We all know I'm not complaining) but I'm afraid he thinks that this is the Big Sleep versus tiny nap. We're edging on 5 pm, peeps. What time is he going to go to bed tonight?! I'm tempted to go wake him but the immortal parenting mantra (NEVER WAKE A SLEEPING BABY) has kept me from committing. And yes, I fully realize that this is about the best problem a mother could have.

Watch this!

We all know I'm an Obama-phile but if this McCain had run, I might've been swayed... (Plus I love Seth Meyers. Did you know he wrote all the Tina Fay/Sarah Palin skits?)