Wednesday, June 11, 2008
The peach cobbler flavor sounds disgusting but so...isn't...
It is very hard to do something about my "bye-bye arms" when places like Ruby et Violette keep cropping up in my neighborhood.
Please momma, may I have some more?
We've been rocking a hardcore heatwave here in NYC, so yesterday I took Will to the 2nd floor playground to experience the sprinklers. He spent most of the time hollering, baffled as to why his mother would take him out of his nice air conditioned apartment and throw water on his face. Good one. Good one.
Sleep is still shit. I think I've spotted an eye tooth breaking through so maybe that's what all the hubbub's about. Right now I'm going to sleep at 9 pm to try and compensate for the early, early mornings but it's really hard to hit the hay while the sun's still shining. (So much television I could be watching...) Solid food is still good for a laugh although I realized yesterday that I have no idea how to proceed. At what point does he move to cereal with every feeding? And when do I start increasing the amounts and cutting back on formula? I'm thinking of introducing avocado next week, but do I do it instead of cereal or in addition to? I've tried to find this stuff on the web but all I can find are variations on "follow your child's lead" which is totally unhelpful.
Advice?
Sleep is still shit. I think I've spotted an eye tooth breaking through so maybe that's what all the hubbub's about. Right now I'm going to sleep at 9 pm to try and compensate for the early, early mornings but it's really hard to hit the hay while the sun's still shining. (So much television I could be watching...) Solid food is still good for a laugh although I realized yesterday that I have no idea how to proceed. At what point does he move to cereal with every feeding? And when do I start increasing the amounts and cutting back on formula? I'm thinking of introducing avocado next week, but do I do it instead of cereal or in addition to? I've tried to find this stuff on the web but all I can find are variations on "follow your child's lead" which is totally unhelpful.
Advice?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I never thought I'd miss 4:30 am
Why have you betrayed me?!
After a nice run of 10 hour nights, we're back to crapsville at bedtime. We've hit the 26 week sleep regression and that, combined with seemingly endless teething, means no sleep 'til Brooklyn. For the past two nights Will's started crowing at - read and weep - 3 am. And nothing, nothing, nothing will get him back to sleep. Last night I rocked him for 45 minutes before throwing his diaper covered ass into bed. I even whipped out the boobs, I was so desperate. Luckily the fact that there's no milk doesn't seem to bother him; he just uses them like a pacifier. (Psst - hey, Will. That plastic thing I'm always trying to get you to take? PACIFIER!) Between 3 and 6 am he dozed for about 20 minutes, which is 20 minutes longer than I got. Sleeping with your baby seems like such a lovely, cuddly thing but now that Will has teeth the kid is part shark. I know he doesn't mean to bite - he's just too relaxed to keep his tongue in place - but waiting for the inevitable chomp makes sleep impossible. He bites, I jolt, he cries, I cry... Lather, rinse, repeat until 6 am when daddy takes over. Same goes for naps. The only thing keeping me afloat is the knowledge that this, too, shall pass. (Remind me to frame that and hang it above the crib.)
On the fun side, Will had his first taste of solid food the other day. I think his face says it all.
Monday, June 9, 2008
UPDATE: It's just teething.
Sorry I've been quiet - the young'un has a bad case of the unidentifiable sicks. Low-grade fever for several days, lethargic, crying and chewing... Could be teething, could be an ear infection. Whatever it is we want to nip it in the bud because we're flying home for a visit next Monday (empty your schedules, Kansans) and we can't have exploding ears. Although it'll be great to bring his cuteness to the masses, flying with an infant sounds about as much fun as flying with an infant. (How do you change a blowout poop in those airplane bathrooms?)
I had another audition this week. I didn't think it was possible to suck harder than I did on Monday but apparently I underestimated myself. It was for Mr. Clean Magic Erasers - those little white spongy things that are highly effective yet inherently suspect. (How do they work so good?) The spot was a variation on the tried-and-true: savvy mom with paper towel versus Mr. Clean. Guess who wins? I hate these kind of auditions; the ones where you have to mime clean for 5 minutes. Seriously, I only have so many "Wow! This is amazing!" faces. Because there was a child in the spot, the place was packed with kids. Professional kids. A room full of kids is crazy enough, but a room full of kids whose sole job is to stand out in a crowd is practically intolerable. Can I go on record as saying that the only thing creepier than professional kids are the parents of professional kids? The stage parents I see on TV seem so maniacal and self-centered I assumed they were playing for the cameras. After witnessing the real deal I can vouch that that shit is 100% truth. At one point the mother next to me hissed at her 4-year-old, "We're not eating for hours so don't even think of asking!" Who says that? To their FOUR YEAR OLD? Jesus lady, the kid's paying your bills. Pack some snacks.
I had another audition this week. I didn't think it was possible to suck harder than I did on Monday but apparently I underestimated myself. It was for Mr. Clean Magic Erasers - those little white spongy things that are highly effective yet inherently suspect. (How do they work so good?) The spot was a variation on the tried-and-true: savvy mom with paper towel versus Mr. Clean. Guess who wins? I hate these kind of auditions; the ones where you have to mime clean for 5 minutes. Seriously, I only have so many "Wow! This is amazing!" faces. Because there was a child in the spot, the place was packed with kids. Professional kids. A room full of kids is crazy enough, but a room full of kids whose sole job is to stand out in a crowd is practically intolerable. Can I go on record as saying that the only thing creepier than professional kids are the parents of professional kids? The stage parents I see on TV seem so maniacal and self-centered I assumed they were playing for the cameras. After witnessing the real deal I can vouch that that shit is 100% truth. At one point the mother next to me hissed at her 4-year-old, "We're not eating for hours so don't even think of asking!" Who says that? To their FOUR YEAR OLD? Jesus lady, the kid's paying your bills. Pack some snacks.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
I have a new boyfriend and his name is the Westin Hotel
I know you've all been waiting...
HOTEL NIGHT!
I was like a kid in a candy store. A candy store with a mini bar. Not only had the reservations manager upgraded us to a spa room (aw yeah, boyee!) we had a corner room which was even awesomer. (I've lived in NYC for over a decade and I still get choked up over my city's skyline.) So what does $500 per night get you? Massage chairs! Relaxation cds! One big-ass TV! Not to mention the most comfortable bed on the planet. (Available for purchase through westin.com. I'm saving up.) Because the room was geared for mind and body relaxation they'd included some logic puzzles in our guest packet. Unfortunately brain teasers tend to make me feel stupid which is the opposite of relaxing, but I guess that's why they have booze in the mini fridge. Me being me, I immediately pilfered everything that wasn't nailed down which included, but was not limited to:
- 2 packages of Starbucks coffee
- 4 different kinds of Tazo tea
- Assorted toiletries
I stopped myself from taking the stationary, but only just.
And yes, the massage chair was everything I dreamed it would be. That was me, decked out in a big fluffy robe - glass of champagne in one hand, massage remote in the other. (Lower back kneading is where it's at, kids.) It goes without saying that spending time with my husband was the best part; lovely and restorative and blah and blah free massage! And room service! (Sadly, not so free.) We ate steak and drank a teensy (but $22) bottle of cabernet from the mini bar and had a really great time. We plan on doing it again next year. Hopefully we'll be able to stay longer than three hours. (Almost forgot about the baby...)
HOTEL NIGHT!
I was like a kid in a candy store. A candy store with a mini bar. Not only had the reservations manager upgraded us to a spa room (aw yeah, boyee!) we had a corner room which was even awesomer. (I've lived in NYC for over a decade and I still get choked up over my city's skyline.) So what does $500 per night get you? Massage chairs! Relaxation cds! One big-ass TV! Not to mention the most comfortable bed on the planet. (Available for purchase through westin.com. I'm saving up.) Because the room was geared for mind and body relaxation they'd included some logic puzzles in our guest packet. Unfortunately brain teasers tend to make me feel stupid which is the opposite of relaxing, but I guess that's why they have booze in the mini fridge. Me being me, I immediately pilfered everything that wasn't nailed down which included, but was not limited to:
- 2 packages of Starbucks coffee
- 4 different kinds of Tazo tea
- Assorted toiletries
I stopped myself from taking the stationary, but only just.
And yes, the massage chair was everything I dreamed it would be. That was me, decked out in a big fluffy robe - glass of champagne in one hand, massage remote in the other. (Lower back kneading is where it's at, kids.) It goes without saying that spending time with my husband was the best part; lovely and restorative and blah and blah free massage! And room service! (Sadly, not so free.) We ate steak and drank a teensy (but $22) bottle of cabernet from the mini bar and had a really great time. We plan on doing it again next year. Hopefully we'll be able to stay longer than three hours. (Almost forgot about the baby...)
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
No, he will not be America's Next Child Star
I went to my first post-baby commercial audition yesterday and you know what? I really haven't missed it. I knew it was going to suck as soon as my agent called.
"HiAlishaThisisJeremyfromBuchwaldDavidhasanauditionforyoutomorrowatnoon. You'llbeplayinganursesopleasewearscrubs."
Scrubs.
Aside from the fact that I haven't gone shopping for clothes since I was pregnant, aside from the fact that I'm still - yes, still - schlumping around in maternity gear, aside from the fact that I don't own a monsterfarting thing that resembles scrubs (I couldn't even find anything that was blue) I was still hoping I could pull something off. In the end, the best I could come up with was a stretched out nursing tee (it was gray which is sort of like blue, sort of) and a pair of chinos that nicely accentuated my post-pregnancy muffin top. I figured I wouldn't be the only one there half-assing it. I mean, who has scrubs?
Apparently EVERY OTHER ACTRESS IN TOWN, that's who.
The waiting room was packed with nurses of every shape, color, and age. In scrubs. Before I could get too self-conscious about my lack of costuming, I noticed a gaggle of women in the corner toting newborns. And I mean newborns - like, weeks old. The women were all eyeing each other, talking in strained, high pitched voices, the kind certain mothers get when they're pretending to be interested in each other's babies but they're really just sizing them up. Just then the casting director came out and, after a quick glance around the room, zeroed in on Will.
"How old is he?" she asked, pointing a clipboard at me.
"Uh, five months."
"How much hair does he have?"
I was pretty sure this was a trick question since Will was sitting right there, so I just made a grand swooping gesture next to his head like he was a refridgerator on The Price Is Right.
"He'll work," she said. "Bring him in."
"Actually," I said, ignoring the suddenly silent herd of stage mommies, "he's not scheduled to audition. I am."
"You're here for it?"
"Uh-huh," I said, smoothing my rumpled tee.
"Oh," she said. "Well, bring him in anyway."
So I did. All I had to do was hold him so they could see the back of his head which took all of five seconds. Unfortunately I still had to audition, and aside from nurses and mommies, nobody else from the spot was there. Which meant we had to wait.
And then Will started to yawn.
At the risk of sounding like one of those mommies - you know, the ones who freak if their child eats sugar or misses their Italian For Toddlers class - naps are a big deal. Before I had a baby I used to hear parents going on and on about their kids' nap schedules and I'd roll my eyes. I mean, it was a frigging nap. Who cared? But as someone who until very recently spent every single day holding her baby during the entire 4+ hours of his naptime and knows that this newfangled napping-in-the-crib thing is tenuous at best, and whose baby will not, not, not sleep in a stroller because New York City is a very exciting place, naptime is sacred. And with Will, naptime is all about rituals and timing. If the rituals or timing are off, naptime goes to shit. And if naptime goes to shit, bedtime goes to shit. And if bedtime goes to shit, my life goes to shit because we all know I do not. do. well. without sleep. All of this must have read on my face because a lovely woman who happened to have the first audition slot offered to let me take her place, which was about the nicest thing anyone has done for me in months. I was thrilled. Unfortunately the casting director was not. After much sighing and scowling on her end (and apologizing on mine), she let me go first. And I suuuucked.
Between thinking about my yawning (soon to be bawling) baby and the complicated, ER-worthy directions, not to mention the fact that I hadn't auditioned in over a year, I was dreadful. I didn't even warrant the "thanks for coming in" kiss of death, I stunk so hard. But I did get Will home before he hit meltdown so that's... something.
I used to think about getting Will into the baby modeling scene but after this, I'm rethinking. Granted, his bit was fine - for him. I just couldn't stand those mothers. It's one thing to have to deal with weird, competitive vibes when they're aimed at you but when they're aimed at your child it's just gross.
Anyway, I'll be over here in this corner banging my head for a bit.
"HiAlishaThisisJeremyfromBuchwaldDavidhasanauditionforyoutomorrowatnoon. You'llbeplayinganursesopleasewearscrubs."
Scrubs.
Aside from the fact that I haven't gone shopping for clothes since I was pregnant, aside from the fact that I'm still - yes, still - schlumping around in maternity gear, aside from the fact that I don't own a monsterfarting thing that resembles scrubs (I couldn't even find anything that was blue) I was still hoping I could pull something off. In the end, the best I could come up with was a stretched out nursing tee (it was gray which is sort of like blue, sort of) and a pair of chinos that nicely accentuated my post-pregnancy muffin top. I figured I wouldn't be the only one there half-assing it. I mean, who has scrubs?
Apparently EVERY OTHER ACTRESS IN TOWN, that's who.
The waiting room was packed with nurses of every shape, color, and age. In scrubs. Before I could get too self-conscious about my lack of costuming, I noticed a gaggle of women in the corner toting newborns. And I mean newborns - like, weeks old. The women were all eyeing each other, talking in strained, high pitched voices, the kind certain mothers get when they're pretending to be interested in each other's babies but they're really just sizing them up. Just then the casting director came out and, after a quick glance around the room, zeroed in on Will.
"How old is he?" she asked, pointing a clipboard at me.
"Uh, five months."
"How much hair does he have?"
I was pretty sure this was a trick question since Will was sitting right there, so I just made a grand swooping gesture next to his head like he was a refridgerator on The Price Is Right.
"He'll work," she said. "Bring him in."
"Actually," I said, ignoring the suddenly silent herd of stage mommies, "he's not scheduled to audition. I am."
"You're here for it?"
"Uh-huh," I said, smoothing my rumpled tee.
"Oh," she said. "Well, bring him in anyway."
So I did. All I had to do was hold him so they could see the back of his head which took all of five seconds. Unfortunately I still had to audition, and aside from nurses and mommies, nobody else from the spot was there. Which meant we had to wait.
And then Will started to yawn.
At the risk of sounding like one of those mommies - you know, the ones who freak if their child eats sugar or misses their Italian For Toddlers class - naps are a big deal. Before I had a baby I used to hear parents going on and on about their kids' nap schedules and I'd roll my eyes. I mean, it was a frigging nap. Who cared? But as someone who until very recently spent every single day holding her baby during the entire 4+ hours of his naptime and knows that this newfangled napping-in-the-crib thing is tenuous at best, and whose baby will not, not, not sleep in a stroller because New York City is a very exciting place, naptime is sacred. And with Will, naptime is all about rituals and timing. If the rituals or timing are off, naptime goes to shit. And if naptime goes to shit, bedtime goes to shit. And if bedtime goes to shit, my life goes to shit because we all know I do not. do. well. without sleep. All of this must have read on my face because a lovely woman who happened to have the first audition slot offered to let me take her place, which was about the nicest thing anyone has done for me in months. I was thrilled. Unfortunately the casting director was not. After much sighing and scowling on her end (and apologizing on mine), she let me go first. And I suuuucked.
Between thinking about my yawning (soon to be bawling) baby and the complicated, ER-worthy directions, not to mention the fact that I hadn't auditioned in over a year, I was dreadful. I didn't even warrant the "thanks for coming in" kiss of death, I stunk so hard. But I did get Will home before he hit meltdown so that's... something.
I used to think about getting Will into the baby modeling scene but after this, I'm rethinking. Granted, his bit was fine - for him. I just couldn't stand those mothers. It's one thing to have to deal with weird, competitive vibes when they're aimed at you but when they're aimed at your child it's just gross.
Anyway, I'll be over here in this corner banging my head for a bit.
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