Happy Halloween!

M-I-C...K-E-Y! M-O-U-S-E!

How about a happy post from Juliet for a change? LOL.

Here's Tybalt in his Halloween costume!

God Help Me (aka I Need A Xanax)

Please tell me I am not the only one, or else no one reading this will ever understand.

Does anyone else have "that person?" The person who for some reason you attempt to maintain a friendship with even though deep down they really, really, REALLY bug you?

Mine is the wife of a long-time friend of my husband. We started out close. She was a bridesmaid at my wedding. But as soon as I got pregnant (which was only 1.5 months later) the relationship started to go downhill. She entered what I can only honestly chalk up to a midlife crisis, turned into someone I no longer recognize, and she started to disapprove of everything I did. Not only that, but she was vocal about it. And in this world of social media, vocal can be VERY VOCAL. The whole world was able to read her snubs.

During the pregnancy she started by accusing me of being too lazy and made it known she didn't agree with my doctors' orders and recommendations for moderate to low activity. (She was starting her research and interest in Eastern Medicine at the time, coincidentally.) Then she accused me of being a bad friend because I wasn't spending as much time with her. (Um, yeah, what about low activity and rest do you not understand?)

**Of course when my heart failed and the doctors were proved correct in that resting as much as I did probably saved my life and the baby's life, there was no apology, but that's another story, or is it?**

Enter her complaints after my son was born-- the first time I wanted to get a babysitter, she accused me of being a bad mother and told me that I should want to spend literally every waking moment with my baby. Never mind the fact that in my pre-baby days we went out with her and her husband often and they never seemed to mind getting their own son a sitter.

Since then, there have been "vocalizations," aka facebook comments, texts, etc. (she actually never wants to actually speak to or face me, now that I think about it...hmmm...) that I don't eat properly, I [continue] to not mother properly, I'm always sick (um, can you say heart condition?) the list goes on and on.

This doesn't even include her own status updates and article links on what she believes is right and wrong. There was the one that states children should never be sleep scheduled because it destroys the parental bond, another about how her child's behavioral problems are to be blamed on food additives. (God forbid she actually discipline him once, right?)

The point of my rant?

WHY, OH WHY, IF I DISAGREE WITH HER SO MUCH, DO I CONTINUE TO ATTEMPT A FRIENDSHIP? SHE HURTS ME DIRECTLY. WHEN IT'S NOT DIRECT, I SIMPLY VEHEMENTLY DISAGREE WITH HER BELIEFS. SO WHY DO I LET HER GET UNDER MY SKIN, AND JUST GRIN AND BEAR IT?

Sorry, I don't even know why all of the above is in capitols. It's just been one of those nights. Tonight, she "scolded" me for the fact I let me child eat GASP! WHITE FLOUR! aka Cheerios while he was sick. Because she saw me mention it on Facebook.

Gah. Argh. I literally cannot stand her. Ridiculously enough I actually thought HARD about that Facebook status and what she would think if she read it before I even posted it! For that reason I conveniently failed to mention my own eating of a dish of nachos while I was nursing the cold my son and I experienced together. Little did I think she could actually find fault in my son eating CHEERIOS!

What the hell?

Yet I think I know the answer as to why I continue to try so hard to maintain a decent relationship. Why I let myself be her doormat. Like I stated, her husband is my husband's friend. So it's not just as easy as dismissing her and not being friends anymore. I will see her. And even if the guys' friendship waned, (which it has a bit, not because of us girls, I swear, but because my husband is busy being a new dad) she would still be in my social circle because she and her husband are good friends with Ty's Godparents. (Remember the wedding mention at the beginning of this post? Our wedding party was the six of us--me, Romeo, this couple I'm ranting about, and Ty's Godparents who are still are dear friends.)

Sigh, I'm done. I've got no more. No more to say. And honestly? No more to give this B!^@#.

Time for a Xanax and bed. Gee, hope she doesn't read this, if white flour is bad for our bodies, how bad must Xanax be? :)

P.S. Don't worry, I do in all honesty know chemicals aren't wonderful. Or actually, maybe go ahead and worry, because I know that, but right now I don't care. Because I'm still gonna take one. :P

Bad Sleep Habits

I mentioned last time that we were in the middle of sleep regression. Amalah says that this is only supposed to happen during the baby's 4th month, but Mia turned 5 months on Monday, and we're still in the thick of it. A couple of weeks ago, on a particularly difficult night when neither me nor B could afford to be awake for two hours in the middle of the night, we plopped her down between the two of us, and she fell right asleep. And so, we did it again, and again, and again, and basically every time she wakes up in the middle of the night... we pick her right out of her crib/bassinet, and put her in our bed.

I know, I know, there's all sorts of stuff about how you shouldn't put a baby in bed with you because you might roll over in the middle of the night and crush it... but really? I've slept with my dogs in bed about a million times and I've never even come close. So let's move on from that.

I'm afraid that our "laziness" (I dare you to call it that when you're the one who desperately wants to sleep in the middle of the night because you have to get up and go to work in the morning) is going to end up biting us in the ass. Tonight, for example, Mia woke up at 1am, which is significantly earlier than she usually does, so I tried (this being friday night and all) to get her to fall asleep in her own bed. After an hour or so of me continuously patting her chest and replacing the pacifier, she finally did fall asleep. But... not me!

So here I am, at 4 am, realizing that perhaps I am the one who now needs to have a baby in my bed to fall back asleep in the middle of the night... who would have thought?

On an unrelated note, I have gotten much better about waking up in the mornings and actually getting some exercise in before work. I'm doing it at least 3 times a week (which is about 2 times more than I ever did before!), either with a DVD, some streaming Netflix, or going to our crappy apartment complex gym. On the other hand... I have absolutely failed on the diet front. I am eating all sorts of un-complex carbs (does that make them simple carbs?), and even made a second batch of those double chocolate chip cookies replacing the chocolate chips with peanut butter chips. So one win, plus one fail.

Unfortunately, the Las Vegas weather is already taking a turn for the cooler, so my goal of fitting back into my pre-pregnancy jeans before I actually need to start wearing them again is likely not to be hit. I may have to stop at the Gap tomorrow and pick up some tweeners.

In Another Life

Yesterday, I found out that a "cousin" of mine, we'll call her Amy, who is 22, is pregnant. (I use quotes around cousin because we grew up together - her older sister was in my wedding - but we're not technically cousins according to American standards, but totally are according to Filipino standards). It was a total accident. She has been with her boyfriend for 5 months, and she's... 4 1/2 months pregnant, but didn't find out until last week. I don't want to get into the whole how could she not know she was pregnant for that long and how awesome is it that you're basically going through half a pregnancy, but I should at least mention it in passing as I eventually get to my point. Now, she's happy about it, and her boyfriend is happy about it, and she doesn't know it yet, but her boyfriend is going to propose to her on Christmas Eve (he's in the military and is currently in Afghanistan, so he's away until then).

I tried to picture myself in her position, and how different my life would be if I had accidentally gotten pregnant as soon as B and I started dating. I think, much like Amy and her boyfriend, B and I would have 1) raised the baby together, and 2) gotten engaged. I would have had an infant for my 3L year, and I would have had a toddler when I was sitting for the bar exam. But, I think it would have worked out. One of my favorite things to do is to think back on those first few months. B and I spent so much time together, talked for hours, took long walks, and all those wonderful things that you do with someone new, someone special. Except for a *tiny* bit of drama I caused in the first two weeks of dating, everything was perfect (Quickly: My college bf and I broke up about a month before B and started dating - and about two weeks after our first date, my ex decided he had wanted to get back together, I made a good decision but agonized for a few days). Amy dogsat for us this summer (right around the time she got pregnant, come to think of it!), and she told me about this guy she had started dating, how different things were, how even though it had only been a few weeks, she felt like she this was It. I think about those first few months, and I don't think my relationship (or my life) would have been ruined if I had gotten pregnant right away. I imagine that those few months of blissful dating might actually be enhanced by knowing that no matter what happened, we would always be linked to one another.

Maybe I'm crazy. Maybe I'm just thinking this way because I really like Amy, and I hope that everything works out for the best for her. Maybe I want her to know that someone is excited for her, even though her family is less than thrilled. But I really do believe that if Amy and her boyfriend are compatible, everything will be just fine.

B and I joked last night that if this had happened to us, we'd have a 4 year old.

SBD Week 3

I've been a bit of an absent blogger this past week, but we are in SLEEP REGRESSION CITY. Mia has taken to napping for only 20 minutes at a time, and waking up at 4am without going back down until almost 6am. I cannot physicall function on that little sleep, so I go back to sleep when she does and then I can't wake up. I need to grow up and realize that it's part of being an adult and a parent, but instead, I act like a college student who can sleep until 20 minutes before class. So yeah, it wasn't a great week. My LOST obsession has not yet subsided, and I am in the 6th and final season. I am trying to fit in as many episodes as I can so that this can STOP.

So, back to Weight Loss blogging. I'm starting week 4 of South Beaching, and I've been midly successful. I'm down to an 8 pound loss. That's a good number, but I haven't lost any weight for the past week. This is where it starts to get dangerous for me. If I don't get that positive reinforcement of seeing the numbers go down, I start to lose my resolve. On Saturday, B came home saying that he wanted a chocolate chip cookie. I said I would bake him some. He said, he wanted it to be double chocolate (chocolate batter plus chocolate chips). I said, No problem. He said, I want it to be big, like the ones from Panera. I said, Sure, why not? Yeah. Bad idea. Instead of cheating by having one regular sized cookie, I had one GIANT double chocolate cookie, the size of my hand. That lead to having pizza for dinner.

I woke up this morning and told myself that every day, you have a clean slate. Just because I messed up this weekend (and last weekend, when Juliet Cap and I shared two pitchers of Sangria (with a third person). I resolve, not to beat myself up over any slip ups, but I do have to stop sleeping until right before I have to leave, so that I can actually fit in a work out!

The Birth Story

I've mentioned my pregnancy induced health problems before, but for some reason I felt tonight that I needed to touch on it again. Maybe sub-consciously I need the therapeutic aspect that "getting it out" can bring. And I started to write what is now this blog post as part of my bio page. But I quickly realized it was much too complicated and lengthy to be part of my basic bio. So, here it is as a separate blog post. On another note, check out my new official bio page! Click on the "About Juliet" tab in the upper left! :)

My pregnancy wasn't difficult, but it wasn't easy. I have a bad back and it exasperated it. But aside from morning sickness in the beginning, my back was my only complaint for about 7 months. Because I'm obese my ob-gyn was even thrilled that I LOST weight in the beginning and then stayed steady until about month 5 or 6. But gradually the weight creeped up, until about the 7.5 or 8 month mark where it exponentially added up. And around the same time I was gradually having more and more trouble with my breathing. Simply catching my breath at first but then not being able to breath if reclining at all. Exams and x-rays and hospital stays and further tests all occured but there was no fluid in my lungs, no super high blood pressure or other signs of complications such as pre-eclampsia or eclampsia.

At 37 weeks my son was delivered via emergency c-section due to bleeding (still unknown as to whether it had anything to do with all the other symptoms or my final diagnosis), and I experienced heart failure on the table. I was diagnosed with post-partum cardiomyopathy. It is a rare but life threatening condition in which the pregnant mother's heart expands and causes the mitral valve to not properly control the blood flow. And all my symptoms during pregnancy? Common symptoms of cardiomyopathy. But there is no clear testing guidelines currently in place to check for the disease because of it's rarity and unknown cause. It is unknown why any woman ever develops it. Why pregnancy causes it in any woman. I was an in-patient for three months. The first few days I was touch and go in ICU. I have no memory of the first two months due to heavy sedation. The silver lining? My beautiful, healthy, blessing of a son, Tybalt.

The First Known Picture Of Mommy And Son (I Have No Memory Of It)

Tybalt Visits Mommy (Again, I Was Sedated And Don't Remember)

Family Picture When Mommy Is Finally More Alert (And Allowed To Get Fresh Air!)

A Few Days Before Mommy's Discharge

Shhhh!

Whenever anyone would ask how I, Romeo, or Tybalt were doing, my husband and I would only half-jokingly say that Tybalt was the one who came out on top. I was horribly sick; my husband was horribly stressed. Tybalt however, was healthy, happy, and had round-the-clock love and affection from his grandparents, my in-laws. And it took an additional three months of at-home (read: my mother-in-law's home where my husband moved us into during the whole hubabaloo) rehab once I was released from the hospital, but once I was back on my feet Tybalt probably thought he had four loving full-time parents between me, Romeo, Grandma, and Grandpa. This kid won the lottery when it comes to love and attention. Even then though, I spent as much time bonding with him as possible so he would know who Mommy was.

A Tradition Is Born! Tybalt and Mommy Kiss At 4 Months!

When Tybalt was 6 months old, I was able to be alone with him and take care of him all by myself, so Romeo and I found a new apartment and moved out of MIL's basement. Our "baby" is now 14 months old and I have been full-time Mommy for about 10 months. It feels...different. Wonderful but weird. Because while we have permanently and properly bonded at this point I still feel like I am playing catch-up to some extent. And I wonder if I always will feel that way because of the first months and milestones that I missed.

And now, just for fun, some more pictures of my beautiful baby boy:

One Of My All-Time Favorite Pictures. Look At Those Rosy Cheeks and That Smile!

Mommy And Tybalt Venture Out Into The "Real World" Alone Together

Tired Of Trying On Clothes!

My Son, The Flirt!

Crazy Towel-Dried After-Bath Hair

His New Specs!

"Hello, Mommy!"

Are You Serious?

This will be a short post, but I just had to get it off my chest and out there.

I am the mother of an almost 15 month old son. He was blessed with a bit of hair, but it has only grown exponentially since about the time he was 6 months old. It's probably been since he was about 10 months old that I have been trying to convince my husband that he needs a haircut. That's 5 months, approximately 21.65 weeks, 150 days, 3,600 hours, 216,000 minutes, 12,960,000 seconds, (you get the idea) of insisting to my husband that our son needs to get a trim. Nothing drastic, but at least a little off the back that's starting to hang down the nape of his neck!

And for the exact same amount of time my husband has insisted that our son is way too young for a haircut. That he shouldn't need a haircut until closer to his second birthday.

Enter our trip to Office Depot last Sunday. While checking out we had a cashier that had already displayed to us that she wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box. For example, she had no idea what the store's return policy was (um, hello?) and had to print out a piece of register tape in order to read the policy from the back of it.

Now, my son was sitting in the front of the shopping cart and she in all honesty could only see the back of his head because he was facing me, not her. But come on, he was wearing blue from head to toe! And then she does it...she asks, "How old is SHE?" She mistakes my son for a girl. My husband and I literally speaking in unison, quickly answer, "Well, HE is..." and give his age. (Of course I know the exact month and week whereas my husband stutters and can only say he's a year, but that's another issue completely.)

So, we leave the store, travel home, and I honestly forgot about the entire situation. That is until that night:

I'm sitting in the living room and my husband calmly, but out of the blue, states, "I wouldn't be opposed to getting his hair cut."

ARE...YOU...SERIOUS?

Conflicting Aspirations

When I graduated from law school, I knew that I wouldn't get hired by a Big Law firm. Even though they don't tell you that when you start, you're not going to get into one of those law firms unless you've gone to the right school. Hence the giant lawsuit against a bunch of second to third tier law schools for totally misleading their students. Anyway, once I got past 1L and realized that I wouldn't be bringing in the big bucks and working a thousand hours a week, I was glad. I could get a regular job, and yeah, I would struggle financially, but it would be fine.

Yesterday was my 2nd year anniversary at my current job. When I was hired here, my boss wanted to make clear that I would be able to grow with the Company, and that I would be able to stay here for as long as I wanted to. Up until recently, I had thought that I would do exactly that. It's really the perfect job. I make a decent salary, I have very flexible hours, I have a lot of responsibility, but my day-to-day workload isn't terribly demanding. With a baby, and later a child with activities, this is the best arrangement I could have. And I like it. Today, I was pleasantly busy, I did work from the time I got in at 9am until lunch, then from lunch until 4 pm without once looking down at my watch. Mia was helpful with letting me accomplish that, she took a 45 minute nap this morning and played in her bouncy chair for the rest of the morning, then went back down at 2 pm and woke up at 4:30. But at the same time, I'm sometimes bored, even when I am busy. I do the same legal work, over and over. Sometime complicated will come up, but very seldom. I sometimes wish I had more than the one client, that I could deal with different clients needs, and really expand what I already know. I also think that with 2 years of experience to add on to my resume, some Big (or at least Medium) Law firms might actually consider hiring me, and certainly, we could use a salary upgrade.

On the total opposite spectrum, every day that Mia ages, I can see her becoming more and more fun. Yesterday, we went on the swings for the first time, and she loved it. We went to the dog park and she looked down at all the big dogs running around while strapped to my chest in her wrap. She laughed as she watched her Swarley running around with dogs twice his size. You can tell that she can't wait to be able to jump out of my arms and in with the fun. And I want to be there. I want to be the one to take her to the park during the day, and take her to music class and EVERYTHING. A big part of me sometimes hopes that B will get promoted at Big Bank enough so that we don't need my salary, that Mia and I could spend our days together at the park or Children's museum, rather than at my office.

Despite it all, I've looked at some Immigration positions at law firms. I've updated my resume. I might apply, I might not. I'll have to sleep on it a few more nights. I can't decide which one of my aspirations to follow at the moment.

Chloe the Beagle's tragic story

That's right, it's Mommy and the Sin City's first guest blog post. So, take it away Chloe:

Hi everyone! Remember me? It's me, Chloe! Yup, you remember. I'm the one that you all used to fawn over. I'm still here. And I'm still adorable, but I've gotta tell you, things have taken a turn for the worse over here in Sin City. Let me tell you my story...


I started out in a sad little pet shop on Ashland. All my brothers and sisters were meek and quiet, but not me! I barked and barked. How else is anyone going to notice how much better I am then the rest? Apparently most of the shop's patrons were idiots, because they kept on picking the quiet ones. The shop owners made an extra special sign over my crate, which said "50% off!" in big red letters, because sometimes, you have to make it clear which puppies are the best. Finally, this 15 year old Girl picked me and I went home with a family.

It was a good start. I had two teenagers, two adults, an older sister and a backyard. We all lived in a nice house with nice wood floors (perfect to pee on!). Everyone came to visit me because I was so soft and cute. My big sister was always trying to tell me what to do, but she was a Golden Retriever, and what do they know? I did what I wanted! I liked her though, my big sis. She always gave me her left overs. After a few years, things started to change.

My teenagers grew up and left the house. Then, my Girl came back from where ever she was for four years, and took me away from my big sister and my adults. At first, I was pissed, but soon, I realized that she needed me! How could I stay with the adults when someone had to take care of my Girl? Poor Girl, she was left behind. I had to be strong. I spent lots of time her. She always wanted someone to sit with her on the couch, or sit at her feet when she was at our table. I took her on walks, I took her to the beach, what more could I have done for her? I was so important to her, I even had to go on airplanes with her. My adults and my big sis came to visit a few times, and sometimes we went to see them at their new place. I took good care of her, we made a great team.

Then, this Guy started coming around and kicked me out of my bed. It's cool though, one less thing I needed to do. I like the floor better anyway. He brought a bunch of things into our house, and he was kind of a pain in the ass. He was always trying to play with me! No way buddy, I'm a Beagle. I am too good for those dog toys you're throwing around. Clearly, he'd never had a Beagle before. He was probably used to those other kinds of dogs, like Golden Retrievers, those suckers. She started wearing something shiny on her finger, and I think she was happy. It turned out, his lap was pretty comfortable, too.

Anyway, it turned out that this Guy needed me too. He probably didn't have anywhere else to go, the poor Guy. So, I started taking care of him too. I took them both on long walks by the lake, to the beach, and we even went on road trips! I sat on my Girl's lap, or at her feet, while he drove me around in the car. We went and visited my adults and my big sis. We went around to other people's houses, I think they were my Guy's people, because they all talked real loud, like him. They were all wanting to pet me all the time, telling me how cute I was. But, I put up with it. They were cool.

Then, one day, we went on a car ride and stopped at this place with lots of cats and dogs. They brought this little dope of a puppy around to meet me, and he was so annoying. He looked so scruffy and had a beard, and I don't know why everyone thought he was so cute. Hello, everyone knows that a smooth coated dog is superior. I don't know what this puppy's deal was, but he would not stop following us around, and he came all the way back into my car and then into my house.

They called him "Swarley". What kind of name is that? That's not even a real name. My Girl even set up a second bed on the floor, like he was staying! Man, I was pissed. He was always bugging me, and bugging my Girl and my Guy. Always asking to go out and to be taken care of. I don't think they knew that he was the kind of dog that needed taking care of, one of those Retriever types. They even let him come up on my couch. We still went out on long walks and the beach, but he took up so much of their time, it just wasn't the same. I guess he got better eventually, but he did have the nerve to get bigger than me. Don't worry though, I'm way tougher. This kid needs me.

The one day, my Girl started getting fat. Like, really fat. She didn't want to go on long walks anymore. We went on a long road trip and now, I don't need boots or a coat in the winter, but sometimes, it gets really hot. I wasn't too mad at her though, I didn't feel like going on long walks anymore either. One day, she went away for 3 days. I didn't know what happened to her, and I had to take care of Swarley. Everyone was always out of the house and my Guy only came by for a few hours a day. Then she came back. But she wasn't alone...

You guessed it. It was a Tiny Human. I had heard about these at the dog park. Those other dogs warned us this might happen soon, but I never believed them. It cried. All the time. My Girl's always holding it and kissing it. And me? I'm not allowed on the couch. I'm not allowed on the bed. Those other people, they're always asking about that Tiny Human. Nobody asks about me anymore. What's the big deal? The Tiny Human doesn't even have any soft fur to pet like I do. Even Swarley has better fur than the Tiny Human.

Sure, my Guy still takes us on walks. Sure, sometimes she still needs me on her lap, but only when the Tiny Human sleeps. Yeah, alright, I still get food, and water, a warm house, a soft bed, but it's not the same.  My Girl promises we'll go to the park again when the Tiny Human gets a little bigger, but I'll believe that when I see it. Sometimes, that Tiny Human watches me and Swarley run around and she laughs. And I guess that's kind of nice. But I'm still mad.

So guess what? I'll pee on your floor. That'll show you.

California, Part II

*I'm feeling bad. Horrible in fact. I've been slacking on my posting frequency. I was never posting as often as Frenchie, but it's been really slow as of late. That said, I am going to make a concerted effort to change things up.*

So, where did we leave off? I was expounding upon how much I enjoy traveling from Vegas to L.A. as well as describing the original reasons Romeo and I went this last time (musical gig of a friend). But I didn't really get into details of what we did and how much fun it was.

So, our friend Ron Ellington Shy was performing in Covina, CA, and Romeo and I decided to make a weekend out of it. However we found out in the interim that it also happened to be a day in Covina called "Pat Allen Day." Pat Allen was the late wife of one of Covina's former mayors. She passed away after battling breast cancer a few years ago and the city has since organized an annual fundraiser and donates money to the local hospice and has done it for three years now. Romeo knew Pat, her husband (mayor) Walt, and their son Walter from his theatre days there in Covina, as Pat and Walter were both involved as well. So when he found out this day was the same weekend, you couldn't keep him from it! A day to reunite with old friends in downtown Covina, and support his old buddy's late mother's cause and celebrate her life? He practically sprinted from Vegas to California! (P.S. I LOVE my husband for being that kind of guy. If he cares for you, he SERIOUSLY cares for you.)

Our day consisted of visiting with friends, eating, shopping, and just having a seriously grand time. We visited with Walt and Walter for a while. It was wondeful to meet Romeo's fun-loving theatre friend. We also patronized not one but two restaurants owned by Romeo's friends, the Petersons. (If anyone reading this blog lives in or near Covina or the San Gabriel Valley area, I highly recommend both The Sugar Bowl and Giovanni's, by the way. Seriously, the food is great at both, and the atmospheres of each? So wonderful! And no, it's not just because Romeo knows the owners. I wouldn't do that--if I didn't like either place I simply wouldn't even mention going there.)

What struck me the most, and one of the reasons I wanted to post about this particular visit to California, was how this community banded together and what a warm feeling I know I had, and believe everyone had, that day as I walked up and down Citrus Ave. Coming from the suburbs of Chicago to Las Vegas has been an adjustment, most definitely. One part of that is city size. Las Vegas doesn't compare to Chicago as a whole, but most of the time growing up I didn't really consider myself as living truly in Chicago. I lived in the suburbs, so in comparing the suburbs to Vegas, Vegas is HUGE. There is no "small town" or "community" feel. And honestly, most times I don't really miss it that much, actually. Don't get me wrong, it's a loss, but it's just not such a loss that it would make me leave Las Vegas. I love Vegas. But spending the day in Covina on Pat Allen Day was just so refreshing. It actually felt more tight-knit and caring than the suburbs I'm used to!

Yes, yes, I understand it was one special annual day. Some could say it isn't necessarily how the town is the other 364 days a year. Yet, I would argue that in fact they must have at least some of that magic those other 364 days, or else they would never be the kind of community that would even think to put on such a special day once a year! (Am I making any sense? What I'm trying to say is it takes a special town, a special community, a special people to even want to produce such an event.)

When was the last time you knew of a community where for a day 7 hair salons and almost a dozen shops donated up to 50% of their profits for a woman some employees and owners didn't even know? In this day and age, that's HUGE! People smiled on the streets to strangers as they passed. People stood in line to shake the former mayor and widower's hand and share their condolences. People opened their wallets to buy from the businesses donating, and there were extra raffles and donation boxes as well. There was even a large banner hanging at the main intersection announcing the day. My hometown in Illinois never even did that!

I felt at home in a place that is practically across the country from my home.

Thank you, Covina, CA for what you did for the hospice, the Allens, and for me.

Instant Gratification, Lost Style.

I am jumping on the bandwagon a little late, but I have just recently become obsessed with LOST. Okay, not just a little late, but really late. I was never interested in it when it first came out. I had heard that it was supernatural and uber-suspenseful. Harry Potter is as supernatural as I get. Anyway, I am obsessed with it. If I'm not at work and B is not home, or doing something else, an episode is on. I've even put down my knitting needles mid-project! Cannot read knitting pattern and figure out The Others! The Smoke Monster Thing! The Dharma Initiative! WOW!

During my maternity leave, I discovered the wonders that is Netflix streaming TV shows. B had always used the streaming for movies, but I realized that there are a gazillion tv shows on that thing! No commercials! No waiting between episodes! Awesomeness. While Mia was napping, or eating, or just wanting to be held and played with, I would stream a TV show. First, I started re-watching all of Grey's Anatomy. Then, I took Netflix' suggestion to watch Army Wives, which I liked a lot. And now, well OUT of my maternity leave, I have not given up on my streaming shows. LOST. I am so glad that I didn't get into it when the rest of the world did, because the way it has taken over my free time, I'm glad that I can at least watch the entire series in just a couple of months (I am almost halfway now), rather than dragging out my obsession for the 6 seasons that LOST was actually airing. Phew! Netflix, you rock. If you get past seasons of The Bachelor on here, I would actually never leave the house, so work on that. Or don't... because then I would turn into a pasty human-like couch cushion. Yeah, as much as I love LOST, I love the Bachelor even more. So yeah, you can look forward to that in January when Ben (so cute!) searches for the love of his life (or just the person he'll date for the next few months, but whatever, same difference).

I realized that this way of watching TV shows perfectly matches my way of "getting into" TV shows, and even books. Instant gratification. If I really like a book, I cannot put it down. The same goes for a TV show. If I start to really think about it, this type of passion (note the positive spin I've put on what is really some kind of obsessive disorder) is a big part of my personality. From ages 12-17, my room was plastered with posters of the Backstreet Boys and I spent most of my free time daydreaming about my wedding with Brian Littrell. ALL of my babysitting money went to concert tickets. (Did you know there is a yearly Backstreet Boys Cruise? I owed it to my teenaged self to at least look at schedules and pricing. And no, I did not go to the NKOTBSB show, I was mega-prego).

So, I swear that when I sat down to write this, I had planned a coherent post with a point at the end, but I've gotten myself all jumbled listing things I am obsessed with. Right. I wish I could come up with a way of channeling this obsessive behavior into something positive or productive, like running or biking, or any form of exercise. I want to be one of those people that is like "If I go a day without doing an hour of _fill in the black activity_ then I feel totally off". Any suggestions?

Or, more realistically, any suggestions for awesome TV shows that I may have missed while they were out and can now become obsessed with on Netflix? Ha!

PS: Netflix did not pay me or give me any type of free anything. I wish!

SBD Week 1

Week 1

Lbs Lost: 6

Regular Pants: Still don't fit

I could not be happier with those numbers! After one week, I am going strong. The South Beach Diet, even though it was most popular in 2003 when it came out, still works like a charm. The Diet itself works in phases. Phase 1 lasts 2-4 weeks, and is super super restrictive. You eat basically lean meats, reduced fat dairy, and non-starchy vegetables. Plus, no alcohol for phase 1. NONE. Although the first few weeks are unsustainable for longer than a month, the total elimination of sugar from your system really kick starts your metabolism. 6 pounds in one week is a lot of weight. I am hoping for 12 by the end of the 3 weeks that I plan on doing phase 1 (except booze. I'm bringing that back after 2 weeks). 

I have struggled though. The first few days are not a big deal. I eat some kind of veggie scramble for breakfast, pack a salad for lunch, and a piece of string cheese and almonds for my snack. For dinner, I make a meat and vegetable, and have some sugar free jello for dessert. It works. The weekends though, those are a different story. I'm at home, B is at home, and all I want to do is take a few of the chips he's snacking on, or eat those hash browns that came with my omelet at breakfast this morning! But, for the past 7 days, I've resisted. It feels good.

Just to end on a fun note, here's a Mia pick!

Mia, having her first Glorious Carb experience!

Babysitting High

B and I went out with Romeo and Juliet on saturday night. This is the third time we've left Mia for an evening. The first time, she was only about three weeks old, and she was with my Mom. We went out for sushi and were back before she had even woken up once. I felt fine. My theory is that I was barely even used to the idea of being a mother, so being away from my baby wasn't any kind of traumatizing experience. Plus, she was with my Mom, who had spent almost as much time with Mia as I had up to that point.

The second time, I desperately wanted to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2. I love Harry Potter and absolutely couldn't wait to see the movie. B and I planned to get dinner afterwards. We dropped Mia off about 10 minutes before the movie was to start, and as soon as the movie was done, both of us wanted to race back and pick her up. Forget dinner, we just ordered pizza. Mia was about 6 weeks old. By then, I wasn't as much of a zombie boob lady, and Mia had started being awake for longer periods of time and was beginning to become the delightful baby she is now. I didn't even get to enjoy the movie, I was so preoccupied, wondering how she was doing with someone she had barely spent time with before.

So, back to Saturday. One of my co-workers is also NICU nurse at the hospital where I delivered. She moved from Chicago to Vegas a few months before we did. Every day I bring Mia to work, J comes into my office and takes her from me for at least an hour or two in the mornings, and I get most of my work done while they're off visiting. She's been asking, actually asking, rather than offering, to babysit. She looked at her schedule and gave me last Saturday as the first Saturday she wasn't working. So, we set everything up around it.

I was not nervous this time. Mia and J have spent a nice amount of time together at work, so Mia recognized and smiled at her immediately. J's boys, 8 and 16, were thrilled to have a little girl in the house. Plus, who better to babysit your infant than an NICU nurse? Nobody. We dropped her off around 3:30. When we got back in the car on our way to a movie theatre to catch a show before dinner, both B and I were cracking stupid jokes, laughing and generally acting super silly. We bought popcorn AND candy (this is 2 days pre-diet) and thouroughly enjoyed ourselves. By the time we got to dinner, we felt like we were at least 2 margaritas ahead of Romeo and Juliet (who were decidedly less babysitter high than we were). We had a great dinner among adults, and even though we did talk about babies, we were also able to talk about other, non-baby things! Amazing!

We picked Mia up at 10pm exactly, a bit margarita tipsy (just me, not B), and she was fast asleep. She didn't wake up to go in her carseat, or into her bassinet. She woke up around 4:30, the way she usually does and gave me a big big smile (HEY! IT'S YOU! I LIKE YOU!). It was great to hav the time on our own, but it was also great to see her smile again. Now, three days later, B and I are still in a better mood than we were on Saturday morning. We definitely needed some time together, and it's nice to know that despite our life being drastically different, we are still ourselves.

Prelude to a Diet

Mia turns 4 months old on Sunday, the 25th. Now that I've stopped breastfeeding (more on that in an upcoming post), it's appropriate (and necessary) for me to start paying attention to the number on the scale. 9 months, plus 4 months is a long enough vacation from paying attention to what I eat. So, right now, I'm +12 lbs from the weight I was the day I got pregnant. That weight was nothing to be proud of, a result of post-wedding slacking off. An acceptable weight, for my body's standards is the weight I was at my wedding, which I am at +21 lbs. That weight will let me fit (and look nice) in all of the clothes that I present own, including my favorite $160+ jeans of which I have numerous paris, bought pre-wedding and pre-2 law school tuition's worth of student loans. So, I need to get back down to an acceptable weight before the Las Vegas weather cools off, and I would want to wear said jeans. Plus, my cold-weather work wardrobe, which is extensive, coming from Chicago.

For now, I am making due with a minimal wardrobe that fits. I bought 2 pairs of capri pants from the Ann Taylor outlet store in a size 14 to get me through the summer. I also have a few dresses that are loose enough around the belly. But soon enough, I'll have to put away the summer dresses and bring out the wool slacks and long sleeved shirts. So, for practical reasons (and about a million others, like feeling good and being healthy) I can't stay in this post pregnant pudgy phase.

I've always had a bit more weight on my body than others. I was a size 10 in High school, and gradually crept up to a 12 somewhere between then and getting married. I'm OK with that. I'm happy with the way I look at a comfortable 12. You know what I mean by comfortable: clothes button and zip with ease. A comfortable 12 is about 31 lbs away from where I am right now. So let's round it up to a 35 lb goal. I'm not looking for a bikini body - with these stretchmarks, bikinis are not in my future. Just looking nice, being able to wear a bathings uit without constantly feeling the need to cover up. That's the goal: comfort, relative confidence.

I've been working up to this for a while. Dieting, that is. I've never been able to lose weight by just "watching what I eat", or "eating in moderation". I am apparently incapable of doing that, unless I impose strict guidelines on what I can and cannot eat. Limiting quantities is not great for me. The summer between my Junior and Senior year of college, I did the South Beach Diet one week after my 21st birthday. I lost a kind of unbelievable amount of weight, getting to under 10lbs of my freshman year of high school weight. It was amazing, and I looked great. But the factors that made it possible back then (getting seriously dumped at the end of Junior year, having free total access to a full-service gym, a cafeteria with endless salad combinations every day, a SBD buddy, and you know, being 21). From September until December, I was actually a size 8. Then, I started dating a guy, a BIG guy, and it became impossible to keep up with low-carb restrictions when he was ordering pizza for dinner every night. But those days are long gone. Now, I can accept and be happy with my goal. Comfortable 12. The diet itself is really very restrictive, but I followed it religiously back then, so I feel like I have the control to do it again.

I had some success a few years later during law school with Weight Watchers. I didn't follow their traditional points system, since it is based on calculating calories and limiting the amount of food. I didn't do well with that, I like strict guidelines. They had another option called the Core Plan, which I did follow and did well on. I got down to the goal I have for myself now, but I had a less to lose to get there. I haven't 100% decided on which one of those two I will follow, but I'm leaning towards South Beach.

I had initially given myself a start date of October 1st. But, somehow from the time I decided to diet and now, I've managed to gain weight. Two weeks ago, I was only at +10 pre-pregnancy. So, yeah, I think I subconciously started gorging myself, knowing that I will soon have to stop eating my favorite combination of vanilla ice cream and crushed up Reese's cups. Something that started during pregnancy, and somehow I haven't given up yet...

So, that is my diet tale. I start Monday. I will update periodically on my progress, although I promise not to get obnoxious and make lists of what I've eaten every day.

What's a Day Off?

Amalah’s post today over at Amalah’s West really hit home. She talked about her day as Work from Home Mom, and describing her morning routine of getting her boys up and ready said :"then, of course, it’s time to get to…you know, “work.” Because everything up until the minute I opened the laptop was a damn vacation." The fact that any time away from work is spent taking care of your child, family, pets, and home was probably the thing that was most difficult to adjust to after bringing Mia home. I realized quickly that my maternity leave may give my brain a little bit of a rest, but wouldn’t allow me to read the stack of books that I was saving for my time off. This is especially true for poor B, who we decided only needed to take one week of family leave once we gave birth. We decided long before that this would be just fine, because a) Big Bank only gives 1 week of paid leave to new fathers, ad b) my parents were both going to be staying with us for the first 4 weeks. My parents left when Mia was 4 weeks old, I was three weeks away from going back to work full time, and we were one week away from taking Mia back to Chicago to visit with B’s family. So really, I only had one week where I was off work and alone taking care of Mia.

B would get home around 6:30 every night, and I’d give him a few minutes to take his shoes off, get out of his work clothes and come sit down on the couch. He’d immediately pull out his laptop to play whateverthehellgame and pay no attention to Mia and I glaring at him from across the couch. After “giving him the chance” to realize for himself that he needed to put his game away, I’d say,
“UH, can you take the baby now? I’d like to take a shower.” He’d answer: “But I just got off of work! Can’t I have a few minutes to relax?”. After “giving him the chance” to realize for himself that he just said the wrongest thing ever, I think: “What, do you think I’m on vacation here?”.

Now, with Mia at almost four months, B has 100% learned his lesson. On his first weekday off once I had already gone back to work, he realized he was more tired at the end of his “off” day then he was at the end of his “work” days. He would complain about it. The fact is, once you become a parent, there aren’t any more days when you can just put everything off and sit in front of the TV all day. A day off from your job means you’ve got those hours to catch up on the rest of your life’s responsibilities, those that you let slip while you’re at our job.

At the moment, and until I decide it’s too much for me, I am doing both. I’m still “parenting from work”. This makes me some kind of hybrid between a SAHM and a Working Mom, where I get to spend 100% of my time with Mia, but without the added bonus of getting to do the housework and cooking during Mia’s naps. I love being able to do this, and I am grateful that I can do this. But, it’s exhausting. This morning, I juggled Mia’s exploding diaper with finishing a complaint I’m trying to file by the end of the day. This afternoon, I juggled Mia’s ceaseless need to have a smiling face in front of her with writing immigration withdrawal letters. At the end of the day, I still manage to get almost all of my work done. Anything urgent, I can take home and finish when B gets home and can take over the entertainment duties.

My only real “day off” is Sunday, when I split the parenting duties with B. This is also the day that I get to: vacuum, do laundry (Mia’s and mine), go to the grocery store, and, I usually get at least an hour or two of knitting in. In the end, Mia is a lovely and relatively easy baby, so things could be significantly worse. We’re lucky to have the life we have.

California

One nice thing about living in Las Vegas, quite honestly, is it's proximity to Southern California. Romeo's mother and her siblings are from there, he was born there, and after being raised in Las Vegas, he returned to CA for college and the first decade of his professional life. He returned to Vegas just a few years ago with a job transfer. (It was shortly after both of our moves here that we met.)

Anyway, he and I enjoy traveling to the Los Angeles area, or primarily it's "suburbs" (is that a Midwest term?), as often as we can. We used to go once every two or three months before the marriage, pregnancy, and baby. He enjoys going "home," I enjoy the shopping and the weather, and we both enjoy the entertainment factor, as his favorite blues band is L.A. based and he has turned me on to them as well. So we would often find dates that B.B. Chung King and the Buddaheads were playing an L.A. area club and just pack ourselves up, head on down, and make a weekend out of it.

Needless to say, for any mother or parent reading this blog, packing a couple's belongings for a weekend is by far easier than packing for a family of three, especially when one of those family members is an infant. Then there is the trip itself, which is 3.5-4 hours. Sometimes, I get bored myself, so you can understand how a baby would do on it. Add in having to take feeding breaks, get a better hotel room than we would have to just for ourselves, and, and, and...basically, our trips to Cali started becoming few and far between when I got pregnant (L.A. rush hour stop and go traffic and morning sickness also don't mix well). We have only gone once since my 1-year-old son was born. That time, about 7 months ago, we did bring Tybalt, and we had a a great time attempting (and successfully) finding new things to do in California that are baby-friendly. We ended up at a Food Truck Festival. And for the gig we planned the trip around, we luckily have family in Cali and were able to have an aunt babysit for a few hours in the evening. But in general, like I said, we made it a family weekend and enjoyed a lovely late winter-early spring day with our young son.

Romeo and I have been craving some time alone, however. And seeing I am blessed with a loving mother-in-law and [cursed with a hateful] father-in-law who adore Tybalt, we had them babysit for the weekend and Romeo and I hit the road for a little couple's time. This time around the musical entertainment was our dear friend Ron Ellington Shy. He used to perform with The Drifters, The Coasters, and Don and Dewey (just to name a few!). He is an amazing musician. Romeo has known him for years and years. They met at a show in Cali, and they both ended up living in Vegas. But the economy has declined for all residents here, and that includes gigs for musicians. So Ron moved back to Cali a little over a year ago and now performs in the L.A. area.

Ron was playing at a place called The Fret House in downtown Covina, California. Covina is the town Romeo called home for more than 10 years of his adult life. He knows Citrus Avenue, the main drag, well as he was on the board of directors of the playhouse there for a handful of years. It is there that he got his acting experience and honed his skills. The night we met we talked about that theatre and the shows he has acted in, produced, or otherwise participated in. And on other trips to Southern Cali we have driven down Citrus Ave, or once stopped and parked at the theatre, just to get a quick look but on Saturday we spent the ENTIRE day on Citrus Ave. in downtown Covina. And it was amazing. Absolutely wonderful.

But this post is long enough. For now I will say...

To Be Continued...

Frenchie McKnitsalot

A few years ago, one of my then-boyfriend-now-husband’s friends, in a completely nice way, asked: “So, what are your hobbies?”. My response was a very decided “Uhhhh… I like to go to restaurants. Does that count? I also like to drink Margaritas?”. I found it so strange that, #1, someone was asking me about hobbies, and #2 that I seriously couldn’t come up with an answer other than eating and drinking. In my head, I can justify my lack of answer by telling myself that I was 24 and in law school. I am not going to pretend that I was one of those people who spent every waking moment outside of class studying, but it still took up a huge chunk of my time. Also, when I wasn’t studying, like, on Saturdays, I was usually hung over from above-stated hobbies.

I had learned to knit in college from a couple of girls in my sorority. My roommates and I all learned together, and we made a couple of scarves here and there. My biggest knitting accomplishment by the time I graduated was a Gryffindor scarf, which I think I wore to one of the Harry Potter movies. Striped scarf, basically. During law school, I probably made a couple more scarves. When I graduated law school, and while I was taking BarBri courses, I got a terrible job as a law clerk. This was seriously the worst job I’ve ever had, including the 3 weeks I spent as one of those people who stands on the sidewalk asking people whether they had a second for    fill in the blank related to the Environment   . She was a super conservative sole practitioner who worked out of her apartment. She was in her 60s, had never been married, and had craploads of hobbies. She had 3 harps in her living room, a membership to the Lyric Opera, tons and tons and tons of books, and a basket full of yarn. She was a really interesting woman when she wasn’t criticizing me for living with B before we were married, or even engaged. (Once, she asked if I wanted help with a cover letter I wrote applying for a family law position, when she got to the part when I was writing about family values, she laughed and said : "Yeah right, you don't have family values living with your boyfriend".) She ended up firing me, claiming that she looked on the internet history of the computer I was working on and saw that I had checked my personal email and looked at a blogs. I didn’t lie, I told her that I did do those things from time to time. She then said she didn’t know what those websites were, and that she thought those might be disguises for porn. Yeah… that’s exactly what Lag Liv is.

Anyway, I did get one good thing out of that job. For Christmas, she gave me a beginner's knitting book, with simple and easy to follow patterns. She suggested that I YouTube the instructions I couldn't figure out from the text. And from there, I became a real knitter. I started making hats, and I made a pretty baby blanket for my not yet born nephew, Tyler. When I was done, I picked up one of those free knitting patterns they give out at Michael's for an adult sized throw blanket. It was 6'x6' and had cables. I wish had a picture of that one to show you guys, but since it was my first real big project, my stitches weren't even enough and it hasn't held up very well.

The second I got pregnant, my knitting went from a now and then hobby to a full on obsession. I made Mia a striped cable knit blanket, which this time, came out very even and has held up to a few machine washes on the gentle cycle. She has a matching hat, which I made quickly afterwards. All the yarn colors I used match her nursery bedding from PB Kids.

I have made her 4 sweaters, one which she outgrew before I was even finished. I hadn't finished by the time she was born, since she came a few days before our scheduled induction. Once she was born, I didn't have the energy to do anything but lay down and watch tv between feedings and diaper changes, so it was too small by the time it was even done:

The second cardigan I made, I was super meticulous with. Also, I was super nervous that it was going to be too small again, that I followed the directions for 6-12 months. It turned out really well, just... a tad large:

It's not a big deal that it's so big, really. She doesn't need a sweater here in Vegas until late October/early November, and by then, it won't be so huge. Sidenote: Yes, Mia has the CRAZIEST HAIR EVER. I swear, I don't neglect it. If I don't put a hat on her for HOURS after her bath, it'll come out like this about 10 minutes after she gets out. If I do put the hat on her for the proper amount of time, it turns out like this by the end of the next day, so... yeah. She's got crazy hair, and I'm living with it.

The second sweater I made with this ridiculously expensive yarn that I bought at a yarn boutique near my house. I was so excited to find a place to buy specialty yarns, I kind of let myself go a bit. This is a cotton/bamboo blend that was at $12.00 for a 50g skein. (For comparison, at Michael's yarn costs no more than $4.99. I've bought plain cotton yarn for 88 cents for a 75g skein before. I'll show you what I made with that one in a sec.) The yarn was so gorgeous, it was different shades of purple. There's no predicting what it will look like all knit up, but when the yarn was all balled up, I couldn't resist it. This sweater ended up costing $24... and ended up looking a little too much like a Cosby sweater for my taste. But I don't care, she'll wear it and so will any other girl babies that I might have in the future.

Pretty purple Cosby sweater.

Lastly, I made a green professor cardigan. It has a rolled up collar, and looks like I should have inserted some elbow pads. I absolutely love it, but it's a bit narrower than I had hoped. Most patterns come with ample belly space for baby bellies, but the woman who designed it clearly didn't have a baby of her own. She'll wear this one straight away, on those chilly Vegas nights. RIGHT. Still cute.




I added heart buttons to make sure she still looks like a girl.

  In addition to baby clothes, I've also taken to making stuffed animals. I've made three of them so far, and I've had a lot of fun with these. I have a feeling that kids aren't going to like them as much as they would like store bought stuffed animals, but I'm OK with that. First up, I made a Teddy Bear while I was still pregnant with Mia. This one sits in her crib, waiting for her to care a bit.

My first stuffed animal. Kind of embarassingly bad, actually. But still, I made it!

The second animal I made for our nephew, Tyler. I sent it to him at Easter. I used the same yarn on this bunny as I did on his baby blanket.

Lastly, and the item I am most proud of to date, is this guy:

By far the most complicated item I've made. It only took a week to knit up, but it's putting together all the little pieces of shell that was so time consuming. I love it. I thought it was so great because it can double as  cushion. This was for Tybalt's first birthday. This is the item I made using the 88 cent cotton skeins! It only took a bit of yarn from each skein, and a couple of the light blue ones for the shell edging and underbelly.

So, that's it for my knitting post. I'll continue to post pictures of my completed projects. I'm working on (another) cardigan for Miss Mia, this one will have some varied stitches and is in a 100% supima cotton that I also bought at the specialty yarn store. I made it following the 6-12 month instructions, too. So, it'll be a spring sweater. Next on the project queue (that's what Ravelry calls it, and I like that term, like Netflix!) is a "mushroom beret" for myself, and then a double breasted coat for Miss Mia. Also coming up, knits from this book B surprised me with last week:

Pregnancy Envy

Yesterday, I had an another appointment at my OB's office. Most of his patients are pregnant women, of course. Going back into the office now that I'm all healed up and basically feeling like myself again (plus a pudgy stretchmarked belly), I looked at my fellow patients quite differently. I looked enviously at the woman next to me who was probably between five and 6 months pregnant, knowing that she's in the best part. The morning sickness is over, she's noticeably pregnant, but not uncomfortably so. There's also that deference you get from everyone else around you when you're pregnant. I got so used to people holding the door for me, letting me go in front of them in the bathroom line, and other genuinely nice things. A few times, someone would cut me off while I was driving, and I would get shocked, like, how dare you cut off a pregnant lady? Then I'd remind myself that #1 I wasn't actually entitled to going first, all the time, and that #2, they couldn't see my belly while I was behind the wheel. Now that I’ve been not pregnant for over three months, I can start to look back at my pregnant days pretty fondly. And right now, when I had to go through 3 different pairs of pants to contain my super pudgy belly, I’m certainly missing my elasto-waist pants. I even considered putting a pair on this morning…

A co-worker that travels between our Rehab Clinics delivered yesterday. A few far away facebook friends of mine are due before the end of this month, too. When I see their statuses, or see the pictures of their new babies, I can’t believe that they’re already done being pregnant. When you’re the pregnant one, those nine-almost-ten-months crawl by at a snail’s pace. I was seriously shocked to hear that my coworker delivered! My first thought was, Oh no! She delivered prematurely, I hope the baby’s OK. But my other co-workers set me straight, that she had actually gone a few days past her due date. Seriously, I’m still shocked.

As I said before, I had no real reason to complain during my pregnancy. Everything went just fine. I had normal blood pressure throughout (except for a spike right around the time I was in and out of court from Thanksgiving to Christmas last year), my feet didn’t even swell. My only complication was that I had sciatic nerve pain, which sucked, but was only uncomfortable for me and required no treatment and posed no danger to the baybay. At the time, I just didn’t like it. I’m sure I’m not the only woman to dislike being pregnant, so I guess it’s just something you start to forget after a while. How else would people ever have more than one baby?

The Silent Treatment

To say my father-in-law and I do not get along would be putting it mildly. In fact, to say he turns my stomach might still be putting it mildly. When I first met him he seemed ornery and crotchety. An old man set in his ways and prone to saying exactly what he felt when he felt it. Tact is not a virtue he was born with. But I chalked it up to the fact that he is honestly older. (One fact of life is that with Romeo being 15 years my "senior," his parents are a decade or two older than mine.) In fact, he is only about 10 years younger than my equally ornery and crotchety late grandmother. You know the type of senior citizen, I'm sure, who grew up using terms like "colored," and other non-politically correct things, and still says them, and way too loud. Yes? Anyway, like I said, I gave him the benefit of the doubt when while I was dating Romeo, his father would say somewhat rude things about not needing more when I would take seconds at family dinner.

Then Romeo and I announced our engagement. And the $#!% hit the fan. No sooner were the words out of Romeo's mouth than his father opened the back patio door and walked out into the night without a word. He ceased speaking to me for Romeo and my 8 month engagement. We didn't even know until "crunch time" whether he would attend the wedding. Rumors flew as to what his problem might be. What was the one that stuck? My weight. Suddenly his hairy eyeball and upending comments at dinner didn't seem so innocent.

Now, it should be said that he finally spoke to me to apologize for his behavior the following Thanksgiving. A month after my wedding. His reasoning was the age difference between his son and I. And suddenly I felt silly. Felt bad about believing for so long what family members had muttered. "Of course!" I exclaimed to myself, "No one could be so mean about weight! Of course! He just thought I was too young. Not that I think that's much of a reason to dislike me anyway, but at least it isn't my weight! Phew!"

Well, the "niceties" lasted approximately a whopping 2 months, until Romeo and I announced that we were pregnant. Slowly, the avoidance tactics and snide remarks on his part crept back in. And I couldn't put my finger on it, but...yeah, age was definitely not the issue. Nor did I believe it ever really had been. You guessed it, as I got pregnant, I got even larger...

Zoom ahead about a year, for the sake of length of this blog post. I have had Tybalt. Been hospitalized 3 months with heart trouble, and actually LOST  100 pounds from being tube fed. What does he say to me? He is "concerned" about my weight and believes I will die shortly. And he wants me to know that he will consider attending my funeral, because I am the mother of his grandson.

EXCUSE ME, BUT 1)WHO THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS? 2) WHO THE HELL SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO A PERSON WHO HAS JUST STARED DEATH IN THE FACE AND SURVIVED?

Needless to say, that was the last straw. I was the one who now resorted to avoidance tactics. I was shocked and I had had it. I discussed it with my husband (he had not witnessed the situation), and we decided that we would try to retain minimal contact with him for the sake of the grandfather/grandson relationship, but that I got a "pass" and if I never wanted to see him again I didn't have to.

*I should mention that avoiding him is not exactly easy, but not terribly difficult either. He only lives in the same town as us half of the year. He travels between Las Vegas, and his other son's home in the Pacific Northwest. He lives 3 months here, 3 months there, 3 months, 3 months, etc. So while I do have to "survive" 3 months near him at a time, I also get 3 months "off" immediately following it.*

Well the FUNERAL COMMENT to me occurred at the beginning of his last 3 month stay. So I avoided family dinners and functions for 3 months after that hurtful day. And when he left was able to have a happy 3 more months of family time with Romeo, Tybalt, and my sincerely loving mother-in-law.

But the time has come and my father-in-law returned about 2 weeks ago. What hurts even beyond his vengeful comments and lack of tact, is as I just mentioned I adore my mother-in-law, and when he comes to town if I avoid him I don't get to see her. I also don't appreciate spending evenings alone at home while my husband takes Tybalt to his parents' home. Remember, I may be pissed, but we agreed to foster Tybalt's relationship with his Grandfather. After all, the baby has done nothing wrong.

Okay, so after that long background story, we come to today: I gave in. We were invited by my mother-in-law to bbq for Labor Day. At first, Romeo and I decided he would just take Tybalt. So he headed over. But my stomach gnawed and gnawed. I just couldn't rationalize hiding in fear and pain. I wanted to spend time with family on the holiday, not home alone. And damn it, I missed my mother-in-law as well. So, I loaded myself into my car. I must say my stomach flip-flopped the entire drive over. My husband turned white as a sheet when I arrived. Nervous about how this would go, the two cats in one bag.

How did it go? I wish I could say well. I wish I could say the clouds parted, sun shone, and a double rainbow appeared. Instead, I report from the front that apparently my father-in-law still has a problem with me and my weight (or whatever issue he wants to claim he has...bottom line, he still has a problem with me). He left the house and stayed out in the garage for approximately 2 hours once I arrived. After that he came in the house, asked for Romeo, and they proceeded to work on a complicated toy Tybalt had received for his birthday that had yet to be constructed. This meant another 1.5-2 hours in the garage. After they were done, Romeo and he grilled up dinner and he proceeded to stand in the kitchen cleaning rather than sit at the same dining room table as me.

What does all this mean? Where does this put us? Honestly, I have no stinkin' idea. I do know that all that angst and guilt I felt about ignoring him, not speaking to him, and not being able to find the strength to be the bigger person? Apparently that was all unnecessary. Because even when I bowed my head and went over to the house today, he was the one that apparently still has a problem, and apparently finds the silent treatment and ignoring another human being as a perfectly acceptable option, as he displayed to me today.

Sigh........................................................................................................................................