thorny

I had a glass of wine with dinner last night, passed out, and then after Stella's ritual four A.M. coughing fit I couldn’t fall back asleep. So I thought about happy things like what a horrible mother I am, because yesterday when I picked Hamish up one of his daycare teachers had this to say, in an impromptu doorway conference:


“Does Hamish, like, play with toys at home?”
“Huh?” I thought, is this a trick question? “How do you mean?”

no strollers allowed

I FINALLY got Stella napping, hoorah! Jeez. She wouldn't eat. She wouldn't nurse. She wouldn't let me put her down to play with toys, which she usually does because she's a modern independent woman. She's gotten to this age where if I try to sit her on the floor she'll protest by stiffening her torso so we just stand there, me hunched in pain and her giggling like she's mistress of the universe. Of course she's mistress of my universe. And her hair is getting long enough over her eyes that I might just have to buy baby barrettes. Whoa.

big B, Little b, what begins with b? bryan and botkier bag blues. B, B, B.

My husband. I love him. He is just...ahh. I don't know. Such a mensch. Last night we're on the sofa, giddy with excitement because we're finally watching the season premiere of House. God, that detective is so mean. And House is our hero. His cynicism throws us into fist-pumping spasms of victory, like, "Yeah! Take that you turd muffins!" And these days I truly understand his pain. Let the man have his Vicodin! He's so complicated! He hates us yet he saves our lives! Someone tell Ayn Rand—Altruism lives! House is a messiah!

urban spa day

A glass of red wine. An hour-long massage at the hands of a six-foot three Ukrainian guy from Brighton Beach. Driving home singing to "How Soon is Now" so loudly I sound deranged, with no one in the back kicking my seat and begging for "the ants song." An afternoon without kids. This is no Mastercard advert. This is real. Out on the town I realize in a panic, I've never felt older. Everyone working in the 'hood is suddenly at least three years younger than me. And I've never felt more invisible without a stroller attached to me like a giant prosthesis. My outdated look draws no stares from the studiedly jaded college students in their teal leather boots and jaunty herringbone caps. But you know what, youngsters? Not that you care, because a mom like me or anyone else except your own isn't even on your radar and why should we be? But you know, I've never felt more blessed for being able to live the strollerless life, if only for a couple hours. How fast I can go! How dizzyingly spontaneous I can be! I can stop in somewhere for a pressed sandwich and not have to mull over every possible disastrous outcome! I can fling my dorky woolen hat like Mary Tyler Moore! I can sing! I am a singular, tipsy, kneaded woman. Hallelujah.

scary blooms

Ahhhhh....The muscle spasm has relaxed, leaving me with garden variety stiffness, and I can smile despite the pain. Could life be better? Well...the Rockefeller Center area and Jersey City across the river smell like, as Bryan put it this morning after experiencing it firsthand, "like someone left the stove on." And yesterday we went to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden (The Ron Mueck and Annie Leibovitz exhibits at the Brooklyn Museum next door had lines snaking for miles so forget that) only to be spooked by the forsythia and cherry blossoms. Tourists and locals alike surrounded the flowering trees with cameras like the blooms were the tiny, glassed-in Mona Lisa at the Louvre. It was important to get the forsythia in the foreground with the leafless trees beyond to really drive the point home that the world feels like it's ending. If it is, I am not dressed for the occasion. If only I had that Botkier Trigger bag...I will take Hamish to the museum later this week if we're all still here. Stella too, I suppose. I wonder what Hamish'll think of the giant newborn. Hopefully it won't traumatize him too much. Maybe it'll be one of his first memories years from now. So...yeah. I should have taken a picture of the forsythia myself, to illustrate this post with, but I didn't, so here's our friend Gary, impersonating a flower blooming in the winter. Scary, right?

so easy with one

Stella naps. One of my guardian angels came this morning to take Hamish to daycare, so I wouldn't have to schlep the kids in the car with my back ailment. My other guardian angel will pick him up and take him for the afternoon. So that leaves me with Stella.

seven month itch

My back hurts. Like excruciating. Like, yearning for Vicodin, but popping ibuprofin instead because I don't want to pump and dump, or worse, fall asleep on the job if you know what I mean. Has anyone had acupuncture for this? Does every mother suffer from this? This is lower back pain, concentrated on my right side, from hoisting my weighty babe, let alone the car seat, oy vey! I got troubles. I'm thirty-seven going on ninety-eight. The morning of January first, 2007, I looked in the mirror and was greeted by a gray hair. My second. I know, you've got hundreds. But still. What timing! What is with this life of mine? I even called the doctor for my back.