I find myself staring at the keyboard with a blank look upon my face regularly nowadays. I’m a little concerned, though not overly as to the reasons for this lack of affect. I have a strong inclination that it stems from the sole fact that my interaction on a day to day basis is most abundantly with a four and a half month old. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to carry on shrieking conversations as she feels out her vocal chords and attempts to imitate a few consonants here and there. I love the fact that she gives me all the news around the crib while I’m changing her diaper, for apparently there is much to tell.
I’m always forewarned about the onslaught of deep conversation with Ocean, by her quick inhale of breath—which she invariably holds for a few seconds, and her hands that clasp together in front of her chest. Shortly following these two tells, she will open her mouth twinkle her eyes and let me have it, all the while ringing her little fists together. I am as of yet unsure as to what it is we are discussing, but we sure can talk about it for quite an extended period of time. I am also convinced that when Ocean really learns how to talk there will be nothing that I can do to stop her from doing so day in and day out.
Occasionally I find myself craving a conversation with someone other than of the infant persuasion. Although, I’ve come to notice that there really aren’t many people out there worth wasting my time attempting to engage in any sort of real conversation. Perhaps it is the areas that I frequent most? Hmm. Wal-Mart, the bank, the gym… I suppose I’ve answered my own question.
I fear that extreme introversion is right around the corner for me yet I don’t really find myself working very hard to avoid it. I just don’t have the energy to brave a world full of judgmental, ignorant people. I find myself rationalizing why I really don’t need to make that phone call to so and so, or why I simply don’t feel like dealing with people who underestimate me. I find myself increasingly content to stay within my own little bubble—to spend time with just those closest to me; for I’ve become stingy with any extra I may have laying around. I’m a time miser—I can waste my own time perfectly well, I don’t need anyone else’s help.
Perhaps this lack of motivation to get out and “be” in the world is a residual effect of that life changing event I just went through a few months back? I am unsure, but I think that it could mean I am finally content with myself and the path my life is one. I have given myself the opportunity to no longer feel obligated to carry on unnecessary “real conversations,” instead I think that I’ll stick to a healthy dose of Ocean talk and count my blessings.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Friday, January 16, 2009
One of Those Weeks With an Educated Tongue
Ok well, maybe it hasn’t been a whole week yet, but I’m beginning to feel that this upcoming couple of days could be somewhat difficult. I mean, if the last few days are any indication of what to expect in the future, I’ve got to get some things worked out fast.
Ocean goes through these phases, well, I don’t know if you can call them phases, for they seem to accelerate as she gets older. Some days it’s hard to believe that she could ever be classified as a fussy baby, but others, my God, there’s times I can’t believe my eyes or my ears. You know you’re on the verge of being classified as a drama queen when you stop sucking on your bottle to utter a few whimpers, simply for the added effect they might bring your way.
She has not yet mastered the follow through (give her time, she’s only four months old), for after she utters these whimper’s, she will take a cursory look around, making sure that there is a plethora of concerned faces hovering above her—and then, as if nothing happened, go back to happily sucking her bottle. I am of the belief that within the next couple of months, she will in fact have managed to wrap all the adults in this household around her tiny little fingers, for I am sure that the follow through will be something of the near future.
I am currently practicing my headstands, for I am well aware that when the follow through has reached its full potential, and Ocean engages this Weapon of Mass Destruction, I will become something like a dancing monkey—running around, clapping my hands, and occasionally standing on my head to abort Ocean’s mission of devastation.
At this time, I am concerned for my neck and my sanity—I am not sure how some women decide to do this four or five times. Every morning we get up and get dressed in the cutest of outfits (this helps me to deal with some of my more disheartening moments—I will explain shortly). Upon awakening, it is feeding time--now feeding time is supposed to be one of the most beautiful times a mother can share with her child; this in fact would be true, if my child was not Ocean Caterina.
You see, Ocean has developed what my mother coined, an “educated tongue.” She has found a way to manipulate the nipple out of her mouth using her tongue in the most ingenious of ways. I am quite convinced that she will be one of those women who are able to tie cherry stems in knots with their tongues (yet another thing to give me and her father heart palpitations). So, with this educated tongue deal, a feeding which should take approximately 20-30 minutes lasts for eh, somewhere around an hour. It is accompanied with said whimpers, smiles around her bottle, and various other tricks she has picked up along the way.
Feeding time has come to be known as frustration time, and I have come to realize that this is just the start, dear Lord have mercy. Today’s feedings have been especially frustrating. Ocean is overly tired (she has decided once again that she really doesn’t need to nap), and has extended her whimpering time to maximize its effectiveness.
She is a master at her craft and my hat is off to her, for I found myself tearing up and begging her to “please Ocean, just eat one meal like a normal baby….” I looked down at where my tears were falling to realize that they were landing squarely upon the cutest socks known to man. They are made to look like little ballerina slippers, complete with ribbons and a couple of well placed rhinestones. I started to quiet my sniffles while I took in the rest of the ruffles and pinkness that made up her outfit for the day. I have since decided that my situation (the one which places me on the verge of insanity), is the very reason baby’s clothing is designed to be so incredibly precious.
I was able to calm myself, talking myself back from the brink of hysteria by reminding myself that I cannot allow the most darling of children (and I say that with a smile on my face), dressed in the most adorable of outfits to push me to the point of no return. I have begun to understand and accept her weapon of choice, and am ready to arm myself for any upcoming battles with many, many ruffles and bows… Speaking of which, I hope that one day she can forgive me for this hat.
Ocean goes through these phases, well, I don’t know if you can call them phases, for they seem to accelerate as she gets older. Some days it’s hard to believe that she could ever be classified as a fussy baby, but others, my God, there’s times I can’t believe my eyes or my ears. You know you’re on the verge of being classified as a drama queen when you stop sucking on your bottle to utter a few whimpers, simply for the added effect they might bring your way.
She has not yet mastered the follow through (give her time, she’s only four months old), for after she utters these whimper’s, she will take a cursory look around, making sure that there is a plethora of concerned faces hovering above her—and then, as if nothing happened, go back to happily sucking her bottle. I am of the belief that within the next couple of months, she will in fact have managed to wrap all the adults in this household around her tiny little fingers, for I am sure that the follow through will be something of the near future.
I am currently practicing my headstands, for I am well aware that when the follow through has reached its full potential, and Ocean engages this Weapon of Mass Destruction, I will become something like a dancing monkey—running around, clapping my hands, and occasionally standing on my head to abort Ocean’s mission of devastation.
At this time, I am concerned for my neck and my sanity—I am not sure how some women decide to do this four or five times. Every morning we get up and get dressed in the cutest of outfits (this helps me to deal with some of my more disheartening moments—I will explain shortly). Upon awakening, it is feeding time--now feeding time is supposed to be one of the most beautiful times a mother can share with her child; this in fact would be true, if my child was not Ocean Caterina.
You see, Ocean has developed what my mother coined, an “educated tongue.” She has found a way to manipulate the nipple out of her mouth using her tongue in the most ingenious of ways. I am quite convinced that she will be one of those women who are able to tie cherry stems in knots with their tongues (yet another thing to give me and her father heart palpitations). So, with this educated tongue deal, a feeding which should take approximately 20-30 minutes lasts for eh, somewhere around an hour. It is accompanied with said whimpers, smiles around her bottle, and various other tricks she has picked up along the way.
Feeding time has come to be known as frustration time, and I have come to realize that this is just the start, dear Lord have mercy. Today’s feedings have been especially frustrating. Ocean is overly tired (she has decided once again that she really doesn’t need to nap), and has extended her whimpering time to maximize its effectiveness.
She is a master at her craft and my hat is off to her, for I found myself tearing up and begging her to “please Ocean, just eat one meal like a normal baby….” I looked down at where my tears were falling to realize that they were landing squarely upon the cutest socks known to man. They are made to look like little ballerina slippers, complete with ribbons and a couple of well placed rhinestones. I started to quiet my sniffles while I took in the rest of the ruffles and pinkness that made up her outfit for the day. I have since decided that my situation (the one which places me on the verge of insanity), is the very reason baby’s clothing is designed to be so incredibly precious.
I was able to calm myself, talking myself back from the brink of hysteria by reminding myself that I cannot allow the most darling of children (and I say that with a smile on my face), dressed in the most adorable of outfits to push me to the point of no return. I have begun to understand and accept her weapon of choice, and am ready to arm myself for any upcoming battles with many, many ruffles and bows… Speaking of which, I hope that one day she can forgive me for this hat.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Financial Bind
This whole being strapped for cash thing is getting old. I find myself seething at the core with contempt for those who continue to get richer while people with everyday lifestyles find themselves floundering against an ever growing wall of poverty. It disgusts me that I’m going to be banking on Ocean being extremely intelligent--scoring herself a couple of scholarships just so that she can get into college. Don’t get me wrong, we still have to master this rolling over from back to front thing first, and college seems far far away, yet I don’t have the faith in a resilient economy that I would really need to ignore the ticking college clock.
John and I decided that we only would have one child; and no, it is not because she is a gloriously cute handful—which indeed she is, instead, it is due to the fact that I don’t want to feed my three apples of my eyes Top Ramen for the rest of our lives. I find it difficult to swallow the very idea of providing for my one and only daughter, I certainly cannot imagine providing for two or God forbid three children.
I don’t really have much of a direction with this line of thinking, nor do I possess some witty quip for coping with this financial crisis, I am simply at a loss as to how to make the red dollar signs stop parading across my eyelids when I lay my head down at night. Money doesn’t make the world go ‘round, but is sure can be an aid for some much needed shut eye. Seriously though, I’ve resorted to my last known method of dealing with a situation which seems completely out of my control—rather than going out and buying bundles of lottery tickets (the thought has crossed my mind), I think that I will simply bitch and moan about it right here, in my office, in my beautiful house, while my beautiful daughter sleeps for another hour and while I wait for my husband to awaken for yet another day of hard work as a cop.
So, with that said, I warn you, I’m not so coherent these days when it comes to discussions involving what I can afford and what I can’t, for my answer is always a resounding, “nope, nope definitely can’t afford that.” I hate the fact that John and I splurged on buying a much needed garbage disposal at Lowes several months ago, (why is it that people don’t feel that garbage disposals are an integral part of a well run kitchen?), and for that matter, why in a house built in 2002, would a garbage disposal not have been installed automatically? I mean, geez, was it just something special about that year? My 2002 Explorer came stock with a CASSETTE PLAYER, no CD player, just a cassette player—what is that?
But I digress, so, in my garage, I have a garbage disposal sitting in a box, with all of the necessary installation apparatus for said piece of wonderful equipment. Here’s where my dilemma really kicks in—I can’t afford to hire someone to come out and install it; but on the other hand I am not savvy enough, nor do I trust myself by any means to mess with both plumbing and electricity. So, do I buy a book and read up on garbage disposal installation techniques? Or do I bite the bullet and call a plumber? Ha, quite the conundrum, honestly, I do neither, and here I sit with a garbage disposal sitting in a box in my garage. It mocks me when I walk past it, sometimes I can hear it snicker. Yep, it’s a fact; this financial crisis has turned one more person into a raving loon.
John and I decided that we only would have one child; and no, it is not because she is a gloriously cute handful—which indeed she is, instead, it is due to the fact that I don’t want to feed my three apples of my eyes Top Ramen for the rest of our lives. I find it difficult to swallow the very idea of providing for my one and only daughter, I certainly cannot imagine providing for two or God forbid three children.
I don’t really have much of a direction with this line of thinking, nor do I possess some witty quip for coping with this financial crisis, I am simply at a loss as to how to make the red dollar signs stop parading across my eyelids when I lay my head down at night. Money doesn’t make the world go ‘round, but is sure can be an aid for some much needed shut eye. Seriously though, I’ve resorted to my last known method of dealing with a situation which seems completely out of my control—rather than going out and buying bundles of lottery tickets (the thought has crossed my mind), I think that I will simply bitch and moan about it right here, in my office, in my beautiful house, while my beautiful daughter sleeps for another hour and while I wait for my husband to awaken for yet another day of hard work as a cop.
So, with that said, I warn you, I’m not so coherent these days when it comes to discussions involving what I can afford and what I can’t, for my answer is always a resounding, “nope, nope definitely can’t afford that.” I hate the fact that John and I splurged on buying a much needed garbage disposal at Lowes several months ago, (why is it that people don’t feel that garbage disposals are an integral part of a well run kitchen?), and for that matter, why in a house built in 2002, would a garbage disposal not have been installed automatically? I mean, geez, was it just something special about that year? My 2002 Explorer came stock with a CASSETTE PLAYER, no CD player, just a cassette player—what is that?
But I digress, so, in my garage, I have a garbage disposal sitting in a box, with all of the necessary installation apparatus for said piece of wonderful equipment. Here’s where my dilemma really kicks in—I can’t afford to hire someone to come out and install it; but on the other hand I am not savvy enough, nor do I trust myself by any means to mess with both plumbing and electricity. So, do I buy a book and read up on garbage disposal installation techniques? Or do I bite the bullet and call a plumber? Ha, quite the conundrum, honestly, I do neither, and here I sit with a garbage disposal sitting in a box in my garage. It mocks me when I walk past it, sometimes I can hear it snicker. Yep, it’s a fact; this financial crisis has turned one more person into a raving loon.
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