I Pump More Than Gas

So, I'm back at work a few days a week. That's a whole other blog entry entirely which I will soon get to, but for now it does meet my three basic criteria of a job: not very hard, not very long, a good deal of money. Anja goes to her day care while I am at work and I pick her up when I am finished at about 2:00.

I'm amazingly still breastfeeding. When Anja was born, I was determined to nurse her until she was six months old then transition her to formula. She is almost ten months old now and still sucking milk out of me - thankfully, it is neither as many times a day nor for as long as she did during her early months. I figure I'll go for the gusto and go for a year. What's two more months compared to the past ten??

Anyway, it is probably pretty obvious that Anja can't suck milk out of me when I'm at work. Inherent in any extended separation from her is the need to pump before I explode and provide my surroundings with a giant milk bath. Fortunately, the clients at my new job take their 30-minute lunch break right at the time when I need to get rid of some milk.

I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that most employers do not offer new moms a nice pumping room, complete with the LaZBoy chair and TV. I know my new employer does not. I'm not even sure the hospital I was working at before Anja was born did, but it was a hospital where a couple of lactation consultants worked so I'm sure some arrangements could have been made. I am OK with pumping in my car; as long as I have a book to read and some fresh batteries I can pump just about anywhere. But lately, it has been a little cold outside so last week I went in search of warmer surroundings.

My new job site is very small. Last week, I carried my pump into the administrative offices and explained to a receptionist that I needed a private room for about twenty minutes to pump my milk for my precious little daughter. First, she offered the private restroom. Which was nice - it had a chair (aka toilet), a table to put my book on (aka sink), as well as an electrical outlet so the pump could work a little faster. Unfortunately, I was forced to point out to her the obvious reality that someone might need to go to the bathroom while I was in there pumping away. Ohhhhhh, she said, good point. So she led me outside (in the cold and rain), around the building, to another entrance where a small lunch room is located. She explained that there was a small room off the lunch room I could use which accommodated my request for privacy. We had to take this journey twice because she forgot the key the first time. The second time we walked in the cold and the rain she stopped to talk to the administrator. Did I mention I had thirty minutes? But we finally arrived at the promised destination which turned out to be a storage closet with no chair, only a small light, and no electrical outlet.

F***.

So, I'm back in the car. I can wear a coat. If it is extremely frigid outside, I can always run the engine. I'm fascinated how something so natural can be made so difficult. This brought quite a bit of discussion on the La Leche League message boards last week. I'm proud to be a breastfeeding mom. I just hope someday that breastfeeding moms and the people who witness them will be able to overcome their embarrassment and shame and feel comfortable with the whipping out of boobies and babies simultaneously.

Songs For The Cat

Manu's Song
(Lyrics written by Manu the Cat, music inspired by Mommy. Please visualize performing cat and laughing baby.)

I'm doing a little dance for my Anja
'Cause I am her little Manu
I'm doing a little dance for my Anja
'Cause I am her little Manu
Cats aren't s'posed to dance
But I like to dance
I'm doing a little dance for my Anja
'Cause I am her little Manu

Anja Had A Cat Named Manu
(to the melody of "Mary Had A Little Lamb")

Anja had a cat named Manu
A cat named Manu
A cat named Manu
Anja had a cat named Manu
Whose brain was very small

Well, come on. Any cat who "willingly" dances can't be too bright.

Heard It On The Radio

I was driving to work when it came on the retro lunchtime hour...

I guess I shoulda known
By the way u parked your car sideways
That it wouldn't last

See you're the kinda person
That believes in makin' out once
Love 'em and leave 'em fast

I guess I must be dumb
'Cuz U had a pocket full of horses
Trojan and some of them used

But it was Saturday night
I guess that makes it all right
And U say what have I got 2 lose?
And honey I say

Little red corvette
Baby you're much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need a love that's gonna last

I guess I shoulda closed my eyes
When U drove me 2 the place
Where your horses run free

'Cuz I felt a little ill
When I saw all the pictures
Of the jockeys that were there before me

Believe it or not
I started to worry
I wondered if I had enough class

But it was Saturday night
I guess that makes it all right
And U say, "Baby, have U got enough gas?"
Oh yeah

Little red corvette
Baby you're much 2 fast, yes U r
Little red corvette
U need 2 find a love that's gonna last

A body like yours (A body like yours)
Oughta be in jail (Oughta be in jail)
'Cuz it's on the verge of bein' obscene
('Cuz it's on the verge of bein' obscene)

Move over baby (Move over baby)
Gimme the keys (Gimme the keys)
I'm gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine
(I'm gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine)

Little red corvette
Baby you're much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need 2 find a love that's gonna last

Little red corvette
Honey U got 2 slow down (Got 2 slow down)
Little red corvette
'Cuz if U don't u gonna run your
Little red corvette right in the ground

(Little red corvette)
Right down 2 the ground (Honey U got 2 slow down) U, U, U got 2
slow down (Little red corvette) You're movin' much 2 fast
(2 fast) U need 2 find a love that's gonna last

Girl, U got an ass like I never seen
And the ride...
I say the ride is so smooth
U must be a limousine

Baby you're much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need a love, U need a love that's
That's gonna last
(Little red corvette)
U got 2 slow down (U got 2 slow down)
Little red corvette

'Cuz if U don't, 'cuz if U don't,
U gonna run your body right into the ground (Right into the ground)
Right into the ground (Right into the ground)
Right into the ground (Right into the ground)

Little red corvette

My friends and I used to love this song when we were - what - twelve or thirteen? But we didn't get it. We were young and naive. I think our knowledge of sex at that time we gained from multiple readings of Judy Blume's Forever. So we didn't understand this song. But my friend, Jean Anne, had a sister who was much older than us. She was in college and she had this boyfriend who I think was named Mark and was very cute. She explained "Little Red Corvette" to us so, once we got over it being gross, we knew we were cool because we were in the know.

So there I was, driving to work, singing quite loudly about trojans and gasoline and little red love machines and remembering all of this from my middle school days, and dreading the day that Anja hears a song like this (it will probably be by Puffy-Poopy-Diddy-P). I don't know how long it had been behind me, but I sure jumped when that ambulance honked at me to get the hell out of the way. It even had it's lights on and the siren blaring (a sure sign of how loud I sing). Oops.

But I always find it amusing how a song triggers memories. Today I've had Kiss' "God Gave Rock And Roll To You" in my head, almost to the point where I need to hum "The Girl From Ipanema" to get it out. I once heard a story on NPR (which I can't seem to find on their archives) which instructed you to hum the melody to "The Girl From Ipanema" in order to get an annoying song out of your head. And it actually works. Anyway, the Kiss song brings back lots of memories too.

The babe stirs...

You Know You Do

How many of you parents have during bathtime shampooed your little one's hair, shaped it into a mohawk, and sang Wayne Newton's "Danke Schoen"?

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen,
Thank you for all the joy and pain.
Picture show, second balcony, was the place we'd meet,
Second seat, go Dutch treat, you were sweet...
...I recall Central Park in Fall,
How you tore your dress, what a mess, I confess, that's not all...

You know you do.

Old Man Winter

The city is covered with ice on this January day. The sperm donor is working from home, the day care is closed, and this now working mom is home too. Earlier, I thought it was snowing (as it is north of here), but the sperm donor explained to me that sleet is composed of pellets and snow is composed of flakes. It's all white to me.

Once this ice storm clears up (not any time soon, according to the local news), I would like to declare an end to winter. Anja has seen more winter in her nine months than I have in my thirty-something years. Towards the end of our holiday stay in Albuquerque, fourteen inches of snow dumped in my in-laws' back yard. There were the sperm donor and his mom, all bundled up, shoveling snow from their driveway. The snow does not shut down their city as completely as the ice does here. The sperm donor's aunt had a small holiday party at her house, and the sperm donor's mother drove us slowly and cautiously there and back in her all-wheel drive without one slide.

I'm not a winter girl. This south Texas girl is all about spring and summer. I get cranky if I don't see the sun for a few days. I would rather sweat than shiver. Being cooped up in the house waiting for the ice to melt is about to make me crazy. But I have to admit - the snow in Albuquerque was quite beautiful. I had never seen that much snow in my life. The scenery really did look like all of those photos of winter I have seen in magazines and Sierra Club calendars. The snow on the ground looked like a fluffy warm velvet blanket, until you got closer to the street where it became a dirty slushy mess. Each little tree branch carefully balanced its spoonful of snow until the weight was too much to bear. The snow covered neighborhood was very quiet and peaceful.

But it wasn't enough to make me want it full-time. SUN!! I declare you come out!!!

Sigh...

It is a nice day to lie around and read books. My precious daughter is napping on the bed next to me. She slept all night last night (a rare occurrence) so maybe she likes this weather. I think I'll catch up on some blogs that have been running in my head.

Road Songs

We are in Albuquerque again, this time to celebrate Anja's first Christmas with her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Thirteen hours in the car is a bit much for me, but not for my little trooper. She always had a parent in the back seat with her to keep her entertained. These songs helped a lot too.

Carrot The Snowman
(obviously to the tune of "Frosty The Snowman" and dedicated to the toy snowman Anja received at her first visit to Santa)

Carrot The Snowman
Was a really happy guy
'Cause he lived with a little girl named Anja
Who really made him smile

Carrot The Snowman
Was as happy as he could be
When Santa let him live with the little girl
He was all filled up with glee

He has coal for eyes
And a carrot for a nose
But his smile is ten feet wide
And when she reaches out for him
It just about makes him cry

OH - Carrot The Snowman
Was a really happy guy
'Cause he lived with a little girl named Anja
Who really made him smile

The Gotta Go Song
(make up your own melody - I did)

Mommy has to pee
Really really badly
Mommy has to pee
Or things could get really messy

Daddy will get mad if Mommy pees in the car
'Cause we still have to drive really far
Mommy has to pee
Really really badly

That last one got the sperm donor laughing so hard that I could barely finish the song through my own laughter. Which got Anja giggling - either because it was funny or because her parents are nuts.

A Little Sticky, Lots Of Sap

This via zombie. In my defense, I am a social worker. Social workers, by nature, tend to be sensitive, compassionate, empathic, sympathetic, capable of unconditional love, and loads of other crap. And usually to a fault.

Sap- ESFJ 53% Extraversion, 26% Intuition, 20% Thinking, 53% Judging

Aww...you know that sensitive mamsy-pansy sap I was talking about earlier? Yeah. Well, someone had to get it and you pulled the short straw. Now pull yourself together, crybaby. You are quite possible one of the most sensitive people I know and I don't even know you! You care what each and every single person thinks about you. You're the kind of person who sends around a txt to everyone they know saying "i thnk ur prtty. wat do u thnk abt me? rate me frm 1-5." That's 1 meaning "I hate you" and 5 meaning "You make me vomit when I look at you." You're still crying, aren't you? Sure. All you want is for someone to appreciate you once in a while. Aww... Boohoo. Hold a pity party sometime. The garden's free. Lots of worms down there. Big ones. Small ones. Squishy ones. My guess is you don't understand this test one bit. You can't imagine how anyone could be so insulting or why anyone could find it even remotely amusing...STOP THE DAMN WATERWORKS, WOMAN! Naive is a word that needs to be branded on your forehead... Alright, now I feel bad. Sure, you do have some redeeming factors, just not many. Sorry. ***************** If you want to learn more about your personality type in a slightly less negative way, check out this. ***************** The other personality types are as follows... Loner - Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving Pushover - Introverted Sensing Feeling Judging Criminal - Introverted Sensing Thinking Perceiving Borefest - Introverted Sensing Thinking Judging Almost Perfect - Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving Freak - Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging Loser - Introverted iNtuitive Thinking Perceiving Crackpot - Introverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging Clown - Extraverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving Commander - Extraverted Sensing Thinking Perceiving Do Gooder - Extraverted Sensing Thinking Judging Scumbag - Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving Busybody - Extraverted iNtuitive Feeling Judging Prick - Extraverted iNtuitive Thinking Perceiving Dictator - Extraverted iNtuitive Thinking Judging

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 99% on Extraversion You scored higher than 99% on Intuition You scored higher than 99% on Thinking You scored higher than 99% on Judging

Link: The Brutally Honest Personality Test written by UltimateMaster on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

Incidentals

I was parked at a stop light the other day when a guy pulled up next to me playing his car stereo really loud. He was singing just as loud and looked like he was having a really good time. Though I can't remember what it was, his car looked like a piece of junk and he must have spent some serious money to put in such an awesome sound system. I rolled my window down out of curiosity to see what he was listening and singing along to.

It was the theme from "The Family Guy." And he was loving it.

When I was in middle school, there was a listing in the phone book for...

TITZHOFF Henauder ____________ ###-####

Seriously. We all had these little notebooks we had to carry from class to class in order to write down all of our homework. Our parents had to sign our books at the end of the week. I suppose this was to eliminate the possibility that we might forget having homework, but not the possibility that we simply did not want to do it. My friends and I all decorated our notebooks with the names of the guys we liked (many of whom got crossed out as time went by) in addition to logos for Van Halen and Def Leppard and such. I cut Mr. Titzhoff's number out of the phone book and taped it to my notebook.

Anja now has three boyfriends at day care: the one she holds hands with on the buggy, the one she occasionally shares toys with, and the one who makes sure to retrieve all of her toys which are stolen by the older kids. Sigh.

The sperm donor and I assembled this for Anja last night. It is a Christmas gift, but she doesn't know much about Christmas so I figured she could have it early. She's already managed to pull one piece off and throw it across the floor (this is a great hobby right now). Maybe when she grows up she will learn to develop baby toys that are baby proof.

Riding In Cars With Boys

The day care teachers take the babies for a buggy ride during the day. Six little babies strapped into a giant red wagon. Even the little babies get to go, equipped with their own little infant seat. The babies are then steered through the office building where the sperm donor works. Sometimes they even go outside. Several of the sperm donor's co-workers leave their cubicles during the buggy ride in order to wave at the babies.

Anja seems to like the buggy ride, although a couple of times she has nodded off during it. The buggy ride is a good chance for her to see her daddy. She is very popular during the buggy ride as she is only one of two female babies at day care.

A couple of days ago, Anja was spotted holding hands with one of the little boys during the buggy ride.

This naive mom really thought that we didn't need to address this subject for at least another twelve or thirteen years. We talked about what it meant to hold hands with boys. I told her that she probably should avoid holding hands with all of the boys because she might earn a reputation as some kind of hussy. And those cute little boys might have their feelings hurt.

She said: "A-ya ya ya ya ya. Ya ya ya ya ya. Aaaaiieeeee!! Ya ya ya ya. Ba. Ba. Ba." So I think she understood.

A Truly Great Moment In Parenting

Anja has discovered solid foods. Well, not "solid". "Solid" really refers to anything that is not breastmilk or formula. But she gobbles down bananas and cereal a couple of times a day at day care, and last night she was gobbling down some carrots. In a couple of days we might try some peaches.

Liquid diets tend to produce liquid poops, but throw some food in there and you never know what you will get. So I was so delighted when I changed Anja's diaper the other day and found a different kind of poop. I yelled out to the sperm donor...

"Look honey!! She's made her first turd!!"

Ahh...the joys of parenting.

Anja Says

Ba ba ba ba ba ba. Aa-ba ba ba ba ba. Ba ba ba (claps hands for emphasis). Aaaaaaaaaaa! Ba ba ba ba ba ba ba. Aa-ba ba ba ba ba ba ba.

What? Yeah, I don't know what it means either. But it sure is fun.

Giving Thanks

(The following editorial has been reprinted without permission from the HC Middle School newspaper, circa November 1982)

Do You Enjoy Thanksgiving?
By Nissa B.

In two days it will be Thanksgiving. Do you ever get tired of the same Thanksgiving customs? Boy, I know I do.

Every year my family has turkey. So do numerous other families. But some families have duck or another interesting bird.

For dessert every year we have pumpkin pie. My grandmother makes the pie out of the pumpkin she bought at Halloween. Sometimes I wonder if the inside of that pumpkin is still edible after a month. But some groups of people have other desserts - mincemeat pie or sometimes even raisin pie.

Another problem with Thanksgiving is trying to think of something to be thankful for. I guess the most logical thing for HCMS students to be thankful for is that we get a five-day weekend.

(The following rebuttal was submitted to the same newspaper, circa December 1982)

Many Thanks
By Ms. G.

I was sorry to read the sentiments of one of our students who felt the only thing she had to be thankful for was five days away from school. Don't get me wrong - teachers are grateful for holidays, too. I'm looking forward to cold, rainy mornings to sleep late and to eating a turkey sandwich while I catch up on a soap opera or two. But I'm grateful for more than that. This has been a rough year for me, and I'm thankful for family members and friends who have provided loving support. I'm glad that I have a career that continues to be challenging and stimulating. I'm grateful for young friends who, as students, give me a fresh perspective on life. At this holiday time, I'm made more aware of basics to eat and a warm, safe place to live. Look more closely than just a break from school. Our lives are running over with blessings.

Ms. G. was the home economics teacher at my middle school. I never took a home ec class so I didn't know Ms. G. personally. Now, I kind of wish I had taken sewing so I could make a Christmas stocking for Anja. Anyway, Ms. G. later married Mr. M., who was the assistant principal of my middle school, and later of my high school. I remember they were both very small people. Physically. They could both be described as petite.

I agree with Ms. G. that my priorities may have been a little misplaced way back in 1982. Come on. What was I? Twelve? Thirteen? But I will defend myself. For over eight years, I worked at a job where I worked most holidays and the occasional weekend with no extra pay. Last year, when I finally got a five-day weekend for the Thanksgiving holiday, no doubt because I was pregnant and tired, I was damn thankful.

This year is much different. I think of the people who sat around my table today at Thanksgiving dinner (where, I might add, we ate the same things we did when I was twelve). My dear friend San, who I have known for half my life. I was so thankful for her this past summer when she accompanied us to a weekend-long wedding celebration in Colorado. A wedding I kind of dreaded going to. But she hung out with Anja and me while the sperm donor tended to his wedding duties. And we laughed. A lot.

My parents. To my mother who has been the comforting voice in all of the difficult moments since Anja's birth. And to my father. The one regret I have in giving birth to my child at the age of 36 is that she will, like me, never get to know her grandfather. He is declining, both physically and mentally, but he takes great delight in her smiles. Ultimately, it will be up to my vivid imagination to make sure he is always alive for her.

OH! And to her!! The newest addition to our Thanksgiving table, sitting happily in her high chair, banging her toys and her spoon on the tray. Anja ate some sweet potatoes, some gravy, and some whipped cream for her first Thanksgiving dinner. It was around this time last year that I first felt her squirm in there. It felt as thought she were running lightly across my tummy. Just before Thanksgiving last year we found out that she was a healthy little girl (thanks be to amnio!). And we both breathed a huge sigh of relief, accompanied by a "whoopee!" because we both really wanted a girl. A year later, she is a rolling-creeping-sitting-smiling-laughing machine. I still look at her with awe - I can't even begin to believe she is my daughter.

And then there was him. Feeding her whipped cream off the tip of his spoon. If there was no sperm donor, there would be no her. And probably no me. And so I am thankful to him, for allowing me to sacrifice financial security for our daughter's well being. For giving her the late night bottles when I'm too sleepy. For supporting my decision to keep on nursing. For picking up dinner all of those nights I don't feel like cooking (which is most nights). For putting crap together. For putting her new car seat in my car. For making me laugh before I go to sleep. For taking care of our birth control issue, which he thinks is no big deal, but for me means I don't have to subject myself to the health risks of the pill and I get to keep all of my parts intact. And for countless other things.

And I am thankful for me. But mostly, I'm just thankful for the huge gift I have been bestowed. I am so blessed to have a beautiful daughter who laughs and smiles and sings all the time. And who is healthy. She and the sperm donor are the center of my world. I guess Ms. G. and I have more in common than we used to.

Oh, and I told Anja that when she wants a little brother or sister, I would just get her a puppy.

Hello To Me

Greetings to my likeness over there on the right. Zombie made her for me. I think she is an incredible resemblance to me. I think she looks very therapist-like, like me in LBA (Life Before Anja). Because I probably would be listening to you while sipping from my mug of coffee. Or it may not be coffee. It may very well be tequila. Like the t-shirts say "Drink Til I Look Better", I'm going to drink until you are interesting.

Oh that sounds so rude!! But at least I'm listening.

Tongue Tied

I have never been able to do anything fun with my tongue.

(Pause while naughty friends have inappropriate thoughts)

Seriously. I can't make shapes with my tongue. I can't turn it sideways or make it into a "u". I once knew a girl who could shape her tongue into a clover. How envious I was, and how truly odd her tongue looked. I can't even roll my freaking tongue which is a bit of an embarrassment living in South Texas and knowing a little bit of Spanish. My tongue has an inferiority complex.

That inferiority complex was severely wounded once again a few mornings ago. Anja has been able to stick her tongue out for a long time. She was just a few weeks old when she would stick her tongue out at me after I would stick mine out at her several times. But I was not prepared for this. She stuck her tongue out at me a few mornings ago. And it was sideways.

I suppose this must be genetic. The sperm donor can do it. Anja keeps doing it now as if she is taunting me. "Look, Mommy, what I can do and you can't!" And she sticks out her little sideways tongue.

I'm gonna go practice in the mirror.

What To Wear???

I love to watch TLC's "What Not To Wear." This is the show in which someone with lousy fashion sense is given a trip to New York and a Visa card with $5000 in order to get a fabulous new wardrobe. Give me a marathon and I am glued to the TV. I told the sperm donor that I was going to wear maternity clothes for two years so that he could videotape how hideous I looked so I could be on the show. Unfortunately, after about three months postpartum I did look pretty hideous. The shirts were way too big and the shorts were all baggy in the butt. All of the clothes are currently in the process of being moved to the consignment shop.

So I have a job interview today (an unpromising one, but that's another story). Yesterday I was tending to some laundry while Anja was playing and, standing in my closet, I realized that I had nothing to wear. Thanks to breastfeeding, I am back to my pre-pregnancy weight but that is by no means where I would like to be. And I'm proportioned differently. There's more flab. And, also thanks to breastfeeding, my boobs are at least a cup size bigger, depending on what time of the day it is. So none of my shirts fit. My own daughter has more clothes that fit her in her closet than I do.

So I loaded up Anja and we went shopping. First, let me say that most retail stores are not set up for a woman with a stroller. The aisles are too narrow. Anja has developed the ability to reach out and grab things while we are moving. It is related to the ability that drops the toys out of the stroller while we are moving. So I was simultaneously looking for clothes and stopping to either pick up a toy or remove Anja's hand from an unsuspecting skirt.

I finally found some candidates and proceeded to the fitting room. The girl monitoring the fitting room was nice enough to let us have the extra large fitting room equipped for people with disabilities (that's nice and politically correct). As I tried on my items, I kept wondering "If I were on What Not To Wear, what would Stacy and Clinton say?" Does this a-line skirt take away attention from my larger hips and ass? Does this top say my boobs are large milk devices? Does the way this material hangs de-emphasize my tummy which at one time was flat? Is it still OK to wear control top panty hose? Does anyone wear panty hose anymore?

Anja was no help in answering these questions. She sat there in her stroller and smiled at the baby in the mirror the whole time.

So I found a nice chocolate brown pattern skirt and top outfit. The sperm donor later said "I don't know what I think of brown," and I reminded him that Stacy says that chocolate brown is hot. It also helped that I already had some chocolate brown shoes at home. We proceeded to the shoe department anyway. Where we entered heaven...the boot sale.

Anja now knows that Mommy has a boot fetish. In my version of heaven, there are lots of boots. I cannot get through a boot sale without taking home at least one pair of boots. And there they were...black, pointy heal, pointy toe, up to nearly my knees. They actually zipped up my calf easily. The sales guy said they looked hot on my legs (yeah, especially with my black shorts and Alaska t-shirt that zombie's hubby bought for me). They are beautiful, and now they are mine.

The boots cost more than the outfit. I don't care. I have no income and this interview today isn't promising to change that much. But I have my boots. I can't remember the last time I bought myself some shoes that weren't intended to comfort my little swollen feet. Or the last time I bought myself some real clothes. This from the woman who used to buy clothes just because she had a bad day at work. And there were a lot of bad days.

The only regret I have is that the boots were not available in my size in the fabulous chocolate brown color. But that's OK. Maybe when I get home, I'll put them on with some jeans, pump my boobs, and wear them to pick up Anja at day care. And then I'll feel whole again.

Anja's Discovery Story

A few days ago while Anja was napping, I found myself watching some show on the Discovery Health channel about a baby who was born with two heads. She really was. Off the top of her little head was a whole other head, with eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Not much else below that though. And they had all of this hair where their two heads met. It really looked a little gross and freakish actually. While the little girl was sitting there calmly, the other head was attempting to scream away (I don't think the head had any vocal chords). The other head also displayed the sucking reflex. The doctors referred to the second head as "the parasite" which I thought was a bit rude; if your child is born with two heads, then clearly there was another twin present so it ought to have a name. Surgery was done to remove the head but the little girl died soon afterwards.

I think Anja should have a show on the Discovery Health channel simply because she is so spectacular. Maybe it could be about how big she was at birth. So many people look amazed when I say "Well, she was almost ten pounds when she was born. I attribute it to lots of pancakes." But we could make that more intriguing, something people would be warped into once they started watching...

Anja's Story: There Were Triplets, But She Got Hungry And Ate The Other Two

Gripping.

One Thing I Am Not...

Is mechanically minded. I think I wrote an earlier post about how I assembled Anja's high chair. NOT!! Reading instruction manuals is like reading gibberish for me. I could probably get more out of reading an instruction manual in Japanese, but still could not get an item put together. I think I am lacking some major brain connection that allows information to travel from reading about to actually doing. Thank goodness for the sperm donor because he knows how to figure all of these things out. If he were not here, I would probably live in a house filled with disassembled crap.

With Anja in day care, I'm free to do some things around the house which really need to be done. Today I bleached the litter box. Yesterday I decided to vacuum my couches. Three cats, lots of fur. I put little towels and blankets on the couches for them to sleep on, and they all manage to sleep right next to them. And they all look at me like "I will not comply with your efforts to prevent me from dumping my fur!!" I have a housekeeper who, poor thing, probably does not have a great deal of experience vacuuming fur off of couches, so they have been looking pretty hairy.

So, in my efforts to self-soothe in Anja's absence, I decided to vacuum the couches. I have one of these fancy Dyson vacuums that the sperm donor bought on eBay. I never use it. Again, I have a housekeeper. But it has some fancy attachment which looked like it might be good in my battle against fur. But first, I had to figure out how to remove the hose from the vacuum in order to attach said attachment. So, I push here and I pull there with no luck. About fifteen minutes passes. Yes, fifteen minutes, because what happens when you have a baby is that you are granted tons more patience than you have ever known. I decide to go get the manual. I don't know why this seemed like a good idea, and thank goodness I couldn't find the darn thing because I'm confident I would not have been able to comprehend it. Finally, I squeezed in the right place and the hose came off. WOO HOO!! I quickly attach said cool attachment and press the power button to see if it works. Nothing. I press the power button again. Nothing. I press the power button lots of times. Still nothing.

I know what you're thinking. It took me about five minutes to think the same thing.

Maybe I should plug in the vacuum.

And with that I commenced the vacuuming of the couches. They look a little better. They need some major work though because not only have the cats dumped fur on them but some barf as well. Sigh.

I'm off for more cleaning. Yesterday I bought some frames in which to put pictures of Anja. And I'm going to call and check on her. I miss my Doodle. I know she misses me too.

Adventures At The Drive Thru - Chapter 2

Sperm donor went to our beloved TC's a few nights ago to pick us up some dinner. Here is a list of contents from our bag:

1. My coveted enchilada plate (I can't remember if it was cheese or beef right now)
2. My little package of tortillas
3. The sperm donor's bean and cheese taco.
4. The sperm donor's steak fajita taco.
5. Some napkins
6. Little containers of salsa.
7. A straw

?????

I don't see any beverages in that list. Do you?? The sperm donor said that maybe they thought we were going to drink the salsa.

D-Day

Anja is at her first day at day care right now. The last time I checked in she was crying. So was I. This is the longest we have ever been separated. It is also the first time since before she was born that I have been alone in my house.

I'm miserable. I tried to capitalize on the opportunity for some extra sleep, but instead I laid there and wept. Even Manu the Cat is upset; he has been wandering around the house meowing which he usually does not do in the mornings.

If someone handed me six more months at home with her on a silver platter I would take it and ask for more. But when the Cadillac of day cares calls you a year after you place yourself on their waiting list to inform you that your child's space is ready, then you have to jump on it. It may not be there if you wait.

So off she left this morning with the sperm donor. Sperm donor, by the way, is thrilled. The Cadillac of day cares is located at his work. He gets to see her any time of day that he wants, just by wandering down the hall. Can you imagine what a stress buster that must be? To be able to wander down the hall after an especially taxing meeting to see your smiling daughter? That is one of the pros in a long list of pros about day care. Now, Anja gets to play with other babies and with different toys. When she gets a little older, they will help her learn to read, draw pictures, do tumbling. And she will get to make friends.

The one con on the list? (Well, actually there are two, but we won't talk about how much this is costing us) Mommy is a mess and doesn't quite know what to do with herself. I have this horrible image in my brain of my beautiful daughter playing with toys at day care and looking around for her mommy who is usually playing with toys with her. Yesterday, we were playing with her Fisher Price balls. I would roll one back and forth in front of me and she would scoop it up and put it in her lap. Then I would roll another one back and forth in front of me and she would put that one in her lap. The third ball kept rolling out of her lap (the lap is not very big yet) giving me the opportunity to take it back. But at day care, she will realize that mommy is not there and she will become sad and start to cry. This is actually happening as I type. So I feel like the worst mommy ever. I pointed at her heart before she left and told her that mommy is ALWAYS in there, then pointed at my heart and told her that Anja is ALWAYS in there. I think she might have forgotten that. She is only going to day care for half a day until I find a job (and hopefully after that too), but it's all I can do to keep from going right now.

We went to a Halloween party last night. Anja dressed as a ladybug. She was the cutest ladybug ever (although she could make a bag lady look pretty cute). I was talking with my friend about Anja going to day care and she told me that it was really hard when she sent her son to day care at first too. Then she said, "But at least she won't be the weird kid at school who eats paste." And I thought, good point. Anja will have friends, will be able to follow directions, may be even able to say please and thank you in a few years. She will have social skills. She won't stick a handful of glue in her mouth because she will have learned at day care that glue is not for eating. She will soon adjust to the new faces and the new surroundings.

While Mommy tries to adjust to the silence. It feels like my heart was put in the car seat with her. I look at my house with six months worth of accumulated clutter and I try to get motivated to do something about it. I think of all the places I go where I always think it would be so much easier to run into without Anja and the car seat. I think about going back to work and I cringe.

I'm confident there will be gallons of tears between Anja and me as we make this transition. If anything, it shows how much we love each other, how bonded we have become. It's something I think I have underestimated, but never will again.

Ooo Eee Ooooooo Eeeeeeee Ooooooooo (The Twilight Zone Theme)

Anja woke up last night when she got hungry. This sleepy mom read the clock as 1:30. And in usual fashion, both mom and daughter fell asleep in the comfy nursing chair. I put sleeping Anja back in her crib and proceeded back to bed.

The clock said 1:30...again.

And so we grieve another end to daylight savings time. Boy, I hate it when it gets dark so early.