There you are, Peter!

You know that part of the movie Hook where one of the lost boys pulls at Robin William's face until he recognizes him?

How did that become me?

I'm not saying I'm old or wrinkled... Just hear me out.

I'm a mom.  Have been for a year now.  And so my standards of acceptable grooming have changed.  Where I used to at least throw on mascara, do my hair, and put on some jeans to go to the grocery store, I have since been putting on some yoga pants and pretending I'm on my way home from the gym sans makeup.  Heck, I used to look better going to the gym than I do most days recently.  I don't seem to get around to putting on makeup every day.  I don't see the point for my daughter to see me, and then my husband for an hour or two at night.  

So, I got into this pattern.  One day it was no makeup.  But then I got ready the next day.  And then one day I didn't do my hair, either... I mean, I was rocking that messy pony for months in that grey space I call "just had a baby and can't function."  But after that, I did.  And then one week, I think I went four days without makeup.

This should have been a liberating moment - a moment where I finally looked in the mirror and said "ha!  this is what I look like!"  but instead all I saw was a grown-up woman who I didn't recognize. I deleted pictures because "that one just didn't look good of me," but then I realized that i have all pictures of JUST my daughter (she looks good always).  And then I stopped looking in the mirror because I didn't know who was staring back at me.  Those smile lines.  Those laugh lines.  Why didn't anyone tell me I wrinkle my nose that much?  Who was that middle-aged woman, and where did I go?  I didn't recognize my face, or my schedule, or even what I did when I had precious "alone" time.

Me, the confident singleton who got pedicures twice a month.  Me, the happy event planner who traveled for her work and loved being alone, but not as much as she loved being busy every other night.  Me, the woman who could spend hours at the gym (don't get me started on other things I saw in the mirror and didn't like... thanks, baby.)  Me, the woman who stared back at me in the mirror with a normal amount of makeup on, and hair that wasn't a hot mess. Who had a schedule, and people, and a life. A woman who knew where her hairdryer was.  

(good news.  the hair dryer was on my dining room table. found it.)

You can get lost being a mother.  In all the books and toys and laughter and games, you can lose what you define yourself by.  You can get lost in her schedule, and start to wonder where yours went.  I used to have a color on the family monthly calendar... now my color is used for holidays.

It was less than a month ago my husband and I went on our first date "night" post baby ("night" being relative, since it was from 2:00-6:45 pm). When we got to dinner, we sat across the table from each other and said "what do we do now?"

It will be years before I think I can take back what used to be "me."  And probably by then I'll have changed what the definition is.  But I have resolved to no longer not know what that person looks like if I see her on the street.  

This post isn't about resolving to wear makeup more often, or to not have hideous hair at all time.  

It's just a reminder to carve out a little time that's not the baby.  Carve out a little time for who I am, or who I want to be.  I'm not sure what that is yet, but here's to hoping that this next page of my adventure is something I can look back on and see myself in.

Animal House

I have had tens and tens of awesome ideas of what to blog about... and I can't believe what just compelled me to action.

DogTV.

For only $5.99 a month on DirecTV, you can get an extra channel - just for dogs who are stay-at-home-dogs and hanging out alone.  It's a new channel, so we get it free for 30 days.  I was curious, so I turned it on for a bit (the baby was napping... there was nothing on TV).  It appears to be "life of a dog" and so far is just classical music and watching a dog walk through a field.  Or a dog park.  Or watching a dog play "tug."

What has this world turned into where we are willing to spend an extra $6 a month for our dogs to get their own channel?

And the funny thing is, my friend Jake has a dog who barks any time she sees another animal on TV.  (even if it's a cartoon, or there's a "man walking a dog" in the background of a scene... she barks EVERY TIME.  Like, even at Geico commercials with the gecko.)  So, to me, this feels like it's the opposite of helpful.  UGH.  (First World Problems.)

Unrelated:

Lily and I stopped at the zoo today.  St. Louis has a terrific zoo, and it's free.  Well, it's $10 for parking, but it's free.  And I've been told where the "locals" park, so that's free, too.  It's completely out of my way, but today I was running some errands in the Missouri, and thought I would swing by with Lily for a few minutes.  And since it's free, you can spend like 30 minutes and call it a day.  Although we passed (and stopped at) many animal habitats, I'm relatively sure that Lily saw only kids, plants, fish (at the hippo encounter), and elephants.

Isn't it cool to see hippos under water?  There are also tons of fish for them to.... eat?

Apart from the butterflies (which she really loved the last couple of times at the zoo), I'm not totally sure she "gets" the entire "Zoo Experience."  Which is understandable, I mean, she isn't even one yet, so I just push her around to look at different rocks/plants/kids legs.  But today, she "got" it for about 5 minutes.

The baby elephant is darker than her aunts.  (I heard a zoo-person telling a group all about it.)

There are 10 elephants at the St. Louis zoo.  And one of them is a baby.  I held Lily and we looked at the baby elephant for about 3 minutes.  She was transfixed.  There were elephants, and they were huge, and eating their hay (and the weather was particularly amazing, so everyone was enjoying themselves).   I told her all about how "E is for Elephants with very big feet"  and every other elephant-related thing we do at home... and I think she got it.  I mean, I went to put her down, and she squooze my arm and pointed to the elephant, so we sat there for another 3-4 minutes... just looking.  I felt like it was a moment.

Also, there was a waterfall in the habitat... so... she could have just really liked looking at the waterfall.

Either way, isn't it nice when you see a baby grow up a little bit and notice new things?

Listen to Your Mumsy

Being a parent is a little bit like being thrown into the deep end and learning to swim... and trying to teach a baby to swim at the same time... and there are 68 people around you who also don't know how to swim who are telling you what to do... and meanwhile the people on the side of the pool are yelling "don't miss a second.  love every minute of this.  one day you'll look back and be so sad it's gone."  And meanwhile you're like "if I survive until tomorrow, I am going to throw warm poop every last person who told me to enjoy EVERY SINGLE minute and see how much they enjoy that minute of their life."

No, I've never been pooped on, why do you ask?  (of course I've been pooped on, and it's awful.)

Four weeks ago I went on a last-minute trip to Seattle to see my sister (she generally posts on here as "Seattle Sister" or something funny and related to what I'm writing about).  I went to visit her because, unless something fantastic happens in science or magic or prayer, she probably won't be with us much longer.  Because Cancer Sucks.  Anyway, I prepared for what would be one of the hardest weekends of my life.  Most of it is a different blog, but it's where this blog starts.

I flew out on Saturday with an adorable and charming baby.

DEN to SEA.  Still charming the pants off of everyone.

Although we didn't get to my Aunt's house where we were sitting until past midnight our time, with such a beautiful venue, how could I be down?

View from the backyard.  Hardly sucks, eh?

Personal/Sister issues aside, I now had baby issues.  Within a day, I had a cuddly baby who refused to eat, couldn't sleep by herself, and puked all over everything (I enjoyed those minutes, tell you what).  Although the cuddly baby part was novel and fun at first, with the consistent 104 temperatures, it was also nerve racking.

Three days later, we headed home, and the baby and I headed to the doctor.  A virus, they declared, and sent us home.  The next day her fever broke and, as if she had made a list of everything she hadn't gotten into over the last 5 days, she was off.

A rash developed soon after, and stayed for weeks with no hope of getting better.  Back to the doctor where they declared this another virus.  And sent us home.

Her rash is a hidden Mickey.

The next week, another round of 104 temperatures came and so I went in again, and this time saw the doctor (I had seen the RN both other times).  I was sure someone would start calling me a crazy person soon.  Another virus. 

One of the few pictures of Lily being truly unhappy.  She was mad for a week.

Three visits, and in the end was told "well, if she seemed less happy, or looked worse I'd give her something."  Although this was the first time ever he had seen this baby, he kept declaring that she "is too happy to really be sick" and "this will just pass - it's re-circulating."

I hadn't gotten around to changing doctors before the next spike of her temperature.  It wasn't as high this time, but I knew something was wrong.  A happy, inquisitive baby does not suddenly become the opposite.  I'd cleaned, I'd sanitized, I'd kept us inside and away from people.  And so I was going to be the crazy lady who sees a doctor every week, and I wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Although the doctor and RN agreed we should, perhaps, do some blood work now, I went in there ready to fight, and I wasn't going to take "some" blood work for an answer.  I pushed her into ordering for a urine test as well.  I would have pushed for more, but google didn't suggest anything...

The first test results came back and her white blood cells were not the normal 8,000-9,000... but instead 30,000.  Her hemoglobin was incredibly low as well.  In a word, she was really sick.

Here's the thing, even as they called and told me that her numbers were SO far off, they also added "but she looks so good, she acts so sweet, she can't really be that sick."  I am sure a baby who has gone septic looks worse than my child.  I am sure there are babies who cry and cry for days without resolve.  And I am also sure that, for my child, she was not even close to acting like herself.  And that none of these doctors knew that (despite me telling them OVER AND OVER that exact thing).

In the end, they diagnosed her with a UTI and gave us drugs (for that, and for the rash) before sending us on our way.  It's day two of the drugs, and she seems to be perking up a bit.  We aren't in the clear yet, since this has been a come and go kindof thing... but I have learned a very valuable lesson.

Grey's Anatomy hasn't helped me.  Grey's Anatomy has made me think that if I take my child to the doctor's office every week they will call the psych doctor and ask me if I'm crazy.  Just like they did to guest star Sarah Chalke in that one episode.  Not helpful.

Good Manners haven't helped me.  Good manners means that if someone who knows more than you about a topic says something, you believe them, say thank you, pay your co-pay and leave.  Not helpful.

The Internet hasn't helped me.  The internet either freaks you out (cancer and death and cancer and death), or tells you to put a cold compress on your baby's neck and you'll be fine.  But mostly, you both have cancer and are going to die and you should go to the emergency room.  Not that helpful.

What has helped me is being a mother.  And deciding that Good Manners Be Damned, I was going in there and not coming back without real answers.  What helped me was knowing I had to speak for her when she couldn't and so, when they told me for the 4th time how she looked so good, I told them she was naturally a good kid, and I didn't care how good she looked.  What helped me was knowing that there was something that needed to be fixed, because I am her mother and I knew that consistent 104 temperatures, the constant cuddlyness and the lack of eating (she wouldn't even eat puffs!) weren't right.  And so I stood up for her, and made them get the urine sample (even though it took three doctors and ten minutes and two trips to actually get it).  I stood up for her and asked them to run more blood tests instead of less.  And I refused to say no.

It took me a long time to decide to trust the "mommy instinct" of knowing I was right.  I thought I was being overly dramatic and watching too many medical dramas. I thought I was being rude.  I thought I was being uneducated.

So, the moral of this story is, if you feel like something is wrong, it might really be wrong.  Don't get pushed around because you aren't the one with the medical degree, so they must be right.

And cherish every minute of babies not sucking.

ha.  that's a lie.  She acted fine today and by 3:30, I was praying for someone to come rescue me.  Just one more wave I learned to swim through.  Swim through enough of them and one day you can be one of the old ladies yelling from the shore.  Hopefully you don't say things to warrant fresh poop being thrown at you.

Home for Christmas...

 Dear Husband... sorry if this blog is too personal.  But I guess that's what you get sometimes when you keep encouraging me to blog more...

This Christmas season, my heart hasn't been in it.  Even my blog about Christmas lights was off.  (seriously, that post was almost deleted later because it just wasn't my best.)  Mostly because the Christmas Season was eclipsed this year by another event.  My husband coming home from war.  Which was also, and more importantly, my daughter's daddy coming home from war.

For traveling from the other side of the world. those guys look good.

No longer do I say "you're doing such a good job, but don't roll over until your daddy gets here."  Nope... she rolls.  And her dad saw it before I did.

No longer do I think "this child is adorable - I need someone right here to talk about how cute she is."  Nope... he says to me "man, she is so cute."  All I have to do is agree.

He came back... and I woke her up.  They're both very tired in this picture.

No longer do I cuddle with her and have a secret hole in my heart thinking "her dad should be here to do this, too... she is so big."  instead I hand her off to her dad, and go about my merry way while they cuddle themselves.

The 6 year old girl inside of me is in shock:  WHAT?  How is Christmas not the most exciting?  How are you not on the edge of your seat knowing it's around the corner?  Pull out the JohnDenverAndTheMuppets:AChristmasTogether because it's time to enjoy the season!  And give me cookies!  I demand Christmas Cookies!

Yes, inner-child, I will give you Christmas Cookies, and we will listen to the appropriate Christmas Music... but this year Mariah Carey was actually right.  All I did want for Christmas was (him).  Him to be home with me.  Him to not be at war.  Him to come home and be a dad. 

(but if you're reading this, and you've already bought me presents, don't feel like you need to return them.  Because I am also accepting other, non-husband-related gifts.  For the record. )

CHRISTMAS MIRACLE BONUS:  I don't know where this came from, so I can't put attribution where it's due... but this is funny and true stuff.

Goodnight Moon

You know how sometimes you've had a thought in the back of your mind for a while, but it's never had a reason to come to the surface and then... all of the sudden... BAM!  It's like you realized something you have been subconsciously been wondering about for years?  I had a moment like that this week, as I was reading to my child. 

It was early evening and we were reading "B is for Bear" (and excellent touchy-alphabet book), and then went on to read Hop on Pop (not my favorite of the Dr. Seuss books, but since we have two copies I feel like it's in the rotation a fair bit).  And then, just for fun (and because we also have two of them - one "lap version" (big) and a small, diaper bag sized edition) I decided to read "Goodnight Moon."

Holy crap, that bunny's room is haunted!

That's why I've never liked this book!  Because it's a freaking haunted book!  Try reading it in your best scary story voice and you'll know it to be true...

Goodnight room. Goodnight moon. Goodnight cow jumping over the moon. Goodnight light, and the red balloon... (muah ha ha ha ha)

Goodnight to the freaking noises everywhere because that old lady in the rocking chair is going to kill you.  

I mean, just look at it.  If I were a set dresser and I was looking for a master bedroom in a horror film, I wouldn't have to look any further.  The weird curtains.  The fireplace.  The black and white pages (mug shots) in the middle of the book.  The room gets darker and darker, and the mouse eats all that bunny's bowl of mush.  It is not a safe place, and not a room I would want to fall asleep in.

So, Goodnight, creepy book.  Until the next time I forget and think "this is good for children."  No wonder babies hate sleeping - we read them such scary stuff.

twinkle, twinkle

I... umm... judge things.   Things I have no business judging and should just be happy they are there, instead of talking about how I feel about them.  For readers of this blog, this shouldn't be a surprise.  However, for anyone new to the Tiny Adventures of me... it's a thing I do.  And I can't stop myself.

I love when people decorate the outside of their house for Christmas.  I don't love doing it personally, but I do enjoy OTHERS decorating the outsides of their houses for Christmas.  It's so bright and sparkly and interesting to walk your dog at night.  I just love it.  But... I'm afraid I over-analyze things... because I nearly always walk in the door with a rant.

Because I feel like there are houses in our neighborhood that are having a Christmas-off and soon it's going to turn into this, and somehow it's my job to rant about it.

Because inflatable lawn decor really is ridiculous to look at when it's not inflated.  (personally, I don't care for inflatable lawn decor any time, but to each their own... and since this is my blog, this is MY own.  So I can say here that I don't really like it, or get it, or want it.  But it does seem to be an easy way to decorate quickly, so overall, I give it a C+). And, yes, it's my job to rant about it.

Because some house decorations made me cry (some of them make me cry a lot...)  I don't rant about this.  but I want to talk about it, and possibly cry some more...

"Welcome Home Mom and Dad: I have missed you!"  You're breaking my heart, sign...

And sometimes (and I am so so sorry to not have a picture of this, but it's on a fairly busy street, and I now have a baby so I can't just park on the side of a road and go traipsing through people's yards to get a good picture) I am super concerned because the nativity scene is like 1/3 life size, and the moose is actual life-size (or larger), so I'm not only questioning the priorities of this household, but also the safety of that baby Jesus who is likely to be a quick snack for that giant moose. 

... the same can be said for the giant penguin down the street that is likely to eat the polar bear.  Or the giant helicopter that is going to rain fire down on the Santa Train.  Perspectives, people.  Did nobody else have to take (and do horribly at) an art class in 7th grade?  Let's keep everything the same ratio here.

And I did find a house whose lights I loved enough that I thought "maybe one day I should put Christmas lights up at my house."  Obviously I didn't.  But I thought about it, which is a big step for me.  So I felt the need to rant about how much I love those lights.

I'm not sure why I put myself in charge of being concerned about the way that people chose to celebrate their outdoor holidays... I just have a lot of feelings.

Merry Christmas Season, friends.  I hope you have better neighbors than mine do, and everyone can just be happy that it's a happy time of year where walking your dog at night is less boring.

stand beside her and guide her through the night...

... I haven't been all "yay America" recently.  Truth be told, I haven't been "yay" many things other than "yay clean diapers" or "yay baby who slept through the night."  But especially America.

This has nothing to do with the election.  I secretly (half-way) love election season because we all sit down and talk about things that are issues instead of just complain about them.  Wait, that's a lie again... we don't talk, we scream them at each other and nothing still gets done.  But still, the concept, of thinking about things... and that "ah ha!" of feeling like a fresh start after the election is over (plus, bonus, everything is less dirty because all the stupid campaign signs come down).  That's all pretty good stuff.  Anyway, that's not my issue.

My issue is that America has taken my husband away.  Again.  And the bigger deal to me is that America has taken my little girl's daddy away from her.  This is so much harder than when it was just me.  Because, man, look at what he is missing..

Now, serving in the military is his (our) choice.  And I am usually quite proud of the sacrifices he (we) make for our country.  Especially compared to some of our military friends, who have paid the ultimate sacrifice, and babies whose daddies are really taken away from them.

But last week, I stumbled upon a chat forum on the Facebook where someone started by saying something like "We are thankful for soldiers." and although there were many people who agreed, there were also lots of posts on that forum that said awful, awful things about soldiers.  Like "I'm thankful every day for dead soldiers" or "everyone who has been deployed should be shot" or "I can't believe anyone who isn't crazy would want to go over there and cause all that mess, and be able to come home with a clean conscience."  Awful things.  Were there people who tried to argue with them?  Yes.  But it wasn't me.

Arguing with people like that doesn't help, and only ads fuel to their fire.  But it makes me sad.  Sure, argue all you want "your husband is gone so that these people can have the right to say whatever they want and be free from retribution."  Point taken.  But I'm hurt by it, none the less.

Enter Veteran's Day:  suddenly Facebook is all about thinking Veterans are awesome.  Suddenly EVERYONE I see on facebook is into this holiday.  That's great, because it's never been a holiday I particularly cared for.  And, for that day, Facebook almost evened the scales and made me less mad (to make up for the fact that it's where I got made in the first place... second place (yes, how, hmmm, well)).

And it got me thinking about all the people who are like "yay Veterans" all the time.  And that didn't used to be me.  But I also didn't wake up in the middle of the night to sing songs I make up to a baby, so clearly the people you "used to be" can change.

So... YAY VETERANS!  YAY people who want to make a difference.  YAY to the veterans of wars where they came home to protesters (which really chaps my hide, because there was a draft on, so a lot of people who got yelled at for coming home didn't want to go in the first place).  YAY to the brave men who go out there today and see the hot-mess that is Afghanistan (or other choice places), and live in it.  YAY to the mothers and the fathers who send their sons and daughters into that hot mess.  And YAY for the wives and daughters and sons who wait patiently for them to return... and try to be happy with just phone calls and emails.  YAY to my husband, a brave and strong man who deals with all my crazy, and the fact that Facebook makes me all upset, and he has to talk me down from it. 

This is the last time they saw each other.  I hope to fix that soon.