Straight From the Bottle

(continued from Ten Days of Summer: Part One)

 

Day Three: Sunday:  Sunset Picnic on Moonlight Beach

 

 

We spent most of the day Sunday splashing around my parent's pool which isn't exactly a public destination (although I do recommend it!) and then later that afternoon picked up some fish/mushroom tacos and headed down to our favorite beach, Moonlight to dine on blankets as the sun set. Tres, tres belle.

 

 

Beaches are their most beautiful at dusk, much like people are. And Moonlight is the perfect beach for a picnic because the parking is plentiful and there are no steps. (There also happens to be a fantastic playground in the sand, just beyond the beach volleyball courts.) Of course, I'm slightly biased as I spent every summer of my youth frolicking along its sands but still. It's an amazing place.

 

 

Day Four: Monday...

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We arrived in San Diego Thursday for our home-away-from-home summer vacation, sadly minus Hal who is still working as I type this on a Saturday night because that's how he rolls and we all cry because we miss him like mad.

 

We traveled south to my parent's house because it's summer and we don't quite have the funds to hop a plane to Hawaii or Amalfi or anywhere that isn't free. Archer has ten days off between the last day of "junior preschool" and the first day of summer school which meant HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO ENTERTAIN TWO KIDS FOR TEN DAYS ALL BY MYSELF? VACATION TO GOOEY AND PAPA'S HOUSE!  

 

So here we are. And it is lovely. I thought it might be kind of fun to blog our to-do every couple days here on SFTB as kind of an impromptu what-do-do-in-San-Diego list I decided to put together in the last two minutes of writing this sentence. 

 

As you may or may not know, I grew up in north county San Diego and regularly spend time down here with my family and old friends. I've written lists of my favorite things to do in Los Angeles, my home of ten years, but never written a cohesive list or reference guide to my favorite San Diego activities. So here is a calendar of awesome summer to-dos in real time. 

 

Day One: Friday: SeaWorld

 

SeaWorld was kind enough to comp a trip for the kids, my parents and me, and it was awesome. It was also the first time I'd been to SeaWorld since I was fourteen. We went all the time as kids but it was especially fun returning as a parent. And a trip to watch Archer scurry down the rabbit holes of my childhood.

 

Whereas, I always loved Seaworld for its sea creatures (specifically petting sea cucumbers in the tidepools so fun) Archer was more interested in rolling down grassy knolls with my dad:

 

 

 ... Dancing around picnic tables for an hour:

 

 

 ...and of course, riding the "boxes in the sky" over the bay:

 

 

 He also enjoyed dining with shamu...

 

 

...and OF COURSE the kid's play area formerly known as Captain Kid's World:

 

So much fun and yet... the "boxes" were BY FAR the high point of Archer's afternoon:

 

(In fact I'm pretty sure shamu was the only animal Archer cared about and he cared for all of three minutes. Needless to say he's not the animal person his mother is...)

 

All in all, SeaWorld was pretty badass but the crowds were kind of annoying. Also can we please talk about how many bad tattoos exist in theme parks? Seriously, people. The Calvin and Hobbs pissing on a Chevrolet sign on your shoulder? Might want to wear a shirt sleeve on that arm no offense. 

 

 Day Two: Saturday...

 

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"Daddy wants the Phillips-head screwdriver, mommy," Archer said. 

 

I went through the tool cabinet and retrieved what I figured to be a screwdriver and handed it over. 

 

"Here you go," 

 

"Thank you, Mommy."

 

Ten seconds later Archer reemmerged. "This isn't the Phillips-head, Mommy. Daddy needs a different one."

 

"Oh. Okay." I finally found what ended up being the correct screwdriver and went back to tending to Fable, who was in one of her YOU WILL NOT CAN NOT PUT ME DOWN moods, which, fine, at least she's cute. 

 

Five minutes later, I went to check on the boys. Archer had gone in the bedroom to "help Hal" put together his bed and I could just make out their voices, dancing down the hallway and into the living room.

 

I knocked on the door. 

 

"Come in," Archer said. "Daddy and I are making a bed! See?"

 

Archer was clutching an empty plastic bag, arranging a dozen or so little screws for Hal, counting and arranging them neatly in two little piles. And then I thought, holy shit. This is one of those moments Archer is going to totally remember and Hal will never forget- the afternoon they first made something together, built something together and they will both go through their lives better men because they had this day with the one-thousand piece bed-set and all the screws and everything all over the floor and oh so sweet to see them bond holygodican'tevendealit'ssosweetandcute!

 

I got misty. 

 

 

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She started yesterday. 10:00am she arrived as I ran around like mad to neaten and prepare and label everything so that I could leave and not worry. Er... worry less.

 

She came to the door with kindness and we hugged. 

 

I met her through a family at Archer's school. She had nannied for their family for years and was looking for a new family - a few extra hours during the week. The timing was perfect as Hal and I had days earlier discussed that it was time to hire someone for part-time help so I could write for ten hours a week stress-free, pursuing the scripts I started last year and wanted to finish before 2019. With Hal back to work we could finally afford it. A huge relief. 

 

I showed her around the house. Introduced her to the dogs and the space, the stroller and what food Fable preferred. I informed her of Fable's inability to nap longer than twenty-minutes. Her love of which books and toys. Her favorite spoon. 

 

"Fable loves when you sing to her," I said. "It makes her laugh."

 

 

 

She immediately started singing. And Fable loosened in my arms and smiled. Her smiles became giggles and before I knew it, the two of them were laughing together like old friends. 

 

I let go. Handed her over.

 

I wanted to cry. I was so relieved. So happy. So grateful to have found someone so gentle and kind, happy to sing to my baby, someone who could within five minutes of entering our home, make her laugh. 

 

I wrote all day at the coffee shop never once worrying. I didn't even call. And when I came home? Fable was happy, her face flushed and covered with strawberries. 

 

This morning, was a somewhat different story...

 

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The longest I've ever lived in any place (besides my parent's house) used to be one year.

 

I'd sign a year-lease and move out by the first of the thirteenth month or I'd cancel my lease early and have to pay all these penalty fees, including my deposit because of roommate issues (did I ever tell you story about how I went to Europe for a few weeks and came home to find my beloved goldfish floating belly up in a tank of beer? Or how about morning I woke up to a roommate naked on the foot of my bed, next to a neat little puddle of his own vomit? AND A GOOD MORNING TO YOU, SIR!) or neighborhood issues (did I ever tell you the story about the helicopter that landed on my roof c/o your basic garden variety drug bust? Or what about the time the neighborhood kilt-wearing flasher chased me to the front door of my apartment completely naked from the waist down? No?) or just because I found a greater deal on a greater apartment with more bang for the buckage. 

 

That was up until we moved where we are currently living, more than three and a half years ago holy shit that's a long time.

 

One of the major pluses of moving every year is that it is impossible to accumulate stuff - one is basically forced to sort through and discard superfluous goods and items while packing for the move, which I love. And which up until yesterday I haven't had a reason to do. 

 

No we're not moving. But Archer's twin bed did arrive and with it the fire under my ass to go through EEEEEEVVVVVERRRRYTHING to make room for Fable.

 

Since Fable's birth, she's been sleeping on our bed, sharing a dresser with me and a closet with Archer's walls (I've been hanging her dresses on the various hooks and nails around Archer's room because there's no closet in Archer's room.) Basically, Fable has yet to have any space of her own, including a crib. (Her crib is Archer's old crib which has been converted into a toddler bed for some time.) 

 

Yesterday, when the twin mattress arrived to our no-space-place (the storage bed-frame will be here any day oy vey) I figured it was time to dig through dust-bunnies and get rid of everything that wasn't totally beloved. 

 

Two hours later? I had eight trash-bags full of toys, stuffed animals, changing items, blankets and pajamas to donate to local shelter which HOLY SHIT! How in the...?

 

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I just realized I have yet to divulge the information gathered at Fable's "head-check" last week during which she was weighed, measured and re-measured my make sure she didn't need further tests for having an abnormally large head. It turns out that because her length and weight were equally as off the charts as her head size she was well-proportioned and no cause for concern, which "duh" of course she was but it left me wondering what would have happened if it wasn't? Tests? Cat-scans? Helmets? Me being worried for (most likely) no reason?

 

Fable Luella: 8 months and 23 pounds of pure gorgeous perfection.

 

The various charts and graphs and "this is normal" vs. "this is abnormal" make me feel poopy in the tummy. Anxious. Annoyed. Uncomfortable. Worried. Even angry. I realize the importance of taking measurements and weighing our babies but the whole "off the charts," "below average," "you should worry because your child is too small or too big or too this or too that etc" can be enough to give a parent a complex for life. 

 

With Archer it had little to do with physical attributes (he was always tall but never off the charts). He was a late bloomer from the get. Crawling at 13 months and walking at 17 months, which was "slightly worrisome" to the pediatrician. It wasn't until we went in for his two-year-check-up that our doctor handed us red flags and told us to start waving them. He wasn't talking yet. Not even a little bit. He was late. He needed help. It was time to have him tested. So we did. Specialists and therapists and early interventionists OH MY! 

 

Archer was fine, of course. He was just late to talk. Late to walk. Late to everything. He was a late bloomer who blossomed beautifully on his own in due time and yet two of his four years of life were spent under the eyes and ears of doctors and family members who "worried" about him...

 

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 Archer turned four on Saturday and to celebrate we had ourselves a party. 

 

I'm not a party planner by any means. I love going to weddings but you couldn't pay me to have had my own. Getting married in Vegas in jeans was quite positively the only way I would ever get married. And not just because it cost a grand total of $199.99. (I'll totally drink your free booze and get all drunk and stupid at your wedding but there's NO WAY IN HELL my parents are going to pay I'm paying tens of thousand of dollars to get my friends all stupid and drunk at mine, can I get an amen?)

 

I kind of feel the same way about parties. The last birthday party I had was my 21st and I threw up all over myself the entire time so there you go. Hosting parties makes me sick to my estomago. 

 

In all seriousness, though, I'm not a planner. While all the other mothers were planning their kids' 1st, 2nd and 3rd Birthday parties I was hosting casual family gatherings at my parent's house for Archer. Because, frankly, he didn't care where we were, who was there or what was going on, as long as there was cake.

 

Archer's 4th Birthday Cake c/o Naya's Garden

 

This year would be the exception. A fourth birthday seemed especially worthy of a celebration. Not that a third, second and first aren't worthy ... It's just that Archer was finally old enough this year to WANT a birthday party. And I was old enough to realize that I wouldn't necessarily have to do all this crazy planning to give him one. 

 

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When I found out I was having a girl, one of my first thoughts was, "OH THE CLOTHES!" Not that having a boy doesn't present fun with fashion but girls have many more options in the clothes and accessories department. Headbands and barrettes, dresses and tights, a vast assortment of shoes and most importantly? Dresses. Oh, how I love the dresses.

 

Days after I found out I was pregnant with a girl, our Fable, my mother drove up to LA to take me shopping. Fable would be her first granddaughter and she was just as excited as I was at the prospect of dressing her up in all the bells and whistles and bonnets aplenty the world had to offer.

 

I greeted my mother at the door with the dress I had purchased hours after my ultrasound revealing Fable's sex. It was green and had ducks on it and was completely overpriced but I didn't care. It was my favorite dress in the store and I was having a daughter and it just seemed to, I dunno, suit her. The fact that she was but twenty-two weeks in utero was just a minor detail. I bought it in 18-24 months which seemed insane. She'll wear this the summer of 2010, I thought, making fun of myself for being so ridiculous to purchase something two years ahead of schedule. 

 

 Little did I know she would be the biggest baby of all time, able to wear "the ducks" at seven-months, less than a year from the point of purchase: 

 

 

(how much does Fable look like a little Peter Pan in this pics?)

 

That afternoon My mother and I spent the bulk of our day shopping for clothes for our unborn doll. The highlight?...

 

 

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 Today, for Mother's Day, Fable gave me her first ever two hour nap:

 

 

And Archer gave me the bad-assest drum solo in the history of drum solos:

 

 

 I feel like the luckiest lady in all the land

 

 

Indeed I am one of them...

 

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Today was Hal's first day of work after three months of unemployment. Shockingly I've been able to make enough money these last few months to carry us along. This is something I have been unable to do since we've been a couple and it felt good. I don't like feeling financially dependent on anyone and have been working my ass off to establish myself as someone, somewhere in the land of the lucrative. Not quite there yet but I'm making my way, shoots and ladders, style.

 

It isn't uncommon for those working in production (Hal's a Reality TV Story Producer) to go weeks, even months between shows. Last year Hal was out of work for six-months. We burned through our entire savings and a good chunk of credit to stay afloat last year so to say it was relief for Hal to get the "you're hired" call this past Tuesday would be a waaaaay understatement. We were ecstatic. (I'm pretty sure I humped Hal's leg in front of my kids.)

 

We promptly went out for Sushi to celebrate. (Archer dined on Rice, Fable ate tofu and Miso Soup.) Upon returning home I started to feel funny. At first I thought it was the sushi, but no... It was something else. I was nervous. Even sad. The kind of sad that happens when you're packing up boxes to move. The kind of nervous that happens before a big test. I had gotten so accustomed to us all being together and I was sad to see it end.

 

 

 

I was also worried I would be unable to do it all by myself.

 

In the last three months Hal had become my go-to for getting the kids to bed, for finding the toys I had lost, for helping me remember to schedule doctor appointments and my mind. (I'm impossibly absent-minded, forgetful and disastrous in the way of organization and finding lost things. You may say that I'm a dreamer but I'm not the only one.) I was worried that without him, I would fall...

 

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Last week Fable had her six-month check-up/check-in and immunization appointment. We hadn't been the Pediatrician in three plus months so had no idea at what rate she was growing, although if her clothes were any indication (which obviously they were) she was growing.

 

Like a pretty little weed, was she. 

 

Pretty weeds doth groweth from their highchairs on the porch.  

 

At six-months Fable was wearing 12-18month-sized-onesies and 2T dresses and pants. She was/still is huge. If it wasn't for the baldness she would surely be mistaken for a Preschool-sized child.

 

And her thighs? Oh lordy, her thighs: best, most amazing things to ever happen to this PLANET, they are.

 

 

We were caught aback by her spurt. She was born on the petite to average side. 18 1/2 20 inches long*, 7 pounds 4oz so we figured she'd stay there.

 

Archer was always on the tall side but skinny. At six-months of age he wore six-month-sized onesies and although his head was on the larger side, everything else about him was normal-sized, average, your garden-variety-no-cause-for-alarm baby measurements.

 

So when we took Fable to the Pediatrician last week and watched the nurses eyes go wide after measuring her for height and weight (20 pounds EVEN = whoaaaa Nelly!) and then head circumference we were kinda like, "wtf? Why are you looking at us like that?" 

 

"She's huge!" they said. "She was so petite and now she's HUGE!"

 

"Yeah, we know. My family's really tall," I said.

 

Which was true. I'm by far the shortest person in my family, standing at 5'8. My sister and mother tower above me and my father towers above them and my brother? Is basketball player tall. How's the weather up there tall. TALL. 

 

"Sure they are," the nurses nodded, eyeing Hal and I suspiciously (Hal is also 5'8, not so much examples of off-the-chartism either of us.)

 

Soon after being lead into our private little room, Fable's doctor appeared with a smile and a spool of measuring tape, insisting on measuring Fable's head once again. 

 

"Hmm," she said. "Hmmm."

 

"Her head is big because she's a GENIUS, Doctor," I said. 

 

"It IS very large," she said. "Off the charts, large." 

 

She then handed us a chart that showed Fable's height (95%) and weight (96%) for her age which although considered "off the charts" was quite "on the charts" compared to her head which measured so large it held no percentile. 

 

Instead? A greater than sign with a circle around it. 

 

(>)

fable > perfection, she is

 

"Her head is so large there is no percentile for it," the pediatrician explained. "Large heads may just run in your family. Archer's head was quite large at this age as well but nothing like this. Do you mind if I take some measurements of your heads?"

 

"Of course not! Measure away!"

 

She went on to measure Hal and my heads which were both larger than the average bear. Hal's head was a whopping five centimeters above average, which impressed the doctor enough to agree to see us in a few weeks, instead of sending Fable in for large-head-tests right then and there.

 

"Just want to make sure her head stops growing so exponentially fast is all," our doctor explained.  "In case, you know, problems..."

 

"Uh.... okay." Hal and I responded, totally wtf'ed out...

 

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I love traveling. I really do. In my pre-baby years I spent four summers abroad and lived most of 2001 in London where I rented a flat on Battersea Park and spent my weekends in Paris and Venice and wherever fares were cheap that weekend. I lived to travel -- spending my entire college tuition on planes, trains and Vespa rentals. Sure I was "irresponsible" in the traditional sense but my regrets are non-existent. Those were the days...

 

The last time I left North America was the summer of 2003. My girlfriend and I went to Greece and it was paradise, even though I crashed my Vespa into a parked car in Naxos and was limping on a 3rd degree burn on my left calf for much of the trip.

 

Ever since I've been trying to get back over there. Over somewhere. With or without the kids. Unfortunately, we just can't afford it. Hell! We're still trying to save up for a Honeymoon four and a half years after getting married. (Japan 2010, fingers crossed!)

Of course if we had the choice? We'd be spending summers on African Safaris and living the rest of our lives out of suitcases, traveling the Europe via Orient Express and Greece via ferry. All four of us. And our enterouge of Louis Vuitton luggage, obviously*.

 

For the time being we'll have to settle for overnight stays in Newport Beach care of my lovely conference hosts who were kind enough to put our little foursome up for the night:

 

 

It was the first time we had vacationed as a family anywhere other than my parents' house and the third time Archer had ever slept in a hotel room. Needless to way we were WAY pumped. We were on a Familymoon and we were going to GO ALL OUT! So we did. We spent a full day and a half romping around as if we were on THE most exotic vacation in the history of vacations...

 

 

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Today I caught Archer playing with his marbles at Fable's feet as she grasped for them with her chubby little hands. In .05 seconds I leapt on Archer, tackling him to the ground. 

 

"I told you not to play with your marbles anywhere even close to Fable's vicinity!"

 

"Because Fable could choke on the marbles and die, right Mommy?"

 

"Um... What?"

 

"Because Fable could swallow a marble and it would choke and die and then it wouldn't be very nice at all."

 

"Um... Yes? Yes. So... Please don't do that anymore."

 

"Yeah. Because it's NOT NICE!"

 

Archer spent the rest of the afternoon playing marbles on the other side of the living room as Fable kicked her little legs against her bouncy seat. But it got me thinking, wondering what I'm going to do when Fable is old enough to crawl. I never childproofed the house when Archer was a baby because I didn't really need to. Because he didn't really care to try to get into anything and plus, nothing of mine was really of interest. Nothing besides my shoes and tampons (great toy, very useful) and it wasn't like he was going to choke on those. Fable on the other hand is a second child and second children, I'm finding, want nothing more than to get all up in their big brothers' bidnis.

Hooray for Archer's stuff! And while we're at it, hooray for tea parties! And leg warmers! And cute headbands and flowers and wonderfulness!

 

"At some point you're probably going to have to take away Archer's marbles," my mom said to me months ago, during a mother/daughter marble shopping-spree. (It's amazing how HARD it is to find marbles these days and how easy it is to find dolls that talk. So backwards and lame.)

 

"Yeah. I'll just take them away when she's crawling and stuff," I agreed and left it at that. 

 

Taking away Archer's marbles seemed like a perfectly logical, obvious sollution until Archer's marbles became his greatest love and now I'm fucked. Because how the hell can I take away my darling son's greatest love? I mean... I can't. Can I...?

 

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Sorry for the lack of unoriginality of the title but really, there's no beating around the pun in this case, we are in survival mode in the Woolf-(husband's last name here) household for fair Fable is teething her ass off. 

 

It's amazing how much you forget in the three-plus years of parenthood. I don't remember ANYTHING I feel like. And if I hadn't recorded Archer's entire babyhood on my blogs? I'd be completely in the dark so I don't know how my blogless friends do it -- remembering how to deal with teething and sleep issues and everything else. 

 

I've been hesitating The Great Teethe but only because so many people have been asking if she's "teething yet." 

 

"Oh, shit!" I thought, "No. Does that mean... Is it soon? Will she be teething soon?"

 

"Any day," said so many people. "Any day."

 

And then Wednesday night, in the middle of Passover Seder at my grandparent's house, Fable's teeth decided to be a bunch of assholes and push through. So I spent the entire three hour ceremony with my boobs in Fable's mouth, which sucked because I love dipping the Parsley in the tears of the chosen people. 

 

Fable takes a break from boob and bites a spoon 

 

So there she was, screaming out in pain and me feeling like I was going to have a panic attack because there is nothing worse than a crying baby when there is nothing you can do to make her feel better. Sad face...

 

 

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I come from a long line of nappers. My father was a napper on the verge of narcolepsy, often falling asleep on the couch with my brother and I in his arms, while reading us books. 

 

It would start with:

 

"I do not like green eggs and ham..."

 

And then not two seconds later...

 

"Hhhhhhhhggghhhhhhh Psshhhhhhhhh*."

 

"Daddy! Daddy! Wake up and tell us more of this Sam I Am person!! "

 

Hal and I are also outstanding nappers. We used to fall asleep like puppies by his pool in a heap of sweat and rat droppings, and wake up in the near darkness. 

 

And Archer? Archer was born to nap. For three years his naps were like clockwork. Three hour naps practically to the minute. At the time I thought it was normal infant/baby/toddler behavior. I now have a new understanding of just how remarkable it was. He napped 2pm-5pm every day for years and I totally took it for granted.

Of course, because I'm not very smart, I figured Fable would be a fantastic napper just like Archer but not so much no way not even close. Fable doesn't believe in napping. Never has. Not even in the beginning when she was three-minutes old. 

 

I've tried everything to get her to nap. I nursed her during the first three-months of Momversation shoots because it was the only way to knock her out and get a usable take to upload for the producers that didn't involve a baby screeching over my nasally voice.

 

 

Nursing no longer knocks Fable out. Instead it has become a kind of game she plays where she pulls the shit out of my nipple to which I respond with an "AHHHH!" to which she responds with a smile and a giggle because she thinks I'm pretty when I'm angry...

 

 

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DUNT DUNT DUUUUUUUUUNT! I know. And the worst part about it? Kindergarten doesn't even happen for another year. MORE than a year. We have, like, eighteen months. But in kindergarten years, that's like eighteen minutes apparently. Especially now that we have been made aware that we are zoned for a "you do NOT want your kids to go there*" school. Of course (because the universe often works in such ways, I'm afraid) we are but two blocks away from the cut-off of one of the best public elementary schools in Los Angeles if not THE best public elementary school. The school we've spent the last several years THINKING Archer would attend. Patting ourselves on the back for thinking so far ahead when we moved here so many years ago. 

 

"Oh, aren't we just SO clever, Hal!"

 

"Yes, Bec! So very clever! Maybe even the cleverest!"

 

EH! Wrong. 

 

 

 

Of course, being the champion ignoramus** I am I just figured "hey! we're close. I'm sure we could get in somehow." I didn't realize how impossible it would be to magnet him in. The only way for Archer to go to the OMGSOGOOD school is if we moved. Unfortunately for us, moving to the other side of Beverly would likely cost us $2,000-$3,000 more a month in rent, which... let's be clear, is a lot of money even if we'll be saving $1,000 a month in preschool expenses. Still, unless one of us sells something substantial like a pilot or a kidney, it's improbable we will be able to cross-over into Fancy Awesome-School Land. That doesn't mean we can't think positive (which duh!) but we have to also be realistic at this point and figure out a plan A, B, C, D, and even E. 

 

We can't afford to move. We can't afford to stay. So what do we do? Aha! This is where YOU, oh smarter, more-experienced SFTB readers come in. Hal and I have a grand total of five friends here in L.A. who have kids. We also have a grand total of five friends here in L.A. who have kids AND money.  Which... I know Puff Daddy P-Diddy Diddy Sean John Sean Combs Puffy Diddy said "mo money, mo problems" and it may be true when you're a man who can't decide on what ridiculous name to call yourself this week, but when you're a parent trying to send your kid to a school where he doesn't have to be patted down for weapons on his first day of Kindergarten, WELL then, mo money sure's hell equals LESS problems I'll tell you what...

 

 

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Hi. I'm Rebecca and I'm a co-sleep-aholic. You heard me. I co-sleep with my almost six-month old and I love it. LOVE it. It's cozy and warm and there is nothing quite like waking up to this every morning:

 

 

 

Of course, I also happen to enjoy other things in the bedroom that require one or all of the following:

 

A. Nudity,

B. Partial nudity

C. My easy-access pants with the crotch missing. 

 

Yes, people. I'm talking about sex which seems to be the first thing that comes up when I mention Fable is still sleeping in our bed. 

 

"You mean, a baby sleeps between you guys at night? How do you..."

 

"...Duet?"

 

"Yeah." 

 

"Funny you should ask..."

 

And then I go absolutely TMI on their asses. Especially if I don't know them very well. That seems to really freak people out when they're practical strangers which is fine with me. People who spook easily = people I most likely won't be befriending so there you go. An easy test! 

 

I digress. Today we're talking about sex, specifically how one maintains a healthy sex-life* while co-sleeping.

 

Before we begin, you will need the following materials...

 

 

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The other day Archer patted me on the hand.

 

"Mommy?" he said. "Can I go cuddle with Fable?"

 

"Of course!" I said. "Do you want to hold her?"

 

"No. I want to do spoons so we can cuddle."

 

So I layed Fable down in Archer's arms. He wrapped his hand around her waist and they stayed like that for several minutes. Her babbling to him and him whispering in her ear, smiling at me sheepishly when I caught him. 

 

 

 It wasn't until I was taking these pictures that I realized what he was saying.

 

Over and over in her ears...

 

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Now that Fable is officially five-months-old aka out of infancy, (A moment of silence for the 0-6 month onesies, please and omg Fable. How are you wearing 9-12 month clothes ALREADY!???) I thought it a good time to reflect on some of my favorite must-have baby items for those of you pregnant, newly babied or trying to conceive based on my own trial and error experience. 

 

 I'm Fable and I approve this message.

 

1. Born Free Bottles:  I bought every possible BPA free bottle on the market including Dr. Browns, Think Baby, Green to Grow and Adiri and the Born Free were by far Fable's favorite. The Adiri is the coolest to look at but Fable hated it. Nipple was too small and more complicated to latch onto than my nipple which bummed me out because, well, I had high hopes for the Adiri and it didn't quite work out. The nipple flow on both the Think Baby and Green to Grow bottles was too fast and the Dr. Browns, though convenient for pumped milk were a bit much on the cleaning tip. Even though the Born Free bottles had just as many parts to clean, they were much easier and convenient. They also have perfect nipple flow and keep baby gas at bay. Go Born Free, Go! 

 

2. Babyhawk and Baby Bjorn with My Little Roo Cover:  Okay so maybe this is a three part favorite but I have to recommend all three products because I love them all equally and they were all quite beneficial in Fable's infancy. (Still are.) The Baby Bjorn was an old favorite. I wore Archer until he was 9 months old and have been wearing Fable since her infancy. I love the Bjorn because its one of the few carrier that has the option to face baby forward. I do find the design a little on the boring side. Enter My Little Roo Bjorn cover (a gift c/o my friend Joanne and Cool Mom Picks.)

 

 

Wearing my Bjorn with Little Roo cover back in January (P.S. My friend Mere is expecting her second son in May! Congrats, Mere!)

 

The Babyhawk is also cute and is much more comfortable for long walks, uphill hikes. Especially when your baby gets to be seventeen plus pounds. A lot more back support than the Bjorn, Babyhawks come in a thousand trillion super cute fabrics so you can customize your own which is totally fabulous. Babyhawks work as front carriers AS WELL AS back carriers...

 

 

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I recently twittered something to the extent of "all my kid will eat is macaroni and cheese" to which someone @ed me something along the lines of "that's because you're a sucky mom who gives in to your kid's demands and doesn't force feed him chard!" to which I blocked said person because Hi. Who publicly twitters that shit? Uh... duh. 

 

The truth of the matter is this: my son is a damn picky eater and I've tried everything and now I give up because I refuse to... well, force feed him chard. (I don't believe in forcing children to eat. I think its wrong and causes eating disorders because, frankly, it is and it does.)

 

Archer didn't always only eat macaroni and cheese. I'm a health food junkie vegetarian who lives on quinoa, lentils and vegetables and once upon a time I fixed for Archer all of the things I cooked for Hal and myself with little complaints. In fact, anytime someone complained about their child's awful eating habits, I smiled to myself, thinking "my kid's so badass he eats avocado sandwiches for lunch and teriyaki tofu for dinner and prefers berries over chocolate chip cookies." Of course, when Archer turned three, everything changed. All green items (except for the occasional avocado) went out the window. Archer swore of grains, nuts, and all vegetable-based meals, demanding cheerios and toast ONLY! (Foods he ate for breakfast but never for lunch or dinner.)

 

"No, dude. Those are breakfast foods."

 

But he was like, "whatever, mom. I won't eat then."

That's when the (organic! all natural!) macaroni and cheese came into our lives. And the fish sticks, which are for the time being the only dinners Archer will touch. (The occasional scrambled egg as well if I'm lucky.) I've tried mixing cauliflower in with his mac and cheese. That didn't work. Yogurt in with his eggs. That didn't work either, so we're back to square one.

 

Of course, lunch is another story and Archer goes through phases where he downs pistachios, happily snacks on apples and flaxseed crackers and his favorite: pepper jack yogurt cheese. We go out for smoothies at least three times a week (after school) where Archer enjoys an Acai smoothie (the only flavor he will drink) with a shot of wheat grass mixed in (this was my mom's GENIUS idea and is currently the only way to get him to eat his vegetables.) He even eats the occasional avocado when he's REALLY living dangerously but for the most part his dinners consist of either fishsticks and/or macaroni and cheese. And have done so for the past nine-months. 

 

 

I realize this is quite common but it still makes me a little sad. Especially the whole no vegetable thing. Mainly because I worship vegetables. I attend Vegetable Church on Sundays! And all my son cares about are THOSE SATANIC CARBS! AHHHHHHHH!!!!...

 

 

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I can't remember the last time I didn't have snot all over my shirt. My snot, Archer's snot, Hal's snot, dog snot, random strangers that I don't know's snot. And I'm tired of it.  Why does everyone have to be so damn snotty? DUDE. Annoying.

 

I've always been a healthy girl, able to dodge the flu and even most winter colds. That was until I had kids. Err, actually... That was until Archer started Preschool (which is French for germ orgy in case you were wondering.) Seriously, people. The day Archer started school back in January of last year, we all came down with colds and we've been dealing with them ever since. And I'm over it. Especially now that I have a Fable who, poor thing, is spitting up snot with her milk curdles. Even worse? Those heartbreakingly sweet wheezing little coughs which are just so unfair and I wish I could keep her happy and snot-free much like Archer was his first few months. But what can I do? 

 

Nothing. That's the damn shame of it. I'm helpless with snot on my sleeves.

 

The thing is? I probably could be doing more to ward off snot bunnies. I could keep Archer away from Fable as I tried (and failed miserably) to do in the beginning. After all, Archer's hands were and still are perma-slimy and all about touching Fable's eyes and mouth and hands and cheeks and everywhere else. But how can a mother keep one of her babies from loving on the other one? How can she keep her son from snuggling with her daughter when its the sweetest most perfect thing ever in the history of life?

 

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It's been six days since Fable last cried and it would have been even longer had she not been immunized last Monday on her four-month check-up, which to be fair was hellish enough to make me cry, too. (I can't deal with watching my babes get shots. I just can't.) Six days of happiness, sweetness and light, twelve hours of sleep-through-the-night-every-night followed of course by twelve hours of wide-awakedom but it doesn't matter much. Fable literally spends every waking second of her life smiling at the trees out the window. Smiling at the dogs from my arms. Smiling up at me from the couch we lounge upon like sunbathers.

 

 

I wasn't going to blog about her insane perfection because knock on wood, you know? but at this point, I feel I have a right to. Even if it makes you want to kick me in the flabdomen. Hell! I want to kick me in the flabdomen. Fable is our second child, after all and although Archer was a pretty easygoing baby, he cried sometimes, had sleepless nights now and then and I went through his first year of life feeling very overwhelmed. Like Fable I adored him beyond expression, even still... we had some very tough days and nights, especially within the first six-months. 

 

Fable on the other hand hasn't so much as had ONE rough day. She literally came out of my vagina smiling and hasn't stopped even for a second. She laughs in her sleep and happily sits under the window on the couch for hours on end, cooing out the window and babbling at me and no one, totally stoked off life and its every raindrop.

 

 

No wonder I shrugged my shoulders upon hearing news of the woman who just added octuplets to her already enormous brood...

 

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Once upon a time there were two binkies. One was small and pink and never-used and the other was yellow and clear and, well... NOT never-used if you know what I mean. Ahem. 

 

...So here's the thing. Archer still sleeps with his pacifier and he's three. Three-and a half. Okay so he's almost four. And want to know something else? I'm fine with it. I really am. If he wants to suck a pacifier until he's 18 that's totally fine with me. When Archer's over the pacifier? He'll be over the pacifier just like one day he was over Sesame Street. That's what happens, right? Children grow up and out of certain things. Or at least this is what I have been telling myself for the last several months of TRYING with no luck to wean Archer off his beloved paci. Or "nu-nu" as we call them in our house. (It was my goal to only have one kid sucking a pacifier and in diapers at a time.)

 

Maybe I'm not ready to be a "big boy," okay?

 

Truth be told, it isn't so bad. It's not like Archer's pacifier is hurting anybody. Not even close. So eh... Whatevs. I'm a firm believer in picking my battles as a parent and the pacifier? Isn't my battle to fight. So long as Archer doesn't leave his bed with his binky in his mouth he can keep it as long as he wants to. His blankie, too. Hell! There are nights when I could use a pacifier of my own! Which brings to me to Fable and the other binky. The one that's small and pink and never been used. 

 

Well, hello there! I'm Fable and I live a binky-free existence!

 

I've been trying to talk Fable into using a pacifier since birth and the girl will have nothing to do with them. I've tried all shapes, sizes, colors...They all disgust her. She spits them out at me with this sort of "what the hell are you thinking, woman!" look in her eyes. I keep thinking maybe one day she'll change her mind but the girl isn't what one would call "wishy-washy" in her ways...

 

 

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This morning marked my last day of antibiotics and ding dong the mastitis is dead (which old mastitis? the wicked mastitis!) My boob made a full recovery Thursday just in time for my IUD insertion appointment at my friendly OBGYN's office.

 

Needless to say, last week was quite the "indeed I have girly parts" week. Not that I ever doubt my womanness but two trips to the Gyno's office for two different physical situations is always...uh... humbling. 

 

What's funny is that when I made the IUD insertion appointment for January 22nd weeks ago, it totally slipped my mind that January 22nd was my wedding anniversary (Four years, bitches. Woo!) which worked out because honestly? What better gift could I possibly give my husband for his anniversary than five years of sex without consequence?

 

The insertion was a lot easier than I anticipated. I took your advice (dear readers) and brought my mom to my appointment so she could drive me home in case I felt crampy and light-headed, which I did. Although the insertion was relatively pain-free (felt like an extreme pap smear. Pressure for about five seconds and then done) I felt crampy immediately afterwards. Like REALLY bad period cramps and felt faint for about an hour after insertion. My cramps subsided within a couple of hours and by evening, I felt totally normal and great. I was even able to get ready for my hot anniversary date without so much as thinking about the day's earlier events, greeting my husband with...

 

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 Let me start by saying Wooo!!! Because, just... Woooo!!!

 

That being said, I have mastitis which sucks and I absolutely intend the pun because as those of you who have had mastitis and/or a clogged duct know, you are basically supposed to nurse your infected fire-tit around the clock so that the duct can unclog and the infection will go away. So, I have been. Since Saturday morning when I woke up with a rock-hard throbbing (heh) lump in my left breast, I've been nursing like a crazy person, scrying in pain. (Scrying is a word I just made up meaning scream/crying.)

 

Sunday I spent all day massaging and soaking my left breast, pleading with it to unclog so we could get back to normalcy but no. My boob hates me. I've put her through some serious shit in her lifetime and it was payback for me so instead of unclogging she gave me the flu, er, at least what felt like the flu. A fever appeared literally within moments and shot up to 102 within hours so I called my doctor. I got me some antibiotics and here I am two days later, a fever no more but FUCK if my boob isn't KILLING me. The duct is still clogged. I'm still nursing around the clock, massaging, soaking... and nothing, folks. No change. A lot of pain. 

 

This left teet of mine has been nothing but problems since my first day nursing. I'm pretty sure there was some nerve damage done during one of my two breast reductions because my right side nurses like a champ. My left side? Has been a little bitch since day one, painful and throbbing and a really bad breastfeeding sport all around.  I should have known this mastits-y day would come, possessing the left side of my boobies with infection...

 

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