Flying the Friendly Skies

On my recent sojourn to the Land of Zubes, AKA Jersey, I learned many, many things.

-If your kids are crabby for the first hour of a flight? And then angels for the remaining three? People will still give you the old stink eye as you wrestle your children off the plane. That first hour makes a lasting impression, it would seem.

-If your kids are angels for the first three and a half hours of a flight and then lose their fucking minds a half hour before landing and then crash out of exhaustion as the landing gear goes down and you're left in a quandry wondering how on earth you are going to unload two sleeping children, a wheeled suitcase, a diaper bag, a single stroller, to get to baggage claim with only two arms? In this event, people can actually be pretty goddamned nice. One will offer to carry your bags and another will offer to carry your baby and they'll give you a sympathetic smile as you swagger off carrying your previously screaming, now sleeping toddler. They'll take turns helping you push the toddler in a stroller to your destination.

-If you also happen to disintegrate into a puddle of tears at the sight of your honey upon exiting security and then stand sniffling and red-eyed at baggage claim? People are EVEN nicer. They'll tell you how great your kids were the whole trip and how they just must have been tired at the end and how you were such a trooper.

Sometimes traveling alone with the two kids reaffirms my theory that people are inherently good. Sometimes it doesn't.

I had an awesome fucking trip. Totally awesome. And also? Us Zubes make some damn good looking children.



Though said beatiful children will most certainly test your patience and instestinal fortitude in any attempt you make to capture their beautifullness on film. This photo was finally snapped after two hours of diligent cajoling, bribing, and tear-wiping. The photographer was a saint. Truly. The Zubes had actually given up. We were willing to settle for individual shots of each. I'm glad we were persuaded to give it one more go.

What's Cooking? Uh, Not Much. Until Just Recently.

I used to LOVE to cook. I mean, like, I adored it. I'd sift through recipe books and plan menus and experiment with new and funky things. I was no PaintingChef, or even simply a Chef, but I was pretty damn good. And, more importantly, I enjoyed the process.

In recent years, though, my passion for all things kitcheny has spiraled to the depths of Pulseless Hobby. My cooking has flatlined. I feel like a Domestic Goddess if only one half of the Zee Bee equation has a snotty nose at the end of the day and the overcooked Hamburger Helper makes it to the table undropped, a few morsels scattered on the kitchen floor for the canine-feline bunch notwithstanding.

I will confess, though, that mostly? I love to cook for compliments. Way less messy than fishing for them what with not having to wear unflattering fishing gear and hook a worm and all that grody stuff. I get a thrill out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner even though it involves a little sweat and copious amounts of wine because when someone says, "GODDAMN this turkey is good, Zube!" it makes my fucking year.

Here's the thing, though. Cuisine Compliments have just never been Z-Boy's strong suit. It took only one, "My Mom doesn't make chicken soup like that," and a disinterested refusal to try my version and the wind? She was violently sucked out from under my culinary sails. We've since covered this egregious transgression EXHAUSTIVELY in the Zube household, so no need to chastise.

Since the kids have made their debut, I've been trying to wrestle my ego back into cooking. It is not easy due to the aforementioned Operation: Deflate Culinary Diva and time constraints but I've got to tell you, nothing will inject your heart with Skittles and Care Bears faster than when your almost three-year-old opens the refrigerator all by herself, grabs the tupperware of 'Mama's Soup!' and thrusts it at you while you're fixing to make her a bowl of cereal for breakfast. In fact, I'm pretty sure if you looked it up in the dictionary, this is the definition of awesome.

I have been tempted back into the apron by the lure of actually being on the receiving end of Mom's Home Cooking references someday (thought my kids will be told EXPLICITLY that I don't care if their future partner's chicken soup tastes like yesterday's ass sprinkled with toe jam, they should NEVER mention my cooking being superior, though they'll certainly be allowed to think it. Ahem.).

Maybe one way to get to loving to cook again is to take the path that's just a tad longer. I'll start by loving to cook for my kids. I'm sure the personal satisfaction will follow suit.

They Say a Picture Is Worth...

1,000 words. I'd like to amend that. A picture is worth four words.

Where do I begin?


Firstly, I should probably remember I am not a twelve-year-old boy. That's one way to begin.

But on the other hand, the twelve-year-old boy one, what exactly is going on in this pre-tomato snack playtime session? Something tells me there is a Guiding Light in here somewhere. But since I've not slept for any substantial amount of time in months and never watched a full hour of The Soap Operas EVER, not even hung over as all get-out in my dedicated pursuit of passing my Partying major in college, I'm drawing a blank. If by blank I mean that my brain is being inundated by various and sundry sordid stories behind the photo. I'm just too spent to pick one.

The childrens and I were up at 3:30AM today. All three of us. Awesome, no? Yes.

Mostly, I think you guys are funnier than I am...and I'm sort of needing you to make me laugh, if you're so inclined.

Don't Want to Break a Promise

I made to myself. I swore I would write an entry today. I figure, the thing about starting up a new habit is that it is a bit of a requisite to be all habity about it. And writing is a good habit. Lord knows I need some good habits to counteract the bad ones.

Though I am quite stumped as to what to write about. So I've decided to bitch. Why I thought this wouldn't be the right venue for bitchy variety writing, I havne't a clue. So here goes...

I am tired. Fucking tired. Dog tired. I feel like Tired smacked my ass and called me her bitch and has taken up residence in my brain. Spilling a few brain cells out of my ears to make room for her lava lamps and bean bag chairs.

Also? Totally Tired? While alliterative? Is SO NOT attractive. I seriously look like a fly. All eyes. At least that's how I FEEL. Maybe because my face is working so hard to keep them open, inside my head they feel fucking huge. And don't forget about the bags. Oh yes. Dudes, I have more baggage under my eye-holes that I have kicking around inside my ear-holes. And y'all know, that's a fucking lot.

So there. I wrote. And I was going to go to bed now but guess what? Bee? Is crying. Shit, I'm tired.

We Are Family...

When Bee was born, Z-Boy and Zee visted us at the hospital regularly. Prior to Bee's debut, I'd so worried about Zee's reaction to her new sibling. I mean, sure, we'd read books about having a new sibling and talked about the baby in Mommy's belly. Because I am a paranoid freak with the pregnancy gig, I'd purchased a doppler and listened to Bee's heartbeat once in a while for reassurance. Zee became accustomed to this ritual and would pull out the doppler and lube up my belly and encourage another listening session. Even given all that, I just wasn't sure if she GOT it. I mean, you just never know how reality will translate, no matter how you prepare.

It turned out my worry was for naught. She totally GOT it.

I wish we'd had the video camera out when Bee was being ushered off by a nurse to have some tests done before we could all go home and Zee absolutely lost her mind. "MY BAYBEEEEEEEEEE! MY BABY GO? MY BABY GO? MY BAYBEE, MOMMY!?" echoed through the halls of the maternity wing as Z-Boy and I tried to stifle both our laughter and our tears. She cried until he was returned twenty minutes later. And so did I. Hormones. What can I say?

Almost eight months in, I still have to drag Bee past his room when dropping them off at daycare to Zee's room, drop her off, and then make the trek back to Bee's room near the entry to deliver his smiley ass to his caregivers. To do otherwise would mean a meltdown of epic proportions. Believe me, I've tried. Leaving her baby behind, unless he is under Mommy's watchful eye, is not allowed on Zee's watch.

And can I tell you? It's goddamned adorable. Beautiful, even. You know, I'm no runner-up for the Mother of the Year. Hell, I wouldn't even be found on the awards dinner guest list. But I definitely hope that, despite my proclivity for returning binkies after pulling off an animail hair, I am fostering a good relationship between my kids. Zee certainly had her insecure and non-spectacular moments after being siblinged, but I was always on the receiving end of her ire. Never her byudder. And as much as it might hurt sometimes? Well, tough titties for me.

I just hope that my kids will have a relationship like those I have with my siblings. I think we're getting there.

If Ever a Burglar...

Dared to break into my house, and the baby (hereafter known as Bee) and I happened to be sleeping? I would totally kick his ass. I mean, unless he didn't wake us up. In which case, it'd all be cool. But if Bee and I happened to be frolicking about as is not unusual for us in the early, early AM (Bee is TOTALLY a Zube, that boy can party late night with the best of them), I would most likely hand Bee and his bottle over to the would-be burglar, grab his big black sack and fill it with the metric ton of SHIT that is bursting through the seams of my house. I'd even offer our garage up for his use to have himself a little garage sale bonanza. And I'd make lemonade. Spiked with vodka. So people would get drunk enough to buy our crap. He might want to leave his ninja suit at home and dress all civilian-like so as not to scare potential buyers away. He can put the suit on once everyone gets good and tipsy and things get really wild and people are whooping it up, swirling my incongruos collection of soup spoons through the air, though. I think once spoon in air swirling begins, all bets on attire are off. It's ninja time. I mean, if he happens to be into that sort of thing. Which, well, seeing as that's how we met...or would meet. If, you know, such a thing ever happened.

I've come to the conclusion that having teeny kids is not conducive to writing. Yeah. What can I say? I'm a little slower than you all who've had that shit figured out for, oh, I don't know, two and a half years now? I've decided to be okay with it. I mean, the fact that I don't have the kind of time I need to write doesn't change the fact that I like to write. There is so much manual labor involved with Zee and Bee right now that I'll merely have to take out my penchant for writing by making interesting grocery lists. And badgering innocent bystanders. "Um, excuse me grocery store man, but would you kindly tell me where I can find pacifier screws? Oh yes, you know, the ones that fit in the little holes of the pacifier so you can screw them to the baby's mouth? I can't seem to find them. And also, do you happen to know any pediatric surgeons? I still can't seem to locate the screw holes on the baby. It's entirely possible that I've missed them as I'm usually looking whilst in a sleep-deprived state at 2AM, but..."

Anyway, you can rest assured that while I'm decidedly NOT busy letting you know about every tiny hair that grows out of my chin here, I will be screwing around somewhere in the world.

Good LORD ZUBE!!!

HEY ZUBE!! I'm HIJACKING YOUR BLOG!!

I told you I'd do it if you didn't.

PaintingChef here.

Not that she's told you but Zube had a PRECIOUS little boy on July 30th.

Please welcome the newest member of the Zube Family...

IT'S A BOY!!!

I've tried to find the relevant details on Zube's Facebook page for his weight, height, head size, etc. but I have failed. What we do know is that he is absolutely perfect and he'd really like those damn kids to get of his effing lawn.

Congratulations Zube Family!!

***Update by Zube***

Have I ever mentioned just how much I lurve P-Chef? Anywho, yes, Keenan Michael was born on July 30th at 8:18 AM weighing 5lb 15 oz. Sounds like a bit of a squirt, but he's a good size considering the altitude and lack of oxygen in the air round these parts. We're all smitten, Zee is thrilled with her little brother (and was particularly thrilled with the Lincoln Logs he brought her from within mah belly). Things around here are sleepless and wonderful. I can't believe I did it again. Thanks to all who are still paying attention.

Things Like This...

Are what really throw me for a loop.

I'll be idly sitting on the pot, minding my own business, checking out the view, when, BAM! It'll hit me like a freight train. A happy freight train, mind you, carrying puppies and clowns and oodles of bubbles. Wait, nevermind the clowns. They're scary. Just imagine Amtrak on a deliriously happy acid trip. I have a baby. A real live baby. And she's more wonderful than I could ever imagine. Sometimes when I'm smack in the middle of parenting and tying shoes and picking up strewn crumbs I don't have the headspace to remember. But when I'm doing my business on the throne, well, I really can't thinking of anything else.

And it might just be happening all over again.

All's clear in the baby #2 department. Not near the drama I'd experienced up until now with Zee. It's a little eerie. I'm just knocked up. All normal-style. No bleeding or funkiness. I have to admit I miss the twelve thousand ultrasounds a little bit, but I'll settle for hearing a thumpa-thumping heartbeat now and again if it means I don't have to worry about the welfare of the little frog.

I'm also dealing with the mother of all writing blocks. I'm working on it. In an active way, which feels good. I'm writing my ass off, just not here. I have so much cluttering my brain that I'm just not ready to share with god and everybody. I need to quiet my inner critic before I'm ready for the spotlight again. Sorry 'bout that. Really, I'm sorrier for me 'bout that. I miss it here. But I'll be back.

Holy Shit, I Have a Blog!!!

I almost forgot!

You know what's awesome? Having a husband whose response to everything you say is, "Your what itches?" Good times, people.

Z-Boy finally got a work cell phone, which is nice for him because now he doesn't have to answer work calls, "Z-Boy's PERSONAL cell phone!" anymore. But it sucks for me because I had no idea just how often I assault him with text messages, which aren't covered by work's phone plan. I'm going through withdrawls, y'all.

Our last text exchange...

Zube: Honey? I just blew you some kisses, they should get there in a few minutes. Don't step on 'em by accident.

Z-Boy: Oops. The dog ate 'em. I'll wait and see if I can catch them when they come out the other end.

Zube: Ew. I don't know if I'd recommend that.

The end.

PS- Because I know I've been enormously slack in updating Zee Baby's blog, too, I wanted to share a photo with you:


Firstly, dude, I know I'm biased but she is one deliciously cute kiddo, thanks to all of you who cheered me on while I cooked her up 'til she was well done. That said, we were here when I took the picture and Zee was all decked out in rainbowy goodness. It was awesomely fun and I'm totally stoked that Hoot now lives in Colorado, too, so we can do activisty stuff together!

Fucking Suh. Weet.

Like Mother, Like...Daughter?

If this kid is learning her cell phone skillz from me, I think I need to re-examine my usage.

Also, minor Zube freak-out for your viewing pleasure. I hate creepy crawlies camping out on my shoulder.

Make an on-line slide show at www.OneTrueMedia.com

If It Isn't Broken, Even Just a Little, Then Something Is Amiss

Twelve years ago, when I had the abortion, I remember promising myself that someday I would become a mother and I would make it right. I would be such a fucking stellar mother that the heavens would open up and angels would swarm down plucking giddily at harps and that somehow I'd bring balance to the universe. Or my little tiny piece of it anyway.

I was operating under the misguided assumption that having a baby would fix me. Make right many things I felt were broken and had been for a long time. And since Zee's arrival, lo those many months ago, I've been coming to terms with the fact that that's an awful lot to ask one teeny tiny little person and, well, life just shouldn't work like that. And it would be really fucking unfair to Zee to shoulder the weight of being the miraculous cure to Her Mom's Shit. I think that’d fuck her up far more than having a Mom who just happens to have a few loose screws and some minor cracks in her foundation. You know?

In a way, I can’t shake that I’ve gone back on my promise. I’m not the most stellar mother ever. I’m just, well, me. And all of my imperfections. I still get sad that I was raped and got pregnant. And then had an abortion. And I still, once in a while, shake my fist angrily at the universe that I went on to have three miscarriages years later. Usually when I'm pondering the possibility that when we try to grow our family again, I might have more. And, and, and...

I hope, though, that when she's all growed up she'll love me even if I'm sometimes sad and occasionally a little too Where's My Black Beret? Oh I'll Find It After I Cry Myself a River introspective. Even if I did break a promise I made to myself back when I didn't have the foresight to know that our children aren't brought into the world to fulfill our promises.

I hope Zee believes, as I do, that we're all the more interesting for our loose screws and cracks...I really, really hope so.

Slapping and De-Stalifying...

When your 14 month old is slapping you in the face repeatedly and throws her head back cackling as though you grabbing her hand and saying no is the most HYSTERICAL FUCKING THING EVAH, it's probably not appropriate to laugh, is it? I mean, for the record, I didn't laugh. I was trying hard not to. But I think my concerted effort to conceal a smile was evident. Which I bet is just as bad.

Today I got annoyed that no photos are ever taken of me. So I went on a self-portait spree whilst Zee was napping. Most of them turned out shitty.



But I got a couple I'm mildy satisfied with.



At least I know that should all of my other business ventures fail, I can try my hand at real estate. Or at least have the cheesy photo for the business card.

Since Amy gave my blog a breath of fresh air, I've decided to update my sidebar, which I hadn't done in years. Firstly, I've added some new links under Zube Classics. The others were all three years old. Things on the right side of this page have gotten a bit stale. Anyway, I've added:

Old Habits Die Hard
Artsy Fartsy Guy Over Here
Fuck the Bright Side

Well, I think it's that time of the day where breakdancing is in order. When I'm home alone and Zee is napping, I can breakdance like a mother-fucker. You never would have guessed, would you?

A Little Bit of This and That

-I can't STAND when lotion gets that little crusty bit that hangs off of the tip of the bottle if you don't use it for a while. I usually fling it on the wall. Between that, and some of you who might remember my hair on the shower wall capers, you all would probably decline to be my houseguest.

-Actually, crusty lotion cruising on the walls and hair in the shower notwithstanding, I'm kinda neat-freakish.

-Recently a wise woman told me, after I'd confessed I get a little jealous when Zee Baby magically transforms from crabby-pants to charming, beaming, arm-waving baby as soon as Zube Boy walks through the door after work, "Daddies get all the glory even though Mommies do most of the hard work. Get used to it." I've been mulling this over for a bit.

-Even though I break free from the restraints of Good Grammar quite regularly, I almost always know what rule I'm breaking and so to my mind, that makes it okay. I get thoroughly annoyed, though, when I'm unsure of a particular rule. But most often I can't be arsed to look it up. I just let it bug me.

One Year Ago Today...

I had a beautiful baby girl. Matter of fact, I still do. Have a beautiful baby girl, that is. Holy shit.

Then...


Now...



I love the hell out of you, Zee.


The appointment yesterday went well. We're not crazy. She's a bit behind. Nothing insurmountable. We were sent home with some exercises to do with Zee and we have a follow-up in a month. All is good. More details on that later. Today we mostly just enjoyed our little girl. Amazing.

We Always Have a White Christmas and That's Cool, But This Is Ridiculous...

There's really only one reason I'd wake up on a May morning and five minutes after peeling the sleep from mine eyes, throw my arms up and proclaim, "You have GOT to be fucking KIDDING ME, DUDE!"



Who this dude I'm so pissed at is, I have no idea. But come on. At this point, I could do without six inches of snow. Really.

Oh yeah, and half of those beautimous trees in that photo? Must go. Stupid fucking pine beetle. Luckily, all those trees are blocking a pretty cool view, so weeding out a few won't be such a horrible thing. Just, possibly, a horribly time consuming and maybe a little expensive thing. Depending on how many Zube Boy can manage to fall and haul with his big old honking '52 Dodge. Anyway, upset as I might be about the tedious business of removing the trees, I'm of the mind that the pine beetles are nature's last attempt to thin out the forest. We've prevented forest fires for way too long. It's nature's way.

On another note, I sometimes wonder if Eminem, like, throws in one of his cd's every once in a while and cleans out his sock drawer or something. After gazing longingly at pictures of yours truly, of course. I mean, I know he's all famous and shit, but even if I were famous for my voice, I have a feeling I would still probably dial zero for the hotel office with lightning speed because I can't stand the fact that it is my voice on my work's answering machine. "Thank you for calling Blah Blah Management..." AHHHHHHHHHHHH! It's what Zube nightmares are made of, people. If hell is your worst fear, I'd probably have to listen to myself for all of eternity. Every new person we hire, I am the first to announce what a lovely voice they have. I have yet to be successful in passing off this onerous task. I don't know. I was thinking maybe Eminem gets totally over himself, too, and that's one more thing we have in common. In addition to liking the word 'fuck' a lot.

I didn't mean to leave you hanging regarding Zee Baby's little tree trunk legs, but things were up in the air for a bit. We've decidet to take her to The Children's Hospital in Denver next Thursday. The day before her one year birthday. They're going to evaluate her gross motor skills. I'm really not too worried as she's been making her way around pretty well and standing more (with assistance). But it will be nice to have confirmation that there is or isn't a problem. And if there is, we'll work on it. Nothing more to it.

We had her pictures taken for her one year birthday and this is my favorite pose...


The photographer joked that she absolutely had to take one like that because each time she attempted to pose Zee in another manner, Zee defaulted to this one. The photographer said it just seemed to be Zee. And it is. Hence this being my favorite photo of the bunch.

No matter how prepared we are for this evaluation, I've never been one to turn down some good luck wishes.

I was in Jersey last week. It rocked socks. I adore my family. As if you didn't know that. A gratuitous photo...



My Belle, Bro and me and the infamous grandchild trifecta. And you know what? I know, or at least I'm pretty sure, I'm using the term trifecta incorrectly. But I don't have the heart to look up the definition because it just sounds so fucking cool. If anyone feels the need to correct me, though, I promise not to cry. I wore my big girl panties today. And they're not twisted or anything. I might still carry on in blissful, feigned ignorance if you do correct me. Just a warning.

Well, it's still fucking snowing. Dammit. I'm out. To make snow angels. Hopefully the last of the season. Yah. Sure. As if. This is the Rocky Mountains after all.

Probably Won't Find This First in the Baby Books...

Zee Baby went to her first Gay Pride Rally...




We went to a rally organized by the local high school here in support of gay rights and in honor of the Day of Silence.

Most importantly we wanted to support our friends' son who, as a Senior in high school, just came out. When I was in high school, I got all bitter about all of the things that happened to rhyme with 'Zube' and the fact that my classmates were literary geniuses (geniui?) in poetry. Booby, dooby, booty, you get the picture. Come to find out, I had it easy.

Anyway, I'd love for you all to send my friends' son some loving, supportive vibes right now...'cause those are the best kind. It might be nice if you expressed them here. I'm not one to beg for comments but sometimes when you do something hard it's nice to know that people are supporting you, out there thinking you're tough as shit and all...I should know. I'd like, if possible, to give him visible proof of just how much he rocks.

I want to thank him for speaking tonight at the rally. And for taking a step toward making the world my daughter grows up in a better, more accepting place. I want her to know that she'll be accepted for who she is, no matter who she loves, and without people like him today, that might not happen tomorrow.

Chris, I'm proud of you, kid.

I Got Your Back...

...'Cause that's how I roll.

So, in a nutshell (a nutshell about as big as your frackin' head, mind you) here's the deal with Zee Baby. And why I'm a little worried. Or maybe I'm just worried that I should be worried. I'm not exactly sure about anything but that there is worry involved. Somehow.

You may remember that Zee Baby was born by c-section because she was breech. And had been breech for a REALLY long time. I remember the doctors telling me from 26 weeks on, "Oh, the baby has plenty of time to turn," each time I had an ultrasound and she had her hiney aimed down the chute. They were singing a different song by 36 weeks and at 37 weeks we scheduled a c-section for 39 weeks, only she decided all on her own to be borned at 38 weeks. (For some reason I just started singing 99 bottles of beer on the wall in my head...)

She was kind of weirdly jacked up in there. Her left leg sort of scrunched up under and behind her tush and her right leg straight up in front of her face. I've drawn a picture of her in utero...



...which will probably leave you even more confused than my description alone did. So to give you, perhaps, a better idea, this is what she looked like just moments after emerging all Alien-Style from mah belly...



...Okay, first, AWWWWWW! Ahem. Now that that's out of the way.

In the nursery the nurses called her The Ballerina because whenever she was released from the vice-like grip of The Hospital Blanket Burrito Wrap, her little legs defaulted to that position. And, while changing her diaper, they'd opine about how she looked as though she were mid-leap in a performace, lacking only the ballet slippers.

Anywho, I wouldn't be so concerned about Zee's love for sitting and loathe for crawling but for that whole breech thing. And for the fact that she was in the same position for almost three months. And we've also noticed recently that...






She STILL seems to default to that position. And having noticed that while looking through pictures, I guess I'm just a little concerned that maybe, just maybe, being in that position for so long, in addition to looking REALLY fucking uncomfortable, might have actually messed with her little baby muscles some. You know? And maybe it's something we shouldn't ignore or brush off as 'in her own time' and all that.

Or maybe, just maybe, she's just happy to sit and throw her board books around already and she'll crawl when she damn well pleases! I mean, really, what's the damn use in crawling anyway? Who crawls? I know I haven't. Not since college anyway. And I'm sure even if she NEVER gets this crawling thing down, she'll get herself home from the bars somehow. Us Zube girls are efficient as hell like that.

In the end, I guess it's something I'd like to look into because I'd prefer to find out early that all's good and I'm worrying over nothing than to wish a few months or a year down the road that I'd looked into sooner.

So there's that...

(78 bottles of beer on the wall...)

Are You There, God? It's Me, Zube Girl...

I miss my pregnancy boobs. I never was a very buxom girl. I more rocked the flat-chested waif look in college. And then the flat-chested chunker once I hit 30. And then, voila! Knocked up! With boobies! Whee!

It was very exciting to have cleavage for the first time. And I'd kind of hoped to keep at least a bit of it. Just a small crevice, not wanting to be greedy or anything. But, 'twas not meant to be. They deflated about as fast as a blown up balloon realeased unto the living room amongst a pajama clad clan of giggling school girls at a birthday party. Yup. I think they very nearly made that same pffffffffffbt sound as their blessed volume did flee.

The thing is, I never really minded being flat-chested. It kind of suited me. And I didn't really know any different. Plus I have a sweet ass, so I flaunted that. But what I'm not too keen on now is the fact that, like the aforementioned balloon in the metaphor above, when they grew, the surface area increased. And when they deflated, well, imagine that balloon again. Airless and floppier than when it was pinched from the bag. I was left with excess surface area. And decreased volume. So now, I've got small, saggy boobs. And that's just totally unfair.*

I always said that I thought implants are stupid, but I gotta tell you that I can understand a teeny bit why some women get them after they're done having their kids. Just sayin'.

Also, I can't even tell you all how much I've appreciated your comments regarding Zee Baby over here. Many, many thanks. That said, we're a bit worried about Zee Baby. And her non-crawling-ness. Not in any 'comparing my baby to other people's babies' way. But we're actually looking into seeing if there may be a real problem. I'm not exactly in the headspace to get into it right now, so more on that later. But just know that you're good thoughts, healthy hips and legs vibes would be much appreciated right now.

Peace out...

*DISCLAIMER- I hope you all know that when I bitch about ANYTHING pregnancy related, it is just, well, bitching. And I wouldn't trade my current state for the world. I sometimes feel guilty bitching. But, you know, that's what I do here half the time. So, yeah...

Pinked Out

I like to pretend Zee Baby likes dinosaurs.






But really, I like dinosaurs.

I'm totally not all pinky-pinky girly-girl and I dress Zee in all of the wonderful colors of the rainbow. I'm not morally opposed to pink. It's a cool color. But sometimes it seems like the only color out there for girls clothes. So, I find myself shopping, as you'll notice above, in the boy's section. Eh well.

That said, I think it's kind of funny that her most favoritest blanket in the world that she sleeps with every night? Is this pink silky number with a shoe and a tiara on it that says, "I'm a Princess."

Ha! I'm hoping she'll be a happy blend of both Tomboy and Princess. That'll work.

Thinking Out Loud

HO. LY. SHIT. Zube Boy and I just got our asses handed to us. We caught a bug. Zee had it, too, but she is apparently less of a baby than any of the other human members of this household. I literally had an hour or so where I felt so desparate I almost called my work to ask someone, anyone, to come over and take Zee for a bit. I couldn't stand up without puking. We muddled through, and all is well now, but we're still feeling the repurcussions of 36 hours of nothing in, everything out. And though I've always yearned for a nice, roomy bathroom, I am now thankful for the tiny bathroom in our house. Thoughtful of it to have the bathtub so strategically placed right next to the toilet.

Whew. So, now that we've got the oversharing out of the way, I'm going to do some thinking out loud here. I promised myself a long time ago, even before Zube Boy and I were trying for a baby, that if I ever had one this blog would remain MY space. Not MY space as a MOMMY. I swore I'd keep the Mommy blathering to a minimum. I don't know I've done so well with that, but it's what I'm attempting. At the moment, though, I am really, really, and I mean REALLY struggling with something Mommy-related. So I'm going to write it down mostly for the sake of my own clarity and also because, hell, you all have been tremendously helpful before. I hope you don't feel used. If so, kindly shoot me an e-mail and I'll let you know where you can send the bill.

The brief synopsis...

Zee Baby goes to daycare two days a week. Her Daycare Provider, we'll call her DCP, has been a wealth of knowledge in the past with everything from cold remedies to helping ease up on Zee's constipation when she was just a wee little thing. DCP was an ER nurse and has been in daycare so long some of her charges are probably my age. Or at least in college. Hopefully not majoring in partying like I did, but I digress.

As helpful as she's been in the past, DCP's advice is really beginning to grate. Since Zee was five months old, she has told me that Zee has Sensory Processing Disorder. It all started because Zee covers her ears when she hears a loud noise. She's not a big huge fan of the vacuum. I've taken in all DCP has to say, done some research (that site linked above is a good one), and really sat with my thoughts on this. I've concluded that I really don't FEEL anything is wrong with Zee. I just don't. I think I'd know if something was up. And I also don't think I'm being all "not MY baby!" because as we've all learned here, I'm well aware I'm not immune to being on the small side of heaping odds. And their are so many conditions out there that to me sometimes it's amazing most kids are healthy. So I don't think I'm in denial.

What sealed the deal for me was when I approached my doctor with DCP's concerns, he knew her by name, rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, she had a couple come in here CONVINCED their child had Sensory Processing Disorder because he wouldn't wear a hat. It took me an hour to get them to believe that some children just don't like hats." He asked if Zube Boy and I were concerned. We honestly admitted that our biggest concern was DCP's 'diagnosis' but that we didn't feel anything was wrong. The doctor pretty much said, "Zee is fine. She's interactive here with me, smiley, doesn't mind being touched...I've had one child in my practice officially diagnosed with Sensory Processing Disorder and you could tell that something was a little off. Don't worry. If you're ever concerned, let me know and we'll revisit the idea."

Case closed. Or so I thought.

So, where I am now...

Ugh. Basically, I have another daycare option come June. Nothing until then. But DCP keeps bringing up this diagnosis and reminding me that the earlier we deal with it, the better it will be for Zee. She also, and I don't know if this is on purpose, but she'll show me some of what the other kids are doing that Zee isn't doing yet. Not in a comparative way but in a, "Look at so-and-so, almost walking at 10 months!" Zee's not crawling. She's 10 and 1/2 months old. And I'll to tell you I'm the biggest proponent of All. Kids. Have. Their. Own. Pace. But I'm not going to lie. It's a little unsettling when your kid is the one on the slow end of those big milestones. My niece started crawling at 6 months and my nephew is crawling now and he's 9 months. So yeah, I am well aware that kids her age are doing things she isn't. Thanks for making that point, DCP. I'm also aware that other kids weren't holding their own bottle at 6 months and feeding themselves cheerios all pincer-style at 8. So Zee has been in the forward crowd, too. I think all kids lag and lead in different areas.

Now, DCP has mentioned her opinion regarding MY daughter to two of my friends whose children also attend the same daycare. And I'm boiling. I am seriously considering pulling her out for the next two months and taking a pay cut at work so I don't have to bring her there anymore.

The worst part of all of this is that given the constant and pervasive mention of it, I'm starting to doubt myself and my intuition a little. A little voice in the back of my head is going, "Are you SUUUUURE there's nothing wrong? I mean, you were SO SURE Zee was a boy, and she wasn't? What does that say about your intuition, Mama?" I don't know. Of course I want the best possible shot for Zee and if I felt something was wrong I would go to the ends of the earth to find someone who would believe me and help us address it. But I don't want to go around diagnosing her with things willy nilly just for shits and giggles. And I think if you try hard enough in any case, you'll find something wrong with everyone. Hell, it's what makes humans so god-damned interesting.

But I don't want my 'All Kids Are Different' mantra to do a disservice to Zee. So, for the sake of being all facty and diagnostic, below I've pinched a list of symtoms from the site I linked to above. I've highlighted in red the ones that might apply to Zee, and I'm even being a little liberal. Not all are true in all cases. I've added notes where I deem applicable in blue. Here they are:

Sensory Processing Disorder Symptom Checklist For Infants &Toddlers
__ Resists being held or cuddled
__ Cries and/or arches back when people try to hold him/her
__ Distressed by diaper changes
__ Distressed by baths and/or water splashing on him/her
__ Doesn't fall into a predictable sleep/wake pattern or cycle
__ Cries excessively throughout the day (more than a half hour or hour at a time)
__ Doesn't smile often, appears “sad” or “uncomfortable” much of the time
__ Has distinct preferences for adults of certain energy levels or voices (i.e., intonation, loudness, high pitched, low pitched, etc.)
__ Avoids eye contact, has difficulty focusing on objects or following them with eyes
__ Distressed when moved suddenly or whole body and/or head is tipped
__ Distressed by rocking motions
__ Distressed when moving in space (i.e., swinging around, bouncing up and down, or being “thrown” up in the air)
__ Doesn't appear to respond to name or familiar voice
__ Can't seem to calm baby down no matter what you try (or there is only ONE thing that does, i.e., a car ride)
__ Difficulty breastfeeding
__ Difficulty with sucking, chewing, or swallowing
__ Doesn't tolerate new foods well
__ Gags or vomits from textured foods or on variety of different foods (very limited diet for age)
__ Does not seem to sense when diaper is wet or dirty
__ Cries inconsolably until a wet or dirty diaper is changed
__ Prefers to be without clothing
__ Severe separation anxiety
__ Tantrums many times a day
__ Distressed by sunlight or bright lights
__ Distressed in public places, especially if crowded or noisy Zee doesn't like big crowds. Neither does her dad. He just doesn't cover his ears and cry. He has 33 years of experience using his legs and a bit more free will under his belt so he turns around and walks away.
__ Doesn't enjoy regular interactive movement games, i.e., peek-a-boo, pat-a-cake, etc.
__ Doesn't notice new toys/novel toys and/or resists playing with them
__ Only uses one hand to manipulate and explore toys and/or can't switch from hand to hand
__ Unable to bang toys together or clap hands (at appropriate age)
__ Keeps hands fisted and closed most of the time
__ Distressed by dirty hands or face
__ Cries inconsolably when left with strangers or less familiar people
__ Significantly late to talk, walk, gesture, smile, hold bottle, sleep through the night, manipulate/play with toys, etc.
__ Major difficulties transitioning to solid foods and/or rice cereal after bottle or breast fed
__ Can not hold onto or use objects or utensils well for age
__ Regularly avoids certain foods, food categories, consistencies, temperatures of food, eliminates whole food groups, etc.
__ Difficulties with excessive reflux or allergies to foods and/or formulas
__ Doesn't seem to notice sounds others do
__ Frequent ear infections
__ Sensitive to sounds others don't seem to be bothered by Sometimes a few kids will be playing with noisy toys and Zee will cover her ears when they are all going at once. The other kids don't seem to mind.
__ Difficult to engage; is an observer, doesn't interact with peers or adults
__ Apprehensive and/or distressed by playground equipment
__ Distressed by baby swings, jolly jumpers, wagon/stroller rides, car rides, etc.
__ Avoids putting toys in mouth, exploring them with her mouth
__ Baby gags or vomits when objects are placed in his mouth
__ Beyond teething stage, always has something in his/her mouth, or chewing on clothes, hands, fingers
__ Avoids categories of toys, i.e., vibrating, stuffed animals, rough textured toys, slippery/slimy toys, brightly colored objects, etc.
__ Appears overwhelmed, cries, or falls asleep when overstimulated
__ Refuses/distressed by certain positions, i.e., being on tummy, on back, sitting, etc. Not a huge fan of tummy time.
__ Stays in one position and becomes uncomfortable when moving to another; if moving on own has significant difficulty transitioning to another position (hard to do, awkward) She's started transition from sitting to belly, but can't seem to move back.
__ You find you are always trying to be one step ahead of baby; trying to control his environment and “warning” people what to do/not to do so baby is comfortable
__ Difficulty staying asleep for more than 30 minutes at a time, or wakes up frequently throughout the night, unable to soothe himself back to sleep
__ Seems to get too much sleep, very short time when he is alert, playing, responding, and interacting
__ Has significant difficulty waking up
__ Needs a particular sound to stay asleep, i.e., fan, nature tape, white noise, music, etc. This is probably my fault. It's dry as hell around here so we have a humidifier running in her room at night and now she has trouble sleeping without it.
__ Will not sleep if there is any noise
__ Wakes with the sun
__ Can not fall asleep anywhere but home, in familiar environment
__ Needs excessive help to fall asleep...rocking, bouncing, singing, rubbing back, etc. for long periods of time
__ Uncomfortable if not swaddled tightly; or, if older, needs heavy blankets, stuffed animals, or tighter pajamas for weight and pressure on them to fall asleep well
__ Able to switch moods effectively and relatively quickly... easily distracted if upset, “gets over it” within a reasonable amount of time, a favorite toy/face/sound will soothe him/her
__ Excessively attached to a pacifier
__ Never attached to any comfort object, i.e., blanket, stuffed animal, rubbing something, pacifier, thumb, etc.
__ Doesn't reach for or hold toys (especially textured toys) at appropriate age
__ Closes hand if toy coming near it, or drops it immediately if placed in hand
__ When begins to walk, walks on tip toes only, will not put bare feet on ground/floor
__ Distressed by textured materials under themselves
__ Appears distressed by movement; i.e., a startled response, arches back, frightened look in eyes, etc.
__ Does not crawl before walks (or limited/different type of crawl) She's not walking yet, but I imagine she'll walk before she crawls. She does this scootching thing where she moves herself sitting with her heals, so I would say that would qualify as a 'different type of crawl'.
__ Craves movement, distressed if not moving, being swung, rocking, bouncing, rocks self constantly
__ Does not play reciprocally with caregivers or familiar people
__ Frequently engages in repetitive, non-purposeful play with one or two objects
__ Can not switch activities or participate in daily routines without distress when transitioning from one to another DCP has noticed this one, but we haven't. I guess sometimes she pitches a fit when they transition from playtime to feeding time and such.
__ Baby is not understood using language, cues, gestures, etc. and becomes frustrated frequently
__ Frequent head banging, hitting, biting, pinching, or hurting self or others She bangs her head on the back of her high chair. This one disconcerted me a bit when she started so I'd looked it up on the internet. I read that it could be a symptom of autism, and we're not concerned about autism with her given her progress socially. Another site said it could be a sign of genius. I just think it's a sign that she takes after her Dad. Who likes Gwar for crying out loud. She was born to be a head banger.
__ Breaks toys frequently
__ Unable to be gentle with animals
__ Appears uncoordinated, frequently bumps into things
__ Can not focus attention on play, caregiver, or toy long enough to interact (for age level)
__ Wanders around aimlessly or engages in non-purposeful activities in excess, i.e., spinning, rocking, staring at certain objects, etc...not interested in play or doesn't use objects for purposeful play

Looking at the vast see of black ink, I just don't think her symptoms make her anything more than, well, Zee. She's an interesting little tiny person who knows she can't stand the freakin' vacuum cleaner and covers her ears because it's the only way she knows how to try to keep the noise out. She also know she LOVES being tossed in the air by her Daddy and playing peek-a-boo with Mommy. She is perfectly imperfect. The only way I'd want her.

To the root of my question, a question which typing all of this out now has just helped me realize...Am I a bad Mom? A blind Mom? Because DCP and her harping are starting to make me feel that way. Oy. That was it. My biggest problem with all of this.

Thanks all, and I don't blame you one eensy bit if you didn't get through this whole thing.