Onions make more than just your breath smell

Today is a rare, somewhat appreciated, yet extremely boring and SLOW day at work... so here I am, updating my little blog, in what feels like forever.

Life, as I am sure it has been for all, is nuts these days. With the crumbled economy and looming uncertainty I think we're all focusing just a little extra these days in an effort to make ourselves one of the indispensable to our organizations. Because truly that's what it's all about now isn't it?

Fortunately for me my company really has not been affected by the great recession, however just in case... I continue to keep my head down.

Life at home is good as well, though exhausting in and of itself. "Dad's" mother has finally gone back - and can I just say Hallelujah to that. You know, I got a lot of "Anonymous" criticisms about my mouthing off about her, and initially got angry but then realized that those spineless ney-sayers really just didn't get the level of danger the woman was putting my child into. Let's just say the pinacle of it all was when I returned from a 5 day business trip to find she had self-prescribed to my 10 month old, 3 different types of antibiotics to treat a cold. Antibiotics that she had brought with her from Romania. Antibiotics that I had not agreed to, and antibiotics that his Doctor certainly had not approved.

'Nuff said Anonymous Asshole.

So here I am, now 17 weeks pregnant, exhausted out of my gord and still haven't told my coworkers I'm knocked up! My bosses know and luckily have kept it to themselves and really there is no reason not to tell my coworkers, it's just odd since I work with a very "to themselves" bunch and even getting a "how was your weekend" out of them is a long shot, far less announcing I'm pregnant. I just can't figure out how to do it yet so hopefully my slowly bulging belly will shortly give it away so I don't have to.

This pregnancy so far has been quite normal with the only real difference being that I still haven't gotten over the 1st trimester exhaustion, and my sex-drive (unlike with Payton), is completely non-existent. My idea of a good time these days is a bath and bed, so poor "Dad" is suffering terribly and has gone as far as to let me know that based on my behavior this will certainly be the last time I will be pregnant. A real bummer since I've always wanted 3 children, but I figure we'll take some time off between these 2 and the last, and hopefully by the time I'm ready for #3 he'd have forgotten about this little bump in our sexual road.

Otherwise everything is going well. I did the early glucose test last week based on my previous gestational diabetes failure with pregnancy number 1... am hoping to God I pass because I cannot go through that again. No way Jose! My only real cravings these days are anything salty, sour, and...raw onions. Yup, I eat 'em with everything which is great for my heart but terrible for my mate since it makes one quite flatulent at night which is not a good look for anyone, far less a slowly inflating pregnant woman who isn't putting out. Suffice it to say that if perhaps I'd be a little friskier in bed "Dad" would probably have no issue whatsoever with my gassyness, but the gas added to the blob of exhaustion I am at night makes for an all together not too attractive sight.

Luckily I can blame it on the dog.

So we've also started discussing names as well (we find out if it's a boy or girl on July 23rd). For a girl we both like "Ella Blue" but "Dad" wants it to be a longer name and insists on "Rafaella" which reminds me of his infatuation with Ninja turtle names when we were picking out names for Payton... who can forget the Leonardo arguments?! Funny that we're coming full circle once more on this! However since I love the name "Ella" and would just call her that anyways, I might just give in and let her know secretly that when she's 18 that I would fully support her legally changing her name to "Ella".

As far as boy's names go "Dad" has brought nothing to the table just yet (he is THAT convinced it's a girl) and so I'm preparing him for my love of the names "Jasper" and "Knox."
So far he is vehemently arguing that one sounds like a cartoon character and the other is lame because it's Angelina's baby's name, but I am standing firm and reminding him that the cartoon character is Casper, not Jasper, and that my grandmother's maiden name is "Knox" and I could give a rats-ass what celebrity named their baby what.

We'll see what he offers up if it's a boy.... which secretly I hope it is so Payton has a buddy, though a girl would be awesome as well for playing with and dressing up!

Ok, so that's it for my mid-year update. Hopefully I won't be such a stranger again.
Hoping everyone is well and thriving out there!

Two quick pics

Walking into the Ocean w/ "Dad"












CloseUp on the 1 year old!

I'm alive.... really, I am....

Sorry, Sorry, Sorry....
I'm alive, I swear... overwhelmed but alive and kicking.. a lot!

1 year old baby, newish job, new baby on the way = crazy woman running 'round town

And yes, I am STILL pregnant!!!!!!
I'm around 15 weeks right now, give or take and so far so good. Not feeling much yet other than a bit of weight gain, but the Doc says all is well in baby-land and we'll be scheduling our boy/girl ultrasound soon!

I predict BOY.

Am going in for early diabetes scan next week so if anyone has any tips on how to beat that test this time around I would greatly appreciate it -- not that I didn't love pricking my finger 7 times a day but you know, the blood gets old by round 2.

Speaking of round 2 -- I'm not sure if this happens to anyone else or if I'm totally insensitive and unattached, but I'm having a hard time "comprehending" this pregnancy. Like, I haven't realized I'm knocked up yet!

Last pregnancy people would ask, "so how far along are you" - and I could answer to the millisecond. This time around I find myself pausing and calculating on my fingers in a desperate effort not to look grateful as I try to remember, "am I 14 weeks, or 15?"

I spoke with my Doctor about it (feeling guilty for poor "Dos" - did I mention that's "its" name?), and she empathized and said it's fairly normal for a young busy mother to suddenly "give birth" and realize she was 9 months pregnant, but I still feel horribly guilty since I know the trauma many of you - and me at one point - had to go through just to get pregnant at all. It's terrible but I find that even as I sit here typing furiously, trying to knock out a post in 10 minutes flat that my feelings of failure are lifting some.

Maybe it's the pure acknowledgment on paper.... computer screen... whatever.
I need to write again, i really do... i just don't know WHEN.

(mind the typos)

Double Trouble

I think it slept 2 hours last night.
My mind is RACING.
I can’t focus.
This is nuts.

How am I ever going to be able to take care of TWO babies?
I mean, one baby is A LOT. Two would take multi-tasking to a whole ‘nother level. Seriously, I’m only just getting accustomed to changing diapers while distracting Payton with containers of baby creams… what’s going to happen to me in 9 months? I’m gonna be like an octopus, arms spread-eagled everywhere, toddler on one hip bawling, newborn in other arm screaming…. I have a visual of myself, hair in rollers, in a granny nightgown, cigarette in mouth, arms full…. (nevermind I don’t roll my hair, smoke or own any nightwear of any kind). You get my mental place right now though I’m sure.

And what about the sleepless nights?
How am I ever going to get over that hurdle again… AND take care of a toddler the next day…. OR go to work?

Don’t get me wrong… I’m excited, how could I not be? I’ve always wanted 3 children, and I’ve always wanted them close together. But the reality of this is all now a little too… real.

Holy crap.
I’m PREGNANT!!!!!!!!

Big News.... HUGE!

Two and a half weeks ago I returned from a business trip to "Dad" saying he was ready for #2.
This morning I felt faint.
This evening I took an HPT.

Yup.
You guessed it!

Holy cow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(To those of you who know me in real life, please keep this to yourselves. Obviously this is all very new and with my track record I'd really like to get a bit deeper into this before publicizing).

Talk about clean pipes though eh?!

The Determination of a Spider

Every evening when I arrive home from work around 7:30pm I quickly run upstairs, change into "play clothes" and head back down to roll around on the living room carpet with Payton for that last 1/2 hour before he heads up to bed. During this time we do everything from practising walking (he has zero interest in crawling but walks to an almost running pace when you hold his hands), to speeding around remote controlled cars (mine, not his), to reading a quick story before bedtime. Some nights we also sing songs such as Row Row Row your Boat, Ba-Ba-Black Sheep, or his favorite, Incy Winsey Spider.

I have been signing Incy Winsey since Payton was born. It was one of my favorites as a child and I always loved how interactive it is with all the hand motions. There's so much to listen to and look at with that determined little spider, and Payton is always mesmerized when Incy is around. As he grew older, from time to time I would also sing Incy Winsey using his hands to do the movements which is tricky since he's quite spirited and does not like being told what to do, but with time he has relaxed and allowed me to show him how to connect him thumbs to his opposite hand index fingers and "walk" Incy up the water spout.

So imagine my delight last night as I lay on the ground, Payton sitting legs straddled on either side of my belly, having just wrapped up a vigorous session of "Row Row Row Your Boat" and as I started singing Incy Winsey, my little man starts looking at his hands and back at me, delicately moving them, fingers and thumbs spread appart correctly (though not together), trying to "walk" Incy up the spout in tune with my song!

Kill me NOW and send me to heaven!

It was perfect. I probably sang the song another 8 times encouraging him, "Dad" cracking up on the side lines watching as Payton for the the first time ever, tried mimicking something complex that I've been trying to teach him... well, apart from blowing raspberries but that doesn't count as "complex".

I'd be lying if I didn't admit I had tears in my eyes.
As a working mother I miss a lot.
It was nice for once to come home and be able to enjoy a new experience and be completely responsible for that outcome.

The Lady returns

Holy crap it's March!
MARCH!!!!!!!!!!
2000 and 9!!!!

Payton will be 9 months old this coming Friday (2 days from today) and I am sitting in another hotel room, far away from him, on business, again.

BOO.

Theresa our nanny had to go home for a few months due to visa issues and so "Dad's" mother - "The Lady" - is back in business, and yes, I still can't stand the woman. It's not that I hate her, I just get really annoyed at having someone in my house that I can't communicate with. On top of that when I am able to communicate with her it's so... basic.... and simple... and just not at a level that I appreciate having around my son as he grows. She's just too....... simple.

And clearly I am a bitch.
But let me explain...

The Lady arrived back in NYC 2 weeks ago. Within 4 days of her being back with us Payton started developing an irritated, heat-like rash all over his face which "Dad" and his mother quickly blamed on Bla-Bla - an organic stuffed toy that Payton has been sleeping with since Day 1. Initially I agreed and allowed them to remove Bla-Bla from his bed which of course created mass pandemonium at bed-time, but eventually I started realizing that this was not a possibility since again, Bla-Bla was not a new addition. Something else was going on.

I questionned laundry detergent, an array of creams The Lady was now putting on him with ingredients listed in languages I could no read, and finally, the food she was feeding him. I noticed that I wasn't running out of Gerber anymore and there was an awful lot of cooking going on in my house with things that looked mushy and baby-like, but not necessarily recognizable.

And so as the rash's intensity increased, I woke up last Saturday morning, packed them all up in the car, and headed off to the Doctor.... Payton, "Dad", the indescribable creams, Bla-Bla... the whole kit and kaboodle, less-The Lady. I was determined to get to the bottom of this.

The Doctor, not overly concerned but curious began questionning us about recent changes since she had seen Payton 2 weeks before for shots and he was the epitomy of health just back then. As "Dad" spoke and explained Payton's new routine (since he is the only one that can communicate with his mother and get that info), I quickly came to learn that not only was The Lady changing lotions on us, but she was also now feeding Payton pretty much anything you and I would eat : soft boiled eggs, deli sausage, pancakes, Nutella... anything that was available, Payton was eating and yes, that does include undercooked eggs, unprocessed un-nameable animal parts, and yes ---- nut based spreads.

BINGO!
The woman was trying to kill him.

Now I realize that this is all a bit dramatic and that she was only doing what she had done with her son way back when dinosaurs roamed the earth. I get it. However, my concern is that with time and research, there are many things that we are now aware a child should not be exposed to for at least their first year of life. And though I have had this translated to her in the past, she felt obliged to go ahead and feed him anything the pantry could offer. And then blame it on an innocent, organic, knitted, stuffed toy.

Not cool.
Not cool at all.

You see. I work, I travel. I don't want to but this is a difficult economy and I do what I must. "Dad" also works. He works at least an hour from home plus NYC traffic. The Lady does not speak a word of English. Nor does she drive. So if something goes wrong, she cannot even call a cab.

Do you see where I'm going here?
It's not that I hate.
I just find her ignorant.
And quite frankly, after realizing what was happening above, I find her quite useless.

Pardon my bluntness.

Just another day with the same story

It's 11:36pm. I am sitting cross-legged in the bed of my hotel room in Fort Lauderdale, procrastinating about what I should really be doing, my mind completely outside of my work and wondering over and over to my babies back in NYC... both "Dad" and Payton.

Thankfully the traveling will wane soon and for that I am greatly appreciative. I'm soooo looking forward to spending some quality time with Payton and not just eeking out every last minute of love while I count down the hours to the next time I have to say goodbye. To be honest I've actually found that it's far easier to just escape without a goodbye and so I sneakily book my flights to leave early in the morning before he has woken up. Sly aren't I? Learnt that little trick after "Dad" and Theresa practically had to pry Payton out of my arms one Sunday night as I tried to say goodbye and leave for the airport. I weeped that entire trip... all 5 days of it.

Me aside, Payton is doing so well. He now has 6 (yes, read it... SIX!) teeth, is sitting up comfortably though not pulling himself up to sit, and is honestly the nosiest baby I have ever come accross in my life. Nothing misses that kid.... NOTHING. I truly wonder how "Dad" and I got so lucky with our little Payton.... he's SO well behaved and everyone constantly comments on how good he is. We are SO blessed. "Dad" and I can already tell that he will probably be quite hyper and likely a bit of an athlete (like "Dad" was when he was younger). I also wouldn't doubt if he had a bit of a temper though it doesn't seem extreme which I am thankful for. But it's definitely there and something we'll probably have to reign in as he gets older.

In sad news (read: FUCK!), Theresa has to leave to go back home for a bit as her visitors visa is up and she needs to leave in order to come back in a few months. "Dad" is adamant that Payton does not go to daycare which I don't totally agree with since I see some real benefits to daycare, but "Dad" refuses and came up with his own Plan B... entire once more his MOTHER (we call her The Lady and I'll be doing so here too). Again, read: FUCK. I don't know how I agreed to allow that woman back into my house for another 3 month period but I did. And now I want to throw myself off a cliff.

Noooooooooooooooooooooooo........

Don't get me wrong, I see the benefit for Payton of having her here but selfishly, I just can't stand the woman. She's "sweet" but she's an overall emotional basketcase and that becomes high maintance for us which is difficult since she doesn't speak English nor are our cultures very relatable. She's super touchy-feely and I can't stand being touched by anyone but "Dad", Payton or my very, very close friends. She's giggly, I'm not. She comes from a former communist society and still very much functions under that mindset... I certainly do not. My life in contrast is quite excessive. And finally, she coddles and spoils "Dad" and THAT more than anything else annoys the bejesus out of me. When The Lady is around "Dad" is held accountable for NOTHING. No dishes, no putting things away, no cleaning. He gets back rubs and special meals and hair playing and all this weird shit that I just don't understand and just get annoyed at when I see it. It makes him look weak in my mind having his "Mommy" around and of course that affects our relationship in other ways I don't even have time to analyze thoroughly. Worse yet, if I catch her doing it to Payton I'll have no choice but to jump her.

I'm going to try to remain civil, for the sake of the men in my life, but I'm not gonna like.
Not one bit.

Your life is just passing me by isn't it?

I have been traveling a lot.
Last week I was in Naples, Calgary, Edmonton and Vancouver. This week coming I am in Toronto. The following week I have 1 day in Atlanta. And then the week after I am all over South Florida.
I'm exhausted and I miss my boys.

Life as a working mother is tough business. Some evenings as I drag my weary bones to the subway I find myself day dreaming about all the fabulous things I'd do with Payton if I were a stay-at-home mom........ we'd play, we'd go for long walks, maybe socialize with other stay-at-home mom's.... perhaps do tea n' crumpets. What ARE crumpets anyways? (Yes, I did totally just google that... apparently it's a savory/sweet bread... doubt I'd like it. I'm a street cart coffee and bagel kinda girl anyways).

But back to my guilt trip.......
I'm missing my son's life. I come and go so rapidly these days that I feel as though Payton is reaching all these phenomenal milestones and that I'm going to wake up one day and realize he's going off to college and I've missed his whole life. It's devastating.

If I'm lucky, when I'm in town I get to see him in the morning before I go to work for 5 minutes... that's IF he's up by then. Unfortunately he's never awake by the time I get home so my only real time with him typically tends to be when he wakes up around 4pm for a diaper change and a bottle. The great thing then is that when he sees me his little face lights up and as opposed to when Theresa goes to him, he starts making his cute little "play with me noises" rather than just eating and going back to sleep. Of course at that time in the morning I'm usually a half-eyed zombie but I shower as many kisses as I can and coo with him for as long as my eyes can stand it before I drag myself back to bed so that I can wake up again in an hour and a half to start the rat race again.

I cherish those 10 minutes.
And then obviously when I'm traveling I'm just gone.
It's so sad.

Payton does seem to miss me and usually starts getting really fussy by Day 3 of my being gone completely from his life which secretly I love since it means he's registering who I am as opposed to Theresa. But it breaks my heart to leave him so often.

I only hope that when the time comes for Payton to judge my decisions today that he understands that I am only doing this for him. If I were selfish I would stay home and suck in every last minute of his goos and gaas, but I don't. I would love nothing more than to be able to experience all those firsts Theresa excitedly tells me about daily, but I can't.

Trust me....
I would love to.

Maybe the dingo ate your fiance

So we're back on.
After simmering a little "Dad" finally came around to his senses and bought me a beautiful, simple, more-Anns-appropriate Yurman ring. And it is stunning. Lots of simple, gold rope like bands, criss-crossed haphazardly with one white-gold band of small, not-in-your-face diamonds sitting elegantly, yet not overly-purposely, on the top. I love it. It's totally me and means that I don't have to wear a band as well later on. It's perfect. I love it.

But now the questions are coming in...
When's the date....... what are your colors........ where's it gonna be..........
It's too much.
Too much, too fast.

I was hoping for a long engagement. Like 10 years long.
Ok, that's silly. But you know what I mean.

I'm gun-shy enough as it is towards marriage - this questioning just feels too real.

Believe it or not I haven't even told my co-workers that I'm engaged. Not because I'm not happy about it... not at all. I love "Dad" dearly and if this is what it will take to show him that I want to be with him and him alone for the rest of my life then so be it. I just don't want all the hype that goes with it.

The planning, the unnecessary expense, the pedestal......... all that associated "fluff" terrifies me.
The expectations are so high....... the pressure is just too much.

Additionally, though I'd rather elope somewhere far away (like at the end of the earth), "Dad" demands a big wedding, with a poofy dress and all the franetic chaos. The thought of that brings chunks to my throat and I can practically feel the acidic rise of throw up when I consider being put on display like that again. It truly crawls my skin. But he'll have it no other way. Stay tuned for much, much more fighting over the coming months, or hopefully years as we move towards finalizing the plan here. If all goes according to my plan, PJax will not only be "Dad's" best man when the time comes but he'll be old enough to give a long speech, full of lots of anecdotes about his life.

And while I have your continued attention on this topic of marriage there's just one more little thing I'd like to discuss here.
It's the word "fiance."
I don't like it. Not one bit.
It seems so overly entitled and smug, as though I should just plop on my chinos, stick my nose in the air and slur it out in my most stush "old money" accent...."I'd like you to meet my FIANCE..."

Bleh, bleh, bleh.......

I hate it all.

Though I guess it's better than saying, "I'd like you to meet the guy I plan on banging for the rest of my life."

Yeah, my Mom wouldn't approve of that too much either I guess.