Okay, now tell me how adorable I am

Thanks for all the sweet words about the Buddha.  Even with a cake battered face, a zit on her cheek, cheeks the size of bowling balls, and crazy old man hair, we think she’s pretty darn cute.

A while ago The New Girl did a post in which she asked folks to describe what they thought she looked like.  (She, of course, borrowed the idea from Swistle.  And thus does the circle of blogging life continue.)  At the time, I thought it was a tremendously entertaining idea and decided to tuck it away for a moment when I needed something to amuse me. 

Well, that time is now, my friends.  I am at the end of my first full week back at work.  Two days this week I worked 12 hours straight.  I’ve spent a total of two-and-a-half hours in the office bathroom, sitting on a toilet pumping my boobs.  This morning the Buddha woke up with a diaper so full that there was an actual puddle of poop in there–as well as spread the length of her legs up and good portion of her back.  And our fun weekend plans just got canceled last minute.

Here I am now, entertain me.

Here’s the questions:

1. How tall do you think I am?

2. What do you think is my body type?

3. And my hair? Color? Length? Straight, wavy or curly?

4. Do you think I wear glasses?  How about jewelry?

5. What color are my eyes?

6. Any tattoos or piercings?  How about any natural distinguishing marks, like freckles or birthmarks?

7. In what era do my looks most comfortably belong (i.e. 60s hippy, 20s flapper, Victorian gentlelady)?

8. For extra credit: If you were to pick a celebrity that I resemble (either in looks or spirit), who would it be?

I have given answers to some of these in the past, so this could be a scavenger hunt.  I’ll update tomorrow (or Monday, we’ll have to see how the weekend goes) with the answers.

The best birthday present ever

Yesterday was my birthday.  My 33rd birthday, to be exact.  It happened to fall in the middle of one of my chaotic work periods (yes, I came back just in time for one of those!) which meant that I got up before the crack of dawn and worked like a madwoman all day long before finally getting home somewhere around 7:30.  Which was just early enough to kiss the Buddha and nurse her to sleep as she went down for the night.

I felt badly about that.  In fact, I was feeling pretty down again about the whole working thing–which I had been more chipper about lately.  Yesterday was so long and so hard and involved so much juggling.  I felt badly for the Buddha because I saw so little of her.  I felt badly for Alias Father, who ended up watching her for 12 hours straight without a break.  I felt badly for myself because this was my birthday, dammit!

Then Alias Father brought out my birthday cake, which the two of them had baked me that afternoon.  In fact, he had documented the entire proceeding from start to finish, and he proceeded to run through the slide show of photos while we ate.  There they were–she strapped in the Moby on his front–mixing the batter with her hand gripping the spatula.  There they were flouring the pan with her head tilted to the side following the pan.  Then they putting it in the oven, her eyes wide with amazement.  It was hysterically goofy and weird and utterly charming.

And it made me feel better about the whole thing.  Because my working this wacky job has some benefits.  This girl is going to have some adventures with her father that she wouldn’t otherwise have.  If he’d been working while I stayed home on my birthday, we wouldn’t have this memory to share with her, including the best photo of all, which shows what happens when you let the baby hold the spatula just a little too long.

So, my gift to myself this year is permission to lighten up just a little on the endless worry about whether I’m doing the right thing for my child.  I’m giving myself permission to recognize that there are many right things and that while each action has an equal and opposite reaction, there’s no reason why that reaction has to be a negative.

In celebration of that fact, I present you with Spatula Photo. 

Happy birthday to me.

Working 9 to 5 (okay, really 6:45 to 7:30)

Yesterday I started my day by eating breakfast, entertaining the baby, pumping my breasts, and reading material for work ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

And I thought I knew what multitasking was before.

Perhaps this can join my list of Rules to Live By

Today is my first full day back at work and I’ve discovered a new trueism: when I become Very Aware of my boobs, it may be time to pump.

This is what I was most afraid of

Walking into day care yesterday, I see the Buddha getting a diaper change so I chat with the other caregiver while I wait.

“How’d she do today?  Any meltdowns?”  I ask.

“No, she did great.  She hasn’t cried once.  She took two naps and ate both bottles without a whimper.  She is such a happy baby!”

“Oh, that’s great.  What a relief.”

The other caregiver brings her over.  “Here’s your momma!”

I take my precious baby and wrap my arms around her.  “Hi, sweetheart, how was your day?” I say in my best good mommy voice.

She looks at me and immediately starts screaming.  Red-faced, tear-streaming, full-lung screams.

I knew introducing her to competent caregivers was a mistake.

Why I am a bad mother, a short listing of proofs

I regularly leave the baby lying in the middle of the floor, despite the very real possibility that a dog could step on her.

I poke her thighs whenever I change her and tell her that she’s never going to get a man with fat rolls like that.

I consistently forget to put her down in “tummy time.”

I despise the term “tummy time.”

I insist on picking at her peeling skin, earwax, and eye gunk despite the fact that it makes her cry.

I sometimes make fun of her when she’s crying.

I call her humiliating nicknames, including “Chunky Monkey,” “Schmoochyface,” and “My Cuddly Wuddly Bumpkins.”

I tell her to “Shush right now, honey, momma’s trying to watch Project Runway.“

I’ve been known to tote her around with one arm under her armpits.

I let the dogs lick her head.  And her hands.  And sometimes her face.

And this morning I dropped her off at her first day of day care and I didn’t cry even one tear.

I care, you care, we all care, it’s day care!

As I’ve alluded to a few times over the past, oh I don’t know, MONTHS, finding day care for the Buddha Baby has been a huge freaking headache.  I started looking when I was five months pregnant.  We just found a solution last week. 

Yes, really.

The problem was the infant thing.  Day care providers can only take an extremely limited number of infants.  How limited depends on the state, but here it is only two per provider.  Logically, I think this is good.  I mean, how many babies can one person care for?  But in reality, this was a bloody nightmare.  Every day care we tried was full of infants.  Full.  No room.  No room likely to open up.  And even if room did open up, there were 15 people ahead of me on the list.

Did y’all know that we are in the middle of a baby boom?  Cause we are.  Me and my uterus are so trendy.

I can’t even tell you how many people I called and visited.  I tried home-based providers, centers, even that nice old lady down the road who sometimes takes in babies to augment her Social Security check.  Nope.  Nothing.  Nada.  Wow, she’s a really cute baby but, sorry!  No room!

I finally found one woman that could take her.  I ran home excited.  There was a spot for her!  And it was near our house!  And the woman only had six dogs!  And was a smoker, but she only smoked outside at naptime! And her house was in the middle of nowhere and she didn’t have a car that worked!  Wait, why am I excited about this?

And that’s when I stopped the frenzy.  The fact that I was strongly considering putting my child in a place about which I had serious questions was a huge wake-up call.  This wasn’t about finding a place to dump the Buddha Baby so that I could earn a paycheck.  This was also about finding something that would enhance her life.  Enhance OUR life. 

So we started to think outside the box.  I have to work.  Alias Father has to work.  But do we have to work full-time?  Does the baby have to be in full-time care?  Do we even want her in full-time care at three months (that was a big no from me)?Could my mother help out?  What are our other options?

And that’s when the gift came from heaven.  Our local community-based day care center called.  They had a part-time opening.  Would we be interested?

I went to visit.  It was fantastic.  The staff had been there for years.  The infant room was safe and cheerful and cozy with a nice range of ages.  Other staff stuck their heads in for a quick dose of “baby time” because these people LOOOOVE the babies.  They asked if I worked nearby and wanted to stop in to breastfeed (I don’t, and can’t, but it’s nice to be asked).  I walked away feeling better about this place than every other place I tried before.  Combined.

So that’s what we did.  Two days a weeks she’s going there.  I am working four days a week and staying home one day.  Alias Father is working four days a week and staying home one day.  My mother is taking one day.  That means three days home with family, two days at the center learning to play with other babies.  They expect a full time opening in the fall, when I will feel much better about sending my little Buddha to someone else 40 hours a week.

Between the higher cost of the center and the slight pay cuts involved in working four days, this is more expensive than some of our other options.  But at the end of the day, I feel totally, 100% at peace with our decision.

And, really, working parent or not, isn’t that the best that any of us can hope for?

…Aaaaaand go!

I’m sitting at my desk at work.  I have a new computer monitor that for some reason has font T H I S  B I G.  It’s also tilted too far forward and won’t move.

They installed a new phone system while I was gone and I don’t know how to use it.

A new office opened up last month and there was a major move.  My desk is still the same but everyone around me has changed.

My e-mail is still being forwarded to a colleague, so every time I get an e-mail she must print it off and bring it to me.

They reprinted our business cards with a new logo.

This is really weird.

But there was a plant and a stuffed bunny and a box of tea waiting on my desk this morning.  There’s a “Welcome Back” sign and spread of food in the kitchen.  I walked in to big hugs and smiles and people who were really glad to see me–and not just because this means they don’t have to do my work for me anymore.  There’s coffee that I didn’t have to make.  There’s internet that isn’t dial-up.

It’s no gurgling coo with a smile but then again, it’s no diaper after a poopsplosion either.

I think it will all be okay.

Get ready, get set…

Tomorrow is my first day back at work.  Despite my earlier concerns, I’m actually looking forward to going back.

I’m working a half-day.  Alias Father will be home with the Buddha Baby.  It’s the gentlest reentry that I could hope for.

All I need now are pants that fit.

Just let me know when I’ve shared too much

It was one year ago today that the Buddha Baby was conceived.

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!