Cable

We are the proud owners of a great white shark named "Cable." It is our current objet d'amor. Cable likes peanut butter and jelly on sesame bagels, Baby G, driving Mack trucks, and bathtime. I expected the bathtime answer - being a water creature and all - , but found the other likes to be strikingly similar to Bug's own. Oui?

They are growing up so fast I like to look at them from far away to remember how small they still are.

sigh

I packed away Baby G' swaddling blankets. Sigh.

Myth Builder and Meat

Saturday we found a sitter last minute so when the kidlettes slept, we went to see Juno - The Movie. Afterward I stood, by chance, next to the odd couple who were having a discussion over which they were quite proud. They felt, that they must "free the woman from the act of being a vessel." While I am no feminist, and not a nutter either, I don't feel as though I should be freed from anything. I won't continue the myth that I've found my identity post babies...I haven't. I still have the same whiney existential meanderings that I did before. "Who am I? Who am I as a mother? Should I cut my hair? How do I rid myself of toe fungus? I bet I wouldn't have toe fungus if M had taken care of his toe fungus earlier. How does one effectively clean cat yark? Who will publish my short story?"

I don't have as much time to stare at the rain or at my toes, but I find ways to squeeze it in.

It's not easy to be the main caregiver. It's a lot. And, it's more than rice cereal at 4:30, soy milk to head off a whine fest, and dinner on the table if I'm lucky. But it's only those things too...

I don't mind being "the vessel," it's all mine. The bank could repo my house, Bug's allergies could be fatal, M could plummet to his death during one of his many trips. But being able to carry and care for these kids, that's all mine. There is not one possession or person that I can say is mine, but these acts, these experiences, no one can take them away from me. Not even some weirdo waxing philosophically on an awkward date. I mind not having a sitter. I mind not getting a break. I mind not having someone else do my laundry. Being able to carry G and Bug to term? Instead of Matt? Just fine. I'll take that please.

In other news, this is the face G makes when she realizes that I'm feeding her rice cereal again. I think, now that she's discovered the joys of solid food, that she's a little disappointed that it's not steak. I'll get her aunties to straighten her out.

Neglect

What people neglect to say when expecting the first infant, adopted or via birth, is that the mother will be damp for at least the first six months. Here's how I've been slightly damp this morning. If you're curious about my afternoon and evening...go from step 2 through the end...it's just a rinse and repeat cycle anyway.

1) Wake up, shower. 2) Feed Baby G. Wet cereal-hands all over my shirt. 3) Decide to wipe off wet cereal with a wet-wipe rather than let the cereal dry and pick it off at a later time. Both equally gross, but the wet wipe makes me a little more presentable sooner. Not really sure who I need to be presentable for...but I'm trying. 4) Pick up Baby G. She's tired, so she rubs her runny nose on my shirt. 5) Before I lay her down Do dishes = wet hands. 6) Spill coffee on self. 7) Pick up Baby G.She spits up on me, but in an entirely different spot from before. Note: I am not yet completely dry from decisions made or accidents occurring since step 3. 8) Wipe off spit up again. 9) - optional- but occurs once a day - Bug overflows the bathroom sink to make an ocean or a pond or a waterbed or the Puget Sound or the Gulf of Mexico for some water creature or another. I am wet throughout the "drat i didn't catch you soon enough" through the "clean-up" phase. There's more, but I'm waterlogged.

Happily, Baby G is soon to be 7 months and I missed a spit-up session today. I was dry for like a whole hour or something! Yay me! Please bring a dry cloth and your ability to overlook a messy shirt when you visit.

5 reasons

I never really buy anything without five reasons. The reasons can be silly like, "I will buy these shoes because I like orange shoes," or they can be practical like, "I need new shoes so that my feet don't get wet this Seattle winter." Just so long as all the reasons are above board and acknowledged.

So, I was really bummed about the fake Christmas tree. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal, but it represented just one more thing to worry about with the Bug. "Is he developing asthma? How will I know sooner rather than later that I'm doing the right thing? How can I tell if his wheezing is a tree mold thing and not an exposure to dairy and I should rush him to he ER thing?" and the list goes on and on and on. Plus, I would've groaned and moped at the thought of my parents getting a fake tree when growing up. It doesn't smell pretty and my fingers were worn smooth and sensitive from unwrapping all the fake branches and the fake needles from the fake branches and then you have to make sure to put each fake section on in the right order and then I started thinking about all the Chinese factory workers who put my fake tree together and who must have been like, "Americans buy this? Use this? What?!" (My tree was indeed made in China and I'm not talking Taiwan either.)

I decided to find five reasons to love my fake tree besides it being good for Bug's health. Surprise, surprise! I came up with eight. Here they are: 1) I learned that they are good for the environment. Better than the energy it takes to grow, cut, haul, and ultimately dispose of real trees. 2) No fighting with the lights every year. It's been done for you. Thank you Chinese factory workers. 3) It doesn't shed needles. 4) It's less of a fire hazard. 5)

I'm not listing my number five or my six, seven, and eight. I'm just thankful I had a great Christmas with my family. The tree is pretty. My family is healthy. My family is happy unless it is nap time. I can afford to go buy a tree or shoes or some time from a baby sitter when I need it. I live where I can see snow capped mountains year around. Happy New Year! I'm off to disassemble my tree til next year.