thinking problem

Right now, I am sitting here thinking
why I am watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?
Why did Sarah Michelle Gellar agree to be a voice on this movie?
Was she just being nostalgic?
Why don't I take a much needed shower?
Will I really have time to shower tomorrow?
Will tomorrow be a good day with the boss?
When am I going to quit having so much anxiety about the coming night and day?
Why do my toes always hurt after working out?
Will I ever be able to buy new shoes?
When, oh when, am I going to fit into my clothes again?
Why did my child scream for 20 solid minutes on the way home?
How high was my blood pressure during that time?
Did I damage her hearing by turning the radio loud enough to drown her out?
When are my emotions going to settle down?
Is there a place where responsibility really can't find you? If so, can I have a map please? (I choose to think it might be under the couch-no one can see you there-but I just can't fit myself under there)
Why do I feel like I am being left in the dust by everyone around me?
When am I going to figure out the one thing that will make all this go away?
Why am I embarrassed to tell some of this stuff to John?
Why can't he just read this damn blog and figure it out for himself?

blah

Motherhood is such a lonely thing. Because you are strapped with a baby, you are always the one left behind. Today after church, we had a fellowship for a family that is moving to Australia, and at one point, I was sitting completely alone feeding the boss, while the husband did the social butterfly thing. Sad to say, this is a typical pattern. He has had enough of her and my duties resumed. Thank heaven for the church nursery. I know that John works all week long and deserves to rest, but I would like some time off as well. I wish I could share these thoughts with him, but he doesn't need to take care of two babies, plus, I have become really bad articulating myself. This weekend, I just wanted to push her off on him and disappear. It was such a long and tortuous week, and most of the week I spent feeling like a complete failure because I made the wrong decision about switching her formula. What was I thinking???? Most people would say "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." However, I apparently like to take things that are clearly working well and see how badly I can mess them up.
This morning when I woke up at 5 to feed the boss, I just decided to stay up because going back to sleep for another hour and a half would be pointless. It was such a sweet time. I was completely alone, and for awhile while I ate my cereal and stared out the window, I was nobody's mother. I think that may have been dangerous, because I spent the rest of the day trying to keep that feeling alive. I actually thought about barricading myself in the shower this morning, because that is one place where I am completely free. I can't attend to anything but myself even if I wanted to. I have only the warm water to answer to. It is a glorious feeling.
I know that these feelings will pass, but I am just so tired. I could just crawl into my bed and never wake up. Sometimes, I just wish John would read this and make everything better.

happy, lucky sigh

I was reading another blog of a girl who mentioned that her family was acting crazy and that worried her. It made me think of all my friends who have to suffer for their families. My friends, who at such a tender age, are the backbone of their family. Who hold together the pieces of the lives of the ones they love in spite of the scars these people have given them. It doesn't seem fair or just. In college it bothered me that the books that we read and studied all centered around dysfunctional families. "Where are all the normal families?" I asked my professor one day (a question only the naive, emotionally secure can ask). "Nobody wants to read about normal families" she said. "That would be boring." That made me so very sorrowful. I think my friends who live the great American novel everyday would gladly take some boring in their life. Yet, these people, the selfless few who are willingly shackled to less than grateful families, are some of the best people I know. These people whose battle wounds have been reopened time and time again, are not only infinitely patient, they are loving, sensitive, and wise. And, the best part is that these people genuinely love those who have cut them the deepest. It is a love that only comes from knowing that your satisfaction comes not from receiving but giving, not from the approval of an earthly father but a Heavenly one. It is these people who cause me to never, ever take for granted my own family.

Two cute girls

I love the fact that Zoey already has a friend that she has known her whole life. Zoey and Emma met in the womb. I have a picture of Kendra and I with our bellies touching introducing the two. Emma and Kendra came over on Monday to have a little "getting to know you" time.

Zoey has officially taken over the house. I guess all the baby toys scattered all over the living room or the spit up covered couch didn't really convince me who was in charge, but it really hit me last night. I was climbing into bed after a long, but good, day when the husband wrapped me in his arms for a lingering kiss. I could definitely tell what was on his mind, and although so very tired, I did not have the heart to turn my sweet husband down especially since he had let me dominate Guitar Hero while he sat and cheered me on. So, when made the suggestion, I tried to be excited. However, something that I learned in college has been rattling around my head since Zoey came along. The term is "the primal scene" and it refers to a child seeing their parents (clears throat uncomfortably) ...in action. Viewing the primal scene can be detrimental to the child, and with us as her parents, Zoey already needs all the help she can get. John and I looked each other dumbfounded as we realized that no longer could we have a spontaneous trist in our own bedroom. What to do? Well, Zoey has taken over our room, so don't we have the right to do the same? Too bad her crib is not big enough for the two of us. That would be poetic justice. The only other option was the guest room. So we have now become guests in our own house, but, hey, it gets the job done.

Here comes the sun

These days, Zoey has been able to entertain herself for a few minutes. I usually lay (lie?) her on her activity mat after she eats (which is probably not the best idea, because the girl spits up like a fountain. Seriously. She drank four ounces this morning, and both I and the couch got showered...wait for it....4 times. I am currently still sitting in my spit up soaked t-shirt. You just become immune after awhile.) . She is entralled with the light up sun, and she just smiles at it as if to say "Hey there old friend. Long time, no see." It's pretty funny. It really makes me wonder what is going through her head as the sun is changing colors to the beat of the music. Christie came over yesterday and got to witness the show first hand. Apparently Zoey and the sun are BFF. This is what we saw:

Chronicling a bottle of wine

Last Friday, John and I found ourselves with nothing to do (well, besides attend to the every need of a two month old baby). We were wandering around the grocery store enjoying each other's company and we ended up in the wine and beer section. It was such a flashback to the pre-Zoey days that I could not help but feel a little wistful. I am loving mommyhood these days, but I am not quite to the place where you can't remember what your life was like before the baby came along. I remember the excitement of Friday evening; it used to be my favorite time of the week. I loved the idea of knowing that you were going to get to sleep in the next day and the thought of two whole sweet days of weekend ahead of you. Fridays nights used to consist of dinner out, a movie at home, and perhaps a roll in the sheets (wink, wink). It was definitely the most relaxing time of the week. I miss the spontaneity of my former life. These days even sex is planned way in advance. For example, Monday was John's birthday, and I planned to drop Zoey off with the in-laws before he got home so I could seduce him as soon as he walked through the door. I wish I could say that it was because I just can't keep my hands off him, but, honestly, it was because Zoey eats every three hours, so every minute counts. Anyway, I didn't get her off before he got home, so I had to move to plan B: Go to dinner and then come home for the event. We decided to go to Half Price Books after dinner, which cut our time even more. On the way home our conversation went something like this:
Me: We don't have very long until we have to go get her.
John: Do you want to go get her now?
Me: Well, if we get her now, we won't be able to...you know.
John: Well, we could do it after she goes to bed.
Me: True, but she'll be in the bedroom.
John: We always have the living room.
Please keep in mind that none of this conversation could be considered foreplay. All of this was said in a completely serious, thoughtful tone. We were really trying to make a plan. Very sexy, I know. Anyways, I digress.
In the past when we have found ourselves in the wine and beer section on a Friday night, we would each indulge in our beverage of choice. We decided to do the same this particular Friday. All the way home I anticipated my glass of Beringer that I was going to enjoy. We got home and I stuck the bottle in the fridge and attended to the babe while John made dinner. I poured my glass when dinner was ready, but as ususal, Zoey decided to get fussy while we tried to eat, so my glass got a bit warm. I am not sure that wine tastes as good when it is served with a side of reality anyways.
The second glass came a couple of days later. I wanted to see how long I could make the bottle last, but like ice cream, when it is in the fridge I just can't stop thinking about it. I debated all evening about whether I should enjoy a glass. As I closed the door after putting the pacifier back in Zoey's mouth for the second or third time, I decided that I was going to have that glass of wine, because, well, I could. I am a big girl, thank you.
The third an forth glass came this evening. The third came out of desperation when John decided to watch Mr. Bean. If I am going to look at that man, I am going to need something to help me out. I am just sorry that I did not have anything stronger. The forth was the result of putting pajamas on a screaming baby, then feeding her and being spit up on three times, then putting her to bed, then tripping over John's shoes, then tripping over John's pants while putting away my clothes and the rest of Zoey's clothes while cursing John for not having done it before. He put his clothes away, but decided to leave the rest because he "didn't know where they went." After five years of marriage, that excuse doesn't fly anymore. The clincher came when I walked into the bathroom and there was an empty toilet paper roll. I should have downed the rest of the bottle, but I refrained. After all, it is much harder to get up at 3 in the morning when you are in a drunken stupor.

Mr. Bean

For some unknown reason, amidst his channel surfing, John decided to settle on Mr. Bean's Holiday. I only had one thought when I glanced up: Mr. Bean completely freaks me out. He is right up there with midgets. The man is an anomaly to me. Sorry for anyone who enjoys a good episode of Mr. Bean every now and then, but there is something not right about that man. The end.

Birthday Boy

Today is John's 28th birthday, and he does not seem that old. I am currently watching him play Guitar Hero. When I was young, 28 was old. Even now the number is scarily close to 30. I always told myself that I would not let age have any affect on me, but the older I get, the more my determination is overshadowed by my fear of aging. It is not the actual number, it is the growing up. Anyone who thinks that kids are the only ones who have growing pains are just crazy. Mine have never given me respite. I think that the thing that scares me the most is one day waking up and not being able to recognize myself. That realization really hit me this morning while working out on the elliptical machine (that's right, folks. I was working out-deep fried pigs wings anyone?). I was experiencing a state of paranoia because I lied to the gym telling them I was in college in order to get a 3 months membership. My paranoid self kept asking "What if you see someone that you used to know? They might give me away!" I had to halt on the elliptical machine for a minute as I realized that those I used to know probably wouldn't recognize me anymore. I hardly recognize myself sometimes. The changes in my life have left scars on me in the form of wrinkles and extra weight. However, as I sped back up on the elliptical, I realized that if wrinkles are scars, then not all scars are bad. My favorite scars are around my eyes. Some call them crow's feet, but smarter people call them laugh lines. Mark Twain said it best when he said, "Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been." If that is the case, then I guess I must have smiled a lot, and when I think about it, I have a lot of things to smile about. I am watching one of them play Guitar Hero right now.

Am I Holden Caulfield?

Okay, I am just going to come out and say it, John and I made a really cute baby. Zoey a.k.a "the boss" is just so darn cute. I mean, sometimes she has a little bit of a troll face when it is all scrunched up and red, but most of the time, she is pretty angelic looking. My sister did ask me yesterday if I thought Zoey was going to be a midget because she has a longer torso than legs, but although the jury is still somewhat out, I don't think so. Mainly because there are no midgets on either side of our family, and I have to believe that God would not do that to me. Midgets freak me out.
Right now, Zoey is happy as a lark in her swing. You know, babies have all kinds of toys and gadgets to make them happy and relaxed, and I want to know where all the gadgets are for moms to be happy and relaxed? I want to swing in that swing. It looks so comfortable. I could easily nap the day away in it if it was mom size. I have been tempted to see if I can sit in it, but a) I am pretty sure that it wouldn't support my weight, and b) I don't think it would go over too well with Zoey. She is pretty partial to that thing. Sometimes it is the only place I can get her to take a nap. I tried to tell myself that her napping in the swing was a bad idea as she needs to get used to sleeping in her bed, but what the hell was I thinking? The girl is sleeping! What am I complaining about? Yesterday I tried that whole in the bed thing, and it did not work out. She only took one nap the whole day, and it was on the couch. So, maybe she will be like me and not like to nap in bed. I much prefer the couch myself. The bed is for sleeping long periods of time and the couch is for...well, napping.
So, I just realized that this blog was mainly about midgets and the couch. That scares me a little.