Human Development

I've been spending an awful lot of time with a baby lately, so forgive me if every post for a while is influenced by babiness.

I was thinking how funny it would be if humans grew and aged, but in some ways never progressed beyond three months of age. For instance, if we were hungry, we would begin to gnaw ravenously on whatever was closest to our mouths, be it seat belt strap, coat-corner or fist. Then we could eat lying down and consistently fall asleep mid-meal, our arms falling every which way.

We would fall into an open, trance-like stare at whatever caught our eye, especially anything sparkly, glowy, or black and white striped.

When in public, if we were met with a friendly smile by a stranger, we would wait a beat while watching them, then suddenly open our mouths widely and soundlessly, squinting our eyes in delight.

I think lastly, but definitely the most fun, is that as far as our bodily functions went, we would either fart at full-speed with absolutely no remorse, or cry theatrically while red-faced, our fists balled up, before farting or letting loose with copious amounts of liquipoo that shot up our backs.

Monday photo

Baby Boy as he would look with gorgeous hair:

Good Words/ Bad Words of the day

Good Words:
shanty
lilliputian
nebulous
clavicle
carp

Bad Words:
cuddle
snuggle
bosom
slacks

The Opponent

After feeling alternately crab-assy, depressed, exhausted, anxious and vomitous during pregnancy, it's astonishing to be deep in the throes of new motherhood again. I am so madly in love with this little beast.

And he adores me. I can tell, because he gives me huge gummy smiles. He cries when I put him down, and he saves his most voluminous diapers for me. These are definitely satisfying rewards for going through being woken up every few hours, and having to shoot liquid out of my boobs at a moment's notice.

I've even included a diagram of our sleeping arrangements over the past 3 months, to clearly illustrate the joys of a "family bed":


Lately, though, I've noticed a change in his behavior, which seems to have coincided with his eyesight becoming rather more honed. When I place him on his changing pad, eager to see what he's produced for me, his adoring eyes shift from me to this:


I bought this cheap piece of crap mobile from Ikea, but he's mad about it, specifically, the Panda. At first I thought his drawn-out gazes and attempts at grabbing it were sweet, but then came that first big, open pie hole. I couldn't believe my damn eyes, because he was smiling at that thing. That wretched piece of eye candy that I picked up on a whim was now proving to be a malevolent opponent.



He can lay there for minutes on end, carrying on what is seemingly a conversation in a "secret special language" with this panda. It's maddening. Pandy the fucking tiny panda can't carry him around and pick wax out his ears with a fingernail. I can. And who ever heard of a panda that would agree to limit the amount of caffeine he drank so the precious baby wouldn't be affected?



A mother needs some sort of assurance that her baby's not going to cheat on her. Is it so wrong for me to fantasize about getting rid of the competition? I think not. For now though, don't pity me. I will find a way to persevere. And no need to call me a hero, as all I really want is to get my story out there, to show that every scorned woman can find in her soul the strength to overcome the devastating allure of the Ikea decorative object.

What Not to Wear, For Kids

Since I'm not a big volunteer-er at my kid's school, I was trying to think of other ways to help out. You know, to ease some of the workload for the teachers and staff. Well, this morning, as I walked F to school (and managed to politely listen to her tell me last night's dream for, like, 10 whole minutes without falling into a dead heap of death), my mind wandered, and as I watched the other children milling about, and it struck me. Hard. Many of these children are just walking tragedies.

I mean, really, ugly dolls clipped all over your backpack was "acceptable" maybe 2 years ago. And all of the Hannah Montana accessories caused my face muscles to convulse in horrific spasms. I continued to look around, my head whipping to and fro, frantically searching for some sort of haven on which to rest my weary eyes. "Surely", thought I, "these kids can't be that fashion-frozen". Then I spied a girl with a smart little trench, skinny jeans, and flats, and I was able to breathe for a moment.... until, Egads! It was simply a lilliputian babysitter, most likely imported from the city.

My mission became so beautifully clear immediately. Save these poor wretched children! I immediately pulled out my camera and began to madly photograph each and every child. The K-5 set is horribly overlooked and it's up to me to make a dramatic change in this conservative western suburb of Chicago.

As I adjusted my newborn's ascot, I mentally organized my fashion do's and don'ts column for the school newsletter in my head, and I'm simply giddy with anticipation. I can't wait to see some of those god-awful Crocs morph into smart little leather wedge pull-ons, and one can only dream that any article of clothing sporting an image of a Disney princess will be swiftly replaced by cashmere cardis (classic!) and structured little jackets. (p.s: 5th grader with the long brown wavy hair who lives near school, you're not fooling anyone with those fake Uggs.)

I'm soooo excited about parent teacher conferences, because next I'm planning to be the Skincare-Secret-Santa for the kids, stuffing their little cubbies and lockers with Glycolic peels, peptide-packed serums and loads of cover up!

Ta!