Me, Bob Dylan and Queen Victoria

Today was my birthday today and it was very, very nice. My husband got me a biography of Evelyn Nesbit that I did'nt even know existed and, when he got home from work, he brought me a burnt almond torte from Whole Foods. Donovan gave me the best gift a one year old can give his mother which is a nap that lasted from 10:30 until 2:00pm. While he slept I was able to mop the kitchen floor with some ammonia, do laundry, make cornbread and do some inital weeding in the front yard. Once the boy woke up there was playing to be done and a walk to take. My friend Kirsten offered an evening of babysitting for my birthday, which meant Mike and I got to go to Gooski's together for the first time since...well, since my birthday last year.

My folks called today and when my Mom asked what I was up to tonight, I told her, "I'm trying to decide between going someplace fancy or just going to Gooski's" "Go to Gooskis--get reaquainted with each other." I love my Mom.

Now its time to get some cake: Hot. Damn.

The Art of Walking

Mike and Donny and I went for a little "walk" last night. I use the quotes because Donovan is not really walking on his own yet but he's getting damn close. You'll note in the above photo that he's holding onto Dad with one hand. It's fun to watch him--every step he takes, he gets this wild look on his face, like, "I did it! Holy Shit, I did it again! AND AGAIN!!!"
When I see that look, my heart fills with love and the listening room in my head is filled with variations on this. You have to listen to the end to hear the part that I've been hearing.

I Think I'm Raising A Monster

Full Disclosure: I don't know anything about babies. I certainly don't know how to raise them. That the doctors at West Penn let us take Donny home without so much as a paralell parking test is still shocking to me and, 13 months into it all, I still think I'm winging it.

That all being said, I used some babyfree time yesterday (Donny spent Saturday with the Pittsburgh Grandparents) reading my babyfood cookbooks. One of them made some mention of sleep training and I thought, "Hmm: Should we be doing that?"

Here's the thing: Percentagewise, Donovan's sleep habits are fine. We put him down, he usually wakes up once, we go in and reinsert his binkston and all is well. Now and then there's a high maintenance night, usually due to teething.

Here's the other thing: Putting Donny to bed can be the best part of the day. I like his nursery, I like holding him, we still give him a nighttime bottle (is that so wrong?) and I do feel like my time with him is so limited. That's not working mom guilt, that's just facts: he's at daycare from 9 until 5:30. That's 8 1/2 hours, folks, and a couple of hours after that are just the getting home mess.

I realize we're going to have to let him learn to soothe himself soon. He's up to 18 pounds now and, soon, I won't be able to carry him around anymore. Not easily at least. If I put him in his crib asleep for a few more weeks, he won't turn into Norman Bates, will he?

Get Out Your Dreambooks...

I called my folks tonight. Mom said she had had two dreams about me. "In the first one, you were a toddler. Mr. Pletcher [our archnemesis neighbor: more on that someday if you buy me a drink] had you over on their porch across the street and he was lovin' you up saying, "You don't have to go home, you don't have to go home" and I was seething!" Dream #2: "You had had a baby girl and when I asked you were Donovan was, you said, "I don't know. I can't watch him all the time!"

Only Love Can Break Your Heart, Pt. 2

Our cat Nina died today.

That may come as a shock to some people but those who know us will remember that last year she was diagnosed with cancer and given 2 months to live. She got in close to 9. She hadn't been feeling well and had stopped eating. We were torn between upsetting her (and, frankly, our budget) with a trip to the vet and watching her go down hill. This morning when I woke up she was sleeping in her usual spot behind my legs. Last night she sat on my lap for a long time letting me pet her. While we were at work today she went down in the basement, found a secluded spot and slipped away.

Anyone who's lost a pet knows how awful it is. Anyone who's never had a pet may not realize that its worth getting your heart broken every 4-6 years or so.

Fussiness All Around

I recently reconnected with one of my favorite fellow telemarketing alum buddies via the miracle of Facebook. She has a great life going on, including her duties writing and editing the About.com Astrology pages. I need to ask her what sort of meteor destroyoed Mercury last night because, between 10pm and just about now, life has been thrown cattywampus. I took off of work yesterday to follow up on housestuff, including signing for a registered letter that was inexplicably sent to the Downtown Pittsburgh postoffice, dealing with my cell phone plan at the office of origin, and--wonder of wonders--clothes shopping. With Donny in daycare I got an amazing about of stuff done. I even got to go out to dinner with Shirley.

Then I went home.

Donny has been teething for the past 3 or 4 days and the poor kid is miserable. He's been feverish off and on, spitting up constantly and just unable to sleep. Last night there were hours of shrieking and squirming and general malaise. He did finally fall asleep a little bit after 1am--I think he was just too exhausted to cry any more. This morning he managed to spit up twice, one of which was just when we'd put him in his carseat. He made it to daycare alright but I ended up taking his bag of lunch and bottles to work with me by mistake. Then I spilled a bottle of cranberry juice in my purse. THEN I found out one of the candidates for the job search I'm working on may be spitting the bait.

Hmmph.

I wish I was one of those graceful people who are able to keep a clean house and a nice yard and a balanced checkbook. I always feel like I'm scrambling to stay afloat. If I'm going to feel overworked, I'd at least like my life to be polished and tidy--I mean, if I'm overworked, why is nothing getting done?

We Spit On Your Graves

You knew it was coming. I bet you thought it wouldn't take this long. What surprised me was where: St. Mary's and NOT Homewood.

I had to be creative today: Mike's working so it was just me and the boy again today. I thought I'd take him into Bloomfield, we'd pick up a bus schedule at the Hospital and plan our next move from there. My first thought was to take him to the playground but that was a bust. That meant we were stranded in Bloomfield on a Sunday until the next Polish Hill bound 54C came by. 2 and a half hours. Not bad for me but for a one year old that must seem like eternity. So I did the thing any right thinking mother would do: I took my kid to the Catholic cemetery.

St. Mary's is a beautiful old cemetery, as you can see by the photos. I took a tour there once that was so poorly done I screamed in my head for an hour and still had to leave early. I don't know the cemetery that well so I stuck to the area near the gate. We set up camp in the shade of a lovely old mausoleum that looked like it had never been sandblasted--it still had that black industrial soot patina that all the local churches are so quick to wash away. I got Donovan out of his stroller and we walked up and down the path. He did really well walking, holding on to just one of my fingers with one of his hands. He did'nt seem very interested in the cool old stones and mausoleums but he was laughing and enjoying the breeze and the lovely green grass.

All that being said, I'd like to send an apology out to the Fraudenlien family. Donny and I got into a raspberry contest right in front of their family lot. We meant no disrespect but it felt somehow very wrong. Funny, but very wrong.

We had a nice visit but still had too much time to kill so we caught a 54C into Oakland. We had 15 minutes before the 54C that would take us back into Polish Hill. I thought Donny might like the fountain at the Carnegie Art Museum--he in fact liked it so much he almost dragged me into it. He stood there at the edge and just laughed, like he was an evil scientist savoring the view of the planet he was about to blow up.

Now we're home and he's asleep in his carseat. I think my face is sunburned--a small price to pay.