Six Months Cooked

Today marks six months of bun in the oven goodness! I prayed about getting to this point, as it is always a scary road after experiencing loss. I was blessed with good hearty morning sickness (aka all day sickness) this round, have had a ton of ultrasounds, and now feel a great deal of movement (especially at night when I am trying to sleep), all of which, I feel was made to reassure me everything is going as planned, even if it isn't always so pleasant. Women who have miscarriages get stuck thinking we are "broken" or only partially workable, and this makes for every pregnancy after loss one of manic panic. At least today I can say if my baby had to be born, that its survival rate is ok, and will only get better as the next three to four months pass by! 

In honor of my six month mark I decided to eat my way through the day! Here is a breakdown:

• a massive, heaping, bowl of cereal
  
• Mac N Cheese
• peanut butter crackers
  
• Stacey's Naked Pita Chips (LOVE THESE)
• 2 pork chops, applesauce, 2 helpings of noodles, and corn
• a bowl of chocolate pudding and coolwhip
• a night cap of mint chocolate chip brownie ice cream
• a crap load of Cherry Kool-aid
• prenatals

And there you have it people! The books say my baby needs to gain weight between now and birth, so I am doing my best (however I am sure it will go straight to my butt)! I got to eat now, because in no time I will be swearing off the divulging in food in order to rid baby weight!

Mom Dating (It's dating all over again!)

When I first went back out on the field to play the dating game, Rylan was only three months old. I put him in his cutest outfit, and prayed he wouldn't spew spit up on any of our new potential "friends". I tried my hardest to do my hair, put on makeup, and wear something that didn't reveal my jelly roll of baby weight hiding in every corner of my body, and a shirt that wasn't soaked in spit up already. I went out with the piece of mind that this has got to be easier then real dating, and that I am sure as long as our kids are about the same age we would become instant friends. I was off to an entire group of new moms put together by the hospital for support, when really it felt like a mixer of some sort.

Mom dating and dating are one of the same. It takes courage, angle, perception, and WORK to nab the one you want, especially if they are in sea of "they seem ok" people. If you can recall this is not my first post on this subject, as last summer I posted  this, about working it to another mom on the playground. The only difference between a playground/kid class, and a bar, is less noise, and no alcohol. Instead of trying to work a conversation with some winner with a strong Malibu Pineapple drink in your hand, you are trying to work it over bottles of milk, and sippy cups of juice. You are eagerly trying to gear your kid to go over and play with "that one" (as you whisper in their ear), and less time with the other ones. 

I assumed being in a room full of Mothers around my age who also just became first time parents, would equal fifty new friends. A few weeks into this speed dating for Moms, that was covered up by questions each of us had about our babies to ask the nurse, I realized, frankly there was a handful I might even like in the group. Just like in any scenario, I had categorized people in my head, "so and so" asks some crazy questions and must be a bit manic, "that other chick" wears clothes from the early 90's, how could I sit and chat with her without belting out Bon Jovi "Living On A Prayer", that fit girl over there always coming in with her sports bra on (later to be my friend Sporty--thank God life found us after this group, as we have a crap more in common then I had thought) she wouldn't want to feast on french fries and cookies like I do, gives advice about putting sprinkled fiber in your cereal so she must be a healthy nut, and she'll think I am fat or lazy when I am not "up for" a daily hike, others were to shy (I have a hard time chatting it up with new people and people that are not willing and/or able to do their part of talking I don't have time for), and just plain too old for me (I know this sounds horrible but hey this is honest). The nurse who was a lactation consultant didn't help either, as she always broke us down into the nasty "bottle" feeders, and the good for you "breast" feeders (however my love for my friend Pam came from her being my fellow nasty bottle feeder raising our hands in the corner).  On the flip side, God only knows what others categorized me as, (most likely the loud mouth), and probably eww'd at my spewing reflux baby and didn't ask me over for playdates because they didn't want my kid puking on their furniture. 

The harder part about Mom dating verses regular dating is, you can't get by from your sweet looks, or your hefty Mom bust. It is mind draining, and often can be depressing if you find  yourself working it, and then you are the only one asking for playdates, and making contact.  You have to put yourself out there, and you have no choice but to be who you are in all your Mom glory. 

Early on I became the social organizer trying to get us all together for Mom's night out. This was a big deal for me, since I always hated, (more like loathed) and often still do, group social situations. I hate more then anything to "work a room", and I hate hate hate not knowing anyone, or making small talk. However, I wanted friends for my kid, and a group of women right  here in my backyard, who knew what I was going through, and I could ask questions about baby poop, and lack of sleep. Thankfully I found them (see Spilt Milk).

I still yearn to make new connections, and meet fresh new meat! Especially having baby number two on the way, I really want her to have the same experience as Rylan had. I don't want her to feel like she is only comfortable around her brothers friends, and deserves peers of her own. So I am back on the hunt. This time it will be less easier seeing as there is no organized group of women signed up for a mixer for second time parents who have babies born this Spring/Summer. Sure I will be invited back to the hospital support group when I pop this chickie out, but I have a feeling, I will be the only second time Mom there. Frankly, what first time Mom wants to befriend a second time Mom with a runny, ewwy, gooey toddler touching their baby? I do wish I was just a wee bit closer to my best friend  (who is about 45 min away) since we will both have kiddos the same age. Sure this is great, and I am sure we will see each other often, but since she is not in my backyard, I need to go out Mommy whoring again!

I have found a new friend. Somehow I feel like I am cheating on my Moms group! I am excited about the new possibilities of friendship, and the fact our kids love each other. She made my short check list which includes and certainly not limited too: Mom willing to curse (check)! Because frankly a person that doesn't slip one in every now and then makes me feel like they are trust worthy or real! She also doesn't wear holly berries on sweaters (check)!!! I can not even begin to imagine sucking it up and hanging out with holiday wearing sweater Moms, or the ones that wear heels and pearls on the playground for that matter!

Yes, it is like high school. People join cliques, it is a way of finding common ground, and acceptance. People that seem really cool to me motivate me to put in the effort, those that don't, well then I don't. 

Mom dating. Exhausting, exciting, and a bit like the Real Housewives of NYC. The good thing is in this recession, cake mix is far more cheaper then bringing your date out to pound a gaggle of hard stuff on the rocks, plus there is no worries about how to end the night!

Give Me A Break!--I am human!

I am a flawed women. As humans, we are all. 

I made two mistakes in the past few weeks that deserved to be recognized, but I believe, do to circumstances, they should be forgiven. It seems way to often people expect perfection, and forget that they too make mistakes. 

Let me start with mistake #1:

Here is a beautiful leather (so I thought) bag, retailed for $78. I thought about keeping this item because I really like the look and the style, but realistically could use the money more. So What did I do? I went to ebay.

After doing research on the site for competition, I knew if I didn't start the bidding low, it wouldn't go. So with fingers crossed, and a  hail Mary, I put the starting bid up for $8.50, in hopes of course to draw in tons of people and ending the bid war close to it. Days passed I got no takers, no watchers, no nothing. Suddenly 10 minutes before the sale ended, a lovely Georgia peach, bid $8.50 and in the end won it. Ebay quoted me a $5.00 shipping rate, so sweet Georgia spent a whopping $13.50, and when I went to send it, Ebay was wrong in their quote. I paid more for shipping, AND lost money on the bag (and three others by the way). I sent it off like a good seller, even though I knew I was on the losing end. Apparently, Ms. Sweet Peaches, didn't think so.

I got a not so friendly e-mail stating that she understood I didn't take returns but the bag was only 1/2 real leather, and the rest synthetic, and I shouldn't have written leather in my ad. She said she was writing me just to be "aware" of it , and to be more careful in the future. As I read this I rolled my eyes with an "oh please, you got a brand new $80 bag for $8.50, you can't even by a PLASTIC purse for that". So I didn't respond, since after all she was just "warning me". Then today I get another not so peachy e-mail stating that she hasn't heard from me, she is going to report me to ebay, and that she wants her money back. WTF? get your story straight lady! So I try to write calmly that I am sorry the $78 bag was not up to par for her liking, and that is was partly synthetic and it was my mistake of not being aware of this, and that I will take it back, happily, since I lost money on it anyway. I wanted to end the letter with "beauuuchh", but didn't. Now she wants to return it, and not only wants the money she spent for it, and the $5 for shipping she paid, but the extra amount of shipping too! I am about to book a flight to Georgia and have words. This freaken bag is going to cost me $50 to send back and forth, and losing the original purchase too. It is ridiculous. Call it bad business, yes it is my mistake, but holy sh*t, you can't even get two happy meals from McDonlads for the price you paid for this brand new $80 bag.  Ebay--shmeebay--I am DONE with you!

Mistake #2:

After going to the chiropractor yesterday and watching Rylan play with another little boy in the waiting room, I stuffed my pregnant belly behind the wheel of my car, and observed my surrounding. This parking lot is WAY TO SMALL, and you are always within inches of hitting someone. I notice that the car next to me is a bit slanted my way, and I try to avoid it, but I don't. I hit it, and two people who witness this look at me in horror. One man thinks it is appropriate to stare at me until I do something. I call Pete of course, since I have never hit anything or anyone before and I am unsure what to do. I go out and assess the damage. It is a two inch white scratch on the front bumper, you know the scratches people give to each others cars in NYC every single day and drive away. The lurker man comes to the window and asks if I am ok. I smile, and say I am. While I am looking at the car I just hit, I notice a carseat in the back, and think of the chances it could be the mom in the waiting room with her little boy that played with Rylan. I repark my car, and head in to ask. Sure enough it was her! I felt better that I found the owner, and I show her the scratch and give her my number. Everyone is sure she will never call since it is so minor, and tell me I was nice enough to stay, most people would just leave.

Except at dinner time the phone rang, it is this women's husband. He wants to talk "car stuff", so I of course hand it over to Pete. He tells Pete he needs to repaint, and buff the bumper, and that he thinks it should be around $1000, and that he prefers not to go through insurance. Are you kidding me $1000 for a minor scratch! So of course Pete tells him we are going through insurance, and asks the make and year of his car. I know what you are thinking--I hit them, I should pay right? Maybe they have a brand new Lexus? ...not a chance people, it was a beat up Forester, year 2000!  and I promise you that the scratch was something similar to a parallel parking squeeze mark in the city. And so the 135207 phone calls to the insurance company begins. 

So yes I made two mistakes, selling an item to Ms. Sweet Peaches in Georgia, and scratching a car that I tried desperately to avoid but didn't. Apparently, I should go to hell in a handbag, (preferably a synthetic leather one I guess)!

The language of Parenthood

This weekend I was blessed with a day to gather, unwind, reload, and be by myself. In the real world of motherhood it meant lots of errands, and window shopping without bribing a toddler with a lollipop, and dragging them in and out of a car seat. Still, the idea of having a Panera Bread lunch  in peace and quiet, and blasting Kanye West's new album while being unscathed by any F bombs in the lyrics that a little toddler parrot might repeat, is a slice of pure bliss.  Being alone for a few hours, being just Aimee, and not worrying about being someones Mom, is quite liberating, even if this includes returns to Wal-mart. 

One of my "treat yourself" moments, besides lunch and ice cream, was a trip to Barnes and Nobles. I was a women on a mission. After fingering the pages of this book weeks ago, reading an article written by an author in a magazine, and a friend sending that lovely video I posted below, I felt a calling to buy it ASAP. 

I of course came home to a quiet and still home, which is rare, and perfect for reading. It took no time for me to find a comfortable spot and open up the pages to "The Middle Place". It quickly became that read that you can not put down. You know the kind that could easily keep you up all night. I used my self control, knowing that when you have a great book you can not put down, the downside of it is, it will end, and then what. So I paced myself, and began to read about this woman's life, which helped me reflect a great deal on my own.

I once was a liberated women, who lived New York City as if it was my playground. I danced through Manhattan streets at all hours, as if nothing could ever harm me.  I was fearless, and also fairly careless.  My biggest worry was about what type of food I wanted for dinner, and making plans for the weekend. Not to shabby, but also not so real.

Soon after becoming someones wife, I became someones mother.  This totally threw me for a loop. Not only had I figured out what the meaning of love was, I also was learning the act of worrying.  Parenthood is worry. Constant, agonizing worry, that doesn't let up at any time or any moment. In any given situation I am thinking about how he can get hurt, taken, or if I am protecting him enough. Screwing up or being careless with your own life is one thing, but when it comes to someone elses that you are responsible for, well that is a different story.

When you birth a baby your other worry besides them, is protecting you. You can not help but worry about being away from them and accidents happening, or being diagnosed with something terminal. You not only want to see every moment of there life, but you also want what they deserve, a proper upbringing. With neither end being able to live in a bubble, we have to live, and hope for a better plan then our worries. 

Rylan is obsessed about the baby in my belly. I tried to explain to him that at one time he used to live in there too. While tousling my almost 3 year olds hair, and thinking about the time he used to kick from within, feels like a lifetime ago. When he was part of me I could protect him, now he runs freely, and as every year that passes, being in his mothers belly at one time, is less important to him, and more important to me. I wish he could carry with him the memories of being a fetus in my belly, but he won't, nor will he care too. I don't exactly thank my Mom everyday for carrying me for 9 months, nor have I high fived my mother in law for baking my husband. With Motherhood comes this attachment that nobody else has, because nobody else carried that life inside them. I don't want to, and refuse to forget how Rylan was at that time in life. No matter how much he is grown, he will always be my little baby, and I will always remember his first kicks. 

Blessed by silent reading of a good book that gets this mother reading, and pondering, I feel my 2nd worry inside me, dance across my stomach, flip around, and kick the book that I have leaning on my belly. I think about how I can't forget this, that feeling. I pry the book out of my hands to rest peacefully through the night. Soon there will come a time stolen bits of sleep will make my house once again full of insanity, but thankful for new life, and new worry. 

ps. Want a fantastic read? Run out and buy "The Middle Place" by Kelly Corrigan. You will thank me later with incredibly tired eyes from late night reading. 

Inspiring Words

My dear friend, and fellow Mom, sent this to our Mom's group. It was the third "sign" that I should pick up this authors book "The Middle Place"! Kelly Corrigan has a way with words that is for sure! Recently I read an article of hers in BabyTalk magazine and was blown away by it! This video below was the icing on the cake! I am running out and getting this book this weekend! Watch it, get inspired, and love your fellow Mom friends!

Sticky Hands In The New Hood

Just when I had envisioned that this new neighborhood would be nothing like the old, it proved me wrong.

 At the old house I had to make sure things put outside were close to the front door or practically pinned down, because the kids in the neighborhood seemed to have "sticky" hands. Bravely, I hung a flag out in front in my new neighborhood right at the driveway when we moved in, and it flew in the wind, through all the snow storms for months! Apparently, no one had an interest for a flag with a cat on it.

This week I decided, while browsing at The Christmas Tree Shops, that it was time for a flag change. I picked up a cute flag with tulips, and a "welcome Spring" sign on it! At $1.69 , I thought it was a great way to show my support of the changing seasons and be over with Winter already! It was flying in the wind the next day, perfectly happy in its new home, while perfectly matching my Spring friendly blues clues house! 

It had only spent two days with us, before Pete came in the house to announce it was gone. I couldn't believe someone would take it! It had to be the wind! Sadly there was no way it could have made it off of it's stick without help, and I was livid!

Was it a Spring Scrooge? or just a pesky juvenile delinquent in the neighborhood? All I know is I am seriously pissed off about it! The fact that someone thought it is ok to come into my yard and derobe it of ANYTHING really wants me to go door to door with a "have you seen this flag picture", and finding the thief! If I could get my little hands on them I would give them a lecture and a half about respect! 

The thing that tops all of this off is that every house on this cute street has a billion things on their front yard that could catch the eye of any ol' kid with a pocketing need! Why my house? Is it because we are the new neighbors and this is an induction to us feeling all warm and fuzzy to the new hood? 

So today I drove down the street as if I was about to part-take in a drive by shooting. I stopped in front of each house to take inventory of what they had in their yard, and god help the person that had a "welcome Spring" flag, because if I found it I would have went insane! Sure I can go back and pay the $1.69 for a new one, but the fact is I am now always going to worry about someone ripping us off, and not getting the neighborhood respect I thought a cute suburban neighborhood like this, would have. I am now stuck with an ugly cat flag outside forever!

Just a side note of parenting rage:  If I ever find out that my kids are responsible for such behavior do onto others I will have their head! I remember similar things happening to my mom's house while I was in college, and I just can't grasp when kids learn it is ok to go onto peoples property and rip it off!

Music Man

Rylan has been obsessed with singing this song lately! Maybe he wants the new baby to be called Delila! Lastnight when the song came on he got quite excited but a wee bit camera shy!

His other favorite past time is dancing to hip hop, rap, and reggae in our kitchen!

I am giving birth to a Gorilla

First time round I would rub my belly and think about what a miracle the miracle of life really was. I would day dream about baby booties, diaper changing, and what it would be like to be called mom. I envisioned Pete and I fighting over who could do bath time, or feed the child, because naturally, in a first time mothers dream of motherhood, one would want to part take in everything. I felt beautiful, glowing, and special. I had no time to focus on how tired I was, if my back ached, or how I had to sleep upright because of heartburn. I had dreams to dream. I wanted to stay pregnant forever (until the last month came and then I wanted it to end already). Then when Rylan arrived by force, because frankly he would have stayed with me forever without the medication to get things moving, I missed pregnancy. I couldn't imagine ever stopping having kids for the mere fact of being pregnant.

Second time round, totally different. I am lucky if I remember to take my prenatals, I catch every germ out there, my back started to hurt at week 8, I am a thousand times more exhausted then last time, and just to top it off, I already have heartburn 24/7 and I am only 23 weeks!! So now I am envisioning a hairy baby head to toe! I will be on the Discovery Health Network for giving birth to the first American cave women in centuries!!! I will have to spend hours brushing her head to toe with Gerber untangle solution, and if anyone says she looks like me, it won't be such a compliment! Rylan will pet his sister like a dog, and try to feed her biscuits. It just won't be pretty. A totally different dream then the dreams of pregnancy number 1 I'd say!  It sure makes me want to have a plate of Tums for lunch, and go out and buy a fantastic hairbrush. 

The fact is, I am not sure if Pete and I will ever go for number 3! Right now I am perfectly ok with this being the last time I wear maternity, sweat over names, and waddle my way through life for nine long months. I can not wait for June to get here already. However, I do wonder if there will be another in our future, if so we better aim for June after renaming our blog.

In all seriousness, this time round is so different in so many ways. I thought in the first round I had all the time in the world to "prepare". Nine months to someone who has never been pregnant before seems like a lifetime. For those of us who have been through this before and are chasing a little one while waddling,  we know for a fact the hour glass is running by the minute, even if we feel like this pregnancy is going by at the speed of a snail. I am nearly six months pregnant and I have already began the spread sheet of "must do's" in my head. It is running rapid and I am already feeling the urge to nest. The fact that the nursery is not painted yet is driving me mad! When it comes down to it a women with raging hormones, and lack of sleep is never a pretty sight. 

So here I am with my hairy baby in utero, thinking about what tasks I can complete on my list today, while inhaling Tums and wishing for some sleep tonight. First up,--maybe I should take a trip to the zoo to familiarise myself with the gorilla's just in case this pregnancy day dream is in fact true!

Easy On The Picking

I know this might sound totally gross to those of you that are non-parents out there, but I can not handle looking at my kids nose full of boogers.  It's all fine and dandy when they are close enough to catch in a tissue, but the messy part of parenting is when you have to go gold digging to clear up the passageways. 

I know you are wondering why I decided to write on this topic today. Am I trying to ruin you lunch? Is this really a topic all Moms to little ones share? Or are some of us pickers and non-pickers in life and that is just how it is? 

Let me start out by saying to those of you fellow child nose pickers that you may want to avoid public picking, or having sharp nails, a lesson I learned today.

Right before sending off three packages in the mail thanks to some ebay sales, (which were SO NOT worth it by the way), I decided this one little booger that was blocking Rylan's passage to breathe needed to go. So privately while in the car, I tried to wipe it. Of course a wipe would not work, so I used my pinkie finger hoping it would be the perfect "booger buster". Rylan screamed at me, and I said "ok fine, but when we get home I am getting that out". 

So there I was in line in the post office thinking the general public was admiring how cute my kid was. Except I noticed a look of horror on their faces and wondered if they thought my kid was horribly ugly, or something was wrong? So I looked down at my sweet son waiting so patiently, and indeed something was wrong.  Apparently I was growing a Coke pinkie nail or something, because it had to have been sharp. He looked like one of the members of the island that is dying on Lost. If you don't watch Lost, then it was just a nose bleed, but a nasty one. I calmly asked as the blood started to gush, and more people started to make startling noises, if anyone had a tissue. Luckily one lovely lady gave me an entire pack to keep, and I felt like I needed to give them all an explanation. "He has a cold", I told everyone, "and the dry heat really does a number on him". Yeah so I lied, but come on, do you really think it would have gone over well if I announced "I picked his nose really hard in the car and now he is bleeding".  

So we left with a gushing nose, a screaming kid, and his mothers shirt looking like she just came out of surgery, but hey at least the packages got sent, (and I didn't know anyone in that line). 

My Doctor: A Real Person?

Saturdays are the wrong day to go to the mall during the Winter. It is the only out of the house activity that seems to keep small families with young children sane. Especially a mall like the one we have nearby that is equipped with a carousel, play area, build a bear, and McDonald's, all in the same area.We braved the crowd anyway, since we also were getting sick of the same four walls of our home, and I wanted to find a cute Easter outfit for Rylan. 

As we braced ourselves for walking into a very hectic play area with tons of older kids jumping on little ones, we heard this women's voice. She was yelling to her kid that she was going to call security and have him taken away with handcuffs if he didn't behave. I turned thinking that this voice was so dearly familiar to me. IT WAS! It was my best friend these days, otherwise known as my Gynecologist (since lets face it I see her more then I see any family or friends being preggers and all). She looked at me with a stunned face and with an "oh sh@!", kiddingly said to me "be quiet you". I showed her my full of calories chocolate shake taunting her with, "aren't you glad I am watching my weight". 

I had waited for the day I would see her out in public as a normal person. Since our last visit when she became a "real mom" to me, and not just a know it all doctor, I wondered what her kids were like, how she would look in real life clothes, and if she was a flawed mom like the rest of us. For someone that is an expert in bringing babies into the world I couldn't help but think she would be perfect in all aspect of child rearing. I also envisioned we would make great friends if she wasn't my doctor, and wanted to see if this was in fact true by testing the "real life" waters. 

So here we were in real life, as I witnessed her screaming at her kid. It made me smile. There my doctor sitting on a big bunny in the play area, trying to talk to me, while keeping an eye on her kids.  We made small talk and had lots of added humor. One things she DID NOT want to discuss was the child in my belly (apparently that is a subject way to over done in her line of work, and on her day off, not one she wants to discuss). She often stopped in the middle of our conversation to wrangle in her wild oldest, and scold other older kids not being kind to little ones. We discussed how many nasty stomach bugs, and colds were running rapid in that place, chatted about parenting our 2 year olds (her 2nd child is about the same age as Ry), and how annoying  it was for us parents that these older kids were so brutal and without parental watch. She was slowly becoming human to me.

Then it was time for us to leave, and I mentioned to her that I was going to go run over and eat a handful of hot dogs and a big sandwich filled to the top of lunch meat. She laughed and divulged that she ate hot dogs all through her second pregnancy because she was craving them. Suddenly the heaven's opened, and I could not help but think, I have found the best doctor ever! She was a real person, a real mom, and even ate hot dogs while pregnant. This to me means I can truly trust her. The fact that she will be bringing my next baby into the world, and performing major surgery on me to do this, once was a little nerve racking, and now I know I am in good hands. The best kind of hands of an expert of bringing babies into the world, and a regular mom on raising them. 

I hope that she doesn't get plagued with the stomach virus after we had the conversation about it and find out it is my sons fault, as today, Rylan woke up and hurled all over the place. Those damn Winter bugs hanging in all of the spots kids appear in. The damn Winter for making us all huddled up and stuck indoors. At the end of the day, regardless of hurling, I am thankful to know my doctor rules.

Finding Love

In 1st grade I declared I was in love:

-a boy named Nelson told me he was my boyfriend because it was meant to be since we were about to stay back in first grade together. It was pure bliss brought together by learning disabilities until I started to read better then him in the resource room, and Nelson had to move back to Puerto Rico.

In 6th grade I thought I knew what love was:

-a boy let his older brother write me a love note, played the keyboard and sang a song to me, and assured me I would always be in his heart,...and well I dumped him the next day. Lets face it, playing the keyboard of the phone with a written love song, isn't so cool when you are 12. Now if he bought me a Guns N Roses t-shirt (I loved them at the time), now..I might have given him a few more days of dating me.

-the same year another boy gave me my first Valentine that read "Be Mine" (on the cover), " or be Uncool" (on the inside), and I decided I better declare him my homeboy because I certainly DID NOT want to be uncool. We also went to Spencer gift store at the mall Friday night, with practically the rest of our class,  to purchase the going steady necklaces--don't you remember?--the broken heart that each person wore half around their neck. Funny I was so willing to wear it, but all I could tell you about little Ryan was he was cool. 

-I ended the same year with another little boyfriend who sent me a letter across the room that said "do you like me? check yes or no", and so we reused the steady necklaces. It was a major deal when Paul put his arm around me and we had our picture taken for the 6th grade graduation slide show in a few months. Then suddenly he broke up with me, well sort of anyhow... He gave a note to my 6th grade teacher and told her that he didn't like me anymore and thought I would be too emotional about it. So while my class went outside for recess my teacher broke the news to me, and I cried and hollered and thought I could never love again, and then I went out to play kick ball. It really stunk at the 6th grade graduation when our picture made it into the slide show. Love stinks.

In 8th grade I thought I knew for sure what love is:

-A lovely little wanna be gangsta had a great Kid N Play flat top hair do that he so lovingly faded my name into the side of his head with a heart. I mean it was practically a tattoo! Except as the haircut faded, so did our affection for each others  90's hair, and Z Cazarrici's.

In 9th grade there was no doubt I knew what love was (so I thought):

-Some Guido from the neighboring town that was known to be the "coolest", gave me his school jacket. I thought I was IT with my jacket that read "Billy" so proud on the front. When Billy took his jacket back he told he I was old like old meat in fridge nobody wants. eh. well, at least I was chill.

Once I became an adult I was sure I did not know what love was, and had a great fear of never finding out. In pure desperation that I would end up alone while everyone else in the world would be loved, I became the worst girl to date ever. I mean ever. On a first date I would not be shy to ask when they planned on getting married, how many kids they were willing to offer up, job stability, and where they wanted to live. Needless to say I might have been a size 2 and cute at the time, but I never, ever got a second date. I always wondered why, and against the book "The Rules" that I owned and swore someday to do, called and hounded the poor suckers that "forgot to call" me! Poor desperate Aimee would be alone forever.

As I got older, and I had more years of being single under my belt, and living in Manhattan, I was ok with the idea of being alone. Once I accepted that I might indeed be the cat lady living in a Manhattan high rise with 12 cats, and a few kids of my own thanks to a sperm bank, the desperation slipped away. I soon became oblivious to men hitting on me, since my mind was so out of the game. For instance, I met this guy at a kids first birthday party who was cute, and nice enough, and certainly made me laugh. I talked to him about being in between jobs, and he assured me he "knew people" and could help. We exchanged numbers and I excitedly went home thinking I had landed a new job possibility, not a husband.

Three years later I was still friends with this guy that had all of these "connections" and "job promises", but some how never went through. I forgave him for not hooking me up with a job, since I found a new one anyhow. I liked him enough to let him stick around as my friend for all of the years, so I thought he was a keeper--as my friend. Then he happened to mention having a girlfriend, and I nearly choked on the phone. A girlfriend? I thought I was and would be the only girl this guy would ever chase! Suddenly, I figured out what love was.

My husband never got me a job, but he showed me love, and took me away from a life of cats! And for that it would be worth waiting in the unemployment line. I can't understand why it took me so long to figure out that he was meant to be with me, but either way I was lucky to have him as my loyal friend for years. With all the gazillion times I could list of past situations that I thought "could be it", nothing could compare to the actual feeling of knowing without the doubt. I knew I would marry him and have babies with him very early on, and I am pretty sure he did too. 

Love was not something I could learn about through passed notes, hair cuts, or wearing broken heart necklaces. You don't know it until it stares right at you face to face without even trying. 

The 2nd time I stared love in the face was the first time I lay eyes on Rylan. Overwhelmed with emotion, I knew, yet again, my life would never be the same. Now instead one man defining my heart, there was two. 

I look forward to seeing love again early this summer. The beauty about having offspring, it is a part of the original love found in two people that weren't even seeking it, yet now, thanks to having babies, will be around forever through grandchildren, and great grandchildren, and so on and so forth.

Love is beautiful when you find it.

How We Rock The Potty

Winter. Enough is Enough.

Just when Winter gave us 10 feet of snow every week, below zero weather, and being stuck in the house for days at a time, I thought it couldn't give anything worse!!! It did. 

The Flu. The Stomach bug. Need I say more?...In less then two weeks I was blessed with both of these Winter gifts! 

I knew it was bad when my husband called from work this past Monday saying he was ill. He is never ill. He has what we call the Portuguese Stomach Of Steel. This came from his ability to eat chirzo sausage that is expired by months, and Kale soup made last month sitting in the back of the fridge. The only time he has ever had to call in sick was because I was sick and couldn't care for Rylan. So when he says he is ill...homeboy is ill.

Just when I finished making him homemade chicken soup, and getting aspirin and water that night, I started feeling ill. This is not surprising since I am the polar opposite of him because my immune system is the weak link. I get everything and always have! 

Pete snuggled in bed for a peaceful night sleep, while I spent the entire night praying to the porcelain gods willing to negotiate anything for it to stop! My longest span of sleep was a whooping ten minutes and I couldn't help but be jealous of the sleeping man not puking beside me. 

See here is the thing, Pete did get this bug, but he got it 100% differently then I did. He felt horrible, but ate french fries for lunch and was fine. He took medications that aren't supposed to work when it is a virus, but for him it did. He also always gets sickness during the day, and I yet to see him pull an all-nighter on the bathroom floor! The man has such great sickness luck! 

Me, on the other hand, ...let's just say it was out of control. 

Today I am feeling better. I am still using the BRAT diet to get my system back into the swing of things, I am exhausted, and feel a little drunk from being drained, but luckily that particular Winter gift, only lasts 24 hours (the bad part any how, unless of course you are on my husbands side of luck). 

Today the birds are also chirruping and the weather is hitting the low 50's and all I have to say is: Good reddens you nasty nasty Winter, go away, you won't be missed. 

Less Large More In Charge

By now I had envisioned a large plump stomach that would make me waddle, and make Rylan feel he was riding on top of a camel every time I held him. I guess I thought this, because at this time with my last pregnancy I was HUGE. I also thought that since I was no longer starting out as a size 4 in my pregnancy this time (yes I was that tiny when starting off with pregnancy #1), that I would just be a massive elephant by now with #2! I honestly thought I would have to to drown myself in sweats, and apologize to people for my enormous appearance. 

However, I have found myself oddly happy with my body. I actually feel more fit, less mammoth pregnant, then I did non-pregnant back in September! Weird I know? Everyone that sees me in person can not believe I am pushing up on 6 months of pregnancy and I barely got a belly (pictures posted of this pregnancy are deceiving). In fact those that do not know me can easily look at me and wonder if I am just drinking too much beer, and eating too much ice cream, or if there is actually a baby in there!!! It amazes me that at 6 months pregnant with Rylan people were constantly asking me if I was "at my end", or making statements like "that baby must be due any moment now", and with this one they are like "are you ...maybe...pregnant?" as they clench their face hoping I am not just fat in the mid-section. I can tell when strangers our pondering such wonders and I help them with a belly rub and a smile to reassure them I am indeed not just an average fatty.

Did I mention I lost a pound last month?...weird. odd.  so not my usual story.

I don't like watching the scale move up in general, after I worked so damn hard to work the scale down last summer! The glory of it is that at this point, I haven't even hit my "before" weight yet (although I am sure I will by the end of this pregnancy). I am starting to feel ok about this thought, as I am feeling really positive about being able to lose it post child, and even better about my habits this time round.

 I nearly danced in the aisle when I went to Old Navy the other day and found carpi's on sale for $1.50 in the maternity section that literally fell to the floor when I tried to put them on! Then today I went to return pants my mother in law bought me for Christmas that I clearly thought I would fit in by now, but it is now apparent I will not! I racked up $100 worth of credit in the store and began searching for more Spring items! The sales women made my day when she snarfed at me for buying large when she said "clearly you aren't a large honey"! Clearly I am not a large?...I have been a large since I gave birth last--how can I not be a large? Then I amused her and tried on mediums, and the freaken things fit! AMAZING--I love my little girl already! 

I am sure in a few months I will read this post and wonder where this time has gone! I might be returning the new Spring clothes for a size large, but that's ok, for now I am feeling great! 

No Woman No Cry

So the bad news...We aren't going to Jamaica. 

Here is the deal. 

I had my monthly appointment with my awesome OBGYN who I love and trust. I often forget to ask any of my questions since seeing her is like seeing an old friend and we just end up shooten the Sh*&! So when she came in the room I told her, "do not let me leave until I get all my questions out, because apparently, according to my husband, we BS too much". She laughed and told me to start talking.

 I first asked her about my recent ultrasound and if she saw if I still had a blood clot in with the baby. The good news is she said it had dissipated and is no longer a concern. However, since I have had this condition, and a miscarriage in the past it puts me in the "watch out for preterm labor" category. She then said she was pretty confident that this would not happen to me.

This of course led me to say, "Hey we got these travel plans next month"...which led her to say "to where"?  I told her and she said sort of somber like, "you can go they have health care in Jamaica". Which led me to say, "yeah crappy health care which gives me anxiety", and she topped off with, "you want me to be honest?". Of course I knew what was coming! She said she personally regardless of any or no conditions with pregnancy would not go to any Caribbean island while either pregnant, or with small children, why? because of third world medicine. She went on to tell me she did some of her medical degree in Grenada and saw it first hand. I told her how Pete told me to ask her if she was in my shoes would she go, and of course she said never! Not at 7 weeks, 15 weeks, 20 weeks, --no time is a good time to travel to countries without outstanding health care if your pregnant. She then ended with, go to Puerto Rico, or California, or Europe, anywhere but the Caribbean! We then declared my husband will officially hate her after this appointment! She offered a Dr.'s note for attempt at a full refund. 

We then went on to discuss more baby concerns like what if I go into labor before the preset c-section date, my anxiety about the epidural (which I won't be getting I found out, I will be getting a spinal instead), and taking medication while preggers. I also convinced her to write me a script to get a third trimester ultrasound in hopes of a 3-D picture! (have I mentioned how much I adore this women)

We ended our long winded conversation with the fact that the baby is doing great, and that now was the time to shoot the sh#$! At this point she sat next to me and told me about her mother worries with her sick kid, and I learned that just because she is a Dr. doesn't mean she doesn't worry about her kids the same us "non-doctor" moms do! We chatted about our families, and stuff, and I learned how similar we are.

As I was walking out of the office bummed about Jamaica and how I was going to have to break the news to Pete, the Dr yelled down the hallway to me from her office, "Hey Aimee you have to come see this". She then showed me the computer screen that read I lost 40 pounds in a month!!!!!! I yelped and said "I wish, if that was the truth I would be strutting my stuff naked all over this joint" (which really got the office ladies laughing). I was re-weighed and I actually lost 1 pound this month! The nurse that made the 40 lb mistake said "hey Aimee I tried". I said, "hey your lucky because if I was that small I would have walked in with a bikini on", and the Dr said "and you would be telling me to "F'off I am going to Jamaica". (boy she isn't kidding)

So now what? Pete and I are in limbo about our babymoon! We only get a credit from the online place we booked the resort with, so we can use it to travel to Puerto Rico right now, or wait until after the baby is born, and before the year is up, to go anywhere in the Caribbean! We are both bummed the plans fell through, but thankful my Dr. is so honest and real!!

Are You There God It's Me, Aimee (and I am not in church AGAIN)

WARNING: content in this posting is a potent topic that could cause you to never want to speak to me again--because after all religion is just as volatile as the mommy wars, and debates on breastfeeding. I only ask of you to accept me, as I would accept you. Also, an added side note is this is MY point of view--not what I am raising my child to believe or my husbands idea of faith. It is a personal matter.

eh..I am just going to put this out there, and if you choose to not like me after...well I am sorry.

I have mixed feelings when it comes to religion. I believe spirituality is an individual relationship with whom ever you personally believe your maker is, and that others should not preach or press upon their own personal spiritual relationship as the "only way". I often find religion cultish, and it sort of gives me the creeps. I have a feeling I might make a horrible Southerner if I ever decided to move down South. 

Now don't get me wrong I have reaped the benefits of incorporating some religion in my life. I feel peace within when in a church, but the thing is, it can be any church. I believe I am a Christian not because I was baptized, or how often I attend mass, but by my own personal choice of believing in Christ. However, you will never find me casually using him name in my everyday conversations, just as I would not divulge all my personal information about any other sacred relationships I have with others or magnificent beliefs, unless asked. 

I believe I am a liberal Christian. I used to be a Democratic one which means I often went to church, attended the pot luck dinners, and tried hard to make organized religion "fit" me. I have never been a Republican one, which is strict, to the bible, preaching, and felt my only place was with "others like me".  Lets face it, I was never a "like me" type of girl", I have always been accepting and loving of others, as I believe God wants me to be this way.

I used to be jealous of my friends in my hometown in Rhode Island that were going to CCD at our local church. I yearned for religion. My parents had brought me up to find my own spiritual way. Meaning, I was not baptized as a child, and only went to church when my grandparents made me. Even though it wasn't presented in my life, I found my spirituality, and yearned to talk with others about it. Naturally as an adult I figured I would find this by "shopping" around, and eventually getting baptized.

I was baptized at 23 years of age in an Episcopal Church in Boston, after spending quite sometimes with my roommate shopping religions. We were good Christians at the time. We would go out drinking all night, dance on bars, and make it to 9am mass the next day in our cute skirts and heels. I loved that church, and honestly felt welcome and understood without feeling pressure to be there every week, or to preach the word. 

As I got older I still feel a great sense of faith, but I also feel accepting of other peoples faith too. I don't hold judgment, nor do I feel it should matter when befriending people, or understanding them. I have been told many times by those who know me best that I am one of the most spiritual people they know, even by die hard Christians! One of my best friends, who happens to also be my God mother, is known as "Captain Catholic", and has told me she thought of me this way. I find that as a huge compliment because I am happy people who take the time can see that in me without me laying it all out on the line,  being my only defining factor, or judging me on my attendance in church as the end all be all.

God to me, and his relationships with others, is found everywhere, so why must we define it by only walking through a churches door? For instance, I find perfectly good scripture in music. And I am not only talking gospel, although between you and me I love it (my favorite is Kirk Franklin--so uplifting and moving!!!). I am talking about all music. Today being, in honor of my Jamaican vacation approaching, Bob Marley. I mean who preaches better about "One Love"! I was listening to that song today and hearing the words "give thanks and praise to the Lord and I will feel alright", and "there is one question I would really like to ask, is there a place for the hopeless sinners, who has hurt all mankind just to save his own? Believe me"...and I stop and think there is Bob's relationship with God, questioning, making his journey, and giving thanks and praise. I mean does it get more spiritual then that?

As I get older I feel more and more uncomfortable with the person knocking at my door, or the stranger telling me that if I don't conform I am going to hell, and so are my kids. These are extreme measures I know, but even the slightest of preaching is bothersome just as much as the man at the subway station with warning signs of HELL (at least to me anyhow).

I often feel like an impostor when I attend things like MOPS. As I am a Christian Mom, willing to be open on learning how to be a better mom, wife, friend, or person in general, but what I am not looking for is to be "swayed" into an organized religion. Sometimes I just feel like everyone around me is drinking it all in, and I am there with a face on that looks like "are you serious?". I am sure there are some liberal Christians in the crowd, but it is hard to find them! This comes from my monthly feeling of being unsettled every time I go to this meeting. I love it for so many reasons, and for others I feel like the girl in the club that isn't playing by the proverbial rules. 

All I am sure of is, I have been on a spiritual journey since the moment I was birthed. That I was born an "old soul", and have a sense of who I am spiritually more then any other part of who I am. I can not remember a time I have not had my hand in some relationship with God. I hope, although my child (and soon to be children) were baptized Catholic, that they to will seek in their own heart, their own personal beliefs and form their own relationship, without being hand held, and told. The journey I have been blessed with has not only been fulfilling to me, but it also has made me open to others, and it ok for it being different. 

Where The Sun Don't Shine

The car thermostat read it was 41 degrees out today and I nearly leaped out of the car, disrobed, and did a naked dance in the street. Thankfully I refrained since a) no need to offend any of my new neighbors before even meeting half of them, and b) no need for someone to call the cops and spend such a beautiful afternoon in a jail cell nude and pregnant. So instead I rolled down the window, and thought of opening the roof top just like I usually do when it feels like Spring or Summer is rolling in.

Except it is only 41 degrees. However anyone that lives in the New England will tell you, it has been a LONG Winter, we haven't seen our ground not covered in white in MONTHS, and 41 to us feels pretty freaking hot about now! Its about that breaking point when every New Englander is thinking about moving down South because they "just can't take it anymore", then the seasons change, we forget, and look forward to Winter again. 

In honor of this fine weather, a day before ,I would like to add, we are due for yet more snow, that I begged my husband to put in a good word with the ground hog today. See my husbands birthday is unforgettable to all, as it is today, Groundhog Day. I thought he might have some pull with the little fella, but apparently not. Sadly,  it has been indicated today that we are in for a long Winter (like we haven't been having one for MONTHS already you damn rodent)!!! No I am not bitter at all, I just love the extra layers of clothing, mud through the house, breathing the same air over and over again because I can't open the windows, and not being able to play with my kid outside. Who can be bitter when it is your husbands birthday any how?

So what can you do when it is 41 degree's and you want to feel Spring productive, even though tomorrow it will be Winter? Clean. After a LONG week of the flu, which I deserved since I refused to get a flu shot. I have since felt less aches, chills, I can breathe, and my faucet (called my nose) is almost near shutting off! I am so sick of being in bed and feeling ill that I refuse to give in to my pregnancy need of a nap, and I'm taking Rylan's nap time by the broom and mop, and cleaning this place of any germs. (Thankfully Pete and Rylan had the flu shot so they should be all set)

As for you lucky lucky folks living in warmer areas of the land, basking in the sun topless, drinking fruity drinks, and complaining that it feels a "little to windy" today, well you can just stick it where the sun don't shine---oh right that would be here in New England! You might as well come visit!