3 years old

It's hard to believe that my oldest son Cole is going to be 3 in just a week! Even if I'm no longer a regular writer, I'm so glad that I have this blog to go back and read. It's true, you do forget so much. It's also funny to see how some things just never change!

So many of my posts are about Cole's eating habits, or lack there of. Cole is still a picky eater. He won't touch a cooked vegetable. My saving grace is that he eats salad with ranch dressing. Thank goodness for ranch. Instead of using nutritionally-void iceberg lettuce, I use baby spinach. I toss in a little broccoli slaw. He loves fruit, but will only eat apples and pears with regularity. He is hot and cold with bananas, will only eat pineapples if they are large chunks and will only eat strawberries if left intact. Cut them up into bite-size pieces and it loses its palatability (oh, you're right, that's not a word. hmmf). I've learned to stop worrying about it. If he will only eat the cheap nuggets made with rib-meat, as opposed to organic breast meat nuggets, meh. 


Cole has grown into a great kid. But he is hard to entertain. Kids are just such peculiar little things, aren't they? He will obsessively industrially pick up sticks and put them in the yard waste bucket. He'll do this for 20 minutes at a clip. Usually when I want to go somewhere. But I've yet to see him play with a toy for over 5 minutes. What kid doesn't like toys? He likes books, he likes having his stuffies around, but he doesn't really play with anything. So when I asked him what he wanted for his birthday he said a box a Mini-Wheats, rather than a toy. He does like Thomas the Train and he really loves an empty cardboard box, so we got him this for his birthday:

I hope he'll go inside and be able to envision the same things that he did when he was in the cardboard box:

What goes on in their little heads?

Example One
When I went into Cole's room this morning he was naked from the waist down. He'd stripped off his pj pants and his overnight pull-up.

"C'mon, let's go pee," I said.

"I pee in my bed."

Sure enough, I peeled back the covers to reveal a spot about 14" across, warm and wet. About an inch from that lay his dry pull-up. WHY?!

Example Two
Cole all of a sudden has an aversion to buttons and zippers and throws a fit if he doesn't get to wear sweat pants.

Example Three
"I need my privacy."
The boy who will streak through the living room wearing nothing but a towel over his head no longer wants me in the bathroom while he poops and pees. He's two and three-quarters. His aim sucks. His "wiping" skills are worse.

Storkcraft Crib Recall - speedy response

I, like millions of others, have a crib that has just been recalled. No wonder we could never work that drop-down side correctly! I know there was no way I would be able to drop down that side while holding a sleeping infant and then raise it up again. Since we assembled our crib ourselves (by "ourselves" I mean my husband) there was no way we were going to take it apart to get a new one. We decided we didn't care that the side would only go down with brute force. It never occurred to us that this could be a danger. In hind-sight I should have at least reported it to the company.

On November 30 I contacted Storkcraft via their web site to get my new crib part. I waited a week because the phone lines and the Web server were jammed. My request was easy to process. All I had to know was information that is on the instructions, which is glued on the part of the crib that holds the mattress. I guessed at the date that I got it.

It wasn't impearative for me to get a new side (or a part, as it turns out) right away. Cole is using it as a daybed now. In a few weeks we are planning to move Owen, who is 11 months old, to the crib and Cole to a twin bed. I was hoping to have the part by then.

Much to my surprise, the part and instructions showed up in my mailbox in just 10 days. During that time I was sent an e-mail saying that the company is doing all they can to get the part out. I guess it's unprecedented that they would have such a large recall. 2.1 million is a lot of cribs! If just half of those people ordered the replacement part that is still a lot for a company to do. In just a couple weeks they created and manufactured the part, produced and printed the directions, and began to ship it out. As someone who used to work in marketing I can appreciate the efforts.

Right now Owen is in a mini-crib. He's almost as long as it is! He's going to feel like a small fish when he starts sleeping in a full-size crib!

Isn't the art cool?

Making up stories and other stupid parenting mistakes

Cole loves reading. He won't play with a toy for more than a half second, but he'll read Curious George over and over. He loves Biscuit, quotes Loonette, and will point out if I miss a word in Little Bear Won't Take a Nap. He will insist on leafing through one book while I read another. This drives me crazy. I test him. I will replace "witch" with, say, "ghost" to see if he is listening. Sure enough his little head will pop up and he'll correct me.

Honestly, I love that he reads. I have so many fond memories of getting lost in a book--even as a youngster. I would read The Berenstain Bears over and over, Raggedy Ann and Andy's Rainy Day Circus was falling apart. It's an amazing feeling to get lost among words.

It's a horrible feeling to trip over.

Once upon a time, a very foolish mother made the mistake of deciding to be Super Mom and make up her  own stories. Now she is stuck.

Every night before bed (and nap!) I have to "tell the one about Coco [Cole's story name] and the witch's mask," or "tell me about Coco goes to the bus stop," or "say the one where Coco scares Grandma," and on and on.I'm not a very creative storyteller. I don't think well on the spot. Couple these things with a two-year-old who thrives on consistency and doesn't really want to go to sleep and you got a messy situation.

One thing I've learned to do well is plagiarize. No, not my blog or in my professional life (I am a writer of brochures, web sites and other not-so-literary works). But I will admit to ripping off Mother Goose and Hans Christian Anderson (my favorite child's author!). I do so unapologetically. I can't just keep coming up with masterpieces such as Coco Puts on a Witch's Mask and Scares Santa to please my son. Especially at 8 p.m. when How I Met Your Mother is on.

Anyway, on Sunday night, Cole stays at his Grandma's house. She too has learned to steal from the masters and she made up a story about a little girl named Goldie Locks (at least I change names for Pete's sake!) and the Three Bears. Yesterday afternoon when Cole went down for his nap, he wanted to hear this story. No problem. I start telling the story relieved that I don't have to make anything up. Here is where the consistency thing comes in to play. My version is different than my mom's. This leads to many protests on his part.

Tired and frustrated, he finally looked at me and said, "Stop. I don't want you to tell me about this one  anymore."

I wonder if I start messing up all of the made-up stories if I could get out my role as storyteller altogether? It's worth considering.

Hello, stranger.

I don't know if I remember how to do this! There's lots of new buttons on top of my Blogger Composer. I let my blog go well over a year ago. I just started to feel like it was too important, if that makes sense. It was interfering with my work. I felt like every time Cole did something, I had to take notes. It started to bug me. I needed some space. It is the same thing that happened to my diary when I 12 and when I was 16 and when I was in my mid-20s. Plus, I was pregnant and bitchy.

I have a 2 and 3/4 year-old and 10 month old! The new guy's name is Owen and he is a sweetheart. He's a cuddly baby who loves to play, eats like a champ and is a pleasure (most of the time).

So, when I was 8 months pregnant, I learned that my department at work was to be downsized. Nice, huh? I worked at a newspaper, so I saw it coming. The industry is in trouble. I decided to take 6 months off with the new babe and pursue a part-time freelance writing career. So far, it's okay. :-) We are a lot poorer. But I get an extra few days a week with my kids and I never have to wear panty hose.

Here are my guys:

From Top to bottom, Owen on the day he was born (1.13.09), Cole recently (big and cute,eh?), Owen recently .

Hope everyone is doing well.

If you're unsure who to vote for...

Cole's Platform:

Mandatory naps for all
Fair play
No more shots
Any corporation currently being bailed out with taxpayers' money due to questionable investment practices shall go without dessert until said money is paid back in full
No name calling
Vegetables shall be taken off the food pyramid
Mother's day should be observed on the first Sunday of every month

Happy Voting!

Confessions galore

Thanks so much for all the kinds words and congratulations, it means a lot to me. This summer was definitely one of growth. I can’t believe how big my son is. He is a little boy now. See?

But it wasn’t just growth for him. It was growth for me as well. I have a confession. In fact, I have two. They are the entire reason I started this blog and named it Pumproom Confessions. I never intended to tell friends or family about this blog. I just wanted an outlet to get some things off of my chest (no pun intended) in an anonymous environment. But then I realized it was a good way to share stories and photos, so I invited my friends and family, and I became a writing wimp. I didn’t want to be judged. Not by friends or family and not by those who stopped by the Pump Room regularly. I did that well enough by myself. So I stuck to safe topics and just mentioned the other things in passing.

Confession One
I had post partum depression, something which I didn’t get help for until my son was almost a year old. I thought it would go away on its own. I thought, for good reason, that it would go away when I stopped breast feeding / pumping. It didn’t. So I started seeing a specialist who has helped me work through it. My PPD manifested in a much milder manner than some, thank goodness, but one that created a lot of issues for me. While I was able to function and able to tenderly care for and love my son, I felt no joy after his birth. It was like I was swallowed up. Oh, I was glad / proud of my son and loved sharing stories, but I always felt like somehow I was going through the motions. I never felt happy, even though I was aware that I should. I never felt unhappy either. But I knew I was missing something and that something was very wrong.

Blogging was a savior for me. It allowed me to relive moments and memories. It was therapeutic for me. It made me feel normal, whereas I spent a lot of time in my everyday life wondering WTF is wrong with me? So thank you for being part of this. And if you are a new mom and hurting, please see someone. It helps. I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but I just can’t tell you the joy I get now out of family life and my son and my pregnancy. I’m back to “me” again.

Confession Two
My second confession is I experienced D-MER (dysphoric milk ejection reflex). And a rather bad case of it, at that. Breastfeeding and pumping were not good experiences for me. About 50% of the time I felt a surge of rage (and I mean RAGE) when I breastfed. The other 50% of the time, I would feel anything from mild irritation to pretty darn angry. I can’t even express to you how complicated the feelings are when you do something that is suppose to be so good and it goes so wrong. Of course, when I got the real bad feelings, I stopped the nursing session immediately and got a bottle of expressed milk or a formula/milk combo. I found ways that made it easier.

I was in contact with my lactation consultant and it baffled her. I even emailed my local LLL director (I was to embarrassed to call or go to a meeting). She did some research and came up with nothing. Nobody ever heard of this reaction. I felt broken. I was extremely hard on myself for this, though I obviously couldn’t help it. I should have switched to formula only, but I didn’t. I was determined to a fault, and I think that part of being depressed was to force myself to do something that so obviously wasn’t working. Maybe I even felt as though I deserved it, or that it was the only thing I could offer my child, though I never consciously thought those things.

At 10 months my supply plummeted and I shelved the pump. I had quit breastfeeding at six months in part because my son teethed so early and wasn’t grasping the concept of “No Biting!!” but also because I was exhausted from dealing with negative feelings while breast feeding and then dealing with the reality of experiencing those feelings in the first place. Pumping yielding the same reaction, but I wasn’t holding my son. It made a difference.

The first time I went to see the women’s specialist, she directed me to D-MER.org. Though I was no longer breastfeeding/pumping, I cried. I was so relieved that I wasn’t alone and that there was a reason for what I felt. It wasn’t just me.

Am I going to breastfeed this time? (Hey, did ya know I’m pregnant??) I am going to try. I have nothing to lose. I’ve got some tips from D-MER to go on. I have support. If those feelings come back though, I will stop immediately. I am committing to not committing to it. Hehe.

Again, blogging has helped me greatly. I was able to highlight the look-back-and-laugh side of pumping and the daily supply obsession that women go through. But the whole confession aspect of this blog was lost. I wanted to write about what I felt daily because if ANYONE else felt like this, I wanted them to know that they weren’t alone and didn’t have to suffer and hold all of their feelings inside. Since I’m no medical expert, I’m glad to be able to point to a Web site run by a lactation consultant who also experienced D-MER.

Did you read all the way to the end??!! You win the booby prize. :-) ahhhhhhhhhhh… the boob puns never get old.

But seriously? THANK YOU.

E-mail me anytime. anne[dot]pumproom[at]gmail[dot]com
AFF: I didn’t get your email! Stupid, Yahoo. I get so much in my spam folder that I stopped going through it. I imagine you ended up in the spam folder. :(

It’s been too long…

I’m back. I took an unexpected summer hiatus, but don’t worry, everything is fine! In fact, there is nothing wrong that 9 months won’t cure! :-)

Actually, to be more precise, about 5 months. I’m almost 20 weeks pregnant with another boy!

Let me tell you, the first trimester kicked my butt! I’ve never been so sick. I only threw up a few times, but, man, I was constantly nauseated and dizzy and super tired. Emotionally, I was spent. I think that looking after a 16 month old and working while dealing with all-day sickness and fatigue just got to me. Looking at the computer screen made me ill, thinking made me ill. I just couldn’t bring myself to be on the computer except to work (and obsessively read pregnancy message boards).

The good news is that I feel SO much better. Around 16-17 weeks, all my symptoms vanished, except my growing belly and ass, of course.

The Baby is doing great. He’s a walking/running/climbing fool. Poor guy doesn’t know what is about to hit his little world. I kinda feel bad.

Have a great 3-day weekend, if you're celebrating Labor Day!

Holding On

“He’ll get used to it.”
My heart breaks to think he would feel
left out or behind.

I hold him closer
before bed, kiss his soft hair.
It’s just us, for now.

Have a great 3-day weekend, if you're celebrating Labor Day!

I’m back from the beach

As much as I’d like to say that I’m tanned, well-rested and recharged, I am not. I’m pooped. I need the clichéd vacation from my vacation.

It was our first vacation with The Baby, who is just shy of 15 months old. We drove from central PA all the way to Savannah, GA, more specifically, Tybee Island. This was a great little beach community. The water was so warm it was like taking a bath, dolphins could be spotted off the coast (not by me, of course!), and the island was calm and family friendly. Beautiful Savannah was just 20 minutes away. Our friends Angel and Scott were just 15 minutes away. Perfect, right?

We met my husband’s sisters and their families in a kick-ass condo that fit six adults and three children without feeling cramped. The appliances were stainless, the counters were granite, the floors were tiled, our bed was HUGE. Our equally HUGE balcony overlooked the pool and spa, which, of course, were tiled in slate and altogether very spiffy. The beach was about one hundred feet out the front door. Perfect, right?

Our biggest fear before vacation was the drive. What the heck was The Baby going to do for 14 hours? Scream and cry, we feared. I mean, surely he wouldn’t sleep the whole time. Luckily, he did sleep most of the trip on the way there (we left at midnight, so that was the plan). We bought a portable DVD player for his awake time. Our son, who never watches TV, was forced to watch the two Baby Beethoven DVDs that we have on repeat. For what it’s worth, he prefers Mozart to Beethoven, hands down. Anyway, the actual trip was just fine.

I’m not saying there wasn’t pleasant times in our vacation. Watching The Baby run like a fool into the ocean was priceless (the.kid.is.fearless), watching daddy and baby swimming in the pool melted my heart. Seeing The Baby get to know his cousins was equally heart warming. Watching my son and my friend Angel’s son (2 weeks apart in age) consume sand together was very sweet in a get-that-out-of-your-mouth kind of way. Having the fam watch our son so we could have a night out with our friends was awesome.

But it was all a little much for The Baby. He stopped eating anything but cereal, bananas and crackers on day two. He stopped sleeping well on day three. He’d wake up anywhere from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. and he would stay up for hours. Not just up, but up and crying. He wouldn’t lay between us in bed, he didn’t want to play, he writhed in our arms. Just when you thought he was asleep and put him down, you’d be back at square one. At one point, we took The Baby for a walk at 4 a.m. We didn’t know what else to do with him. On an up note, we saw a drunk guy trying to ride a bike. That was sorta funny.

The Baby’s attitude also changed. He started hitting and biting me and throwing things. He was crabby 80% of the time. He just seemed very frustrated and between the lack of sleep on all of our parts and our frustration and worry, we decided to leave early. The thought of another fight to get him to eat or another sleepless night literally had me in tears.

He’s been sleeping and eating just fine since we've been home. I guess he was just out of his element. Oh, did I mention I got sick on the way home? Like, pukey sick? Then when I got home, I got a cold. Awesome!

Random Photos from Tybee and Savannah.

On vacation

I'm in Savannah, GA, ya'll! See you next week!

Three Year Anniversary

Dear Husband,

Thank you
for three years,
1096 days,
and countless memories.

Most of all,
thank you for being exactly who you are.

I love you.

Hersheypark… indifferent

I still remember my favorite ride at Hersheypark when I was a little girl. It was called The Whip (I called it “the snapper-backer”), because it was an oval track that whipped you around the corners. It no longer exists so it was either A. lame or B. a liability. I’m going with B. I hit my head on the side of the car all the time, but it was such fun!

Saturday was a big day for us. It was The Baby’s first trip to Hersheypark. We were very excited. My husband even printed out a list of all the Hershey Miniature (under 36” tall) rides. Unfortunately, we only got on two of them: Express Train and Ladybug. The Baby’s expression didn’t change once through either ride. It could best be described as chilly indifference—even when his dad and two kind strangers were doing everything in their power to get him to smile… he was stony. See below. Also, I thought my husband was going to hurl on the Ladybug, which was sort of funny. :-)






Hersheypark as an adult with a toddler is a completely different experience.

Instead of riding this:

We rode this:

Hey, the monorail had stroller parking and no line! We were very excited. Very. *hanging head in shame* Then we walked through the zoo. Nobody walks through the zoo if they only have a one-day pass, unless their parents make them. Or unless they are the parents of a ride-rejecting toddler. Actually, the zoo was pretty neat. It put The Baby right to sleep. Bonus.

Of course, he would not lay back in his stroller, so he nodded off / jerked awake / nodded off while my husband and I tried to locate the lunch pavilion. This took a billion years since apparently neither one of us can read a map. The frustration of being hungry, hot AND lost was alleviated a bit by all the awwwww-him’s-so-sleepy looks and coos that The Baby earned while we walked in circles.

After lunch, we went to the water park. The Baby LOVES pools and splashing in water. We were pretty psyched. I agreed to stroller sit, while my husband and son stood in line to get into one of the kiddie splash and play areas. Wouldn’t you know it, 15 minutes later, while they were still in line, the water attractions were closed due to the possibility of storms. But all was not lost. My husband said that The Baby did get to splash in a small puddle in line and even got down on his hands and knees and tried to take a lick. All I have to say is that I hope that puddle was water.

All in all, it was a good day. It was hosted by my husband’s company, so we didn’t have to pay. Woot! Would I have paid $110 (14 month olds aren’t charged for admission) for the three of us to park and get into the park for four hours? No. Not when The Baby had just as much fun when we got home jumping through the sprinkler with daddy.

Even if The Baby doesn't remember a thing, it was still a day of memories for us.

Hair Ku: two cuties

Quick buzz for summer.
The clippers must tickle him.
He smiled the whole time.

His new big-boy cut.
Now he looks more like daddy.
I’m a lucky girl.

Have a great weekend!

All of a sudden I feel boring

I’ve been tagged for a meme by Vanessa. :-)

Honestly, I would love to just make stuff up. What was I doing 10 years ago... driving across the US with my friend Judy, getting ready to move to NYC, working at the beach for the summer and being a bum... Oh, wait a minute, those are all things I was going to do, but never did. It's true, youth is wasted on the young! Thank goodness I'm happy where I am at in most aspects of my life!

Anyway, back to the meme!

What was I doing 10 years ago?
Ten years ago I was on the verge of turning 25. I had just quit a job as a magazine assistant to move to a more creative position as a marketing coordinator with a larger, more stable company. Career-wise things couldn’t have been better. Otherwise, they stunk. I’d broken off a relatively short, but serious relationship with someone and was having a difficult time getting over the loneliness that follows a breakup. Plus, my best friend at the time was getting ready to move 13 hours away with a guy she didn’t even like that much. Socially, my life sucked! Aside from my job, which I poured myself into, it was a pretty depressing time in my life. Luckily, my late 20s were great!

5 things on my to do list today:
1 write three ads
2 revise one ad
3 Anxiously awaiting a call from my husband, who is at the doctors' office as I write, telling me why The Baby has a rash all over his body.
4 read blogs (shhhhhh… I’m working, really!) Hey, did you see my blog roll? If you are on my Google Reader, you are on my blog roll.
5 Make dinner. Frozen ravioli and doctored up pasta sauce. Should be easy!

Snacks I enjoy:
Cheese and crackers, pretzels and mustard, ice cream, cottage cheese and grapes or peaches, Cheetos, Doritos, Nutty Buddy ice cream cones, corn nuts (but only when I am traveling), chicken wings (is that a meal or snack?)... I could go on and on.

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
Move to a house in my neighborhood with a garage and bigger closets. Quit my job. Take creative writing classes and work on creative projects as a part-time job. Spend more time with my kiddo. Buy a home in a Caribbean island. Give money to charity. Try to keep it a secret. Try not to change.

Places I have lived:
My parents’, one apartment, and my current home. Pretty boring, huh? I commuted to college, so I didn’t even live in a dorm.

Power Flip Flops

Did you ever go to work with mismatched socks? You look down at say 9 a.m. and realize that you have on a navy sock and black sock, or socks that have different patterns?

You have? Good!

I’d like to one up you. Today I came to work in my flip flops. Barely a step up from slippers. I have on a pair of crisp black trousers, a pretty green shell which peaks out below a hopefully still fashionable cropped black jacket. Instead of my very professional Anne Klein sling backs, I have on Old Navy rubber flip flops.

It is one of those rare days where my hair and makeup both look good. I like my outfit. I don't feel fat. Or pimply. I feel good. I even had time to start a load of wash before work. We have hardwood floors, so I don't put on my heels until I'm ready to leave. Since our washer is in our very unfinished basement, I put on my flip flops.

When I was walking into work with my head held high, I heard my tell-tale shoes. Oh, hell!

Here I am at 11:30 in the ladies' room at work.
















NO, my pants aren't tapered, they just look that way since I'm holding my legs up. Really! I'm not that much of a mess.

Finding your voice

The Baby and I are both working on our voices, in different ways. I’ve been learning lately that figuring out how to effectively communicate is just as tough for the parent as it is for the child. I just assumed it would mostly be The Baby figuring out verbal and non-verbal ways to let us know what he wants. As far as being The Voice of Authority, I always thought that I would be a tough-love kind of parent. Firm, yet kind. Don’t give in, and the child will catch on. I never figured in the part where they’d laugh at me.

Mommy Voice
I’m trying to find The Voice. You know the one… it keeps kids in line, but it’s not so bad that your eye starts twitching when you use it. And it doesn't scare your kids into therapy.

The Baby’s newest game is trying to crawl onto the coffee table. I appreciate the fact that he wants to do this. It’s one of the first things that he can wiggle his way onto at home. Neato for him! But still, it’s the coffee table and it’s not acceptable. Whenever I catch him, I say “You aren’t allowed on the coffee table,” and I gently slide him back onto the floor. I try to be stern with him. He laughs at me. Nice. I am firmly in control.

Anyway, repeat the cycle 20 times. He’s frustrated, I am frustrated. I tried several times to move him away from the table and engage him in another activity. Right back to the table. *sigh* He put his elbows on the table, leaned over, wriggled a knee up, and just when he thought he was in the clear, I belted out, “Get off that table, NOW!”

I’ve never seen a little boy move so fast. He reversed it off the table in one second. He stood there and looked at me – his eyes a pool of sorrow, his bottom lip slowly emerged and began to quiver. And then he cried. Boy, did he cry. I felt like a witch. But he listened, whereas he completely ignored me or didn’t take me seriously before.

There has got to be a happy medium between my toddler laughing at me and me yelling at him. HELP!


Baby Talk
The Baby is 14 months old today and, for all practical purposes, he doesn’t talk. He is vocal, for sure. Every morning around 5:45, we hear him loud and clear. He’s like a friggin’ rooster. He also chatters throughout the day. But he doesn’t say many words. He can say “uh-oh” in context and he can say “tickle.” Sometimes it’s in context, mostly not. He does not say “mommy” or “daddy” or “cup” or “cat.” He doesn’t nod or shake his head. I’m a little concerned.

My sister-in-law said that kids often start learning physically or verbally first. They tend to run with one and catch up later with the other. I’m hoping that that’s what is happening here.

Wordless Wednesday

Springtime Fun

Bubble

Watermellon

Shower

Growing pains

There’s this picture at my desk – actually, there are a lot of pictures at my desk – but this one is my favorite.

I took it when The Baby was almost three months old. At this age I could put him in his crib and he’d watch his mobile. I was good for about 10 minutes. I could sit in the rocker and pump or read or go jump online for a few minutes. But I usually just hung out at the crib rails watching him watching his mobile.

The Baby didn’t ever lay on the floor on play mats, didn’t care much for a bouncy seat, and, at that age, he didn’t always appreciate going for a walk. This was one of the few things that caught his attention and kept him happily occupied. For a reflux baby, those calm 10 minutes here and 20 minutes there are like a chorus of angels singing. Anyway, while you can’t see the mobile, I was glad to have caught this little content moment.

I have looked at this picture one hundred times a day for almost a year and I’ve always marveled how he still looks like my baby. Just smaller. Look.. he's still in his little Swaddlers. He’s a size 5 diaper now!

Yesterday, however, something different happened. I looked down at the photograph, as I so often do, and it hit me: it doesn’t look like him anymore. He has more cheek bones and less cheeks, his hair has changed from fuzzy-infant to fine-toddler hair, his torso is longer (though not leaner), and those little legs don’t automatically curl up when he is lying down.

He’s a little boy. *sniff*

SATC: Star Trek for Women

We had a great time on Friday. Going out to diner and to the movies with friends was a treat. Especially since we got dressed up. The movie was a lot of fun and I’ve never ever seen that many high, strappy heels in a movie theater, or that many dresses. It’s proved to me that women dress for themselves and for each other, not for the less fair sex.

Upon the first notes of the theme song, the audience erupted into cheers. You got the feeling that all these women were seeing some old friends that they hadn’t seen for a couple of years. Than it hit me. I was watching a movie with a bunch of geeks. I would so roll my eyes at anyone discussing the meaning and merits of the close relationship between Data and Jordy from Star Trek The Next Generation. I would snicker at the lame-o who actually showed up to the theater with a butterfly clip across his eyes like he WAS Jordy. Yet here I was in a theater full of women dressed like the characters in the movie they were about to se. There was even someone among the group of women I was with who was seeing the movie for the second time! She’d seen it at 12:01 a.m., too. Tres geek!

Who acts like this? *cough, cough, Stars Trek geeks, cough*

Sex and the City didn’t disappoint. It was like a favorite episode, but longer. The only negative thing that I could say is that it was overloaded with product plugs. What a snooze. There comes a point where I start to feel like you should be paying me to watch a movie if I have to endure so many paid placements. Stuff like that bugs me. Of course, I'm in marketing and may be more aware of it. It didn’t seem to bother anyone else. I don’t want to give much of the plot away, since I know a lot of people still want to see it. I will say this, someone poops themselves. I won’t say more than that. If you want context, you’ll have to see the movie.

Haiku Friday: Sex and a Man'Ku

Three friends and I are going to strap on our Manolos or Jimmy Choos, grab our Birkin bags and go out for cosmos and to watch Sex and the City. Okay, I’ll be strapping on my TJ Maxx shoes and using the same Kenneth Cole bag I’ve had for 10 years, and I don’t drink cosmos, or anything that is at all trendy, but the point is, we’re dressing up. And going out. Tonight. :-)

Haiku Friday's weekly theme is to write from a male perspective. Here goes.

SATC – male perspective
What is she doing?
Did she just buy that outfit
to watch a movie?

I'd just like to remind a certain someone that it’s not so crazy to want to dress for an occasion just to get into the spirit of things. After all, that certain someone has a buckeye necklace and a lucky buckeye that he wears or puts in his pocket on game day. The same, but different.















Here we are ready to go to the movie. Don't we look fab? Can you guess which is Pump Lady? If you said Samantha (the one on the right), you're a winner!