The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

The fact that I am writing this post proves that I have survived my first week back at work and will live to write another tale. Returning to work was, to me, synonymous with sequestration. I was pretty sure the oceans would rise, the earth would tremble, and life as I knew it would cease to exist. Imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning and realized that the world is still intact. That although everything is different, it is all strangely still the same.

That's not to say there weren't tears. Boy, were there buckets of tears. The baby terrorist, of course, took it all in stride. I was the basket case. The minute I handed her over to the nanny, I was horrified to hear the embarrassing choking sound as I tried to swallow my emotions and instead succumbed to a tsunami of tears. The nanny won me over when she didn't immediately roll her eyes and say something snarky but rather enveloped me in a huge hug and told me we could face time.

I didn't suck it up right away. I allowed myself to wallow and lament the unfairness of the universe for a good two hours. I let my mind wander and began to imagine that the baby terrorist was already walking in the short time I was away from her. The baby with two teeth at a mere 4 1/2 months is kind of an overachiever, so this concept is not far fetched. The incessant worry that she might really take to the nanny and decide she wanted to live with her instead consumed my mind more than once. As I attempted to wade through a million missed emails sent over my four month absence, I was struck by the concept that life really does go on, with or without me.

It seems I have a bit of a superiority complex which manifests itself in such a manner that I truly believe that all life stops when I'm not there. It's like everything else freezes until I return to breathe life back into the routine. Yet while I was quite literally bringing a life into this world, emails were being sent regarding all sorts of fun employment related topics, droning on as if nothing short of a miracle was occurring right at that very moment in a San Diego hospital room. And as I was struggling to understand my new role as a mother, emails were still being sent as if I had never worked there. While I was sleep deprived and learning to translate all the complexities and terror tactics the baby had hidden up her very small, sweet sleeve, the world outside my small center was spinning exactly as it had before everything changed.

If that doesn't humble the flip flops off an overly sensitive Virgo, I don't know what will.

Perhaps this is a lesson in learning to let go. Learning that I don't have to precariously perch the cumbersome worry on my hunching shoulders that the world will stop spinning simply because I can't be everywhere and everything at the same time. Understanding that part of being a mother is providing more than just a presence. Because, whether I choose to accept it or not, the baby rather likes the nanny. I kind of like her too. I wouldn't mind spending a day in her care, as a matter of fact. The reality remains that I have to work. And so the world turns, life goes on and the crazy becomes the new normal.

It's as different as it comes, and yet it's the same as it ever was.

To That I Say, Touche

I recently ran across a list on BuzzFeed - 19 Things People Swear They'll Never Do Until They Have Kids. I found this list hilarious, especially because I was musing the other morning over my cup of joe that I was really, terribly judgmental about how people raised their children prior to having my own little baby terrorist. I mean, I judged everything. I would raise a disapproving eyebrow at just about everything and I would smugly think about how I was going to do everything so differently. I arrogantly believed that my life wouldn't change in the least because no kid of mine was going to rule the roost. I wouldn't take orders from a baby for crying out loud! It's all so easy to judge while sitting high atop my childless pedestal, cocktail in hand, hair styled, wearing anything other than spit up stained sweats. I looked down upon the world of wee ones and winked, letting them know that though their parents might acquiesce to their every whim, I would not be so easy.

There are some things on the list with which I wholeheartedly agree, and there are some that didn't make the list that I would love to add (#5-8). I won't list everything, but these are a few that jumped out at me.

1. Use a leash on my kids.
I actually never opposed this. I always thought it was quite necessary to reign in those little whipper snappers. I don't know if I personally would use one, but if you have a runner it beats losing them at Disneyland. Or the grocery store. Or anywhere.

2. Complain about being tired.
This one made me literally laugh out loud. I hated the tired complaint! I was so naive (read: stupid) that I even told my husband that I handle lack of sleep way better than he does, so I volunteered - yes, volunteered! - to wake up with the baby at night. Though I have since attempted to take back this momentary lapse of judgment, my husband has held me to my very silly promise and has allowed me to do each and every nighttime wake up. That's why I have aged a hundred years in a few short months, in case you were wondering why I now look 31 going on - well, super old.

3. Be late.
I hated the late person who blamed the kids! I always thought it was such a perfect excuse, like traffic if you live in Southern California. I was never super punctual, but I am now perpetually late. I never have on makeup, and on the rare occasions I manage to get my hair and makeup done I am consistently interrupted. I live in a state of fear that one of these days I will venture out of the house with only one eye done and half an eyebrow drawn in. I have yet to master the art of breast feeding and primping at the same time, but I'm getting better!

4. Bring my kids with me to social events & eat out with my kids.
I coupled these two together because both used to annoy me. I always wondered why you wouldn't get a sitter rather than drag the kids to every event and restaurant. While I still believe that certain events and fancy eating establishments should remain childless, parents need to get out of the house! Like, desperately. I was stuck in the house for the first two months of the baby terrorist's life because I feared taking her out in public. I didn't worry about her getting sick or anything sensible like that. I was freaked out that she would dissolve into hysterics in the middle of - insert anywhere here - and I would be living the nightmare of showing up to school without my clothes on and holding a screaming baby. It wasn't healthy. Sometimes you have no choice but to bring the baby, hope for the best, and have a cocktail in hand just in case things go south.

5. Sit in the back seat with the baby.
I never understood why people would sit in the backseat with their baby. "You are your own person!" I would scream from my judgmental vehicle. "Sit in the freaking front seat!" Have you ever been stuck in the car with a screaming baby while you are stuck in the front seat? Yeah. It took one time enduring that madness and a back seat sitter I became.

6. Let my house look like a child lives there.
I told my mom before the baby terrorist was born that I would never have one of those houses where you trip over a pink play kitchen set after being offered a fake cup of tea before you even get through the front door. Silly me, I thought that I could have a grown up house with grown up things and then bring out my baby and say "voila! Can you believe this immaculate home actually houses an infant?" Then I gave birth and there is now a jumparoo blocking my wine fridge.

7. Not make couple time for me and the husband.
Before baby, the husband and I swore that we would have a date night twice a month. It doesn't help that he works a job with a ridiculous schedule and when he is actually at home my idea of romance includes him taking the baby and letting me sleep. The honeymoon is over, folks.

8. Leave the house looking like I rolled out of bed.
All I have to say about this is thank God for yoga pants. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This whole baby terrorist thing has been an exercise in humility and has taught me just how much I judged others. In all of its cosmic humor, karma has come back around and bitch slapped me in the face and to that I say, touche.

What did you swear you would never do until you had one of your own?

Venturing Out With a Newborn & Other Such Terrible Tales

While pregnant, I had delusions of grandeur about what I would do with the baby once she arrived. I was convinced that having a baby would not change my lifestyle in the least. Okay, maybe I wouldn't be able to go out so freely on Friday nights like I could pre baby, and maybe I wouldn't be able to make that last minute yoga class on a whim, but I was pretty confident that I would just strap the baby into the Ergo carrier, put her in the stroller, or buckle her into her car seat and off we would go on whatever adventure I felt like getting into on that particular day.

What an idiot.

From the moment we took her home from the hospital, I resigned myself to house arrest almost immediately. I knew that if I stepped foot even into something as mundane and uneventful as a grocery store, my little baby terrorist would pick that moment to begin screaming bloody murder. I was terrified of what people would think. I was incredibly sensitive to raised eyebrows, hen clucks of sympathy, and sighs of utter annoyance when my baby was anything less than the adorable newborn she was supposed to be. 

The husband took some time off from work to help out when Bug arrived, so we would alternate leaving the house. Oh, what a glorious hour it would be when I handed the baby over to my husband and stepped out into a world that smelled of fresh air rather than baby poop, into a store that had the aroma of anything but breast milk. I was a free wheeling woman who would take my time walking up and down every single aisle in the store just to maximize the few minutes of free time I had all to myself. 

Then the inevitable moment came when the husband had to return to work and I was forced to bring the baby everywhere I went if I did, indeed, wish to leave the house. For the first week I contemplated never leaving our abode again and ordered everything online. Eventually I began to fear that I was turning into a scary, socially awkward recluse. People would begin walking by my house and whispering about the crazy lady who never sees the light of day. Kids would stop trick or treating at my house out of sheer fear that even the promise of candy can't overcome. Rumors would circulate throughout the neighborhood about how I supposedly had a husband, baby and a dog that have mysteriously not been seen in years. So, if nothing more than just to maintain the appearance of normalcy, I decided to run errands with the baby terrorist.

We first hit up Costco. That went over quite well, actually. She may not be impressed by the beach and she couldn't care less about the San Diego scenery, but Costco....well, that's America. Endless consumerism in bulk? A baby's (and mommy's) dream come true! 

So, feeling quite bold and a tad reckless, I decided that I would venture into another institution that screams America, though not in such a good way. The United States Post Office. *Cue horror movie music here* Of course I decided to do such a daring jaunt in December, when Uncle Sam is very busy shipping and losing packages all throughout the country. So, as you can imagine, the line was incredibly long. Still feeling confident and very sure that I appeared to be very comfortable in this motherhood role, I fell into the line about 20 customers deep. And that's when I heard it.

The unmistakable whimper that you just know is going to escalate into a scream capable of shattering glass and popping eardrums began to find it's way out of the stroller. I think I went into a state of shock at first and looked around as if it had to be someone, anyone else's baby but mine. Once it was established that it was indeed my baby terrorist, I began to sweat profusely. My face turned beet red. I frantically put Baby Einstein on my iPhone and waved it in front of her face. I pulled her out of the stroller and bounced and shushed her, willing her to become the Happiest Baby on the Block (what a crock of you know what that is, by the way). I closed my eyes and pretended I was on a beach in Barbados, single and baby free without a care in the world and a cocktail in hand. Nothing worked. The terror level was raised to an alarming, get out now, an attack is imminent, RED. 

Looks were exchanged amongst the customers in line. Some looked at me as if I had no business having a baby. Others gave me sympathetic yet exasperated looks. And out of the fog emerged a saint. The woman in the front of the line turned to me and said firmly that she didn't think anyone would mind if I went first. She then gave a stern look to anyone who just might mind as if daring them to defy her sainthood. I very gratefully took her up on her offer and made a mental note that I will pay it forward, because she saved my life and my sanity in that very kind gesture.

That nice thought of mine was then followed up by a not so nice thought. I think there might be a mother daughter line cutting scam in our future. Hey. If you can't beat the terrorist, you might as well make it work to your advantage.

Globes, Schlobes.

Judging from the many Facebook posts last night and into today, many of you watched the Golden Globes. I too jumped at the chance to marvel at the beautiful dresses and see the movies I should be watching. Being the old lady that I am, I have noticed that I tend to be so far out of the pop culture loop that I unfortunately have no idea what the kids are up to these days. So last night, determined to be in the know, I poured a margarita and began watching the much anticipated award show.

I began by watching the red carpet, because really, that's the most interesting part. I have no shame in oohing over dresses, screaming OMG! she's so skinny! and seeing who is a hot mess and who is so perfect I obviously hate her. However, I barely made it ten minutes in before I became so enraged that steam started coming out of my ears and tequila sweat seeped through my pores. Ryan Seacrest was interviewing Cate Blanchett and asked her how much her entire ensemble cost. "Oh I don't know," she regally purred. In a completely blase, this is so beneath me voice she then followed up with (and I'm paraphrasing), "$20,000? I have a lot of security guards following me."

Well color me red, I was beyond irritated. I have no problem with rich people. Good for them. In fact, I hope to be a rich people some day. But is it necessary to ask someone how much their whole outfit costs? Duh. It's obviously super expensive. The woman is dripping in Armani and fine jewels. Her ensemble costs more than what the average American makes in a year, folks. But that's not my issue. I just don't understand when it became appropriate to ask the super rich famous person to advertise just how much their outfit is worth and when we became so eager to know.

And even more infuriating was the response to the question. The I'm so above this question, money is entirely disposable, I can hardly be bothered to know the cost answer. I'm sure that perhaps she did not want to disclose the amount for fear of being thought of as boastful, but it came across as completely arrogant and out of touch and it made me drink my cheap pre-made Costco margarita in a fitful rage. And did I mention I was wearing pajamas I bought on Groupon? Just to add insult to injury. I suggest that perhaps she should have said something quirky and hilarious to offset the elitest question so that I could have snuggled back down into the sofa, content to put my Target slipper clad feet up on my discount furniture store coffee table.

Then, just when I was rambling on in righteous indignation to my husband, a Bing commercial came on highlighting everyday women who were this year's heroes. The commercial included Malala Yousafzai, women serving in the United States military, and Margaret Thatcher just to name a few. I got to thinking, why don't we have an awards show highlighting the everyday person who made an incredible difference? They can show up on a red carpet and be decked out in the finest fashions and be honored for doing something amazing. I promise I won't wave a judgmental fist in their direction and rant on about the nature of their condescending responses to absolutely ridiculous questions because perhaps they would be asked about topics of substance.

That would be worth watching. But then, I suppose, I would have nothing to babble on about.

My Mama Just Don't Understand

It's come to my attention that I have become the topic of conversation for most of my mom's blog posts. Sure, she thinks she's funny and clever and I'm sure some of you other moms might relate, but did it ever occur to you that it comes at the expense of your beautiful baby? And furthermore, did it ever cross your mind that perhaps we babies are just as frustrated with your mommy antics as you might be with our sleeping and spit up habits? Hmmmm? You didn't, did you. Just as I suspected. It's all about oh woe is me, I'm a mom, my days are long and arduous and I don't sleep and I have a coffee intravenous needle permanently inserted into my arm. My clothes don't fit, my clothes are contaminated with spit up, I never have a chance to shower. Blah blah blah.

Oh and yes, I did say arduous. What, just because I'm a four month old baby who predominantly coos and goos and eats my feet you don't think that I have a rather extensive vocabulary? While in utero I often heard my mother complaining (something I'm finding that she does rather often, actually) and using all sorts of words that I stashed away in this growing brain of mine and will be bringing out for future arguments I anticipate future me will be having with that lady with the boobs.

So while my mom thinks I'm napping - I mean seriously, does she even read her own blog? She should know first hand that I'm fake sleeping - I have decided to use her complaint arena to set the record straight. Babies everywhere should not have to suffer the indignity to which she is subjecting me.

Let me address Oh Un-Holy Night. Of course I woke up every hour. My  mom spent the entire month of December telling me about how Santa Claus was coming to town, how he knows when I've been sleeping and when I'm awake. First of all, how creepy is that. But second of all, I'm no dummy. I knew presents were coming. Oh, she talked a big game about how I'd never remember this Christmas so Santa wasn't going to bring a gaggle of gifts, but I knew better. I had just recently started smiling a lot and this seems to make that woman so excited and think I'm the best thing since cheese. My mom really likes cheese. And pickles. And wine, which she blames on me and again, it is totally unfair to babies everywhere. So anyway, back to Oh Un-Holy Night. I was so excited about this Fisher Price Jumparoo Santa was bringing me. My mom kept talking about it right in front of me as if I couldn't understand a single word. It kind of ruined the surprise and made me giddy with anticipation, so what did she expect! All I could think about on Christmas Eve was how the next morning I would be jumping with glee and surveying all of my presents. That mom of mine can be smart, but on this occasion she really didn't think it through.

Now calling me Osama Bin Baby is just downright mean. I am no terrorist and even if I was, she rarely negotiates with me. Even when I cry I feel like she never gives me what I want. By four months, don't you think she would know my tired cry versus my hungry cry? She always gets them mixed up and frankly, I'm just getting annoyed. I know that when she gets annoyed she too gets very grumpy and I have seen her cry on a number of occasions. In fact, I have caught my daddy rolling his eyes more than once when my mom becomes a weepy mess. I really feel that she of all people should understand that sometimes when a girl is misunderstood, she becomes emotional. If anything, she is an emotional terrorist because she doesn't understand me one bit. Talk about not validating my feelings.

And finally, that list about what she wished she had known about newborns is just ridiculous. It might be hard being a new mommy, but try being a newborn baby with amateur parents for crying out loud! There you are, all cozy and warm in a nice sized belly (which she keeps complaining about which is so lame. Had it been any smaller, I would have been very uncomfortable and I don't know why she wants me to feel squished. She is really really mean sometimes.) and suddenly you are rudely and abruptly whisked from your home and expected to be all cool about it. In my case, I was born by a cesarean section and if that doesn't traumatize you I don't know what will. So sure, I cried in the middle of the night. And yeah, I wanted to eat a lot. You try being born! It's a tough and scary business being a baby and it would be nice if you would think back to your first year and have a little empathy. It's a big world out here and I'm just a little baby, trying to get by. Geez.

Oh and by the way, I have a tooth! So my sleepless nights and sometimes cranky behavior was because I had a sharp little dagger making its way through my gums. Sure, my mom gave birth but this is the baby equivalent to that so I think my grumpiness was warranted.

I think the boob lady hears me typing so I have to go now and fake sleep some more. I wouldn't want her to figure out that I have hijacked her blog being the baby terrorist that I am and all. If there are any other babies out there who feel me, share this post!

"It's not that I'm lazy - It's that I just don't care."

I am not the first woman and will certainly not be the last to find herself asking the question all mothers must ponder at the end of maternity leave. Is going back to work really worth it? I am engaged in an internal argument that has reached a devisive stalemate where both sides of me are glaring at each other making snarly faces. I waffle back and forth between going back to an unfulfilling job that ultimately has become a necessary evil or cut way back in order to spend my days cleaning up spit up, changing dirty diapers, negotiating nap time with a four month old (a no win situation), and dealing with the daily routine of satisfying the most disgruntled of customers. The payoff from the former comes in that glorious paper form, holding me hostage with golden handcuffs. The latter payoff comes from that toothless smile, that Beevis and Butthead giggle, that look in her eye I don't see often enough but tells me I am the center of her universe.

In a little more than a week, I will be faced with daily workplace issues that no longer seem important. When the boss man demands that report by COB in a voice that rivals the drone of the Office Space manager, I will be thinking not of the numbers and deadlines but rather what I am going to do with Bug to make up for my absence all day. When the nanny tells me about how they went to the park or how she is sitting up all on her own, I won't be thinking about the people I trained how to eFile their court documents, I will be throwing my proverbial fist in the air cursing the decisions I was forced to make.

photo courtesy of www.perfectlycursedlife.com

I live in a beautiful area, but I pay dearly for that Southern California sunshine. The obnoxious mortgage payments, the ridiculous property taxes, the constant hamster wheel of make money spend money make money spend money makes a woman's right to choose between a career outside the home and building a life within the home almost impossible. Instead it becomes a delicate balancing act, a precise dance, a constant battle to keep from dropping the ball in one area or the other. I always thought that I would welcome a return to the workforce. I didn't realized just how pricey a little slice of the American Dream can be. I never saw myself as a stay at home mother but now, faced with the very real thought of missing eight hours of Bug time a day, I find myself almost paralyzed at the prospect.

No one ever said this whole kid thing was going to be easy and sweet Jesus, it sure isn't. There are moments in the very long hours home with Bug when I think holy hell, what have I done. I can't run out the door for a last minute yoga class, my postpartum hair is in desperate need of a new style for which I don't have the time, and don't even get me started on the long overdue pedicure that has been haunting me. But to even consider a life different than that which I have chosen, to be the mother of the most perfect baby girl, is ridiculous to even think about. And though mothers go back to work all the time and grapple with the very same issue, it just doesn't seem fair to anyone.

So heat up that coffee and prescribe some Valium, because come January 21 this girl is going to need it.

Top 5 Things I Wish I Had Known About Life With a Newborn

There was lots of advice given to me while I was pregnant. Most of it unsolicited, as usual. I read some lists of what to expect those first few weeks of newborn bliss, but most were of the feel good, life is beautiful variety. These are some things that I really wish I had known. Although, knowing me, I probably would have told myself the lie that most people tell themselves for the sake of sanity and self preservation - that won't happen to me.

1. You have no idea what lack of sleep can do to a person. Everyone will tell you that once you have a newborn, sleep is rare. People love to remind you to get your sleep now because there won't be much sleeping once the baby comes. You listen, you nod your head, you smile politely at their tales of woe. But you don't really believe them.

I used to think I was cool with just a few hours of sleep. I did it all the time in college. But your best all nighter does not compare to this I'm a zombie, can't think straight, I just fell asleep with my eyes open experience.

Once your baby is born, you handle that first night like a champ. No big deal. You've got nurses coming and going and the baby bliss is still fresh in the air. You want to wake up and feed your baby. You can't wait until you hear that sweet little cry and you know just what to do. You are rocking this mommy thing!

A week passes and it still hasn't hit you. "This baby sleeps all day!" you exclaim. "I got one of the good ones!" You can barely contain your excitement.

And then suddenly, your perfect, sleepy newborn is whisked away in the middle of the night and replaced with a screaming, famished child who clamps onto your nipple like it's the only thing keeping her from falling off a cliff. And you will feel like you may never sleep again. Cling to coffee. Pray to the coffee gods. Make Mr. Coffee the new man in your life.

photo courtesy of blog.lib.umn.edu

2. Breast feeding hurts. A lot. It's a curl your toes and try not to scream kind of pain. I always thought I had a high pain tolerance, but it took an eight pound baby girl gnawing on my nipples like a crazed elf to take me down a notch. Every new mother should invest in gel pads. Throw those puppies in the fridge and then throw them onto your puppies once they're cold. Do it. Your nipples will thank me.

Photo courtesy of babyblueline.com

3. You might fight with your husband a lot. I sure did. I am lucky and have one of those super helpful husbands but by the second week of no sleep I had irrational, crazy thoughts like "How dare he change another diaper like that! What, he thinks he's better than me?" and "Oooh, so the man can heat up a bottle AND cook dinner. La dee freaking da." I had to constantly remind myself that with the raging postpartum hormones, the lack of sleep, and the baby terrorist plotting my demise, I had to be nice to the man who still liked me even though I was wearing the same pair of baby puke stained sweat pants for the millionth day in a row. He loves me he loves me he loves me till death by baby do us part. Poor guy.

Oh. And you might resent him just a little because no matter how helpful he is, you are the one with the boobs. Even if he has moobs, they don't do the trick for a super hungry baby. Therefore, the five thousand nighttime feedings fall on you and those voluptuous milk machines.

photo courtesy of momlogic.com

4. Everyone raved about Kate Middleton showing off her postpartum belly. She's so real, they all raved. Real women do have a belly after childbirth. Okay, well, unless you are a Duchess of Cambridge freak of nature your postpartum belly will not be all totes adorbs, I don't care how classy and cute your blue polka dot dress is. The good news is that it will go down eventually, but it gets real scary before it gets real flat. 

photo courtesy of joannagoddard.blogspot.com

5. There will be times when you think sweet Jesus, what have I done. My life, my body, my sanity will never be mine again. Those first weeks are just about as crazy as it can get (although I have been told that it gets even crazier). There were times when my sweet husband would send me on an errand just to get me out of the house and I would want to keep on driving to the second star to the right and straight on till morning. These feelings are normal (I hope! Please don't tell me otherwise) and they will pass. Your baby will do something super cute and you will be all maternal and gooey and full of squishy squealy love. And then she will scream at you and poop on you and keep you up at all hours of the night and so the cycle of motherhood continues.

photo courtesy of getborntribe.com

So now that I've scared you straight, I encourage you to make your own list. Were there any unexpected things you experienced with which I neglected to traumatize people?

Sleep Deprivation & Subsequent Negotiations

When George W. Bush stated that we don't negotiate with terrorists, he had clearly never come face to face with a screaming four month old.

I'm not sure if it's just my baby, because I often feel like all of my friends have perfect babies that do perfect things and perfectly sleep through the night while dreaming perfect little perfect dreams. How perfectly delightful. But Bugsy May has had some sleep regression as of late and let's just say, mama needs a cocktail. She started sleeping through the night about a month ago and I smugly joined the ranks of those perfect mothers with their perfect sleeping babies. I might have even had a smug thought or two like maybe my baby should be in one of those super cute Pampers commercials where the babies are sleeping like the little angels that they are.

Then one night, out of the blue, Bug decided to wake up at 4am. Okay, well, that's not so bad, I thought to myself.

Then on that unholiest of holy nights, the wee one was up every hour. Well. That was just an anomaly. That couldn't possibly happen again, I told myself as I tried to shake off the unnerving thought that Bug may just have it in for me.

Oh, but happen again it did. And it hasn't stopped. She has now reverted back to those newborn days of yore where every two hours she wakes up hollering, demanding that I too wake up and admire all that 2am has to offer. It ain't much, folks. If it's not last call, I'm not interested.

Last night was New Year's Eve. I barely made it through two glasses of champagne and a movie before I sadly informed my husband that I am in fact the lamest girl in the world and needed to call it a night at the late bewitching hour of 9:30pm. Bug was so sweet and thoughtful and woke up at midnight to remind me that a new year was finally upon us.

And so began a night full of baby cries and mommy sighs. Oh and a whole lot of angry whispers and not so subtle punches as my husband snored away. That man can sleep through anything but how he sleeps through the cries of a one Bugsy May, I'll never know.

And though I digress, let me address that snoring. I swear he is just mocking me with each gnarly, snorty inhale. Look at me, he breathes. I am fast asleep because it's the middle of the night and that's what you do when it's dark outside, you sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep he exhales. Apparently, the little one didn't get the memo, you snoring son of a - well, you get the picture.

And then, as the sun rises, so does the husband. He announces in a sweet, I'm here to save the day, aren't I wonderful voice that he will get up with the baby so I can sleep. How nice! Too bad I am already up for the zillionth time and won't you just be a dear and make some coffee.

So today, on New Year's Day, we are going to try something revolutionary. It is time that the Bug learns to sleep in her crib and take *gasp* naps. I spent a good hour negotiating with the baby terrorist. Here sweetheart, if I feed you will you sleep? No? Okay. How about if I rock you? Oh you don't like that either? Okay well I wouldn't want you to be upset. Diaper change. That's it. It's not? Well color me confused. Would you like to suck on your toes for awhile? You would?! Well okay!

She slept for half an hour. Just long enough for Mama to make a mimosa and toast the new year with the champagne dreams and midnight kiss she was denied the night before.

photo courtesy of www.someecards.com