No Sleep Till Brooklyn (Why we haven't given up Aravis)

**Note: I wrote this two days ago, but blogger wasn't working and so I am just posting it now. Re-reading it, it seems a bit harsh and unloving. So I would just like to state that this was written in a desperate, sleep deprived moment. I've decided to "publish" it anyway with the hopes that maybe someone will identify with it, or at least understand why I am so cranky all the time :). On a positive note, we put Arie in the stroller last night and she only woke up three times to eat. Which may sound like a lot for an almost 9 month old, but compared to a couple days ago is practically sleeping through the night. I would also like to say that I know exactly how much of a blessing my little daughter is, and if this is the worst of the dilemmas I face while raising her I will count  myself one fortunate mama.**

I have NEVER pulled an all nighter. Not once. Not in high school, not in college. Not as a childless married girl to my night happy husband. Not until my kids.

I remember distinctly at a junior high slumber party being one of the first to fall asleep. I got my shoes thrown at me. I didn’t stay up all night “studying”/studying in college. I went to bed early (for college) and got up early. My college roommates couldn’t convert me (I learned to sleep with the light on… Julia). Not even my husband could convert me (I learned to sleep thru movies and with the light on… for hours). I worked night shift as a nurse for 6 months and honest to God, it was the worst six months of my life. I worked three nights a week and I dreaded it with such a passion that I quit my job a month early to “plan my wedding”. I think I might have done myself physical harm if I’d had to work one more night shift. All this is so that you’ll understand how bad I am without sleep. I don’t do it. I get mean. CUSSING mean. There has been many a fight with my sister and my husband that didn’t end well because I was up past my bedtime. The only thing worse for my temper might be hunger. But that’s beside the point.

You’d think God would know this about me and give me a couple of pillow angels. But not. He has a way of “stretching us”. In other words, giving us the last thing we want. Lars was a terrible sleeper. The first year of his life was horrible. I remember rocking him one night and thinking he was possessed and that an exorcism was in order. We drove him to get him to sleep. We pushed the stroller down the halls of our apartment building. We rocked his car seat so violently that we put the crash standards to the test. I remember the day we put him in his crib and he fell asleep and slept six straight hours. He was one. I swore to Tor that I did not want another baby. But as soon as he started sleeping well, the mommy amnesia (more like anesthetic; you don’t forget it just becomes numb) kicked in and I wanted another baby… after all the next couldn’t possibly be worse.

Aravis was a dream. She slept forever. I had to wake her up to feed her. There was a little hiccup at day three right before my milk came in; we thought we had a dud and wanted to send her back. But on day four my milk came and she slept even better. Then month five hit. Whammy.  Angel baby becomes the dark lord. Over night. Let the cussing begin. So, for the past three months we have struggled with not only sleepless nights but the thought that maybe WE are the problem. One night, I broke down and told Tor that I think we break babies. Two nights ago I told him I don’t want any more kids (I do right now, let’s see about tonight). I am pretty rational in the day. I can spout a million reasons why she’s not sleeping. But come one a.m. I am a LUNATIC. I blame myself, Gas, teeth, Tor, God. I cry and pray and beg her to sleep. When she does finally fall asleep it’s earth shattering… and late. But it doesn’t even matter that I am sleeping on the foot of the bed, or more recently the floor.

When we were struggling with Lars I bought some sleep books to help out. That isle is huge. There are thousands of books about sleeping. And there are two camps. With the odd ball thrown in aka pinch their mouth closed while they are nursing to keep them asleep. Eh? I hate the expression WTF, but if I were to ever use it this would be the moment. Anyhow back to the two camps. There is the soothe them back to sleep and hope they outgrow it soon camp and the let them cry until they fall in a heap in the bed camp. And both sides have very strong feelings. Don’t post your thoughts on facebook. You will come back bloody. Let’s just say we tried the one camp for one night and decided it wasn’t for us so we lived at refugee camp hope with Lars.

Second babies are different. You are harder. Edgier. Less compassionate. It’s probably lack of sleep from the first, but the sleeping heap starts to sound more tolerable. When Arie decided not to sleep I brushed off the books and set to work. She cried off and on for three hours the first night and then slept beautifully. Enter cold. Friggin’ colds. She can’t breathe through her little nose (which is how babies breathe, p.s.) so she was up with that. Then she started teething. Friggin’ teeth. I would rather my babies be toothless until their teens (when they can’t stop sleeping) and sleep now. Currently we are on day two of the sleep strike. From 1 am to 4 am, we get no sleep. Period. She cries. We hold her. She coos, and smiles and acts charming, except that it’s now two and I’m feeling pukey, and Tor has to get up in three hours. So, we strap her in to the stroller and let her cry. Pull her out, nurse her, rock her, threaten her. Nothing works. So tonight operation sleeping heap will once again commence. Tor and I are moving out of the refugee camp and onto the futon and Arie is going to work things out on her own. Some of you will judge me. Some of you will say about damn time. And some of you could care less. But here’s what I say to all you: judge not lest ye get the non-sleeper. And those of you who could care less… just wait. Your sleepless nights are ahead of you. Because either you’re not parents (yet), or you’re getting old. And some day you will be a parent and it will happen to you, or you will get old, and not be able to sleep for no good reason. And for those of you who say that all your kids were great sleepers and you don’t know what I’m talking about and I should just do BabyWise: that guy is a freak (google it), you are lying, or there is something wrong with your kids and it will materialize at a later date. Mark my words.

On a happier note, the next blog will be about Shop Talk.

Oh, I guess I didn’t answer the question why we haven’t given away Aravis? Because she is so stinking cute, and sweet, and wonderful that I could cuddle her forever. And I love her. And she’s mine. That’s why. 

I Still Haven't Died! (alternately titled Tor will be so proud of me)

I was just looking at the date and title of my last post and suddenly felt this overwhelming sense of sadness. Time goes by SO quickly. It was 15 months ago that I posted last! A whole year of my life has gone by uncharted by blogginess. It's almost like it didn't even happen.Yet so much has happened. We got a dog, we got a baby, Tor got a "real" job (to begin shortly), we got rid of the dog, we kept the baby. My little boy is growing up (much to my consternation), and yet as any mother of an almost three year old will tell you, regressing at the same time. It's been an interesting time. I have lots of excuses for not writing: nothing to say, laziness, sleep deprivation, feelings of inadequacy, feelings of superiority... you name it. But consider this my spanish/native american/caucasian new year and this is my resolution: I will be a faithful blogger. Even if it's only to myself.

First things first. We got a dog. BIG mistake. I thought that it would teach Lars to love animals. I thought it would teach me to love animals. I had grandiose plans of puppies and little boys (make that puppy and little boy) romping in fields of daisies while I sat on a blanket reading a romance novel and only growing heavy in my belly from my second child. Things went awry. ALL things. The dog was fine, only problem was it acted like a dog. A really energetic dog. Long story short, there were no fields of daisies, and Lars does love animals (but he thinks they're called damn dogs... joking people), I didn't read a single romance novel my whole pregnancy, and let's just say that these here hispanic genes make sure everything grows heavy during pregnancy. So Gus got a new home with a wonderful family that loves him and doesn't cuss at him (as much) and my family got back a mom/wife who doesn't cuss (as much) and actually smiles once in a while. End of that story.

So cute it makes you wonder what I was thinking to give this up?

Story number 2: Baby Aravis. When we found out my darling daughter was going to be a girl I was disappointed for a millisecond. I again had visions of romping, but it was with two boys who would grow up to be best friends. After that millisecond was over I was delighted... and scared. Girls are so much scarier than boys. As a girl I know this. I know what I put my parents through. I know what I put my husband through. Girls are dramatic, and hysterical, and moody. We don't act rationally. We think with our hearts. You may say "but I know girls that aren't like that". Me too. But this girl will have MY genes. She's doomed to be all those things. Even if her dad's portion evens her out. She'll still be half of ME, which every one will tell you is quite enough.

So I was scared. WE were scared. Tor knows me pretty well by now too. He had visions of what might be the next 20 + years of his life. Plus girls never leave. Boys grow up and get married and make familes of their own (heartbreaking in its own right). Girls grow up and get married and expect their mother to never leave them. We're saddled with this Chiquita for a while.

After a little preterm labor scare she decided to be late. If the fact that she's my daughter hadn't been proven (by being in my uterus) that definitely sealed the deal. Stubborn. My mother wanted her to be born on my birthday (cruel for a number of reasons, the least of which was that would have been 9 days past my due date), but I was determined to thwart her (my mother) even if I had to glue certain, um, areas, together (my legs people!).  Arie was born right in between; Four days after her due date, and four days before my birthday. Her own little person. She's awesome. Except for not sleeping. That part sucks (but that's it's very own post).

My beautiful daughter just seconds old.

Part 3: Tor's job. Tor is the smartest person I know. Which is saying a lot. Because before I met him I was pretty sure that I was the smartest person I know. But, he's truly brilliant. And not the "makes himself look smart at others' expense" kind, but the humble kind of brilliant. He's an anesthesia resident. Which in itself is humbling. Being a resident is humbling. Working for less than minimum wage for four years while your student loans multiply exponentially from the interest is humbling. Being an anesthesia resident is doubly humbling because people don't even think anesthesiologists are real doctors. Some doctors don't even think they are real doctors. But let me just say this: someone keeps you alive while the surgeon is cutting into your body. Who do you think that is? That surgeon is relying on another really good doctor to keep you ALIVE while he fixes whatever is wrong with you... doesn't really matter what that something is if you die while he's fixing it now does it? Off that wagon and on to the next one.

The interview process to become a non-resident (attending in the university setting, plain old doctor in the private sector) is grueling. Paperwork and cold calling hospitals and groups to find out if they're interested. Asking other doctors to pull strings for you, asking other doctors to write recommendation letters for you, pestering those busy doctors when they don't do it soon enough. It's tough. Tor got through it all and he/we got an awesome job in Walla Walla, Wa. It really is awesome too. But some people just aren't so sure. "So did you pick Walla Walla, or couldn't you get a job anywhere else?" Typing this out makes me just think duh. But some people are so dumb, duh needs to whack them in the head. I think Tor's automatic response should be: "I didn't know you were pregnant" and then stare at their belly, whether they're a man or a woman. Because really, it's just as rude. But maybe I'm sensitive. I mean, he's not shoving his brilliance down people's throats so how are they to know?

This post is getting long, so I think I will save Part 4: "why we haven't given Aravis away" for another day. And I will be posting again soon. It's my spandianasian new year's resolution. I have to.

What is more brilliant that that?

No I Didn't Die

I know! It's been a long while. I'm sure there are people out there who think I've died. Which makes me segue into a funny story about my mom. Tor and I went backpacking right after we got engaged. I told my mother where we were going, but in a Debbie Rubottom moment she forgot and called me every five minutes for 3 days. The phone messages got more frantic until the last one resulted in this: "Leah, did Tor dump you, and you hit your head because you passed out from dehydration from crying so much, and died, and now the cats are eating your body?" Yes, that's how the female brain in my family works. So, for my mom, no I didn't even get eaten by cats.

What I did do was get pregnant. Oh the misery! For most of these past months I have begged to die. I'm better now. The parasite in my body has decided that symbiosis is a better deal then just killing the host. To put it more simply: I am an idiot. Not because I am having another baby, but because I timed it brilliantly with the procurement of a puppy and the decision to move to a larger house. All during the worst morning sickness ANY person has EVER had. Don't any of you who think you had it worse argue with me.

It's really too bad too. I had all these really good posts lined up. One for Thanksgiving, one for Christmas, all these fun-filled posts about our new puppy and Lars. Now they are all sealed in  the vault otherwise known as pregnancy brain.

However, we are very happy to be having a second baby, due at the end of August. Yes, it was planned. There are two trains of thought on both my kids having August Birthdays. The "cheap and convenient" camp that says that now I will only have to have one party for both kids (everyone knows how much fun birthday parties are). And the "that's awkward" camp that says "hope they are at least born on different days".

In my current pregnantly hormonal state I say Who has time to think that far ahead?

Food for Thought

We just finished up a very Portland-y weekend. We visited Powell's, the largest bookstore in the world, then the farmer's market, then the Saturday market. I think Portland may have the most markets in the world too.

Lars tried to steal a pepper from the farmer's market. So, as a reward, we bought an ice cream cone to share at the Saturday market.

Speaking of stealing-- we saw the funniest thing while at the Saturday Market. I will try to re-enact it for you (in words):

As Tor and I were strolling through the Saturday Market an obnoxious man, with an equally obnoxious bike bell, starts dinging it incessantly at a little old lady in front of him. She finally hears him and gets out of the way. The man says "I was dinging my bell a lot for you to move, couldn't you hear me? I was dinging it a lot." I thought for a minute or two about saying something, but I am practicing restraint in the area of stranger anger, the little old lady was fine, and I think he may have been high.

***I'd like to digress at this point and state that I really don't like bikers, they think the little "share the road" stickers they wear are for themselves and cars, forgetting the hapless pedestrians that get in their way, and act altogether entirely too superior for my liking. My husband is a biker and I point this out to him daily. Plus the whole bell thing really pisses me off. I understand using it on paths and trails to indicate that you are quickly approaching on the left. I don't understand why some feel it can take the place of all communication. Especially in crowded areas where you should not be riding a bike. Anyway, back to the story.***

About 15 minutes later we see this guy run up to the bad man on the bike (or BMOTB from here on out) and start yelling at him that you don't steal bikes in this town. The BMOTB says he didn't steal it that the bike is his. The other guy says, and I quote, "You see this f-ing shirt I'm wearing, you see this f-ing hat I'm wearing, it matches the f-ing logo on the f-ing bike. Obviously it's my f-ing bike, you f-ing idiot." The BMOTB and he fight for a few more minutes and then finally the other guy just takes the bike and leaves. The BMOTB grumbles a little but doesn't really act too upset that "his" bike just got stolen by some other guy. We sit down to eat our ice cream cone near the fountain at the market and the BMOTB (without the B now) walks up to the couple next to us and says: "Can I have some change, I don't do drugs or anything." When the people give him a buck he decides they're on his side and he tells him the sad story of his bike. It goes like this, "Some guy just accused me of stealing his bike. Yeah. He just came up to me and started yelling and took the bike. I mean, I was just walking along and there was this bike sitting there with no lock on it or nothing. Just sitting there. No one was around or nothing. So I took it. I mean there was no lock or nothing. And then that guy says it's his bike. But if it was his bike why wasn't there a lock on it or something?"

Hmm... Good point. I will remember that the next time I want a new pair of shoes. "But there wasn't a price tag on them or nothing. I mean if you're gonna sell something don't you think you should put a price tag on it or something?"

He asked us for some money too, but we were heartless and said no.

Here are some pictures from that day.

If only I were a little taller, thievery would be so much easier.

Thanks mom!

Yay! But now that I've got it, what do I do with it?

Maybe I eat it!!!

Facebook Update: You may remember from a few posts back that I said that Wiley Driskill would not be my Facebook friend. Well, he still won't, but now Facebook is giving me updates on who he WILL be friends with. Evil, evil Facebook.

A Great Christmas Idea

I have a great Christmas idea out there for anyone who just doesn't know what to get that very special person in their life who likes to keep everything. Tor has a problem throwing anything away, especially his favorite running t-shirts from high school and college. We came up with the idea of turning them into a blanket that was actually useful and could show off his running days and all the competitions he was in. I will give step-by-step directions to anyone who wants to tackle this project on their own, or I will be happy to design and sew you one to give as a gift. Please facebook me or send me a comment if you are interested in a t-shirt quilt for yourself or someone else!

Facebook Killed the Blogging Star

I have a confession. I am a Facebook addict. I am also the world's biggest hypocrite. After more than a year of yelling/swearing/begging Tor to stay off the stupid thing I have succombed to its powers. I check it first thing in the morning and last thing at night and about every 10 minutes in between. I stalk the friends I already have (I look at their walls, their photos, their friends, I try to look at their friends' walls) and I look for friends I haven't had for years. I am neglecting my house, the bills, the kid, and sometimes when my addiction becomes too much I give in to the ultimate in degradation and Facebook in front of the husband (who yells warranted profanity at me).

I look up people from the past and I compare the then picture in my brain with the now picture staring at me from the computer screen. I am gleeful when they look fatter, homelier, older than I do and I am somewhat sad when they have that killer body I didn't even have on my wedding day. I am a little happy when I see that those "popular" kids from my high school seem to have peaked the day we all graduated, but I can honestly say I am happier when I see someone who has made a life for themself outside of those days and looks like they are doing well. My obsession has become so deluded that I actually friended someone I went to school with but didn't recognize or remember and then googled her to figure out who she was. It took me a week.

It has even killed the blog. Why blog anymore? No one pays attention anyway. You can get the shorter version thru Facebook. Those little updates are all anyone really needs. We don't want a three page diatribe when it can all be summed up in two words. Where else is it cool to speak in third person? Where else does someone think telling the whole world they are going to bed is interesting? I have 100 friends on Facebook, I have 10 people who read my blog and 11 of those are related to me. Why go on?

I'll tell you why. Video may have killed the radio star for a while, but not forever. MTV doesn't even play music videos anymore. The last time I watched a music video I had braces and still had a crush on Wiley Driscoll (who, according to Facebook, has a kid, but won't friend me back). The last time I listened to a favorite tune was just this morning, on Pandora. No videos anywhere.  I predict a blog revolution. People everywhere rising up and wanting to hear what their friends really have to say... I predict the end of an era.

But I wouldn't bank on it. Not enough people read my blog.

Lars Pooped on the Floor, Happy Birthday to Me

My birthday was a fun filled event. Lars pooped on the floor for the first time, we went camping, and celebrated with a nice dinner at Portland City Grill... in no particular order.

Turning 31 is pretty awesome. It is so much stinkin' older than 30. It's crazy. At 30 you can still cling to a whiff of your twenties. You can pretend and shrug it off, but when 31 hits and you wake up and realize that you have been in your 30's for a whole year, well, it's a bit of a bummer. I still talk to Tor about wanting to do this or that when we grow up... not sure when that is gonna be. Soon I'm sure. But I digress. I think what makes 31 so awesome is that on my birthday Lars pooped on the floor. Tor thought it was dog poop at first, but we don't have one of those so we're pretty sure of the culprit. After that little incident we are pretty nervous at the beach. We cleaned up the little spot, got all spiffied up and went to dinner at Portland City Grill. It was marvelous. Everyone there was celebrating a birthday, so it was a little like a really expensive chuck-e-cheese, but the food was amazing and the view -- stupendous!

We went camping again this weekend. Great fun. I wrangled the air mattress and pack n play into the tent so we were comfy cozy. The air mattress went flat halfway thru the night so we slept in a sloshy pool of air for most of the night. This post is a bit jumbled so here are pictures to better explain everything.

Birthday macaroons and roses from Tor

My favorite picture ever!

Camping at Oxbow Park in Portland

Lars eating sand and peanut butter. Yummy.

Smores. Mmmm

Very friendly deer. We figure someone must feed him. Her?