Enter Lex Luthor

A couple of days ago was my first breakdown. I reached my boiling point. I knew the rainbows and butterflies wouldn't last forever. SuperMann broke. It all started with me waking up at 4am on the couch. Dammit, I fell asleep in the non-a/c room, and now I'm sweating when the moon is out. New England? Alabama? Where am I? Great...boobs are huge. I forgot to pump before drifting into dreams full of me in a size 6. Perfect.
Change scene to minutes later falling asleep sitting up in the glider, pump cups in hand sucking away. I'm amazed we didn't have a bp milk spill. I guess I'm just that talented now, I can pump with my eyes closed and brain shut down. Trust me, you don't want to see a picture of this part.

Thank God Troy took the 6am shift, or I'm pretty sure we would have had a clip from Mommy Dearest all up in this joint. I get up later with the attitude that I'm going to tackle my 100 things to do list today - yet I am just glued to the recliner as she won't stop nursing. As soon as I hesitantly lay her down after a feeding, she yells "Psych!" by waking up and demanding more. I'm bored on feeding #3 and start aimlessly looking around the room. Found #101 to do - take care of these shrek toes and get a pedicure!!!

But wait - my clothes are still in the suitcase from our vacation ending a week ago, I need to eat breakfast since it's 11am, Lyla's clean clothes are scattered all over the once prestinely decorated nursery, What is that smell coming from her room???, the house needs a desperate deep clean from being away for 2 weeks, guys are coming over this afternoon to replace the carpet on the stairs, Am I ever going to make it to the gym?, need to schedule a pre-surgery cardio appointment for her, flights to be booked, company coming into town this week....AHHHHHHHHHHH. Poor Troy, he ended up being the target.

Some call it postpartum depression. I call it being a new mom and getting your world turned upside down. The preconceived notion that being a stay-at-home mom is the easy way out is haunting me. I can't believe I ever thought this. Talk about a bad judgement call, just like thinking I would actually use my gym membership after she was born. It's the hardest job I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, I love doing it. And the salary that she rewards me with is way better than any 6-figure income. But sometimes mama needs a break from this 7 days a week job. What am I going to do?

Pedicure.

There's no need to be SuperMann here. Characters like that are fictional for a reason. I learned to listen to my cues and just take a break. Sometimes you just need to drop it all and go read gossip magazines while someone rubs tension-melting hot stones from the arches of your feet to the insides of your calves. Sometimes you just need to hop into the car and jam out to some Put A Ring On It without your baby's sensitive ears in the car. Sometimes you just need to stare at your freshly bright painted matching nails and toes to make you feel 1000% better about your image. I came back reenergized and ready to tackle it all. Then she wanted to eat more...so I only got to #2 on the list.

Point being, we're never going to be satisfied with our meaningless pending to-do's. There's way better things outside of your house walls to go expereince rather than fighting that damn neverending list. Things like piling laundry and 3-day old voicemails can wait. Instead I'm going to go enjoy a walk along the water and later on take pride in making the little one laugh for the first time.

Go ahead and do the same - shut off your rambling mind and go enjoy a summer sherbert sunset!

There You Are Lyla

11 weeks of waiting like a 4 year old on Christmas morning at the top of the stairs. Or 77 days of asking if this was the date I could write down in the baby book. The crisp new pages were staring at me in the nursery, waiting to get some kind of event in it. I counted down 1848 hours for her first real milestone - the famous first smile. I felt like every morning when we "talked" at the diaper changing station, I was babbling to a wall with myself. I knew she was in there, but without any acknowledgement of my high pitched baby talk or reaction to my silly faces, it felt like Lyla was missing. Her social butterfly soul was deep inside somewhere behind those wandering eyes trying to focus on something. It was starting to get really hard as all of my dedicated work was constantly going unanswered. The situation was getting frustrating with my baby boom friends' kids beaming bright gummy smiles only 6 weeks in.

Here we go with the delayed milestones.
How long am I going to have to wait?

Is this ever going to happen???

It wasn't a typical morning on Sunday, June 27. We had spent the night at a dear friend of my husband's house with her family, a fellow 20-months into it mother that I've now become closer with than Troy thanks to Facebook ;o)

Lyla and I enjoyed our first morning feeding session in the comfy, worn in recliner of their cheerfully decorated pink & green nursery where their little girl enjoyed getting her milk as an infant just the year before. A sort of circle of life moment in our breastfeeding bubble we share since us girls had just gabbed the night before, over glorious crisp pinot grigio of course, about the ups and ups of nursing. So here Lyla & I are, fast asleep in now their chair, and I awake realizing we've done it once again. She's just too darn cuddly not to fall asleep with.

We groggingly rise to wander half-eyed down the hall to our guest bedroom where Daddy is passed out in a hangover sleep. Scotch and Troy are the bestest of friends. I place her little body in between us, knowing her eagerly wanting to stretch out arms and legs are going to push against Troy's back. If she wakes him up, he can't be mad at me hehe. He rolls over and we're both on our sides facing the cutest baby on earth. Could have been a perfect family photo. "Good morning Lyla" was all he had to say for her to stare right into his eyes and give the biggest wide-open smile you've ever seen. This wasn't gas, this wasn't a fluke. This was a little girl so happy to see her daddy and giving the biggest sign of I Love You one can give. "She smiled, she smiled!", he proudfully owned.

I have to admit, my first reaction was not excitement or pride. A jealous "Are you frickin kidding me?!" was more like it since I have dedicated my existance to this kid for the last 3 months and 10 months of elephant ankle-swelling pregnancy... and she gives it all to her father. But the true emotion of joy overtook as I realized she had done it. Her first real milestone that meant progress. The milestone that meant we could have 2-way conversations and not just 1. The milestone to say we're getting somewhere. The milestone where she could shine.

It only took until the next morning for me to get a smile sent my way. She is a total morning girl - a true sign she is her father's daughter. No wonder he got the first grin. I am never a pretty sight at 6am. But this new 6am was filled with multiple smiles!

There you are Lyla. I have been waiting to meet you.

Now we get smiles every day. All day. She'll smile at baby talk, fun new noises, and getting a new diaper. She'll smile at me, at Troy, and at anything else that has a face - including her new love for toy Panda. (I'm pretty sure they're dating as she's infactuated with his black and white fur.)

Love my little social butterfly. Love to think ahead to how many smiles she'll be flashing at random people on the street to make the world a little bit better place for all.

The Advocate

I used to watch the commercial for Hillary Duff's anti-"That's so gay" campaign, urging teens to stop using the phrase that seemed to roll off the tongue a little too easy. The set was straight out of an after school special. Really Hill, this is what your career has brought you to? I could never pay attention to how true her message was, since the commercial was corny squared. There are some phrases in our vocabulary these days that we are too quick to say, and don't really realize the innocent people around us that we're actually hurting by saying it. The only thing we're allowed to call out as gay is Liza Manelli's Put A Ring On It in Sex And The City 2...I wanted to dance in the movie aisles.

I am going to ask you all something, and am only going to say it once nicely- please don't use the popular phrase "That's so retarded" anymore. Or "Stop being so retarded". It hurts me to the core to hear it now. When you're calling your freind out for being an ass, I'm thinking of my sweet daughter's almond eyes and how you totally just dissed my 12 pound 3-month old. And when sweet Lyla can comprehend what others are saying around her, I PRAY no one utters the "r" word in front of her innocent ears as well, that makes her blush and feel bad about herself. Or I'm going to have to get all mama bear on their ass. Or even worse, Nana will come after ya. Do yourself a favor and get rid of the sayings that mean nothing to you, but means everything to others. Expand your vocabulary.

Grrrrr. Ok, vent over.