I feel like my brain has fogged over. I think that’s why I haven’t been writing… because in order to write, your brain has to actually function.

So I gotta do something. Something like organize the tupperware drawer & clean the shower, which has reached a level of disgustingness that is just embarrassing. Something like taking a daily walk & maybe even joining the ymca. Something like making an effort to reconnect with my husband. Something like going to bed before 2am & getting up before 10am.

I don’t really know how to start this new phase. But I do know that in a few more months, I want to be able to look back & say “wow, I feel better.”

Then I turned 34. It was uneventful, as it’s been ever since my Mama died… but saying that having Rose made it better would be an understatement of epic proportions. We headed to our Christmas Cabin, as has been our tradition since Mama left, & this year, we stayed for an entire TWO weeks. We’ve gone to a different cabin every year & luckily for us, this one was lovely. I saw the drive in exactly twice — once when we drove in, & once when we drove out two weeks later. Yes, that’s correct. I did not leave the house, not even once, for an entire two weeks. I tromped around in the woods or twice & we built a campfire one night. And that was the extent of my traveling. It was the usual crew — Jennifer, Tom, their girlies, Sue, Bobby, me, & of course the Rosebud. Lots of book-reading, puzzle-doing, football-watching, beer-drinking, porch-sitting, nothing-doing going on… slothfulness at its finest.

cousins at the cabin

The month of January has slipped by rather quickly. I finally went to the daycare where I worked to introduce Rose to my former coworkers. It only took me 4.5 months to take her up there because I’m all prompt & awesome like that. I got my hair chopped off & I like it. I got new glasses after 10 years, & my eyes are oh so happy to not be contacts-only anymore.

Rose & I hang out together every day, & have us a good ol’ time. I move her around the house with me & she gurgles & screeches in the little bumbo seat while I do laundry & dishes & make our bed & all that domestic crap. I think back to before she was born… all the anxiety I had about depression & not being happy with my long-awaited role of motherhood. For once, something has been just as fabulous as I expected. This mother gig? I’m loving it. She’s got so much personality, & every time she comes up with a new trick, I seriously feel like she’s the smartest, prettiest, most original, best-all-around baby ever in the whole world. And I know that pretty much everyone feels that way & we all can’t be right, but I just can’t help feeling like I won the baby jackpot.

And what is she doing these days, you ask? Well, I shall tell you…  She’s lost that scrawny, fragile, newborn look. All that loose skin is filling out into little cute baby fat rolls. At her 4-month appt on Jan 10th, she weighed 13lbs, 8oz (umm, I think). She smiles & giggles & sometimes cackles with laughter, which never fails to crack me up. She smiles easily, something that Bobby & I didn’t expect & even now, we’re still constantly surprised at how little it takes to coax a toothless beaming smile from her. Like, walking into the room is pretty much all it takes. She’s a happy little chubster. She’s quite verbal — chatters & howls & screeches & “talks” to such an extent that people will come over to peer into her stroller in the store, just to see the baby who’s making all that noise. She’s recently entered what our pediatrician called the “oral stage of exploration” — translation: she gnaws on anything with arms reach. Her hands are her favorite. People constantly tell us that she must be teething because of the amount of hand-gnawing she does, but there’s no sign of that at this point. She started eating rice cereal with applesauce a few weeks ago & figured out that a spoon = food within the first 2-3 days. The girl likes her food. She howls at the mere sight of a bottle if it’s not already firmly planted in her pie hole. And sometimes, when she wants to communicate that she is displeased, she does this guttural growling noise that is reminiscent of the dinosaurs… the little, killer kind. With all this talk of happiness, I don’t mean to give the impression that she never cries. Oh, the chick can cry — and once she gets torn up about something, it takes her a while to work through it. Bobby says she takes after her mommy on that particular little coping mechanism. Heh. And yesterday? She rolled over for the first time. Yep, she did. I put her down for her daily torture session (aka tummy time) & turned away to do something. Took me a minute or two to notice that there was an unusual lack of yowling going on… turned back around to discover that she was on her back, smiling at me proudly.

Yep, she’s a keeper.

I think I have a fear of becoming one of those insipid “mommy blogs” that I’ve always hated reading. You know the ones… they’re eerily cheerful & never negative & always glowing & content &… well, just so damn HAPPY. I’ve never been a simply happy person. As a rule, I’m suspicious of overwhelmingly happy people (just ask my brother-in-law, who I’ve dubbed “The Happiest Person in Our Family.”) And because I’ve only been able to think in terms of Rose… her eating, her sleeping, her pooping, her smiles, her tantrums, her routine, her, her, her… I’ve just stopped writing.

And I’ve gotta be honest… I’ve seen a difference in myself since I’ve stopped writing. I’ve become more angsty, more fixated, more bitchy. I think the outlet of writing allows me to spew & move on, & when I stopped, I just started dwelling on stuff that usually would warrant a single blog post, & then that would resolve it. I’ve become emotionally constipated. Lovely imagery, no?

First things first. Rose. My focus, my sun, the thing that my days revolve around. She’s perfect. Like seriously without flaw. I look at her & I’m brought to tears by how much I freaking love her. She’s more than I ever thought I’d have, & not a day goes by that I don’t feel the thankfulness bubbling in my heart. And to make it even more ridiculously perfect, she’s a happy baby. Once we figured out the food thing, she’s been like a little beaming, toothless, ray of sunshine. She spits like a champ — that hasn’t changed — but really, who cares about an occasional (ok, more than occasional) spew of processed milk bubbling up from within? Not me. No colic, no unexplained crying fits, she sleeps 8-9 hours at night… I’m loving it.

Thanksgiving was nice. There was some tension — Bobby was feeling very overwhelmed, & Sue wasn’t here — but we actually had dinner ready on time for the first time ever, & for the first time since 2006, we went around the table & said what we were thankful for. Tom (the happy BIL) suggested it… he’s quite adept at human analysis, & he knew that we were ready this year for the first time since Mama left. During my turn, I said as much:
“This is the first time in years that I’m more thankful for what I have than angry about what I don’t have.”
I can’t say I’m happier than I’ve ever been because my mother’s not here. But I can say that I’m happier than I’ve been since she died, & I’m more appreciative of my happiness than I’ve ever been because I have the lack thereof to compare it to.

After Thanksgiving, we went to Virginia to visit Mama’s family. It wasn’t a good visit. For the first time, I felt unwelcome. Something’s going on with my grandfather… I have no idea what, but it was very, very apparent that something very wrong. When we got there, we were oblivious… we were just happy to be there, & excited about celebrating Christmas early with Mama’s family. Because we’ve been trying to spend more & more time up there, we stayed a week — just like we did in June & March & last December. A week was a good period of time during those visits. This visit, however, was different. A week was too long. I started sensing that something was amiss on Day 2. By Day 4, I knew without a doubt that a week was too long, but we had already told my grandmother that we were staying, & it would have been awkward & hurtful to cut the visit short for no apparent reason. The night before we left, Jennifer & I cried… we both knew that we had overstayed our welcome, but we didn’t (still don’t) understand why. In typical fashion, I made a list of reasons for Grandpa’s behavior:

1 – He’s physically sick (ie, cancer, early onset of alzeimer’s, etc)
2 – He’s mentally sick (ie, seasonal or clinical depression)
3 – He’s just fed up with his family in general… after all these years, he’s just sick of our shenanigans & he’s ready to write us all off.
4 – He’s mad at us specifically – “us” meaning the South Carolina girls, Mama’s girls. I even had the sudden fear that someone had found this blog & gone back & read my posts right after Mama died, when I was so very, very angry & shared them with my grandparents for the sheer enjoyment of the hurt they could cause.

Jennifer & I cornered Grandma the morning that we left & asked her point-blank if Grandpa was sick. She’s physically incapable of lying, so we knew that we could trust what she told us — we asled 3 or 4 different ways to make sure that she wasn’t skirting the issue, but the bottom line is that Grandpa’s not sick…. he’s just sick of us. She ruled out Option #1 & I don’t think it’s Option #3. And you wanna know the sad, selfish thing? There was a tiny part of me that actually wanted there to be a tangible reason for his behavior because that would mean that he wasn’t just sick of us. I don’t want him to be sick — I could never want that — but I did want there to be a reason. But there’s not, unless it’s undiagnosed depression. He was just tired of us being there. And I gotta be honest, it cracked my heart a little. Tomorrow will be a week since we came home, & I still haven’t managed to shake off the funk that descended during the Virginia trip. They are such a huge tie to Mama — the strongest tie to her we have outside the three sisters — & I felt further from her after our visit rather than closer. I think it was that I knew that things would have been so different if she had been there. If she were there, Grandpa wouldn’t have been tired/grumpy/annoyed. & if he had been, Mama would have called him out because that’s what she did. Jennifer & I can’t call out our grandparents…. that’s just not something you do. But Mama could & did… she had the special status that came with being the only daughter.

So yeah. I’m struggling to get back into a place where Christmas is joyous & fun & festive & all that crap. When we got back from VA last Saturday night, it felt like I had lost so much more than a week… that Christmas had crept up on me, & I wasn’t ready, & there’s too much to do, & it’s not the happy, Christmasy busyness… it’s the stressed, will-this-ever-end busyness. I keep remembering the feeling that Grandpa didn’t want me, didn’t want us. And it freaking hurts.

Tomorrow morning, I’m shipping a gigantic box of gifts to Virginia — Jennifer & I went shopping & picked out something for each person that we thought would make them happy. Part of me kept questioning my motive — am I trying to buy their love? Am I trying to make them like me again? But ultimately, I wanted to do it — we spent hours searching for what we hope will be the perfect thing for each person, & I have to believe that it’s something that Mama would have supported us doing… not us just trying to “bribe” our family to love us. There’s a giant box of cheerily wrapped gifts sitting in the living room right now, ready to go to the UPS Store. I hope they like it & don’t think we’re trying to be flashy, or showy, or something. I was wrapping gifts today & packing them into the box, & actually UNwrapped & rewrapped my grandfather’s gift because I was afraid that he would be annoyed by the glittery paper that I used originally, that it would get glitter on his hands & make him mad. Bleh. I really hope his funk is temporary thing — I want my Grandpa back.

So now that I’ve written a ridiculously long epistle, I think I’ll stop. It’s after 2pm & I have much to do tomorrow. I’m glad I wrote. I believe I may feel a smidge better already.

Rose becomes part of the fall decor:

Dining room:

Mantel:

Hallway… Bobby mocked my scarecrow, but Mag & Sadie think he’s awesome. What does Bobby know?:

And my favorite tree all year-round:

So have I mentioned that Rose is a spitter? As a former daycare employee, I feel confident in saying that she has taken spitting to an art form. Sometimes it drips out of her mouth down onto her bib & neck. Sometimes it pours out of her mouth in a gush down onto her clothes & blanket. And sometimes it shoots out of her mouth, Exorcist-style. It hits the person holding her, the chair or sofa, her clothes, the holder’s clothes, the floor, & any nearby electronic (phones, laptops, remotes, cameras, oh yes). Our leather sofa will never be the same.

I remember in my childcare days, I avoided holding the spitters without putting on a smock first, especially the breastfed spitters. The thought of someone else’s processed breastmilk on my clothes made me feel a little gaggy. And now? Rose is that baby. And you could always tell the spitters who didn’t get wiped down or bathed at night… their little necks would knock you over. More than one baby has gotten a daycare sink bath because the neck reek was unbearable.

I’m determined that Rose will not suffer from stinky-neck. Every other evening, she gets a bath, & on the off nights, I scrub her down with a warm washcloth, much to her disgruntlement. She howls every night & flails like I’m killing her. Good times.

I asked the ped at her appt this past Monday about the spitting. He said that since it’s not consistently projectile, she doesn’t need to be medicated… that it’ll get better with age. So the upside of having a spitter? I get to play dress-up with her several times a day. Between hand-me-downs from Mag & Sadie & things that people have bought, she has an insane amount of clothes. And because she spews like a volcano, she’s getting to wear all of them multiple times. So that’s my Sunny Sarah thought of the day.

If you’re getting the impression that I dress her up like my own personal baby doll, then you would be correct.

Yesterday was her two-month doctor appt. She’s 10lb, 1oz and 21.75in long. Really like the way our pediatrician interacts with her… he’s very professional & business-like with Bobby & me, but his entire demeanor changes when he addresses Rose. Then, of course it was time for her first shots. Oh my. Bobby held her & I watched & flinched. I’ve always been a smidge skeptical of the people who talk about crying when their kids get shots… I mean, it’s for their own good & it only hurts for a second, so what’s the big deal? Yesterday, when the nurse stuck three, THREE, impossibly long needles in Rose’s little baby legs, I wept. It was wretched. I held her for a long time afterward & we cried together. It was a little bit dramatic but I couldn’t hold it in. Once Bobby ascertained that we were both going to survive, he left to check out (& escape the drama).

Now that she’s had her shots, I no longer have an excuse to hibernate. Guess I’ll have to rejoin the outside world. Rose is game :)

We’re starting to venture out into the world these days, the lovey & me. Last week we went to lunch & into HobLob with minimal meltdowns. I hurried because I didn’t want to push my luck… just threw crap into my cart without checking prices & about had a coronary in the checkout line. Dude. Ouch. Our checkbook hasn’t missed me being mobile, just saying.

Then on Saturday, we went to a local farm for their fall festivities. Ate corn dogs, drove pedal cars, rode a zip line, tromped through a cornfield… your average fall festivity-type stuff. Was super-fun & the lovey had no objections to being bounced & trounced about for 3 hrs. As long as we’re armed with a bottle, we’re good. Of course, I forgot the bottle & we had turn around & go back home to get it. Yes, I did. I was so obsessed with the thought of Dunkin’s pumpkin decaf latte, that I actually FORGOT that Rose needed to eat.

Daddy joined us at the farm & started with his usual “I gotta leave soon, I can’t stay long, blahblahblah.” And then he was apparently taken over by some kind of fun-loving demon & he just completely committed himself to the ridiculousness. In one of the funniest, most atypical things I’ve ever seen, my father crawled up one of those inflatable bouncy slide things & rolled down, sending his hat & glasses flying. And Bobby videotaped it & put it on youtube. And the local news station picked up the video & my normally staid & grumpy father was featured on the 11:00 news. I laughed until I cried. The entire time he was crawling up the slide’s ladder (which took a while & involved Tom heaving him up by the buttocks), I kept waiting for him to realize that he was totally blowing his perpetual, hurried, semi-annoyed cover & revert to his normal self. But he never did. He flailed down the bouncy slide not once, but twice, drove a pedal car, jumped on this giant trampoline-like jumping pillow, rode the zip-line, lassoed a bull, & slid down a giant slide on a burlap sack (or, as he called it, a croker sack). While Maggie & Sadie were checking out the animals, one of the bunnies hopped over & jumped up on its hind legs, looking at Daddy intently with its creepy red bunny eyes. I said “Daddy, it likes you,” & he replied in a lofty tone, “Yes. Rabbits have always liked me.” I just stared at him for a second & then I burst out laughing. Who is this man, this funny, fun-loving, willing-to-make-a-fool-of-himself, rabbit-whisperer man? I like him. Let’s let him stay forever.

Rose & Bobby having a chat

He talks to her in this super-high falsetto & calls her “Boogie.” I have no idea why, but it makes me laugh. She loves it… when he comes into the room, she starts flapping & kicking & looking for him. He can get a smile out of her before I can every time — I guess since I’m with her all the time, he’s kind of a big deal in Rosebud’s world :)

We’re gradually hammering out our individual roles. During the first few weeks, I was convinced that Rose was completely my job. I think I still feel some guilt about staying home & not contributing financially to our family income… I felt very responsible for Rose because in my mind, it wasn’t fair for Bobby to have to work AND do baby stuff. He never said anything to imply that… I just decided it on my own. He kept saying that he wanted to help & I kept insisting that he didn’t have to. And then — *lightbulb* — I realized that he actually WANTED to help. That I was taking something away from him by being a control-freak gatekeeper. That I was doing both he & Rose a disservice by swooping in & taking her every time she cried or needed something. Being a gatekeeper is something that comes really (too) easily to me, & I think that spending every day with her is making it even more prominent. During the day, I’m figuring things out — so when the evening comes & Bobby gets home, I find it difficult to balance between sharing my knowledge & being a pain-in-the-ass know-it-all. I catch myself swooping verbally & nonverbally… & I need to stop because the more I swoop, the less confident he is in his ability to take care of her. & that sucks for everyone — Bobby, me, & Rose.

So we’ve begun taking turns on the mornings. We do bath time together. Whoever’s not doing the next morning does the last bottle the night before. We’re figuring our roles out. If I hear her crying with him, I try to minimize my “swoopiness.” I’m trying to control my tendency to be controlling… does that still make me a control freak? Probably.

It has different level markers, including “Going big tonight,” “Bobby’s being a pain,” Had a long day,” & “Just a splash.” Was a birthday gift from last December that I’ve been waiting to use. I’m pretty much enjoying every sip.

Tonight began the “sleep-training” process with the Rosebud. That phrase is weird to me… like something you’d do with a puppy. Anyway, so tonight, instead of rocking her completely to sleep after her last bottle, I put her in her cradle while she was still somewhat awake. Went back in every 4 mins or so to soothe her until she fell asleep. She wasn’t a fan of this new process, but I’m hoping that she’ll come around. Bobby & I have been debating on when to move her to her room. Probably will in the next week or so. I like our monitor — we went with the snazzy video kind because hearing her isn’t enough, I need to SEE her — so I guess I’m ok with having her out of hearing (& seeing) range. Meh. Still nervous, although I’ve drastically improved. I barely slept when we first brought her home… would lie in bed & listen to her breathe, petrified that if I fell asleep, she would die. And when I would fall asleep, I’d wake up panicked, scrambling out of bed to look in her cradle, touch her, make sure she’s still breathing. Yeah, doing much better (as in less psycho-paranoid) these days.

Ok, my giant wine glass is now empty, so I’m off to bed…