We found out a few weeks back that Baby #2 is of the female gender. While not initially excited, the idea is growing on me.

Don't get me wrong -- having a baby girl is a fantasy most girls harbor. But most girls also plan their wedding at age 12 and own a curling iron. I am not one of those girls. I spent most of my formative years reading books and watching black and white movies. So the idea of having to mold my young child into a bastian of girlness is a bit daunting.

I don't subscribe to archaic notions about gender in any way; I think boys and girls should feel free to express themselves any way they choose -- but it seems so much easier to mess up a girl since society isn't there automatically giving her a leg up on everyone else when I accidently ruin her self esteem at age 8 when I tell her the shoes she's wearing are too shiny.

With Nolan, I know that whatever I do to screw him up and put him in therapy can be chalked up to him being crazy. But with a girl, its automatically assumed that she will take after me and therefore all her shortcomings are genetically tied to mine. This is how I perceive it anyway -- I'm probably totally wrong, but I can blame my mother for that I'm sure.

Also, a massive amount of Nolan's clothes are blue and brown, and have phrases like: daddy's big boy or handsome son on them. Things I obviously cannot recycle on baby with a vagina. I now have to reformat our child's wardrobe with all things pink and purple, with a bit of yellow throw in for good measure. I'm actually painting the new room pink, so no one can claim I messed her up by painting it green or something.

In addition, I know what to expect with a boy. I know he's going to have mini-boners when he wakes up (which no one tells you by the way, so when it happens the first time you're pretty sure your kid is destined to be a chronic masturbating sex offender). I know he's going to destroy everything in his path and try to take everything apart as soon as he finds it. I know that his daddy will think everything he does is awesome because he's a smaller version of him. But with a girl -- I assume the moment I birth her she'll want to wear a tiara and find a man that loves her enough.

We also have to clean out the 3rd bedroom, because bunking up a boy and a girl in the same room, when you have plenty to go around, seems a bit too Marsha-and-Greg's-Attic to me. This task has created a ripple effect in our home, which includes needing a new roof, waterproofing the basement, and repouring the cement patio so that all of Jeff's relocated belongings will be safe and sound in our newly transformed storage-to-living space.

But...I say all that to add this: girls are awesome. we're smart, we're quirky, we're less likely to end up serial killers. All the damage I'll do to her hopefully will just end up making her slutty in college and picky about her footwear until death. Who knows -- since Hilary Clinton screwed it up, maybe she'll be the first female president. (or maybe since the nothing on the internet ever dies, she'll read this in 20 years, feel like a miserable failure, and end up a homeless meth addict).

And at least now I can stop calling the child in utero "it", right?

While sitting at my desk today, minding my own business and thanking god that my colleagues have decided that they are done talking about basketball and the Oscars winners from last night at a volume that would wake the dead, I peruse my colleague's work calendar.

I note an event, on Friday night, that is titled "Girls night!". As I sometimes put social events on my calendar to remind myself, and I'm a terribly nosy person, I decide to open up the appointment and "calendar-stalk" said colleague and their comings-and-goings.

The appointment reads as a festival of drinks and food, at another co-worker's house. Whatever. Simple enough. Then I realize that like FOURTY PEOPLE from my work are on this invitation (all girls, mind you, as the event is what it it states, a "girls night") and I am NOT.

This is completely offensive to me. Not just because I'm a girl, but because the inviter knows me, has been nice to me (even said hi to me today as I was exiting and she was entering the bathroom!!), and somehow thinks I'm unworthy of her girl's night festivities invitation.

Now, if I wasn't pregnant, I'm sure I would've texted Jeff something about being slightly miffed I was left off the list, but then espousing how happy I was I didn't have to attend, because I hate everyone and everything.

But since I am with child, I felt obligated to research the event, by asking colleagues "How the hell did you get invited?! What in god's name is this?! Who does she think she is?!" and various other obnoxious questions they cannot answer.

I start to enumerate this person's faults to my girl-work-counterparts, those lucky enough to be deemed worthy of an invite, and bad-mouth the shit out of her until I'm out of breath and have to hit the vending machine for licorice and a snapple.

I remember when I was about four weeks pregnant, I called my sister. We had an innocuous, 15 minute conversation that I thought was pleasant enough. She told me later that as soon as we hung up, she turned to her husband and said, "Yeah, Mandy's pregnant again. She was a total asshole just now."

Huh. Well, touche, hormones. You win this round.

That's right...I've decided that the misery of pregnancy was not nearly enough the first time around. Jeff and I are adding to the family. I am 12 weeks and 1 day pregnant today.

Being pregnant the second time is very different. Last time I devoured books, websites, asking my doctor (or any doctor I met, by the way) millions of questions about what was happening to my body, to my child, to my brain, to my toilet seat (as I was constantly hunched over it, vomiting up the contents of my recently eaten meal).

This time, I actually have to remind myself I'm pregnant. I don't have the "What to Expect" book by the bed, I don't check my baby bump app every day, I don't even casually mention that I'm adding to the world's overpopulation in conversation with people. If I do tell anyone, its more out of obligation than excitement. The first time, I was just DYING to throw it into conversation. Them: "Did you see that Tiger game?" Me:"The fetus in its second trimester of development inside my womb and I watched the last 2 innings."

Don't get me wrong -- I am way happy to have another child. We decided we didn't want just one baby sucking our life saving's and restfulness, we wanted two of these monsters running around. Probably, I'm guessing, because the chances of us screwing up two children to the point of no return (i.e. ending up having to spend all our Saturdays driving to Jackson prison to visit our offspring during their entire adult life) is smaller. We can spread out the dysfunction between two children, so that they each can manage with years of therapy and prozac.

There are a host of other issues that come with having two children, though, I'm sure. And as always, everyone has their opinion. My favorite, and the most frequently heard is: Well, I'm sure this one will be awful.

Uh huh. Occassionally, we brag about our first kid being well-behaved, so most people's natural response is to will you a child that breathes fire and destroys everything in its wake upon birth. Its bizarre. I know some folks had a tough time child-rearing, but does that really mean you should wish a terrible child on someone else? WHY?

I also hear a lot of: Its really different with two kids. No shit. I remember the first time I was pregnant, I could spend hours watching reruns of The Office and eating a sheet cake, dozing off before sundown. This time around, going to bed before 8 pm is impossible. There's laundry, and cleaning, and diapers, and play time, and hoping to god somewhere in all that my child is learning and won't have to start kindergarten when he's 11. So, YES, though I thank you for your obviousness, I do realize having two children is different than having one.

This was best emphasized to me by my recent experience with Nolan, now one year and two weeks old. Going to change him is a simple task -- the kid's poop can clear a room within 5 seconds of it entering his diaper. For some unknown reason, this time, I smell nothing. So, in my quest to get out of the house, get him to daycare, and get to work sometime before noon, I whip the diaper off in a fervor. Balls of poop going flying all directions, sprinkling the changing table, his stuffed tigger, and my son. This action, and the smell immediately overwhelms me, and the urge to puke is undeniable. (Oh yeah, I should mention that avoiding all the constapation, nausea, exhaustion, etc didn't change the second go-round. Its exactly the same). So, I rush the bathroom (diaper with some of the poop in hand), throw it away and heave into the sink. Upon returning to Nolan, he's decided to pee ALL OVER EVERYTHING. the stack of diapers, the stuffed animals, the wall, the floor, HIMSELF. I spend the next 10 minutes cleaning up urine and more random poop balls before calling Jeff to tell him all about the morning's activities.

His response: Thank god I'm not there. I gotta go.

Someone remind me why I decided to have another child...

I always wondered why I had such a warped sense of humor, and why things in life just always seemed to be outside of my realm of understanding. I don't consider myself a stupid person, but there are things I just didn't understand growing up -- like why I needed a babysitter when we had our beagle Tammy around, or why I felt like a guy who was rough around the edges was just a lost soul looking for the right woman to settle him down. Now I know why I thought these things -- Disney completely fucked me up.

LADY AND THE TRAMP - This is a metaphor for domestic abuse if ever I saw one. Here's this classy, attractive little cocker spaniel -- a little miffed because her owners had a baby and decided she wasn't as important (eh hem. too much like my life right now. eh hem.). So, she lashes out to show them some kind of lesson by taking up with an unattractive schnauzer-mutt with a terrible voice who's bed half the bitches in town. But he's just DYING to meet the right girl, and then he'll change right? And VOILA! It happens! They meet, they eat one free meal of spaghetti (he leaves NO tip -- little jerk), and then they're playing house and having puppies. I know there's a sequel to this movie I haven't seen, but I assume the plot isn't that he cheats on her with the lhasa alpso down the street, leaves her as a single mom to raise four puppies, and loses all their money in a pyramid scheme -- which is much closer to real life.

DUMBO - His name alone is completely mean and awful. The story begins with the stork delivering the momma a baby elephant that is so sweet and so cute and EVERY ONE of the jealous, catty, gossipy, TERRIBLE female elephants the mom is in the circus with makes fun of the kid, is totally mean to him for no reason when he's a BABY and belittles his mom and calls her crazy. Then the story basically makes animal cruelty a showcase for fun, by having the elephants and camels and such perform laborous tasks in shitty weather and treat them terribly throughout the entire film. And the lesson is that Dumbo can do whatever he wants as long as he believes in himself? But he still has to stay in the shitty circus with a bunch of jerk-off animals and spectators who treated him like crap through the entire ordeal. No wonder my parents never took me to the circus -- I probably would've pissed my pants from fear.

FOX AND THE HOUND - I never knew hound dogs were such assholes. Basically the whole movie is a pissed off redneck using his 2nd amendment right to try to shoot whatever animal crosses his path, except his faithful dogs that are TIED TO A BARREL IN THE YARD. And its really an allegory for diversity, and how in the 1970's, white and black children can't play together because they're too different, or is it rich and poor kids, or gay and straight kids? I can't quite figure it out, but the only lesson learned is that even if you want to be friends with those that are different than you, you'll probably end up falling off a cliff into a ravine, talking to a fat owl who sings, and dodging bullets. Lovely.

MICKEY/DONALD/GOOFY - This trio of losers is everything that's wrong with Disney. Goofy is a complete moron, Donald is a crabby bastard, and Mickey is a bossy jerk. They can't seem to accomplish even the simplest of tasks, and how is it that Goofy is a dog, and Pluto is a dog, but one can talk and walk on two legs and the other is Mickey's mute sidekick? And Huey Dewey and Louie are constantly driving Donald Duck to the brink of insanity, and I swear off camera, he's had to given those kids black eyes on multiple occasions -- he's so angry. Its not healthy.

LITTLE MERMAID - No wonder I have body perception issues. Ariel the Anorexic seems to never be able to keep a clam down without throwing it up, and abandons her entire family because she's sees some hot piece of tail dancing on a boat with his dog. And what's her dad's solution? To destroy everything she owns, then trade his life for hers, then give her what she wanted all along. Maybe if he wasn't such a hot-head, the entire thing could've been avoided and that Jamaican crab, who inexplicably has an accent when no one does, could've gone on conducting orchestras of music with musical-instrument playing blowfish.

PETER PAN - This may be the worst. Again, an awful parent, who gets mad at the kids for being too imaginative, but leaves them alone with a saint bernard as their nanny, and threatens to remove his oldest daughter from the nursery. Why there are 3 children, two boys and a girl nearing her teenage years, all sharing a room in an enormous house is beyond me, but that's beside the point. The girl, obviously in love with Peter Pan because she watched Lady and the Tramp and thinks she can settle old Peter down, follows him into an oblivion where her brothers follow and fall in with a gang I'd compare to modern day crips or bloods. And the whole time they're hunted by a mad man with a mustache who looks like a pedophile I saw on American's Most Wanted's website this morning. Nothing is redeemable in this entire movie, and I learned nothing -- except don't trust amputees.

This isn't the only movie where the authority figures are complete bumbling morons or total assholes -- there are plenty more where that came from I'm sure.  But I think it explains why so many teenagers end up rebelling against their parents and in jail. Its the parents own fault for putting these crappy movies on repeat to babysit their tikes for hours on end.  You know, exactly what I'm doing so I can write this blog about how terrible they are while my kid swings merrily 3 feet from the TV screen watching The Aristocats.

Nolan is going to be four months old next week. Everyone said: it goes by so fast! That's lie number one. Below are a few more I've heard and disproven. Repeatedly.

IT GOES BY SO FAST. Okay, I don't know if you employed a time machine after having a baby, but every night that I wake up and feel so tired in the morning after his midnight feedings, and the hours of entertaining I'm doing, its not going that fast. He can't even touch the bottom of his bouncer yet. Or roll over all the way. Apparently, you all just fast-forwarded through child-rearing and now you're all regretful. I'm just exhausted.

FEED HIM CEREAL HE'LL SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT. Bullshit. I tried this, after 2 months of listening to my aunt (who thinks she's a psychologist, a doctor, a politician and a journalist all the while just being an obnoxious high school drop out) telling me to feed him cereal, and knowing that by actually reading a book based in medical fact, not anyone's guessing-game parenting, its actually not a good idea to feed babies cereal before four months. So, we're almost there and I tried it yesterday. Yeah, he slept for ONE HOUR. He woke up, demanded play time, and didn't go back to sleep for 3 hours. I'm not sure I support shoveling food in a kid's face just to get some uninterrupted sleep, and I guess I'll never know now since it didn't work...

HE'S GOING TO RUB ALL HIS HAIR OFF. This is one of my favorites, since its part of a backhanded compliment. "Oh, look at all that beautiful hair!" then the fawning over him, followed by, "He's going to rub all of that off, you know." No, actually I didn't know. And I didn't plan on leaving him in his crib for a few days at a time so, AMAZINGLY, his hair is still firmly fixed to his head. But I do appreciate your warning that I may have a baby with premature baldness. I stocked up on rogaine just in case.

YOU DON'T NEED ALL THAT BABY STUFF THE STORES SELL YOU. ITS A SCAM. If I didn't work Nolan through a Curves-like rotation of equipment, from jumperoo, to swing, to play gym, to boppy, I'd never get any time to myself. And by time to myself, I mean work, laundry, bottle cleaning/filling, etc. I actually look foward to scrubbing a toilet just because I have the chance to do it. Its pretty gross, literally and figuratively. And that nap nanny I spent $130 on that I thought was a waste in a previous post? Its the only thing he sleep in for longer than an hour. So, I guess it was worth the money. (though I still can't figure out why I bought the bebe pod seat).

JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE THE NEXT ONE. This is another of those backhanded compliments, that I'm pretty sure only happen because people are jealous you have a well behaved child. I don't harbor any delusions that I have anything to do with it -- we just got lucky with Nolan being quiet, happy, and flexible. But nearly every time I meet a parent who tells me, "Oh, he's so happy! I can't believe how good he is!" they seem to need to follow it up with, "Wait until the next one. They're not all this good." Look, I appreciate the compliment. And I appreciate that you want me to breed again just to get to experience colicky, screaming baby-misery. But let's do each other a favor and not wish an asshole child on anyone, okay? Its just karma waiting to happen.

HYPERBOLE TIMES INFINITY. EVERY time someone tells me ANYTHING about how to raise a child, they like to ALWAYS use words that infer that something is INEVITABLE AND 100% CONSISTENT. Like the ceral example. Or I heard once that when your child hits 12 pounds, they sleep through the night. Its like a synapse in people's brain which triggers because their one child slept through the night after eating ceral (I'm sure there were no other factors involved), ALL child the world over will experience the same thing. Offering a suggestions is one thing; that's not what experienced parents do. They tell you something as if it absolute, because its all they understand. It ALWAYS irritates me.

I'm sure there are more...I'm constantly irritated by people and their opinions (whilst being the most opinionated person I know). And its too bad I'm so busy child-rearing that I can't update my blog as often. I will try harder. Maybe once he starts napping.

I went back to work on Monday.

I was dreading it all last week, not because I hate my job but because you can get seriously addicted to 10 weeks off. Sure I had to deal with dirty diapers and clothes covered in spit-up, but it was beyond blissful.

But of course, the real world was still spinning while I was in Babyland. And my paycheck wasn't arriving, so I had to get back. While gone, I got a new boss, my current boss resigned, the organization was re-organized. So, add to the anxiety of returning the fact that I was returning to a job that looked nothing like the one before, and I had my first migraine.

It was awful; I threw up, I couldn't even talk or look at the light on the clock radio. After some excedrin and a cold compress, I finally fell asleep and it went away while I slept, and all I can do now is pray that it never happens again.

Its been a long 2 days; I can't get home fast enough. All I want to do is see Nolan laugh, and smile, and get that spit up all over my clothes again.

I don't know how people do it...I need to win the lotto and just raise the baby.

I've decided that companies such as Johnson and Johnson and Carters should sponsor babies like Nike does with basketball stars. They can provide us with products that make our babies cooler, faster, and more attractive to the ladies (and dudes).

I think this is a great way to save money, since shit is so expensive. Below is a short list of things I've paid too much money to equip my baby/house for raising a child.

1 - The Nap Nanny. I love how all this crap has clever names that alliterate or rhyme. The Nap Nanny is a $130 piece of foam that's shaped like a bouncer chair that is NOT to be used in a crib, without the harness, near a wall...so, I'm not exactly sure where I am allowed to use this thing but its currently functioning as our co-sleeper as the baby sleeps with us and I couldn't find a co-sleeper that didn't threaten his life.

2 - Bottle Steamer. I like that it warms the bottles to a nice lukewarm temp in 90 seconds but guess what -- this kid takes a cold bottle. And it turns out you don't need to heat the bottles -- babies just usually prefer them that way. And our bottle warmer has overheated 2 bottles and ruined them. These damn bottles cost $4+ A PIECE. Thanks, steamer for NOTHING.

3 - Bottles. Speaking of, I got the Dr. Browns; we're already past 4 oz so the 18 bottles I have that max out at 4 oz are useless. And since my baby has selective bulimia, te tries to gag himself with these. So, I went back to the stores and exchanged the bottles for 9 oz AVENTs, which of course are more expensive. But they come in this cool gold color and have measurements they use in Britian just in case I move to London.

4 - Wipes. I must use 5 wipes everytime this kid pees a teaspoon worth. Its like I'm disinfecting his entire lower half. We've been using the Target brand and thank god they're cheap...but when you go through a pack every 2 days, it adds up. Buy stock in this now; it'll only go up.

5. Blankets. My kid sweats like a pig, and anything fluffier than a thin scrap of cloth leaves him wet with perspiration. All these cool fur-like blankets with monkeys embrodiered on them are just going to waste...and its not even summer yet.

6. Socks. Only one kind of socks actually don't fall of this kid the first time he kicks his foot out; some random brand called "gumballs" we got from our shower $that pull up over his calf. He doesn't look cool, and they apparently only come in dorky white and gray, but at least I haven't lost one of the pair yet.

7. Scented lotions. Nolan has the same skin as mommy and daddy...anything heavily scented in a cool tube that "soothes" or "heavily moistens" turns his torso blotchy and leper-like. So, we're sticking with good old off brand body wash and lotion that smells like a french baby prostitute; its growing on me.

8. Pacifier Pod. That's right...I spent $7 on a special case just for his pacifier. It hooks to the diaper bag and makes getting his pacifier so simple...don't worry. I know I'm an asshole for that one...

More to come I'm sure...our trips to Target/Babies R Us/Diapers.com are endless...

I had my first day back at work yesterday. Well, technically I wasn't back, I just went in for a meeting to be an overachiever. I kept telling everyone (in between shoving my ipod under their nose so they were forced to "oooh" and "aaah" over pictures of my child) that I felt like a kid who missed too much school and the homework is piling up. (I said this to like 12 people and used the same phrasing and the same hand motion -- my hand moving up from waist to head -- I hope they don't compare notes on how clever I am).

Anyway, my 85 mile commute (ONE WAY) was mired by traffic and full parking structures, and missing the kid. In my meetings, I felt like the old girl I used to be, Little Miss Works Hard for No Reward, but then I'd suddenly remember: holy shit, I'm a MOM.

I feel like I need to keep reminding myself, because it seems improbable since I didn't plan on it or expect it, especially during my 9 months of pregnancy because I'm such a pessimist. I even had to remind myself when Nolan and I went to the store today and he was so quiet in the ride home, and I've gotten so good at the smooth transition from shopping cart to car seat that I thought I forgot him at Target. But he was in the backseat, quiet as a mouse with pacifier and monkey knit-cap. (He isn't so quiet now as he spits out his pacifier in a pathetic attempt for attention so I will continually "plug him back in" as Jeff likes to say...)

I also managed to tell everyone at work that he's 7 weeks old (he's 8 weeks old), I asked a new VP 3 times where he was from and he reminded every time that he's already told me, and I tried to listen to voicemails and decided I didn't have the energy after 1 1/2 of 30 and hung up.

On the way home, I thought about how I got here. Not I-96, I know how I got there...but how I got to be a 33 year old mother of 1 with a fantastic boyfriend, warm house, snuggly dogs and (very little) money in the bank.

If I trace back my love life, I can thank one person: Eric Stoddard. Eric and I were strangers until we met in a bar in 2003 and I said something amusing and he was of course amused and we became friends. Its not often that two heterosexual, attractive people meet at a bar and just become friends, but we did. And through Eric I met the soroity girls, a quadruple of girls who lived together with a dog and went out to the bar alot, and through them I met Ryan, a useless waste of space I was the rebound girl for, and through Ryan I met Jerry and Heather, a formerly engaged couple who lived 2 streets over and frequented the local bar so they could walk home wasted, and I was with Jerry post Tigers game when I went to said bar and met Jeff.

I had been on a 2 year long string of dates with total douche bags, which I told Jeff about and he charmingly said, "Well, I'm not a douche bag but I would like to take you out." So cute I want to vomit, even almost 6 years later. He called 2 days after we met, we went and saw a terrible movie and he bought me ice cream and here we are with a baby and new water heater.

Of all the guys I've dated, and there have been many dates (lots of single dates with guys who have been in prison, were pastry chefs who left me in ann arbor alone, a christian slater look-alike who showed up for our date on his bicycle), Jeff was the one guy I wanted to call me and the one I was SURE was going to bolt at any given moment. But he hasn't, god knows why. The other boyfriends bolted; I actually came across an old boyfriend now twice divorced, and his internet posting for a dungeons and dragons group. Yeah, thankfully that didn't last.

I am so glad for Nolan. He's a happy baby and I didn't think I deserved this. I've blown my entire tax return buying him things he doesn't need, like a $130 piece of foam for the middle of our bed so he can sleep with us, and I don't want to go back to the job I loved just to be with a pooping machine that doesn't engage in interesting conversation or like to go out for fine meals. And I have all the long roads and strange connections it took to get here to thank.

I've been getting alot of attention. Not because I'm cool, by any means. But because I birthed a child. People really do get into babies -- its weird. I never did. I always thought they were weird looking and kind of smelly. And boring. No one else seems to think so because everywhere I go, people want to see, touch, hold, smell my baby. Sometimes I let them -- and when I do I get a little panicky about how they're holding/touching/smelling my baby but for the most part, I'm rolling with it.

I've also gotten this: so what's it like being a mom??

Well, here is a short list of what its like to be a mom, 5 weeks and 2 days after I became one.

TIRING - that's right -- that's the key to being a new mom -- being fucking exhausted all day long. Sleep when the baby sleeps? Oh, well my baby sleeps while I'm driving so I guess I'll just take a cat nap at the wheel Mrs. Horrible Advice Giver. I can't adjust to sleeping 3 hours at a time - I can't. Maybe I will. But for now I'll just be tired all the time and drink diet coke and starbucks skinny vanilla lattes to keep awake so the baby doesn't fall out of his swing while I'm "sleeping while he sleeps".

MESSY - this refers both to my house, which hasn't been dusted in WEEKS (or vacuumed...I think I forgot what the vacuum looks like. Its green, maybe?) and to myself which hasn't been blow-dried or make-upped since the day of his birth. I'm a frizzy, pale woman with eyebrows that need a good plucking and a house that could use a little pine-sol. But you know, I'm SOOOOOO busy sleeping while he sleeps I just don't have time to keep up with it...

POSSESSIVE - I didn't think I'd be such a weirdo when people grab my kid. Even family, when they try to hold my baby, I want to say: hold up, yo! Ask first! Its like I spent 9 months cooking this thing in my most precious of organs (thank you uterus -- you're my favorite internal organ over my liver now since I gave up drinking) and you just want to toss it around and talk to it like its your own. Its MY baby. I know how he likes to be rocked, and fed, and burped, and wiped after a poopy diaper. I don't have a fucking clue if I'm doing any of it right, but he isn't complaining so until he learns to talk and tell me I'm a screw-up, get off my baby's jock, dude.

FATTENING - I'm still eating like I'm pregnant. You know, when its super cute when a preggo wolfs down half the menu and people are like: awww, she's eating for two! No, she's eating for an army and the baby only needs like 200 calories, but whatever. I haven't given up junk food yet and its REALLY hard to do. And whenever I do eat, the kid senses it and pops awake ready to scream his head off. Its like he KNOWS. So, I end up eating a sleeve of girl scout cookies because they're portable and the sugar keeps me going for HOURS...

OBLIVIOUS - Thanks to CNN, I know what's going on in the world. But if you asked me honestly what day of the week it is, or what season, I'd have no idea. I just know there's still snow and its March. And I'm fine with this. When I think about going back to work, and having to readjust, I get panicky. Not only because I have to leave my baby, but because god knows if I can still work like a normal person. Can I email out comprehendable text and call in food requests effectively? Who knows...I guess I'll find out when my leave is up (in exactly 32 days).

COMPOUNDABLE -  I don't know how to phrase it, but I did ask my doctor how soon until I can get pregnant again. After all the misery it caused, I'm not going to say: its SO worth it now that I have my little one! No, it sucked and there are times that I think: oh lord almighty, let this baby calm down since he's upset for NO REASON. But I'd like to have another, and get this over with while I'm still young, Jeff's still young, and I think that baby stuff is cool. Because I'm sure once he gets to the temper tantrum stage, I'll be over baby-land.