Jan 9, 2009

My New York...

...is where I moved to with my boyfriend into a 650 sqare foot apartment.

...is where I got engaged over a black and white cookie.

...is Tribeca.

...is working in the Flat Iron Building.

...is using the oven to store my wedding gifts.

...is brunch at Odeon, dinner at Ed's Lobster Bar, cupcakes at Magnolia, drinks at Spring Lounge and late night tacos at La Esquina.

...is where I live with my husband and baby in the same 650 square foot apartment.

...is walking the Brooklyn Bridge instead of the treadmill to lose the baby weight.

...is using the oven to store clothes my baby has outgrown.

...is down and dirty, disgusting Duane Reade.

...is Jon Stewart and Jim Cramer for entertainment.

...is Law and Order outside my building.

...is Udon, Pastrami, Paninis and Pasta sold at every deli.

...is humid summers, amazing falls, mild winters and perfect springs.

...is the 456 line.

...is Gourmet Garage for a Saturday afternoon snack.

...is Juan, Al and Sal.  The very best doorman a girl could ask for.

...is homeless men asking if the sandwich you are offering has mustard on it.  Because if it does, they don't want it.

...is sharing the pole on the subway with a 2 hispanic men, a french woman, 3 hasidic teenagers, an older chinese woman, a russian NYU student and a 9 month pregnant woman from the Bronx.

...is the best thing that ever happened to me.  

Jan 8, 2009

So Selfish...

It really is quite unbelievable.

First, you rent out your body for 9 months so he can grow.

Then, you deliver him, not exactly a painless task.

Then you feed him, burp him, change him, bathe him, dress him, soothe him, entertain him, swaddle him, sing to him, bounce him, carry him, and push him all over town.

Then you do it over and over and over again.  50 times a day.
For weeks, and weeks, and weeks.

And what do you get back?

Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.

One day, somewhere in between feeding him, burping him, changing him, bathing him, dressing him, soothing him, entertaining him, swaddling him, signing to him, bouncing him, carrying him, and pushing him all over town, out of the blue he looks at you... and smiles.

And you realize, he's not as selfish as you thought.

Jan 7, 2009

One Armed Ninja...

I didn't realize being able to do everything with one arm was a skill, but it really is. I should know. See, I've been honing it to perfection over the past few months. Even Brett can now do everything with one arm. The only thing that differs between Brett and I is our technique.  I hold Oliver on my hip with my arm wrapped around his waist while Brett holds our boy like a football.

See, babies are considerate. They give you a choice:

A) Put me down and I'll scream bloody murder until you go psychologically mad.

B) Hold me forever and I won't cry.

Well, after you go psychologically mad, you quickly learn how to do everything with one arm.

Hold him and vacuum the apartment.
Hold him and search under the couch for the missing binky.
Hold him and check Facebook.
Hold him and brush your teeth.
Hold him and fluff the couch cushions.
Hold him and play Wii.
Hold him and cook Chicken Marbella.*
Hold him and blow-dry your hair.*
Hold him and give yourself a pedicure.*

The thing is, I don't really mind.  

I know I can't hold him forever and that right now, time, is completely precious. Soon enough he'll be squirming out of my arms so he can crawl the floor.  After that we'll eventually reach a point where he won't let me hug him in public or in front of his girlfriend.** 

So I'm not complaining.  


I will hold him for as long as he lets me.

*Expert ninja level only.
**By "Girlfriend" I mean "Girl that's a Friend."  

Jan 6, 2009

Good thing you didn't go on that ski vacation this year!


The Little Penis that Could...

My baby boy is amazing.  

His smile melts my heart.  His eyes are full of hope.  His cheeks are naturally rosy.  He loves to play on his mat and stare out the window. And, the fact that he's doubled in size, and done it so gracefully has been a joy and a privilege to witness.

There's just one little caveat.  My little boy has a penis.

I go to change his diaper and all of a sudden I find myself shot getting shot in the eye by strong stream of pee.  The first time it happened I was shocked.  Now oddly, I'm used to it.  Hell, I expect it.  

Besides using Brett and I as target practice, there's also something else to discuss about the male anatomy. The distance!  Sometimes he hits the wall and other times the window.  We have had to clean off every surface and object within four feet of the changing table. Keep in mind that's twice as long as he is tall.

Finally, every so often, as I finish adhering the tabs on the diaper and go to give Oliver a kiss, I see that his face is all wet. That's the worst.  Because that means that as I was lifting up his legs to slide a new diaper under his bum he peed on his own face.

Oy.  When do we potty train?

Jan 5, 2009

Pack it Properly...

The day came to take Oliver to the pediatrician. My baby nurse was on to another job and I was on my own.  I was as nervous as I was excited. After reading about what would happen at this well-visit on the internet I felt thoroughly prepared. I fed him, diapered him and dressed him in his most adorable outfit.  I couldn't wait for the doctor to tell me what a cute sense of style Oliver had.  

I proudly walked the one mile to the doctor's office and sat patiently in the waiting room. Within moments, the nurse called Oliver's name and prompted me to undress him.  All of a sudden, Oliver belched and proceeded to vomit up half of his meal all over himself. So much for his most adorable outfit.

The nurse then took my naked baby and weighed him.  Afterwards she suggested I wrap him up in a blanket.  Of course, like a good mommy I listened. After all, I didn't want him to get a chill. Within seconds however, Oliver pooped twice followed by three encores of pee.  So much for the blanket.

After cleaning him up and re-diapering him the doctor entered.  She examined him and pronounced him a perfect 4-week old baby.  She then exited allowing me privacy to dress him.

I doted on the words "perfect 4-week old baby" as I reached for the diaper bag. 


I had no extra outfit. The thought hadn't even crossed my mind to pack one. I reached further into the diaper bag.  


I had no extra blanket.  I reached as far into the diaper bag as I could and pulled out one soiled burp cloth.  There had to be something else in there.  There just had to be. 

But alas, there was nothing. 

I had no choice but to use that disgusting burp cloth to cover my "perfect 4-week old baby."

Needless to say the mile home was awful. It was downright shameful. I mean, really, what kind of mom brings a naked baby home from the pediatricians office?

Now, every time I leave home, I have 2 back up outfits, 4 blankets, 15 diapers, 6 burp clothes, 3 pacifiers, extra wipes, bottle and formula.  Lesson learned.

And I never dress him "up" for the pediatrician.

Jan 4, 2009