Nice way to crap on the mood

I'M BACK and with many reasons to celebrate. The most important one, my husband starts his new job this Monday, after 6 difficult months of unemployment. So for that reason, we opened that bottle of excellent champagne (a Christmas gift from friends) to celebrate. It was a Saturday evening. We were having dinner as a family when Amelia said she was done and left the table.

Steve and I sat there enjoying our champagne and great adult conversation. What a great feeling. Quiet child watching TV, Steve and I celebrating that the heavy weight of unemployment was lifter off our marriage. We were so happy.

Amelia comes back to the table with a gift for "Daddeeee". She hands Steve something that looked like a small brownie. Thankfully, Steve had her put it on his napkin. For a split second I wondered where she had gotten the "brownie" from. And then it hit me: "She pooped. That's poop."

Champagne buzz gone, celebration interrupted, back to parent mode. Thank God we were on our second glass of champagne or Steve would have thrown up on his daughter. Instead, he calmly got off his chair and went to throw out his daughter's gift.

What a way to crap on the mood! Ay Mama!

By the way, we finished the champagne after we bathed, changed her and put her down for the night. This time not to celebrate but to forget.

A real Mother's Day

The girl doesn't call me Mami or Mama. She knows who I am, she just doesn't call me anything. Well, sometimes she calls me Daddy. Twice, she has bitten me so hard she has drawn blood. She has slapped me, stepped all over my vital organs and pokes my eyes at the first sign of my falling asleep. And even after all that mental and physical abuse, I adore her.

On the other hand, she beams every time she sees me. I'm the one who can really console her. She follows me around constantly and imitates my every move. She holds me like no one else in the world. She has shown me a love like no other. That is what makes me so happy on Mother's Day.

Granted, I'll spend that wonderful made up holiday wiping her nose and worrying about her bad cough. Making sure she doesn't have a fever and keeps drinking liquids. And probably putting her in her crib for a time out for slapping me but I wouldn't have it any other way. Well... a massage, a mimosa and sleeping in would be better. But like my friend Sandra says

"Querias ser madre, coge ser madre." "You wanted to be a Mom, take that!" And I gladly will. Ay Mama!

Weird, right?

I have such a guilt trip this evening. It was after I told a tiny group of people I don't know that I hated the first three months of motherhood. Yes, if you've read this blog before you know that it hasn't been the first time I've said that. Yes, there is some truth to that and when I was in the thick of those three months, I was hating life. But after 19 months, I have to think of a better word than hate. I don't hate anything related to Amelia. I look back at those three months and they were the hardest ever, but those months brought us to this moment and I wouldn't trade that for anything.

With technology the way it is I know Amelia will one day read what I have written and I want her to know that my feelings those first three months had nothing to do with her, but with my inability to let go of control and just adjust to change. She is, as I tell her every night, my biggest treasure. And even when I felt really sick after giving birth, smelling the top of her head would overwhelm me with a feeling of love I can't describe. She still has that smell and I hope she has it forever. Ay Mama!

RED POOP (Warning: this will be gross)

Amelia's bowel movements have been a constant subject of discussion in our home since the day she was born. The girl eats like a new nail file (direct translation from a Puerto Rican saying "come como lima nueva") but could use some Activia more often than not. We are not talking constipation, more like a consistency issue. 'Nough said.

SO thanks to the Colombian book of remedies, Amelia's babysitter keeps her on a diet of plenty of beans. In the words of my husband, a bean hater himself, Wilma gives Amelia an amount of beans that would be outlawed in certain countries. Lentisl. red beans, chick peas, black eyed beans and even beans I don't even recognize. Yet, since I grew up in PR, beans are just part of a healthy diet.

But to our surprise the scariest poop we have seen in these 18 and half months was not the jumping beans' fault. It happened tonight after a day of too much intestinal activity. It was her fourth time and we were about to bathe her for the evening. I saw something frightfully dark on her diaper and when I lifted: it was RED. Steve immediately yelled "BLOOD!". I thought, "tamal mexicano".

No, not the swine flu that has our poor Mexican friends handing us a note from their doctors before we even answer their emails. This is a "tamal dulce" that Wilma feeds Amelia once in a while. I am afraid she buys it on the street too. The sweet tamal is dark red and it seems our girl ate more of it than she usually does.

Instead of calling the doctor, I called our Colombian wise woman and confirmed my suspicion. Steve is still trying to get the image out of his head. I made Wilma promise me no beans for Amelia tomorrow. Ay Mama!

A size and a half smaller

Amelia is a tall girl. Almost three feet at 18 months. She outgrows clothing like the jolly green giant and I'm always on top of that. Her feet...well , that's another story. We bought her 2 pairs of those expensive shoes "that will make her walk better" last December. She was a 5 1/2 wide. From then on, my shoe quest continued with that number as my guiding light. I love shoes so I pride myself in keeping Amelia up with the latest styles, except her pudgy feet won't cooperate.

Hence, she's been living in her good shoes for a while. But now it seems it was for far too long. We went to one of the children shoe Mecca's, Nordstrom, to get our girl sized. As soon as the beautiful Croatian sales lady took one look at her feet stuck in her way too expensive Ecco sneakers, she said "those don't fit her".

At home they looked fine but in the Nordstrom's light Amelia's feet looked like stuffed sausages. The moment of truth hapenned when she put her little foot on the measuring "scale". Amelia was almost a 7W and she was wearing 51/2W shoes. I thought the sales lady was going to call DCFS on us. She almost hit us when she gave us the news.

In hindsight, Amelia likes to be barefoot a lot. Tight shoes from her neglectful parents might have been the problem. The good news is that she left Nordstrom's with two nice pairs of shoes, moderately expensive, but that fit her perfectly. She is very lucky to have a grandma that will subsidise her shoe needs. I have to go return 2 pairs of cute sandals to GAP and Target. Ay Mama!

A Shirtless Ricky Martin

It was that last hour of sleep you realize you have when you suddenly wake up thinking the alarm clock is going to go off. At first, it's a relief and even like winning the lottery to get that extra hour. But the really weird, even scary vivid dreams happen during that hour.

That is when Ricky Martin appeared in my dream. As you can imagine, it was the culmination of a strange dream. I was the counselor at a NASA camp for girls who wanted to be astronauts. For some reason, cat fights kept happening. I kept telling the ladies NASA would never recruit fighters. Like I know, right. And then Ricky Martin came on stage to speak and I guess sing to the girls. For some reason, he took his shirt off.

Then I remember that he came off stage and his security team kept saying, "No one touch Ricky, no one touch Ricky". But he spotted me in the crowd and said "I need to hug my Ana Maria Belaval!"

Yes, he was all sweaty. Yes, my girlfriend Tyra says she would have toweled him off first. But my Puerto Rican id would be taken away if I didn't hug him right away, even in my dreams.

What was even more weird is that he gave me career advice.
"Why weren't you in the Pedro Navaja musical?" (That's a popular musical based on a song by Ruben Blades)
Like a school girl, I just shrugged my shoulders.
He said "Do you have an agent?"
I said "Yes, but he mostly looks for news stuff".
"Well, let me take care of it."

I'm still waiting for the call from Ricky's people. Ay Mama!

She took a chunk out

NOOOO!! followed by "Me muerdas (Bite me)". My lovely 17 month old. My first born. My sweet baby had just bitten the woman that gave birth to her. Why, God, why would you bite the hand that feeds you?!  She took a chunk (as big a chunk as her small mouth and 10 teeth can take off) of my upper inner thigh. That is the point she can easily reach when she hugs my legs begging to be picked up. I was wearing old boxer shorts so that's why she could do so much damage. But I swear those little teeth could pierce through the thickest denim or leather. 

This was one of the latest wounds sustained by my husband and me for the last 17 months. I don't want to go in to detail but the first war wounds came out of labor. Then the real damage began when she could kick her legs. I'm not sure if we could have another child since her aim on her Dad could have compromised that already. One time Steve had a nice size black and blue on his arm thanks to her sweet pinches. I have become a human step ladder, so I'm almost sure my internal organs are again out of place.

At the beginning, they don't mean it. Actually most of the time they don't. But after their first birthday, they realize they can take you down with a quick move and they are not afraid to use their arsenal.  That takes us to the fun of trying to discipline a young toddler.  After the bite incident, after a band aid was applied to the bloody wound, her father had a "talk" with her. A half hour later, in the heat of excitement because she was hugging me, she went for it again. This time on my shoulder but I was able to stop.  "Don't bite" as I hold my little piranhas head back,  seems to be working. Holding her legs or arms and saying "Don't hit" works too.  And sometimes just putting her in her crib for a time out does the trick, At least she hasn't tried it on other kids. But I'll keep you posted. Ay Mama!

Where have I been?

It's been a month since I last wrote on this blog. I'm not snubbing anyone. Motherhood hasn't become easier. Actually, life has gotten a bit more complicated. Like hundreds of thousands of families, the recession has hit our home. My husband got laid off over a month ago. Our readjustment to a one income household is not something I wanted to talk about here. Not because we've lost our house, our standard of living. We are very fortunate in that sense.  But because emotionally it's not an easy process for the family, especially for the member that has been laid  off.  Plus, I blog about my life as a Mom not my husband's and I have to respect that. 

And as a Mom, let me just tell you, sole bread winner and all, my duties haven't changed. I get home and even though Daddy is a blast, Mama is the one that meets all the needs. At least that's how Amelia seems to see it. Steve is as capable to take care of her as I am. As I've written here before, he took the night time feedings when she was a newborn so that I wouldn't jump off a bridge or drive all the way to Arizona on my own. He changes diapers, dispenses Baby Tylenol and can dress her pretty well, for a guy.  But there must be something biological, something about a Mother that a child just wants to get everything from us.

Steve is making dinner every evening, bathing her when my shoulder is acting up, but if he puts her on the floor for a second, the kid just walks right to me. If I switch  places with him so I can fix her lunch, she follows me to the kitchen where he has to go retrieve her. 

I also can't help it. I make most of the decisions about her since she was born. I consult with him but mostly, I instinctively know what's going to come up and I take care of it. Yes, I know I told a few friends to expect more from their husbands and let them take over once in a while.   But it's so hard. Women's lib and all, I think it's part of our female nature. Don't take me wrong, men are quick to follow along. "She'll just tell me what to do."  

And I do tell him what to do. I have to. Since the moment the girl ate solids, feeding her has been my responsibility. He doesn't want to deal with the faces or the mess. If he has to dress her, I leave the outfit set out, bow and all.  If he bathes her, I usually dress her up and rub her tush with Desytin since he hates the stickiness of the white stuff. 

A lot of it has to do with the fact that now I have a routine and I like things done my way. After she goes down for the night, I pick up all the toys. All of them. He doesn't.  I like her to wear a bow. He could care less. So I just do it or make sure that he does it my way.

I am positive that if I had to travel, he could totally take care of Amelia with no problem.  He would be so willing and able. But I also know that as soon as I come in the door, she would ask  me for milk while wearing a t shirt, plaid pants, sneakers and no bow. 

In conclusion: Ladies, we can have it all or actually, we have to do it all. And frankly I don't mind it. Weird right, I must be a Mom. Ay Mama!

All alone

I remember wondering why my friend Sandra would go alone to a get together, leaving her husband with the girls. I thought, "wow, that marriage is suffering." Well, now I know why she did it. When you become a mother, if you don't divide and conquer, your friends might never see you again. 

It  always broke my heart the many times my brother and sister in law would miss out on great concerts and parties because my niece would get a cold. I would say, "how can that happen every time they want to go out". 

Well, here I am. After planning a weekend full of activities with my husband and daughter, I have them in locked down with a bad cold. So there I was at my friend's daughter's baptism all by myself. I never thought about not going, neither did Steve. My friend Veronica has left her girls with their Dad many times to come to my things. Three baby showers in 2 months to say the least. I had to be at this Christening. I missed my family the entire time I was there,  but I happy to be there. But when picture time came, I made Vero and her husband be in the picture with me so I didn't look like an orphan. It's ironic that now I have a family of three and I end up alone in the picture.

We also had a pot luck dinner planned for Friday evening. I was in charge of dessert. My friend Nina invited us a month in advance. I had booked a babysitter. It was going to be a fun, adult evening that would cost us very little and give us the distraction Steve and I really need. He got laid off 2 weeks ago after spending 2 and half years busting his ass at a job, working late nights and missing a lot of time with our daughter. But that's another story. So needless to say, we needed some laughs with some friends.

Friday came around, our friend couldn't babysit due to a family emergency, plus Amelia caught her first bad cold. I could have left her with her nanny but that would have cost me more than the night out.  Nina offered babysitting options but I just didn't feel right leaving her with a stranger while she sneezed and coughed. 

I won't lie, the weekend hasn't been fun. I caught myself thinking about my friends having wine and good food as I put my child down for the night and took care of my husband, who besides a bruised self esteem, has a mean cold as well.  But this too shall pass and better days will come. Vero will not have another baby Christening, but we will get a family picture in one of  her three girls' quinceaneras. Ay Mama!

Should I stay or should I go?

This is a classic. It's 6:04 AM and I'm sitting in the living room waiting for my daughter to wake up. I was supposed to be out the door already but work called that I'm not on the air today because who has time for Chinese acrobats (my segment today) when Illinois has a new governor, after impeaching the old one. 

I got up around 4:40m, checked the blackeberry and thought I could go back to bed until Amelia woke up. But when I'm up, I'm up so I jumped in the shower and got ready for when the rooster sang. She got up around 5 so I thought I would be nice and stay with her until her babysitter shows up at seven. My husband was very appreciative; he even called me the best wife ever.

But Amelia went back to bed. Out solid. And here I am, make up on and all, debating if I should bail out on both of them. They are both sound asleep and I'm stuck watching TV with close captions. Should I stay or should I go?

I admit it, I love my job and since my daughter was born, it has become my playground. I remember when Amelia was a newborn and I had to leave the house at 5 in the morning. I would feel sad to leave her but once I was in the car, an overwhelming feeling of "Yeah, someone else gets the early morning feedings! I get to be me!!" would take over. 

Now that she's older and I often have to get camera ready with her hanging off my leg and rummaging through our bathroom drawers at 4:30AM, work is my escape. 

6:12 and she's still out. Good for them (dad and daughter) sucks for me. I really wanted to see her before I left. Serves me right for being nice. Ay Mama!

The Screamer

We are loud. Ok, I'm loud but I don't yell at my husband. We don't scream at each other. But for some reason Amelia has joined the ranks of the 15 month olds that scream for everything. She yells like a homeless mad woman in delight, frustration, exhaustion. It's almost a way to communicate. We started putting her in her crib more for our discipline than for hers when she clearly screams because she doesn't get her way.  She doesn't get it but it helps her caregivers, i.e. Mama, Dad and Babysitter, deal with her tantrums.  When it's just pure excitement or to call my attention, I get down to her level and tell her there is no need to yell. Yeah, that works really well.

But what irks me is something that I have noticed from the Mommy clan since I became a part of it. We can be some nasty  bitches when we want to. When I take Amelia to open play at Gymboree, she screams with excitement and frustration often. I apologize profusely to other parents and try to curtail her yelling. Many parents are supportive and tell me there kids behave the same way.  My Gymbo friends even embrace her incessant yelling. But many just stare at me as if I just don't know how to control my daughter.

If I hear "wow, those are some set of lungs" or, "that is a great way to ask for attention" one more time, I could punch someone.   I couldn't control myself and I  told the one woman who said that screaming was a great way to call for attention that it was worst for me than for her since I have to take Amelia home with me.  

What the hell is that? Aren't  we on the same freaking boat?  My kid may scream with joy, but theirs might just not eat or just spit at strangers even when his/her parents eat very well and only spit in private.  Why do women do this crap to each other?  Do we need to be sarcastic with each other when we all know we do the best we can as mothers? Call me hypersensitive but if women didn't unite, we still wouldn't have the right to vote. 

You know who the nicest Moms are?  The ones whose sons cry every time Amelia screams. Bless there hearts. They apologize for their boys being spooked by my rambunctious girl, as I apologize for my loud ass princess.  

For those who think I'm just not doing enough or that is what I get for being a loud ass myself, I just got the email from the experts that reminds me what age Amelia is every week and what she should be doing for her age and my girl is right on target---she's supposed to be a screamer. Ay Mama!

Where are their parents?

It has been a concern of mine since Amelia and I have been paying attention to children's television.  Elmo has their picture on his wall but never mentions them.  Max and Ruby have a family portrait, but they clearly live alone.  Even Handy Many only has an Abuelito. And like any good single Latino working man, he should at least be living with his Mama until he finally shacks up with the hardware store owner he clearly has the hots for.

When I first saw Elmo, I thought the opening song said "Elmo loves his Mommy and crayon too". He actually sings "Elmo loves his GOLDFISH and crayon too."  There is a picture on his wall of an older couple that resembles Elmo but we never see him on the show.  I spoke about this with my coworkers who insist monsters don't have parents.  It takes the village  of Sesame Street to raise them. Ok, fine, Elmo is not human or animal so he doesn't need parents.

But don't bunnies need a Mommy and Daddy?  That is what my friend Ingrid and I keep asking each other.  Max and Ruby must have parents and a litter of siblings at that. What did they do to be left behind?  If you are not familiar with this cartoon,  Max and Ruby are brother and sister. They live ALONE in a two level house.  Ruby takes care of her little brother Max like a mother should.  Feeds him, dresses him, plays with him, teaches him right from wrong plus has time to play with her own bunny girlfriends and do school work. She even tucks her dolls in bed after tucking Max in.  If her little brother has a nightmare she's there. Not her parents.

They have a grandmother but she doesn't even visit every week let alone seems to want them in her house.  When she comes over for tea, Ruby prepares the hot beverage and mini sandwiches. No one ever tells us if the rest of the family was cooked during an Easter feast or what.  Ruby raises Max and that's it.

I know Handy Many is a grown man. But I'm Latin and my hard working brother lived at my parents house until he was 26 or 28 years old.  Many Latin men see no reason to leave the comforts of Mom's house but Manny doesn't seem to have a Mamasita  to go home to.  Abuelito, contrary to almost every grandparent in the world, especially Hispanic, doesn't take him in.

What is my beef with all this?  Are parents not important to the cartoon world?  Who do they think is sitting at 5AM next to their target audience?  A tired Mom or Dad who would like to be portrayed at least as a constant presence in these characters lives.  I want Amelia to be independent but not afraid that I'll leave her at Sesame Street with the monsters or that Abu Tita or Grandma won't take her in.

By the way, don't get me started on Disney and the way they kill every mother in every movie: Bambi, Nemo, Little Mermaid, Cinderella.  Ay Mama! 

The Clapper

Some women cut other people's meat. Some will wipe off dirt from co workers faces. I have become a clapper thanks to my baby. Amelia loves to clap. Not a surprise since we clap a lot at our house. Everything ends up being a song and so clapping is inevitable. But what I did last Wednesday was baby clapping during an adult conversation and that is the perfect example that motherhood has indeed changed me.

I was chatting with my girlfriend Celeste about the latest class reunion that I missed. She was giving me a rundown of who was there and when she mentioned a particular person, I clapped with glee. Celeste said "Ana you just clapped." I knew excatly what she meant. I clapped like a 14 month old. I clapped when I could have just as well used an adjective to describe my feelings. I could have said "he was there. That's so cool." I clapped because that's what I do for hours on end for the last 300 and some days of my life.

I'm a clapper. I accept it and shamelessly admit it I'll probably keep doing it until Amelia starts expressing her delight with words. Ay Mama!

Grandparents wisdom

I've said more than once on this blog that my parents are not your typical grandparents, or at least, they don't think they are. Their house in not wall papered with their grand daughters pictures. They can't quote every statistic on their grandkids development and middle of the night feedings are not their thing. They are loving grandparents who adore their girls but they are done taking care of babies full time. They believe it's their kids job to raise their own.

So as you can imagine, there were some memorable quotes during this trip from them and their friends who are also grandparents who aren't looking to be parents again.

First up, my Dad. He was taking my husband and daughter to pick something up. I called to check on them and asked where my child was. This conversation was in Spanish, so things might be lost in the translation.

"Y mi hija?" = Where's my daughter?
"Con su papa."= With her dad.
"Por que no se quedo contigo en el carro?"= Why didn't she stay in the car with you?
"Ay no porque pega a gritar." = No way, then she'll start screaming her head off.

I thought the way he said it was so funny and honest. He loves Amelia but he's not about to put up with her whining. He already did that with me. His granddaughter's laugh is the only sound he wants to hear.

My mother's neighbour Doña Tere has 4 or 5 grandchildren. None of them babies anymore. But she accepts with no remorse that the best part of their visits is the moment they arrive and the moment they leave. I love that woman!

And last but not least, my Mom. Amelia gets a lot of gifts for Christmas. People love to give her toys. But we travel carry on (that experiece will be blogged about soon) and we can't bring the toys back with us. Besides we go to PR often and having toys there is great. So I said to my mom that I was going to leave the toys in her house.

Here's an excerpt from that conversation.

"Mami, voy a dejar los juguetes aqui para cuando venga en marzo"= Mom, I'll leave the toys here for when we come back in March.

"No hay problema. De camino al aereopuerto yo para en un lugar en Isla Verde para rentar un storage place." = No problem, I'll just rent a storage space for your stuff on the way to the airport.

In all fairness, I have a lot of crap at home. My husband and I have a week's stay worth of clothing, shoes, and toilettries and so does Amelia. I totally understand what she means.

Come to think of it, I think my parents should have a blog for "reluctant grandparents". Now a days when so many grandparents end up raising their grandchildren, I'm sure they would love a space to vent how they really feel. And since I know they are reading this:

Papi y Mami:

Amelia es tan afortunada de tener abuelos como ustedes, como yo de tenerlos como mis padres. "Amelia is just as luky to have you as grandparents as I am to have you as my parents."

WE SURVIVED THE PLANE RIDES

We are back and I'm happy to report Amelia was great on both plane rides. As you know, I was especially scared about the plane ride down to Puerto Rico since Amelia would be riding on our laps. But, believe it or not, she was better going down than coming back up.

I think 3 things worked in our favor. We traveled in the morning, close to her nap time. A bit of Benadryl helped relaxed her. Last but not least, I promised everyone sitting around us a round of free drinks if she got out of hand.

The girl fell asleep 20 minutes after take off. Took a 45-50 minute nap and woke up nice and mellow. Enjoyed the plethora of DVDs we provided for her pleasure and, by the time she wanted to go, we were almost landing.

I wasn't going to go for the Benadryl on our way back but I think my daughter sensed we were coming back to the frigid city, so she was a handful. Amelia had her own seat so thanks to that and the Benadryl, she slept for an hour and 45 minutes. But she didn't wake up happy. No DVDs, no food, nothing made her happy. You know when she calmed down? When the plane shook like a blender trying to navigate the bad weather over Chicago. Ironically, I was the one freaking out. Maybe I should have taken the Benadryl. Ay Mama!

NECKLACE UPDATE

THE NECKLACES ARRIVED!! THE NECKLACES ARRIVED!! BUT THEY WERE WRONG AGAIN!  

 

Who's  at fault now. My husband went personally to the store. Dealt with the owner, the one that blamed me for everything.  We got charged for one thing and received the cheaper version.  I swear God wants me to learn something from this.  Maybe to have patience with stupid people at expensive baby stores.  Or maybe the artist who hand makes the necklaces is the one screwing up. Too hard to understand that there were two separate babies and the names should go on two separate disk.  The big charms that I paid for and not the little ones.  AHHHHHH!!!!

Last time, when they first screwed the order up, my husband almost drew on a piece of paper what we wanted  for the owner who insisted she did what I told her. So now what?  I have to give my best friend from forever sort of the gift I wanted to give her.  Can you believe I've been on this since the last week of November.

So Steve is on his way tomorrow to at least get the difference back.  Remember that these expensive boutiques never refund your money.  It's an exchange or credit when you pay too much for a baby t-shirt.

And to top it all off, I'm cheating on my girlfriend Michelle who owns a baby boutique but doesn't carry the necklaces.  Ay Mama!

Next time, I'll procrastinate

It started in late November. I ordered custom made necklaces for my two girlfriends who were each having their second baby. I thought I had explained myself very well to the woman who took my order but three weeks later the necklaces arrived all wrong. After taking the blame myself, since these day the customer is always wrong, the necklaces have been reordered. I'm leaving to PR in 3 days and I still haven't received the new necklaces. I don't want to call for an update because I'm afraid I'll get blamed for the delay. So my best friend from home is going to have to hear about her lovely gift, instead of actually seeing it.


Another thing I should've left for last minute. My Holiday cards. I also ordered them the day after Thanksgiving and was told they would be at my house on December 5th. Since I live in the city with the worst mail delivery system in the nation, I gave it a couple of days. I called the Tuesday after they were supposed to arrive and was told that indeed they had the cards sitting at the store. I said that they were supposed to mail them. I even double checked that they had the correct address when I first ordered them. The cards arrived 10 days late.

So what have I learned, leave it all for the last minute. Ay Mama!

What is too much TV?

Be careful what you wish for, I guess? We have been wanting Amelia to show interest ina TV show so that we can entertain her on our trip to PR for the holidays.  Now , the kid is hooked.  Blues Clues, Elmo, Dora, "la novela", Spanish TV documentaries on the human body ( her babysitter really likes the latter 2).  She also likes Handy Manny which drives me crazy since the stereotype is insane. A latino handy man. It's only saving grace?  He is adorable and Wilmer Valderrama does his voice and he is an awesome Latino businessman and a decent actor. 

But now I'm worried she watches too much TV. So do I.  I have watched TV from the day it caught my eye.  When I was single, it was my companion. It's the first thing I would turn on in the morning and the last thing I would turn off at night. I work in television for crying out loud. That thing feeds my family.

Yet, now I'm worried I'm a bad mother for starting Amelia on this family tradition too early. But what am I supposed to do with a 14 month old  when the temperature outside is below zero with the wind chill factor.  I play with her. Her babysitter plays with her all the time.  She moves away from the TV to play on her own often. 

She's 14 months, I can't give her a crayon yet. She navigates our 2 bedroom apartment like a police investigator. She opens drawers, tries to put her hands in the toilette.  Drags her dolls all over the place but if Blues Clues is on, she's frozen on her bean bag. 

I take her to be with other kids at least twice a week and in the weekends we go out often. But still, the other day she gave Steve the remote first thing in the morning when he didn't turn it on quickly enough.

Then again, I grew up on TV and my brain didn't turn to mush.  My Mom never sat down to play with me for hours and I don't resent her. Plus, except for the Spanish soap operas and documentaries, and the morning show I work for, Amelia watches Nogin and Sprout.  

TV and all, I got good grades, had extracurricular activities, a social life, graduated cum laude from college, have a successful career, found a guy and have a family. Maybe there is a future for her.

I guess I could have my father's approach. (Si, Papi por fin estas en el blog) He was offended when we didn't consume anything his company sold. From electronics to Coca Cola, anything Bacardi distributed, no matter how bad it was, we had to buy it.  Still now, after being retired for over a decade, the man only drinks Bacardi. So do I.   The least Amelia can do is appreciate television for what it is, Mami's passion and what puts food on her table. Que no sea malagradecida. Ay Mama!

Who the hell raises a kid in this weather?

I've lived in Chicago for almost a decade.  I adore this city but I HATE it's winters. I'm not exaggerating. We had our first snow storm on December first and right now we are under another winter storm.  Last Friday, it was seven degrees when we woke up.  That's without the wind chill factor. That might be the reason people shiver when I tell them I live in Chicago.  I don't mean my tropical "compatriotas", I mean everyone who doesn't live in this neck of the woods where winter lasts 8 months and summer lasts 8 weeks. 

But just like with many other things, Amelia has made me push through this aversion to winter weather. If it wasn't for her, I would only leave our apartment to go to work.  I wear as many layers as I can plus a North Face jacket to survive an Arctic freeze, gloves to climb an iceberg and I'm still cold.  The fact that I work in the early morning hours when it's even colder just adds insult to injury. AND being in the news business means that when it snows, I'll be the idiot standing outside telling the viewers that temperatures are dangerously low and you should stay in. 

So I've had to adjust now that I have a very active and friendly 14 month old. No, there is no park to go to. But we go to Gymboree for a class, open gym and anything else they will invite us to. We pay 10 dollars at Bubbles Academy so she can run amuck indoors and literally bounce of it's padded walls. I go visit friends so that the girl can see other people her age. 

I hate every minute of the travel process, though.  I have to bundle her up and sit her in her car seat in a skiing jacket with a hood. We have a covered garage but if I sit her in the car without the coat, when I get to our destination, I could freeze her ass off just by opening the door to suit her up. She needs boots that she constantly wants to take off, plus mittens.

When I look at her in the back seat, the girl can barely move.  I give her a toy and just switching it from one hand to the other is a task. It's like strapping the Michelin man in a car seat. But true to form, she is not as miserable as I am. She either takes her pacifier and plays with or makes noises---her lips being the only muscles she can move.

According to my husband, children, himself included, have lived and thrived in this Siberian hell of the USA for centuries.  In other words, "island girl, get over it". I won't get over it, but I'll live through it for my beloved girl.  Next year, we are going to music class and even swimming classes.  The pool is indoors but you know I'll be blowing drying the crap out of my hair and hers before we get in the car. I think maybe we will both wear swimming caps. That won't embarrass her in the future. Ay Mama!

Is everyone pregnant?

Amelia and I went to Gymboree the other day for their open Gym session. Amelia went directly to this rolling platform, sat on it and pointed at the rope. I started pulling my precious cargo, when a boy decided to join her. I look up at his mom to see if it's OK that I take her son for a ride, and notice she was visibly pregnant. Then another boy got on the wagon and his mother was expecting as well.  A third child hopped on and I said, "sure, I'll pull you guys around. Everyone else is pregnant."  The latter boy's mother says, "that's funny I'm three months pregnant".  I looked around and almost every mother I could see had a belly.  So for 15 minutes, I did my duty and pulled those kids around the Gym. 

Better them than me.  I thought I wanted two in a row, but now even number two is in question. It's like this, when Amelia sleeps well I'm all for it. When she doesn't, I can't even imagine going through sleepless nights again. And these women having virtual twins...Wow! Hats off to them and their mental sanity.  They can always count on me to pull their oldest ones around the Gym. Ay Mama!

I started it

It was a Saturday evening and I put Amelia down at seven o'clock. She went out like a light but he was just starting. By he, I mean my neighbors dog. He has two: one old, one young. It was the young one. The one he introduced to Amelia face to face so he could smell her and not bark "because these are our neighbors." This was said to the four legged animal in that tone of voice reserved for babies.

I guess his Mommy and Daddy went out for the night and the dog sat at the door and barked for 5 hours. He only stopped to swallow I assume since his little throat must have gotten dry on account of the barking.

Amelia slept through the whole thing but I almost couldn't so when my baby woke up at 5:30AM, we put her by the door so she could cry her ass off and wake up the dog. I know it's childish but it made us feel better.

But that wasn't enough. Later that week I saw the neighbor and told him. He was out to walk his four legged babies and I said

"Did you go out Saturday night?"

"Yes."

"Oh, one of your dogs really missed you. He barked a lot that night."

"Really?"

"Don't worry, he didn't wake up the baby but I felt bad for him."

Bull crap. I felt bad for me and my neighbor knew it so he didn't even say the obligatory "sorry". He just said good bye as I left the elevator.

Fast forward to last Thursday. He got on the elevator with Amelia and I. He takes a look at my child and says

"You weren't the one crying this morning, were you?"

Touche my friend. I had it coming. Ay Mama!

I know that look

It was 5:50 AM and I was on my way to the car in our indoor garage. I immediately recognized the look. He was pushing the stroller in his pajamas up and down the garage. I took one look inside the stroller and gave him the good news "He's out". That poor man's reply was "Really??", his voice cracking in exhausted disbelief. He didn't even say thanks or good bye. He didn't have to. I felt his pain.

I shudder every time I think about it. Amelia fighting sleep and screaming her head off at 2 months old. I would get her in the stroller and the battle would begin. I went up and down the hallway staring down at my newborn who would in turn, stare up at me. She would be quiet but holding her eyes wide open with every lap. I went faster and faster covering my bare sholders with one of her blankets. I din't have the energy to put a robe on. The fight ensued for 20 minutes and I always won.

I think we have all done it. My friend Sylvia found herself roaming her building's lobby at 4AM with her restless twins. My friend Veronica would just leave the baby sleeping in the stroller, afraid to wake her after a marathon stroll off. I can picture all of us looking like "La llorona", the ghost of that crazy woman who lost her baby and would cry at night while she looked for her child.

Whoever that Dad was on Friday morning, I hope he made it upstairs with a sleeping baby. Lord knows I waited to turn on my car. I hope both him and his child got some rest. Ay Mama!

S.O.S. Holiday Travel

I need help. I'm taking a flight to spend Christmas week with my family in Puerto Rico. The flight is almost 5 hours long and we don't have a ticket for the baby. I shouldn't call her a baby. She's a 13 month old todler that weighs 25 pounds and measures 30.1 inches. Hence my fear of five hours with my adorable, friendly and very active Amelia jumping from her father's lap to mine, and screaming with delight at strangers.

We bought the tickets around May so we thought we could totally handle the lap ride. She was seven months then and had already traveled to PR twice, sleeping most of the flight. I know, rooky mistake on our part. The baby was bound to grow...a lot. It took a 2 hour flight to Florida at 9 months old to get us to buy a ticket for her on our next trip to the island in October. But December was booked already. It is what it is.

So I need suggestions. Amelia will be 15 months old in December and probably walking by then. She will watch a video on the DVD player but that's maybe 30 minutes. Plus she's too small to understand what the earphones are for, so we have to put the volume up for her. She's not used to sleeping on us anymore. She loves to just slide down from our laps to crawl all over the place. Confined spaces are not her thing. I know, you're happy you won't be sitting next to us.
My husband suggested we practice sitting on the couch for 4 and half hours with her and toys, dvd player and food. Funny, right? But we are desperate. Her pediatrician doesn't want us to go the Benadryl route which we would also have to practice since a lot of kids end up more excited than sleepy.

I'm hopping the plane is full of my fellow Puerto Rican families with little kids like mine and not evil people like the one traveler I encountered on my way back from Florida.
Your suggestions will be greatly appreciated. Ay Mama!

A weekend full of fluids

We were going to a wedding Saturday evening, so Operation Stealth Departure started around 6PM. My girlfriend Sandy was babysitting and for her sake I wanted to leave Amelia bathed and sleeping. So I had my hair and make up done but stayed in my shorts and tshirt so the baby had no idea what we were up to. Or so we thought.

Sandy showed up and Amelia embraced her presence without reservations. I followed the bed time routine as usual. Some milk and then bath time. On our way to the bath, Steve and I sang the Rocky themeto her as usual. Yes, it's riduculous but it's part of the plan. But this time, when we took the diaper off, she proceeded to pee on her Dad. Thankfully, it fell on his shorts so he didn't have to take another shower, but we think the kid was on to us and decided to pee on our plans.

Anyway, we bathed her and put her down. She was out like a light and we were on our way out. I went to clean the bathroom floor before I got dressed but the floor didn't get wet. I had left my slippers in there so I slipped into them. That's when I figured out where Amelia's fluids had fallen. So I went to this very chic wedding with my daughter's urine on my tights since they were the only pair of dark black tights I had. Lesson learned.

Then yesterday we are ready to go to brunch with our friends when I decided to take pictures of the girl in a cute outfit my aunt Marilu sent from Florida. Right after the third picture, she spits up on the outfit, hers and mine. So we change her but I loved the sweater I was wearing and notice that I was able to clean it up well. Or so I thought.

On our way to the restaurant, my perfume stopped masking that rotten milk smell of baby spit up. So there I was, a fashion statement who smelled like baby spit up. Ay Mama!

It's over

We tried it, but it's over. We stayed in the city thinking we could make it work, but even a trip to Target doesn't work. You just can't go shopping with a toddler. I don't mean the must do shopping when you run out of milk, I mean the "let's checkout what's new out there" kind of shopping.

Before Amelia was born and for her first 10 months of life, we lived around the corner from the Magnificent Mile of Chicago. We literally had the GAP flagship store 3 blocks down the street from us. So getting a fashionable scarf for the summer, paired perfectly with Amelia's afternoon stroll. If we needed a bitrthday gift, make up supplies or a new attachment for the computer, we could just put her in the stroller and run those errands in about half an hour. By the time she got restless, we would abort the mission and go home.

Last summer, we moved away from Michicagan Ave into the trendy but more residential South Loop. There's not one flagship store in sight. Nice restaurants, small boutiques which in many cases mean expensive. But according to everyone, the Magnificent Mile is a bus ride away.

So we stood at the bus stop for about fifteen minutes. Eventhough the kid had take two naps, she was immediatley restless. She's almost walking now so she hates being strapped to any seat. The bus that would take us shopping never came. Well. "let's take the car". So much for reducing our carbon footprint.

Naiively I thought we could find a parking spot downtown and if not, I would just drive Amelia around while Steve purchased a frying pan to make German pancakes. I told you it was leisure shopping. But as stated before, Amelia hates seatbelts and she complained all the way downton.

Next obstacle, parking. We found two spots but both were taken from under our noses. One guy was saving a spot for a friend, while another spot was open behind him, so he blocked two parking spots for us.

My husband was ready for a throw down, which was the next problem. You can't really fight with a baby in the car. I begged him and reminded him about his child in the car seat. He obliged but then got angrier because I didn't let him curse someone out. So he drove like a mad man, honking the horn at old ladies slowly crossing the street (just kidding, but there was a lot of horn honking). Picture this, Amelia whining, Steve honking and I'm getting dissy thanks to the reckless driving.

He finally says "let's go home". To what I answered, "It's over. Let's go home and shop on the Internet like every other parent we know". Ay Mama!