Stop! Meggo Time!

Time off totally rocks. I cannot even begin to express how much fun it is to lay in bed with Meg and just watch her grow. Really, I can see it happening. We wake up in the morning, and she has a bottle. Then I get her dressed and lay her on her activity mat while I take a shower. She LOVES that thing. This week she has started reaching for the toys, and talking to herself in the mirror. I am pretty sure that means she will be a Fulbright scholar.


I am absolutely amazed at how low key she is. Really, I think adopting saved us a lot of headaches. I know any child with my genes would not be this calm or thoughtful. Despite the lack of shared genes, I have no doubt this is my kid. The other day her Grandpa (my Dad) was telling her he is the funniest man she will ever meet. She responded by loudly filling her diaper. I think that made him love her even more.

My favorite time of the day right now is "tummy time." I have read that is is supposed to annoy babies into crawling, but Meg just sees it as a time to suck on her arms. She has also come to know it as her daily "photo shoot"

See how she poses? Really, she was made for the camera -- which is good since she is most likely the single most photographed baby in the world right now.

Oh, how I love her.

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Sally Takes a Stand

We knew Sally wasn't thrilled about the baby. We had watched as she tried to ignore Meg's presence, and moved away as if burned by acid whenever the baby just happened to be placed in close proximity to her. However, we assumed that since she hadn't really been acting out, that Sally was just adjusting, and that soon all would be right with the world.

Well, the acting out has begun.

At first it was barking. Sally has never been a particularly vocal dog, but since Meg came home she has been barking at everything. The mailman. The yappy dog next door. Any visitors. The cats. Ryan. If something moves, she now barks at it. We are working on shushing her, but so far that is not working.

Next, she started being a jerk on walks. Before this time, Sally was the best dog to take on walks ever. She would walk without a leash and stay with us, or, if she had to be on a leash, not strain or pull. Those days are over. Now, if she is off the leash, she is off the leash. That mans she runs ahead, and back, and into the street. I can't decide if she is trying to run away or just trying to end it all. Since her new behavior means she is on the leash a lot more, we have also noticed that when she doesn't want to walk, due to laziness or a delicious smelling patch of grass, she will practically pull her head off trying to get out of the collar. We may have to get a halter collar just so we can walk her without risking doggy asphyxia.

As bad as the barking and the walking are though, we figured we were getting off easy. After all, Sally's current bad behaviors were nothing compared to those of the past. Or so we thought. When we came home the other night we found this...
That is my Blackberry. Or at least what is left of it. Don't you love how she very carefully peeled off the protective skin to make sure she got to the electronics? I sure do. I also loved how she had hidden the pieces that had come off by stuffing them down between the couch cushions. How thoughtful. Believe it or not, everything on it still works. It's just not as pretty and has more sharp edges than it used to.

When I found my Blackberry I instantly assumed that more damaged had to have been wrought, and went straight to our bedroom where I had left out Meg's activity mat and several toys. None of them were touched. Not even the little bug that emits a squeaking noise that makes Sally salivate. And then I got it. Of course Sally isn't going to eat the baby's stuff, because her problem isn't with the baby. It's with us.

It was hard to be mad at her after that. I mean, I was, and I still am, but I understand. We have treated her like the baby, and now that we have a baby we are expecting her to roll over and play dog. That's not fair. I think we need to work on better family integration. For instance, last night we made sure to pay attention to Sally while Meg was with us, to show her she is not always in second place. It may sound silly, like we are crazy dog people, but it's important that every person and thing living here is comfortable. Otherwise they act out, and that makes everyone unhappy.

Also, we can't afford any more new phones.

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Retro Politics

I love living in Utah. I was born here, raised here, and moved back here after living away because I like it here so much. The scenery is spectacular, the cost of living is low, the liquor laws are not half as weird as the rest of the world thinks they are, and, for the most part, the Mormons exercise don't bug people who don't bug them. It's a nice place to live. Over the past five years, with the election of Jon Huntsman Jr. to the position of Governor, it got even nicer. Despite his Republican status, Huntsman pushed for equal rights for everyone, even gays and lesbians, the loosening of liquor laws, and energy efficiency in order to battle global warming. Sadly, those days are over now.

Earlier this summer Huntsman was tapped to take the post of U.S. Ambassador to China. He took the job, leaving the state in the hands of previous Lieutenant Governor Gary Herbert. I swear that the day Herbert was sworn in to office the calendars here in the state turned back to 1986. You see, Herbert is not only a good old boy, he is the king of the good old boys. He is a big believer in "traditional family values" -- most of which were last updated when Reagan was in office.

He still likes Ike.

Today Herbert showed his true colors for the first time. During a press conference he said he thought giving gays and lesbians legal protection from discrimination was "going too far." He said that while he supports protecting people due to their gender, religion, or race, the line has to be drawn somewhere, or else we will end up giving protected status to everyone, even those with "blonde hair and blue eyes." Yeah, that's similar.

The gay issue is only the tip of the iceberg. Herbert has said in the past that he doesn't believe in global warming. He has also said he supports economic growth in the state, which could include increasing mining rights. Oh, and he has said that he doesn't want to raise taxes, but would rather find ways to cut programs -- like education. Basically he is saying that he wants to undo anything progressive that has happened not only under Huntsman, but under his predecessor (an education supporter) as well.

Surprisingly, I am not mad at Herbert about any of this. I am actually pissed at Huntsman.

You see, Herbert has never pretended to be anything but what he is. If he could have had a sash made that read "good old boy" I am sure that he would have. Yet, Huntsman, a progressive, picked him as his running mate -- and then left him in charge. He had to know that all of his pet causes, the environment, equal rights, would be crushed under the wheels of Herbert's RV, yet he walked away. Oh, and as he walked away he promised he was leaving the state in good hands. Well, I guess they are good. You know, in the ways reruns of "Leave it to Beaver" are good.

Maybe though, this is Huntsman's last progressive act. Maybe he knows what will happen when Utahns have a taste of what could be, and then have it taken away. Maybe he's really a closet Democrat.

At least I hope that's what it is. It's the only way I will make it until the special election in 2010. By then I am almost positive acid wash denim will have come back in style. After all, it only fits...

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Our Song

I used to be a classically trained singer. No, I'm not kidding. Starting from the time I was 11, until I was in my mid-20's I took vocal lessons and sang everything from show tunes to opera. I was the annoying kid who sang solos you had to sit though in church. I was the lead in the school play. I was the only member of my college acting cohort who got excited when we did musical theater. And I was the one who supported myself as a singing waiter when I moved to San Francisco after school. Again, not kidding.

I stopped singing in public when I moved to Washington D.C. Lessons were too expensive, and no one really cared if a television producer could sing. I kept singing around the house though, and looked forward to the day I would have a baby to sing to as I rocked her to sleep.

Now she is here, and I have found it hard to know what song to sing.

I don't like lullabies. Sure, they sound pretty, but most of them are about gross commercialism, unlucky insects, babies falling out of trees, or lost love. In my imagination, I have always sung show tunes to my baby. I love them, and have known every word to most of the standards since I was a little kid. However, when I look down at Meg, the words go out of my head. I hate to say it, but I don't think she is a Broadway baby.

Actually, when I look at Meg few lyrics come to me. Few words too. She renders me dumb because I am so in awe of her. I think it happens to all parents. I mean, doesn't that explain baby talk? It isn't that adults want to talk down to babies, they just go stupid around them and can't do anything but babble. I think that's the reason one of the only songs I have been able to remember all the words to is "Witch Doctor." You know, the one that goes "Ooo, eee, ooo, ah, ah, ding, dang, walla, walla, bing bang." Yeah, it's just random sounds to a tune -- perfect for someone who has temporarily lost all knowledge.

Today though, I think I found a song. It's from an artist I have always liked, but not loved. It was the free download on iTunes last week, and came on randomly when we were driving to pick up Luke at school. Meg was in the back, and kind of getting fussy. When this song came on though, she stopped. And since then, every time I start to sing to Meg, this is the song that comes out of my mouth.



Isn't it a beautiful song? It has the nonsense sounds that I am, by now, very good at making, and it has a positive message that has nothing to do with mining deaths, or sheep love. Of course, it could change tomorrow, and I could go back to singing the grocery list, or making up songs like "who is a baby head."

Right now though? Meg and I are caught up, and enjoying our song.

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Too Big to Care

I am not a fan of chain restaurants. It isn't that I don't like the food, or think I am "above" eating in them; I love drive thru burritos, and chicken Ceasar wraps that are the same from coast to coast. Oh, and don't even get me started on how Happy Meals have saved my life when with nieces and nephews. No, it isn't the food that gets me, or the atmosphere for that matter, canned as it may be, since I like clean places, and chains are usually the cleanest. No, what gets me is the fact that most chains have crappy customer service, because they aren't required to do any better. After all, a company with millions of customers, even in this economy, isn't required to care about one or two. Or, in this case, fourteen.

My husband comes from a large family that tries to get together at least once a month. Due to the large number of people, and varying tastes, that usually means we end up at one of the many chains that populate Utah. Yesterday, to meet to review pictures from Grandpa's 80th birthday party, the choice was Olive Garden. That is when I learned that hell serves delicious breadsticks.

With a party the size of ours we usually try to make a reservation. However, the OG does not accept them. They don't even want to be warned. When I called I was told they were "never busy at that time" and that I "shouldn't worry." Nevertheless, my husband and I got to the restaurant 15 minutes early, only to find his sister was already there, and had put our name in. The wait was supposed to be less than a half an hour. We thought we were golden.

Then an hour went by, and the real adventure began.

I could go into details here, but I won't. Suffice to say, there were many, many excuses, my minor blow up asking for the name of the regional manager, and three, count them, THREE, free appetizers. Then there were lost orders, long waits, mixed up dinners, and a family member left to watch as we all ate and then asked him to put his dinner in a box because the kids were about to explode.

At the end of the meal I walked out ahead of the family because I thought I was about to explode. And that's when I noticed it: nobody cared. It wasn't just the restaurant treating customers shabbily, it was the other way around as well. I overheard two waitresses talking about how they had been stiffed by mid-size parties. I saw a couple simply walk away from an enormous amount of food debris left on the floor by their toddler. And I saw a table of teenagers run their fingers over their glasses, creating that galling, high pitched noise, despite the fact it was obviously bothering other diners. That's when it came to me: no one cares. If it is a chain, no one thinks they are accountable for their behavior. Everyone believes they are anonymous, and absorbed into the crowd, and therefore have no real responsibility.

It almost makes me think that Locavores should stop pushing the global warming issue, and start pushing the manners issue. Of course, what do I know? I am only one person, and the Olive Garden certainly won't miss me. And as long as I eat at other restaurants owned by their parent corporation they won't care.

Should we?

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Melon of Destiny

One of the high points of the summer is the annual float down the Provo River. It's two and a half hours of beer drinking, trash talking relaxation that gives Ryan, me, and all of our friends a chance to forget the fact that the rest of the time we are parents, teachers, professionals, and all around adults. Every year it takes weeks to plan, negotiating everyone's schedules, and babysitters and such. Every year the entire time we are on the river we talk about how we should do it more than once a summer. And every year, it never does.

It used to be that after the float we would head to a dive bar in Heber for burgers and beers. However, as the crowd has grown that has gotten harder, so now we contain the mayhem to a park at the base of the canyon. Everyone brings something to share. This year, Ryan and I decided to bring watermelon. But this was no ordinary watermelon. This watermelon had a special purpose.

The night before the float Ryan decided that the melon needed to be more than just a cold tasty treat at the end of a cold float. It needed to be a symbol. To that end he pulled out a Sharpie and wrote in large block letters "Provo '09." Then he boldly signed it. His plan was this: he would have everyone on the trip sign it, and then it would float down the river with us. By the time it got to the bottom it would be ice cold and taste of victory. I was skeptical, and so decided to make things more interesting: I promised that if he got the watermelon all the way down the river in one piece I would give him 20 dollars, and perform a certain "adult act" on the bank of the river. I would say more, but I have a daughter now, so you can use your imagination.

Things didn't start off well for Ryan. The melon went into the water, and he was shepherding it along, when I decided it might be a good idea to try and drown. I fell off my inner tube and into the water, smashing my body into a bridge pylon. Then I decided that it wouldn't be a good idea for Meg's Mom to be the first story on the 10pm news, remembered I am a pretty strong swimmer, and pulled myself up. By that time though, Ryan had already dropped the melon, and it was floating off down stream.

For the next seven miles every time we passed a fisherman we would asked if they had seen the watermelon. They all had, and a few even tried to stop it, but it had gotten away. I was disappointed, because I like watermelon, and I was embarrassed that my stupidity had caused it to get away, but I was glad I was going to be able to maintain my dignity and avoid being arrested for public indecency.

And then, I saw it.

I was floating by myself, down river from the group, when I spotted it about 50 yards ahead, stuck in an eddy. I didn't know what to do. Should I grab it? Smash it? Try to get it into my tube? Then I noticed Ryan right behind of me, and knew what I needed to do.

I swam towards it, easily reaching it because of the section of calm water, and put it into the center of my tube. Ryan floated up beside me and stood up, coming to a stop. "Oh, good, you found it," he said. I nodded. And then I picked it up, held it over my head, and launched it downstream. "I could go after it," he said, "but I bet it just gets stuck again. I'll find it."

He didn't.

When we go to the bottom and realized the watermelon was nowhere to be found I was actually kind of sad. I mean, I knew I had to protect my interests, but I still thought it would have been fabulous if the melon had managed to make it, if only for the stories we would tell later. And I was pretty sure Ryan would take his prize privately at home, since he likes his stature as a respected educator.

Well, there's always next year.

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Pretty Baby

There are many advantages to adopting. I didn't didn't fat because I was pregnant, I got fat because I was enjoying eating and drinking. Ryan can share in the late night feedings because I am not the food bag. I don't have to worry that the baby has gotten any of our crazy genes. Oh, and when people compliment what a beautiful baby she is I can just say "I know."

I think most biological parents, at least the ones I know, feel strange when their babies are complimented on their looks. They have to throw in something like "well, she has her Dad's weird chin" or "at least she doesn't look like me." With Meg, Ryan and I have no stake in the looks department, we had nothing to do with it, so we can just sit back and bask in her glory. And, really, she is glorious.

Meg was pretty at birth, with beautiful skin and clear eyes, but as she has grown she has gotten even better looking. Her skin is luminous and changes colors with the light. It goes from dark cocoa in the morning to toffee in full sun. Her hair is curly and silky, and goes into perfect ringlets after her bath or when we put the hair oil on it. Her eyes go from grayish blue to hazel, and her smile, oh, her smile. The first time she flashed it at me (awake) was yesterday, and I was so overwhelmed that I started to cry. Honestly, Meg's smile is the reason Obama's health care meeting went so well in Montana. And that was just over Skype.

Really, I feel bad for other babies. Sometimes I worry about taking Meg out because grandmothers who see her ask if they can get pictures to replace pictures of their ugly grandchildren. Other babies try to pull their little hats over their faces to avoid comparison. Ryan insists we only drive her in the car with the tinted windows because her cuteness might distract other drivers and cause accidents. Oh, and I can say all this without sounding vain, because she looks nothing like me.

Oh, and she's smart too. I can't tell you how I know, because I don't want to start a bidding war between Harvard and Yale so early. Also, the CIA has expressed interested. I mean, someone so cute and so smart? Especially now that Robert Novak can't blow her cover? World peace could be coming soon.

Of course, I could be biased.

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Movie Mama

Since I am, for the next four weeks, lady of leisure, I am doing what I think ladies of leisure do. I am not talking about the diaper changing, or the wearing nothing but sweatpants and oversize t-shirts, although I am sure that some of the really, really cool ladies of leisure are do those things. I also am not talking about drinking early in the day, since I am a lady of leisure who would like to keep custody of my daughter. No, I am talking about that time honored lady of leisure tradition of the mid-day movie.

Now, I know that most leisure ladies put on fancy gloves and go to the cinema, but they aren't attached to an eight pound one ounce eating machine, which puts a definite damper on that plan. So, instead of heading to the Bijou or the Avalon, I am utilizing Redbox and Netflix to get my film fix. I had no idea how many films I hadn't seen. I had seen their trailers, and thought I wanted to see them, but never gotten around to it. I had thought about renting them, and in a few cases had, but never gotten around to watching them, because something non-leisurely always came up. Of course, now I have at least three hours a day when I am being used as a mattress, so I have time to indulge. No, they may not be consecutive hours, but that is what the pause button it for.

Today's movie was "He's Just Not That Into You." Yeah. It should have been called "All People Are Shitheads And It is Amazing the Human Race Has Not Died Out Yet." I didn't like, or sympathize with, any of the characters (except maybe the pathetic girl), and the only thing I got out of it is the extreme satisfaction that I am not dating in the Facebook age. It also made me never want Meg to date -- at least not until I am dead. I don't know what I was expecting though. The movie was based on a book by a guy who looks like a porcupine mated with a douchecake.

Oh, well, never mind. Luckily, that is not the only time I will have for a movie before September 14th. Does anyone have any suggestions? Just remember it has to be a movie appropriate to discuss over cucumber sandwiches with my other leisurely friends. I mean, if I happen to bump into any of them. In my living room. At 9am. Wearing sweatpants.

Oh, and nothing with Lindsey Lohan. I don't want to scare Meg.

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Time is Finite

Today is the first day of my four weeks of family leave, and I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am. Not only do I get to stay home with my daughter, but I get to take care of a long "to do" list. After all, idle hands are a devil's workshop!

There is so much to be done that I haven't been able to get to since Meg was born. I need to clean out my closet. I need to clean out her closet (believe it or not she has already outgrown some clothes). I need to tidy the yard and put stuff out for the yearly clean up. I need to clean out the basement and take stuff to the thrift store. I need to clean and Scotchguard the rugs. Oh, and don't even get me started on how many thank you notes I need to write and the baby book I need to start/finish And I need to do it all NOW.

I am sure that some of you are wondering why I am planning to do so much when what I really should be doing is spending time with my daughter. Don't worry, I'm doing that too. After all, I am pretty sure that my going back to work so soon after her birth has had an impact on her intellectual growth. We will be having symposiums every day on fine literature and motor skills in order to make up for lost time. I think if we really work at it she could be walking and/or talking by the time I return to the office.

I might also try to fit in a class on overcoming unrealistic expectations, but I am not sure yet.

Of course, I could just do what I did today: lay on the bed and watch Meg sleep. Then feed her. Then make googly faces at her. Repeat.

We'll see.

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An Open Letter to Brad Pitt

Dear Brad Pitt,

The next time Ann Curry asks you to do an interview, I think you should refuse. Better yet, I think I you should get a restraining order. You see, I am pretty sure she is stalking you.

I, involuntarily, watch the Today Show every morning. I have to. It's either that or watch traffic cameras. I guess I could watch nothing, but then I would have to keep track of time by watching the clock, and that's too far away for my old eyes. Maybe I should get lasik. But that's not important. What is important is that I observe Ann Curry in almost every annoying moment she is on television. And let me tell you, there is something about interviewing you, or talking about interviewing you that makes her downright creepy.

You can see it first in the eyes. They get a little bulgy. You can see white on all the edges. And she stops blinking, like if she closes her eyes for a second she might miss some of your radiance. Her eyebrows go up too, as if she is trying to make more room to for her eyes to look at you. As Tara says it's "like she's trying to give him an ocular blow job." Yeah, that sounds gross, BECAUSE IT IS.

Her posture changes too, like she is reverting back into junior high girl mode. She crosses her hands, but not too much, because in case you make a move like you want to touch her, she wants to be ready. Oh, and when you do move towards her? She leans in and her hands snap at you like a Venus fly trap. I'm surprised you haven't lost a finger.She has her hand on your ass, doesn't she?

I'm surprised you haven't thought of this before. I mean, haven't you ever wondered why they don't send Meredith or Matt to interview you? You're a huge star, and yet the only person who ever interviews you is the fourth banana. Even Roker is more impressive! I think they all want to interview you, but that they are scared of Ann. No one wants to cross the crazy lady in the office. That's how yogurts get poisoned. Trust me on that one.

I know you need your ego stroked. It feels good when a national television show begs you for time and is willing to cover any of your projects, no matter how ridicuous or self serving. I'm sure Good Morning America would be willing to fawn all over you though, and those reporters probably aren't lurking in your bushes.

Really, check your bushes. Oh, and tell Angie to watch her back too. She may look Asian, but I am betting Curry has a bit of "Single White Female" in her.

Love your work, even "Cool World."

Best wishes,

Libby

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Babies Are The Answer

Having a baby is awesome. You would not believe how much stuff I can get away with now. I can be late, look horrible, not return phone calls or emails, and mumble incoherently, but no one cares as long as I blame it on the baby. The baby was up all night. The baby has so much stuff it is difficult to get out of the house on time. The baby wanted to go for hot wings and beers. As long as I start my excuse with the words "the baby" no one listens to the rest of the sentence, and if I actually have Meg with me I don't even need to start talking.

Meg is more than just a permanent excuse though., she is also the perfect gift for the person who has everything. No, I am not giving my baby away, then I wouldn't be able to use her as an excuse any more. Rather, I am giving away adorable pictures of her away. I mean, no one is going to say they don't love a picture of this beautiful girl. Relatives? Friends? Ryan? All are getting Meg related gifts. And thanks to Kodak Gallery when I am done with pictures I can move on to Meg key chains, Meg mouse pads, Meg puzzles, and Meg t-shirts -- all of which will have to be updated as Meg gets bigger and changes more. I will never have to set foot in a mall again thanks to this kid. Maybe I'll get her a fleece throw with her face on it to say thank you.

Meg could also be the answer to all of our money worries for the rest of our lives. Well, not just Meg, but babies in general. You see, I think I have found a way to harness their cuteness for my monetary gain. One word: Babycam. Picture it, a web site where people can go day or night, and gaze on adorable babies. No crying babies, no angry babies, just cute, cuddly, smiley babies. I know brilliant. Really, I think the only thing I need to decide is whether or not to make this a subscription site, or if it will make enough money with ads alone. Those LOL cats better watch their backs.

Okay, I gotta go. I would write a better wrap up to this post, but the baby needs me. I'm sure you understand.

Awesome.

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One Month

From this:To this:
What a difference a month makes. She doesn't even look like the same baby. And she doesn't do her changing gradually. There have been a couple of days when we have gone to get her up in the morning and been sure that someone had replaced our baby with another one over night.

When Meg was born I bought a notebook, thinking I would write a note to her every day. I wrote the last one on July 13th. I am finding that being with a baby leaves very little time to think about and analyze the experience. I have a pile of items sitting on top of her baby book, but I haven't found the time to put them in. The big video camera still has not been used, because in the moment we have just been using our little cameras, or phones. For someone who makes her living reporting news, I am not doing the best job documenting the biggest event of my life. Hell, it's hard enough to blog something other than cute pictures and the words "wook at dat wittle baybee."

Okay, so here is what I know about our baby after a month... Meg is now at least two pounds and two inches bigger than she was at birth. She has gotten better at eating, and now will suck down a full four ounce bottle in one feeding, rather than taking four one ounce feedings. She is still a champion sleeper, and usually goes between three and five hours before waking at night. When she is up though, she wants to be UP. She wants to look around, and sing songs, and play with her hands and anything else near her face.

She is still pretty serious, staring more intently than wonderingly at things. My Mom says it is too early to tell anything about her personality, but I think she's more of a thoughtful rather than playful girl. The only time I really see her playful side is when my Dad is holding her. Her face softens, and her eyes lock on to his face. He claims he even got a smile once, though my Mom assures him that was just gas, because Meg's first smile is most certainly for her.

I don't really care if Meg's first smile is aimed at me. I think there will be plenty of smiles for everyone. I am sure that there will be plenty of words, and actions, and steps, and moments as well. I am excited to be there for all of them. I am not wishing for time to move any faster though, because it is already going fast enough.

A month. Damn. I should at least figure out where I put her umbilical stump. Just kidding, I know exatctly where it is. I mean, unless Sally ate it...

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Ten Years Later

That picture was taken ten years ago today, on my 25th birthday. The guy in it, Murphy, I am happy to say is still my friend. I still have that dress, even though it doesn't fit the way it used to. Those are pretty much the only things that are still the same in my life. I don't live in the same city, I don't work in the same industry, I don't even have the same hair color. Am I happier? Most definitely. Smarter? I couldn't get much dumber than I was when I was 25. Better? I like to think so, but I do have my moments of regression. For all the things I have gained though, there are times I wish I could go back to being that girl. I thought I had life by the balls, and that I could do anything. I didn't worry about time, because I had plenty of it. I figured I had plenty of times to make and accomplish all kinds of goals.

Yeah, I didn't do that.

The 25 year old in my office says she has a whole list of goals, and dates she wants to accomplish them by. I admire her, and not in a "want to drink her blood to remain young" way. I will admire her even more if she gets any of them done within the given time frame. After all, one thing that I have learned in the past decade is that the one way to make sure something doesn't happen is to plan on it. I mean, sure there are those Horatio Alger stories of hard work and determination paying off, but most of the time dumb luck and timing play a big part. Anyone who tells you otherwise is probably trying to sell you a self help book.

Look at that girl above. She has no idea that she is about to move back to Utah to get her Masters degree. She has no idea that while in Utah her plans to move back to D.C. after grad school will be derailed when she meets the love of her life and decides being with him is the only thing she wants to do. She has no clue that all the birth control she is taking is useless, because to have a daughter she will have to adopt. And she had no idea that she will love that baby girl so much that even blogging about her makes her tear up. She has no idea how lucky she is. Of course, if you told her about all of that she probably would think none of that sounded very lucky at all. That's where the dumb thing comes in.

I guess what I am trying to say is that while youth and goals are great, just living life and appreciating it is better.

Wow, maybe I SHOULD write a self-help book... I will put it on my goal list.

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Taking a Shower

I am not a fan of baby showers. The stupid games, the precious cupcakes, the watered down drinks, really, not my scene. Don't get me wrong, I like throwing them, but mainly because I enjoy torturing my closest friends. There is nothing like watching these women, for once fattter than me, sweat as they wear used wrapping paper on their heads in festive "hats." Also, I like cupcakes.

Today though, we were given our first baby shower, by the lovely people at Ryan's school, and I have to say, I really loved it.

Since Meg was born we have been innudated with gifts. Trust me, I have the list of thank you notes to prove it. However, tonight it was about more than just the gifts, it was about the celebration. Everyone there was just so glad to see us, and to see Meg. It wasn't like people coming to visit us at home, because no one felt they were intruding, because it wasn't our home. They felt they could just sit and enjoy Meg. And we could enjoy it too. I finally got it. And I enjoyed some hummus and little quiches.

Of course, the gifts were nice too. We got a lot of books, but also so awesome clothes. I had no idea teachers were so stylish. My sister took pictures of us opening the gifts, but I look like I just gave birth, so we'll skip those. Instead, check out Meg modeling some of the loot...

Yeah, she looks awesome. Ryan said that I should't use our daughter for laughs, but Sally was all for it. She actually picked out the shoes...

Seriously though (and I say that much too much now) we are so blessed for out community who loves us, loves Meg, and wants to celebrate our new family. Oh, and thank god they always bring booze...

Don't worry, we'll wash them out before we use them for Meg. No, really, we will...

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Saying Thanks

Wow, Meg has really raked in the gifts. In the past three weeks my friends and family have really proved they are not the cheap bastards I make them out to be. They have sent clothes, and shoes, diapers, and toys, books and thousands of pairs of extremely tiny socks. Ryan and I have cooed over every new item, lovingly laundered them, and found homes for every single one in our increasingly crowded tiny house. Oh, and each and every gift has been cataloged, along with the sender, so that a thank you note can be sent.

Now, if the world were fair, Meg would be the one writing all of these notes. After all, none of this stuff fits me. However, we all know that nothing in this world is fair, and therefore Meg will not be writing a damn word until she is at least 18 months, and then she will probably be too busy working on her memoirs to be bothered with thank you notes. So, it is falling to me.

I am not really a fan of thank you notes. I think they are a huge pain in the ass. I don’t even really like receiving them. When I receive one I normally glance at it and then toss it in the trash. I think that most people do the same. However, if I don’t get a thank you note for a gift, I get peeved. Again, I think most people feel the same. After all, thank you notes are one of the few things that separate us from the animals. Well, that and the lack of butt sniffing. And so, I will write.

I think the biggest problem is that I never know how much is enough, and how much is too much when it comes to the note. I know that it has to be longer than “Thanks, sucka,” and shorter than a treatise on the first time Meg soiled the item in question (and I am pretty sure she will soil them all at some point). Where is the fine line though? Should half the card be filled? All of it? Just the section below the printed greeting? Above it? I am never quite sure.

In addition, there is the fact that my handwriting it far from stellar. In fact, today someone who won’t be named referred to my penmanship as “Navy Seal like.” That’s actually one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about it. I don’t want to scare the person I am trying to thank by sending them a card filled with writing that looks like it came from a ransom note. I imagine people opening their cards, seeing all of that handwriting filling the page, and vowing never to send another gift, so they don’t have to be assaulted by my writing again.

In all honesty, sincerity, and a touch of exhaustion, I am glad to send these notes. With each one of them I realize just how wonderful our community is, and how much they love and support our girl and us. Nothing I will write and place in a small envelope will ever adequately express my feelings.

Now, I gotta write a man about a duck. A duck bank, that is. It’s really nice…

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My Brilliant Idea

Have you ever noticed how lots of great books in children's literature are based around parents who pick completely inappropriate care givers for their kids? Think about it. Good Dog Carl. The Cat in the Hat. Peter Pan. In all of those books children are left in the care of the family pet, or a demented animal who just shows up on the doorstep. And we all LOVE those books. We read them over, and over again, and give them to children as birthday presents. In fact, I don't think there are enough of them, and there definitely aren't enough that are based on real events. I plan to remedy that though, as I start on my new life's work: Meg and Sally: Tales of Dog and Baby.

Think of it: the real life adventures of a dog and baby left home together while their parents work to pay for formula and dog treats. Oh, the adventures they will have! The messes they will make! The lessons they will learn! And all will be well illustrated and sold in hardback keepsake first edition books that will help pay for college, and therapy. We will be killing two birds with one stone since I have always wanted to write a book, and we have to find someone to look after Meg. Because, let me tell you, right now neither of those aspects is going very well.

I am really beginning to think that there is no ideal child care situation out there. All of the "best" daycare centers have huge waiting lists that people must have gotten on before they even met their mate. Also, the idea of a daycare center freaks me out. They are like baby farms, and there are so many kids packed into each of them that the idea of avoiding colds and flus is unheard of. Oh, and if that isn't bad enough, they each cost a small fortune. Plus, most of them have really stupid names. I may be snobby, but I am not sending my child to a place called the "Kids Korral," no matter how many PhDs in child development they have working there. If the staff is so smart, shouldn't they know how to spell?

Another option is to find a daycare in a private home, which I would prefer, if everyone and their dog didn't have some kid of horror story about it. Kids left to watch television all day. Kids fed nothing but toast and off brand cheese puffs. Kids ignored and left to cry in playpens, Oh, and those are the stories of places people would recommend.

Of course, we could just get a Nanny. I don't know though, the idea of a Nanny freaks me out. I don't know if I could hire someone I would trust enough to leave alone in my house, with my kid, and all of my stuff. I think every time I came home I would look for things that had been moved, or toyed with. I guess we could get a Nannycam, but that just seems to prove my point.

All of this, of course, brings me back to Sally. I trust her. I love her. I know she won't go through the medicine cabinet, because she doesn't have thumbs. I know she won't expose the baby to lots of germs, because she doesn't know a lot of people. I know she doesn't have a criminal history, and doesn't care for television. And I know she would never hurt Meg. So, here is the plan. Starting Monday I will fit her with a vest, covered in bottles. I will smear Meg's face in peanut butter so she wants to be close to her. I will lay Meg on a blanket, and let them get close. Meg will eat, Sally will eat, they can both sleep, and I can go to work. The basis of a new literary classic will be be born.

Man, sometimes I am awed by my brilliance. I think the Division of Child Services will be awed as well...

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