Things I Miss While At Work

Bath time.

Otter is undressed, ready to go.

Susana realizes the bath is in backwards, and puts Otter down so she can fix it.

Otter uses this time to pee on the floor.

She then takes our blue kitchen towel and starts wiping the floor.

Pumped Up

I should know better than to expect the indignities to stop just because I'm quickly coming round the 1-year bend with Otter. And after the flight over, I figured karma owed me. And while nothing quite beats the airplane bathroom fiasco, SB is by no means letting me coast.

For the past 3 days she's been adjusting to her new surroundings by having replaced my normally crazy-independent, easy-going kid with a needy, clingy alien who has suctioned herself on to my legs, begging to be held 24/7 and crying dramatically if I so much as go out of sight-line.

I shouldn't be too hard on her - I get her confusion of being in a new place with new people while her dad and dog have inexplicably disappeared. I am her only constant and she'll be damned if she falls for the blink and miss it trap. Still, after living for close to 12 months with a baby who happily crawls off to a different room to entertain herself, it's a bit unsettling to suddenly spend time with a child who falls into hysterics if I go to the bathroom (which, I'm sad to say, I can't seem to do alone any more) without her.

But the coup de grace came today, as I valiantly tried to begin prepping milk bottles for our return journey. With my mother and aunt sitting on the bed to keep SB from exploring her way over the edge, I pumped, while attempting to keep up the nonchalant banter that was supposed to distract them from the fact that I am sitting on a bed with my boob attached to a mechanically whirring suction cup.

And I would have pulled it off too, had Otter not seen the pump, and gotten terribly concerned at the destination of the milk (which was clearly not going to her mouth). She voiced her displeasure by rather vigorously climbing into my lap and giving the invasive pump some light pushes. In bar culture, this should have been a sign to the offending pump to get the fuck out of dodge, before things got really, really serious. For my part, I wasn't willing to be put off my goal by a pissy baby (since it'll take several sessions to reach my 6-hour flight quota as it is). Some mediation was clearly needed.

Like a skilled diplomat, I assessed the situation: baby wants boob (for proprietary, not nutritional reasons); pump needs boob; baby willing to kick the living daylights out of pump to get boob; me unwilling to lose drops of milk literally wrung from my body by some territoriality. It looked dire.

Solution? Keep pumping the full boob while giving Otter access to the other one. Continue to remind self that this isn't for ever, and I'm doing a good thing by donating my body to others. Be interrupted from self-congratulatory musings by baby who, annoyed by the fact that the pump still seems to be coming out the winner, uses her 2 rather sizable bottom teeth to deliver her message. Watch as aunt flees the room. Refrain from cursing. Plan drunk-fest for the day I'm done nursing. Keep chatting with mom.

So, whatchya gonna throw at me next world?

Father's Day

There's nothing like the love and devotion of a dad, and it's an important bond to nurture. So much so that Hallmark has decreed a holiday, to remind us of the gravity of the father-figure situation. No matter how dubious we find the whole observance to be, there's little we can do but step in line and pay homage.

(Which is not to imply that I undervalue the immense contribution, or make light of recognizing it, father of Otter, if you are actually reading my blog.) So with much ado, I set forth to commemorate Bree's first Dad's Day.

We brunched, we toasted, we opened gifts. In Otter's case, we ripped up wrapping paper and set off for a nap. We even got a call from my dad (who has long ago written off the whole FD sham as bunk) to congratulate Bree. "This is the most important Father's Day you'll ever have," said my dad sagely. 'Cause he knows.

"That's right," I jumped in. "I hope you're not expecting any of this crap next year..."

Otter Gets Democratic

Today, Otter accompanied me to our local polling place to begin what we hope is her lifelong involvement in the electoral process. While she wasn't the only infant there, she was certainly the youngest (I said, gloating just a little).

It's hard to say what she thought of the whole thing, since she hung listlessly, dead asleep in her Bjorn through the whole endeavor. Still, she displayed her "I Voted" sticker proudly. And I would have gotten a picture of that, but my camera is out of batteries and I have NO idea where the replacement AA's are.

Ah, motherhood.

Image by √oхέƒx™

Father's Day

I know that it's way early for Father's Day, and in fact, I rarely actually commemorate the event, snobbishly deeming it a Hallmark Holiday.

But my father is ill, and in bringing him Otter as an offering, I hope it will speed his recovery.

Otter: 2 Months; Great Grandma: 96

My grandmother turns 96 on October 28th. With so many birthdays under her belt, it's become increasingly difficult to find presents. I mean, how many sets of dominoes and pairs of slippers can you get someone before they realize that you're either going through the motions or completely out of ideas? Add to that my lack of gift-giving skill (I'm one of those people who regularly thinks of the perfect present to give someone, only to forget it 2 minutes later) and the dilemma becomes virtually insurmountable.

But this year, we decided to give Grandma a baby.

Sure, it took some advance planning, 9 months of heiferdom, surgery, 8 weeks (and counting) of interrupted sleep, and a 3000 mile trip, and not that we're counting - but come on...admit it - we had the BEST gift there! Which is a blessing. And a curse. I mean, we are SO screwed for next year...

Nuts for Mutts!

The day finally arrived - October 19th - and Team Fozzie-Blob took to the hills of Pierce College on our 5K walk raising money for New Leash On Life, the dog rescue that saved Foster and nursed him back to health.

It was a gorgeous day as we set off. As per our promise to all our generous donors, Otter donned her "My Big Brother is a Pit Bull" onesie, and 'walked' with the rest of us. We're proud to say we didn't take any short-cuts. We're more proud to say we raised over $1100 for the dogs! And though we have no actual proof of this, we have reason to believe that at 7 weeks, 5 days old, Otter was the youngest fund-raiser there. All the unborn fetuses don't count ;)

Thanks to all who helped us out. We can't wait to do it all again next year! In the meantime, please check out our photo stream for the rest of our pictures from the event.