Bad editors! Rawr!

So, with my job, I am sometimes assigned to the final edit of a manuscript previously edited by someone else. I never communicate directly with authors, but each assignment comes with notes from the author. This one––oooh, so angry at the first-pass editor. What a punk.

The author wrote: "For example, consider the following from [title of story here]: "But Mr. Wilson was made of sterner stuff; he was as determined as a bloodhound, as tenacious as a pit bull, and as stubborn as a beagle." This was corrected to: "...he was as tenacious as a pit bull and refused to give up." Understandably, the author was a bit miffed about this suggested change. Me, too! The author followed it up with this comment: "In some of the stories, the 'corrections,' although grammatically correct, seemed to flatten the emotion and intended humor." 

I guess it's like any profession, where the not-so-great editors give us all a bad name with their overreaching, overzealous "corrections," which really cannot be justified. 

Also, I'm a little sad to be working for a company who has also hired an editor of such low caliber. We need some quality control around here! 

A wasted day

Today feels like a wasted day. It's so frustrating. Matthew has been fussy and tired half the day, which makes me think we should stay in so he can nap instead of going for a walk or to the gym. And then when he doesn't nap for hours, argh. It just feels like the whole nice sunshiny day is passing by. But of course, if I knew he was just going to fuss around for a long time, we'd go do something. If only predictions of the future were possible.

But now he's sleeping finally, another long nap, and I've washed dishes, edited, finished reading another book for the book marathon, organized some stuff, cleaned the refrigerator drawers and underneath them...

Really, though, it's a day where I feel like I'm just waiting on things. Waiting for Matt to fall asleep, waiting for Matt to wake up, waiting for Jeff to come home, waiting to go outside. But we're walking to the library when naptime is over, and we're going to turn this day around. And then it's the weekend! And we get to hang out with Jeff a lot! (That's one of my favorites.)

Pilates and priorities

I've been going to classes at the gym almost every day and choosing them solely on when Matthew is awake and not too fussy. So yesterday was Pilates. I always thought Pilates was some type of aerobics, but not so much. It involves a lot of lying on the floor in a dark room with your eyes closed and concentrating on breathing. Very relaxing. Kind of workout-y, too, I guess. I felt like I was preparing for childbirth all over again, but other than that it was nice. "Nice" isn't usually how I describe a good workout, but I can't really think of another word.

A point in favor of Pilates is that, with everyone having their eyes closed, my lack of coordination is not so evident. (This is also a major advantage of water aerobics. Can't see the flailing under the water!)

In other news, our house needs to be cleaned so badly. I should be cleaning instead of blogging. But then Matt will wake up, and I'll want to play instead of clean, and then he'll nap again, and I'll want to edit instead of clean, and then Jeff will come home, and we'll want to hang out instead of clean...

Anyone want to come over and clean for me? Really we just need a good sweep and vacuum and bathroom-counter dusting. Every night we pick up all the toys and obstacle course obstacles (pillows, blankets, etc), but that's about it. My cleaning routine for the past month or so has been to pick up large dust bunnies when I see them. Laundry and dishes are easy, so that's taken care of. Suppose I could clean the bathroom counter while Matthew plays with the drawer in there. He learned how to open it, and opening and closing it can keep him occupied for many minutes. Plus those really fun shadows are in there...

It's always all about sleep...

...but at least this post is about getting more of it. After a week of Matthew waking up and crying and wanting to be rocked and entertained and generally not sleeping during the night for hours, we resorted to our last resort. The dreaded "cry it out" method. Which, incidentally, resulted in much, much, much less crying by both me and Matt in the middle of the night.

Jeff and I decided to let Matt cry for a little while, maybe up to 20 minutes, when he woke up in the night so he could settle himself back down. This hurt me so much, just listening to him rolling around and crying. But the alternative––endless nights of crying and rocking and days that seem endless because of sleep deprivation––just wasn't going to work anymore. I didn't know if I'd be able to resist going in and picking Matthew up and falling into the same routine. But with Jeff's help and lots of praying, we made it through. Both Matt and I are much better able to enjoy the days now, too, having actually gotten some rest.

First night: Matt woke up and cried for 10 minutes. He woke up a second time and cried for 6 minutes.
Second night: Woke up twice. 4 minutes of crying each time. Woke up a third time and talked happily to himself for half an hour then fell back asleep.
Third night: Woke up twice. 3 minutes of crying each time.
Fourth night: Woke up once. Made some noises for about 2 minutes. Made another noise later on, but I don't think he was awake.

And now everything seems bearable again. If you'd told me even two weeks ago that I'd let my baby cry in the night, I would have said you were delusional. This was probably the most heartbreaking decision I've ever had to make, but I think we did the right thing. And now, I'm thinking, one of the great things is that when Matthew cries in the night later on (because he will; he's a baby), I'll actually be able to tell if he needs something or what the deal is. We're coming to an understanding.

Now if only we could come to an understanding about how he needs to get better at eating solid foods...

Small success!

Guess who talked to himself for 20 minutes then fell asleep with no crying and no rocking and no pacifier! Guess! I bet you can't guess! (Answer: Chatty Matty)

This morning I decided we're going to break the rocking-to-sleep habit first then tackle the night waking. The first nap was not so great. It took an hour and a half of me picking Matt up and putting him back down and giving him the pacifier and him crying and then playing and then fussing and and and...

But the second nap is a success! He's asleep! Completely without me!

I'm not getting my hopes up, but I am sure excited about this small success! (Too many exclamation points!)

Need sense of normality

Something has to change around here. I've determined that Matt is waking up in the night for my company. He'll be somewhat mollified by Jeff's company if necessary. But we've got to change things somehow. It's ridiculous to wake up every 45 minutes to 3 hours all night long when he's not hungry or wet or teething or sick. I'm not sure what the plan is right now, but we'll have to have one soon. And stick to it even if I think it's too difficult.

In other news, weight lifting really makes me feel like myself. I've always enjoyed it a lot and even more so now. Matthew seems to love the ladies in the playcare, too. He was charming both of them yesterday; lucky for him, he was the only kid in there when we went. I probably need to stretch. Hopefully we'll get this sleep thing settled so I can go to the classes at the gym, which are all in the morning. I find it difficult to ease into the weight lifting; I just want to go all out right away. Should take it easy today probably. And I've been running with Tonya. It makes me so happy! It's funny how I used to love running alone, but now I would so much rather run with someone. I'm not sure what changed about that.

Some of my friends emailed me yesterday and today. It's exactly what I needed. Hopefully I'll manage to email back, but we'll see. I'll see two of them tomorrow at Jennifer's baby shower in B'ham. And my mom, so that will be nice.

Editing. Ugh. Need to get going on that, as usual.

And this weather is really bringing me down. There are few things I loathe more than winters in Alabama. So much dreary rainy darkness. I miss winter in Vermont, when I went skiing nearly every weekend. I miss winter in Minnesota, when I taught skiing nearly every weekend. I miss shoveling our driveway and Maria's driveway and random people's driveways for money. I miss demolition-derby sledding. I don't so much miss alternate-side parking, though. That pretty much sucked.

Oh no! Not nighttime again!

I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. Okay, that might be a little melodramatic, but what doesn't seem melodramatic when you're awake half the night for no reason? We've had about four to six incidents lately where Matthew wakes up in the night and just stays awake. He's not hungry. His diaper's not a problem. He doesn't seem hot or cold. I pick him up, and he puts his head down and just relaxes. But doesn't go to sleep. I put him back in the crib, leave the room––he screams like he's going to die. If one of us doesn't go back in there, he keeps crying and crying until he starts almost hyperventilating. Then I usually try to feed him again, but he either just refuses or he bites. So, you know, that's definitely not the answer. Or we'll put him in our bed between us and hope he settles down. Nope. That's the perfect place for him to grab our faces and kick and roll around. Fun times! And he's been staying awake about two hours with each incident (which thankfully isn't every night. Yet). He's like, "Hey, time to wake up! Time to stay awake for two hours! Yeah! Okay, time's up. I'll go back to sleep now." And it hasn't been happening at the same time of the night, either. It might be 11 to 1. It might be 2 to 4. No pattern.

The worst part is, I can only make it about an hour before I feel like crying until I hyperventilate. So then Jeff's gotta get up. And then we're awake even longer because I have to calm down and Matt has to calm down, and poor Jeff has to still get up and go to work in the morning. (Though, really, I would love to leave the house in the morning some days and not come back until evening. I'd sacrifice a couple of hours of baby giggles and games and smiles, along with tears and nap-fighting and diaper changes for a couple hours of solid work staring at a computer. Not many, just a couple hours. Or a couple days. I couldn't make it a week in the real world without my baby, I'm pretty sure.)

So yeah, it's rough. I don't think we're going to make it. My faith is wavering badly. I can't understand it. Maybe it's teething. Maybe it's all the new skills Matt's learned. Sometimes he's crying in the night and when one of us goes in there, he's sitting up, like sleep-crying. Or crawling backwards, sleep-crying. It's weird. A couple times when I'm watching him sleep, Matthew will just be peacefully sleeping, then he rolls over really fast, sits up, and starts crying. All with his eyes closed. That's what I'm calling sleep-crying. And sleep-sitting.

People were fond of telling me in the early months how "things will get so much better once he's five or six months." I was fond of telling them how everything was great, ideal, really, for taking care of a baby. We were sleeping well almost every night. Daytime was easy. I knew how good we had it, and I appreciated it. But now, oh my, now it's been months of incomprehensible nightwaking. I just don't see the end in sight. I'm glad I appreciated the easier times, but I sure don't feel like we're going to make it now. And.... *end melodrama*

Aquacise!

The saddest part of Christmas vacation with my family here was that I couldn't do anything, really. Everyone went running. I stayed home. I'm the runner of the family! I always have been! But this joint pain will just not go away. I can only run about a mile without it hurting, and I don't want to be in pain forever.

So, I decided to join a gym here and take some water aerobics classes. Last week, I tried on my swimsuit. Then I laugh-cried for a while at how obscenely small the top has become. Oh, how I long for double-A days again. So I just lifted weights for a while instead. Today, properly attired, I made it to the pool. Matthew chilled in the playcare with the other babies, and I flailed around with all the other aquacisers.

...all of whom were at least 30 years older than me, except maybe the instructor at 15 to 20 years older. I'm pretty sure I was the only one without gray hair, with a two-piece bathing suit, and without a perm. Nothing like being the skinniest, youngest person in a workout class to start the day! Ha ha. I was also the only one without a decent baseline of coordination. But at least, unlike in the beginner step class I tried last week, in the water it's harder to tell the magnitude of my lack of coordination and rhythm.

Hopefully Thursday I'll make it back to flail around with the old people. Now, time to make a wild-game crockpot pot roast (thanks, Andrea and Meade!).

Okay, this one's for real

I know, I know, I keep starting blogs then abandoning them. Stephenie was visiting last week and talking about how she needs to "just write" for Rocket City Mom without editing constantly and worrying about making everything all objective, since it doesn't have to be. I realized later that's my problem, too! It's so ingrained that I have this particular audience to write for, but I just don't. I'm just going to write. I don't want to worry about making some point and tying things together. I've written enough things for different jobs, and I don't want a blog that feels like work.

I'm abandoning my last blog, Nomad No More, the content of which I liked, because Tumblr had an annoying number of glitches but never the same ones. All the content from that one and from Reflections on the Rink (brigittebadonkadonk@blogspot.com) is here. So don't worry, if you want to stalk my old posts, it's all in one convenient location!

Endurance achievements 12/31/11

I’ll accept your accolades––this has been one of my most difficult but most rewarding achievements so far.

Breastfeeding.

It is not my favorite. In fact, the words I dreaded most in June and July were probably, “I think he might be hungry,” as gingerly uttered by Jeff as he advanced toward me with a crying Matthew. (You can give Jeff accolades, too. We wouldn’t have made it without him pinning Matt’s arms down and massaging my shoulders and drying both our tears, mine mostly from sleep deprivation.)

It’s no big deal now, though, except when we’re out and about somewhere and Matt thinks it’s funny to pull the blanket off his head and flash my boob to the whole world.

I do feel a sense of accomplishment that we’re approaching the seven-month mark with breastfeeding and that it’s no longer the dreaded encounter it first was, back when Matthew flailed his little arms and squirmed around uncontrollably with impatience and cried and cried like he was starving to death if he had to wait ten more seconds for some food.

It’s kind of like marathon training. It’s really not so great in the beginning, it’s really tiring, and it would certainly be much easier to just quit. Let other people do it. What’s the big deal, anyway? What’s the reward? But then you run fifteen miles, and you feel great, and you think, “Yeah, I’m so healthy. This is good for me. I can do this and other people can’t.” (But you think that in a non-condescending way. Because other people can do it. And do.)

Then there are always those people who discourage, even if subtly or unintentionally: “Why would you put your body through all that? Why make the effort? There are other alternatives. You could sleep longer. Fill your time with other things. Other people don’t do it, and they’re fine.” (Wait, is this paragraph about running or breastfeeding? Probably both. I got lost in the writing.)

I’ve never really gotten those warm maternal feelings from breastfeeding that others talk so much about, and I’m sure that at this point I never will, but I do think the relationship that exists has helped with my day-to-day happiness with staying at home all day with a baby. Especially in the first few weeks of new-baby chaos when I was so tired and hungry all the time, and overwhelmed, and I kept thinking, “God had a good plan with this. I’m sure there are millions of people who could take care of this baby better than I can. I should just run away! …oh, wait, Mr. Flaily Arms will get hungry. And I can’t leave a hungry baby.” And then it would be feeding time again, and I’d sit on the couch and read or watch the horror that is A Baby Story, and think, “Okay. I’m rested. I can carry on. We’ll be fine.” It was like forced bonding. Which was good for me.

So, yay! We made it! We’re making it!

Trick questions 12/31/11

Getting ready to go out, I'm putting on a shirt that says, "7D Ranch."
Me: Do you think when people look at me, they think I look overweight?
Jeff: Can I wear my 7D shirt?
Me: Sure, go ahead. I think they might.
Jeff: You can't tell at first.
Me: That I look overweight?
Jeff: What? No! That this shirt says 7D on it, too.

Addendum 12/16/11

Some “things we’ll forget” that I already briefly forgot!

One time when Matt was really small, we were watching Jeff’s softball game. I didn’t know anyone there, except Jeff, who was on the field, and we’d driven the car without the removable car seat. And then I really had to pee. The disgusting bathroom, of course, didn’t have a changing table, and there was no way I was going to put Matthew on the floor. So… I set him in the diaper bag! Ta da! Cute little baby in the diaper bag a la spoiled dogs in purses! I was so entertained.

When we got back from our trip to Vermont, Matthew suddenly got into the habit of putting his fist next to his ear or pulling on his ear and babbling. We were like, “Oh, look, he’s calling Grandpa!”

The things we'll forget 12/13/11

Matthew is half a year old already! Exactly 6 months and 22 minutes ago, he was born. And how very many important things have happened since then! And we’ll probably forget most of them. (Well, now we won’t, since I’m writing them down.)

When Matt was born, after I finished saying, “I love this baby. I love him so much,” (sob sob sob) I asked, “What’s wrong with his feet? Are they okay?” Everyone else was like, “Um, what are you talking about? They’re perfect.” Me: “But…they’re so big! Are they supposed to be that big? I thought babies were supposed to have tiny feet.”

And he had no eyelashes or eyebrows when he was born. It was the coolest thing seeing those tiny little eyelashes start growing. (The eyebrows, well, I suspect he may be growing a unibrow. That’s slightly less wonder-filled.)

And then we just watched and waited for new things every day, and they were so exciting! Typical conversation around our house:
Me: Did you hear that noise? Matthew made a noise! And it wasn’t crying!
Jeff: I know! That’s so great.
Me: It was like a little squeak. So cute!
Jeff: I know it.

And then one day he stopped scratching his face as newborns are prone to do. And one day he seemed to recognize us, or at least be able to differentiate us from a light fixture.

And speaking of light fixtures, when Matthew was a tiny baby, he had a great friendship with the ugly lights above our fireplace. Even when they weren’t on, he’d look at them in wonder and make little noises like he was talking to them. We joked about him taking orders from tiny aliens in the lights that we couldn’t see with our grown-up eyes. (Seriously, though, his affinity for these lights seemed a little creepy for a while there. But funny.)

He liked lights like most babies do, but the window in our living room was his particular favorite. Even if he was closer to the kitchen and the brighter windows, for a while he’d always look toward the living room window.

Then it seemed like Matt made his hands into tiny fists all the time for a couple months. We waited and waited for him to realize that he could do things with them. And then he did! (Now we call him Mr. Grabby Hands. The other day he sideswiped me and took a contact out of my eye. Yeesh.) Once he realized his hands were his, he stared at them for minutes uninterrupted. He particularly liked his index fingers; he’d bend and unbend his index fingers and look at them with a look usually reserved for people who have smoked way too much pot.

One day he figured out how to put his hands together, and man, Jeff and I were unreasonably excited about that astounding feat of coordination.

And the feet were next. Once he discovered that big toe, it was all over. He had a phase of putting his feet in his mouth at every opportunity. Imagine his surprise when he stuck his big toe in his mouth one day and the second toe went up his nose! He gave me quite the look of consternation. Apparently he didn’t appreciate my laughter.

Speaking of laughter, one time in church when Matt was only a couple weeks old, he chose his moment wisely; during communion after the hymn had ended and everything was silent, he suddenly had to fill his diaper, oh so loudly, and three rows in the back erupted in uncontrollable giggling. We were so proud. Or not.

So yeah, I could go on. But I’ve got work to do. I just can’t believe we’ve had this little guy for half a year already, and we love him more and more every day. I found an award the other day that I got for Outstanding Student in the MPA program, and that accomplishment is nothing compared to getting this little baby to giggle. Who would have guessed?

Based on a true story 12/2/11

It’s funny hanging out with the grandparents and the baby. Every aspect of his little life is scrutinized at every turn, and every action Jeff and I take is commented on at some point. We’re not offended in the least because clearly our parents all did excellent work raising us to be perfect, well-behaved, friendly, intelligent, all-around well-rounded adults (cough cough). But seriously, their parenting methods appear to have worked out well enough.

But it is amusing how their points-of-view on things vary so widely.

Rocking baby to sleep

Us: We’re having to rock Matt to sleep for every nap in the daytime now. Otherwise he just rolls and kicks and will - not - stop - moving enough to go to sleep. (We used to just set him in the bassinet or bouncy chair and wait.)

Jeff’s mom: Well, it’s about time Matthew trained you right! Rocking him is nice.

My mom: Oh, what a horrible habit! We did that with Andrea, and it continued on forever and ever. It was terrible! We learned our lesson when you came around.

Pacifier

Me: Ehh. I don’t like it, but it helps a lot.

Jeff: No opinion, really.

My dad: Yechh. You’re going to have a tough time getting him to give that up. Ross had his till he was practically a grown-up. Look at this picture of him as a toddler with it! He needed it all the time.

My mom: It’s not big deal. Andrea didn’t use one, you didn’t really, and we lost Ross’s when we moved into the new house. It was a rough couple days, but no big deal.

Jeff’s mom: Yes! Excellent idea! You do - not - want him to suck his thumb. I should know. It took years for me to break that habit. You can just take the pacifier away, but the thumb is always there.

Sleeping on back

Us: We’re sticking with all the recommendations to minimize risk of SIDS, so Matthew sleeps on his back. We know babies used to always sleep on their stomachs, but this is one area in which we will not compromise; lots of statistics show SIDS decreased dramatically when babies started sleeping on their backs.

Jeff’s dad: You all slept on your stomachs, and you turned out fine.

Jeff’s mom: You all slept on your stomachs, and you turned out fine.

My mom: What if he spits up? Are you sure back is best? You all slept on your stomachs, and you turned out fine.

My dad: Okay. That’s what I would have done anyway; I don’t like sleeping on my stomach either.

Solid foods

This one seems more generational. Thankfully our parents have been pretty much silent on the issue, which makes me not feel discouraged with the breastfeeding.

Us: We’ll give him solid foods around six months, when he can sit up on his own, at the doctor’s recommendation.

My grandma: Are you giving him solid foods yet? When I had babies, they said to start them on solids at two weeks. It was difficult. I don’t think they liked it that young.

My old coworker: Are you giving him solid foods yet? We gave our kids solids at two or three weeks, but I think it’s all different now.

(Note: Why do they call them solid foods? They’re not very solid. I like to call it mushy food.)

And so many other topics, but these are the ones that come to mind right now. I am so thankful to have uncontentious relatives who let us make our own decisions (and mistakes), though it will be nice to move on from these particular topics to all new ones. Cause you know it’s going to happen. For the rest of our lives.

Iron Bowl foreshadowing 11/29/11

Every year when the Iron Bowl rolls around, I think about this conversation I had before moving to Alabama. I was working at a gift shop right outside Yellowstone National Park (for commission, hence my chattiness), and I was excited about going to Auburn for grad school. My baseline knowledge of the South and college football in general included… nothing. My family may be a sports-watching family, but they’re much more into pro sports. So…

This family with heavy Southern accents came into the gift shop, I greeted them, said, “Let me guess where you’re from. Alabama?”

They were surprised that I guessed correctly (as was I - could have been any other Southern state for all I know of accents).

Me: I’m moving to Alabama in a month!
Family: Really? Where? Why?
Me: I’m going to grad school at Auburn.
Family: What? Ughhh, no. (groans all around)
Me: What? I’ve heard it’s a really good school. They have a great technical writing program.
Family: Ugh, you should go to Alabama.
Me: (unaware of existence of University of Alabama) Umm, yeah. I am. I’m going to Auburn.
Family: No, you should go to Alabama.
Me: Huh?
Family: University of Alabama.
Me: Oh, well, it’s too late. I’m already going to Auburn.
Family: I don’t know if we can buy anything at this gift shop.
Me: What? (getting very worried about my educational choices at this point. They must know something I don’t about Auburn since they so very strongly want me to not go there.) Is Auburn bad?
Family: (must have sensed my distress) No, it will probably be fine. But cheer for Alabama! (much enthusiasm accompanying this) You’ve got to cheer for Alabama!
Me: Okay. For what? Do people usually cheer for colleges?
Family: (looking at me like I’m an insignificant creepy bug) College football. Of course.
Me: Oh. Okay. That makes sense. (It didn’t.)

It didn’t really make sense at all until my first football weekend in Auburn, when I woke up to what I thought was the voice of God coming from the sky and looked outside to see thousands and thousands of people swarming the streets with as much food as they could lug and drinking beer in the morning. Turns out it wasn’t armageddon; football really is a big deal.

How strange that the whole concept has ceased to be strange.

Holidays 11/20/11

Me: When should we start decorating for Christmas?
Jeff: After Thanksgiving. People get really angry if you have decorations up before Thanksgiving.
Me: Yeah, all those people who are going to be in our house. (There won't be any.)
Jeff: It doesn't make sense, though. Why not just skip those kind-of-fake holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving, and spend more time on something real to celebrate like Christmas?
Me: Yeah. Putting up the nativity scene tomorrow.

Better or worse? 11/18/11

In the past five months, I’ve developed some definite preferences among distasteful or difficult things. (Code: thing that is worse < thing that is more tolerable)

spit-up < dirty diapers
getting up between 3:30 a.m. and 6 a.m. < getting up between midnight and 3:30 a.m.
baby making fussing noises in throat < all-out crying baby
disposable diapers < cloth diapers
sweeping house once a month < washing laundry every other day

What are yours (kids or not)?

Derailed by a slight squeak 11/16/11

Today’s starting out a little rough. The rocking chair has developed a squeak!

If I were smart, I’d be WD-40’ing it right now, but I think I’ll philosophize about it instead. I wasn’t an English major for nothing!

So the baby’s fussy, the rocking chair squeaks, and I’ve reheated my coffee about five times already this morning.

Used to be that the day started out a little rough if I had a hundred emails waiting to be answered, phone calls to return, events to organize, professors to mollycoddle (though if any of the former Civic Engagement committee is reading this, I truly loved you guys), and a bunch of meetings to attend. Ech, meetings.

It’s a strange transition that my biggest challenges now are figuring out what Matthew needs––is he hungry? Is he tired? Is he trying to spit up but can’t quite get it out? Have I been playing with him too much, and he’s just done? (That last one I think is pretty common. Replace Michael Scott with Matthew: “I would like your undivided attention please.” Replace Dwight Shrute with me: “You couldn’t handle my undivided attention.”)

Sometimes it’s a comfort to think about how I envisioned my life. I always thought I’d be making a bunch of money (though I’m not really motivated by money) in a high-powered job in a city. I’m not saying this is what I necessarily wanted, it’s just how I saw my career path going. I prayed for a high-stress job, thinking it’s what I needed; I was so tired of being bored at school. I worked really hard at every job I’ve had. One time at a job fair in grad school, I was handing out resumes to just anyone, and a CIA representative pretty much offered me a job on the spot. Somewhere I still have his letter of regret that I had decided to turn the job down (you know, because I didn’t want to leave Jeff, though we hadn’t been dating that long). A graduate assistantship that I held went from ten hours to full time, and after I left it was turned into a full-time staff position. Because, you know, I worked really hard and they didn’t think they could get by without me anymore. I consider that a success. Mental challenges I can handle.

I’ve had jobs that were physically exhausting––cleaning hotel rooms, hiking for days, loading and unloading boxes, washing dishes. I liked all of these, did my best, got the minor promotions that go with minimum-wage jobs. Physical challenges I can handle.

But now my days are filled with playing, walking, trying to explain things to a person who has a minimal grasp of language and thinks everything is totally new and exciting. It’s a strange combination of elation and tedium and the occasional mind-numbing hours of fussing and rocking and wondering when the baby will quit flailing his arms and just go to sleep already. And then it’s a race to get the diapers in the laundry, wash the dishes, declutter some things, do some editing, eat some lunch, write some letters, all before it’s playtime again. Because I do not want to miss those moments. Most of the time it’s easy; sometimes it is utterly exhausting. Emotional challenges––those are the ones I have to learn.

I really did used to pray for a high-stress job. That prayer has certainly been answered. (Strangely, though, it kind of annoys me when people talk about raising kids=a career. Because it’s not really, it’s just your life. It’s work, but it’s not a job. This is an analogy, not a declaration.) And I’m glad to have the opportunity to grow in patience and kindness and gentleness and love and all those other things God says to be.

I think, finally, I’m using my talents for something lasting and worthwhile, though on days like today it’s still comforting to think that I could be doing an amazing job at some “real” career instead of floundering around with a squeaky baby and a squeaky rocking chair.

Hoodies and Mt. Dew versus Victoria’s Secret and necklaces 11/15/11

My birthday, a week ago, made me start thinking about gifts. Which made me start thinking about “people who know me.” There aren’t many. Probably why I started this blog, when it comes down to it. Some people are really great gift-givers, and some people are not. This is not one of my particular talents, so I’m always super-impressed with people whose it is (*cough* Jennifer *cough*).

Before I go further, though, let me say that I don’t really like receiving gifts. So if you think you might want to give me one for any occasion, don’t. But if you have, yay! Presents!

Okay, focus. Gotta get to the point.

I feel like Jeff really knows me. I’ve felt this way from when we first became friends. I didn’t have a car in Auburn for a while, so he sometimes picked me up to drive me to church-group events and the grocery store and stuff. One time, on the way to a Christmas party, he started singing along with the radio in his not-so-great singing voice. And so did I! My biggest insecurity is definitely singing. If you were in my high school, you may remember me crying in music class when we had to sing individually, fleeing the classroom, and futilely trying to explain to Professor Bode what exactly is so bad about singing with other people in the room. But in any case, I sang in the car with Jeff when we were practically just still acquaintances.

And his gift-giving! Wow! Some notable presents he’s given me: hooded sweatshirt, electric blanket, sweatpants (apparently I sometimes like to be warm), Mt. Dew, yoga video, weights, pull-up bar, screwdriver (that was a wedding present. So romantic.), chapstick, derby tights, candy corn, spatulas, can opener (this was in grad school. Strangely, we got each other can openers that year!), and yarn.
Those are things that I appreciate.

Compare with gifts given to me by guys I dated in the past or guys who admired me from not-afar-enough, in my opinion. Necklaces. Necklaces, necklaces, necklaces. The occasional bracelet to break up the monotony. Now, in middle school, I can see where a guy might think giving a girl a necklace is a good idea. You know, commercials and whatnot advancing that idea. But by high school, and college, certainly, it seems a guy would want to give a gift that a girl might appreciate. And I am not now and never have been a girl who appreciates necklaces. Though I turned them down or accepted the gifts when pressed, dashing their romantic hopes all the while, as graciously as possible.

And, the worst––a guy I dated a long time, like a year, maybe, in college, gave me a pink silk Victoria’s Secret robe (though he knew he would never see me wear it. That just wasn’t going to happen even if I did like it). Worst present ever. (I should have known. This same guy thought I should lose weight, when I weighed 130, and I’m 5’10”, and he “subtly” hinted a couple times that I should get a French tip manicure. Does that sound like me?) This is an example of someone who does not know me. And after our years-long friendship and many months of dating, that doesn’t speak well to his skills of observation. Nice guy, though.

But let me say that Jeff’s not cheap. His gifts are amazing because he really does know what a Brigitte wants. (Example of his not-cheap-ness: My engagement ring is some fancy expensive diamond. I couldn’t tell you the specs, but I know it’s the sparkly cut and the more-white-than-yellow grade… or type… or whatever. It’s fancy and I’m sure more expensive than my first two cars (though of course the cost is a secret). I thought it was fake when he proposed, because it’s that nice.)

Jeff’s amazing skills in gift-giving also give the gift of humor: Sometimes people ask what he got me for Christmas, and their reactions are funny. For example, last year was the yoga video and weights. Someone, prepared to be horrified, asked if Jeff was worried I would gain too much weight while pregnant. I guess an outsider might be led to believe that he was not-so-subtly telling me to work out. Ha ha. I’m not sure she believed me that the gift was exactly what I wanted. The look on her face before I explained!

So, yeah, it sure is nice to be married to someone who really knows me. And knows how to show it.

(Almost) On the move 11/9/11

This is something I’ve entertained myself with nearly every day since Matt’s been born. (It’s the little things.) When I have to set him down on the floor to make a sandwich or go to the bathroom or something, I say, “Okay, you stay there now.” And then I giggle. Because, you know, he can’t move. But today it’s all changing! He’s been able to roll over about a week, but today he’s really stepped it up.

Every time I set him down, he rolls over to see where I’m going. Every time I go to get him out of his crib when he wakes up from a nap, he’s on his stomach or trying to get on his stomach. (But then he gets stuck. He’s not as good at going from front to back yet.)

I also sing him this song about how there are no teeth in his mouth. It used to be a song about his “wobble bobble” head but those days are long past now, too. Now there is a tooth in his mouth!

Oh, the excitement. It’s weird that these things are so fascinating, but they really are. Yay for babies!

Birthday presents 11/8/11

Returning a missed call from my dad.
Dad: Happy birthday! Were you still sleeping?
Me: No, Matt made me a "present," so I was unwrapping that. And cleaning it up.
Dad: That's the gift that keeps on giving.

Misunderstanding 11/8/11

Jeff met me in the garage when I got home from practice last night.
Jeff: You can't come in here if you're going to smell.
Me: What?! Of course I smell! And my gear!
Jeff: No, you can't smell with your nose when you come in.
Me: Ah, that makes more sense.
Apparently he was baking a birthday cake. I thought he was just tired of that roller derby gear funk (for reference for those not familiar: not as bad as hockey gear, but pretty close).

All my free time 11/7/11

This is not a joke. I’m wondering what people with babies (or kids in school) do all day. I usually wait for Matt to fall asleep and immediately start working, but I haven’t had an assignment in a week and half. So, it’s like a whole new thing around here.

I know, I know, those of you with toddlers are probably thinking, “She’s crazy! Free time? What’s that? I vaguely remember it. And now I’m angry thinking about someone else with time to herself! Argh!”

But I’ll press on.

So the little pudger takes about five 45-minute naps per day. That leaves me a lot of time to do whatever around the house. Some of this time goes to washing things: dishes, diapers, regular laundry, miscellaneous surfaces. One of these times usually goes to me napping. You know, I have to sleep while the baby is sleeping; everyone says so. I also write a lot of letters, read a lot of books, sort the millions of pictures we have of the baby, and keep track of the bills and money spent. I only do about one-third to half of the cooking. Maybe that’s where I’m getting extra free time.

But still. I have a friend with one kid, who’s in school all day, and this lady says she’s busy all day long from really early until really late. She doesn’t have a paying job, her volunteer obligations are limited, and she doesn’t have family in the area with whom she’s spending time. I can’t figure out how she’s filling those hours. (I don’t want to ask. See previous post about not making people feel bad by accident.)

I’m not judging here. I’m just wondering. What takes up your time?

Just one reason I love this weather (50s, slight breeze) 11/4/11

I moved to Alabama on August 12, 2005. I drove three days down from Yellowstone National Park to Auburn, making it just in time for grad school orientation. My car was not so good.

My dad flew down and helped me find an apartment and groceries and whatnot. At the rental office, he mentioned he lives in Vermont. The lady at the desk asked my dad how many football games he’d be flying down to see. I think we both gaped at her; she couldn’t figure out why. We thought she was telling a not-so-funny joke. Turns out that was a serious question.

We took the requisite picture by the Auburn University sign (Note slightly mocking poses and baffled looks. We’d seen about a hundred freshmen and their families beaming with pride by this sign and decided to get in on the action, albeit with our typical good-natured smart-alecky flair.)

Then Dad went home, and I tried to settle in. I had a days-long headache from the hours and hours of driving and steady diet of Mountain Dew and beef jerky and mind-numbing orientation activities and relocation from elevation 6,200 feet to elevation 700 feet.

And then, before I’d met anyone at all, my car broke down. And I ran out of food. I had my car towed to a place about two miles away, where it took me about half an hour to decipher what the repairman was saying in his heavy accent. I’m pretty sure he thought I was missing some crucial parts, like eardrums. I said, “What?” and “Can you say that a little slower?” about twenty times. After determining that they’d need to keep my car a couple days at the least, I started walking home.

About half a mile into the walk back, in August, in hundred-degree heat and a type of humidity I’d never felt before (though I like humidity; it really is the heat that gets me), I was pretty sure I’d die. I couldn’t go on. I was super in-shape at this point in my life, but there was no way I could make it back to my apartment.

So I laid down on the sidewalk and waited to die. Or for a passing car to take pity on me and offer to drive me the rest of the way home. I probably laid there for half an hour. It’s all a blur. I didn’t know it was possible to be so miserable and not die quickly.

It became clear no one was going to stop. So much for Southern hospitality. I guess it doesn’t apply to weird girls who look passed out in public places. And I guessed since I wasn’t dead yet that I probably wasn’t actually going to die. I got up and trudged the rest of the way back.

And oh how happy I was to find that it’s a myth that the South is hot year-round. And how happy that still makes me.

Not competing 11/3/11

One thing about being a mom that’s weird (among a whole collection of weird things) is how other parents seem to be competing. I’m not competing. I try really hard to not say things that could possibly make other parents feel bad. This results in me having conversations that are even more awkward than the awkward conversations I already have. For example, Mr. Pudgeball happens to be a bigger baby than most of the other babies we’ve met, even when the other babies are a couple months older. The conversations go something like this:
Other mom: How old is your baby?
Me: Oh, about 4.5 months.
Other mom: Whoa - how much does he weigh?
Me: Somewhere around 17 pounds. How old is your baby?
Other mom: 7 months.
Me: Oh, he’s so… (Can’t ask about weight. Baby is clearly much smaller. Panicking. Don’t want to say “little” since some people seem to think it’s an insult. Which it totally isn’t.) …nice. You have a nice baby. Yeah, he’s nice. Oh, look! He’s smiling! Yay. Babies.

Or they go like this:
Other mom: So what did you used to do for work before staying home?
Me: I’m a copyeditor. I still work a little bit. What about you?
Other mom: Oh, well, my job as a (state former job here) was super important, but of course I quit so I can give my baby all of my attention.
Me: That’s so great. I’m so happy for you.
Other mom: I just don’t see why you would keep working.

But wait! This particular topic can take the opposite, equally awkward, turn:
Other mom: So what did you used to do for work before staying home?
Me: I’m a copyeditor. I still work a little bit. What about you?
Other mom: Well, I still work of course. I wish I didn’t have to. It’s not really fair that I have to work when other people don’t.
Me: Yeah. Life is so unfair.

Or this:
Other mom: So what did you used to do for work before staying home?
Me: I’m a copyeditor. I still work a little bit. What about you?
Other mom: Well, I still work of course. Sometimes it’s hard to be a working mom, but I want my kids to grow up and know that strong women can balance it all. I can’t imagine staying home all day. I would go crazy. Plus my kid needs to go to daycare for socialization.
Me: (Thinking, If you think I’m not a strong woman, you’ve clearly never met a strong woman. Must mumble something to make conversation stop.) Mmmhmm. Oh, I think my baby needs his diaper changed.

More fun topics:
Other mom: You use cloth diapers? I wanted to use cloth, but (enter reason here)
Other mom: You’re breastfeeding? That’s so great. I wanted to breastfeed, but it didn’t work because (enter reason here).
Me: Yeah. (Thinking, This conversation has nothing to do with me. Say something vague.) Everyone makes different choices.

I like talking about babies and whatnot when it’s friendly and nonjudgmental and the tone is just one of interest. With some of these conversations, though, it’s always much more subtle and harder to deflect. It’s such a challenge to me, because really, I just don’t care what choices other people make about raising their kids. I don’t want to make them feel bad, and it seems like a lot of people are insecure about their choices, always second-guessing whether they’re doing the right thing. I can understand that; we all want what’s best for our kids, but the thing is, we don’t all have to do the same thing. And what we’re doing isn’t necessarily what you should be doing.

I just want to tell people to make their choices and pretend to be confident about it until it turns into real confidence. I’m not looking at what other people are doing - we’re just taking it day by day (sometimes hour by hour) and asking for advice when it feels like the right thing to do. As often as people say it, it doesn’t seem widely believed: babies are all different, families are all different, the ways we do things are all different. It’s not a competition.

Tall encounters 11/2/11

Checkout line at Walmart.
Girl behind me: How old is your baby?
Me: About 4 months.
Girl: Whoa, he's big.
Me: Yeah.
Girl: And you're 5'10".
Me: Yep. How'd you know?
Girl: I recognize my own kind.

Exercise motivation 11/1/11

So today I decided to do some sit-ups while laying on the floor next to Matt. After the first couple, he started smiling. After the next couple, he started giggling. By the time I got to about the tenth one, he was all-out laughing and squealing like it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Now, as a 4.5-month-old, he finds a lot of things entertaining, but this, this was out-of-control hilarity. It was right up there with tickling his belly and making chirping noises at the same time.

I’m pretty motivated to do enough sit-ups that it’s no longer entertaining, but routine. It may be a funny sight now, but soon enough I’ll look less like I’m flailing around and more like I’m actually working out (though Matt may not be able to tell the difference).

10 reasons I quit a perfectly good roller derby team to help start a new one in the same city 10/31/11

People have asked me a bunch of times why I didn’t rejoin Dixie Derby Girls after having the baby and have instead joined a start-up team, Rolling Arsenal of Derby, in the same city. Here’s why (not in order):
1. Smaller team. RAD is capping the team at 20 players. One team, no plans for expansion. This is an environment in which I thrive. More playing time in scrimmages, easier to get to know how my teammates play, less room for personal slacking and excuses for not training harder.

2. Led by a single coach. When I played rugby in college, I found that the seasons we had a dedicated coach were better organized than the seasons some of the vets ran practices. Same thing here. I like organization.

3. Not many off-the-track obligations. There aren’t many fundraisers, so that really adds to my time hanging out at home and free time on weekends.

4. Not in it for the friends. My “real life” friends, aka people who have been to my house for completely social reasons, all play for DDG or have quit roller derby altogether. But, you know, real friends stay friends even when they don’t get to hit each other. My RAD teammates, who I consider friendly acquaintances that may become friends throughout time, I think are also more focused on just playing than playing to make friends. (I know. I’m unfriendly. Always have been.)

5. Challenge. I like a practice that makes me cry. RAD practices are so reminiscent of practices with Burn City when I first joined in Auburn. Just a team’s worth of girls pushing it hard and encouraging each other. If I miss a practice, I feel like I’ve missed so much. One time a couple years ago, I cried after practice out of frustration that we weren’t training harder. I don’t think that will happen again.

6. Off-skates workouts. Plyometrics and stairs and running and hiking, and a majority of the team showing up with enthusiasm. I’m such a fan of cross-training. Adds to the fun!

7. No derby names and no crazy outfits. This is something I think is good for derby overall, but it’s also something that has irked me since the first time I stepped on the rink. I like some garish, non-matching tights, socks, and accessories, but I kind of hate seeing people’s butt cheeks and full cleavage and thongs outside of short shorts. And derby names have also never been my thing.

8. So much cheaper! I’m saving about $400 on dues this year! (All the more to spend on t-shirts and gear!)

9. More convenient practice times. See #3 re: more time hanging out at home when the baby’s awake, and not practicing during supper time. Added bonus: less traffic on the way to practice.

10. More say in league happenings, but no meetings. Less bureaucracy in the nonprofit side of things. I can say, “Hey, let’s do this thing,” we vote on it immediately, and we either do it or don’t do it. Less discussion, more action. Anything that gets me out of meetings is a good thing.

So if you’re in Huntsville during the season, check me out skating with RAD (www.rollingarsenalofderby) or swing by a DDG game (www.dixiederbygirls.com).

Physical limitations––what? 10/29/11

Back in the day––eighth grade to be exact––I had this span of a couple months, maybe a year, when I couldn’t do exactly what I wanted to, physically, whenever I wanted to. It was weird. I had some type of knee problem, diagnosed as osteochondritis dissecans (how many times I said those words over and over in my head, trying to make sense of it). Eighth grade was my first year as a “serious” runner, in track instead of softball, and it infuriated me that I wasn’t supposed to run because of some knee pain and little detached cartilage pieces in my knees that could get worse if I didn’t rest.

I had already missed my chance for cross-country and track in seventh grade and cross-country again in eighth (the school I went to in the fall didn’t have it), so I was pretty determined to run track in the spring in eighth. I’d seen some of the high-schoolers run and was sure I was much faster.

So this all led me to waking up really early and sneaking out of the house to run. Which led to me sometimes barely being able to walk during the school day from the knee pain. But it seemed worth it somehow. I can’t remember the track season from eighth grade at all, really, but in ninth grade, I set some school records for the mile and two-mile. It was worth the bad track meets when the pain flared up and I fell during the race and couldn’t finish to persevere during the better days and get my name up on the record board in the school gym.

And then for a bunch of years I scoffed at people who can’t do things, or worse, won’t do things out of fear. How many friends I goaded into climbing Sugarloaf, this big rock near where I went to college, or into learning to rollerblade or jumping off high things or climbing trees.

But now it’s kind of backfired: I have this lingering joint pain from pregnancy, and every day, my mind is like, Gah, what’s your problem? Get out there! Do something! It’s not that bad. But the rational side is like, Hey, wait it out. You’ll be fine. Don’t rush it, and you’ll be back to normal even sooner. I constantly scoff at myself. And then try to show myself that kind of empathy that’s really disguised condescension I’ve always had for people who won’t push themselves to the limit.

So now I’m running half a mile when I’d rather run two, skating half a practice instead of the whole thing, jumping on the trampoline for a few minutes instead of a few hours. I guess it’s true that with age comes wisdom. Or the memory of not always being able to walk all day has motivated me to be patient. (Eh, patience. Overrated.)

Most fun things about Mr. Pudgeball as a baby, 10/28/11

So we have this baby (Mr. Pudgeball). And he’s super fun. This is how I would interpret a typical day from his perspective:

“Ooh, I’m awake! Look, my foot! Mmm…. sock. Yay! Mom is tickling me! There’s Dad!” Smile smile smile smile.

“Mom just sneezed. That’s hilarious!” Giggle giggle.

“Look, a baby in the mirror! He’s smiling! I’m smiling! Look at us smile at each other. We’re both getting our diapers changed. Hee hee hee!”

“Dad coughed! Man, that’s so funny. These people are just so funny I can’t stand it.”

“There’s a blanket on my face. The world has ceased to exist. The blanket’s off my face! There’s Mom! Ha ha ha! Great joke! There’s a blanket on my face. Where is everyone? Oh! Ha ha! There they are! There’s a blanket on my face. I better not move. Ha ha ha! Tricked again! There they are! This is so funny!”

“Oh, look! My foot! There it is again. I’m going to put it in my mouth. Fun times.”

“I can shake this toy! Woohoo! …ah, it got me in the face again… but look! I can shake it!”

“Hey, it’s a room full of quiet people with one guy asking questions. Ha ha ha! Bible study is hilarious!”

“Mom is drinking some water. It’s fascinating! I could watch that all day.”

“Dad’s beard is scratchy!” Giggle giggle giggle.

“I’m smiling at Mom. Mom’s smiling at me. I’m smiling at Mom. Mom’s smiling at me. We’ll smile at each other for hours!”

This is about how the days go around here, punctuated by napping, eating, and the occasional crying. I never would have guessed that sneezing could be so amusing.