Maybe package up the perspective with some Bombay Sapphire

How awful will you feel when your baby suddenly returns to his angelic state mere hours after you have moaned about him on your website? Super awful. So horribly terribly AWFUL.

[Also, note to self: do not call your mother after you have written such a post, because she has read it and is highly irritated that you are being MEAN about her PERFECT GRANDSON. It will take the awful to an entirely new level.]

All day I was thinking, "WHY DID I WRITE THAT" because yesterday's baby was completely different. Sure he bawled through his breakfast and was still kind of whiny during the morning. But then the moms group came over and that was a good two hours' worth of entertainment. I was a little worried after they left, but he ate his lunch without complaining and then OH MY GOD he played with his toys while I cleaned up. Actual playing, none of this miserable whining and looking at me with Eyes of Despair and clinging to my legs. I was so thrilled I even had a flash of creativity (the rest of you will call it common sense) and gave him my load of measuring spoons and cups to bang on the floor. My brilliance is overwhelming.

Miracle of all miracles, I took him upstairs at naptime, put his pacifier in and put him in bed. And then he went to sleep. I KNOW. I came out of the shock just in time to hear him wake up. When I went to get him he was smiling in his crib and playing peekaboo with a blanket. Actual! Smiling!

We visited friends in the afternoon (no whining!) and came home to eat dinner (no whining! and he ate everything!) and we HAD FUN. I didn't even mind (too much) that Phillip was two hours late getting home and I did the whole nighttime routine alone- because I had an ANGEL BABY who didn't struggle or flail or howl or protest while I read to him in the rocking chair.

All afternoon I kept picking him up and squealing, "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou!" into his ear. Not that I didn't love my whiny baby too, but MY GOD is it easier to love the angel baby. A whole day of not feeling like everything was infuriating him in some way.

So, I feel awful. Here you are thinking I have Real Problems when nope, yet again I am complaining about nothing. Shut up, me.

EXCEPT. Ask Phillip. I crawled into bed Monday night feeling totally desperate. It felt like my kid had disappeared and left this other baby who found his daily routine, not to mention his mother, completely wanting in every way. And yeah, I knew he was coming off his day of barfing and that the doctor said it could last a week and Phillip and I were hardly in a great state of affairs ourselves and things were just a little out of order in our house, but none of that was clear while Jack was crying in his bed two hours past his bedtime. Everything was wrong and I obviously wasn't doing whatever it took to make things better. And shoot, I've already been feeling that way for weeks now, what with the doing away of the nap schedule and the slow mysterious erosion of his nighttime sleep.

I have no idea what he'll be like today. I have every hope in the world that half of you are right and he was just still feeling sick and possibly teething. That I can deal with. If the other half of you are right and I'm looking at six more months of whine, I'm just going to have to shoot myself.

I've known since day one that I have an easy baby. And the handful of days when he is not an easy baby are excruciatingly humbling. What I find most terrifying is that God will take the humbling thing a step further and decide that I used up all my easy baby bonus points on the first try. If that becomes the case, I promise to close shop on this website because no doubt I will be the most insufferable woman in the internet.

"I don't know, Fat. Flowers are nice, but I was thinking we should get my mom a little perspective for Mother's Day."

Whiiiiiiiiiiiiine

You guys know I tend to exaggerate things a bit here on the website. Quite often I am all WOE! and DIE! and ARMAGEDDON IS COMING!, but you also know (I HOPE you also know) that as soon as I've got the latest Entry of Misery out of my system I'm usually on to the next thing. (A melodramatic thing, I'm sure.)

But I've been debating whether to write about the New Melodramatic Thing because it really IS driving me to tears instead of just being something I write to make something more interesting. Then Phillip asked me if I "asked the internet" and I said no and then I thought maybe I will.

The thing is: Jack has been whiny. So incredibly miserably whiny. It's kind of a dull yet constant stream of sound from his tiny voicebox, an incessant reminder that Someone Is Unhappy. And not being able to figure out what he wants or needs is making me crazy.

I know this is no big deal to those of you with babies who cried a lot when they were tiny, or still cry all the time, but my kid never did that. He's been good natured and cheerful and pretty much always content to do whatever from the start. I hope I haven't taken that for granted, but it's made the whiny so painful. What has suddenly gone wrong? What aren't I doing for him? What does he need that he's not getting? What hurts? What can I do? I HAVE NO IDEA.

As I sat here wondering what to type, Phillip fed him breakfast and he CRIED THROUGH THE ENTIRE THING. Seriously. Bawling! During breakfast! He bawled through his diaper change. Not "hey, stop messing with my clothes!" crying but "Waaaahhh life is pointless!" crying.

Yesterday I asked some family to come over while Phillip was upstairs being sick (but not throwing up!) because I was so terrified of the Whiny. You sit Jack down in front of his toys and he looks up at you as if to say, "You put me here? Really? Why would you do that to me?" and then he'll raise his hands wanting to be picked up. He won't play with anything. There's the regular whining "GIIIIIVE MEEEE THE REEMOOOOOTE!" and the mystifying whining, when the pears that he has loved from six months suddenly look like a spoonful of dead bugs or something.

Even when I'm sitting on the floor with him trying to engage us in something new and interesting- "Look! Mommy is letting you play with all her plastic storage containers!"- he's STILL WHINING. He wants to be picked up. But not really. Put him down. No, up again.

RIght now he's whining so hard he has put his head on the floor to better conserve the energy for the whining.

Things that seem to make the whiny disappear, if only for a few minutes:
1. Singing. I swear, my kid must think I am Mariah and Whitney and Celine put together. Talk about a self esteem booster. Sitting in the rocking chair and singing a song is a surefire whinekiller, until the song stops of course.
2. Visitors. Jack is still his social butterfly self. The visitors have to be appropriately interesting enough, or, shall I say, interested in HIM enough, but it's kind of like he's decided, "Thank God, I don't have to play with THOSE two anymore."
3. The remote control. I don't even care anymore.

He also likes to go out or ride in the stroller, which makes my Whine Deciphering boil down to: He's bored. Just really really bored.

But he's also been sick. He's been sleeping like crap. No, really. For someone who's always fought going to bed, he is REALLY fighting it now and Phillip and I now dread putting him down at night because it takes for freaking ever and he wakes up a few hours later to start the whole thing over again. I was doing CIO for a long time with naps, but that didn't do anything. CIO has worked for us before, but for whatever reason he's not just bored or angry or in need of some sleep training. He needs help falling asleep, so fine. I figure we've got a few months before new baby shows up- he can't be doing this forever, right?

My grandma was here yesterday and for the trillionth time said, "Oh, he must be having teeth trouble" which I normally wave off as WHATEVER GRANDMA. Except yesterday in my desperation I dug one of those cold teethers out of the refrigerator and that shut him up for a while. So maybe teeth? Although I can't see or feel anything?

And maybe it's a phase? A very long sleep regression? A Twelve-Month Clinginess stage? Averse as I am to reading up on these things, I have no idea.

What I want to know is: do or did any of your babies do this? Sudden Onset Whining? Out of Nowhere Constant Unhappiness? A Let's Make Our Mothers Feel Guilty And Horrible All Day Long Stage? Something where I can say, "Oh, he's just going through a Thing, he doesn't ACTUALLY hate my mere presence."

The lameness

You'll be glad to know that all barfing subsided on Sunday. But due to the Night of Misery and the subsequent Early Morning Exhaustion, we didn't go to church, we didn't visit Phillip's mom and we didn't go to the big first birthday bash at Gymboree, which I was totally looking forward to because 1) we are too cheap to go to Gymboree on our own and 2) it was a KOREAN first birthday bash and have you been to one of those? IT'S A PARTAY.

Also, even though I was keeping my banana and Gatorade down, I still felt like crap. I sort of forget the whole 'recovery' part of things. I spent half of my day in bed, which, while undoubtedly an improvement over an entire day in bed, was still lame. And I was so very very tired. It's sort of disturbing when moving your child from his crib to the changing table leaves you gasping for breath.

But! Today is looking up up up. Oh, except for the part where Phillip thinks he is sick (though, has he barfed yet? No!) and is lying in bed with his girlfriend, MacBook Pro, and staying home from work. Will keep you posted on the barfing for I KNOW YOU WANT TO KNOW.

I really want to write about sleep, but the Voice of Reason in my head is telling me I should wait until I'm confident The Plague has left the building. It's entirely possible that the huge drastic annoying increase in whining and not sleeping is due to The Plague or the general chaos here in Camp Cheung, so we'll wait and see...

In the meantime, can I complain about The Children's Place? Remember I ordered 100 things for $5 (or something like that) and I was SO EXCITED and YAY ME and everything? Well, first I got an email that said my credit card was not authorized to make the purchase. Which, WHATEVER, Children's Place! So I redid my whole order (with the same card) and got a very nice confirmation email. Excellent. But this morning I get an email with an apology for the craptastic performance of their website and also OOPS, we can't fulfill your order, here's a free shipping code, better luck next time! Except, the email isn't even that clear. I had to read it three or four times to figure out if they really did cancel my order or if it was just going to take a lot longer to get here. And you know what? I'm STILL not sure. Yeah, I understand it was a super good sale (it got ME to whip out my wallet!) and there were a lot of cheap stay-at-home moms deluging the site that day, but COME ON. I am of the opinion that this is UTTER LAMENESS and I REALLY WANTED THAT PINK COAT.

I suppose I could go to the ACTUAL Children's Place and buy things that actually EXIST. Harrumph.

I was just going to say something about obnoxious about the lack of barfing, but my husband is curled up in a little ball in bed and looks way too helpless for me to be MEAN on my WEBSITE. Someone should go buy him some Gatorade, huh?

What am I doing posting at 5:30 am on a Sunday?

To record, for posterity's sake, one of the Worst Days Ever.

On Wednesday Jack fell down the stairs because I forgot to shut the baby gate. On Thursday he bawled when we left my parents' house, most likely because he was leaving They Who Spoil Him and going home with the woman who forgot to shut the baby gate. And on Friday, he made it up to me by coming down with a Stomach Bug.

I have to tell you, Jack hasn't really been sick. I think he's had two colds since he's been born. I've never had to call the doctor about anything other than scheduling appointments. But he had barfed up his dinner in his bed, barfed up his breakfast and then barfed up his after-nap snack and that's when it dawned on me that perhaps he was Coming Down With Something.

I spent Friday mopping up barf and calling the doctor and updating Phillip and feeding the baby real food because he seemed TOTALLY FINE and then realizing THAT was a big mistake and... ugh. Oh and then calling Phillip and asking him to come home early, WHICH I HAVE NEVER DONE, because Jack was being the King of Whiny and I didn't want to bring the King of Whiny to a grocery store to pick up our first jug of Pedialyte.

But that wasn't the worst day. The worst day was yesterday, when he gave it to ME.

When I woke up early and felt awful I blamed it on my available sleeping positions being narrowed down to Left Side or Right Side and also the fact that Phillip, shall we say, sleeps sort of loudly. Sometimes! And when I threw up about an hour later, I blamed it on pregnancy. La la la.

When I threw up again, without having eaten anything, and when my whole body started to cramp up, we decided that Phillip was in charge and I was going back to bed.

I spent the rest of the day hurling up the NOTHINGNESS in my stomach and moaning from the bed. I lost count how many times. The one time I tried to go downstairs and be with my family, because I was feeling a little better and hadn't barfed in three hours, I had to run right back upstairs and die.

Jack, at least, was better. He had stopped vomiting and he wasn't even having the promised disgusting diapers. He was pretty lethargic and mopey in the morning, but after several sippy cups of water and Pedialyte (I have NEVER seen him drink so much!) he was a new baby and back to his charming self. He took super long naps and played like a good boy. He and Phillip would come visit me every so often, which was very cute, even if I had the energy of a 90-year-old woman in hospice care and could barely lift my head.

Also? Yesterday was gorgeous and sunny. All day long I heard people using lawn mowers and actually talking to each other outside. We'd had PLANS, but now I was an invalid who couldn't even keep down a sip of water.

But the best part?

Feeling sort of bad that we'd only given him crackers and Pedialyte all day, and he seemed FINE, Phillip said he was going to give him some real food for dinner. That seemed to work out well, until Phillip burst into the bedroom well after dinner time with a baby whose dinner was all down his front. We stripped him and put him in the bath (by that time I had kept down three sippy cups full of Gatorade, YES, SIPPY CUPS, THEY DON'T SPILL IN YOUR BED and I actually helped! Go me!) Jack didn't seem miserable, like I was. I even told the nurse the day before how chipper he seemed for someone constantly throwing up. But even that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was, right after I'd hurled up all three sippy cups of Gatorade (AH, OVERCONFIDENCE), Jack woke up. It was about ten. First Phillip went in. Then we let him cry. Then Phillip went in again. Then we let him cry. Then I went in, because after having been curled up in a ball all day, my back wasn't any better and I wasn't sleeping anyway. I pulled him out of his bed thinking I'd just sit and sing to him until he eventually fell asleep but nooooo. He wanted to PLAY. He wanted to crawl around and look at the space heater and the books on the floor and who was that snoring in the other room? I put him back in his bed, thinking I'd sing to him from the rocking chair (I was afraid if I kept wrangling him myself I'd probably throw up all over him). So I sit back down and start up my awesome rendition of Baby Beluga when he STANDS UP and starts JUMPING UP AND DOWN.

It was 12:30 in the morning.

We've had other bad nights, but not one where Phillip was utterly exhausted and I was utterly exhausted and not to be trusted with bodily functions. We had no idea what to do. There was no way either of us could stand taking him downstairs and letting him tire himself out. So we let him cry and it was awful. AWFUL. I kept telling myself that he was dry and fed and just had some water and angry about having to stay in his crib. I kept hoping that he'd realize it was THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT and get bored and go to sleep. But after I don't know how long, Phillip finally went back in and this time, probably because he was so exhausted from the crying, he fell asleep.

So I've had what? Four hours? Five hours of sleep? Inconsistent sleep, because I woke myself up every time I switched sides. At least I wasn't sick during the night, and now I'm starving. Good sign, right? I'm hoping this is just a 24 hour thing, and I'm also hoping TO GOD that Phillip is not sick today. Every time I woke up in the night I said a little prayer that he was immune.

But maybe I will be posting tomorrow about the REAL bad day, Sunday, during which I was running on Gatorade while taking care of my baby and my bedridden husband. Have you been to church yet? Pray for me.

Linkity linkity

Thanks for sharing your own fall down stories. I had a good sniffle and now I feel better. Although I have to tell you that none of those stories compare to one my husband heard at work which, I swear, included the phrase "emergency plastic surgery". YOU DON'T EVEN WANT TO KNOW.

Anyway. I am too tired and smelling of baby barf to post much today (ANOTHER THING YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW) but I thought I'd tell you all what's happening in my laptop today.

My friend is a whole week overdue and while I haven't confirmed today's Labor Status, I think you could still go visit her sad little post and cheer her up. Because we all know the crying doesn't end when the baby's born!

Remember my Fan? She started HER own blog and it is FUNNY and also about being pregnant which we all know is the internet's favorite subject and after you make my first friend feel better you can go check out Liz's new blog.

If I weren't a yoga pantsed unkempt stay-at-home mom I would totally be applying for this job.  I CAN TOTALLY HAZ IT! (Can you even imagine? My parents would never want to talk about What I'm Doing with any of their friends. My own friends would be all, "WHAT IS THAT" because they've never heard of lolcats and even my husband was all, "I can haz what?")

I totally took advantage of The Children's Place online sale yesterday (even though their site was either slow or completely down for HOURS, JEEZ LOUISE). I bought about 47 adorable boy things (and one completely precious pink coat) for, like, $10. Are you proud?! Okay, maybe more, but so little that I felt compelled to brag about it in an email to Phillip who then responded with, "Please stop spending all of our money." But people! Did you read about what a sorry shopper I am at Parenting? I SUCK! I really do like shopping, but unless I have a Plan and a Mission, I get sort of... spazzy. Plus you know that whatever you buy is going to be too small before the season is out and that just makes me unwilling to "invest" very much- financially AND emotionally. Sigh. It appears, however, that online shopping suits me quite well. It was actually FUN! Although it's hard not to have fun shopping when the most expensive item in your cart is $7. But I'm not always uber cheap. I have in my hot little hands that new Gymboree coupon and guess who needs a First Birthday outfit for his One Year Pictures and his First Birthday Party? I don't mind spending when there is an OCCASION.

Also, I think I have a pretty good idea for Mother's Day gifts (hereafter known as GRANDMOTHER'S DAY because I no longer count), but I might not have enough time... what are you all doing?

Worst Mother in the World, NO REALLY

You guys, today (well, yesterday, by the time you read this) was spectacularly awful.

It started out okay. We woke up. We ate breakfast. We took our nap like a good boy. We got up in time to go visit one of our Blogless Friends with New Babies (HINT HINT, BLOGLESS FRIEND) and I hurried downstairs to print out directions to her new house, carefully closing our new baby gate behind me.

I might have forgotten to close it, at least, close it tightly, when I ran back up.

I was on the phone, about to leave a message with Blogless Friend saying hello, are you visitable, when I heard a thump thump THUMPITY thump THUMP thumpity thumpity WAAAAHHH.

(Let us take a small break to allow my mother a few Horrified Shrieks, as I've neglected to inform her of this event.)

Instead of leaving a message for my friend, I thought to myself, "Did my precious child just fall down the stairs?" I really did this. Then I dropped the phone, dashed to the top of the stairs where the baby gate was OPEN and saw my little boy flat on his tummy at the bottom, which is made out of stained concrete, lying next to his little pusher toy.

In that moment I became Speed Of Light Maggie and flew to the bottom of the stairs, scooped up my boy and wondered how in the hell Child Protective Services hadn't come for me yet. He was crying, but I noticed that the crying was not half as loud and insistent as that one time he knocked his head on the wood floor (when he was CRAWLING) and that was the first thing I took to mean that he was okay. I took him upstairs and we sat on the couch where he whimpered and sniffed and buried his head into my armpit. I felt all his bones and joints, squeezing to see if I'd get any reaction. Nothing. I examined his head: no bumps, no red spots, no scratches, no blood. We sat this way for ten or fifteen minutes, the longest he has ever let me cuddle him when it is not bedtime, and then I decided to see if he wanted some milk. When he went "AAAAHHHHH" which means "Milk! Now!", that was the second thing I took to mean he was okay.

We played with a stuffed bunny. We gingerly walked around the living room. We considered calling the doctor, just to make sure, but decided there was no evidence. Other than my overwhelming irresponsibility, of course. I made him crawl up the stairs for a diaper change, just to make sure everything was in working order. It was. And then Blogless Friend called and said she was home and I decided we would go.

We went and it was lovely and then I realized that holy cow, we were late for lunch, time to go. I hoped Jack would stay awake long enough to eat lunch, but he fell asleep in the car and didn't flutter an eye when I clumsily removed him from the car seat and toted him upstairs. So I put him in his bed, worrying about his empty stomach. (Which wasn't really empty, considering the Cheerios and graham crackers and cantaloupe and various other baby snacky things I'd fed him at Blogless Friend's house.) But still. I was anxious. I thought FOR SURE he would wake up any minute.

He slept for THREE HOURS. So not only was I the mother who found her child in a heap at the bottom of the stairs ON A CONCRETE FLOOR, I was the mother who was starving her baby.

When he woke up and had a huge snack (because dinner was coming soon!) I decided we'd get the mail and visit our Old Lady Neighbor. And that was a nice time, until we left the house and I let Jack hold onto one of my fingers so we could walk home and Old Lady Neighbor watched Jack fall face first onto the sidewalk. And howl, so the entire neighborhood could hear.

And then, while I was fixing dinner, he fell again. On the wood floor. Just for kicks.

Phillip has just given him a bath and there is still a suspicious lack of black and blueness. I am listening to the Putting On of Pajamas and conjuring up all the things that could result from recklessly pushing one's pusher toy through an open baby gate and off the top of the stairs. Who knows how he tumbled down. Who knows how he landed. Who knows what tender baby parts bumped down every step. I keep hearing the thumpity thumpity in my mind. I've never been quite sure about this guardian angel idea, but today I have no other explanation. While I was a picture of cool reserve during the actual event, my stomach is churning right now, knots and butterflies and everything. The things that could have happened.

Are you dwelling on the Awful like me? Then go to Parenting and read about how my license to shop for pink is slightly tainted by my total suckiness at shopping. I'll be mixing a gin and tonic and watching this week's Gossip Girl.  

The not terribly timely update

So much for dashing home from the hospital and updating my website. HA.

I had TWO ultrasounds today. The first one lasted an hour and 15 minutes, even though they were just updating the pictures they took from 4 weeks ago. It was supposed to be quick. And I was glad, because I must be the only mommyblogger (OH YES, I OWN IT) to hate getting ultrasounds. They are long, they are uncomfortable, I haaaaaate seeing all the bones and moving pieces and I REALLY hate it when the ultrasound tech jabs you in the stomach trying to get the baby to move. Not only does it hurt, it makes your belly shake like a bowl full of jelly and I JUST DON'T NEED THAT.

But! Our new baby is a stubborn little thing and would not move. Hear that? WOULD NOT. This was bad, because the tech needed a picture of the heart (ick) and couldn't get a good shot no matter what. She had me roll over. Stand up. Use the restroom. Drink apple juice. Perform handstands. Do cartwheels down the hallway. And still, no movement. I suggested that perhaps the baby was stuck. The tech suggested I come back in an hour.

OH, LIKE THAT'S EASY TO DO.

Phillip and I juggled schedules to make this appointment work and he was planning to go back to the office. Which meant no babysitter for the increasingly cranky boy. Due to some Quick Thinking on my part, we bribed my little sister into coming over after her shift ended and watching Jack so I could go BACK to the hospital. OH JOY.

(What I wanted to say was, "What? You can't put your FAMILY before WORK?" but I didn't. Know why? Because that mortgage has to be paid somehow and you all know I'M not making it happen.)

So that's what happened. Did I mention I was starving? SO STARVING. I went home, successfully deposited the sleeping boy into his crib and ate, in this order: 1 bowl of leftover gai lan (stir fried rice noodles with beef, heaven in a bowl), 1 very small bowl of Grape Nuts (there was a little bit leftover in the box, you know how that goes) and about 15 bites of apple pie, straight from the pie tin. STARVING.

Then I raced back to the hospital for my second ultrasound and guess what? THE BABY WAS IN THE SAME POSITION. So I was there another forty-five minutes being prodded and poked and jiggled and if it weren't for the jiggling I would have totally fallen asleep. Quiet room, not much talking, lying down, no baby to listen for... perfect conditions.

Also perfect? Our baby GIRL.

Ready to do it again

Everyone said the newborn stage would be the hardest part, that I'd just have to make it to six weeks or three months and things would get easier from there. They were right- a lot of things did get easier. In those early weeks I was sore, I hated my body, I never slept and everything was confusing, from feeding to sleeping. But you guys, I loved having a brand new tiny baby. LOVED.

It helps that I won the jackpot in the Baby Temperament Lottery, of course. An easy baby will make your memories of the newborn stage sweeter than average. Even with the constant pumping, the tube feeding, the having no idea how to do anything, the waking up every two hours, the fact that nothing in my closet was anywhere close to fitting me- the actual baby drowns it all out. He was so tiny. He had a wrinkled old man face and peeling skin, like now that he was out in the open it was time to molt. He made these startled movements with his arms whenever I put him down to change his diaper and I thought it was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen. I'd watch him twitch his mouth and listen to his gurgly noises while he slept. And he'd sleep anywhere. I'd spend entire days with him tucked inside the Moby wrap, snuggled up close to me.

Now I've got one of these:

Remember when Fat dwarfed HIM? Also: hello phantom hands!

This one is much different. This one has opinions and demands and wants and impatiently waits for you to drop your fingers within reach so he can go marching about the living room. This one, while undoubtedly more fun, is in many ways harder for me to manage. I didn't worry about my newborn as much as I worry about my almost one-year-old. I think you're supposed to get better at this parenting thing, but sometimes I think I question myself more now than I did when he was first born. This one resembles an actual person, and that thought is frightening to me. A newborn wasn't going to suck up all my neuroses and bad habits and crazy parts, but this kid could.

I found out we were having another baby when Jack was just about nine months old. In January. When I still had half a stay-at-home winter to survive. And I had no idea how I was going to do it. Sure, I remembered my new tiny baby and how much I enjoyed that stage. I gave myself grace a lot easier back then. It was nice to press pause on The World and take care of this little creature for a few months. But a new baby? In tandem with a big baby? Oh God oh God oh God.

And then the nausea started. Good times.

Phillip and I worried about everything. Two car seats can't fit in the back of our Jetta*. Where would the new baby sleep? How do we keep the new baby from waking up his or her brother? We could not do another two weeks of tube feeding again. Do we have enough money? Could I manage a newborn in prime SAD season? We had just decided to table the New Baby Discussion for several months at least. Oh God oh God oh God.

A month or so ago I bought a tiny yellow outfit and hung it from the curtain rod in Jack's room. It's there to remind me of what's coming, because it's honestly hard to do that sometimes when you're chasing an almost one-year-old away from the stairs. (Baby gates fully installed as of this weekend!)

And then I started to feel the baby move. Little flips. Little flops. I've started thinking about the newborn stage again. I wonder whether the new baby will look like Jack. I wonder if it'll be a colicky screamer since we seem to have used up all our luck on the first one. I have actually caught myself daydreaming about toting a little baby around in the wrap, lying in bed in a sleep deprived state just staring at a wrinkly old man face. Letting Jack hold his new sibling- just for a second!- on the couch so we can take a picture. Two of them! The thought still scares the crap out of me, but it's slowly turning to excitement. One is so great, two must be fantastic.

I'm so glad things didn't happen the way we planned. SO glad.  I'm dying to know if I should break out Jack's little clothes or go on a pink shopping spree- we have the big ultrasound later today, so stay tuned for an update!

*brought to you by Princess Nebraska's post, where my annoying comment turned into this rambly mess

How I like to spend my evenings

Today marks the start of National Turn Off TV Week. Did you know that? Damn my news obsession.

Last Friday morning, for the first time ever, I dug a children's DVD out of the cabinet and turned it on for Jack. It was something like Sesame Street's Favorite Kids' Songs and it was super old, this is I know because GORDON was in it and Gordon is from MY Sesame Street era.

Jack was mildly interested. He didn't plop himself down to watch, but he kept one eye on the TV while he moseyed around the living room, hunting for the remote (a fruitless endeavor!) and ripping up Mommy's entertainment magazines. He seemed to ignore all the talking parts and pay more attention during the singing parts. Again, I wondered where this boy came from because I? Will watch a test pattern.

Of course, this wasn't the first time Jack was introduced to TV. In my house? Are you kidding? One way I got through the bleakness of January and February was tuning into incessant presidential primary coverage. Some people watch daytime soaps, I watch MSNBC. I'm also one of those people who needs a little background noise and the TV is always good for that. (I had a visitor a few weeks ago complaining about her chatty officemate and people on the bus and everyone having to listen to the little TV ads they played throughout her flight to Hawaii and I was all, "Yeah, I don't even hear that stuff." Tuning people out = one of my spiritual gifts.)

Anyway, now that it's lighter out and we're getting out of the house more and I am not so much in the Throes of Nausea, there is less TV. But television being one of the Great Childhood Evils, I feel a little guilty about it. Not too much, mostly because Jack just doesn't seem all that interested. Perhaps he inherited my gift? He'll cock his head towards the screen when a particularly sing songy commercial comes on, but other than that he doesn't seem to pay attention. So that makes me feel better. My favorite vice does not appear to be harming my child. SO FAR. (Dum, de dum dum!)

Now that we've got that out of the way, we can start discussing my favorite topic.

At this point I'm not sure I care who wins American Idol. I really don't. Brooke, my favorite, looks like the show is eating away at her will to live. She seems to get worse (not necessarily her performances, but her demeanor) every week and I just want someone to say, "Brooke, honey, go find a piano bar and leave these Hollywood crazies to themselves!" David Cook annoys me. I thought his Mariah Carey adaptation was terrible. Sure, he gets extra bonus points for imagination and actually having some skill when it comes to this musician stuff, but 'Always Be My Baby'? Couldn't he have picked something less... bouncy? Little David annoys me, but you should have seen Phillip and me when he broke out the Robbie Williams a few weeks ago. Karaoke at Chez Cheung! And then we looked it up in our iTunes library (because of COURSE we have that song) and did it all over again. I bet you didn't know Phillip Cheung can knock out an awesome falsetto. And now I can expect the divorce papers.

Is the mother on How I Met Your Mother Sarah Chalke? Anyone? Theories? Her St. Patrick's Day comment, the umbrella, the mysterious blonde...

My favorite cook on Top Chef is Mohawk Jen. And people! Ming Tsai was a guest judge! YUM!

Lost has been seriously awesome, except for the Michael episode. Oh, and also the one where Jin is dead because NO WAY IS THAT HAPPENING IN MY UNIVERSE. After hating this show for so long it's nice to be excited about new episodes coming up.

Last night Phillip asked me if I would be watching The Office if Jim and Pam weren't part of the show. And the answer is no. They've kind of run out of office-centric plots for Michael and now I don't like watching him at all. Even though the show is still funny, without the redeeming normalcy of Jim and Pam, the cringeworthy dinner party isn't as fun to watch. And you guys, I nearly died when Jim showed us that engagement ring. SQUEE! And then! When he got down on one knee on the sidewalk! I was totally Pam, you guys, TOTALLY FOOLED. And then I made Phillip tell me how he'll propose the next time we get married.

Scrubs is not as funny anymore now that JD is OLD. You hear me, Zach Braff? GROW UP ALREADY.

What else are we watching these days? Oh, Jon & Kate Plus 8, which is WILD people, just WILD. My mom came back from visiting my brother and sister-in-law all "HaveyouseenthisshowitisCRAZY!" and so I had to TiVo it and YOU GUYS I am HOOKED. Do I complain about my one single only perfect child? FOR SHAME.

And after I wrote about my finger (which is DISGUSTING, by the way, DIS. GUSTING.) people kept yammering on about America's Next Top Model and Life Imitating Art and I have to say that that is one show I don't watch (horrors!) and someone will have to explain. I'm all ears.

I know I'm forgetting lots but you already think I am a TV Junkie and that my kid is going to turn into a bank robber, so I'll end this here. What are you watching and loving/hating? Anything I need to record? Because you know the CHEUNGS are not turning off their television.

Copping out

I am guest posting for Angela today so head over there if you want to read about my Traumatizing Evening. Because of the Traumatizing Evening I've got nothing. If Phillip didn't have to go to work (STUPID JOB) I would just go back to bed.

Oh, but before I sign off, I thought local readers might be interested in this event: Green Power Baby Shower. You know, since I did all that obnoxious whining about greenies yesterday WHY NOT GO MAKE FRIENDS! Anyway, it's free and I was so going to go until I realized the church tea party is that day (yes, the CHURCH TEA PARTY) and therefore I have plans. Oh well. Go and then bring me all your swag.

Happy Friday