Solo Sunday

The Harpsichord in rare form.

Is yet another weekend really wrapping up? Time is flying lately. Woosh woosh.

It was a good one over here. Yesterday we enjoyed a sunny day at a friend's baby shower, last night there were sushi rolls topped with strawberries, blue Fla-vor Ices for dessert, gummy grins for a nightcap.

And this morning, Clay offered to take Harps on a little daughter/dada field trip to check out some bikes. (For him. She may be toe-touching, but bikes are at least a few weeks away.) At first it sounded glorious! Free time! And then it sounded terrible. Free time?!?! My belly actually turned all fluttery and weird and I started squeezing her all nutjob-like. She can be a real nightmare in the car, so the thought of her sad without me there made me want to die. But I knew I was being ridiculous -- that a) Clay's superdad with her and b) I really needed some alone time. So I said yes.

As they walked down the hall to the elevator I had to force myself away from the door and back in the apartment. There were many awkward deep breaths and hair tugs. (Not what baldy needs.) Before I could vomit, I threw on my bathing suit (ONE PIECE) and ran down to the pool. I had to do something other than pace the halls and mop up my puke.

And you know what? As soon as I hopped in the water and started kicking, I relaxed. I was alone. By myself. Sans...anyone. I pushed off the edge, blew bubbles out my nose, and smiled underwater. I followed up my dunk with a sun soak (haven't done that in ages -- babes and sun don't mix) before heading back upstairs to our balcony. I grabbed a muffin, poured some coffee, and read my first New Yorker in a long while. (You're welcome, David Remnick! I know you miss my readership.) It was heavenly.

They still weren't back, so I headed to the back room for a little snooze. I was packing a whole day of leisure into 2 hours!

They still weren't back, so I ... started to lose it.

Clay had checked in a couple times, so I knew they were alive, however -- was she flipping out? Would Clay pull over if she really started screaming? Did she forget who I was!? Was she slowly starving to death?!

The only thing I could think to do was clean. Clean clean cleaNCLENACLEANCLEANNNN. Swept and swiffered the floors. Started a load of laundry. Sorted through old mail. Wiped down the counters. Threw out old leftovers from the fridge. Organized the bathroom vanity. I got so desperate that I folded our laundry. If you know me, you know this means I was nearing nervous breakdown levels.

However! Just as I folded that last pile of undies, I heard the door click and my two favorite people strolled in. Calm, quiet, all grins. Apparently they had a lovely time -- cruising around, shopping, buying us some lunch. Turns out baby acts happy in the car when she knows mama isn't there to fulfill her every whim. Who knew!

Moral of the story? Trust your baby daddy or you'll end up folding his boxer briefs.

Soon I'll look like her

No joke, guys. I had just weighed myself and done a little happy dance because the number was a pound lighter than my pre-pregnancy weight. Thank you kindly, nursing/carrying-baby-all-day/genes/no-time-to-eat! Things don't look exactly the same as before (it's all still a bit...soft) but hey! It's not like I was a bikini model before. (I suddenly have a tiny -- very tiny -- amount of sympathy for those mamas who were.)

So I hop in the shower, feeling pretty dang good about myself. Get my hair wet, pour some cucumber shampoo in my hand, lather up, feel the hot water on my face, PULL OUT FIVE POUNDS OF HAIR.

I am not lying.

Well, it might not have weighed five pounds. I'm not sure anyone's hair weighs that much? Even in its entirety? But whatev. You know what I mean.

I guess I should change it to FIVE FISTFULS OF HAIR.

Because that's what it was. Big chunks and clumps and handfuls of my innocent locks.

I knew this happened to other postpartum ladies. But nope nope nope not me; I truly thought I'd escaped the shed. Turns out it doesn't kick in till around 3 months post-baby. So just as we're starting to regain some normalcy to our appearance, we get hit with the bald stick. For shame, hormones!

And that massive loss was only Day One -- which happened about three weeks ago. It hasn't stopped since. I try and clean up after myself, but there's just so much I can do. The end of the first week, Clay got into bed at night and asked in a scared whisper:

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Because it looks like I'm dying of some mysterious illness, where all I want to eat is cupcakes and fake margaritas.

But I am okay. Just bald. And tired. And squishy.

Enjoy your weekend, those-with-hair! (And those without. I'm just a little less jealous of you.)

Sleap

I forget how to spell it because I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS ANYMORE.

Tough few days (weeks?) over here in the sleep department, folks.

Gotta go attend to my screeching babe.

I'll get through this. Right?

This little piggy

So apparently babies turn almost-4-months-old and suddenly become little people! Who do things!

Harps is cracking us up these days with all her little tricks. She's a pro at grabbing things (rattles, iPhones, book pages, MY HAIR), tummy time, rolling from tummy to back, scooting toward things she wants, flirting with herself in the mirror, and chatting up a storm. But my absolute favorite?

Toes = candy.

Biscuit in the basket

Hi! My name's Clay and my wife likes to make my eyes look crazy. (And my name's Harper and I'm starting to look quite a bit like my Dada.)

We've got a bunch of babywearing devices 'round here (Moby, Native, Ergo, Comfy Joey, Bjorn) and while each one has its purpose, it really comes down to whatever Harps wants to hang in at the moment. Because lemme tell you -- there is NO forcing her into something she's not feeling. I've almost lost an eye doing that and sorry, but -- I'm quite fond of my eyes.

She definitely goes through phases. For the past month or so, she only wants to face OUT. So that hundy plus I spent on the Ergo? Not worth it just yet. (I think she'll dig it when she can hang out on our backs in a couple months.)

We were borrowing a Bjorn from our pals in SF, but had to return it when we moved to the mountains. But very lucky us made some new pals here in Denver and we got another Bjorn loan. Score! Thank the lawd because she really, really loves it. Today, I was able to shop Super Target*

(*OH MY GOD SUPER TARGET. Have you BEEN!?!?!? Super cheap/cute apparel AND homegoodies AND tons and tons and tons of grocery options? I'm all about organic/local/small shopping, but there is seriously something to be said for 12 different Jell-o flavors, no? But I got so flustered and overwhelmed, peeps. Sweat was pouring and I couldn't even decide on an ice cream flavor. Next time, I will be victorious!)

for over an hour, while she just hung like a happy kanga baby, making the occasional coo when I passed by something she liked. (Milk.) So useful. And, dare I say, cute as 4 dozen buttons?

Look! I exist!

I realized recently there are almost zero pictures of me these days. Wonder why? It's like there's something else, just a teensy bit cuter, that's replaced me? Hmm.

 But anywhoz. Clay was taking some cute pics of the scone baby this weekend and instead of hiding, I grabbed her and struck a pose. So here! I'm real! I exist!

In other news, the weekend was lovely. Got most things I wanted to checked off the list, though we didn't get to visit inside the house (current tenants out-of-town) OR visit the Biscuit Bus (didn't coincide with naptime).  However! We still swung by the new pad and I ogled the backyard, actually getting a little teary picturing us back there -- planting flowers, sipping lemonade, making a tiny snowman. No idea what came over me -- I don't even have pregnancy to blame anymore...

Oh and I guess we also didn't trade the wagon for a Suby. (Maybe all I really got done this weekend was watching LOST and eating yummy foods? Oh and the baseball game! We did make it there. Shew.) We're still going to ditch the wagon (it's not 4WD and is just overall janky), but I'm going to take over the new truck and Clay's going to get a little zip zip sporty car. Feeling a tad intimidated by the HUGEness of the 4Runner, but I do enjoy its badassness. Vroom vroooooomz.

And finally, I fell in l-o-v-e with Cafe Rio. I'd read about its radness on a few Morm Utah-based blogs, but oh my heavens that s&*t is good. Hopefully you live in Cali, Colo, Utah or a few other Western states becase apoiru0294-(8s43!!! Dee-lish. I shall now eat there for every lunch I can. Amen.

Your weekend? Was it good?

Mem day

Dudes. I need a vacay.

Three day weekend, frands! And this is the first one in a long while that will actually feel like Mem Day. Blue skies, warm air, ice cream cones, flip flops, sweat. Stuff like that there. Because in San Francisco? There is wind and scarves and hot cocoa. In years past, I'd read people's Facebook statuses or tweets -- all about tan lines and junk -- and I'd hang my head. Then put on my mittens.

So! I'm more than a little excited for the days ahead. Harps and I are kicking things off in the 'burbs with our new pals, scoping out the yardsales and enjoying the mountain view. Nothing crazy on the sched for the rest of our days, but I'd like to:

1) Visit the new pad! I'll take some pics for ya'll to gawk at.

2) Hunt down the Biscuit Bus and scarf a biscuit. Aw, yeah.

3) Take Harps for her first swim in our ("our") pool.

4) Drive somewhere Colorado-y with the fam. You know -- trees, a river, maybe some mountains.

5) Rockies game! (Just snagged some tix.)

6) A couple dinners or lunches or brunches or snacks outside.

7) LOST finale. Yeah, we're real behind. Pretty much know what happened already -- life with a babe!

8) Trade in the wagon for a Subaru. Denver? You own me.

And whatta 'bout you guys? I know my SF pals will be snowboarding, but the rest of you should put on that SPF and eat some cupcakes. Kah? Kah.

My honeybunchesofoats

Man, I love that little bald head. I'll be sad when she grows hair and I can't sniff/smush her candy skin all day. Though if you look at old pics of her mama and dad, I've got quite a few more months to enjoy.

Un-homeless (and some unrelated pics)

Guys. I'm so ridiculously happy with the Denver pad we just snagged! All love and thanks and kisses go to Clay, who found the listing/toured/filled out app/interviewed/emailed/moneyed, etc! I was nervous we wouldn't get it (probably adding to my sad sackness yesterday), but hallelujah hurrah huzzah we did!

So what is it? An adorable, full-of-character-and-cool-architecture house right near a great park/shops/things! It's got hardwoods and a yard and plenty of space and a lurvely kitchen to bake cupcakes and and and! It's exactly the type of place I was excited to live, now that we're out of The Most Expensive City Ever.

We don't move in till early July, so we'll be hanging downtown for another month or so. I plan on using the time to scout out my new library branch, grocery store, jogging route, and Starbucks, hip/local coffee shop.

I'm starting the family-you-should-come-here-for-Thanksgiving campaign...now!

Mommy dating

So I have a buddy guy husband and I have a biscuit love baby, but I seriously need some good mom friends. And to get them, I need to date them. In the words of my friend Jeanne, "It's like J-high again, but this time you have an infant on your person instead of 10 binders."

I had my second round of playgroup today. And it was...fine. Nothing crazy or out-of-the-ordinary or even blog-worthy happened. I hung with a couple moms and their babies and then Harper fell asleep and we drove home and I stopped at a Starbucks (drive-thru! such a novelty to a city girl) and...cried. I'm not even really sure why, but I did. Not a sobfest, just one of those pathetic, silent, Indian-picking-up-trash-by-the-road [[post-edit because my husband thinks that sounds crazy/racist: I'm referencing the commercial from the 70's! he put it in the comments!]] cries.

Don't get me wrong -- I'm really fine. It just feels lonely to be new. To be "on" all the time and worried that whatever little comment I make will forever brand me the overprotective mom (I use a video monitor) or the not-protective-enough mom (took me till today to find a new pediatrician) or too preppy (beemer wagon!) or too crunchy (cloth diapers!) or whatever.

Also? I'm irreverent and nerdy and non-religious and non-boozing and judgey. So finding a lurve match can be tough. But I'm sure everyone feels that way, right? That they're fancy and unique and unicorn-y and complex to mesh with.

So I guess it's simple, really. I just miss old friends who know me and know Clay and put up with our quirks and sauciness and love us anyway.

*eats my feelings*

Happy weekendz!

Hope it's as yummy as a baby sprinkled with cupcake crumbs.

I'm trying

We all know about my inability to dress our daughter like a lady. I favor white onesies, navy sweats, black hoodies. What can I say? That's what I feel comfy in, so I treat her the same.

But it's finally getting to me. All those "how old is HE?" and "aw, what a cute little GUY" and on and on and on. So I'm trying to make things a little clearer to the outside world. Not signing up for 24/7 bubblegum pinkness, but I'm definitely making a concerted effort to punch up the girl quotient.

Mom and I went shopping last week and snagged some super cute girly tanks. They're great because for now, I can layer 'em up over a onesie. And for summer, they can go solo. And I have to admit, I'm loving her little pinkover.

Trying really hard not to write about diapers

Because...that's weird, right? To be really obsessed with cloth diapers? And all the different combos you can do? Prefolds with a (blue! or yellow! or pink!) cover? Fitted (mauve paisley! or skulls!) without? Hemp inserts? Special soap? Cute little bags to hold the dirties?

Harps and I took a trip to a cloth diaper store today. And it was awesome. I got some new stuff for nighttime after chatting with the peeps hanging and working there. Then I skipped out of there and sang a lullaby to Mother Earth.

HELP ME.

Okay, um, what else what else what else.

WHAT ELSE.

We're still house huntin' over here. If we were on HGTV, we'd be obsessed with stainless steel appliances and a double vanity and an open floor plan and perfectly painted walls and plenty! of! space! for! entertaining! (How many parties do these people have???) But instead, we're still trying to figure out the perfect 'hood for us and how much a yard matters and whether we care about hardwoods. AND WHERE WILL I HANG MY DIPES OUT TO DRY.

F. That didn't work.

Um.

Oh! I called a sitter today. *faints* Clay's assistant at work gave us a rec and I finally called her today, after nearly throwing up from fatigue. I'm not ready to head out the door with a jaunty wave, but I think I'm ready to take a nap in the back room while someone plays with Harps. I think. (I'm actually seriously queasy thinking about doing this. So any "you can do it!" words would be much appreciated...)

But wait! Will the sitter be able to do the cloth diaper thing? Will I need to keep buying disposables? Maybe if I get one of those half disposable/half not combinations that'll work? Is there a --

I...I'm sorry. It's hopeless.

My favorite time of day

Never thought I'd say this -- and of course I wish she'd sleep later -- but morning is now a happy time.

Harps wakes up between us (her last shift of sleep is in our bed), smiling and cooing. We take turns sleepily smooshing her cheeks and kissing her forehead, inhaling her marshmallow scent. I slowly pull her toward me for a milky breakfast while Clay takes a shower. When she's done, I sit her on my lap and she watches her daddy get dressed. She stalks his every move -- clothes on, hair combed, shoes picked -- wide-eyed and smiling. Before he leaves for work, there are more cuddles on the bed while I fumble for my glasses and put on some sweats. There are group hugs and kisses and Clay is soon out the door, leaving his ladies to start their day.

Very important developments

1) Clay bought us a twenty dolla iced tea machine yesterday. My life is now complete. And my teeth are never going to be the same. (Manic ice crunching. Yellow stains.)





2.) Thanks to some hand-me-downs from my lovely cousin, Christie (via my mom's suitcase), I'm now doing the cloth diaper thing. And totally loving it. Wasn't sure if I could handle the change or really understand how to make it work without leaks and catastrophes, but so far so great! We even bundle her bum up at night without issue.

(**Full disclosure, middle-of-the-night post edit: I totally jinxed myself here. Just had our first leak. Doh. Think I'll add an extra layer for nighttime...**)

Only downside so far? Clay's horrified. But let's be honest here; the dude's a great dad, but not a great dipe changer -- even with disposables. So (for me) this isn't a big deal.

Happy to answer any questions thru email for those looking to switch (tho I still have more to learn myself), because I don't want to turn BJA into a potty blahg. But seriously -- if you haz washer and dryer, I can't recommend cloth highly enough.




3.) Harper is rockin' tummy time finally. She used to immediately lose her s%*t when we put her on her belly, but now she hangs out, lifts her head, looks around, and even seems semi-delighted. She eventually cries, but omahgod -- my babe won't still be stuck on her back the first day of kindergarden.





4.) Our first day of playgroup is tomorrow. *obsesses over outfit* And get this -- our little group is called the Junebugs! Perf for our little Harper June, no? Weeeesh us luck!

*tear*

My full-time nanny mom is leaving tomorrow and I'm feeling a bit bummed. It's been a hah-uge help having her here -- more than I even thought it would be. Not only has there been someone here to help jiggle Harps and comfort her and bathe her and snuggle her, there's been someone here to talk to me all day. Which is huge. I rely a little too much on the company of HGTV hosts (what up, Suzanne Whang!), so it's lovely to have someone around who talks back. (In a good way.)

It's shown me I really need:

A) Some palz. But I knew this and I'm working on it. (Mom group let my punk a&$ in! Waiting on a playgroup assignment, which I think will really help get the friend ball rolling...)

B) Some daytime halp. Not a lot, not a ton. But maybe a few hours a week so I can go for a run ("run" -- more like a determined shuffle) or take a nap or go grocery shopping solo. Or pee with the door closed?

Also realized I'm really looking forward to consistently good weather, where I can frolic in a sundress and put Biscuit in her new $2.99 Target girly shirts. (Hearts! Butterflies! Pink!) Because you know what? IT SNOWED HERE. Snow. On the ground. May 12th. Holy Cow-lorado. (Sorry.)

Navy

Baby and mama live in it.

Even if we look like boyz.

Monday, monday

Frandz!


I hope everyone had a great momz day. I loved mine -- extra sleeps while Clay manned the Biscuit, blueberry pancakes, tulips, new hot pink kicks (for the running I'mma start THIS WEEK), new hair products to halp my insane static electricity hair (thanks, Colorado!), Chiptole (there is one ON EVERY CORNER HERE), and a drive through some purty neighborhoods.

Sometimes I get all weird about going places with Harps because I hate when she freaks out in the car and it's just easier to sit on our couch. But I'm so glad Clay pushed my bum out the door and treated me to treats and showed me the world outside babies. Does a mama good!

Of course, I didn't get to see my own mom pants. However! I couldn't feel sad too about this because she's coming in late tonight for a week long visit. YES PLeASe. While I really appreciated the help early on, when she hung in SF with us for 6 weeks, I'm super excited for the help (and c-o-m-p-a-n-y) this week. Instead of a cute little blob baby I was rocking before, I've got a real little person on my hands now, which is... a lot more work. There's no more plunking her down in a bouncy chair while I do the dishes or pull off a hangnail. If I'm looking at something other than her? Loud, loud, loud NoiSeS.

!!!!!!!!!

So! Long story short, I'll love having Grammy around to entertain Her Highness while I pee.

I say happy mama's day!

Harps says talk to the handz.




xo.

(Yesterday, Harps was) 3 months old

Somehow our little crumb cake is three months old. Wha' happened?!

Even though I'm constantly sleep deprived, dressed in men's pit-stained v-necks, and functioning on coffee and Paul Newman's mint oreos exclusively, I can honestly say I love being Harper's mama. Somehow, every night, after 12 or 13 hours together just the two of us, I'm still taken aback by her sweetness and my luck at being given her to raise and protect and smoosh. Call me loco, but I actually miss her when she goes to sleep.

(Though I'm also 10000000% ready for some adult time. Don't get me wrong, peeps - I'm not insane, just in love.)

Enough of the rainbow butterfly unicorn talk.

Here's a video of our little siren, the Junebug.

Quick!

While Harps takes her one reliable nap (the morning variety - usually about 40 minutes - we're 15 minutes in) I somehow bathed, lotioned, dressed, made/drank coffee, and uploaded some new pics. Efficiency gold medalist.

Hadn't hit you with some Biscuit sweetness in a couple days, so here ya go. Check out the drool bubble she's got poppin'. And yes, I do spend most of my days just nibbling on her cheeks.

House hunters

We spent this weekend roaming around the city, checking out neighborhoods for our future home base. The two knowns: We're (almost definitely) sticking with renting and we want to find a house. Other than that...we're pretty open.

It's tough to ignore the insanely beautiful mountains, so maybe we want to find a pad out in the country, where I can run around in a petticoat and sing songs about horses. But on the other hand, I really like being close to...things. Like cafes and shops and other places containing human life forms.

Then there's the issue of lots-of-character-and-neatness-but-probably-old-with-bad-plumbing vs boring-architecture-but-shiny-kitchens-and-no-black-mold. Since we're (most likely) not buying, we're leaning toward the latter. We don't have to live in the place forever, so the coolness factor matters a little less; might as well enjoy some newness while I bake cupcakes.

We're enjoying our downtown loft right now and we've got a little time to figure out our next step. I think we'll get a better feel for what's right for us in the next few weeks.

In the meantime, I'm busy keeping our delicious lil baby milked-up. She's going through her three month growth spurt and girl can EAT. Good to be doing the nursing thing during these spurts, since mad, intense hunger can hit at anytime and her food source is always at the ready. It's tiring, but definitely handy. There was lots of impromptu feeds throughout our weekend jaunts and I was grateful for our feeding routine.

Sorry, (or you're welcome?) Denver, for all the nipple shots!

Biscuit in a basket

Slings (and HGTV) are a mama's best friend.

Talking to a volleyball

So Clay's back in SF for a couple days, overseeing the big move. I'm eternally grateful that he's handling all that junky bi'ness and I'm cozy on a couch. However. It means I'm alone, hanging with a (super delicious albeit) completely speechless baldie in a new city. It's a wee bit...lonely?

I'm actually pretty good at hanging out solo -- I'm one of those strange outgoing introverts -- so things could be worse. But it's definitely time to start the making-new-friends process. I had Clay print me out a mommy group application and I'm all set to fill it out. However. There are somehow NO PENS to be found? Anywhere? Just a busted mechanical pencil? I'm thisclose to pricking my finger and using the blood. Cuz hey! I still have my diabetes kit!

Name: Amy Cowan
Child's name: Harper Cowan
Hobbies: SUcKInG YeR BLoODz

I'm in!

So I made it to Target

And it was all I hoped it would be.

I even found a blue-and-white-striped shirt to replace my old blue-and-white-striped shirt that doesn't fit my nursing bod anymore. (I now wear stretched-out v-necks 98% of the time, so this is particularly thrilling.)

While I ran around grabbing shiny things off shelves, Harps snuggled into her sling and was a total saint for her mama. I think she got scared after my garage breakdown yesterday.

"Target must be really important. I shall behave."

I'd been feeling a little guilty about her lack of toys. We read lots of lovely books and talk all the time and sing and there was the caterpillar of course, but toys? Meh. So today I grabbed her a fancy playmat thing, with lots of baubles and dangles and jingles. And I also got her a Bumbo, one of those weird foamy chairs for wee ones. Perhaps this isn't a...toy. But it's sumpin different and fun for the Biscuit to work with. And it makes me squeal with happies.

It's sad

How much a trip to Target can mean.

People! Pretty things! People!

I was desperate to go yesterday. Made a list, straightened my hair (?????), and put the Biscuit in a girly outfit. Headed down to the parking garage, put her car seat in the back row, and began the tricky process of buckling in the seat, sans base.

(If you don't have babies, don't even worry about what this means.) (Just know it's hard for spatially challenged fruitcakes like myself.)

And I couldn't get it to work. And Biscuit was screaming. And my hair was getting clingy and weird.

I started frantically YouTubing How To videos on my phone. Which felt really weird and futuristic - and also completely unhelpful. I texted Clay for help - but realized a talk-thru on the phone wasn't gonna cut it and would probably end in marital counseling.

So I picked up Harper and I walked around the garage and we cried together.

"Looks like we won't be seeing other people today, Harps."

She shrugged. I think.

Then I put her in the stroller, pushed it outside into the Colorado sun, and got over it. Cuz that's what mamas do.

At the park on a sunny day

-- Post From My iPhone

Wireless no worky

So it's iPhone only today. Quick summary?

Sunday was...interesting. Whole new world this doing-already-stressful-things with a baby in tow. Lots of manic laundry and packing and hand wringing followed by airport nonsense and pacing the airplane aisles to keep Harps happy.

I honestly didn't have the time or brain space to get sad about leaving; I'm sure it'll hit me at a totally inappropriate time, like the first meeting of my mom group.

"Nice to meet you, t --"

*sob sob sob*

Finally arrived Sunday evening. Pouring rain, chilly air -- Harps looked horrified. Welcome to real weather, honeycomb! But our pad (temporary corporate housing) is kick ass. Makes such a difference to land somewhere new and be staying somewhere pimped out and cozy. Yes please.

Yesterday the Biscotti and I laid real low. Had a touch of altitude sickness and wanted her to get settled. But today? Today we conquer Denver.

Whole Foods! Walk in the park! A baseball game tonight! Probably a huge dipe explosion! Stay tuned.




-- Post From My iPhone

Clearly upset by the move

-- Post From My iPhone

Some San Francisco memories on our last night

Looking at this crazy view from our living room fort

Foggy evenings on Fillmore

The tea party at Ghiradelli Square with Meredyth and Christie

Hilly walks home from work with Mary Claire

Sitting, looking out the window on Broadway, trying to hear the tour busses

Reading and writing upstairs at La Boulange with chai

Spicy hot chocolates on cold summer nights at Bittersweet Cafe

My Crissy Field constitutionals

Up and down the hills on our Vespa

My baby shower/tea party at Lovejoy

Visiting all the Presidio cafes with mom before Harps was born

Chinese food and Idol Tuesdays with Manj

Billy the Doorman and all his complete awesomeness

The 555 California view

Swimming at the Y with my huge belly in my undies

Learning to snowboard in Tahoe together

The Saga of the Flickering Lights across from the old place

Rollerskating for Steve's birthday in Redwood City

Poke bowls with chopsticks

Zipping down the 101 in our GTI to pick up Clay from the airport on Thursdays

6th floor shenanigans at Goodby

Live scallops from Zushi Puzz

That pretzel/sausage sammy Manj and I discovered in Tahoe

My City College classes. Wow.

Our honeymoon: San Francisco up the coast to Vancouver

Picking out a mini Christmas tree together while it drizzled cold

Pumpkin picking in Half Moon Bay

Cozy bookclub evenings with my ladies

Delancey Street Cafe reuben lunches with the Ubs peeps

Walking around (and around and around) Lafayette Park with Harps in her sling

Dogsitting Kylie and Danni while eating 3 different kinds of Ben and Jerrys and mini apple pies

Baking Amy Sedaris's ginger snaps at our first lil apartment

Horseback riding with the boys

Watching Twin Peaks on our fuzzy brown couch
 
Our mini babymoon to Carmel

Strolling the Farmer's Market on Saturdays for dried lavender and olive bread

The insanely yummy smell of Method's stock closet

The #12 bus

Egg salad and lemonade lunch breaks in SOMA's South Park

Hours of Jordan, Jesse, Go! archives at my work desk

The smell of eucalyptus everywhere
 
Happiness

Fussbudget

If you didn't think Harps fusses?

You'd be wrong.

In other subjects, lately I've been feeling awkward around friends-who-don't-have-babies-yet. I feel a bit like a zoo animal. What does this caged hobo do all day? How is she looking? Is she living-the-life-she-always-wanted? Will she eat hay? (Sure.)

It's nothing they're doing, I know it's in my head. But sometimes when I'm around non-moms I feel frumpy and sort of...other. Like I hopped over an invisible fence and they're on the other side wearing skinny jeans and perfume and we're maybe also speaking different languages. Theirs being something cool, mine being Latin.

I know I'll get comfier in my new skin and my friends will get used to me being a mom and the planets will align again, just in slightly different positions. But for now, I'll be over here -- using my still-kinda-squishy bod to feed a small person, wearing the sweats and the glasses and the baby, probably smelling a little like hay.

Birth control for the younger crowd

Last week, Biscuit wouldn't nap. At all. I held her, I pushed her in the stroller, I rocked her in the swing, I cradled her in the sling. Nothing. Her red demon eyes only shone brighter. To force her into it, I drove the 45 minutes down south to my buddy Lou's house. I wasn't even sure she was around, but I desperately needed adult contact and a long car ride to put Harps to zzzzz.

Luckily she was there (with delicious baby in tow). We had a lovely visit, I regained some semblance of my sanity, and we hit the road after a couple hours.

I'm feeling totally smug that we've made it off the freeway and onto the city streets without any major car jams or small person meltdowns. But ten minutes away from home, cruising along a line of uncooperative traffic lights, Harps started wailing. Not fussing, not crying. Wailing. Red faced, fists clenched, choking on her sobs, break-your-heart-in-half wailing.

There was no way I could make it home, so I pulled off the Embarcadero, onto a wind-y side street. I found an illegal spot, nestled between another car and a fire hydrant, and parked. Hazards flashing, I jumped out of the car and scooped up the Biscuit. Within seconds, I smelled the problem. Serious, serious bum leakage.

So there I was: Target sweats, illegally parked, middle of the city, wailing, poop-smeared baby in hand.

Deep breath, deep breath.

I spot a patch of grass nearby. Score!

Juggling Harps and her diaper bag (which I'd come thisclose to not bringing along) I make it to the grass, lay down the portable diaper changey thing (thank you, Manj!!!) and strip her down. The diaper is 109% filled with liquid, mustardy, noxious junk. Leaking down her legs, up her back, all over my hands. She's naked (in 50 degree weather) and screaming and kicking as a large group of female joggers pass us by.

"Hi!" I say, waving a yellowed hand.

They run faster.

Somehow I wipe most of the offending smell away and bundle everything bad into a little package. Harps is quickly into a new dipe and her poop-stained onesie is buttoned back up. I strap her back down into the car seat and speed off toward home.

Only she's back to screaming again.

I'm literally 7 minutes from home, but I don't think we can make it.

At this point, we're cruising down Broadway -- our former street-o'-residence, but also, in parts, where the nakie girls like to dance in shiny-signed clubs. This is where I pulled over. And whipped out my boob. And fed her. In daylight, in my car, no nursing cover. But she finally calmed down. Cuz here's the thing. Mine not be as...perky...as what the passerby are used to, but they'll do. They'll do just fine.

Rockabillybaby

Holy s&*t I'm tired. Not a particularly tough day -- we even got a solid morning nap in! -- but it's the first day in a long while I haven't had an extra pair of hands around to help. See, Clay started his job this week -- so the ladies are winging it solo thru Thursday. I shouldn't even make a peep though, because if he hadn't quit the old job? This would have been our life every week. *choke*

It's our last week in SF and I'm in good spirits. Not that I won't miss some very specific people very much, but dunno -- I'm ready. As much as I talked a big game about 850 square feet being just fine for two big people and one little person, thankyouverymuch -- it's kinda not. At least when you don't have any outdoor space for spillage and there's only one main living space that we use for...everything. Tight quarters on a few hours sleep makes me psycho flustered.

In other news, I can't wa-ait to drop these last 5 or 6 pounds. Because I won't spend any cash on new duds until I'm there. I'm getting by with some baggy maternity clothes and weird inbetweeny  hobo-who-nurses outfits, so I'm desperate for some lovely items. Perhaps not "lovely", since everything I wear is covered in milk/poo/spitup within seconds, but maybe just flattering and cute? Mmmkah?

Speaking of which, check this shirt out. Clay's friend gifted it to Harps and I pretty much fainted at the sweetness of it all. Yes, that's a pink guitar that says her name inside. Hello.

Harps' best friend

Mom and I put this sucker up a week or so before I had the Harps. She didn't give a s&*t about it until a couple weeks ago, when cupid's arrow struck. Now? We can't drag her away.

Is there a fast forward button

For the next few weeks? I sort of don't want to live through them.

(Very, very, very) luckily, Clay's new job is paying for our move. Which means we'll have strangers packing up all our stuff. If this weren't happening, I'd...jump in the bay. I have a lot less to do than in a regular move, but I still have a ton to do. And it's not like before, when I'd be busy and tired and overwhelmed, but could be crabby or mopey and collapse when it was all over.

Now I have to ty and remain cheerful and calm for my Harps, keep it steady and stable so the move doesn't throw her for a total loop. This staying happy and wholesome all day long is probably the most challenging part of motherhood for me. Sometimes I just want to yell. Loud. Or hide under the covers for an hour or two and sob it out. (And then stay under for a few days' sleep.)

But now I've got a little girl I love so huge and I want to keep her daily life as peaceful as possible. So I find other ways to let out the frustration (cookie binges long walks) and remind myself how one day all this moving stress will be behind us and I'll miss those squishy two-month cheeks.

Yup

We're moving.

To Colorado.

Denver, if you want to get all specific and stuff.

Today was Clay's last day at the old job. Monday is his first day at the new. A whole two days he gets off! Slacker.

I'm sad to leave behind good friends, an insanely beautiful city, and a chapter of my life where some amazing things happened. But I'm really excited to: have our main man at home, try something new, snag a bigger pad without paying two arms and two legs, enjoy all four seasons again, maybe buy a truck?

Pretty sure we're clinically insane for attempting such a big move in such a short time with such a small baby. But we're doing it! I've got a couple weeks left in town to wrap up loose ends, say goodbye to pals, and visit the mystery bookstore. Then we hop on a plane (psssh ain't no thang - we're pros!) and shack up in corporate housing till we find home sweet home.

Anyone in the mood to ski? Accepting visitor applications starting...now!

Cha-cha-changes

Cheeks from above

Tacos

Harper does not want me to eat. Harper wants me to weigh 30 pounds. Harper thinks only Harper should eat.

So creative eating solutions abound.

(I may or may not have found little pieces of ground turkey in her diaper.)

(Also. I'm scared that you can tell, even in a grainy iPhone vid, how beat up I look. Oh, to get 6-hours-a-night again.)

Reason #5,698 why I love Ice T

WNBA perhaps?

Compared to Grandad I might be sorta small still...

So today was Ms. Junebug's 2 month appointment. Can't say I was looking forward to it (needles in my baby's thighs!), but I was interested to see how big she'd gotten. I felt like she was large and in charge (my back and arms - her personal transport system - have been killing me lately), but it's hard to judge changes when you see someone everyday all day. Plus, mamas aren't exactly unbiased.

But yeah. I wasn't wrong.

The Little Tank That Could is 13 lbs 1 oz and 24 inches long. That's two feet, people. Even the doctor was all woh! The man actually put a gold star sticker on her growth chart with instructions to hang it on the fridge. I blushed. Yes, I'm five.

That puts our future Jolly Green Giant in the 96th percentile for both height and weight. Holy nuts! Sorry for the braggy pants, but so much of my energy goes to feeding that fiend; I can't help myself.

Okay, okay. Moving on, moving on.

The shots sucked of course. (Except that they didn't, really. Because I'm pro-vaccine! Blah blah soapbox blah!) But Dr. McSteamy gave her some yummy sugar water first (her face was all: THERE ARE OTHER FLAVORZ IN THIS WORLD WHA?!) and got them all done super quick. Harps screamed bloody murder, but calmed down once I could hold her for a bit.

Since getting home it's been another fussy day, but she's hanging in. (By a thread.) (As am I.)

Note to self: Traveling across time zones with a baby followed by stabbing baby's thighs with needles = BABY NO HAPPY PANTS.

But good God, she's freaking cute.

Thumb bum

Me: "Buddy! Quick! I can't look down without moving her; is she sucking her thumb right now?! No more pacifiers?!"

Clay: "Ah! Yes! Don't move!"

Me: *stands frozen and helpless*

Clay: *snaps a million photos*

Harper: *removes thumb; never puts it back in again*

Peepers

It's common to meet the Biscuit and think she has eyes like mine. (Blue.)

Because she does right now. (Have blue eyes, that is.)

But I'm pretty sure they're not going to stay that way. Because some days they're gray. Other days a murky...non-color? And still others I can spot a little glimmer of Clay's color. (Green-y brown.)

For the baby mamas and papas out there: When did your peanut's eye color turn its real shade?

Two months

Our best girl is two months old today.

Dang!

Apologies for her somber expression. It's been a rough day around here and that's about as happy as she got.

(Piglet for size reference.)

(And now I'm going to try and get my little angel pop to sleep. A word she's forgotten the meaning of.)

This was much of our trip

1. Country tunes. These were live at a gas station. Awesome.
2. Backward snoozing.
3. SONIC.

Oh, HI

Turns out, our sweet little baby -- who usually only cries a few minutes each day -- is VERY MAD AT US for taking her on a big trip. It's not that she wasn't good -- no, great -- while we traveled. She was a total champ on both plane rides, barely made a peep during the many, many car rides we took, and cuted it up for all her relatives.

HOWEVER.

Bedtime brought massive tears and screams. Like, you hauled my ass all over the world, I put on a good face for all those strangers but NO MORE, evil parents! Once she got her ya-ya's out, she'd sleep great. But then demon screams would reappear at the next bedtime. And now that we're home, she is completely over it. Like, if I fall asleep, I may wake up in another home or state or country. So I will NOT FALL ASLEEP. Or STOP CRYING.

(I admit she finally fell asleep. Four hours into trying. I'm frantically bouncing her with my foot as I type.)

And while I'm tired and cranky and feeling frustrated, I mostly feel guilty and my heart's a little crumbly because...we did this to her. Our sweet little scone is crabby solely because we pushed it too far. Parenting fail 101!

This isn't to say that Texas wasn't a good time. We got to see a lot of people we haven't seen in a long time, ate some really great food (barbecue! Sonic! real biscuits! sweet tea! catfish! cupcakes! I gained 300 lbs!), enjoyed the insanely beautiful spring weather, and bonded our little family of three even more.

But I just want my buttery biscuit back to normal. Sigh.

Yeehaw

Mugging in Texas. Catfish, sweet tea, and lotsa trucks. XO

Deep in the heart

People! We made it! Alive!

Typing on my fone so I'll keep it brief, but Harps truly did GREAT. She even rocked the new sleep arrangement last night! I'm one proud mama.

We're off to Location Two today, deeper into the wilds. Our little city girl won't know what hit her!



(Snoozin on the plane!)

Not that you need to know this

Before I say anything else -- NO, I am not pregnant again. Sheesh.

But! For some reason, my body thinks it should get ready to make the cute smushy mug above a sibling. What the WHAT?! Isn't nursing supposed to keep all that nonsense away for, like, a year? Maybe 10? Epic body fail.

In other, less revealing, news: We're taking our first plane ride tomorrow. Cue dramatic muzak! We haven't been to Texas to see Clay's family in much too long and there are many people yet to meet the Bisque. So we're packing up some diapers and the Pack 'n Play and hitting the tarmac for an Easter visit.

I'm feeling a wee bit nervous about the whole adventure (coughing passengers! crying baby! explosive-up-the-back-poops-in-a-small-bathroom!), but know it's good to get this under my belt before my mind makes it into something scarier than it really is.

That being said: Pray for us?!

Sunday

Please don't interrupt us. We're doin deals.

Happy Harps

Photo cred/props to Christian Selchau-Hansen.
Thank you mucho for being our paparaz today!

So why is our little lady so happy? Because! Because her daddyo papa pants won't be traveling anymore. Yup. Much to his ladies' delight, Clay gave notice this week and will put in his last day tomorrow. (!!!!!)

It's a big change for our little family, but I couldn't be happier. (And neither could Harps!) Our favorite guy is going to be here instead of there.

Which is really effing awesome.

Details on our next chapter to follow when...they're figured out. Bam!

A different kind of baby bump

My little papoose and me.

I'm still working out the kinks and I've still got a few other brands to try out, but dude! Babywearing is so incredibly handy. Of course little Junebug doesn't always want to be RIGHTUPONME -- the lady likes her space, too -- but usually she does.

(And actually in the past few days she's totally realized when I've left her zone and will sometimes cry until I'm back. What in the hell will the stranger anxiety months hold if she's like this at 6.5 weeks?!)

When I actually get the wrap snug enough and her little nose in the right position to breathe and her head not bobbing around, I can get so much stuff done. Holy two hands!

Another bonus? All the crazy looks and waves from rando fans on the street.

*beauty queen wave*

In 'n Out

Cheeseburgers and cokes on Fisherman's Wharf.

I blame any and all fast food binges on my brother.

In which I annoyed everyone in San Francisco

Because I couldn't stop squealing and taking pictures of her little peeping mug during our family stroll.




Not sure what you did Saturday night, but mine was spent picking up all the pieces of my heart.

Sometimes... I dress her like a girl

  
Listen. It's not like I'm anti-pink. I love pink! Makes my skin look all glowy and my husband look all hunky. But for some reason, I find myself dressing Harper in unisex outfits. It's just that I love love love her in a plain white onesie! I can't help it -- it's an American classic, people. Add in the jeans and she's ready to join the Jets!

And then we all know how I feel about lumberjack oufits. Yum!

The problem is, when your baby is small and bald, no one knows what the hell she is. And when they try and find out by asking her name? Er. Clearly, my unisex tendencies carried over there, as well.

So when I go out in public -- like yesterday, to visit old coworkers and show them what I cooked up all those months at my desk -- I feel driven to put her in pink. And stick a purple binky in her mouth. And a flowery blanket over her legs. I come very close to swiping a bit of mascara on her lashes. Because as much as I pretend not to care, I need people to know she's a lay-dee.

Open doors for us! Pull out our chairs! Let us off the Titanic first!

Um

That is all.

6 weeks

Lil HJC will be 6 weeks on Friday. Huh? What? When did that happen? Mom?

Which means it's time (today) for my 6 week check-up with the laydee doctor. I remember thinking that was LIGHT YEARS away right after I pushed Harps out and my OB was up in my grill telling me to make an appointment stat. But I blinked my eyes and suddenly I'm dressing myself and my bug for a quick jaunt down the hill, into some stirrups.

I've read all these things about people being super nervous about this particular milestone. And I'm confused. Should I be nervous? Are they going to make me push out another baby? Will she strip my membranes again? Drill my teeth without novacaine? What in the world could be worse than those things? Honestly, I'm excited to get the go-ahead for things like exercise and, ahem, exercise. It's time to feel like a real person again.

But before we go, may I treat you to a foto? Snapped for papa, who's on the road and needed to see these jeans in action:

We must suffer to be beautiful, Biscuit!

Chances are

If you catch me on the phone these days:

1) A small miracle has occurred and I've decided to press "Answer" -- even though I'm the Worst Phone Person Ever and I now have a Very Small Thing that needs me At All Times.

and/or

2) I will fill your ears with breastmilk/poo/snot talk. ("She pooed up her back AGAIN! Should we try another diaper size? I'm thinking of trying another diaper size...Or maybe just another brand?") And genuinely think you're genuinely interested.

Doesn't me-not-answering-your-call seem a lot more appealing now?

Papa love

For his personal use, Clay has deemed the stroller "lame" -- there is something kind of pansyish about a big guy pushing a very small person around -- while the Bjorn has gotten his stamp of approval. I'm fine with this because OH MY HOLY GOD LOOK HOW ADORABLE THEY ARE TOGETHER.

We took a stroll down Fillmore, peeked in some shops, picked up some takeout, enjoyed the sunshine. (Sorry, monsoon-sufferers of New England.) She was O-U-T the whole time, cuddled up close and loving her tough little life. And it left my hands/back/everything free to walk around like a real person! I approve.

Zip zip

This (sunny, sunny!) weekend, my little family and I drove down the Peninsula to meet Harper's new best gal pal, Inga. After shared pregnancies full of what-the-hell-is-happening-to-us and chocolate cupcakes, my good buddy Lou gave birth a couple weeks ago to her own little baby girl heart stamp. I've been dying to get my grubby little hands on her and finally I did! And she is DELICIOUS. I can't wait to see her again.

But the crazy part was seeing Harper and Inga side by side. Only one month apart, but so different! What a month of milk can do! Because I see our scone baby everyday, it's tough to see how she's growing and changing. (Except when I look at her thighs -- her thighs say it all.) But next to a new newborn, I was finally able to see.

And then I took this video yesterday and oh man! It's almost time for college.

(Look for the almost-smile she's throwing at us these days!)

The books all say

That weeks 4-6 are the fussiest for babies.

I can confirm this fact.

But then!

She does this!

And all is forgiven.

Germz

I'm getting (slightly) better at not freaking when it's time to take Harper into public places. The thought of mouth breathers mouth breathing on my little scone makes me twitch, but I know I've got to a) start building up her immune system and b) see the light of day now and again.

We've developed a rating system to determine which places are appropriate. It goes like this:

Definitely safe (home) = 0 germs.
Mostly safe (sidewalk) = 1/2 germ.
Just-bearably-safe (cafe on a weekday, in the corner, facing away from all humans) = 1 germ.

Anything above 1 germ? (Grocery store, movie theater, mall, etc.) is OFF LIMITS TO THE BISCUIT.

What? Why're you looking at me like that?

Here's the Harps rockin' out gangsta style at a cafe down the street.

Don't mess!

Snooze pants

Most times, our little glow worm is pretty good at snoozing, no matter where you put her. There are naps in the bouncy chair, naps on the couch, and nighttime in her cribby. But sometimes her tum is hurting or she's a little overtired or hiccupy and needs a little extra loving. (You know -- in addition to the 78 hours a day she gets held.) And sometimes (always) her mama needs rest (and extra loving), too.

So we head to the Big Person Bed. We lie down next to each other and snuggle. She hears me breathe and smells my smell (milk) and falls into a deep sleep that's tough to replicate elsewhere. And then she wakes up and looks like this and my heart explodes:

We haz aliveness!

Scenes from a couch. Can you spot the Peeps? The dirty diaper? The God-knows-what?

Unless you're my mother, you probably weren't on the edge of your seats, but rest assured -- Glow Worm and I made it through our first night alone healthy and (all things considered) happy.

Harper did great -- completed her eat/sleep/eat/sleep/eat/sleep routine without missing a beat -- and I surprised myself by actually sleeping somewhere in the fog, too. (Instead of obsessively feeling her chest for movement every five minutes or adjusting the temperature of her room to perfection. I still did these things; it just wasn't every five minutes.)

Of course the tough part usually comes the next day, when the adrenaline wears off and you realize there are a lot of hours to fill with a non-speaking cuddle smush. Without Clay taking one of my feeding shifts last night, I'm running on a couple less hours sleep today than usual (when "the usual" is 5ish, "a couple less" makes a big difference) and with him gone until 9 or so tonight? Today hasn't been exactly...pretty.

Not that we're losing our minds over here, the Biscuit and I. It's actually been a lowkey and fairly calm day. We've eaten and napped and pooped. Rinse repeat. It's just the aesthetics of it all leave something (major) to be desired.

I'm wearing a strange hodge podge of sour milky clothes and she hasn't worn much more than a diaper and a blanket. I have paper towels stuffed up inside my shirt to soak up any leaks and there's a spit up stain the size of Iceland on our sheets. My main source of nutrition has been a baggie of cookies from Billy the Doorman and I still haven't folded the clean laundry from yesterday -- currently residing in the storage unit of my stroller, since someone stole our hamper bag.

But it's strange. Having these types of days makes me feel like I'm really doing this thing. This mom thing. This love-your-baby-so-much-you-don't-care-she-just-pooped-in-your-hand thing. It's nutty and tiring and insane, but it's also kick ass and real.

Girls night...in

Clay "Dad Man" Cowan hit the road today for a quick, one-night trip away. Which means the Lobster Bisque and I are solo for the first time since...never! Huzzah! Gulp.

I felt a little nervous pervous/mopey yesterday thinking about it, but our little friend let me get a few solid hours of sleep last night, today turned out to be sparkly sunshiney blue skies, and I even went for a walk into the real world without my mom forcing me to. And I did baby laundry! And ate a Cadbury egg! And I'm having one of my best pals visit tonight! I can do this, people!

And the icing on the cake? Running into Billy the Doorman who gave an amazing performance pretending not to know me since I've lost some baby weight.

"YOUR NAME CANNOT BE AMY!!!!!"

Yup. Things are good.

(But we still miss you, Dad Pants!)

Do they take one-month-olds at Weight Watchers?

Because I've got a potential customer over here.

PPD (Post Partum Dance)

We kind of like to dance in our family. Like, a lot. So when my buddies at the old job sent me one of the Wii games I worked on (well, the manual) that gives you points for dancing? Well - I was a touch excited. Even if I'm not supposed to exercise for three more weeks.

It was my mom's last night in town (sob sob sob), so I made her play, too. And Harper watched. Intently. What followed is below.