BABY COME BACK: PART DEUX

Nate has been gone since Monday; rockin' it in Texas with the long horns and BBQ. After he's been gone a few days, I always start to sing this song in anticipation of him coming home. I know not all the lyrics apply {like the parts that say, "i was wrong" and "I was wrong"} but I still hum it gently to myself in a secret 70's child kind of shame that only a 70's child can know.

Baby Come Back
by Player

Spending all my nights,
All my money going out on the town
Doing anything just to get you off of my mind
But when the morning comes,
I'm right back where I started again
Trying to forget you is just a waste of time

Baby come back, any kind of fool could see
There was something in everything about you
Baby come back, you can blame it all on me
I was wrong, and I just can't live without you

All day long, wearing a mask of false bravado
Trying to keep up the smile that hides a tear
But as the sun goes down, I get that empty feeling again
How I wish to God that you were here

Now that I put it all together
Give me the chance to make you see
Have you used up all the love in your heart
Nothing left for me, ain't there nothing left for me

TONIGHT I FEEL LIKE I'M ALL TALK

Tonight Nate was performing his evening penance of rubbing my back when I finally tried to verbalize what I've been feeling this week. Me: "babe, did we make a mistake in having another baby?" Nate: "um, seriously, we're having this baby in, like, 5 days." Me: "i know, and we're about to wreck everything. Clementine is perfect and enough and I'm really actually super satisfied with just her." Nate: "um, seriously, we're having this baby in, like, 5 days."
Since seeing my doctor on Friday, and since scheduling my c-section for Memorial Day morning, I've totally changed my tune. I used to be all "la la la, I want this baby out this minute. dum dee dum dum I'm so ready not to be pregnant anymore." And now, now that the surgery is scheduled and come 8am Memorial Day morning I'll be nearly cut into two separate pieces while my beloved doc thrust her arm into my torso up to her elbow and pulls out a new member or my family, I'm back peddling. My tune sounds more like, "I HATE being pregnant (as thankful as I am to be so) but can I push a pause button someplace, recoup some energy cycles, and just plaaaaaay with Clementine all summer long. Just the two of us dee dum."
I love my kid. She is smart and funny and spontaneous and soooo random. She loves to laugh and make others laugh. She is great at giving compliments. She yells, "toot" whenever she...toots. And loves it when Nate and I burp (which, if you've ever been around a pregnant woman...is often). She loves to get dirty and play with toy sharks and be outside. She sings! She dances! There is a million versions of her smile and each one makes you feel like a million bucks.
So, who in their right mind would ever want more than what I already have? Who would want to introduce a distraction from the most amazing person ever to be born? WHAT HAVE WE DONE? These are the thoughts that have passed unceasingly thru my head. I took Clementine to This is The Place park a few days ago, which sidenote was a perilous endeavor for someone of my pregnancy level, but I did it because when else could I and how could she turn two without having ever petted a baby goat or rested one tiny little finger on the top of a baby chick's downy head? HOW? So we went. And I sweated mighty rivers. If you were there on Tuesday and you saw a woman that was totally pregnant and pitting out and drenched in a gallon of her own sweat...that was me.
Clementine embraced the baby animals with nothing less than 100% of her love. She squatted right over the sleeping baby goats, patted them on the tummies, and said, "soooo cute". She gently rubbed her fingers through the wool of the baby lambs and declared, "sooo soft". The pot belly pig, while in a pen, was a highlight. And the baby chick? Now I know how she will be with baby Busy. So gentle and sweet and ADORABLE. Every time her pointer finger softly touched the top of the chick's head she would say, "cheap". The pony ride was a no-go. I was disappointed because what mom doesn't want her girl to be fearless and embrace every opportunity. But she is MY daughter after all which means she does realize that the only horses you can trust are the ones my dad, "Pop", has trained. Period. Anything else is taking your life into your own hands.

                   

Aside from the baby animals I've tried to do something special with just me and Clem every day. We've painted pictures (which has quickly become her OBsessions). We've played in her shark pool. We take walks and sing and dance and eat cookies whenever we damn please. And I've been so tired and felt so disgusting and I've had the time of my life. Like, queue up the song from Dirty Dancing because "I've haaad the time of my liiiiife."

I know what will happen though. I know that by 10am on Memorial Day I'll be gazing into a pair of dark eyes, kissing a soft cheek and holding a tiny wilted hand and I'll be like, "Okay, you can come play with us. We'll make room." And then the three of us will hold hands and skip off into the sunset. Or something like that.
When I had Clementine my heart literally broke. I held her and tended to her in the hospital for ten days and it just broke. And when it grew back together it was a little bigger and softer and began communicating regularly with my tear ducts. And I know that once Busy is more than this little body that kicks me incessantly with all six of her legs, my heart will break again. And what I'll be left with will be a superman strength heart that will become even more annoying on Facebook and Instagram with all the "my babies are better than your babies" posts. I'm sorry about that by the way. Every baby is perfect and beautiful. Mine just happens to be a smidge more-so.
So once again, this blog has served more as a personal therapy session. I have a fear, I stew over it for days and nights, I decide to blog about it, and voila! I come to some conclusion on my own that makes me feel a little better.
So I guess I'm still basically excited for Beatrice to be born. Busy, don't take offense to any of this when you are 13 and snooping through my personal stuff, it's not that I didn't love you from the moment you existed, it's just that I was super busy being completely in love with your older sister. And this, as it turns out, is a good thing because it was all good practice for loving you, too.

BABY COME BACK

Nate, come back from Texas and home to me.

HASHTAG CLEMENTINE

Some of my close friends and family will remember when I was about 6-months pregnant with Clementine I worried that I didn't love her or that I was going to be a terrible mother. I didn't sit for hours and think about her or imagine how life would be with her. Probably, mostly, because I really had no idea what to imagine or think. Motherhood and a tiny baby were just beyond my ability to pretend.

So actually, I don't think I was one of those moms who bonded with their unborn baby. I mean, I was happy to be pregnant, happy for the chance to be a mom, grateful that she was growing healthy and strong. But I just didn't feel mom-like or get overwhelmed with loving her. Not until those first few minutes, hours, and days at the hospital.

Our first encounter was a few minutes after she was born. I was super high on morphine but managed to lift one of my 85 pound arms to her tiny head as a nurse held her close enough for me to see and touch. My first words to her were, "hi baby". Swaddled up she looked even smaller than 4.5 lbs and in my drugged out pillow brain I almost thought I had given birth to nothing more than a baby head.

About six hours later I finally coaxed one of the nurses to break every hospital rule and take her out of the nursery and bring her to me so I could see her with a clear head. So I could hold her with arms that didn't feel like they actually weighed 85 lbs each. I held her for about 30 minutes before word got out that I had a preemie baby outside of the nursery and she had to go back. But "hi baby" and 30 minutes was all I needed to fall for her hook, line, and sinker.

Everyday this kid, this little girl who once was born half the size of our 8 lb cat Agnes, will do or say something that turns my heart into a big clump of gummy bears. In these moments it is best if I'm not driving or doing anything that requires logic and reason. Because I don't have any. The only thing I'm really capable of doing is breathing in and out and falling even deeper in love with her. I'm fairly certain that is my new job; I fall for this kid again and again, every single day.

So the fact that I'm six months pregnant with baby girl #2 and not feeling a really strong maternal bond doesn't freak me out the way it did with Clemmy. I know it will come. It will come when we meet and every moment after that. Just like Jerry McGuire, she'll have me at "hi baby".

INSTINCTS

The entire process of babies has become fascinating to me. It's amazing that my body just knew how to make skin and bones and eyeballs. I would go to bed at night, waddle around at work, eat a pound of tater tots, and the entire time my body was building baby fingernails and eyebrows. How? Fascinating.

And then Clementine was born and the fascination quadrupled. The concept of anything, animal or human, having instincts...just kind of blows my mind. Birds have an instinct to fly. Cats have an instinct to hunt small things and they all do it the same way. Low to the ground. Eyes dilated. Ears flat. Clementine was the same way. Without being told how to eat or who to trust, there she was, eating from a bottle and snuggling into my arms like someone was prompting her to do it. Instincts. Fascinating. And the older she gets the more my mind is blown.

Every new thing she does, from discovering her toes to grabbing things with her thumb and forefinger, is this magical moment in time. And I can't tell you how honored I feel to be the one watching her and cheering her on like she is the most amazing creature ever put on the earth. Because she is.

She turned 9-months on Sunday. NINE MONTHS. She is getting closer and closer to 19 pounds, her hair is longer and her little personality is just bright, inquisitive, sweet and goofy. I love her. Today we went to her 9-month wellness checkup. I was happy it was just measuring and weighing and no shots. I hate the shots and the way her little body struggles and fights to get away when we pin her down to stick her pudgy thighs with what seems like a dozen needles that are all 6 inches long and as thick as pencils (spoiler alert: there was a shot after all).

She hovers right around 50% on everything. Which makes me so happy when I think about her meager beginning. But I really wanted to talk to the doctor about her development. When you have a preemie you're told that their development can be delayed. In fact, you are told to expect delays. You have to go by their adjusted age (basically you don't go by when they were born but when they were due to be born) and that it could take some time to catch up to other babies the same age. All that said, I've had this nagging concern because she just hasn't had any ANY interest in anything even remotely related to being mobile. Nothing. Nada.

She can sit (yay), she can roll (from her tummy to her back but not the other way), she can eat her toes and grab and put cereal in her mouth. She can smile (brightens up the room, in fact), and scream (it's been described like the piercing call of a wild eagle). But I see other babies, some a little older and some younger than Clementine, rolling and crawling and scooting...my inner dialogue starts talking.

So I told Dr. W what she was and wasn't doing and the doctor got this look on her face. The kind of look you really don't want your pediatrician getting. Ever. And then she started in with a whole lot of questions. Does she do this? Does she do that? Most of the questions were met with a reluctant No. Simply put, if I lay Clemmy on her back and go make dinner, when I come back she'll be in the same place I left her, with a toe stuck in her mouth and an eagle call hanging in the air. She doesn't get on her hands and knees. She doesn't pull herself up to standing. She doesn't army crawl. None of it. She is a hellova kicker and will do some damage if you get close enough. But absolutely no interest in getting from here to there.

Dr. W explained that I have 45 days to get my little one up on her hands and knees and saying things like mama and daddy. And if I cannot meet the challenge? "Early Intervention". When I heard those words everything moved on in slow motion. I just looked at my baby girl and thought "Wait, stop, she is going to be just fine. She just needs more time. Don't judge her. She is super smart and will do all of those things. I PROMISE". Don't get me wrong, I'm so glad programs like this exist. I think it's fabulous that there is a whole team of people just waiting to point our babies in the right direction. I just kinda hoped that they would never be called upon for my baby. My sweet, smiley, chubby little perfect girl.

Dr. W gave me some ideas about what I could do and then told me that not only did there need to be drastic improvement within 45 days, but she wanted Clementine to be crawling, talking, eating table foods and possibly walking when she turns 1. Um, that's in 90 days. That is a lot of milestones to reach in three short months. Especially when I look at where we are now. But I'm up for it. I'm gonna be spending a lot of time on the floor, being a cheerleader, a physical therapist, a circus performer. But I'll do anything for her. Anything.

Also, as Dr. W was leaving she said, "oh, it looks like Clementine never got her second flu shot so we'll get that done today". SECOND flu shot? What? So after all that I had to pin her little writhing body down while the nurse stabbed her with a giant, dull, needle and the tears swelled up in her eyes. "Sorry baby", I said as I kissed her neck and hugged her tight.

Any resources you have or advice for getting a little one interested in crawling are greatly appreciated. Otherwise, I'm going on instinct. Low to the ground. Eyes dilated. Ears flat...

GLIMPSE

Nate went skiing today. This is the chat we had while he stopped for a break. We are WAY immature.

Nate

baby are you really on?

Me
are you?

Nate
yeah, on some wireless in the cafeteria :)

Me
sweet. I'm just getting ready to get ready to leave.

Nate
...with my ipod

Me
rockin

Nate
fine,you hate me :(

Me
no way.
i loooooove you

Nate
yes way

Me
you hate me

Nate
watcha gonna buy at the downeast?

Me
just browse
i'd love to get a cabinet for the half bath

Nate
no, you hate me

Me
i don't

Nate
forbidden ;)

Me
what is forbidden?

Nate
your picture is so hot n'stuff (to buy cabinet)

Me
what pic is hot?
what one????

Nate
the pic that's on your profile

Me
that's nothin
you should see me in person

Nate
the one that I see in the chat

Me
you should see me in person

Nate
got any moods?

Me
photo doesn't do me justice
moods?

Nate
I mean noods

Me
noods?

Nate
nudes

Me
oh, nudes.
well, I do. but I don't put them online

Nate
I like the oo spelling better

Me
yeah

Nate
so...we'll have to get you actually using you iPod n'shiz

Me
i know. i've been negligent
and busy

Nate
yeah...busy hot :)

Me
what ya eatin?

Nate
freakin hot

Me
freakin hot? not hardly

Nate
skittles and cliff bar

Me
oh, yummyu

Nate
gonna come back for a real lunch in about 1.5hrs

Me
nice. just catching your breath?

Nate
you're totally freakin'got

Me
it looks like a nice day
not freaking hot baby.

Nate
I gore the hyppglycemia

Me
that's never fun to ski with. all dizzy and sweaty

Nate
I gots I mean
yeah... had to get me some sugar

Me
feelin better?

Nate
yeah
well, I must bail now

Me
me too.
have fun baby
use sun screen

Nate
this Mountain ain't gonna ski itself

Me
true dat

Nate
yes, sun screen on
later baby

Me
love you

Nate
I wuv you

Me
i know

LOVE, AND OTHER WORDS CLEMENTINE TAUGHT ME

Being 40 when you have your first baby is super rad. But I must admit that days after we had Clementine Nate declared "Let's do this again soon" and I retorted, "Why did we wait so long in the first place?" I love being Clemmy's mama right now, just as it is, forty and fabulous. But I feel a little silly having lived 40 years before I learned the meaning of certain things. I graduated with a degree in English. My vocabulary is okey dokey (see?), but then along came Clem and my eyes were opened. Case in point:

SAHM: Stay at Home Mom. Yes, I joined some online mom communities. I knew there would be questions I'd have at 2am and the Internet would be the only one awake to answer them. SAHM gets thrown around a lot, as does DH (dear husband), LO (little one) and EFF (exclusively formula feeding). That last one stings because EBF (exclusive breast feeding) moms think you are pathetic and lazy. Suck it EBF moms. I EFF and my baby is strong and healthy and PERFECT. Sheesh

MAMA BEAR: I thought I had a handle on this one. I've always said that if you mess with my family or friends I'll go "mama bear" on your ass. But I think I only knew how to go "bear" on your ass before I had Clementine. For example, let's say you're unkind to my sister. I would come to your house and tell you exactly what I thought of you...throwing in all sorts of expletives and "why I oughta's". Say something unkind to Clementine and while I'm at your house giving you the "what for" I'll also reach into your chest, pull out your heart, and feed it to you. THAT is how I serve up a little mama with my bear.

PARENTAL PRIDE: I just didn't understand those tacky parents who drove around with the stickers that said, "Proud parent of an honor roll student." Oh, I get it now. I mean, if I thought you'd listen I'd tell you how Clementine is the world's best sleeper/pooper/smiler and that she eats solids with such voracity that I want to stand on my front porch and tell the world that my miniature-born preemie baby eats solids way better than ANY BABY EVER DID while I held her little body up toward the heavens ala Lion King.

OVER-PROTECTIVE: My plan before I had Clementine was to go back to work. For my sanity. Yeah, right. Let me just say that I've caught myself telling my own mother how to feed my baby. I've also given her pointers on how to change a diaper, read a bedtime story, and burp. My. Own. Mother. Hi, I'm Tonia, and I'm over-protective. If I've ever let you hold Clementine, feed her, change her, or look at her for too long, then you know I love you and trust you with my most precious possession.

LOVE: Sure I loved before Clemmy. I loved my family, my friends, Nathan. Nate has been known to make fun of me because I love so enthusiastically. He calls me Elmira after the Tiny Toons character. I grew up hearing my parents and Sunday school teachers tell me that Heavenly Father loved me. I sang songs about it in primary. I knew it as a fact the way I know that Abraham Lincoln was a good president; because someone told me he was. But after I held Clementine for the first time; saw her tiny wrinkled body thriving and strong; recognized her graceful, patient spirit; witnessed this miracle baby sprint into life with the kind of gusto you read in a Hemingway novel; I thought, Wow, Heavenly Father does love me. He loves me enough to let me take care of THIS little one. And he probably loves me the way I love her. I really had no idea about love.

Are you kidding me with this face? 

AH, THIS IS HEAVEN

I think I'm like most (if not all) moms. We go along fine for a long time, hit a wall, need a break, and then come back strong to do it all over again. Yesterday, I needed a break. Wee Clementine decided she was too grown up for naps which all but killed me dead. Because even though she's just 5-months and doesn't run around or demand snacks all the time...she gets a little whiny. And needs to be held. All the time.

Yesterday I bounced, played, cuddled, fed, burped, changed diapers, sang songs, danced like a wild animal, made so many absurd noised my lips were numb (all while wearing pajamas and bed hair). I just needed a break. So I took one. I parked Clem in front of the boob tube to watch a little Dr. Phil and I turned off my brain for a while. I think I might have just laid there in the fetal position for a little while. I thought, ah, this is heaven. 

Thoughtful as ever, Clementine slept thru the night and then took an epic nap from 7:30-10:30am. We met Kym and Lily at Porcupine Grille and had a stimulating business meeting followed by lots of girl talk at their house. When we got home tonight we played on the floor and then did our nighttime routine (bath, baby massage, jammies, solid food, 2 books, bottle, bed...it sounds longer than it takes).

I was burping Clemmy before I laid her in the crib, her head rested on my shoulder, her body melting warm into mine. She fit so perfectly there on my shoulder, in the crook of my arm. Snuggled. She smelled like lavender and clean when I kissed her ear. She was softly singing to herself while I danced around the room. Bono was singing:

"You say you'll give me
Eyes in a moon of blindness
A river in a time of dryness
A harbour in the tempest
But all the promises we make
From the cradle to the grave
When all I want is you."

I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around her little body and thought, ah, THIS is heaven.

Clementine in vintage Tonia circa 1971.

LET THEM WEAR SEQUINS

Let me preface this post by saying that I love the two ladies who did wear sequins and I think it is fabulous of them to do so.

When you are 41 and pregnant, plus you are chasing a toddler around the house who only recently figured out how fun it is to walk, it's just plain hell. The first few months were a blur. I was so tired/sick/sick/tired that I was in survival mode and yesterday's clothes all the time. My best moments were in the morning so I made sure to be all the mom I could be early in the day, mostly so Clem wouldn't hate me for being curled up in a ball or gagging over a toilet from about 2pm on.

Oh, and also, thank you to the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba for getting us through. It may not be the best thing for a kid to watch that much TV, but she learned cool songs and dance moves and I could lay on the couch and die a quiet, pathetic death while learning the importance of baby steps vs big steps.

Just a few days before Christmas we did a gender ultrasound and found out we are having another girl. Yahooo. Don't get me wrong...I love boys. I married one. I think they are cool and cute and essential to the human race. But having one baby girl makes it feel like all the babies in the whole world should be girls. Does that make sense? It does to me. Nate said he wanted a boy but the first word out of his mouth when we learned her gender was, "yay". It's nice to know those coats and shoes that were worn six times will get used another six before they go into full retirement.

We'll probably call her Beatrice.

So by New Year's Eve I was 17 weeks and feeling a little better. Mostly not queasy and able to manage any remaining quease with the magic of ReliefBand. Get one. Trust me.

We were getting together with a few friends for dinner and party afterward and I seriously wasn't looking forward to any of it for one main reason. I'm big. Like EVERYWHERE big. Not just the cute barely there baby bump kind of big that you may expect at 17 weeks. Also, having a fibroid the size of a softball in my uterus has made it really uncomfortable to wear clothes. So while I know I have the option to go get a few cute maternity pieces, I'm less inclined to do so because I probably won't wear them much. All I do wear, all that is really comfortable, is some version of the yoga pant, a tunic or tee, and Ugg boots (that Nate got me for Christmas and that I love. Thanks honey). Pressure of any kind on my stomach is basically out of the question painful.

So back to New Year's Eve. I just didn't have the energy to try and look good (good being relative). My two girlfriends going to dinner, who I love (remember?), are gorgeous. And one is even pregnant and just a month behind me. But she is still a size 2. And the other is just thin to begin with and they are both super pretty and they dress great and have amazing style and I just knew they were gonna look "new year's eve" fabulous next to my "you're lucky I even came" style.

About 30 minutes before we needed to leave for dinner I moped into the bathroom to try and make the best of a seriously depressing situation. I put on eyeliner (I rarely do this) and eye shadow (I NEVER do this) and I combed my hair. I stood there looking at my almost familiar face in the mirror, a little heavier, looking older and more tired, and I thought, "eff it". I just couldn't do any more than that. All the blogs and Pinterest posts and Instagram photos were sifting through my head and I had all these expectations about how I was suppose to look. But "eff it".

That "eff it" moment was big for me.Because I normally would have tried on everything in my closet. Looking blindly for the one combination that would make me look like I used to look. Like I still had style and self respect. But there, standing in front of the mirror wearing a striped tee, yoga pants, and my Uggs, I made a decision. "Let them wear sequins", I said. This is me right now. This is who I am. I know I have style hidden under these layers of motherhood and pregnancy pounds. And that style can come out and play later when it's time. But right now I'm not going to even entertain the idea of anything other than what I am. I turned off the light and walked out wearing just what I had on before. No stylishly mismatched layers or belts or heals. No skinny jeans or tailored jackets. Just me and my knits.

So there I was in a swanky, dimly lit sushi restaurant. I was the only one with a toddler on my hip (babysitters on new year's eve...yeah, right), I was the only one essentially wearing pajamas, I was the only one who probably also felt insanely comfortable and warm and finally, FINALLY, okay with it.

Don't get me wrong, I really do still wish I was  a size 2 pregnant girl with shiny hair and glowing skin. I promise I'd be so very cute. But I'm not so I'm choosing to be okay and even grateful for what I actually am which is a healthy body engaged in a bit of a miracle. Also, I have the biggest boobs known to man. So there's that.

p.s. how cute is Clementine in this picture?

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA: Three Mishaps and a Whole Lotta Fun

Last week Nate and I decided to mix business with pleasure and take our first-ever family vacation with Clementine. It included a lot of "firsts" like first airplane, first hotel room, swimming pool, beach, ocean. Of course, it's not a vacation without a few mishaps. Let's talk about those first.

Mishap #1: Clem had her first blowout. Yep, you heard me. Her first. She's almost 10 months old and has never even come close to a blowout. Nate carried her onto the plan to get situated while I gate checked our stroller. As I walked toward them down the isle of the plane I saw Nate sit down with her, and then immediately stand up again. When I reached him he handed her to me and said, "this just happened".

Yup, blowout diaper. In true Clementine fashion the blowout happened at the right time. As everyone else loaded onto the plane we did a quick wardrobe change in the tiny bathroom. And then we hung out with the flight attendant until we could get to our seat. We made friends with one who's grandmother was also named Clementine. From that moment on, we got 5-star treatment even sitting in coach. I highly recommend becoming friends with the staff if you can; flying is more pleasant when you've made a personal connection and have a friendly face on board.

Mishap #2: Nate's pushing Clem in the stroller. We are just walking back from Third Street Promenade Mall to our hotel on Ocean Ave. My purse weighs a cool 50 pounds since it's also doubling as a diaper bag and for some reason I'm carrying it. It was a Thursday evening. A small and gorgeous crowd is starting to gather at the Ivy for drinks and dinner. Three very hip looking Southern California girls, all toned and brilliant and smelling good, stand in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for a table so I go left and Nate goes right with the stroller and Clementine.

Just then the toe of my very old flip flop caught on the sidewalk. I trip. My heavy purse, still slung over my shoulder, begins to swing up over my head causing just enough forward-moving momentum that I couldn't recover.  Nate said he looked over and saw it all happen. He thought I'd catch myself and we'd all have a good chuckle. But that's not exactly what happened. A few seconds later I found myself flat out on the sidewalk, laying at the feet of the pretty girls. My purse had belched up a few Yo Gabba Gabba toys which made the site that much more unsophisticated and pathetic.

The pretty girls, and Nate, all helped me up while trying not to laugh. One of the girls grabbed Muno and stuck him back into my purse (it was Kate Spade, does that count for something). Let's just say the fall hurt enough that I didn't even care how I looked or even how I got up off the ground. All I remember is hobbling off and hoping I didn't throw up. The next day I could hardly move.

On a embarrassment scale of 1-10 where 1 is waving back at someone who is waving at you...but they really aren't waving at you, and 10 being wetting your pants at an amusement park as an adult (yes, I've done both more than once), this fall was a six. Earlier this year I was lifting Clementine's car seat into a cart at Costco and my skirt slipped off my hips and pooled around my feet on the ground. I stood there in my underwear for a few seconds as I tried to wrap my head around what had happened. That was an 11. And it may have reached as high as a 15 when I mouthed a really bad word just as I noticed an old man watching me from his car.

Mishap #3: We didn't give ourselves enough time to get to the airport coming home. Nate dropped Clem and I at the curb to check in and get thru security but by the time we made it to the gate the plane had boarded and was 4-minutes from pulling away. Nate was just making it to the security line. H told me to go ahead and get on with Clemmy and he'd catch the next flight.

Let's just say that boarding a plan with a stroller, purse, diaper bag, and a third bag PLUS a baby, is not exactly easy. And then we realized we were in seat 33C. That last row on the plane, window seat. Another passenger offered to hold Clem while I stowed our bags. A crazy old lady with thick stage makeup and a silk flower tucked behind one ear sat next to us sweating buckets and drinking lots of hot tea. Clem couldn't take her eyes off this woman. Even my baby knows a train wreck when it's sitting next to her on a crowded plane.

"Let's do this again", I said to Nate when he finally got home hours later. He agreed.

Clementine at the beach in San Clemente.

More details from our trip to come.

I USED TO LISTEN TO INDIE-ROCK

But now I kind of get my kicks out of listening to whatever new sound Clementine has discovered. Sometimes it's just babbling during nap time. Often it's a guttural/gurgling sound that I swear sounds like a baby Chewbaca. Other times it's whatever music her jumpy seat makes or the lullabies on her iPod (yes, she has one along with a 40" flat screen, an xbox and the Kinect...her dad finds it necessary to pimp out her nursery with techy gadgets).

While I absolutely love my new playlist, I also know that it's a slippery slope I'm on. I mean, music and concerts and concert t-shirts have always been such a source of joy and bonding with Nate and I. We love music together. And I don't want to lose that because we are a trio now. A few months after we started dating we decided to go to Coachella and it's been concerts and head bobbing and ticket stubs ever since. Once I find babysitters that I'm sure won't ruin her I'm looking forward to getting back to a few shows this year, just us.

In a few months we're flying to LA to hang out with Nate's sister Emma. She's really fun and pretty and always makes me laugh. She invited Nate to go to Coldplay at the Hollywood Bowl with her and I invited myself and Clementine to come too. It will be Clemmy's first concert outside of my belly (she heard many shows floating around in amniotic fluid like The Kills, The Black Keys, U2, Pete Yorn, Old 97's...). I purchased cute little noise-canceling ear muffs for her so no need to worry about her damaged hearing.

I'm looking forward to sharing good music with Clementine. She's exposed to tuneless songs with nonsensical lyrics every day as I sing all about folding laundry, changing poopy diapers and, most importantly, taking baths and going night night.She knows what off-key means, of this I'm sure.

But in the meantime, until Nate and I put on our coolest old shabby concert tees and get our hands stamped at the next club, I'm gonna sit back and listen happily to the joyful sounds of Clementine while she performs her latest trick...grabbing her toes. No regrets. She absolutely gets my head bobbing.

She smiles like this when I sing poorly.

BLAME IT ON...WELL, A NUMBER OF THINGS

It's been so long since I updated the blog that the entire blogger interface has changed. Blame it on what I think is post-partum or the side effects from Zoloft (to treat the post-partum), or the fact that I have a baby whose face I could stare at from sun up to sun down and never ever get bored. Blame it on one or all of those things. Anyway, here I am.
Every night after Clementine has had a bath and is safely snuggled in her jammies, cuddling with her pal "hippo" and laying in my lap sucking feverishly on her bottle I turn off the lights, listen to her suck and swallow and suck and swallow and I say a prayer. A few things dominate the prayer every night. 1) how insanely grateful I am to have her; healthy, happy, dorky perfect little Clementine Imogen Conger. 2) that she always knows without a doubt that she is loved by me, Nate, God and Jesus. 3) that she will grow to be confident, brave, happy, kind, forgiving, strong, and gracious. There also might be something in there about "please sleep through the night" but I can't be certain.
Dr. Phil says the biggest influence on a child's life is the same gender parent. Um, folks, that's me. I'm carrying that yoke. Me. The self deprecating, overly anxious, slightly lazy, incredibly insecure girl over in the corner wishing she was home wearing sweats and eating Nutella with a spoon.
I've gotta pull myself together. I've got to become graceful and brave and kind to myself and others. I've gotta mellow out and stop obsessing over being perfect. My neurosis is the absolute last thing I wanna pass on to my daughter.
The amazing and very unexpected twist in this story is that Clementine is probably the biggest influence in my life right now, too. The little girl that poops in her pants and would eat a dead mouse if she found one on the floor. She is so mellow and comfortable in her own skin. Things make her happy. I make her happy. She is unabashedly social and has this gift for drawing people out and making them smile. She is healthy. She's not perfect. She encourages me to act foolish and talk to strangers and take her to the zoo even when I'm feeling particularly fat that day. It turns out, elephants don't give a damn how much you weigh.
And then I started wondering if Clementine is saying her own little prayer at night while I rock her to sleep. A prayer for me. A prayer about how she is so grateful to have me, here, healthy, to take care of her and make her laugh and teach her how to be authentically dorky. Maybe she is praying that I'll know I'm loved by her, my parents and Nate and Heavenly Father and Jesus, too. And I like to think she is also praying that I'll grow up to be confident, brave, happy, kind, forgiving, strong, and gracious. Also, I'm pretty sure there is something in her prayer about when she wakes up at 2am that I'll hear her and come rock her back to sleep because she really just want to know that I'm still there even when it's dark.



Clementine is now 13-months old. She knows lots of words and animal sounds. Her favorite books are I Want My Hat Back and Barnyard Dance. She started crawling shortly after her first birthday and loves climbing stairs. She also (pictured above) prefers to cut her teeth on large pieces of dirty bark selected from the flowerbed where cats have peed and birds have undoubtedly died. I tell myself it will just put hair on her chest. I love her.

REMEMBER ME? A-Z: C

It's been a while. I've been so busy. I got home from China on Thursday lastweek and have been in a haze of sleeplessness and sleepiness all at the same time. It seems that when I should be sleeping I can't, and when I'm driving to work I get really drowsy.
Plus, Nate left Sunday for Houston and won't get back until Thursday night.
























C: {pronounced "see""}

Creosote: Twice while I was growing up we had chimney fires. Finally we had a reputable wood burning stove expert come and check out the stove and chimney. He told us the stove was too big for the chimney space resulting in a lot of creosote which translated into fire. My parents still use the stove and now we just all accept the idea of the occasional ember.

Clementine: I was on a short hike about ten years ago in Montana. Half way through the hike this cute little curly haired girl came racing down the trail all by herself. She was probably about three but totally independent and full of energy. From behind me on the trail I heard a woman say, "Clementine, slow down and wait for mama." It was at the moment that I knew if I ever had a baby girl, I'd want to name her Clementine after this little girl I only saw once but fell in love with and still think about ten years later. I bet if I met Clementine today, she'd be a funky little thirteen year old in skinny jeans, chuck tailors and bright blue "anime" style hair. She probably smokes and makes out with her boyfriend in public.

Camping: One of my favorite things to do in life is camp. I'm not talking about pulling up to a designated stall in my Jetta and setting up camp at site #12 in some campground called "wood glen" or "silver lake". I'm talking about loading up the backpack, hiking in a few miles and picking the perfect little meadow next to a stream. The thing I love the most is snuggling into my down sleeping bag inside my ultra perfect two-man tent and gazing up at the night sky. Nate has to be with me of course.

Capeesh: When I've really made my point in a friendly argument and I can finish it off with "capeesh?" It sounds so very Godfather.

Clipboard: There is atleast one time a day when I wish I had a clipboard.