fits & starts

What's That Saying?

May...in like February, out like January? Or no. Wait. I think it's April showers bring even wetter, freeze-your-ass-off May showers. Showers beget showers, I suppose.

I am freezing. Literally. My dog is typing this because my fingers are icicles.

This weather really blows. Running out of things to do with an 11-month-old who cannot sit still*. Who cares if I haven't been to the gym in months? Just reading a book to this kid burns 270 calories. I need to down two energy drinks just to get him dressed. So, no, we can't just stay inside and play quietly. It just sucks because we'd been getting into a nice pattern of long walks, hours at the park, exploring. And now. We're back in our snowsuits waiting for the sun to come out.

Okay. Enough complaining. For those of you in warmer climates, enjoy your Memorial Day weekend. Here in New York, we're having a do-over for President's Day.

*It's not his fault. If you look up 11-month-old in the dictionary, it says cannot sit still: see toddler.

Field Trip

I want to see this movie. Who's with me?

You Know You're An Adult When...

How did this happen? When did I become a grown-up? It started out that we wanted a baby and now we have to Think About The Future.

It's not that I didn't feel "adult" before. Sure, I could have fabulous wine and cheese parties like nobody's business. I've been working since I was 12 (child labor laws, anyone?) and have always felt rather grown-up. But "felt" is the operative word. I never had "to be" until now.

Here's the dilemma. We eventually have to move because our apartment is too small for the three of us, let alone when we decide to add a fourth. But our neighborhood rents are so expensive that for the amount of space we'd need, the price would be exorbitant. Imagine if you were to book two first class tickets to Fiji and then stay in a four star resort for a week. That's one month's rent where we live. So anyway. Not only do we have to find a new place, but we have to find a new place with good schools. See what I mean? GROWN UP. And in addition to good great schools, it should be some place we can stay for the next several years. Because you can't just keep uprooting children. You need to give them stability. You need to be a GROWN UP FOR JAYSUS SAKES!

And while we're at it, we might as well start saving for college (didn't I just go to college?!). Because H. had to go and be a genius. Now we have to send him to Harvard. There shall be no discussion. How do I know he's a genius, you ask? Well. For starters, this morning, instead of asking if he wanted to read a book, I just started reciting lines from his favorite, Is Your Mama A Llama? We've only read it 768 times, so I know all the words. As soon as I started, he smiled and looked up at the bookshelf, exactly where that book is. (Which means that every time I curse, he probably knows what that means too. Shit! Outdone by an 11-month old!)

Now then. Back to the adult thing. Adults also interview and hire and then use babysitters. Apparently, our babysitter thinks 30-year-olds are old, so I know for sure she thinks we're Adults. I can't tell you how weird it was leaving for the night, telling her where all the junk food was, and to help herself to DVDs and the phone...and then to return, the  Slightly Tipsy Adult Couple, asking how the night went.

I guess the only thing to do is embrace it. Start looking for places to settle down in, plan for the future. H. does have to go to Harvard after all. There shall be no discussion.

What I've Been Up To

Hold onto your seats. This is going to be one boring post.

1. Finding a babysitter. I'm happy to report that we have found a delightful young woman who (bonus points) lives right around the corner from us. Now Mr. Fits gets to enjoy some Mommy & Me time of his own. (Did I really just say that? Ewww.)

2. The little dude has yet another cold, this time new and improved with ear infection and chest cold. This has lead to no fewer than three sleepless nights in casa de Fits. Thanks to modern medicine, I can happily say that he's getting better and we are all getting more sleep.

3. I was going to post about that asshole on the train last weekend, but I just couldn't do it. Instead, I offer this tasty nugget: we were out to dinner the other night--the start of ChestCold Mania '05--and H. started choking. He coughed so hard that he vomited right into his Dad's two hands. I'm not talking baby spit-up either. Rather than freak out about it, Mr. Fits took it all in stride, relieved that the lesser of the two evils (choking v. puking) won out.

4. H. continues to hone his walking skills. He falls on his bum quite a bit, and walks like a frat boy at Mardi Gras, but forges on nonetheless.

5. I have become super forgetful lately. My mind is somewhere else. In the last few days, I've left the keys in the door, the milk in the cupboard, and called my in-laws to wish them a happy anniversary. Only their anniversary is a month from now. At least my mother-in-law said I don't have to call again next month, so even if I forget, I've already remembered.

6. There was something else I wanted to say, but I've forgotten it.

7. Oh! I know. I got to see Coldplay the other night. They were taping a show for VH1, so it was a very small audience. Chris Martin is dreamy. HIS VOICE. I mean, his voice is dreamy. It looked especially hot the other night, his voice did.

See? Fairly boring, puke story aside.

ISO Common Courtesy

We took H. to his first Yankees game on Saturday. Who knew that on May 6, he'd be dressed in three shirts and his winter jacket? Mr. Fits was incensed because the forecast had been sunny and warm as late as two days prior, and then the day before, it all got shot to shit--in fact, so badly that the word "Nor'easter" was being thrown about. I was incensed because we took New York City public transportation and only two people on very crowded trains offered me a seat (I had the baby in a front carrier). Remember when you were supposed to give your seat to people who were carrying babies? Yeah, well, apparently no one else does either.

Fortunately, I am (relatively) young and in okay shape, H. is (relatively) light and I can hack it. But the lack of common courtesy just astounds me. Sure, I could wait for the next train, and hopefully there would be a seat on that one. For what it's worth, I turned down both offers for seats. But that's more because I am stubborn and relished the opportunity to stand there on a jerking train in front of all the people who didn't offer me a seat and when my eyes met each and every one of theirs, my look said it all: Thanks for nothing, fuckers.

I wouldn't care if this happened infrequently, but it seems that everywhere I go, I'm faced with an utter lack of courtesy. I don't expect much from people: when I go in and out of stores, I get the door myself; when I go up and down stairs, I carry the weight of the 35 or so pound stroller myself. After all, it's my kid, right? No, what I'm upset about is that you'd actually get in my way as I'm carrying a stroller with a baby in it up the subway steps. You can't just wait that extra 15 seconds to come down rather than make me have to stop five steps from the top of a flight of steps with a little baby? Come on now. That's just rude.

For whatever reason, people are obviously fed up with or could care less about babies in strollers. That's fine. I could care less about you. You don't get out of the way. Fine. You don't hold the door for me. Fine. You don't offer me a seat. Fine. Fine. Fine. But to actually cut in front of me as I am getting on the train...or to squeeze past me on a flight of stairs because you can't just wait one second longer...or to run ahead of me to get on line at the post office just so I can burn holes in the back of your head with my eyes--how completely obnoxious.

What the fuck, fuckers?

Anyways. In order to temper the anger of this post I have some happy news: the little dude took his first steps on Sunday. One week shy of 11 months and the boy has decided it's time to walk. Right on! Also, another tooth has popped up. This makes 8...that I can see. So to all the rude cutters-in-fronters and no-seat-givers out there, watch out assholes because it's going to come back to bite you in the ass someday real soon--and those 8 teeth are sharp.

The Day That's Sucked Ass Until Now

So I'm trying to write a meaningful post about Mother's Day, since it's my first, but instead of being overjoyed and gushing, I find my feelings on the subject all too complex to put into a cohesive thought.

I find myself thinking about my mom and how much more I appreciate her because I now know what it means to mother. And to feel so acutely that I am responsible for this other life, that I would bleed for him if I had to. And that she must feel that way about all five of her children.

I find myself thinking about my friends whose babies are already born and waiting for them. I wish for them a safe and speedy journey home into your arms.

I find myself thinking of friends who have lost their babies and how much it hurts, and how I wish there were an end to the pain.

I find myself thinking of my son's birthmother, and of how difficult and sad it must have been to let go of her baby. Of how she might never get to see how beautiful he is, how his mouth opens itself to the widest smile you've ever seen, how he can be both fierce and utterly gentle at the same time. Or how he has just learned to return a kiss.

I know I am lucky. I have been on both sides--of longing and of having--and this side is every bit worth the fight to get here. Perhaps knowing of sorrow, feeling loss, makes the hole that gets filled with happiness even bigger. And that is something I could never have predicted.

Guess who woke up on the wrong side of the bed today?

To the person in the card store yesterday whose ringtone is the theme from Sex and the City: Holy crap! I totally thought you were Carrie Bradshaw!

Nice ring. If you live in 1999.

To the shallow magazines that I can't help but flip through at the grocery store: Why the word "bump"? When did saying pregnant belly become outlawed? Apparently,  Jennifer Garner is preggers because she has a bump. That's not a bump, that's a fetus YOU MORONS! A bump is what happens to your stomach after you've eaten a burrito. One of those things comes out the next day and the other comes out nine months later. Big diff.

To the moms who phone it in during music class: I'm onto you. Do you think maybe you can tell your kid to watch out for smaller kids? (Okay, once more now with feeling.) Now I gotta watch your kid and mine?

To people who walk: Learn the friggin' rules of pedestrian traffic. Pick up the pace. Merge only after looking both ways. Don't cut me off, even especially if you're driving a Bugaboo. If you're in such a rush to walk exactly RIGHT WHERE I AM WALKING, then don't stop short to think about whether you left your keys at home or answer your Sex and the City cellphone because this Maclaren will go straight up your ass.

To people who advertise 2 bedroom apartments that, when you click on the ad, are really only one bedroom, with a den/living room/closet/bathroom that can be converted into a second bedroom appropriate only for a small baby/den/toilet: What about people needing two bedrooms do you not get? Just because you write 2 bedrooms doesn't make it 2 bedrooms! If it's 1 bedroom plus some other little extra box-like space, why don't you let ME decide what to do with that extra space and while you're at it, charge 1 bedroom prices. Stop wasting my time, you LIARS!

To my neighbors who are still renovating: Any idea when you'll be done? The drilling is kind of starting to get to me.

Okay. I'm done.

For now.