This Little Piggy Went to Louisiana

Matt took Temple to Louisiana for our nephew's wedding.  I was sad not to go.  I just got this new job 4 weeks ago, and, after getting the unusual weeknight schedule I asked for, I didn't feel right asking for days off, especially so soon and during Octoberfest (mouths of gift horses, you know).  I was going to fly down for the weekend, but then a co-worker needed coverage because he is getting married.  So, I stayed, they went.  I was sad to miss the trip and the wedding, but it seemed like the right thing to do. 

It is weird being home alone.  I'm up at 11:45pm, watching TV, and I just ate my dinner.  I put T's toys up in the loft, because we are having an open house on Sunday.  I hope to get up around 8 each day, do an errand, enjoy being able to do an errand easily, go to the gym, etc.  The mornings are going to be the strangest, I think.  I'll eat sitting down, probably.  That'll be a nice change.  I feel guilty for having looked forward to this alone time, especially because Matt and Temple were delayed on the runway for over an hour, and without milk.  But, I'm the introvert, and I hope this little sabbatical will refresh me, and cause me to appreciate my family more.  Not that I don't miss them.  How could you not cry when you leave that little piggy?  

The Return of Liquids

It's been so long since last I blogged.  There is too much to tell about everything T has been up to since July, so here's what happened before 11am today:

Temple and I went to the playground mall, as we are wont to do on Friday mornings.  We used to have a moms' coffee group that got together, but since all the babies started walking, the band seems to have broken up.  I'm so grateful to that group, though.  They helped me get out of the house in the early months. Anypoo, earlier this morning, I was changing Temple.  She was bare-assed on the table, squirming away, talking trash, and the new box of diapers was just out of reach, and unopened.  As much as I like to see T walking around with no pants on, I wanted to get her panted so we could hit the road, because I was jonesing for my daily 20 ounce McCafe, to which I am addicted.  Seriously, I get nauseous if I don't have one before 10:30am.  It's just like Trainspotting.  I kept my left hand on Temple's squirrel belly, and blindly rooted for a diaper on the shelf of the changing table, and I came up with a swimming diaper.  I figured the differences between the swimmy and a regular one was the swimmy went on like regular panties, was a little more expensive, and had fish on it.  If anything, I thought, it would be more leak proof, since it, allegedly, kept the business in the pants in the pool.  Airtight, I thought.  While I briefly thought I should save the expensive diaper for real swimming, I am extremely lazy, and decided to go the easy route.  

Back to the playground.  We were there for a few minutes, and Temple had gone up the stairs and down the slide about 29 times, and she was headed for the submarine.  She was struggling to get through the port-hole, and I went to shove her butt through when I noticed that she must have sat in a puddle.  Her bottom was soaked, and not just around the edges of her buttcheeks, which is where she usually gets wet if she busts a diaper, but nearly dripping wet.  Upon further examination, it was pee.  I thought, for a second, that I had forgotten to put a diaper on her.  That's what it was like.  I snatched her up, and tried to hold her in such a way as to not get pee on me.  I was unsuccessful.  In the nearby bathroom, I dried her off, wiped her clean, and re-diapered her.  I had no spare plastic bag, so I tossed the shorts she was wearing.  She wasn't going to fit in them for much longer anyway.  Then, we went to a nearby Gymboree to buy a new pair of pants.  

I generally don't put shoes on Temple until after we are done at the playground, because shoes aren't allowed there.  So, we are in Gymboree, and Temple is squirming to get out of my arms, so I put her down to walk around.  She is wearing a tee-shirt and a diaper.  No shoes, no pants.  She looks like a hobo.  I'm scanning the store for a cheap pair of shorts.  Someone who works there asks if she can help me.  I point at pantless T and say, "my daughter obviously needs some pants."  We bought some nice leggings that will last her through the winter.  Done.

Part II - we go back to the playground and mess around for a bit longer, and Temple starts saying "bye-bye" and going for her shoes (and the shoes of others), and as I'm trying to put her socks and shoes on her (which is much like shoeing a horse), another mom starts feeding her kids Cheeze-Its.  Temple reacts like a goat in a petting zoo - she heads for the food.  I try to get her away, but the mom is very nice and offers Temple a Cheeze-It, and asks me if it's ok, and I say sure, and thank you, and Temple starts wolfing down the Cheeze-Its like I don't feed her.  On the one hand, I don't want Temple to hog someone else's snack, but on the other, I'm glad to have found another food she'll eat, and I'm making a mental note to buy some Cheeze-Its when Temple gags and makes a noise like she's coughing up a hairball and barfs.  It wasn't like she spit up the Cheeze-Its, she vomited into my hands. 

I decided we were done with the playground for the day.  

Because my hands were full with a pee-baby, then yack, I took no photos of these events, so I leave you with a recent photo of Temple coming for your soul.

Misty watercolor memories

Beautiful picture, right?  It's from Matt's work picnic.  To me, it symbolizes the innocence and hopefulness of childhood.  Temple is at such a beautiful age.  

You know what else symbolizes this time of wonder and exploration?  Me sticking a fork in my eye because it's 2:00 am and Temple has been screaming for the past two hours for no reason.

Our Friends in the North

Clearly, Temple is not used to the camera.  She was upset by the flash.  That look is why you aren't allowed to take pictures of the gorillas at the zoo.
There with T is James (in the gray), and Joseph.  Stef, their momma, is on the right edge, and my schnoz is hanging there in the left lower corner.  Fortunately, Temple has Matt's nose.  Matt went to Egypt last weekend, and rather than sit home by myself and find reasons to be angry with him while is halfway around the world, me and Temple went on a ladies' road trip to visit our friends in Long Island.  Temple was an angel on the trip.  She slept nearly the whole way there and the first three hours of the way back, which was sad for my bladder.  She wasn't the best sleeper while we were there, but we had fun staying up late in the hotel and watching My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding.  I love a clean hotel room.  Even thought T didn't nap very well, she was content to hang in her Pack 'n Play with Babcock and Owl Pacino for two hours each afternoon so Mamma could get some horizontal bed time.  It was a refreshing change to chill during T's afternoon T time.  I'm usually cleaning or interneting.
It was indescribably wonderful to see Stef and her family.  Spending time with such an old and dear friends was energizing.  I'm so grateful for the weekend.
The rest of T and my week went well.  We held it together through Matt's trip.  No major surgeries or housing crises.  Stay busy, that's what I say.
I'm going to try to blog more frequently.  I feel the writey party of my brain atrophying.
In non-Temple related news, I went for a short and horrible walk last night.  It was short because I had just eaten 5 baby back ribs, and was hurrying home to eat 5 more.  It was horrible because of several horrors I observed.  I saw a deer with what looked like an infected bullet wound in his eyeball.  It was black and covered in flies.  I saw a soaking wet, shivering baby raccoon (actually, that was pretty cute).  A black cat crossed my path with what I thought was a dead bunny in his mouth.  It turned out to be an almost dead bunny.  Finally, near the dirty house where the drug addict mother lives, I saw posters on poles from the National Foundation for Missing and Exploited Children.  The fifteen year old skanky daughter is now an "endangered runaway."  I noticed that she is my height, and weighs 40 pounds less than I do.  Tracy, the gossip, tells me that the girl is "selling herself."  We really need to move out of this neighborhood.

Kindness

Yesterday, I went to Sam's Club to get Temple a crate of diapers.  She wears a size 5 now.  She's got her mamma's junk in the trunk.  As we were getting back in the car, I was telling T about all the other errands we were going to do before going home for lunch.  Then my car wouldn't start.  I had left the light on several times, draining the battery, and now the thing was just done.  Fortunately, Sam's has an auto store, and it only took a few minutes for a nice gentleman to give the car a jump, but I took it as a sign that I should schedule the 100,000 maintenance.  

Good thing I did, because this morning, the sucker wouldn't start again.  I jumped her again with Matt's estranged truck, and we headed toward the dealer for service.  Our favorite diner, Double T, is less than a mile from the dealer, but rain clouds loomed.  We left the car and hustled our buns up West Street.  It started raining when we were about a quarter mile away.  We took refuge at a gas station while I put the poncho over the small section of stroller not covered by the water resistant canopy.

To this point, I was, surprisingly, holding it together, but I could have fallen in to a bad mood/panic easily.

We were seated, and I ordered myself eggs to eat, and got Temple some pancakes to throw around.  She ate zero pancakes, but did have some beef sausage.  She mostly chewed on containers of cream and jelly.

Except for the pancake throwing, she was very well behaved and darling, as usual.

When I asked for the check, the waiter told me that someone had already paid it, and wouldn't tell me who it was.  Isn't that nice?  The kindness of strangers made my day.  I'll proceed with gratitude and pay it forward.

Gwowth

The above is a picture of Temple from Stef's baby shower on August 29, 2010.  T was about 4 months old.

This is T dressed as a bunny wabbit in Target.  She is about 10 months old here.
T-sauce is going to be a year old in just a few weeks!  My wittle bitty daughter is getting so big!
You know what else is gwowth?  The stink bugs.  They are nasty and omnipresent in my house.  I think they are all in my house.  I haven't ever seen one outside.  They live here, like us.

Laissez les bon Temple roullez

Joyeux Mardi Gras!  No one here in Maryland gives a rat's A about Mardi Gras.  Honestly, I don't have a special relationship with Mardi Gras, either, especially since I quit drinkin'.  I had the opportunity to go to the Mardi Gras my senior year in college, but punked at the last minute because I'm an idiot.  I thought it would be more fun to spend spring break alone in my house.  We like to celebrate holidays around these parts, though, just like monkeys do in the zoo.  Holidays break up the year and we get to wear funny hats.  Temple and I wore our matching Fat Tuesday outfits, and people looked at us like we were clowns, probably because we were dressed like clowns.  

We went to Whole Foods to get the makings of a gumbo for my tater.  Matt's got some slave in him, so the bar was high.  For the roux, I used the bacon grease I had been saving for many months.  I saved it instinctively any time Matt went on a bacon kick, but I never knew what I would use it for until today.  Recipe:  Equal parts grease and flour over medium high heat until it smelled toasty, like popcorn.  Add diced yellow onion, celery, and okra.  Sweat the veggies.  Add beef broth and a can of tomato sauce.  Bring to a boil.  Add andouille and chicken.  Heat until meat is done.  Season with Tony Chachere's and Crystal.  Enjoy.

Matt dug it big time.  I took a picture of his satisfied face, but he told me not to put any douchey pictures of him on the internet. 

We also had King Cake today.  My recipe for King Cake: buy a King Cake.  Eat it.

Here we are in our matching outfits.  I look pregnant in this picture, don't I?  I'm not.  I'm full of baby Jesus cake.  By the way, it seems that Whole Foods' King Cake is decorated with beads, but contains no baby Jesus.  Uh, derp?

Lent starts tomorrow.  Lent is really bikini season prep for Catholics, so I'm thinking about going old school and saying farewell to flesh for the 40 days.  The last time I tried to go vegetarian, vegan, actually, I lasted 5 days then ate a whole live pig, so we'll see how this goes.  I'll also be speaking exclusively latin and wearing a hair shirt.

Adeste Fideles, todos mis amigos...  

My Gyro

Since she was born, the Sleep Sheep has been Temple's constant companion in bed.  It is one of the few items she has used since birth (one of the others is the McClaren Chair.  Thanks, Kat, Stef and Emily!).  I wrote about it before.  It is an adorable stuffed sheep that emits soothing white noise.  Temple prefers the sound of the ocean, but also available are sounds of a babbling brook, a rainforest, and the wind whistling through the trees.  Even after Temple met Owl Pacino and started sleeping with him every night, the Sleep Sheep has kept watch, a faithful sentinel shushing baby T to sleep.   

                            So it is particularly grotesque that Temple's favorite food, really the only protein she will eat, is gyro.  Apparently, she's got a little Greek in her, because she will go to town on some tzatziki and lamb.  Of course, Matt and I think it's great.  Every time she eats the gyro, she seems to sleep longer at night, and that means Matt is sleeping more, which makes gyro Matt's hero.    

 

"You make me baahrf.  I don't know how you sleep at night...O, wait."

The Droid

Emily tells me that it doesn't count as a post if there are no pictures.  Matt already shared this one on Facebook, but Emily is all "Anti," so here it is again.  It's a great picture Matt took of the T while they were on a walk last week when the weather was beautiful and I was at work.  You can't see it, but she's got teeth growing in there.  Her bunny teeth are still working their way out.  Did I already write about how she sounds like R2D2?  Well she does.  Beeps and phonemes in the sing song of English, but no intelligible words.  Although, this morning, I thought I heard her say mamma.  She slept through the night again, and I heard her cooing around 8am.  She usually yells and yells until I go get her, but this morning she was pretty quiet.  I went to get her around 8:15, and she was laying on her back, chewing on Owl Pacino and waving Gigio around, content.  When she saw me, I really thought she said something like mamma.  Probably she was just saying dada again, but with her mouth full.

I started writing this post last night when Matt fell asleep on the couch at 8:30pm, but I found I didn't have a lot to say.  Of course, T is doing new and exciting things every day, but you could read about most of those in a childhood development book.  I'm working out, working, and taking care of the house.  Not a lot of drama over here, and I have been pretty serene mentally, too.  I hadn't been sleeping well, which I thought was due to sinus trouble, but my doctor thought was residual sleep disruption from Tiny T.  He gave me a prescription for Lunesta (the one with the commercials with the neon butterfly), but I'm weary of taking a prescription sleep aid.  It has been known to cause hallucinations and suicidal thoughts, and while the hallucinations sound like fun, I'd rather not roll the dice with the more serious side effects.  A friend suggested melatonin.  My reflex is to think that holistic stuff doesn't work, but I gave it a shot, knowing that the narcotic option was still available, and it seems to work.  I'm waking up more refreshed and with more energy.  I've also reduced my caffeine intake from 40 ounces throughout the day to about 20 ounces before 11am.  Sometimes it bothers me that I don't have more to write about.  In the early weeks and months of Temple's birth, I wrote on this blog a lot, and I realize now that it helped me work out a lot of emotions.  I am grateful that I'm more at peace these days, but I miss the ease of writing.  I'm also a little out of practice.  I'll try to write more in the mornings while Temple is roving, climbing, and terrorizing the dogs.  I leave you with another picture, this one of Turbo Temple.

Gnocchi Dokey

Updates in bullet point form, random order: 

• Temple is 9 months old.  Holy cow.  She weighs 23.5 pounds, and is 29.5 inches.  Her rate of head growth has leveled.  She has sensitive skin, like her mamma, and so gets a bath and a coat of Aquafor every night.  We have to wipe out her folds because, as the doctor said, "she is a St. Bernard."
• Temple says Dada.  She calls everything Dada - Matt, me, dogs, tv, stink bugs.  She also says Ee Dee Dee, but we haven't figured out what that means yet.
• Temple is teething.  She's got two lower teeth, and she is working on the upper bunny teeth.  She has been a little cranky, but I got her some Nighttime Baby Ora-Gel.  It claims to be safe for babies four months and older, but I can't get over the feeling that I'm giving her drugs.  Not that that is a problem.
• Temple went to her first yoga class.  It was a mother and baby yoga class at a real yoga studio.  All the other babies sat with their mothers and did as instructed.  Temple wandered all over the studio messing with other babies' stuff.  She didn't even want to sit with me during shivasana.  Temple wins the Independent Spirit Award. 
• I still love my job.  I missed it so much when the restaurant was closed for a three week winter hiatus that I asked a favor of my brother in law and worked on pasta at his restaurants for a few days.  It was tedious and back breaking, but worth it.
• My hair is dry, brittle, and falling out.  I shouldn't keep it up all the time, but I do, because if I didn't, Temple the Tazmanian devil would tear it out.  

That's all for now.  I'm sorry I'm not more entertaining.  I spend all my wit on the post title.

Temple and St. JP2

It seems that Pope John Paul II will be beatified on Temple's first birthday, May 1, 2011.  Perhaps this is the Lord telling me that I should return to the Church.  Or perhaps this means that I should serve kielbasa and perogies at T's birthday party. 

Ill, and not the good kind

My T and my M are sick.  Temple got the stuffies and the coughies from her "friends" Jarin and Tobin, who were here last weekend to enjoy Matt's 15 hour smoked pork shoulder.  They brought their parents, Tim and Lucia, and did not actually eat any pork themselves.  They were too busy spreading disease.  It's not too bad.  Temple doesn't have a fever.  She has been having trouble eating because of the congestion.  On Thursday, the first night of the sickness, she woke up after only 3 hours hacking and snorting like a bull, and we couldn't get an accurate read from the ear thermometer because of all the head bucking, and we couldn't get her to hold the conventional thermometer in her mouth for the 12 minutes it apparently takes to get a read.  She didn't feel warm, but Matt panicked, and raced through the night to get a thermometer.  He had to go 20 minutes to the 24 hour CVS, where he saw two gentlemen in chef's jackets shopping.  One bought a Tombstone Pizza.  The other, a family size bag of Doritos and a jar of Salsa con Queso.  Sounds like a party.  By the time he got home, Temple had had 4 ounces of formula, and was asleep.  I was smugly feigning sleep.  I was concerned about Temple, too, but a thermometer is not a cure, and she did eat some and fall asleep.  I called the doc in the morning.  There's nothing to be done but make sure she is hydrated.  Matt keeps flushing her nasals with saline and the sucky bulb, like she's a nuclear reactor, so now, in addition to congestion, she had a chapped face.  His neurotic concern is touching, and it's a shame that Temple will be emotionally scarred from it.

Owl City

I think Temple has found her spirit animal, or rather, her spirit animal has found her.

A gift from Kat Rice (Rice University mascot - the owls)

A christmas present from a co-worker

A card from the babysitter

A "hoo"-die from a nice man we met at a party (Emily's co-worker's dad, a Temple University grad)

Owls symbolize inner knowing, psychic ability, and intuition.  In middle eastern cultures, the owls is the guardian of the afterlife.  In modern times, the owl is believed to hold the secret of how many licks it takes to get to the center of a tootsie pop.  It is a nocturnal bird, so that fits.  Also, it can rotate its head 270 degrees, so we have that to look forward to.  Temple is lucky to share her totem with her aunty Emily, who has an owl tattoo.  Emily, I think I know what you can get T for her 18th birthday!

In other news, Temple is crawling like it is the job she is leaving for a better job - standing and walking.  No sooner did she get those hands and knees coordinated than she started trying to pull up onto all sorts of unstable furniture.  She's pulled the dog gate on herself twice, and she upended the water bowl while attempting to use it as a walker.  The dogs were unimpressed.

Up in the Air

Tomorrow, Temple's first airplane ride.  We chase the sun west to Montana to introduce our girl to her Uncle and Aunt.  

Estimated time of departure from Casa Sermon: 4:45am, EST  

It's going to be a long day, but I'll breath through the stress.  No one better my junk at the security.  I anticipate throngs of cheerful travelers patiently working together toward a common goal.  Everyone loves a baby on an airplane.  Seatbacks and tray tables in their upright positions, folks.

If we fall out of the sky, I will hold my dearest loves and thank God for our brief, joyful lives.  

Current conditions in Billings: 8.6 degrees of mercury, light snow.  Bundle up, babies.

Away we go, again.

Diagnosis: Daddy

     We went to the pediatrician for Temple's 6 month check up.  Here are her stats:

          Height:                        27.5 inches

          Weight:                       20 pounds, 8 ounces

          Head Circumference:  46.2 centimeters

          Most Resembles:         Her father

     She also has dermagraphia, which means sensitive skin.  The doctor diagnosed it by scratching an X on her skin.  It remained visible for several minutes (derma = skin; graphia = writing).  It's no biggie.   Lots of tots have it.  She also got seven (7) vaccines, one oral, six (6) injected.  Little girl got 6 shots in a row.  She took it well, probably better than I would have.  I would have cursed loudly; she just cried a little.  The shots made her a little crabby for the next day or so, mostly, I think, because the injection sites (front of her thighs) were sore.  They probably hurt her when she laid on her belly, trying to crawl, which she is going to do any day now.  She gets in to the plank pose, up on her hands and toes.  When I go get her in her crib in the mornings, she is usually on her belly with her butt in the air, like Yoda in that scene in Star Wars when Luke first gets there and Yoda is looking through all his stuff.  Yoda butt.  

Idle Hands, Gratitude

     As you loyal readers know, until Temple was about three and a half months old, I was nursing and barely left the house.  Isolation can make you go batty; ask anyone who has been in the hole in a maximum security prison.*  After my August dental emergency, which finally broke my spirit, I resolved to leave the house everyday and stay busy, as a means of warding off the terrors.  To that end, I now frequent Target and Whole Foods, I go to the baby gym on Tuesdays, Mom's coffee at Starbucks on Fridays, and I enrolled in a continuing education class on Spinoza at St. John's College.  Temple and I finally got into a routine.  We get up around 8am, leave the house for errands at 10am, get back by 2pm, Temple naps from 2:30pm until 4:30pm, then we go for a walk and hang out with the daddy.  During Temple's nap, instead of staring into the abyss and letting the terrors inhabit my feeble brain, I would do my Spinoza reading.  I stopped noticing the dust elephants in the corners, and the cobwebs on the ceiling.  I focused on the reading, and by the time the T-monster awoke, I was refreshed, body, mind, and soul.  

     Well, the class is over.  Actually, it isn't over, I'm just not going anymore, because I am working on Wednesday nights now, so I missed the last two classes (more on the new job below).  I really enjoyed the class, and I was disappointed to miss the last two, but the restaurant wanted me to work, and I chose to make myself available to my new employers rather than finish out an enrichment class.  I think I made the right call, but now I find myself with two idle hours in the afternoons, which, I have learned, is not good for me.  Today, I found myself with a racing heart staring at the collecting dust behind the television.  "The floor is dusty," will lead to "our house is a mess," will be followed by, "I can't clean properly," will beget, "I'm a horrible pig who can't do anything right and doesn't deserve to live," and that's a bad place to be, so I need to find a new nap-time project.  One idea is to blog, but that doesn't accomplish the goal of getting out of my head.  It might actually make it worse.  I may start reading Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" from cover to cover.  When I read about cooking, I tend to go on a spending spree at Whole Foods, but I believe this is a small price to pay for keeping the terrors away.  Plus, I consider the reading job training.

     Here's a picture of Temple with her owlie.

     So, I have a new job.  I am an assistant chef, part time, at a restaurant in Annapolis.  It is actually in Heritage Harbor, a retirement community, and it's private, so I can't invite you, my half dozen readers, to come try, but trust me that it is a very nice establishment.  We serve lots of fish and meats, and everything is from scratch.  The owners are also growing a catering company, and I hope to become an integral part of the business.  I'm actually preparing food for money, and I couldn't be happier.  I'm fulfilling a dream I've had for many years, and I am grateful as all get out.  No sarcasm here, no witty remarks, just happy.  

*New guilty pleasure: Saturday night marathons of Lockup: Raw on MSNBC.  Thank you, hungry-in-the-middle-of-the-night-Temple, for introducing me to this prison documentary show.  

Lady Lazarus

I had resigned myself to being a lapsed blog, like the ones I keep going back to in the hope of being entertained, but months and months go by, and no news (I'm talking to you, Stef).  But, out of loyalty to my ones of followers, I will attempt to make more regular postings.  

Since my last post, the fam went on our first road trip, all the way down to Lou'siana, via Memphis.  It was awesome, but I don't feel like recapping the whole trip, so trust me.

Temple has kept growing, which is a positive trend.  When we got Clementine, I expected her to grow to the size of Flags.  I wanted to have two big boned pugs warming the bed during the winter to keep our electric bills down.  Then she got to about twelve pounds, maybe a foot long, and halted.  Then she broke her stupid neck and cost us a fortune, and now she is a crabby, cynical runt who walks funny.  We still love her, but she's a dissapointment.  So, I'm glad Temple is growing.  Her head could stand to slow it down, though.  He head circumference is literally off the charts.  It is so big* we had to have a sonogram to make sure it wasn't, in fact, a melon.  It's not, it's a regular huge head, but the doctor told us to keep the dogs away so they don't get sucked into its gravitational pull.      

Also, everyone thinks she's a boy.  Sometimes it's because I dress her like a boy.  Like, yesterday, she was wearing a blue onesie, snail pants, and a brown and orange zipper cardigan.  I would have worn that outfit, but if I saw a baby of otherwise undiscernable gender wearing blue, I would also assume it was a boy.  Yesterday, we just went with it.  An old crone in the grocery remarked, "what a big healthy boy," and I said, "thank you.  He has a huge penis, too."  But, today, I dressed Temple in a purple and white striped dress that had a pink butterfly on it, and the man who served me my sausage said, "what a big boy, he's going to be a football player."  Yeah, a transvestite football player.  He'll surely be a leader on that team.  

Anyway, I need to shove more food in my face before Temple awakes from her nap.  More to come...

*Remember "yo mamma" jokes from the nineties?  "Yo mamma so fat, when she went to the movies, she sat next to everyone."  I should start "my baby" jokes.  "My baby head so big, we love her unconditionally."  Hilarious.

Cracker Barrel count: 3

Please don't eat the La Quinta

Rise of the Machines

Temple has been asleep since 2:30.  What did I do with my baby down time?  Did I write poetry in my journal?  Did I prepare a delicious and healthy meal for my husband and dogs?  Did I sit on the sun porch and read spiritual literature?  No, and we don't have a sun porch.  I put together another contraption for Temple.  It is a Baby Einstein Musical Jumper dealy.  It only took me two hours to put it together.  I think she'll like it.  Personally, I find it boring, but it was made for a 4 month old, and I am 357 months old.  

Contraptions to hold and entertain the child have begun to take over my house.  I say begun, because I fear there is more to come.  Our house is small.  There is Matt and my small bedroom, and Temple has a little room, and we have a large main room, a closet, laundry room, bathroom, and fabulous new kitchen, and that's that.  This new one claims to "fold flat," but that's horse manure because it doesn't fold, you have to take it apart.  I don't like clutter.  Physical clutter makes my mind cluttered.  I think at some point I'll snap and set fire to all our possessions in the front yard.  Use the ashes for compost.

Chatty

In the last week, this girl has discovered her voice.  She practices her vowels all day, and very loudly.  She needs to work on consonants, then she'll be in business.

More Sads

I weigh about 35 pounds less now than I did just before giving birth.  I am a pound or two below my pre-pregnancy weight.  I was feeling so good about my weight loss that I forgot I was tubby pre-pregnancy.  I decided to buy a nice pair of jean shorts from J. Crew.  They had that summery cut-off look, you know?  So, yesterday, my mom came over to Temple-sit, and I hauled my cookies to the mall and got a pedicure, then shuffled over to J. Crew to get my new shorts.  They didn't have my size (Big McLarge Huge), so I tried on a smaller size (normal), and as I examined my cottage cheese thighs in the florescent lights, I said, "well, f this," and bought a $55 hoodie instead.  I do like my hoodie though.
I resolve to not to pass this self-loathing on to my perfect daughter.

Late Night Early Morning

I live to sleep.  I was born tired.  Yet, I have recently found myself less irritated by late night feedings.  Temple and I have gotten pretty good at it.  She has been latching right on, and needing very little formula to top her off before settling back in for the sleep home stretch.  Two months ago, Temple would have to get herself pretty worked up crying before I could be convinced to get out of bed.  It was just hard for me.  I would let her go for so long (we're talking ten minutes.  I didn't actually let my baby go hungry.) that by the time we got up, she was too hungry to eat.  We had to spend time calming her down.  Now, I wake up around 1:30 am, whether Temple is up or not.  I've considered waking her up to get it out of the way so we can all go back to bed.  The past few days, she has made it from 8:30 pm to past 3:00 am.  During those early morning hours of wakefulness, I almost look forward to the feeding.  Temple is starting to make noises that very closely resemble vowels, and she likes to make them when she is being changed and when she is sated from a feeding.  It's really cute.  

The Chipmunk and the Squirrel

     You know how when people get their tongues pierced, their moms are always like, "you're stupid and you're going to crack your tooth on it and then you'll have to pay to have it fixed!"  Well, in 2001, 4 years after I got my tongue pierced (underaged, using my sister's ID in high school.  When I was signing the waiver, I had to scratch out the first signature I made because I forgot to sign her name.  Turns out I was stupid, just like my mom said, but the artists at Jinx Proof in Georgetown didn't give a care.  Way to mind the law, dudes.  I wonder if they would have cared more if I were getting a tattoo, because tattoos are really permanent, and piercings really aren't.), I cracked my tooth on it, just like my mom said, as I was walking down P street from my job at Soho Tea and Coffee in Dupont.  I was chewing on a caramel, then I was chewing on metal, and cracked half my tooth clean off.  The free half got stuck in the caramel, and it was totally gross.
     I guess I got it fixed soon after, then sometime around 2005, the fix failed, and I had to have it done again.  It was never quite right after that.  It was sensitive to heat, cold, and foods firmer than bread, and from time to time it throbbed for no reason or sent random bolts of pain into my brain.  In 2008, some wisdom teeth were coming in and shifting my choppers around, and it started hurting real bad.  At my emergency dental appointment, the good doctor recommended I have the sucker extracted and he made the referral.  Shortly thereafter, the shifting ended, the pain ended, and my interest in oral health ended.
     Last week, the tooth, whom I had come to know as #3, started aching again, and, wanting to set a good example for my daughter, I decided it was time to exorcise that demon.  I got the referral again, and made an appointment for 3 weeks hence.  I thought if the pain went away again, like it had a few years ago, I would cancel.
     5 days ago, I began waking up with headaches that diminished during the day, but never completely dissapeared.
     3 days ago, I woke up with an awful ache in my jaw, and I ate 25 over the counter analgesic pills.
     2 days ago, it was even worse.  Analgesics no longer working.
     Yesterday, my dentist gave me a prescription for Vicoprofen, a mix of Vicodin and Ibuprofen (yes, like croissandwich, Bennifer, jeggings, and shart) to "tide me over" for the three weeks until my surgery.  My resourceful sister also hooked me up with ballistic 600mg Ibuprofen (which is like Vicoprofen without the Vicodin).  When, last night, for the first time in months, I was not awakened by hungry daughter, but by screaming, throbbing gums, pain radiating to my high cheekbone, and swelling like I was sucking on an everlasting gobstopper, I decided that this was finally a problem that required attention.
     The surgeon took me in for an emergency appointment.  My dutiful mother dropped everything to meet me at the office to mind Temple, who was an excellent baby as always.  I was looking forward to general anesthesia, but because not even the worst toothache in history will keep me from my morning coffee, general anesthesia was counter-indicated.  You have to have an empty stomach.  Instead, they gave me twilight anesthesia, like they used to give to laboring women before the dawn of the epidural.  I guess its that kind that makes you forget the whole thing after, like Sylvia Plath bemoaned in "The Bell Jar," because I don't remember a damned thing.  It was probably like that episode of Mad Men, too.
     My mom drove my groggy ass home, got my prescriptions filled, and brought me some soft foods.  I am adjusting to my new mouthscape.  The good doctor removed the offending molar and all 4 wisdom teeth.  It feels like a city block was razed in there.  I've heard horror stories about recovery from oral surgery, but my mouth hasn't felt this good in years.  Thank you, pain killers.  Thank you, Mom, for making this catharsis possible.  And, you were right about the tongue ring: twelve years later, I did have to pay to have it fixed.  And when I say "I," I mean "you."  Thanks again.
My cheek is still a little swollen, though.  See?
 

Ma'husband and Child

At left, Raphael's Madonna and Child.  At right, Krista's Matt and Temple.  The similarities in use of light and color, as well as the beatific expressions on the infants, have lead art historians to speculate that these works were actually created by the same artist.  In fact, the picture of Matt and Temple was taken with the iPhone Renaissance-a-matic App.  

Roller Derby

Temple was so excited about watching the Season 4 premier of Mad Men that she rolled over.  

She had to watch it upside down, but Don Draper is a fox from any angle.  

Clementine's Korner

"I saw Goody Temple Virginia speaking with the devil!  She come to me in the black of some terrible night, and I hear her crying and wailing, and make me wish the sun never gone down.  I am but God's Finger.  My finger's still broken."  

Just like her father

This is Temple's bald spot.  Many babies lose this patch of baby hair because babies are lazy lay on their backs, rubbing it away, most of the time.  They can even get misshapen heads because of their sloth.  I'm not sure if Temple is losing her hair because of her laziness or because she inherited her father's baldness.  Matt lost his hair when he was 18 years old, though, and Temple is only 10 and a half weeks.

This is Temple struggling to do push ups on the lamb.  She did a few, more than I could manage, in fact. She was farting as she squirmed, also like her father.  

The Temple Parade Float

Potent Potables

 

Matt's parents got us the above-pictured tribute to America mug.  As you can see, it features a scary eagle and a painting of veterans of all branches of the military.  The text reads, "If you love your freedom, thank a veteran," and, "It is the VETERAN not the REPORTER who has given us FREEDOM OF THE PRESS.  It is the VETERAN not the CAMPUS ORGANIZER who has given us FREEDOM TO ASSEMBLE," and so on.  My in-laws intended for us to put it on our mantle.
This is my all time favorite mug.  It is even better than my West Wing mug, which features a photo of the cast from Season 4, with Rob Lowe and Joshua Malina.  I love the mug, not for it's message (I think the mug glosses over some Constitutional nuance), but for it's patriotic size.  It holds twice as much volume as my law school mug, and perhaps its message speaks at twice the volume as any legal arguments I shall ever make.  

I use 8 heaping tablespoons of course ground coffee in my 32 ounce french press, add boiling water, and let it steep for for 10 minutes, or as long as Temple the tyrant allows me to be in the kitchen before summoning me.  I add two Splenda.  Yes, the plural of Splenda is Splenda, not Splendae.  Contrary to the theories of many modern etymologists, Splenda's linguistic roots are Germanic, and not Latin.  It's like "a moose" and "many moose."  Co-incidentally, "many moose," is what I would be if I didn't use Splenda.  I also add a splash of almond milk.  I used to use soy milk, but I have been learning about the evils of Monsanto, who own the genetic code for the soy bean, so I have switched choice of pretentious coffee lightener to almond milk.  Thank you, whole Foods.

You may think 32 ounces of coffee in the morning would be enough for me, but if you think that, you are wrong.  I knew my hot cup of almondy sludge was missing something, but I don't have an espresso maker, and crack is illegal and unhealthy.  When I was at Target, I saw it: General Foods International Coffeehouse Beverage Mix.  

Like Proust's madeleines, the sight of this tin of naturally and artificially flavored coffee drink brought back memories of my youth.  I drank the crap out of this stuff in high school.  I kept it, loosely covered, in a private corner of the senior lounge, where it was enjoyed my me and ants.  We had a heating coil, like grannies use, and I would heat the water I got from the bathroom tap in an insulated Georgetown travel mug that was never once washed.  I glugged down my international delight in the morning, and maintained a nice buzz all day.  I would frequently get through seven hours of school and a two hour sports practice on little else.  I now put a heaping scoop of the creamy concentrated coffee in my huge bowl of joe.  The first time I made the concoction, I actually got coffee sick, which hasn't happened in months.  It was glorious.  I've had it every day this week, and it is the second best part of waking up.  The first is, of course, my Temple. 

No pictures!

Temple trying to keep the photographers away.  Pappa, papparazzi!