Control Freak

When I was pregnant, many people told me that once the baby arrived, my priorities would change. I was sure that they were correct. I mean, yeah, I could easily see how even I, The World’s Most Selfish Brat, would put my child before myself, and that Baby’s needs would trump our desires for long afternoon drives, scuba trips, and all-day shopping excursions punctuated with grown-up restaurant meals.

What I didn’t imagine, though, was the way that seemingly trivial—bizarre, even—details of my day would become so very important. Case in point: Our naptime routine. For the past several weeks, ever since I discovered The Happiest Baby on the Block, I have religiously 1) turned on the CD of gentle white noise, 2) swaddled, and 3) jiggled my baby to a 3) near-sleep state before laying him down 4) on his side 5) in his crib. Those five steps were followed to the letter, 2-3 times daily, every single day. And naptime was good. By “good,” I mean that Al would sleep peacefully for 1.5-3 hours at a whack. Yes, that good. If the nap was unsuccessful (less than 1 hour), I would automatically blame my deviance from the ritual. Even if I had followed the prescribed steps, I would assume that either the swaddle wasn’t tight enough, or the white noise wasn’t loud enough, or Baby wasn’t positioned just right. The notion that Al perhaps wasn’t very tired or didn’t need much of a nap and wouldn’t sleep longer than that no matter what I did? Blasphemy! (Am I not the perfect candidate for a Dr. Phil “Control Issues” episode?)

I was comforted to hear that Her Bad Mother also swaddles her baby to sleep. She has had a bit of a battle with “The Swaddle” for a while now, and I have given thanks to the Almighty that after Al gives a little initial resistance, he always settles down and falls asleep for a long swaddled nap.



Until now.

Al has gotten bigger, and therefore stronger. Previously, he would wake up, struggle and fuss a little, and then go back to sleep. Last week, he began waking and fighting the blanket to the point where he would become upset (read: howling). One morning, after he had struggled and fussed and gone back to sleep, though, I went in to check on him and found this:



This morning, the exact same thing happened.

So guess what I did this afternoon? I swaddled him with the left arm free. He napped for an little over an hour that way.


Yeah, we all know who’s really in control around here.

(Hint: It’s not me.)

I suck at the internet.

Maybe some of you might know what happened here:

For almost a month, it seemed that three different blogs that I had been reading on a regular basis were no longer being updated. I had each of the sites bookmarked, and each day, I would visit to see if there had been any updates. For the past few weeks, there has been nothing new. Or so it seemed to me.

Then today? I clicked on one of the bookmarks to see if the person had perhaps returned to the face of the Earth, and lo and behold, there were scads of new entries. There had indeed been daily updates, but I had not been seeing them, and I have no idea why. I checked the other sites that I thought had gone dark, and found the very same thing. I have been missing out on all the fun!

Any ideas? They are all Blogger sites.

What's Cooking, Good Looking?

So, last week I got my hair done. Big whoop, you say. But it is a big deal because this was the first time in years--YEARS, people--that a professional had laid hands on my hair. Yeah, I'd popped into SuperCuts a few times to have the length brought up a bit, but that was it.

I know.

So, I was feeling a little very dowdy and frumpy and was sick and tired of wearing a ponytail, mostly because I look just like my dad when I wear a ponytail. Not that he's a bad-looking dude or anything, but really, what new mom wants to look like a 63-year-old bald guy? So I got the name and number of the girl that my sister-in-law uses.

Sis-in-law explained that the girl works out of her house. Around these parts, that's not entirely unusual. You all have seen Steel Magnolias, right? Lots of little "beauty shops" around here are enclosed garages or small additions to the main house. It really wasn't what I had in mind, but my sister-in-law's hair always looks great, so I trusted her.

I got in touch with the stylist (Really, I reserve that term for the hair gurus that do hair downtown, but for lack of a better term, we'll go with it, OK?) and we made an appointment for me to come when both my mom and the Mr. could be home to take care of The Boy. I didn't want to feel rushed, you know. It turned out that the house/salon is only about a quarter-mile from my home. At least I knew she was working in a good neighborhood.

I arrived at 6:40pm on the dot (my appointed time) and was met at the door by a tall, pretty vivacious girl of about 25 or so. She apologized and explained that she was in a bit of a rush to get some dinner cooked for her husband, who would be arriving home soon. No problem, I said, and made myself comfy at her kitchen table while I waited.

"Your sister-in-law told you that I try to keep this on the down-low, right?" The girl asked as she dumped a few final ingredients into what appeared (and smelled) to be a pot of chili. No, she didn't, I thought, but I just went along with it. "I don't think I'd get my license revoked, but I'd like to avoid any trouble, you know."

"Of course," I assured her.

What the?

Then, it hit me. I was sitting in the "salon." The girl does hair in her kitchen.

After the chili was all finished except for the simmering, I took a seat on a stool right smack in the middle of the kitchen. As the girl mixed chemicals for my highlights, I prayed that she kept her coloring and cooking recipes straight. Once she finished applying the foil highlights, we plopped down on her living room sofa and watched "Freddie" while my hair processed. Thirty minutes later, I bent over her kitchen sink while she sprayed my head down with the vegetable sprayer. It was at this point, when my head was stuck in her sink and my ass was stuck out in her kitchen, that her husband walked in.

"Hon, this is Jezer (Well, she said my real name, but you get the picture). Jezer, this is my husband."

"Hey," mumbled burly husband.

"Hey," I called from under the vegetable sprayer.

I returned to my stool in the middle of the kitchen, and while the husband helped himself to chili, his wife cut my hair. As the two of them talked about the most recent installment in some crazy family drama, I was blown dry and styled.

One thing about having your hair done in someone's kitchen is that there is no mirror, so you can't really keep an eye on what is happening. Aside from our preliminary discussion about what I wanted, I had no idea what kind of outcome to expect. In order to see the final result, I followed her to the guest bathroom. There, I saw my new hairdo for the first time.

I loved it.

It was exactly what I wanted. This girl is good.

Because she basically runs an illegal operation (that sounds so much more menacing than it actually is), the amount that she charged me for over two hours of highlighting, cutting, texturing and styling was dirt-ass cheap. Hands down, it was the best hair experience I've ever had. Kitchen sink and all.

Umm...

Does it seem strange to you that I think Westerners in general are too fat, yet one of Paula Deen's characteristics that I find especially endearing is that she puts butter on everything?

Just checking.

State of the Resolutions

From KUSI News in San Diego:

In a survey of more than 2,500 U.S. adults, more than one third (37 percent) of those who said they have made a New Year's resolution confessed they did not keep those resolutions more than a month -- and more than one in ten (12 percent) broke their resolutions within a week!

Yeah, well, no shit. People set their goals way too high, in my opinion. Remember back in the 90s when the Gin Blossoms sang “And if you don't expect too much from me you might not be let down?” I love that line, and while in real life, I’m often a bit too driven, I know that there are times when lower expectations are the way to go. Perfect example: New Year’s Resolutions.

See, we have enough opportunities for failure and disappointment in life. I’m not being negative, I’m being realistic. Why, then, make New Year’s Day yet another opportunity for failure when we could use the day (and the rest of the year) to set ourselves up for success?

That was my mindset when I wrote this year’s resolutions. Let’s see how I’m doing:

My New Year's Resolutions for 2006

• Have a baby. Check.

• Kiss and hug and snuggle and cuddle baby. A lot. Double check.

• Kiss and hug and snuggle and cuddle baby's papa. A lot. Check.

• Watch more television that is not the History Channel. Ahh, this one is really coming along. I’ve probably been watching a little too much TLC, especially What Not to Wear and 10 Years Younger(I do NOT watch A Baby Story and Bringing Home Baby because, duh. Why watch those programs when I am already living them?).

Another show that I’ve been watching is Paula’s Home Cooking on the Food Network. I was embarrassed to admit this to my mother. When she stayed with us the week after Alex was born, we passed a lot of time parked in front of the television. She luhhhves the Food Network. I thought it was pretty silly, though, and told her so. To me, the fact that we have an entire network dedicated to food is a pretty strong indicator that our society has food issues.

Well.

I still stand behind my opinion that we are too food-obsessed and way too fat as a nation, but one afternoon while I was flipping through the channels, I stumbled upon Paula Deen. And I watched the entire show. I can’t remember one thing she cooked, but I was hooked. Her Southern drawl and ditz reminds me of a dear aunt that I never had, and I can’t help but giggle when she burns pastries or sneaks tastes of her dishes before they are served. And she puts butter on everything. She’s my kind of gal, that Paula.
So the TV-watching is coming along swimmingly.

• Find a good hair stylist that I can stick with for a while. Check, y’all! When I have time, I’ll write more about her. That’s one of those fun little “Only-in-this-neck-o-the-woods” story.

• Buy some shoes. Not yet, but the year is still young.

• Play some more Sudoku. Oh, yeah. That’s a one-handed game that I can play on the internet while Alex nurses.


• More apples, fewer Cheetos. Sigh. Check.


• More yogurt, less ice cream. Check, because while yogurt doesn’t upset Al’s tummy, ice cream does. Figures.


• More chill, less freak-the-hell-out. Umm, I’m working on it.

Even More Disjointed Banality!

I think The Boy has sucked my brain smooth out of my head, by way of the boobs. Either that, or I've been watching way too much "What Not to Wear" and "10 Years Younger." And if you've been tempted recently to turn me in to Clinton and Stacy, what the hell are you waiting on?

Anyway.

Tomorrow, my students will take the state writing test for fourth graders. Now understand, I do believe in accountability, and I’ll be one of the first to defend standardized testing (yes, it does have its place), but my God, the pressure that is put upon 9- and 10-year-olds (and their teachers! But hey, I’m an adult. I can handle it.) to perform on this thing is ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I sacrificed 16 hours of my maternity leave to review writing strategies with my students because MY NAME will be on their scores, too. Tomorrow morning, while I snuggle up with my precious little bundle of grunts and coos, I will say a prayer for each of my students and for each of my coworkers. I will pray that my students feel calm and confident and that they are able to concentrate and do their best writing, revising, and editing, regardless of distractions or obstacles. I will pray that my dear coworkers and friends who are monitoring the test face the day with serenity, patience and grace. It will be a long day for all of them.

From today, there are exactly 3.85 weeks left in my maternity leave, and I plan to milk them for all they are worth. For the next 3+ weeks, I plan to work on a few important goals: Stock up on Alex-snuggles and shed a few more pounds of lard from the ass. By the way, I think the butt is lower than it used to be. We’re about to put that treadmill to the test.

I will continue to take lots and lots of photos, because clearly, 349 images on my computer are not enough. And I suppose I should think about setting up some studio portraits for Alex. I’d really like some professional shots of him with the Mr. and me, but if you know the Mr., you know that convincing him to play along will be no easy task.

Alex is already posing for his Kmart portrait.

And, apropo of absolutely nothing, here is the view from our home office window. Early this morning it was a crisp 26°F. Winter in Texas has no redeeming qualities--no pretty snow, no fun winter sports, just cold, damp, icy grayness. Downright uplifting, I tell you. (The upshot? Temperatures will be in the 70s next week.)

Insert Title Here

Ooooh, Key Dough Key.

Yeah, I've been working some. Just from 8 to 11:30 and only for a few days leading up to a major state exam that my students will take next week. Then, while the kids labor over their tests, I will begin the last leg of my maternity leave. While I've enjoyed (except I am so sleepy) wearing real clothes and real shoes and actually getting out of the damned house, I have a renewed appreciation for the time that I am getting to spend with Alex. So, I hereby resolve to relish each and every minute of those last four weeks.

Having my mom around meant that I could go and do some grown-up things and be out of the house for more than two hours at a whack. So Wednesday night, I had my hair done. By a professional. It has been years since a bonafide licensed hairstylist (SuperCuts doesn't count, I've decided) laid hands on me. For over two glorious hours, I luxuriated in the foiling, shampooing, cutting, texturing, blowdrying, and styling of the hair. My God, that was Heaven. But by then, my boobs were full and aching, and it was time to return to the Land of Spitupandpoo. With better hair, though.

And here, I will stop. Because I am so tired that I can't think of any good words. Al is sleeping. I think I will join him.

Be back soon...

It's feast or famine around here, huh? I've sucked at updating lately, and I hate that. I have so much to tell you, but the whole going-to-work-in-the-real-world (even if only 1/2-time) has got me a bit time-deprived and sleep-deprived (Now my morning routine includes pumping, changing diapers, and swaddling along with the usual coffee-making, hair-doing, the applying of makeup and dressing. 5am bites.).

So until I can sit down and write about our goings-on, I'll leave you with a picture. This one was taken by the Mr. after Alex's bath night before last. It is my favorite so far:

Happy Valentine's Day and Other Mundane Blabberings

First of all:


That's my most favoritest Valentine of all (well, besides his pop).

So, anyway, about that photo shoot. It could not have been more cheesy. And hammy. And downright silly. But maybe the stupid props will draw the attention away from my big postpartum lard ass.

Or not.

And speaking of my lard ass, I busted out of my favorite boxer shorts this morning. Yep, rrrrriiip. Right in the tushy. OK, granted these shorts were about 12 years old and the fabric had already begun to fray and wear thin, but still. Nothing says, "hey, you're fat" more than the ass end of your shorts busting a seam. But that didn't stop me from eating two large leftover biscuits (those are big, fluffy quickbread rolls that are a staple of Southern US "fixins", for any readers who may stumble in from across the pond) with plenty of butter and blackberry preserves for breakfast this morning. Because I'm so dedicated.

Tomorrow, the rest of the week, and Monday of next week, I'm working 1/2 days, from around 8 to 12. My mother will be coming tomorrow morning to take care of Al while I go help my students review for the state writing test next Tuesday. I'm excited about seeing my students and my coworkers, but I'm also a little nervous about leaving Al. I'm comforted to know, though, that my mom will take very good care of him. In fact, he'll probably be held all day long. I have to remind her that Al cannot take all of his naps in her arms. She understands, though, and tries her best. She's even eager to learn to swaddle! These 1/2 days will be a good practice run for when I go back to work full time next month.

But today, I've got to get some things done. Laundry and ironing are top priority, and then I would like to finally rid my closet of all the maternity clothes that are still hanging there and replace them with some Clothes That Fit from boxes and the guest closet. Bear in mind, though, that the Clothes That Fit consist of oh, about 7 items. At least they'll all be in one place.

At Least I'll Be Wearing More Than My Unmentionables

On Friday, I have to do a photo shoot.  

I had a baby 5 weeks ago.

My name is not Heidi Klum.

Go ahead and shoot me now.


It’s just for a local magazine—they’re doing a feature on a charitable organization that I volunteer for—but still.  Did I mention that I just had a baby 5 weeks ago?  And that my current pant size is 3 sizes larger than usual?  Oh, gah.  

But wait! There's more!

Do not adjust your monitor. You are, in fact, seeing TWO posts from me in ONE DAY!

All because of this:



And this:


Aaaaannnnnd this:


Smiles. Caught on camera.

Finally!


Oh, yeah...I'm totally eaten up with the Mommy Bloggin'.

Surrendering to the Mommy-Blogness

When I got pregnant, I started a blog dedicated wholly to Tha Pregnancy. It was and still is a site that my real-life friends and family know about and visit regularly (That means that I try my best to keep the profanity and negative references to family members at a minimum.). Aside from just a couple of posts that were non-baby-related, the entire site is utterly and sickeningly BABY. But that was the point, you know?

I began this site a little over a year ago to practice writing. It was slow going at first, and ironically, it was the other site that really got me into the habit of writing regularly. I intended to keep the two separate, as I didn't want this site to become just another Mommy Blog. That site was for Baby gah-gah, and this site was for Writing. With a capital W.

Heh.

Hello. I am a Mommy. And this is my Mommy Blog.

There. Who the hell was I kidding anyway? What Mommy of a newborn has the kind of rested brain cells that Writing requires? Well, NOT THIS ONE.



So, anyway, about that crib thing. I began putting Alex in his crib for naps last week when we started HBOTB (And you know, typing HBOTB totally reminds me of NKOTB from back in '86. Yeah, those brain cells are really working overtime, aren't they?). I did that because I know that eventually, one day, we'll want him to sleep in his own room. And also because it really chapped my ass that we spent good money on that bedding and the kid wasn't even using it. At night, our initial plan was for him to sleep in his Pack N' Play/Bassinet at the foot of our bed. That little piece of baby gear is being used to store diapers these days.

Anyway, like I mentioned a couple of days ago, I planned to put Alex in his crib for the first part of the night, until he awoke for the first feeding. That plan was vetoed by the Mr. For starters, he wasn't even ready for Alex to leave our bed, and the next room was really out of the question (I thought that was cute, but I didn't let on that I thought so). So, we compromised and started him out in the Pack 'N Play at the foot of the bed. That is, after we moved the bags of diapers, tubes of diaper creme, and stray burb rags out of the way.

Alex promptly went to sleep. The Mr. and I crawled into bed and snuggled up (that in itself is a luxury when you're used to co-sleeping). Then, Alex started farting--little toots, big ol' farts, and everything in between. We tried to suppress our laughter just like kids acting up in church. "He'll never be able to spend the night with his friends. They'll all make fun of him for cutting the cheese in his sleep. My God, what did you eat?" Of course, the Mr. had to blame that on me. And rightly so. We all know who the gassy family member is. But now, I have a partner in crime.

The night progressed without excitement. Alex woke up at the usual time to eat, then he staked his claim once again in the bed. It's all about baby steps.

All Hail the Swaddle!

Btw, 2BL, I love your comments! For motherhood to be such a huge club, it's certainly lonely at times. Thanks for reminding me that I'm not alone.

The New Normal

We’ve almost reached our new normal. I say “new,” because “normal” as we knew it will never return. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I’m dead tired. Alex has been performing a new trick for us. He’s found his voice, I like to say. He grunts, coos, ooohs, ahhh, and gurgles with the same intonation as conversational speech. It is just too cute for words.

During the day.

But he does this at night, too. And like I may have hinted earlier, we cosleep(1). At 1am, Alex wakes up and decides that “Hey, Mom, what do you say we talk? Or, you know, I could talk and you could listen. How about these jammies I’m wearing? Pretty cute, don’t you think?” Then, at 4am, he wants to talk about animals. “What’s the name of that one that says ‘Meow?’ How about the one that says ‘Moo?’ Can I have a dog?” And this goes on for about 30 minutes or so, or until he decides that “Whoa, wait a minute. I think I might be a little hungry…WAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” So for 30 minutes I drift between almost awake and almost asleep until he gets really good and wound up. Then it’s time to feed, burp, and hopefully we all get back to sleep within a reasonable amount of time.

I have not been swaddling Alex at night because with our current sleeping situation, I don’t want to force him into that deep, deep sleep that swaddling brings. But tonight? We’re swaddling and he’s going to sleep in his crib, at least for the first leg. Mama’s got to get a little sleep.

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Last night, I went shopping. For clothes. For my “in-between wardrobe” (And dear God, I HOPE it’s only in-between!). The Mr. kept Al while I went, and I have never in my life shopped so quickly. Not because I was worried, but because I’ve slipped into multi-tasking super-efficient Mama mode. I didn’t notice it until I looked at my watch and realized I was almost finished and had only been out for an hour. That’s a record. I still enjoyed shopping, I just didn’t lolligag around for hours. And amazingly, I had better luck than I’ve had in years finding the items I wanted. AND everything was on sale—as in, dirt cheap. The only down side to the excursion? The sizes I had to buy. I just pray it’s only temporary.

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I had my 6-week checkup today, about ten days early. Everything checked out fine, blah, blah, blah, and I got a new prescription for Birth Control pills(2). So now, I am officially Back to Normal.

Right.

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(1) Please, please, puh-leeze, no assvice about co-sleeping. I’ve read everything I can get my hands on, and yes, I know the dangers, but I also know the advantages. We’re working on transitioning, and we’ll make the change as soon as we’re all ready. But right now? This is the best situation for our family. Deal.

(2) Micronor. It’s the progestogen-only pill (POP), aka the “mini-pill.” It’s safe to use while breastfeeding because it won’t decrease milk supply as most combo pills will.

Alex: One Month

Alex is one month old.

In a way, so am I.

In my child’s first month, I have been changed. I’m still Me, only different. I have crossed over to the Other Side, so to speak. My baby, in a way, is like my own personal Yoda. My tiny teacher. Without speaking a word (unless you count “Nnnckg!” and “Maaawhh!” as words) he has taught me countless lessons about motherhood and life. Just a few of these lessons include:

Never, ever, say never. Formula, mental episodes over minor details, lingering fat, co-sleeping. Yeah, I once said “never” about all those. Whatever, man.

All parents experience sleep-deprivation and it totally sucks ass. When people talked about new parents being sleep-deprived, my naïve oh-this-will-be-a-breeze dumbass self believed they must have been exaggerating. For some reason, I never really accepted that so many people could endure the same torture for days, weeks, and months on end and that this insanity would be considered normal. The realization that I, too, was going to have to suffer this rite of parenthood—and not for just one or two nights, but for many, many nights—sent me reeling. But we’re dealing.

Babies just need some diapers, some onesies, a really good blanket, a lot of bibs, and a shitload of burp rags. Oh, and a carseat. All that other stuff? Fluff.

They will probably need gas drops, too. Gerber tastes like sweet bananas. Mylicon tastes like grapes. Babies can tell the difference and the difference matters. My baby? “Mmmm…nanna juice. I feel better already. Zzzzz,” and “Grapes? Gag! Blehck. Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Tomorrow is another day. No matter what today brings, tomorrow will bring something different. Maybe worse, maybe better, but one thing is for sure: You cannot plan or predict Tomorrow based on Today.

I am not in control. I never was. But before a baby, I was pretty damned good at faking it. Now? Pshaw.

A baby really does change your entire life. Everything changes. Everything. From no longer being able to just go when you feel like it (to restaurants, to the movies, to the bathroom, even) to never being able to look at a seedless watermelon the same again (they’re back in the stores, and I almost cried from nostalgia when I saw them) to having to actually plan your morning routine in order to get everyone clean and dressed and fed in time to get where you’re going. Yes, I knew that this would happen, but I didn’t really KNOW the impact it would have. It is a lesson that must be learned from experience.

And I haven’t even touched on the part about loving a little creature so much that it hurts and both marveling and lamenting the fact that, my God that is my chin, and wondering how on earth I’m going to be able to firmly discipline the child when he looks at me with those eyes. And the feeling of his hands holding onto to mine when I feed him and the smell of his head when he’s nuzzled under my chin is just almost too much to bear.

I just didn’t know how this little person would totally change my world until that world had been turned completely upside down.

And it just feels so good.

It Might Be Time to Up the Dosage On My Meds

A friend of mine told me a couple of years ago that having her first baby turned her into a bonafide lunatic. She had a cataclysmic breakdown, complete with screaming and sobbing, over bottle nipples when her daughter was just a few weeks old. At the time, I thought, “Yeah, I can see how that would happen. I mean, a new baby, crazy hormones, and your husband coming home from Target with the wrong kind of bottle nipples would probably send me over the edge, too.”

Last week, I congratulated myself for not having any major freakout episodes. Sure, this is the hardest job I’ve ever done, but so far I think I’ve handled it with aplomb.

I thought too soon.

Today, enter Freak Out Jezer Psycho Bitch.

Over routines. And our lack of one. Well, we’re not completely void of a routine, it just didn’t go the way I wanted it to today. And the Mr. was home, and The Boy didn’t want to nap when it was clearly Time for Him to Nap, and so the Mr. didn’t get to see the magic that is Swaddling and White Noise. In fact, the Mr. hasn’t completely bought into the Swaddling. Or the White Noise. And he thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and give The Boy his bath then instead of tonight since he didn’t want to nap anyway. And I snapped.

“We’ll never get a routine down and just when it looks like we’re on the verge of settling into one, something screws it all up and MY GOD The Boy has GOT to sleep or his brain won’t develop to its potential geniusness and if he has no routine he’ll have NOTHING safe and familiar to soothe him when I go to work and what do you mean you want to give him a bath now? In the middle of the DAY? Are you out of your damned mind?”

The Mr. did a good job of talking me down from that one, reminding me that not every day will be just like the last and The Boy won’t always be sleepy when he’s “supposed” to be and sometimes we just have to go with the flow and not worry about what all the books and the Internet say because every child is different.

And I’m the one with a specialization in Early Childhood Development. Sheesh.

So, kiddos, there is my first official Mommy Meltdown.


By the way, The Boy is napping now. Going on and hour and a half. The Mr. is not admitting it, but I can tell he’s impressed.


Sleepy? I'm not sleepy.


No naps for me, I say! Not Sleepy. Not one bit.


Save me Pop. Save me from the Routine Nazi.

Really Good Stuff v.2.0

When I find a product or service that I think other people would enjoy, I am the first to jump up and sing its praises. And I've got some praisin' to do today, folks. Oh, yes I do.

First, Amazon.com. Yeah, yeah, everyone knows Amazon. Big Whoop. But wait--here's the deal: I ordered a DVD from them a couple of weeks ago, and it never came. I tried tracking the item, but the farthest I could track it was to Dallas, and that was LAST WEEK. So, skeptically, I went to Amazon's customer service link and found that there was no phone number to call. If you want to contact Amazon by phone, you have to enter your phone number and wait for them to call you. This wasn't looking good. Instead of sitting by the phone, I decided to use the email option. I typed out my problem (where's my shit, yo?), listed the order number, clicked "send," and went about my business (that's a fancy way of saying that I cleaned up more spit up and poop.).

Three hours later, I got this email:

Greetings from Amazon.com.
I'm sorry, but it appears that your order has been lost in shipping.
I've placed a new order for you at no charge...

It is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow. That. Is customer service.

When the Mr. got home, I told him all about Amazon and how they showed me Real Love. Then he went to check the mail.

You know where this is going, don't you?

The "lost" DVD was in the mailbox. And the new one had already been shipped (already!), so I couldn't cancel the order. If I decide not to keep it (and I may keep it and pay for it and give it as a gift...keep reading), I'll have to just refuse delivery.

Anyway.

The DVD is my second Really Good Stuff item that I want to tell you about.

If you are a parent, you will understand what I mean when I say that this DVD may have very possibly Changed My Life. And I mean that.

If you are not a parent, but may one day become one, remember this. It might save you.

The DVD is Dr. Harvey Karp's The Happiest Baby on the Block.

See, The Boy is a very good baby. He doesn't cry a whole lot, and Good Lord is he ever cute. He even lets me sleep for 3- and 4-hour stretches at a time during the night. But y'all? The Boy wouldn't nap. Well, he'd "nap" for anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes at a time, but the MAX was 30 minutes. And on those days when he'd only catch a few 5-10-minute catnaps, he'd be downright crotchedy and only want to nurse, nurse, nurse all day long. I just chalked it all up to his not being much of a napper and having some growth spurts.

Well.

I watched this little 60-minute video last night, and in a nutshell, Dr. Karp thinks that the first 3 months of a baby's life should be considered the "Fourth Trimester," during which Baby is just trying to adjust to being outside the womb. Then he explains the 5 S's--five very, very simple things that we can do to make Baby feel more comfortable and calm. When you really think about it, it's just common sense. But I'm a sleep-deprived new mom, and who has time for common sense when you're knee deep in poopy diapers, right?

Y'all. This morning The Boy took a 2-hour nap. Did you hear me? TWO HOURS!

Right now, during what is usually his most active/cranky/hungry time of day? He's been asleep for almost an hour and shows no signs of letting up any time soon.

This is unheard of. I've filed our tax return, answered emails, and MADE COOKIES for crying the hell outloud!

And in between these glorious newborn naps, the child has been just plain happy. Smiling, almost laughing, and NOT EVEN CRYING DURING HIS DIAPER CHANGE! Diaper changes! With no crying!

My God, I didn't know it could be this good. Really, y'all, I didn't.

Of course, I'm giving it a few more days before I'm officially sold, but if this continues, I'm going to have myself a glass of milk, just to see what happens. I have a sneaky suspicion that his afternoon/evening crankiness may have nothing at all to do with food sensitivities.

The Boy's just been tired.

Blockage

There's plenty going on around here, yes sirree, but it all involves poop and boobs, so I think I'll spare you that train wreck.

Instead, I'll just copy and do a meme. No, noone tagged me, because duh, noone knows I even exist out here. So, I'm just going to copy one of the cool kids and do this one.

Four jobs I’ve had

1. Waitress at a Mexican food restaurant
2. Babysitter
3. Preschool Teacher
4. Public School Teacher

Four movies I can watch over and over

1. Steel Magnolias
2. Napolean Dynamite
3. I have to come up with four?
4. I can't think of four.

Four places I have lived

1. Jenkins, Texas (good luck finding that one on a map)
2. Daingerfield, Texas
3. Austin, Texas
4. Where I live now, Texas

Four TV shows I love
Oh boy. This is impossible.

1. What Not To Wear (TLC)
   
2. Myth Busters (Discovery)
   
3. Cold Case (A&E)
   
4. Clean Sweep (TLC)
   

Good Lord, I'm pathetic.

Four places I’ve vacationed

1. Cancun, Mexico (x3)
2. Cozumel, Mexico
3. Playa del Carmen, Mexico
4. New York, NY
   

Four of my favorite dishes

1. Macho Nachos at Weinerland
2. Nachos Ole at Casa Ole
3. Dairy Queen Nachos
4. Nachos from any ballpark concession stand.

Only recently did I realize that ballparks in other regions don't usually serve nachos in the concession stand. That's a shame, I say.

Four sites I visit daily

1. Amalah
2. Dooce
3. Zoot
4. DadGoneMad

Four places I would rather be right now

1. In my bed. Asleep.
2. On a beach in Mexico
3. That's about it, I think.
4. Yeah, that's it.

Five people I am tagging

Heh, that's funny. I don't even know five people who have sites. So, if you're reading this and you have a blog, consider yourself tagged, baby.