clean floors, dirty paws

Caches is nearly a year old, like I was in labor right now a year ago.. HOLY SHIT!  And while trying to gather my thoughts on what I want to write for his "12 month" post, it occurred to me that I never even told ya'll his birth story, or that I occasionally speak with a Southern accent. First a tid bit of back story.  I had a super easy, normal pregnancy and was planning on laboring at home for as long as possible with our doula and then heading to the hospital with only a short time left remaining to push out a baby, end scene.   I prepped for natural childbirth with a ton of reading, exercises, classes, a supportive doctor, husband and doula.  Caches had other plans.  Foreshadowing anyone, anyone? A day before my due date I had a doctors appointment.  He told me he was going out of town in a few days.  I had a breakdown.  Then I had a meeting with is partner who would probably end up delivering me.  I had an even bigger breakdown.  You see, his partner was NOTHING

This morning as I was wiping fig jam off of the kitchen cabinets, wondering how a piece of strawberry ended up smeared on the foot mat, and yelling at Abner and Lilly to quit stalking the baby for his pancake, I had to stop and wonder; when did feeding the kid become so complicated?  Or is it actually easier now?  Should I just give him 347 crackers all day to appease him?  What the hell do you feed a baby when they won't eat what you think you are supposed to feed them? He started out as a champion eater.  Kale, yes please.  Spinach, give me more!  He would pretty much down anything I put in his mouth or on his tray without much fuss.  Until I used a wire brush and battery acid to wipe his face and hands, of course.  Slowly over the course of weeks though, he has decided that he has an opinion about when and what he wants to eat.  Shit, I knew this day would come. He isn't so fond of eggs today, thankyouverymuch!  Isn't it fun to spit yogurt out and have it dribble dow

Last year I wrote a bit about what an amazing father I thought Ryan would be; I totally underestimated the love.  If you follow this blog with any sort of consistency, hell even if you have read it once, chances are you know that our son is not the easiest baby and parenthood hasn't been all puppies and ice cream. I have been meaning to write a post dedicated to Ryan for months, in fact I have no less than 3 started, but I never finished.  Not because I don't know what to say, but because I have too much to say.  Babe, here's to you for... Those long nights in the early months when nothing would stop Caches from crying and I felt like a failure because I couldn't soothe my child.  You held me and we cried together.   When I ran away from home because I couldn't listen to the screaming anymore you stayed and rocked our baby.  When I came back you didn't judge me, you loved me. The hours you spent bouncing on the exercise ball, walking the neig

It has been a rough week.  I want to crawl into bed and not hear from a single sole for a minimum of 31 hours.  Because that is not an option, I have chosen to bitch and complain on my blog; And you can't stop me!  I suppose you could not read it and show me a thing or two, but I bet you are a little bit interested in my rant, right?  Or at the very least wondering if my brain is finally producing coherent thought and complete grammatically correct sentences. I have come to the conclusion that it all boils down to sleep and Caches' sleep is at an all time low.  I genuinely thought that once he started moving around he would be so physically tired that his little body would just give in; I thought wrong.  I am at a total loss.  I mean, I'm not exactly surprised, but it was my last hope!  I know I set myself up for disappointment by dreaming of magical three or even four hour stretches of sleep by now, but at this point all I have is a dream.  I haven't slept longer tha

A post about... My first plane ride with Caches.   The beautiful and talented Suzanne's baby shower. My Los Angeles family FINALLY meeting Caches. But for now... I'm holding a sick baby 23.5 hours of the day Fucking plane with its recirculated air

Caches Michael, Today you are 11 months old and honestly, I kind of want to cry about it.  What?  You cry all the time!  I just can't believe how the time has flown.  Lately I've been watching you, walking from room to room, playing, singing to yourself as you wander, and I have to stop and wonder, who is this toddler?  Where is my baby!?  I'm not ready!  Slow down! I know, I know, I'm being a bit redundant with all the, "where has my baby gone?" business, but it just happened so fast.  It's as if you were perfecting all of these big boy skills in your sleep, just waiting for the right moment to put them all to use and transform. No wonder you are up all the damn time! That, and the two giant top teeth which have decided to join the party this month.  Those rat bastard teeth have caused oh SO much drama and oh SO much drool!  Were they not so important in your ability to chew I would have pulled them out and buried them in the yard long ago.  Anythin