Apartment Hiking

The Boy cannot be trusted. It's a good thing really that he's so active, however, it makes frivolous tasks like cooking dinner, washing dishes and vacuuming virtually impossible. Put him down in the middle of an empire of toys, turn your back for half a second and he will already be crawling up the TV stand/pointy cornered desk/garbage can/etc. We've resorted to putting him in a backpack on Mr. Jarcy and it works out very well. (Well with the exception of Mr. Jarcy's aching back.) We also ordered a holding pen for him. It's a very nice and not so cheap but terribly tacky play yard and hopefully it will show up soon! I'd love to start the coffee in the morning without having to worry if he's headed toward the kitty litter while I grind the beans.

Moments Of Bliss

There are moments in your life you know you will cherish forever even when that moment is occurring. Those are so special, aren't they? One of mine is the night before I got married. I don't need a picture to recall that experience, it is perfectly clear in my memory...the clear and starry sky, the calm before the storm (literally and figuratively), the pier stretching out into the ocean...ah, it's like I'm there again and for just a moment in time all is perfect.

I had another perfect night only this time with another boy, as in The Boy. Do you know that famous painting by Gustav Klimt of a woman and child embracing, sleeping side by side? Well, I have always loved that painting. It's hung in my many apartments--a replica that is--long before I had a child. The other night The Boy could not fall asleep and we had our own Klimt moment in time.

He was tired (it's a given I was) and it was close to midnight. His ouchie teething made him extremely alert. After many failed attempts to calm and put him to sleep I laid down with him, stroked his hair (how he has so much already I have no clue) and held his head close to my heart. I massaged his little hands, his muscly arms, his big Buddha belly. I kissed his perfectly smooth forehead and rubbed his little chunky feet. As a result, he sunk right into my side and fell asleep. He even giggled about something which is how he laughed for the first time at just a couple of months old--asleep. It must have been so soothing to go back to hearing my heartbeat again. He spent all those months growing in me and being lulled by my goofy heartbeat from my deformed heart (it beats lub swoosh instead of lub dub). We were just like the Klimt painting (only I had a top on). A moment of bliss, mama and baby. I thanked the heavens above for him even more than normal and felt so profoundly lucky to have such a gift in my life.

Some day he'll be 15 and the words "Mom" and "cuddle" will have nothing to do with each other. That's when I'll have to resort back to cuddling with his father I imagine. And the following night he clubbed me in the eye with a plastic key toy so hard that it's still bruised. We may be closer to 15 than I realize. But no matter what I will forever have our Klimt night to hold onto. Pure bliss.

Bath Time!

"Why this woman bathes me in a giant, inflated duck is beyond me."

Not So Fast

The Boy falls asleep in this bouncy apparatus on a daily basis. It has become the tool we use to lull him to sleep for his morning nap. I have to usually leave the room in order for this to happen. He'll bounce for almost an hour when Mr. Jarcy is in charge. When I'm around it is a different story, he whines to get out after 30 seconds. Once he's asleep we transfer him to his crib and then he's down for an hour or so. Sometimes he wakes up immediately and refuses to sleep. Right now is one of those times. He's not going down without a fight! I like this quality in him, just not when it's tied to sleep. He's just in there doing raspberries with his mouth and all sorts of other funny sounds which at least keeps both of us amused.

Go Directly To Jail

Prisoners get more sleep than me.

This is a thought that keeps running through my mind. No, they don't get the freedoms I enjoy but they do get sleep. They can nap, get continuous hours of rest at night and guilt-free alone time. Lots and lots of alone time. They have structured activity and prepared meals. Nobody gives a crap what they look like. Ah, prison...

Of course this is an extreme thought and I don't really want to go to prison-- unless Johnny Depp is incarcerated in the same cell-- but I do experience twinges of jealousy and irritation to know murderers sleep while I get sporadic and inadequate amounts of rest. Not fair!

A Star Was Born

"These damn paparazzi are relentless."

Piece Of Cake

Babies are full of surprises.

Today we had to go get The Boy's blood drawn for his 9-month check-up. No parent wants to do this. Extract blood from an infant? My god, these days I can't even change his diapers or clothing without him pitching a fit. We've definitely hit this stage where he makes a stink when forced to do something he's not up for. He whines, cries and flails all over the place. We might have an easier time changing the cat, claws and all.

So today was not going to be fun. Mr. Jarcy went in with him while I stayed in the waiting room wishing I had a bottle of Vicodin. Only one parent--the "holder"--was allowed in while they drew his blood.

Well guess what... HE DIDN'T EVEN MAKE A PEEP! Not one sound emitted from that child, not a one. He seemed intrigued by the whole thing actually. What's in my arm, is that a needle? Hmmm, that's interesting. The lab technicians were just as thankful as we were I think.

Then we came home and he played too close to a stack of left over boxes that scared the shit out of him.

Abundance

LA has an abundance of the following--

Frame stores. Walking down Ventura Blvd today I passed a frame store. One block later on the same side of the street I walked by another. Hmmm, that seems very odd to me. I can't tell you where one frame store is in Chicago--a city I lived in for over 10 years--but I can easily direct you to three that are within one mile of my home here in Studio City and I've only been here for 2 months.

Helicopters. I hear them overhead constantly. A local morning show utilizes one which didn't seem that weird to me because Chicago has them to cover the traffic. This copter, however, is used for celebrity sightings. No joke, the helicopter hovered over a court house where Lindsay Lohan was just to get a glimpse of her. Yeah, that's odd too.

Sunny days. The average number of sunny days in Chicago a year? 84. The average number in L.A.? 329. Oddly enough, that's the same number of frame stores and helicopters.

Communist Car Seats

It's time to buy a convertible car seat. It's a seat that comes after the infant car seat. The infant car seat faces the rear as does the convertible until The Boy is a year old. But if he's of a certain size he can face forward. He also could go into a booster car seat if we'd like. But then let's not forget the car seat needs to be able to fly the friendly skies back to Chicago and, god willing, a vacation destination. So then it may not be wise to buy the Volvo-equivalent of convertible car seats because it is too big for the itty bitty plane seats. So that narrows the options down to no less than 432 car seats.

Now listen...

I'm looking for 3 simple choices in car seats. No, better yet, I'm looking for the ONE car seat that my son graduates into now that he's getting too big for this infant seat. I don't care about the color, I just want him safe in vehicles as well as planes. Period. Please, direct me to that one car seat and I can move on in my life. I do not enjoy spending free time researching which car seat suits him best and regardless of the cost I will panic that it won't be protection enough. This woman wants to move beyond reading the "Baby Bargains" and online reviews to something that involves less thought and way more entertainment (at this point a candy wrapper falls under this category).

Thank you.

Quack Quack

I'm convinced the neighbors think I'm torturing my kid. I'm not. He's overtired, cranky and not falling asleep. I've done all I can with my bag of tricks (I mean my boobs) and now he's just gotta cry a bit. And it is the worst thing ever. I never like to let him cry. It hurts worse than if someone amputated my arm. But I'm at home alone and I have to walk away for 5 minutes and collect myself. And, honestly, what makes it worse is that I live in an apartment building as opposed to a single family home where we would have more privacy. I would still feel horrible about letting him cry but I wouldn't worry about the police showing up at my door in a few moments to haul my little baby away from me.

And now two random L.A. sightings--

1. I know where "Duck" lives. He's a character on Mad Men and has been a bunch of other characters on other shows like Desperate Housewives and Castle. Well he lives down the street from the Pilates studio I go to. For some reason I'm very excited about this revelation. I like him.
2. A man was shopping in the grocery store today wearing his pajamas and a terry cloth robe. It was the most ridiculous thing ever. Of course, my first thought was, Can I do this too? If it is an accepted behavior here in L.A. then I will gladly follow suit. Judging the reactions he got from other shoppers though I think I'll have to keep putting day time clothes on. Booooo.

The Boy just went quiet. I'm always convinced it's for no more than 2 minutes so I better go pee and then prepare for my next plan of attack. Beyond glamorama here I know but I'm happy this is my life. He may not like to go to sleep but he's the best thing ever.

This Entry Is Called "Let Me Just..."

Let me just run to the bathroom...

Let me just grab a quick sandwich and then I'll...

Let me just take a shower before I start to...

I'm going to eradicate statements that begin with "Let me just..." I never said "let me just" before becoming someone's mommy. It's my teenage equivalent to overusing the word "like" and just as difficult to stop saying. Unfortunately, it's usually tied to doing things that one should never need permission to do. Let me just run to the bathroom??? What's that all about? 30 seconds ago I said, "Let me just dry my hair and then I'll watch The Boy." Mrs. Jarcy, come on! Dry your hair and do your thing! Mr. Jarcy rarely has to ask me for help. Why? Because I can anticipate his need for me before he even expresses it (or needs it for that matter).

Every time I start a statement with "Let me just..." I'm going to drop down and do 20 push ups.

I Can Do This.

Don't you hate those days when you just can't seem to wake up but have to get up and so you seek refuge in a Pilates class but that one super annoying chatty woman won't stop yapping and you can't hear the instructor and end up hurting your groin by doing the pose incorrectly so you head home even more worked up and in need of rest but the baby takes a nap for only 20 minutes and then is awake for 6 more and then you drop a huge tub of Balmex diaper rash cream on your knee which requires a couple of Advil and ice just so you can hoist your battered body up off the floor and haul around the sleepless baby and then you finally get the baby in bed but he's awoken 30 minutes later by screaming baseball fans that live in the same apartment building as you and then you're again trying to get him to sleep even though he doesn't want to but really does and all you can think is, hot damn I wish I hadn't had the Advil so I could drink a bottle of wine or possibly even gin?

Yeah, me too.

Listen Up You Faceless Other Mommies...

What does it take to get a moms' club to take me in?

You may recall my post months ago about how I unsuccessfully attended a moms' playgroup when The Boy was 3-4 months old. Well I was quite successful in attending, it was the other moms of the neighborhood who never showed. I had to move heaven and earth to get there with a newborn who's aversion to sleep was nothing less than sadistic. And then to be the only one there? I stuck around for a full hour, just me and The Boy, hoping just one other mommy would show up. But she didn't. And lemme tell you, that is not an easy pill to swallow when you are new at parenting and beyond desperate to connect with others like you while residing in miserable, wintery Chicago.

But other mom friends keep encouraging me to join these groups and so I tried again. I've got some friends out here to connect with but every kid's schedule is different and it doesn't hurt to have options. Besides, The Boy needs to expend energy so that he'll be ready to go to bed before 11pm (I start to disintegrate around 10:30pm after a full day of being "on"). I emailed the local moms club that I apparently must join as it is according to which zip code you reside in and guess what? No mommy has replied. It's been a week. I think I'm getting blown off for a second time by the faceless mommy.

This reminds me of my failed attempts at online dating years ago only much more painful.

Coffee Before 8:30AM

Morning!

There is a cafe right around the corner from our apartment which is lovely. I'm here right now drinking coffee, enjoying some solo time and attempting to write (anything creative will do really). It's perfect because every person here is doing something creative. What I don't understand, however, is what they do before 8:30am. This coffee shop doesn't open before then! Here I was trying to get an early start and then had to wait in my backyard by the pool for 10 minutes and then come back. I was afraid if I went back upstairs I'd get sucked in to laundry, the TV, The Boy...

Now, of course, I'm wondering what the hurry was all about considering I've spent at least 30 minutes mindlessly wandering Facebook and god knows what else. :-)

Upright Assisted Mobility

(The video is courtesy of Mrs. Jarcy's phone so she apologizes for it's less than stellar quality. Let's hope she's not kicked out of LA for posting subpar work.)

The Boy is moving like never before! Pretty soon our home will be fully adorned by safety gates, corner pads and electrical socket covers.

The Boy's parents learn the basics as well these days. There's that Tom Petty song, "Learning To Fly," but I think we're just learning to walk and drive again with the hopes of future flights. One of our cars broke down the other day for the second time...and it was just out of gas. The indicator lights are all off so we had no idea. Then today Mr. Jarcy nearly got taken out by a truck as he bolted across the street. It was completely his fault and I thought for sure I was to be a single, widowed parent. Fate stepped in and thankfully I'm not. Who would gas up these damn cars if he were gone? I need him! Either way, you have to hoof it across the streets if you dare walk somewhere. I feel as if these drivers are trying their best to hit me, stroller and all. They show no mercy.