Now and Later

Little Lydie Cake, how you amaze me.

Every day you crawl over to my legs, use them to stand up and then look at me with those big blue eyes,
Intermittently waving one hand in the air and then slapping my leg, begging to be picked up. Rinse, lather, repeat.

All while your tongue hangs out, as if you're catching flies.

And when I reach my arms down to grant your request, you smile like you've just won the grand prize- A FREE RIDE IN MOMMY'S ARMS!

But when you find out this is nothing more then a photo taking session, you are none too pleased as you try to wiggle back to the ground.

But I know you, I have you figured out. Today you'll be flashing me the most innocent face in the world to get whatever it is you desire...

Give it three more years and you'll be casting uncooperative stares as Mama interrupts your special rainy day movie marathon with a simple request such as "Can you turn around and smile for Mommy?" and just like Kyra, you'll look damned cute doing it, too.

At which time you will also be photographed nearly naked (thanks to a spilled milk incident) and, with any luck, I'll remember to post it here on the internet with a link bringing us back to this moment, so I can remember the early days when you tried (and usually succeeded) to melt my heart with one glance. And if you're anything like Sister, even when you're not smiling for the camera, you'll still melt my heart.

Today you're 8 months old, Lydie Kate. Won't you please stay little just a bit longer?

Splish Splash I Was Taking A Bath

Kyra, 8 months, content to eat her rubber ducky:
Lydia, 7 months, will splash until she thoroughly soaks herself:

Ah... I just can't get over the two of them.

Bring A Tissue

Lydia will be 8 months old come this Sunday. I am not only astonished by the differences in both the girl's personalities, but I'm also astonished by the way I've been able to handle the first 8 months of each girl completely differently.

When Kyra was born, I was already depressed. I read or saw somewhere once that some women start having symptoms of postpartum depression before they've ever had the baby. When I saw that report I knew they must have been talking about me. Before I ever gave birth to Kyra, I didn't want her.

Now let me make this a little more clear.

Its not that I didn't WANT her. Its just that *I* didn't want her, I wanted someone else to raise her. I wanted someone else to do it as I looked over their shoulder and cried over what a better job they were as a mother. I was afraid of screwing Kyra up. Of completely messing up her life. Frazzling her brain so that she had some warped sense of being and didn't grow up proud of herself and her accomplishments.

Throw that fear in with some wickedly out of sorts hormones and I had a near deadly combination of CRAZY WOMAN IN THE ROOM! going on inside my head.

It was when Krya was 7 months my (now) best friend Joelle came into my life. This chic, who I had somehow been invited to her Pampered Chef party just weeks before, no joke, just started showing up at my house. Unannounced. For absolutely no reason what-so-ever. And it fucked with my head like none other.

Before Joelle, I had this notion that as a stay at home wife I was required to have a June Cleaver existence. The house was to be clean at ALL TIMES just in case the Pope stopped by to say hi. I was to be the PERFECT HOSTESS and always try to remain happy and smiling when others were around. I was to be a ROBOT and perform all these tasks with such an apparent sense of ease that one would think this is how I lived- EVERY FUCKING DAY OF MY LIFE.

Clearly that was a crock of shit and should have been everyone's first clue that I needed to be sent to the loony bin.

Then Joelle showed up. In her white Chevy Tahoe. Unannounced. At the most random times. And there I was, unshowered for days, wearing a spit up covered shirt that was fresh from the laundry just a few hours earlier. Baby toys strewn across the floor. Mail opened and thoughtlessly tossed on the recliner.

I used to HATE it when people showed up unannounced. Now? Come on over! Our mess is your mess!

When she'd come over I'd be lying on the couch imagining how I would "accidentally" die while crossing the street as a run away car came randomly speeding through. Or how the next time I was in our vehicle, riding along in the passenger seat (because, by 7 months, it was still a rare time I'd leave the house alone) and some random car would t-bone us in the middle of the intersection, and I would DIE- though not instantly. I would live just long enough to tell Jer that I loved him and to marry a good woman, one who could take better care of Kyra then I ever could. Or I would stare out of our floor to ceiling windows, vividly picturing throwing myself through the window, blood pooling on the front walk, neighbors coming to help as I lay there, crying, begging them to finish me off. These were the thoughts Joelle would interrupt when she would just RANDOMLY SHOW UP AT MY FUCKING DOOR WHEN I AND MY HOUSE WAS A COMPLETE MESS!

Once again, I'm telling you, I was fucked. up. in the head.

At this point I had been to see a therapist who, instead of trying to cure me was trying to cure my marriage with what I imagine "couples counseling" to be. (Let it be known that there was nothing wrong with my marriage except for ME and my LACK OF SANITY.) I had been on one antidepressant that sent me on such a high I'd snap right back into my June Cleaver act and when it wore off I was back to lying the blood soaked gutter. I didn't know where to turn. The one doctor I connected with was shipped to Afghanistan and when both the psychologist and psychiatrist proved to be less then stellar, I was convinced I was incurable.

And then there was Joelle, WHO SHOWED UP RANDOMLY AND WITHOUT WARNING and would like to know if she and her baby could look at my four walls versus her own or would I like to accompany her to the mall just to walk around and see what we could find on the clearance racks? Because of her I started getting off the couch to take regular showers. Because of her, I was distracted from my own inner demons. And because of her, I, somehow, managed to slowly start coming out of my own head and back into reality. I started to be a normal human being again and less like some crazy woman.

All of this happened during Kyra's 1st year of life. It was probably, without a doubt, the hardest year I've ever lived through. And because of that, I have immense guilt.

Kyra was the EASIEST BABY EV.ER. I will forever shout that from the roof tops. KYRA WAS THE EASIEST BABY EVVVVVVV.ERRRRRR! and there I was, a big ole ball of mess holding the world's most perfect baby. Trying desperately not to bond with her, yet still filled with tremendous love for her.

Lydia, as we all know, was NOT the easiest baby ever. She was the CRANKIEST BABY EV.ER. The worlds most disgruntled child for the first 4 months of her life. The fifth month she humored Jer any myself by smiling and laughing at the jig she had us dancing to make it through each day. The sixth month she started to have more good days then bad. This seventh month, less then a handful of times have we had to deal with her crazy, will nothing make the crying end? meltdowns.

And through all of that, I never had a single ounce of postpartum creep into my brain and try to steel away my sanity.

The worlds most happy baby, I'm all PSYCHOTIC.
The baby that never shuts the fuck up, I'm all COOL HANDS LUKE.

I don't get it. I don't understand what God's plan is, or was, for me. Krya was robbed of most of her 1st year while Lydia demands that I, under no circumstance, forget that she is here.

The one thing I do know is that it was Joelle who saved me from myself. She claims she never knew there was ever anything wrong with me, that she was just tired of looking at her own four walls all day with her own sweet and perfectly happy baby and thought looking at my walls or dragging me out of the house would be much more entertaining.

I've never properly thanked her for saving me. I think about it a lot lately. I don't know what went so wrong with Kyra and why things have gone so right with Lydia, but I know I can ponder such things because of Joelle.

So, here it goes,

Thank you, Joelle. From the bottom of my heart, Thank You, for being my friend. Because of you, I not only get to enjoy my own two children but now I get to have the joy of being the Godmother to your sweet baby Jacob come this October. God knew what He was doing when He sent you to me. I'm not sure what He was thinking before that, but He was on the ball when you frequently SHOWED UP AT MY HOUSE COMPLETELY UNANNOUNCED! You saved me and for that, I will forever owe you a piece my heart. I would offer you my mind, but, uh, you see where that has taken me.

Love You Always, Friend

Vacations Are Good, Vacations With Friends Are Better

I have a great friend, Candace. Candace and I talk all the time. Whenever we get on the phone, it's going to be a long conversation. It seems, even when we have nothing to say, the conversation never has an end, just a "it's getting late, I guess we should get off of here" or a "the children are running wild, guess I should go be a Mom again" and occasionally even "the Husband says I need to get off the phone now."

During one of these marathon phone calls we were bitching about our husband's hectic schedules, her husband works long hours ALL THE TIME with very little to no days off while my husband works a revolving schedule and the most random, yet scheduled, days off. I told her about our 4 day weekend coming up soon. It was to be our second one. The first one we blew, staying at home, giddy over the fact that we had 4. ENTIRE. DAYS. and what in the world are we going to do with these 4 days and then... the weekend was over.

I told Candace that we were going to go somewhere and Hershey, Pa was one of two top places to go and we couldn't decide what to run with. She asked what dates we were talking about, I told her. She confirmed. I confirmed. She said they were taking a family trip to Pennsylvania during the same 4 days. And... uh... HOW FABULOUS WOULD IT BE TO SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN AND LET THE GIRLS PLAY AND CHIT CHAT WITHOUT RUNNING UP A HEFTY BILL AND THE BOYS COULD DO WHATEVER IT IS THAT GUYS DO AND WOULD IT JUST BE SO FUCKING AWESOME IF WE COULD GET TOGETHER!!!!!!

And that's how, this weekend, we landed in Dutch Wonderland, where Kyra got to meet a real life princess:
And have pint sized rides made just for her age:

Rides that would fling her so hard that her braids nearly snapped off of her teeny tiny melon:

And rides that she could pretend to shoot things, because, you know, THAT'S what I'd really like my daughter to do, shoot the kid in the spaceship in front of her:

And while Kyra was doing all of that, Lydia would turn beat red in the face from screaming so hard because she was tired and not in her crib and HOW DARE HER FATHER AND I INCONVENIENCE HER SO all while the passerby's looked at me like, what in the world did you do to piss her off so much? and one even had the guts to ask, well, is she hungry? to which I gouged her eyes out and said no, bitch, she's tired but thanks for that thought, I wouldn't have thought to feed my child without your help.

Okay, maybe it didn't go down quite like that... at least not on my end of the conversation, but Lydia's roll in the whole hysterics of it was fabulous enough that I just had to take a picture:

But we all, ultimately, survived Dutch Wonderland and made plans to head to the Philly Zoo the next day.

Where I found out that Kyra is getting tall enough to be able to step up on the railing and achieve just enough height that she could look over the railings without having to be lifted every 5 seconds:

And Lydia decided she liked looking at caged animals much better then watching her sister have all the fun on kiddie rides:

It was a wonderful weekend. With wonderful company. And in a bit over a month, I'm determined we're going to do something else, just as fun and adventurous. The sad part is, we'll be missing a few of the people that made this weekend so great:

Thanks for joining us on our vacation Candace, Chris and Navaeh. We had a wonderful time.

Now, does anyone want to join us for the next adventure? I don't know where we're going but I'm determined we're going to get there as a family.

Petite VS Normal

This is Kyra at 20 months:

This is Lydia at 7.5 months:

Did you notice something very similar with these two photos?

Like maybe they're wearing the same shorts?

Shorts that are size 9-12 months?

Now go back and look at how Kyra's thigh DOES NOT fill out the leg hole and how Lydia's um, has a little less room to spare. Go ahead, I'll wait.....

I knew Kyra was a tiny, petite child but this is just CRAZY.

The Photo Chronicle of Lydia's Entrapment Under Her ExerSaucer

Trying to escape:
Regrouping...:

Getting pissed about it:

Admitting defeat:

Promising Mommy she'd take ONE photo with her sister... if Mommy would just put down the damned camera and rescue the baby already!:

Don't they both just looked pleased as punch to be posing for the camera?

Maybe next time I'll require a smile, too.

The Pediatrician Sent From Heaven

I'm not sure if our pediatric office is really sitting just outside of Heaven's gates, or if I'm just a bit confused by all this nicety and caring and doing what they can to make you and your baby happy because their civilians and can loose their jobs if they aren't at the very least, slightly caring, where as I'm used to the military and they really could care two shits less because, uh, their military and they've signed a contract and the military doesn't fire you for being an asshole, you're usually promoted.

ANYWHOO!

I took Lydia in to see the pediatrician yesterday and was amazed that the kind doctor lady took down our information, read the box labels for the offending foods that I brought in as evidence that I'M NOT CRAZY AND IT DOES SAY NO WHEAT, NO DAIRY, NO SOY. She then commented back that, um, she has never heard of being allergic to vitamins so that's not her main concern but here, while, yes, Lydia is still too young to get an accurate allergy test (since babies grow and change by the HOUR) we are now at our whits end annnnd... here's a referral for an allergy testing doctor.

To which I wanted to cry and kiss her lovely, dirty, I'm sure to be disgusting feet she walked on.

And then she told me to go out an buy a probiotic to shove down Lydia's throat because, frankly, we're running out of options, here.

A probiotic? You mean the same thing that my friend Teresa told me less then a week ago to run out and buy? The same thing that I just picked up from the all natural food store this very afternoon? You mean... you mean...

I'm not sure exactly what was running through my mind except relief. To know that these civilians actually care and that, yes, even though Lydia may be younger then they'd like to run an allergy test, they're willing to give it a try.

The only bad news of the whole event was the possibility that Lydia won't be off her superduperreallyexpensive formula by a year. But, still, that's a worse case scenario. And I'm pretty sure there are more horrible things in the world then that.

Jer and I Are Contemplating Buying a Bubble. For Lydia. To Live In.

Thursday I learned Lydia DEFINATLY. Can. Not. have Kix cereal. Her intestines Will. Bleed.

Wanna know how I know? Because she was bleeding from her ass, again.

So we went to the same store we shop at for all of our favorite organic stuff, perused the baby food isle once more and found this new (to the store) product: Healthy Times Biscuits For Teethers and the Arrowroot Cookies. Right on front of the package it says "Wheat Free, Dairy Free, Soy Free." So we bought them and gave her one of the biscuits Thursday night.

Friday, bottom is slightly red. Not a big deal... but maybe because ALL teething biscuits are made of a slight water soluble cement combination, she didn't scrape more then the first layer off before she was done.

Sunday, we try out the cookies. Sunday night her ass is RED. And ON FIRE. And she SCREAMS when we put on her specially prescribed, steroid infused butt cream to keep the redness from getting any worse. (no, Desitin and the likes just don't help when her hiney is red from a food allergy)

I take all three boxes, the Kix, the biscuits and the cookies, and inspect the ingredients labels to find out what the three have in common. Only two ingredients are the same. Just two. Calcium Carbonate and Vitamin E.

I'm now wondering if my child is allergic to added vitamins.

**Update: Lydia's ass looks worse than it did this morning, like she has 1st and 2nd degree burns. I called the pediatrician's office while Lydia was in my arms loosing her shit. The nurse said nothing other then, "We can see you at 5:30?" to which I said, "We'll be there." I know there is nothing the pedi can do, but sometimes it just feels better to take your poor baby in and have someone reassure you that, THERE IS NOTHING I CAN DO.

All Thanks to Network Befriending

I'll let you all in on a little secret. When I was younger I had a nickname, Lici. Short for Alicia. Now I can't figure out, why, for the life of me, someone along the way decided that if they cut off both of the A's in my name, this was either cuter or simpler. It's ugly. And stupid. And I hate that name with every fiber of my being.

Most people in my life call me Alicia. And I answer. But those who call me Lici, well, I tend to roll my eyes at them before I ever address them back.

In second grade, my teacher asked if any of us had a nickname we used versus our actual name. This was new territory for me, being allowed to pick my own name and what not, so I offered my "Lici" up as my new name. It was that year that I decided it was the worst possible name ever bestowed upon me. It was worse then my middle name, which as a kid I absolutely despised because whenever it was used, it meant I was in deep shit.

From there on out, everyone I met or came in contact with I introduced myself as Alicia. Those who called me Lici picked it up from hearing my immediate family use it.

Using this method, I've come to know who my real friends are. If you call me Lici, I'll know that you probably don't mean shit to me because I didn't bother to correct you, and if you did mean shit to me in the past, I've more then likely told you I hate that name and you continued to use it anyway. So I mark you off my list of "important people in my life."

So take the fucking hint Mom, Dad, Brother, and Grandmother whom I absolutely adore.

I tell you this to tell you about why I hate myspace and facebook, despite the fact that I absolutely love them, still.

With myspace and facebook everyone who ever sat behind you in study hall comes tramping back into your life. Whether you were particularly fond of them or not.

So this one chic, who still refers to me as Lici, has found me on both sites. (I'll just keep referring to her as This Chic, you know, just for anonymity purposes) I'm not enemies with her, I just once knew her in my younger I'll be your best friend even when you talk about me behind my back days. It only took a few years for me to get over that friendship and realize it was a crock of shit.

Anyway! I'm totally over it, I SWEAR!

So This Chic posted a picture oh, I don't know, a day or so ago on facebook of her son's head which is sporting the largest and biggest goose egg I have ever seen. He acquired such a mark from falling off his bike.... while not wearing a helmet. I, what I thought, jokingly suggested she get the kid a helmet, but apparently sarcasm doesn't come through in my typing. Even though within the sarcasm was a true, concerned suggestion on my part. This Chic wrote back saying that her 7 year old does own two helmets and he's strong willed enough that he didn't feel the need to wear them while riding his bike in the yard.

Ooooookay, to each his own, I guess.

Now This Chic posts her hourly update about how a "friend"- that being me!- got up on her motherly high horse (not her exact words, but I forget EXACTLY what insult she called me) and was telling This Chic how to raise her children even though the "friend"- once again, that's me!- has (a) less children then This Chic and (b) younger children then This Chic. To which my mouth dropped open and I promptly deleted her from my friends because, HELLO!, get a clue, right?

I mean, I too have a strong willed child (don't we all?), however, there are basic rules and if you don't want to follow the rules, um, you can forget about participating in the activity. Here's a rock and a stick, keep both feet on the ground and don't start trouble. Now, HAVE FUN!

So my point of this post is four part:
1. If you refer to me as Lici, I am probably not your friend. Someone you once knew, yes, but not your friend.
2. Is it just me or does the basic principal rule of "if you want to ride your bike and you are under the age of 18 while PLAYING (nope, you don't even have to live here for that rule to be implemented) at my house you WILL wear a helmet" stand firm at your homes to?
3. Do you have to be on a Motherly High Horse to suggest something that to most seems like common sense?
4. Just because you have younger and/or fewer offspring, does this make you any less smart in the whole "parenting" department of life?

I'd just like to know so that if I'm the one who is out of line here, you know, I'm not above apologizing. But from my view point, looking both over and under my high horse, I just don't get This Chic.

Who Knew Food Could Be Such the Enemy?

I agonize every single day over what to feed Lydia. Its an ongoing process of reading labels and rejecting 99.87% of them because they either contain milk, soy or both. I'm to the point that I make a good deal of her food in the blender.

Anything with bananas in it is a total winner to Lydie Kate!

But that doesn't seem to help me much when we're on the run. And lately that seems to be a lot, between Jer working nights and sleeping days and immediately following the mold find last week, I've done my damnedest to keep the girls out of the house.

I've mentioned before that I try to do all organic foods with Lydia but the only way I can seem to find organic food is in the same 10 jars of non milk/non soy containing baby food and these Baby Mum-Mum (dissolves in your mouth, no effort required) treats.

I've become slightly suspicious that if I were eating these same foods over and over again for 6 weeks strait, I'd be very tired of the damned food by now. But Lydia doesn't seem to mind. Maybe it's because she truly doesn't care, maybe it's because she isn't quite old enough to express her true feeling in word form yet. Either way, I've been trying to branch out and find new things to feed to a child who refuses to take anything that isn't at the exact temperatures of SCOLDING! or FUCKING HOT!

We've dipped her into new temperature ranges slowly. First by offering her green beans strait from our garden. At first she turned up her nose but after a few more offerings (weeks) later, she decided that room temperature food in solid form wasn't, after all, made by the Devil himself.

Next I moved right along to refrigerated foods like organic, all natural, no sugar added because my mother is NEUROTIC about her children ingesting sugar at such a young age, apple sauce. She doesn't like it. No thanks, not for me. Don't every try to shove that horrible shit into my screaming pie hole ever again.

Just over a week ago, she started to teethe again. She's now sporting 4 pearly whites, her top two eye teeth to go right along with her bottom two front teeth. But during the process of cutting these eye teeth, Lydia became, once again, an absolute horrid little monster who was absolutely not going to be put down FOR ANY REASON unless it is for her pure wanting, will and desire and, yes, she holds the right to change her mind at a moment's notice. Also she WILL chew on your finger and if you don't let her chew on your finger she will maim her thumb to the point of puncturing a large hole in her bottom knuckle and make the thing look infected by constantly sucking the life out of the now gaping hole. To combat this lovely change of face, I offered her some frozen green beans to suck on.... and hot damn if she doesn't love them.

I'm sure it's the numbing of the teeth that seems to hold the most appeal.

But now that we're on a teething hiatus, she's back to her normal self. Though she's decided to keep frozen veggies in her diet.

Thing thing I'm getting at, here, is that we're trying new things. And some of these things are blowing up in our faces. Or, to be more specific, its blowing out of her ass and eating the skin around it to shreds.

Case in point.... Kyra was allergic to dairy for 2 years, if you'll remember way back. However, little things didn't seem to bother Kyra's system. She could eat bread that was made with milk and have no problem. She could eat half a breadstick at Pizza Hut with no problem, but if you gave her a whole Pizza Hut breadstick or three slices of lunch meat on whole wheat bread she would, within hours, start with the explosive poo and blistering, bleeding ass and the wails and screams of pain would make me feel like I was the most horrible mother in the whole wide world because I fed this offending food to her.

Going on this whole "a little won't hurt, we just have to find the middle ground" theory, I've starting experimenting with Lydia. Things have not turned out so well. BREAD.... is totally an enemy. Don't even give her a little bit. CHEERIOS... is a total no go. PITA BREAD.... she can do but will only take so much before she wants something with a little more flavor. KICKS CEREAL.... I thought she could do. I tried her out with a little bit yesterday, say, 10 little balls, max. Today? Jer and I collectively fed her throughout the day an entire cup full. This evening, explosive poo, red hiney, screams bloody murder during the clean up, but no blistering.... yet. So I'll put Kicks on the "no go" list.

I feel a bit guilty. She's one of those babies that watches you eat and wants what you have. (something Krya never did and still rarely seems to care) She watches me eat WHATEVER, most of which she can't have thanks to everything in the world being made with milk or soy, and as I offer her another spoonful of pureed mush of the day. I swear she's starring at me, thinking ill thoughts, plotting my death because I will not share my non organic, made with fake, neon orange, powdered cheese and noodle dish. (Also referred to as Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.)

Like I said, I feel a bit guilty. Guilty that I can't seem to find an endless variety of new foods, new tastes, new textures for her to try. To bad I don't feel guilty enough to stop eating a heaping bowl full of ice cream while she sucks on a frozen green bean for the 800th time.

And too bad frozen foods don't travel well in a diaper bag...

Life Gets Hard

• When your downstairs smells of closed up ick, even when all the windows are open.
• When you find TONS of dog hair on your couches because your dogs use every opportunity to sleep on them when you're out of the house.
• When you vacuum TONS of dog hair off of your couches only to flip the cushion over and find it is a nice shade of green............ and your couch is brown.
• When you realize that this green is ALIVE and GROWING on the bottom of your couch cushion that is also sopping WET.
• When you start searching out the rest of the immediate area only to find that two of the baby's frequently played with toys are harboring mold as well as the wall behind the couch.
• When you realize that your oldest took a 2.5 hour long nap on the offending couch that very afternoon.
• When you branch out and find that mold is in every single ROOM in the down stairs.
• When the worst of the damage seems to be on the couch, love seat and the 500,000 individual pieces of toys in the girl's toy room.
• When your daughter's baby doll/stuffed animal collection is suddenly cut in half because there is no way to save them.
• When you now have to keep your children either upstairs or out of the house while simultaneously cleaning the down stairs.

On a good note, at least the land lord is jumping on top of it. We're hoping that by this time next week things will return to our regularly scheduled programing, sans couch and love seat combo.

Thursday She Turned 7 Months, Yesterday She Cut Her Third Tooth...

And now this?

A feat only accomplished in her crib.
Until today.

I have no doubt,

We're doomed.

It is now only a matter of time before she completely lets go...

And shit will surely start to hit the fan.

All because my baby just keeps growing up.

**sniff sniff**