I’m still having medical issues and they still haven’t been worked out. In time, I hope that a doctor will be able to help me. I’m currently sorting this out on my own. It’s been hard. I do not trust my emotions right now to know what’s coming or going. I do not know what’s real and what’s thyroid induced so I second guess myself daily at least a dozen times. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having some trouble adjusting to motherhood.

Emory is changing everyday. That’s normal. I know. But last Wednesday, he threw out all the cute, fake coughs and replaced them with ear-piercingly loud screams. I tend to exaggerate sometimes, but these screams have actually caused the constant ringing in my left ear to worsen. (They are so unbelievably loud.) They’re terrible. He does this whenever he decides that we are not paying enough attention to him. And for Emory, that’s almost always. I am at my wit’s end. If I ignore him for a bit, the screams intensify, he gets worked up, and eventually starts to cry. (That has only happened twice, however, because I can’t let the screams go on for that long. Plus, since he rarely cries, it’s hard to watch that happen.) I usually give in after a few of the screams and pick him up. The screams almost always immediately stop. (Of course they do! He’s getting his way, right?)

I didn’t go to school for this. I went to school for photography, graphic design, and visual arts. I admit it. I have no freaking clue how to be a mother. I have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong. I have no idea how much time I’m supposed to pay attention to him and how much time I’m supposed to let him work it out alone. And I’m his full-time teacher! I am a stay-at-home mom. I have no daily help. I don’t have a nanny or a babysitter. (My mother comes over sometimes to help, but I don’t call her hired help. She’s there for support. She’s not a nanny. I wouldn’t want her to be a nanny. I want her to be my mom). It’s just Emory and me for the most part, which is precisely the way I wanted it to be.

But the last two weeks have been trying. I find myself staring off into space wondering what it would have been like to go back to work part-time, hire someone to look after Emory every now and again. I wonder what it would have been like to drop him off at a daycare every now and again so I can get things done – a haircut, visit the doctor, walk around and get lost taking pictures.

And that makes me feel worse. Selfish. Immature. I feel like I’m failing him and myself. I feel like I’m failing period. People have done this for decades! Women have raised many kids and alone! What is wrong with me? Why am I having so much trouble juggling everything, mentally dealing with the transition into motherhood? How in the hell do you people do this so well!

It troubles me that if I get this wrong, I can’t really go back again and retake the course. This is it. I need to get it right the first time. That’s a little bit terrifying.

I have been self-diagnosing myself lately because I haven’t made it to a doctor and I’m not sure when I’ll do that. I stumbled on a term recently over at Ask Moxie about being Touched Out. Women were discussing the physical relationships (or lack thereof) they have with their husbands after having a baby. Some said they were too tired to snuggle with their husbands. Others said they just didn’t want to be touched at the end of the day. I started thinking about this phrase: “Touched Out”.

I spend every day, all day, with Emory. I am very affectionate with him. He is a very needy and loving little boy. He likes to be near me and he loves to be smooched and tickled. I spend every day giving him all of my physical and emotional attention. Whenever TobyJoe gets home, I barely remember to hug him let alone give him a kiss. I hand the baby over and shower or clean or do whatever it is I wanted to do and couldn’t because I didn’t have the time. And that’s terrible! Am I failing my husband as well? When does everything get back to normal? Ever?

I just feel like I’m failing. I failed at the work I tried to continue with after Emory was born. I barely find time to write and whenever I do, I don’t reread it so it’s strewn with errors and half-thoughts. I barely shower. I barely go out. I barely cook. I barely clean. If I gave myself a grade this week, it’d be a failing grade.

I was joking with TobyJoe about how I currently sum up my daily routine. We live in a railroad apartment. The front of our apartment (our bedroom) faces east and the back (our kitchen) faces west. The sun wakes up every day and greets me through our bedroom window. At the end of the day, the sun sets over Manhattan, saying goodbye outside our kitchen window. That’s my punctuation, my front and back cover. Everyday, I pick up the same book. I read the very first sentence at the beginning of the day and the last sentence at the end of the day. And I know there’s a whole lot more taking place as the sun makes its way from the front of our apartment to the back, but I don’t see it happen. I don’t read that part. I don’t show Emory what the sun does. I know nothing firsthand of its journey. (Does a cloud ever get in its way, a bird? Is there a rainstorm? A rainbow?) I don’t take him to the backyard to show him the sun at high noon because, well, we don’t have a backyard. And the backyard we do have (which is off limits to us anyway) is currently occupied by a very drunk and belligerent hobo.

How am I supposed to teach this little person about what happens to the sun when it’s out of view if I don’t know myself?

I probably have the post-birthday blues or something. I turned 34 yesterday and I repeatedly had to remind myself that it was in fact my birthday. I had a dermatology appointment first thing in the morning, where she stuck a needle full of a steroidal into my MOHs scar/wound because it’s not healing well. That obviously sucked. But what makes yesterday really quite funny isn’t that I had a needle stuck into my face on my birthday, it’s the fact that I got really dressed up in order to do so.

But, hey, at least the sentence that punctuated yesterday morning was different from all the rest.

Murray is fodder for hundreds of stories. But for whatever reason, the stories that make us laugh the most – the things that stop us dead in our tracks, uproot our days with comedic relief – have to do with food. To be honest, I’m not sure if these stories are even remotely funny when they stand alone. I think it’s whenever you put them together that they begin to individually stand out a bit more, warrant a chuckle or two.

And so today I have yet another story about Murray stealing food.

TobyJoe went away on business last week and since I am having some trouble holding it together these days, my mother came to the city to keep Emory and me company. She came bearing cookies and soup. She even watched Emory for a few hours so I could attend a yoga class. What more can a gal ask for?

On Wednesday night, we were sitting on the sofa talking and snacking when a loud THUMP! echoed throughout the kitchen.

“What was that?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” She answered.

“Shit! Where’s the cat?”

The moment the word “cat” came out of my mouth, but before I could get up from the couch, Murray rounded the corner carrying the entire bag of cookies my mother so kindly baked and brought along with her. (The picture below was taken after the fact. He reenacted it for me today with a much lighter bag because he’s Murray; he’s predictable yet totally bonkers.)

We made eye-contact, the cat and I.

The bag of cookies was difficult for him to carry around in his mouth. They weren’t nearly as difficult to carry as the sack of diapers he decided to move from below Emory’s crib to under our bed a couple months back, but the bag was still unruly. In order for Murray to carry these heavy things, he walks with his two front legs really far apart so he won’t trip as the loot can swings freely from side-to-side. There is nothing funnier than watching a small cat walk like he has a giant load in his pants.

“MURRAY!” I yelled out from across the room. My angry voice was spiked with laughter and did nothing to convince the small creature to drop what he had stolen. Instead, he began to trot, his legs spread even further apart, and he ran directly under the sofa with the bag and (most) of the cookies in tact.

My mother and I laughed heartily. And methinks that Ziplock is missing one hell of a advertising campaign here.

(P.S. Murray is for hire.)

A couple of months ago we declared war against bisphenol A, an organic compound that mimics estrogen and can mess with a person’s hormones and development. This is especially alarming for babies who rely so much on what they ingest in order to develop.

My understanding is this: bisphenol A was created as a estrogen replacement and/or supplement. At some point, diethylstilbestrol turned out to be more powerful. Bisphenol A was shelved. Later, chemists discovered that it could be polymerized to form polycarbonate plastic. But the bond is not stable so BPA leaches into whatever it’s protecting. The government has tested many of these plastics individually and the amount that leaches out is very little. But as far as I know there haven’t been tests run on the overall usage of BPA leaching components. Basically, the sum is much greater than its parts.

As with anything, the more you know the better off (or worse depending on who you ask) you are. But with bisphenol A the more I find the worse I feel. I started this post a dozen times before now and each time I get so overwhelmed, I give up. There is just too much to find and discover!

Truth be told, bisphenol A has become a bit of a monster here at our house. It lurks everywhere and in an industrialized country like the United States, it’s downright impossible to avoid. It’s something we’re trying very hard to rid our lives of. And believe me, that’s a lot harder than one may think.

I’m not going to mention all the side-effects associated with bisphenol A. And instead of trying to work them into a perfectly packaged paragraph (I am not nearly that good of a writer), I’m going to list a few of them below.

• Low sperm count and infertile sperm
• bisphenol A during development has carcinogenic effects and produce precursors to breast cancer
• neurotoxicity
• linked to obesity. (triggering fat-cell activity)
• developmental toxicity
• damage to eggs and chromosomes
• hyperactivity
• early puberty

As with many scientific studies conducted today, these are concluded after large amounts are injected into our fuzzy friends. (Thanks for taking a million and one for the team, Mickey and Minnie.) Many supporters of bisphenol A think the results are skewed. Opponents feel the findings are alarming and that the compound should be scrutinized by the FDA to find out if it’s safe for our children.

In a perfect world, a baby would drink only breastmilk straight from the breast for (at the very least) the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, this isn’t possible for many women. In the states, women are granted 3 months maternity leave, forcing them to hit the pump. Some woman have trouble breastfeeding and turn to the pump and/or formula. Either way, the majority of women in the U.S. are going to give their baby a bottle during the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, most of the plastic bottles on the market today are lined with bisphenol A.

Before Emory was born I had determined very early on that we would use (glass) bottles. A friend from San Francisco purchased some EvenFlo bottles from our registry. I was so out of it, exhausted and depressed for the first two months postpartum, I used Dr. Brown’s bottles instead, which worked really well with easing gas pains. Unfortunately, they are made with BPA. So, for the first two months of Emory’s life, he was being served pumped breastmilk from a bisphenol A-lined plastic bottle. What’s more, the more you heat them up, the more the chemical leaches from the plastic and into the milk. (I use our electric kettle to heat water. I then dip the bottle into a mug for a few minutes.) Eventually, we remembered all the plans we had and ditched the plastic bottles for the glass ones.

Along with retiring the Dr. Brown’s bottles, we’ve gotten rid of our Brita filter, our plastic french press (replacing it with a glass one). We’ve stopped drinking anything out of plastic that includes all store bought bottled water. I figured the tap water here in Brooklyn will do us just fine. (We do drink it every time we go out to eat and I haven’t ever once used the Brita to filter our ice.) We’ve been drinking tap water for 2 months now and neither one of us has had any unwanted leakage or strange bellyaches.

We now avoid all cans lined with the BPA. (Canned tomatoes are a big culprit.) Thankfully, we never purchased baby formula lined with it, but it is out there. I have read conflicting reports as to whether Medela’s bottles are BPA-free. (I do not think they are entirely BPA-free but I’m hoping someone reading this might be privy to that information.) Medela bottles are entirely BPA-free. Thanks to a commenter for clearing that up.

When you start looking for it, you’ll find that BPA is everywhere. It’s in everything with a recycle number 7 on it. It’s in cellophane, tupperware; It’s even found in pacifiers.

The good news is, many people seem to be catching on. It seems more and more organizations are coming out with alternatives. Born Free makes plastic bottles that are bisphenol A free. (We purchased a few of these bottles just last month.) Natursutten, came out with a BPA-free pacifier. Brita hasn’t caught on yet, which is frustrating. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure how America got off on such a filtered-water tangent to begin with. I remember when it happened but I’m not sure how or why. It seemed that all of a sudden, people decided the tap water was no longer safe to drink. Perhaps the bottled water corporations such as Pepsi and Coke had a lot to do with it? Either way, drinking bottled water and water pushed through a filter first seems silly and excessive to me, unnecessary even. And wouldn’t it be ironic if we finally discover that the plastic we’re using is more detrimental to one’s health than the water being pumped through our pipes?

By now, I’m certain that many of you have rolled your eyes at least once during this post. And I’m OK with that. I know I annoyed the crap out of some folks after we ordered an organic mattress. But I invite you to take a minute and answer one question:

If we are able to cut down on the amount of chemicals we unnecessarily pump into our children, don’t you think that we should?

It took months worth of research for me to get behind vaccinations. The more research I did, the better I felt about immunizing my little guy. The opposite can be said for BPA. The more I read, the more wary I become of its role in our everyday lives.

I don’t expect everyone to get on the anti-plastic bandwagon. But I might suggest doing the research on your own and then deciding for yourself. After all, the government doesn’t always have the best interest of the individual in mind.

If there is one thing I have learned in the past year that I can state with absolution, it’s that this parenting thing takes constant research.

Toby’s looking for programmers. He wants smart people who want to spend their days doing very strange and awesome projects, on the Web, desktop, mobile and in the physical world.

So, if you are looking for a job and you want to work with some of the Internet’s coolest, please send an email to Toby at Barbarian Group dot com. Tell him Large Mihow sent ya.

We have a new game. I scream “I AM A MEMBER OF BABY EATERS ANONYMOUS AND I MISSED TODAY’S MEETING!” And then chomp and kiss Emory’s sides and he laughs and laughs and laughs. It’s awesome. I look forward to this more than I do chocolate and cupcakes.

This is a video that was taken back in November. (I am way behind on uploading videos.) This was taken before I joined Baby Eaters Anonymous but you’ll get the idea of what happens whenever I miss a meeting. Also, sorry about the cleavage.

Enjoy!

TobyJoe and I are shopping around for new baby toys. That sounds pretty easy, right? Well, we’re trying to avoid toys made in China, not because we’re afraid of lead paint, but because we’re trying to support industries we know are ethically sound. (That’s a loaded sentence, I realize. I will go into it if asked in the comments section.) I was hoping that the seasoned parents out there might be able to help some of us rookies.

What toys does your little one like? Have you tried Haba? Emory really likes the triangular Haba toy (shown below) that my sister-in-law sent us. He likes to chew on a wooden rattle Nico gave us. And he digs the Vilac cat below as well.

But soon we’re going to need snuggly stuff as well as educational games and books and I am having trouble finding stuff that isn’t mass produced in China. We’d really like to try and avoid toys made “For Babies By Babies”.

Also, Michelle mentioned in the comments section of the previous post that her 23 pound girl outgrew the Bjorn. Emory is quickly approaching that day. Are there other options out there?

^{P.S. I’m working on Tuesdays With Murray. If the baby cooperates, I will have it today.}

I’ve done some dumb things in my time. There was that time I slathered myself in Crisco while living in Raleigh and tried to suntan. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Instead I ended up with second degree burns and skin cancer. There was also that time in college that I did my final Women’s Studies presentation on pornography. That may not sound very stupid except for the fact that my stance was pro pornography. It seemed like a good idea at the time and I still stand by many of the points I made, but that’s a post for another day. That was the only D I ever got.

So, yeah, I’ve done some dumb things and every one of them can be summed up retrospectively with one phrase: “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Yesterday, I added something to that list. You see, my regular yoga studio (the one I visit four times a week, and I will continue to visit until we move away) offers a Mom and Baby yoga class. “BRING YOUR BABY TO CLASS? What a great idea!” I thought. And so yesterday, I bundled Emory up, put a diaper bag together, grabbed a bottle, and headed out to attend our first ever mother/baby yoga class, because, hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And it is a good idea. The class is a great idea for mothers with babies who don’t continually need to be talked to and sung to. The class is perfect for mothers who don’t have babies who want to be walked around a lot. And it’s a great idea for mothers who don’t have babies who insist that they stand on two feet all the time. Mothers who breastfeed will feel right at home. Mothers who feed their baby from a bottle will feel out of place. Mothers who use a pacifier will feel badly for doing so. Mothers who have a baby who is forever curious, a baby who refuses to sleep until sleep sneaks up behind him and knocks him out, will have trouble relaxing.

I should have known the moment I saw several other mothers filing into the studio carrying their babies in the Bjorn facing in and covered up entirely with blankets that it may not be a good idea for this mother and baby combination. There is no way Emory would ever allow for such a thing. Emory must face out at all times. Emory doesn’t care how cold it is outside or what wet stuff is falling from the sky, Emory must see what is before him.

But I really wanted this to work and for the first few minutes, I thought that it might. Emory smiled at everyone. “Where AM I?!” his eyeballs asked. “WHAT EXCITING PLACE HAVE YOU TAKEN ME?” I got set up while he looked around, taking everything in, everyone. This could work! And then class began and we were asked to place our babies on their backs. That’s when the teacher broke Emory’s rule number one.

1). THOU SHALT NOT LIE BABY ON BABY’S BACK.

Then teacher did something even more insane; she asked that we let our babies do their own thing for a minute or two while we do some yoga solo. And that’s when she broke rule number two.

2). THOU SHALT NOT IGNORE BABY. IF THOU IGNORES BABY, IT BEST NOT BE WHILE BREAKING RULE NUMBER 1.

But the other babies were fine with this, well, all but two: mine and another baby boy.

There was another boy there at the beginning of class who was doing some pretty killer commando moves across the sheen yoga floor. He could not crawl, but he made a valiant effort getting around. And like a drunk inchworm, he did just that. His mother spent the first fifteen minutes chasing her son around. And then guess what? She left. Just like that, she got up and left. Can you believe that? She is my hero.

My son did not do well with the whole “mama does some yoga while baby chills on the floor alone”. And if I were to guess what Emory wanted to say to me, I’d say he wanted to say the following: “Mom, you took me out today, which I thank you for. I like to see stuff. We entered this cool place and I was surrounded by ladies, and you know how much I like ladies and the longer the hair the better. And some of those ladies had such long hair! And I was happy. But you immediately took me out of the Bjorn, away from all these long haired ladies and put me on the floor? Unforgivable. I shall now scream.”

At one point, in a desperate attempt to actually get some yoga done, I gave him a pacifier. That’s when I felt like I broke rule number one as a mother. While we were doing something interactive work with our babies, Emory let everyone know he was pleased by this and began making screeching monkey sounds. Right after Emory freed one of his ear-piercing screams (through the pacifier, mind you) the teacher said something like, “Was that your little one? Babies normally can’t make that type of noise through a pacifier!” I felt like I muzzled up one of Michael Vick’s pit bulls and brought it to a playdate for a bunch of well-behaved, toy poodles.

I spent the majority of the hour and fifteen minutes entertaining Emory, which is exactly what I do every day, only this time we were in public and we were supposed to be doing yoga. I spent the rest of the time fighting off a massive bout of insecurity especially during Savasana (relaxation pose, happens at the very end) when it was suggested that everyone lie on their sides and breastfeed their babies. (I had a lot of trouble and heartache trying to breast feed, which is why I pumped exclusively for 5 months.) Instead of breast feeding, I sat upright with my baby and fed him from a bottle. And whenever the teacher came around and suggested I try and relax Emory began to fake cough, which made me feel like I brought the sick kid to school. The teacher placed a block beneath my arm (very nice of her) and we sat there as silently as we could and listened to a hushed chorus of suckling babies.

Emory and I did not enjoy mama/baby yoga, not at all. Instead, I left more stressed out than I was before I arrived and Emory was upset with me because I didn’t let him run his fingers through the teacher’s long, curly hair. Plus, the car nearly ran out of gas and I left my yoga mat on the side of the road.

This dynamic duo will have to find some other way to bond… like maybe mud-wrestling.

Read this.

“Why can’t you be in a good mood? How hard is it to decide to be in a good mood and be in a good mood once in a while?” – Lloyd Dobler.

It’s 10:30 AM and I’m already having a bad day. I am so sick of feeling this way. I’m so sick of feeling anxious, annoyed, irritable. I was told to stop taking my Atenolol since (yes, what I feared is true) my thyroid is entering hypothyroidism because it’s worn out. I am tired, cranky, and easily irked. And I’m so very sick of this feeling. I want to take it off, have it removed, this grand ol’ feeling of crank.

I’m irritated that it’s cold and never snows. I’m irritated that some idiot living on our street has a car alarm that screams “THIS CAR PROTECTED BY VIPER, STAND BACK!” I’m irritated that we live in a three-floor walk-up. I am irritated that there aren’t more yoga classes to choose from. I am irritated that the apartment is so messy and I don’t get a lot of time to clean it. I am irritated that I haven’t eaten yet today. I’m irritated that I still haven’t finished a post about bisphenol A I started writing over two weeks ago. I am irritated most of my socks have holes in them. I am irritated by the design of the Method bottles; they always slide out of my hands. I am irritated that I didn’t feel this way yesterday or the day before that. I am irritated by the things I’m reading on the Internet. I am irritated by CNN for how they report (or don’t report) the news. I’m irritated that I’m irritable. I’m irritated that there’s nowhere to go on this cold, January day.

I am irritated by this feeling. I am irritated that I don’t have any control over my chemistry. I’m irritated by me.

What does one do to shake this? How does one “decide” to be in a good mood? Why can’t I be in a good mood today?

Blah. Blah. Blah. God damn blah.

We’re going away in March and we’re going to have to find someone to take care of our cats for 7 days. Instead of burdening one person with all seven days, we’ve been entertaining the idea of splitting the time up between two friends and paying both.

“Maybe Lisa would want to do it. We could get Meredith and Andy to watch them for some of the time and Lisa the rest.” Toby suggested.

“Yeah, maybe. But I am not sure about Lisa.” I answered.

Toby looked confused. “But we like Lisa! She’s responsible for our having Murray.”

“I know.” I answered. “But I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“I’m worried that she’ll take Murray away from us.”

“That’s insane! Why?”

“Because I made him fat.”

We need to know who sent us this shirt. (Melissa? Was it you?)

Updated to add: Oops, word on the street is that some folks can’t see Flickr.

(P.S. Tuesdays With Murray is on its way as long as the baby cooperates.)

Emory is just over five months old and he has developed a couple of new habits. The first one takes place whenever he eats. He likes to rub his left eye with his left hand. He used to only do this whenever he was sleepy. Now he does it every time he eats. I read that it comforts them, so I’m not going to worry too much about it.

He started another habit about a week ago and it has continued consistently every night since. Emory has been rolling over for months. That hasn’t been a problem at all. But lately he rolls over at night and sleeps on his belly. He seems to prefer this even though he has trouble rolling from his belly to his back. He can do it, it’s just not as easy as the back to front roll. What do you do if your baby just doesn’t want to sleep on his back any longer? We can’t very well pin him down!

Admittedly, I haven’t had a full night’s rest in a while. I get up at least three times a night to check on him. If he’s on his belly all the way, with his head off to the side, I leave him be. But sometimes he ends up face-planting the mattress. If I were to take a picture of this, it’d be a perfect stock photo for SIDs.

Whenever I find him face-planting the mattress, I immediately flip him over and he immediately rolls onto his left side. This routine goes on until morning. (Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to be the last time he refuses to listen to what I have to say regarding what’s best for him?)

His hair started to come in last week. At one point I looked at him and said out loud, like it had just occurred to me, “You look just like your father!” This has been said before by many, but lately it’s become kind of astounding. He looks so much like TobyJoe.

Another new habit is what we call the “fake cough”. It’s true. A little over a month ago, Emory started fake coughing. We asked the doctor about it at his 4-month checkup. Our French pediatrician shrugged and matter-of-factly stated, like I missed the fake coughing memo along with the one about newborns farting excessively, “Eetz funny sound.” And it is a funny sound! It’s hilarious. I had no idea that babies did this type of thing. But it’s really quite charming. He fake coughs whenever he decides that we’re not paying enough attention to him.

Emory is quickly approaching “Mini Person Territory” and moving away from “Baby Territory” and that brings me both excitement and sadness. I guess I didn’t realize how little time they are given to be babies. This is precisely why I think people have more than one.

I’m terrified of flying. I have to be hopped up on some serious Xanax to board a flight. Yes, I’m the person who gives up 1500 dollar plane tickets at that last minute, and not see one single penny of it refunded. (I did this right before going to Thailand several years ago.) I’m the girl who prices cars from faraway airports because getting on a return flight makes my stomach fill with bile and my head with tears. I am the girl who chose to drive to and from San Francisco with her three cats instead of board an airplane.

I would rather visit the dentist and get a gynecological exam every day for a month than have to fly somewhere. I’d rather drive, take a train, or walk for that matter. Unfortunately, that doesn’t always work. We don’t get a lot of time away from work to warrant tacking on two days at the beginning and the end of a trip just for travel. And if you cut into the actual vacation time, you’re left with two days vacation. And even if we did take more time away, it’s hard to find someone to devote the time we’d like to our feline roommates for that long. Unfortunately, most of the time, flying is the only option.

We’re supposed to take an extended family vacation down to Orlando in March. My folks even gave us money in order to do so. We have Emory now and the idea of bringing him on a plane makes me want to run in the opposite direction. But I know we can’t keep this up for long. One day, we’ll want to take him someplace awesome. We’re already flirting with future World Cups, trips to England to visit The Dans, and trips to the West coast to see friends. I know we can’t keep him from flying forever. Hopefully, he won’t inherit my fear of air travel. But for now, I was hoping to find another way down south, a less fearful way of getting there. It’s not looking good.

I have priced planes, trains and automobiles and it’s looking like we’re going to have to fly and that makes my tummy turn now, two months out. I’m sick to my stomach just thinking about it. I really, really hate this. I hate that I’m so afraid to fly. I hate that it keeps me from going places. I hate that i can’t rationally wise up already.

Here was our Amtrak quote, this includes a bedroom so we don’t have to bug folks with a squealing baby:

I was blown away by this. Perhaps I’m a newbie when it comes to travel but doesn’t this seem excessive?

I wrote to Amtrak. Here’s only part of the mail, so you can get the gist. (I’m hormonal, give me a break.)

We love using Amtrak. My husband uses it for work. I need to state as much right away. We are heading to Florida in March and I thought maybe my husband, myself and our 8 month old son might take the train down instead of flying. I priced out your bedrooms. All I know what to say regarding the price is WOW. I’m shocked by how pricey it is! I guess you fill them, but wow. I’m not sure how most people can afford that price. It seems excessive to me.

Here is a little bit of what she responded with:

We are sorry that you feel our fares are too high. We firmly believe, that our prices accurately reflect the value of the services we provide. Nevertheless, we have not ignored the need to remain reasonably competitive with other carriers, and we have responded to this need by establishing several carefully constructed discount fare programs.

Some of the discounts we provide are to members of AAA and Student Advantage. We also have promotional discounts advertised nationally throughout the year. We are confident that you will be able to find affordable fares and look forward to the privilege of serving you soon.

Here is part of my response:

Actually the amount I was given after our AAA discount was 2,251.80. It’s 417 dollars via JetBlue.

Am I missing something here? Why is it so much more expensive? She writes: “reasonably competitive with other carriers” What carriers is she referring to? Air Force 1? The Concord?

I realize that those like myself who live in fear of flying can and will pay exorbitant amounts of money to avoid an airplane, but even I won’t justify a 24-hour train ride for that amount of money just because I’m too much of a chickenshit to fly. It’s not even a direct trip. We’d need to transfer in DC.

So, unless I can figure out another way to travel from now until March, here we come JetBlue. I guess I’ll use the remaining 1,834.81 to buy Xanax.

I wrote a little something about Hillary Clinton over on MamaPop today. Check it out if you get the chance. It’s about her emotional “outbreak” the other day. Feel free to discuss it over there (if you can) or here. Or don’t. It’s up to you, sweet Internet people.

Over the holiday, Emory spent a lot of time napping in his crib. Usually, we’ll let him nap around us, but the holidays around the house were busy and therefore loud. So, we hooked up the Graco monitoring system and put him to bed in his crib.

Whenever Emory naps in his crib, I’ll usually take the microphone and place it in the far, bottom right hand corner of his crib. That way, I know that chances are I will hear his sounds only. You see, living in a city like Brooklyn, where people are right on top of one another, it’s not uncommon to hear another baby’s cries. To avoid such a thing, we put it close to him but not so close that he’s right on top of it.

The projector is put in our living room, which is off of our bedroom, which is off of his bedroom. It amplifies throughout our entire, railroad apartment. It’s kind of funny, really because not only can you hear the trucks barrel down the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway (BQE) live but you get an amplification of such as well. I often hear my mother’s voice, “When you guys were babies, you were up stairs, on the other side of the house. I used to listen for you from time to time from the foot of the stairs, but that’s about it.”

(These devices we buy now, I think they add to an overall feeling of anxiety, perpetuate worry. We may say they make us feel better, we may even believe it, but I think some of us spend more time questioning if it’s working or not, checking it every five seconds to see if the red lights are flashing. I guess I just don’t fully trust it. But without this particular piece of baby equipment, this story couldn’t be told.)

One day, TJ and I were doing some cooking and baking. We were in the kitchen, which is at the very back of the apartment. I mentioned before that we live in a railroad. I’m not sure if this term is used outside of Brooklyn. I imagine that it is, but I hadn’t ever heard of it before moving here. Maybe that’s because so many Brooklyn apartments are considered railroad apartments. But if you’re unfamiliar with the term, it’s basically an apartment where all the rooms train one right after another, hence the name. It’s great for fooling a tenant into thinking the place is bigger than it really is. It sucks if you want to hide a litter box. It also means the middle rooms are very dark, dreary even.

I had just put the cookies in the oven when I heard a noise. It was a strange noise, new to me entirely. It sounded like a motor, like someone was distantly hammering into pavement, only it wasn’t a sound I’d describe as annoying, not at all. I stood in the living room and tried to figure out what it could be. That’s when I realized that the sound wasn’t coming from outside at all. It was only coming in through the monitor. It must be some sort of interference, I concluded. But I decided to check on the baby anyway.

I walked through the rest of the apartment and the sound all but diminished. I peaked into his room. Emory was sound asleep as was Murray. Murray was not only in the crib with Emory, but he was on top of the microphone. The sound I heard was his amplified and insanely loud, and amazingly soothing purr. I now know what an Emory must have experienced every time Murray slept on my belly and he was still in the womb. (Picture below does not show the scenario described. It’s just a picture of Murray snuggling with Emory on the couch.)

I think we might move closer to world peace if we could figure out a way to project a purr so that everyone could hear it. It’s one of the most soothing sounds on planet Earth.

I have my first of many medical appointments today. I am scheduled to take some type of hormone dose iodine pill today so they can scan my thyroid on Tuesday. This doesn’t mean a whole lot to me because, well, I haven’t done it yet. But my guess is that by Thursday, when I meet with the specialist again, I’ll know whether or not I have postpartum thyroiditis or if my hyperthyroidism is something I have had for a while. If it’s the former, things may work themselves out over time, although I have read that 30% of those who suffer from hyperthyroidism after they have a baby then get hypothyroidism because their thyroid burns itself out.

I’m not sure what to hope for. There’s a part of me who wants this to make sense of every inexplicable mood swing, every weird night sweat, every anxious moment, every sporadic allergy I’ve had over the last 10 years. There’s another part of me who hopes that it’s postpartum and will go away entirely on its own. Either way, I’m lucky because I live with this person.

This kid loves petting Pookum and she loves when he pets her. I am so very pleased that he seems to love animals. The cats bring him joy.

I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to write over the next couple of days. I’m going to try my hardest to keep the posts and updates coming. (I have an awesome Murray story.) I had to post something because I am sick of looking at the previous, political post. It really went off in the wrong direction. I fear some people totally misunderstood me, that I misrepresented myself. Have you ever drank too much at a dinner party and whenever you wake up the following day you wish you could change things? That’s the way that post makes me feel. And here I thought I moved away from writing things that fill me with regret. Nevertheless, If you came out of that “discussion” angry, you either misunderstood me entirely or the conversation we should have had never took place.

I’m dead tired, which has been the usual hum as of late. I’ve been immersing myself in yoga again and my mood has been elevated because of it. But my body has changed since the last time I practiced regularly. I have discovered that I am no longer very flexible in my back, shoulders or hips. My legs, on the other hand are filled with new muscle. I think it’s from all the squats I do every day while holding an giggling, 18-pound weight!

Also, it’s going to be 60 today. Sixty. That’s some damn fine news, Internet. I’m going to strap my baby to my belly and we’re going to head into the great big city together.

Huckabee won in Iowa last night. Obama won as well.

Huckabee? Are you kidding me? Come on, America!

Huckabee’s win is more than surprising to me, shocking even. If he does become the Republican candidate in the general election, we’re going to see more and more of his past come to light. Of course, it may be too late by then (for Republican voters).

Here is how Huckabee feels about a woman’s role in marriage.

“I affirm the statement on the family issued by the 1998 Southern Baptist Convention.” The family statement from the SBC was: “A wife is to submit herself graciously to the servant leadership of her husband even as the church willingly submits to the headship of Christ.”

Huckabee carried Republican women voters last night, picking up about 40 percent of women Caucus goers. Romney got 24 percent.

Huckabee doesn’t believe in evolution and instead believes God set things in motion, that there was a “creative process”.

“If you want to believe that you and your family came from apes, I’ll accept that… I believe there was a creative process.”

When asked about the evolution question he said, “I’m not sure what in the world that has to do with being president of the United States.”

I’d say a clear misunderstanding about science has much to do with being president. Considering he has very little grasp on what evolution even is, and he and his administration would become responsible for the education of our children, I shudder to think what he’ll do to and in our public schools.

Evolution is not about developing from apes, Huck! That simplified, stupid cartoon is nothing more than a lazy rhetorical device.

I’m flabbergasted that such a man made it this far. And the fact that he did so on the female vote, scares me even more.

Fellow Democrats (and Dem-leaning indys): we need Edwards to be our Democratic candidate.

Kerry wasn’t electable. A lot of Democrats felt someone let the air out of their tires 4 years ago after Bush won for a second term. It wasn’t that everyone loved Bush, it was that nobody liked Kerry.

I really believe that if it comes down to a white guy like Huckabee and a white woman or a black man, the knee jerk reaction, Democrat, Independent or Republican, will be to vote for the white guy. I agree with many that Obama is great, I may even vote for him. But is he electable? Put your personal feelings aside and really ask yourself that.

Sure, he won the Democratic majority in Iowa but will he win a general election? I say the same thing about Hillary. As much as I like her (I read her book many years ago and from that point on I have a soft spot in my heart for Hillary, in spite of her many flaws) I fear her electability.

While I’d probably enjoy seeing Hillary or Obama go head-to-head with the Republican I really think Edwards is our most electable candidate. No matter what happens, please, please, please don’t tell me that Huckabee is going to be the next President of the United States.

I just had a son. This idea makes me very uneasy.

Edited to add: My thoughts have changed over the course of the day. Perhaps Obama is electable. I hope that he is. I look forward to what he has to say and am excited to see where his campaign goes. Also, if he does get it, I suggested getting Kucinich for VP. heh

Nope, this isn’t about what’s happening in Iowa. Four years ago today TobyJoe and I eloped to Niagara Falls. Here we are that day. We look so happy!

We’re actually freezing our tails off. Niagara Falls is bloody cold as hell during the dead of winter. But we were in Detroit visiting Gina and took the opportunity to drive up there for a day and seal the deal. You see, when I first met TobyJoe, he used to jokingly say, “Let’s run off to Niagara Falls, rent a room with a heart shaped bed and get married.” So we did just that only we couldn’t find a room with a heart shaped bed. We settled on the top floor of some hideously weird hotel directly overlooking the falls and each of us had to pee a lot for the duration of our stay.

Here we are about a month after we met. Our friend took this shot.

Ladies, sometimes getting really sloppy drunk at a bar will help you to meet the boy of your dreams.

This is the “appliance” anniversary. We were going to buy a HDTV but that’d be pretty irresponsible of us since we’re trying to buy a house. There will be no appliances purchased or given on this anniversary. Instead, we’ll make dinner, hang out with Em (who cackles every time I say BOO!) and I’ll have some vanilla ice cream with a couple of chocolate chips.

Recently, TobyJoe and I were discussing the role of the Internet in our lives. It seems that every holiday or vacation or similar break from our daily patterns leads to an awareness of how much time we spend online and how little it really does to better lives.

My use of the Internet borders on an addiction. I can’t help but wonder what purpose, if any, it serves. I can’t help but wonder about the potentially negative side-effects.

I hate the phone. I have a cell because we have no landline. I have lived without my cell phone for periods in the past and didn’t miss it one bit. I washed one and tried to dry it out using silicone and the freezer. It worked, but only halfway: I could hear callers, but couldn’t speak. Eventually, after 4 long weeks, I gave up and purchased a replacement. I lost that one within a week to the back seat of a cab. Never saw that again. The cabby probably gave it to his niece or girlfriend since it was hot pink. Living without my phone was kind of awesome, to be honest. I made plans the old fashion way. No one called during inopportune times. I received phone calls at work. My nights were free from ringing. I enjoyed it. I barely answer the phone to begin with. I am not sure why we pay for it. It’s actually a huge waste of money.

But the Internet – ahhhh, the Internet. I noticed today that it’s slammed. Sites are slow as molasses if they are running at all. It took me 2 hours to post to MamaPop today. (TypePad was down.) Flickr’s been iffy at best and Twitter is stumbling like it normally does. Even my site was down for most of the morning. After nearly 2 weeks away, it seems the entire world is catching up on their long lost lover: the Internet. I am guessing by the slowness of things, there aren’t many people out there whose New Year’s resolutions included giving up the Internet. God forbid anyone live without the Internet. And that got me thinking: could I quit the Internet?

I gave up smoking. Probably the hardest thing I’ve ever given up. Ever. I hate it now. I hate that people do it. I hate the smell. I actually think it’s one of the dumbest things anyone could ever do to themselves. I kicked it good and hard. That habit is gone forever. I realize that smoking would have killed me had I not quit, which is why it became urgent that I do so. But how about incessant surfing? How about refreshing the same old Web sites over and over again? What does that do to a person? What does all this refreshing, button mashing, blog posting, comment leaving, site reading do to us? Does it fuel anxiety? Does it make us lazy, less likely to get out of the house? Go to Yoga, the gym? Does it keep us from taking our kids for a walk?

Does the Internet attract people who already have anxiety or does it create it for people who may feel perfectly OK otherwise? Does the Internet attract the depressed or create the depression? When will there be psychiatrists who suggest people spend less time on the Internet; groups for people who need support; doctors who ask how much time one sends on line? When will this catch up to us?