the pieces of my life

I so rarely admit defeat. I tend to not take on challenges unless I know I’m going to finish them. However, this year, Nanowrimo has gotten the best of me. I’m not going to finish. I know there is still a week and a half left, but there’s a canyon between 13,000 words and 50,000 words. And while writing those 13,000 words has been great fun–and I plan on continuing to write–there’s just too much going on. The Doodlebug obviously takes up most of my time and what few waking coherent (okay, semi-coherent) hours I have left, I need to spend on my freelancing work. But I’ll still finish a novel in the next year. Mark my words. That’s one challegne I’ll meet.

The next time I update this blog, my little Doodlebug will have lost his “newborn” status and will simply be “infant.” On Sunday, he is three months old. Three months. Unbelievable. We went to visit friends who had a baby on November 12. He was so incredibly tiny! And amazingly, he was bigger than the Doodlebug when the Doodlebug was born. But the Doodlebug looked like a giant next to Baby Dylan. When I held Dylan, he fit in a nice tight ball right on my chest. The Doodlebug hasn’t been a nice tight anything since he learned if he head butts us at just the right angle, he can knock out a tooth while barely denting his own head (his own head, that I might add, is developing bald spots from lying down in the same position no matter how many times we turn him in other directions). But my Doodlebug is still (with all due respect to other parents out there) the Cutest Baby Ever and he’s only getting more handsome by the day. But does he have to grow so fast?

This article nicely sums up how I often feel about my blog. It’s not my mom, I’m worried about, though. It’s… let’s just say, others.

What’s better than a bath with your son? Two baths with your son because he, um, defiled the first one. Bath time has become a joy because the Doodlebug has discovered the joy of nakedness. Our boy is happiest when he’s got nothing on. Miami Beach was thrilling for him because I let him romp in just his diaper. Today, when he got fussy and I couldn’t calm him down, I finally put him on the changing table (his favorite place in the house), took off his diaper, laid a blocker across him so he couldn’t pee on me, and let him sit there bare-butt for ten minutes. It was magic. Adam is concerned that our son’s preference for his bare butt on latex could prove to be problematic in the future.

So, I’m way off on my Nanowrimo goals. Of course, while in Miami Beach, I got a much better idea for my novel, so I started over (and no, I’m not an idiot–I’m counting the old novel parts as part of my word count. I’ll cut the irrelevant stuff out later). However, I simply don’t have the same time (duh) to write as I did, and my word count is falling behind. I’m hoping to get a few good naps out of Doodlebug so I can book ahead. Or else I’ll just have to have a few evening marathon sessions once he’s gone to bed for the night.

The wedding I attended in Miami Beach was great on many, many levels. The bride was a good friend from high school. The ceremony was short, sweet, and romantic. The food was delish. I got to see high school friends I haven’t seen in years (sorry, Willie, that I didn’t recognize you!). The music was rockin’. I got to dance with my lovely cousins Milo and Annie. Okay, okay. I know these are all nice. But, you’re thinking, there’s got to more. And there was. There was the Holy Grail of weddings. There was… a martini bar. Oh, the martini bar. Those of you who have been reading since before my baby days know how I feel about the martini. The martini is perfection in a glass. It must be a true martini, meaning gin, never vodka. Dry, but not extra dry. And olives. Maybe even extra olives. I knew about this martini bar ahead of time. And I planned for it. Because when you’re a mom, drinking is never an impulse decision. So I loaded up my mother (who babysat the Doodlebug while I was at said wedding) with pumped breast milk and formula–enough for about five days of food for the Doodlebug. I packed my breast pump in my purse for the infamous pump ‘n’ dump. And I entered the reception where I had my first martini since January 4 (not that I’m counting, although I will say that I found out I was pregnant on January 5). It was heavenly. I couldn’t wait for my next one. Because I was prepared. However, I didn’t count on the fact that the one martini was going to make me lightheaded and tipsy. And after an additional half a glass of toasting champagne, I was done drinking for the night. Whoo hoo! Party girl had a whole drink! One friggin’ martini. I am so out of practice. The plus side is that one drink does not a pump ‘n’ dump make, so the Doodlebug got his first taste of a real drink. I hope this toughens him up.

We took the Doodlebug to Lincoln Road Mall… and he fell asleep. We took him on a walk to see the Art Deco buildings on Ocean Drive… and he slept. We went to the beach so he could have a good view of the Atlantic… and he slept. He went to the rehearsal dinner at the Crab House… and he slept. I walked him by the house I grew up in… and as we passed it, he slept. He went to lunch at the Rascal House… and, surprise, he slept. All in all, I think the Doodlebug really liked South Beach.

I packed away the Doodlebug’s newborn clothes. All those outfits that he was swimming in are simply too small now. How is that possible?

The food. Oh, the food! Joe’s stone crabs and hash browns. Pastrami sandwich and pickles from the Rascal House. Black-and-white cookies. And the best? Key lime pie for breakfast on Sunday. And Monday. And, oh yeah, Tuesday. (And despite what Adam says, it made perfect sense: some people eat Golden Grahams Cereal, I eat graham cracker crust. Citrus is perfect for breakfast, and instead of O.J., I had key limes. And many drink milk, I had cream, albeit whipped. Key lime pie, the ideal breakfast food.) Ah, the food of Florida.

So, the Doodlebug took his first vacation. Preparing was something else. I was so stressed out remembering to pack everything of the Doodlebug that I was practically out the door before I remembered I had forgotten to pack my own underwear.

We went down to Miami Beach so I could attend the wedding of a high school friend. Adam couldn’t go to the wedding, because it was at five o’clock on Sunday, and he had an 8:30 a.m. class on Monday. However, I was nervous flying down alone for the first time with the Doodlebug, so Adam came down with us on Thursday and left on Sunday. The Doodlebug and I came back on Tuesday (my folks baby sat during the wedding). The flight back was rougher than the way down, because on the way down we flew during the Doodlebug’s normal bed time, so he slept solidly on most of the flight and then all the way home to my parent’s apartment. That combined with the six drunk twentysomethings behind us on the plane, and no one even noticed the few minor screeches the Doodlebug made. On the way home, though, it was a 1:30 flight so we flew right through prime fussy time. I think it was a real turning point in my metamorphosis to “mother.” Despite the crowded plane and my complete and utter inability to carry a tune, I leaned into the Doodlebug’s car seat and started singing “Close to You” in an attempt to quiet him down. It actually worked. I did, however, refuse to make eye contact with anyone around me after that.