the pieces of my life

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.

Ekam a yreuq ta elgoog. Tsuj rebmemer ot epyt ti ni sdrawkcab.

This morning, like good suburbanites, the Doodlebug and I took a trip to the mall so we could go to Sears to get his first portrait taken. I always thought those posed pictures were lame, but then I got a bug up my butt that we needed a formal picture of the Doodlebug. A nice black and white to put up in the living room. Well, once again, I think it’s lame. Okay, no I don’t. It’s just sour grapes because everyone else gets cute pictures of their babies in ridiculous poses, but not me. It was like the photo at Beth Israel on his second day of life all over again. My baby wants to be an original. No copies, please. Because our smiley, cheery, happy, morning baby (I scheduled the appointment at 9:30 a.m. to capitalize on his happy time) immediately began screaming the minute we had him propped up for his photo. No matter what I did, he’d be frowny. I even told the photographer if she could catch the elusive pouty face, I’d buy it up. But even she couldn’t get that lower lip on film. Finally, the very patient photographer said to me, “I don’t think this is going to happen today.” Sigh. Of course, the moment we left, he plastered a great big grin on his face. And he looked so cute, I just had to buy him a new toy. That kid totally knows how to play me.

Sunday was the New York City Marathon. Boston, of course, doesn’t have complete race coverage, but they do show the highlights in the afternoon. My friend Fish decided to try it out this year–it’s doubly impressive for him because not only does this mean he’s running 26.2 miles, it means he’s quit smoking, something I didn’t think I’d ever see (a fish without a cigarette is like a woman without a bicycle or something like that). I’m sure if he had known about it ahead of time, he’d be paranoid, but I was able to track his progress through the race on the Web site. Because all the runners wear chips, you can follow their splits. I dutifully watched the highlights program (no sign of Fish) and read all the race info to help motivate me to the gym. I’m completely pumped to run the marathon this year, although I have such a long way to go until I’m ready. I need to be back to a twenty-mile-a-week running base by June, which is certainly doable, even though my huffing and puffing at a simple three-mile jog makes me feel doubtful at the moment. Anyway, Fish finished with just over twelve-minute miles. My goal for next year is to simply finish, although (to show that Adam’s business speak has had some effect on me) my stretch goal is under thirteen-minute miles. In my peak, I was running half-marathons at 11:30. So I figure 12:45 for a full marathon could happen if I can get myself back into my peak shape. Right now I’m more in my pear shape. But I’m working on it.

Anathea had Maya! Babies are sprouting all over the blogs! Yeah, Maya!

The Doodlebug has found his hands. And they frequently make their way to his mouth, where he sucks vigorously and surprisingly loudly. However, what he does is shove his entire fist into his mouth, which of course doesn’t fit. So he’s mid-suck and out the fist falls, with plenty of drool everywhere. He’s really happy leaning against someone’s shoulder because then he can prop his fist between the shoulder and his mouth for some really quality sucking. What I’m trying to get him to understand is that if he just uncurled that little fist, he has perfect mouth-sized fingers. Ten little bite-sized digits. (I’m all for self-soothing if it means my pinky gets to unprune. If he wants to suck his thumb or finger, good for him. As they say in my mom’s group, no one goes to college sucking his thumb. And if you happen to be the exception to this, I don’t want to hear about it.) Every now and then, the finger will get close, but he’ll just bypass it for the side of his hand. I even tried to unfurl his hand for him to show him how it’s done but to no avail. Our child is just, well, special.

On Saturday I went to the gym. I only had an hour till the gym closed, so I got on the treadmill. Man, am I out of shape. I ran a 12:30 mile for three miles and I thought I was going to collapse. I did the rest of my run at a walk. I listen to my Yepp while I work out (and I desperately need to put new workout music on it), but I always glance at the TVs above the treadmills, just because they are there. One of them is always tuned to ESPN and I couldn’t believe they were showing the World Series of Poker. Wow, I thought, there must really be nothing going on in the world of sports. After my workout, I get home and as I’m opening the door, I say to Adam, “You wouldn’t believe the crap that’s on ESPN. They’re showing the World Series of Poker!” Adam said excitedly, “I know! I’m watching it. It’s awesome!” Let’s hope my son turns out to be more interesting than my husband.

Quiz question: you have three freelance jobs, two of which are due in the next week. You have a ten-week-old son who needs near-constant attention. You haven’t been to the gym in a couple of days. You have a few hours of freedom because your husband will watch your son. What do you do first? Answer: Duh, you go to Diesel Cafe to start your Nanowrimo 2003 novel (and then waste more time blogging about it).

It occurred to me on Friday night that Halloween meant the next day was November therefore it was time to start my next novel. I don’t know why this came as a surprise to me given this is my third year of Nanoness. Friday night, the Doodlebug and Adam both fell asleep at 8 p.m. as I tossed and turned all night trying to figure out what I was going to write about. I thought about blatantly cheating and continuing last year’s novel. Last year I hit 50,000 words, but really only wrote half a novel. I could have finished it (Nanowrimo is all honor system and I figure as long as I write 50,000 words, I’m good) this year, but realized the rules are right: you have too much invested in a previous novel to really write more crap. Besides, as much as I want to finish last year’s novel, it would be too limiting to work on it now. I need freedom to go off in a total new crap direction. Anyway, I woke up the next morning after fitful sleep (not helped by the four feedings the Doodlebug demanded) with nothing other than a name (somehow I knew my main character was Amanda). I arrived at Diesel to meet up with a couple of other folks who wrote last year, and amazingly was able to eke out my 2,000 words based just on having the name Amanda. Unfortunately, this is the novel that will have to go into a closet until a number of people have died. Right now it may be a blubbering mess, but it’s a blubbering mess that hits a little too close to home for some folks. But, if I can somehow maintain my daily quota of words, it’ll be a fun one to write.

I have to say, it feels so good to be working on something new again. I’ve been tinkering with some older pieces, doing revisions, and I love doing that, but it’s nothing like creating something new. I don’t know how I’ll manage it on an ongoing basis, but I’ve got to keep writing. It’s a high like nothing else.