Monday, September 21, 2009

Caramelized Hazelnut Gianduja

That's the super expensive ice cream that I just ate. It was good. For a name that makes sense though, try "pralines and cream with a slight coffee aftertaste."

I have been working my first job all evening, so once again no time for writing, but I "wrote" several scenes for my pending middle grade novel in my head while at Costco earlier today. If I shoot for 55K words, I could have it done in 2 months, tops, given the amount of time I've spent thinking about it. If only my brain could type.

So why am I typing this blog instead of writing the great American middle-grade novel? The blog I can finish within the next 5 minutes, and it's 11 goddamn 53 PM and I need to go to bed because my 17 month old will wake up no later than 0730, and my 3 year old will follow closely on her heels. Tomorrow is aforementioned 3 year old's birthday, so in addition to the usual kerfluffle that surrounds everything we do, there's the excitement of knowing that 3 years ago some doctor sliced her mom open and dragged her practically lifeless body into the world, then spent the next 5 minutes trying to get her to breath/live. Okay, that's not how she remembers it. And truthfully, that's not how I "remember" it, but it is what happened.

She is absolutely thrilled that it is her birthday, and she doesn't know it yet, but there's a shiny red tricycle parked right in the middle of the living room with her name on it. I am so grateful and happy to have her in my life. Tonight as I was hugging her before putting her to bed I said "I love you honey." She said "I love you TOO Mommy!" then she got a huge smile on her face and said "We have so much in common!" :) She's freaking fantastic. I don't really like to think too much about the minutes we spent waiting to see if she would live though. After about 5 minutes of resuscitation, a look crossed the face of the nurse standing above me (I was laid out on the OR table 5 minutes post c-section and couldn't see much.) But I will never, ever forget that look on her face. It was the look. The call the chaplain look. And then M started breathing. And the look passed. But I will still never forget it for as long as I live.

A at 17 months is AMAZING. She constructed a little slide out of her fork and some food at dinner and was having peas roll down it while chanting "sli! sli! sli!" Her father said "A, did you make a slide?" She literally screamed with glee and started throwing herself around in her highchair, so insanely pleased that he had figured it out that she couldn't control herself. That baby is incredible. She also pooped in the toliet for the first time tonight. I can't be too was there or the bathtub. It was a close call.

I love my kids so much. But I am also very realistic about them and freely admit that on many, many occasions I have thought of them as my tiny little torturers. They put me through hell, waking me up every hour on the hour all night long with unreasonable demands. Find my pacifier. Help me out of the corner of my crib. Get me a bottle. Adjust my, don't change it. Just adjust it. Then in the morning I have to smile at them, act chipper, and make them a nutritious breakfast. Whatever. I will never get all earth-mothery about them with you. I love them, love them, love them, and that will always remain true, but I won't spare you the gory details. The actual duties of motherhood SUCK sometimes. Anyone who tries to say different is a liar. If you're on the fence about whether to have kids or not, my advice is don't. If you're on the fence, stay there. If you really like naps, my advice goes double, because FYI, you'll never really sleep again. And naps? Fucking forget it.

1 comment:

  1. The fact that you can do any kind of writing at all with a 17-month-old and three-year old running around is in itself amazing.