Vacation Hangover

So, we were on vacation last week. And it was awesome. We spent the week at the beach...we swam in the pool, we played in the sand, we tried to brave the seaweed in the ocean a time or two, we baked in the sun, we enjoyed the sea breeze.

We went deep sea fishing, finally (we say we're going to go every year), so check that off of my life list. I went along for the ride, because I know myself, and I knew I did not want to spend the money to actually try my hand at fishing. I hate fish. I hate bait. I hate reeling. I just wanted to sit on on a boat in the middle of the ocean and watch other people catch stuff. But I had to run my mouth. Something about how I wasn't allowed to fish because the guys were afraid I'd outshine them...and the next thing I know, I'm outfitted with a pole and a pile of smelly squid pieces. Apparently, since the boat was less than full, the mates decided I should give it a go. I caught a fish my first cast. I was excited. I dropped my line a couple of more times, caught nothing, got bored, and sat back down on my bench to ride out the rest of the trip. I am ridiculously happy I did not pay for the whole fishing aspect of the trip, because I would most definitely have lost money on the endeavor. Fishing is boring. Riding on a boat in the middle of the ocean is not.

We went shopping, we watched the sunset over the water, we went out to dinner a couple of times, I ate oysters. I ate a lot of oysters, actually.

I did not sleep past 7:30 in the morning 99% of the time because Steve has a thing for early morning fishing and Brigid has a thing for not sleeping in late for mommy. I did not nap, except for that one time I drifted off while sitting on the beach, when I may or may not have had a dream prominently featuring a certain cast member from So You Think You Can Dance. I did not read as many books as I usually do on vacation, since apparently when you have a kid, you are expected to take care of it even when you are on vacation.

Who knew?

I did, however, manage to get through one very good book and spend some lovely quality time on the beach, thanks to a husband who doesn't mind exchanging mornings fishing for afternoons on baby watch. And I have a lovely mother-in-law who doesn't mind staying behind a time or two so I can do vacation-type things with my husband without a baby in tow (that whole deep sea fishing thing? not exactly baby friendly...). And I have a fantastic sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and father-in-law, all of whom love my child dearly and are willing to allow me to pawn her off on them for various feedings and quiet moments of sanity (AKA showers).

And I have pictures! Well, I have iPhone pictures, that is.

I have pictures of Brigid's feet in the water and pictures of Brigid's first time in the sand. I do not have pictures of the clean-up after Brigid's first time in the sand, because that involved a whole lot of nekkid baby. And an outdoor shower. And maybe a pool.

Good times.

I have pictures of so much more, believe me, but those are on my camera. And we know how long it takes for me to upload those pictures to this here blog. I'm shooting for sometime this week, but I reserve the right to change my mind.

After all, I'm still on beach time over here.

I think we all know what Ann Arbor is...

Brigid would like you all to know that she does not like Michigan, and she is tired of losing to the skunk bears.

She would also like you to know that she did not pick this hat out, Daddy and Uncle Greg just have really, really bad taste...

Until next week...

Go Irish!  Beat Spartans!

Oh yeah, about that trip to Indiana...

So, have I mentioned that we went to Indiana for a football game/family visit about a week ago?

Well, we did, and it was awesome.

Did you know it's fall in the Midwest?  We wore sweatshirts and jeans, and I even added a pair of gloves to my tailgating ensemble, it was so cold.  Heading home, I was thinking about getting out my tights and boots and transitioning to my fall wardrobe.  Then we got home.  And I remembered we live in Atlanta.  And at a cool 87 degrees, we're still a little while away from tights and boots and fall wardrobes. 

Sad.  But not really, because I am much better suited to too hot than too cold, as 27-ish years of living in the too cold part of the country taught me.

Anyway...the flight.

We survived the flight.  How did we survive the flight?  By shoving as much food/liquid into the poor kid's mouth as she was willing to accept.  Because when there was no food and liquid in the kid's mouth?  She was talking.  Loudly.  In a very shrill voice.  Some might even refer to it as a scream...

And now, our trip, as told via iPhone pictures:

Pre-flight, Brigid and Elmo hang out at the gate...

They are loving the experience...

Oh look, there are windows!

And, here we go...

Remember that part about food?  I wasn't joking...this is what was going on for about 45 minutes of the 75 minute flight...

You should have seen Brigid's hair when this whole thing was over.  I don't know if plane air is really that gross, or if Steve and I just spent a lot of time brushing the comb-over out of her eyes, but it was so exceptionally greasy when we landed, all I could think about was washing the kid's hair.  Yes, I am that mother.  If it makes a difference, the second thought on my mind was washing my own hair.  So, there's that.

Anyway...

Originally, when Steve and I bought the tickets to the ND-Purdue game, and when we booked the flight, Brigid was heading up to South Bend with us.  But my mother, who will now forever be referred to as 'the voice of reason', talked us out of it.  I mean, a two hour drive to South Bend, several hours of pre-game on campus, a 3-4 hour game, and a two hour drive back home.  For an eleven month old who can't walk.  And never wants to be held.  And doesn't want to be strapped in her stroller for long periods of time.  And absolutely hates any time spent in the car.  And gets a little freaked out by too many loud noises around her.

Seriously.  We thought this was a good idea how?

Thanks, mom!

Want to see some pictures of people having a good time?

I love this picture...this is exactly what happens before every sisterly picture we've ever taken.  We are a vain bunch of people, my family.

And here is the result...sort of.  I don't think we were quite prepared, but Steve was getting a little tired of the picture taking, and may have jumped the gun a bit...

See?  Angry...

Not angry...

And, because my friend Lori was there, and she maybe sort of kind of mentioned that she wanted to be in the blog, but I never got around to taking a picture with her, because we all know I fail miserably when cameras are involved, I present Tara and Lori, circa 2008...

(Quick side note:  Lori is not blond anymore.  I did not know this when we showed up at the tailgate.  I saw Steve hugging some random brunette and thought, "Am I really going to have to throw down with some hussy this early in the morning?"  Then I realized it was Lori.  I almost numchucked her...you don't even realize .

Anyway, love the new do, Lor!)

Post game celebration...

Good times.

The flight home was a lot tougher than the flight out because I was exhausted, Steve was exhausted, and Brigid was over it all.  But, it was totally worth it.

And the next time we head up for a game?  Brigid is absolutely going along...we need to bring this kid up right, after all!

Since when does the thought of a vacation cause MORE stress?

So, remember last weekend, when we went to Indiana, and Brigid took her first plane trip? And then, remember on Tuesday, when I promised you that I'd post pictures and a quick little recap of said trip, because it seemed like just the kind of event I started this blog for, what with the whole 'documenting baby's life' and everything? And then, remember how yesterday, I didn't do it because it was Brigid's eleven month birthday, and I talked about that instead?

Well, I'm not doing it today, either.

I know, I know...I am a walking baby-book failure. I make big plans, and then it seems like nothing ever gets done. But, I really do follow through with things! I swear! Most of the time!

Eventually.

Sometimes, it just takes me a little longer than it should. And after all of this dithering, you will come back tomorrow, read my recap, look at my crappy cell phone pictures, and wonder why in the heck I talked so much about something that was such a non-event. But you will deal with it. Because my kid is adorable, and you want to read about all of her adorableness. Or you will give up on me, and you will deal with it by not coming back, because no amount of adorableness is enough to put up with me and my insane ramblings.

Either way, I'm good with it.

Instead, today, I'm going to tell you about the never-ending nanny search we have embarked on once again. Oh yes, wasn't I all cutely optimistic last week, talking about how the girl we didn't hire during the second round of interviews was still interested in the job, and weren't we so lucky to not have to go through round three? Well, she's not so interested in it anymore. It turns out, she picked up a second job between the first and second time I talked to her, and she thought she could work her schedule around all three jobs, but she can't. And she sent me an email about it this weekend, while we were out of town. And we're going out of town again next week. So I had/have all of about four days to line up a replacement for the week we get back from vacation.

So, no pressure or anything.

We did two interviews Tuesday night, and one interview Wednesday night. We seem to have some good candidates, again, which is nice, but there's not really one that stands head and shoulders above the others, which sucks. Because it means I have to do more of the pro/con decision making that I really don't have the time or brain capacity for these days. But, I will persevere. I will call references on Friday. I will debate the merits of each, most likely with myself. I will make a wine fueled decision about my child's well-being at my drinking/painting outing with my sister-in-law on Friday night. And I will have a nanny lined up before we leave for vacation on Sunday.

Because a rushed, wine fueled decision is exactly what a good mom does when hiring a childcare provider, no?

I really hope whoever we pick this time sticks around for awhile. I really don't think I can handle going through this process again.

Eleven Months

Eleven months old.

That's what you are today, kid. You are officially eleven months old. Which means, in one more month, you're going to be twelve months old. Which, as we all know, means we're going to have to start measuring your age in years now, instead of months.

One. Whole. Year.

Where does the time go?

I remember bringing you home from the hospital, and swaddling you up, and laying you in your crib. You looked so small. You looked slightly yellow. You had so much hair!

You were beautiful.

We monitored every single breath you took, recorded every single diaper we changed, and obsessed over every single feeding you sat down to. We kept you away from everybody but your immediate family. The slightest sniffle from someone, anyone, and they weren't allowed in our house. We single-handedly kept Purell in business. If your blanket hit the ground? It was washed. If you dropped your pacifier? It was disinfected. We were constantly watching for signs that something might be wrong with you.

Those signs never came.

We were ecstatic!

And now? Well, now, things have changed a bit. I still keep track of your feedings, but I figure if we're riding the 75th percentile in weight, I maybe don't need to obsess over your appetite quite so much. The diapers we change? I'd like to forget them, not record them for posterity. Toys on the ground? Whatever. You spend most of your time on the ground anyway, so if you're going to catch something, it's going to happen whether I wash your toys or not. I don't want you putting your mouth on the chairs at the airport (which, incidentally, makes me the meanest mommy IN THE WORLD, judging from the screams you unleashed on me this past weekend when I tried to stop you from doing this very thing), and after changing your diaper in a public bathroom, I like to wipe you down with an anti-bacterial wipe because you like to grab at things that I assume are pretty freaking dirty, but I think this just makes me a normal, if slightly germaphobic, mother. We've let you out of the bubble, but I'm still going to take a couple of precautions to keep you as healthy as I can.

I'm your mother. It's what I do. You'll just have to get used to it, because I'm pretty sure it's not going to change any time soon.

You understand things now. I can see the wheels turning, I can see it on your face when you're trying to figure something out. I'm amazed at how quickly you've become your own little person. I think you know what 'no' means, but that doesn't seem to stop you from doing what you want. You have a sense of humor. You have a temper. You love attention. You have the greatest (face scrunched up, eyes closed, open mouth) smile I've ever seen, one that's guaranteed to get a smile out of me in return.

You have the worst baby comb-over. I have no idea what to do with it, but I've invested in some barrettes, so we're going to see how that goes.

You're my little bug. You'll always be my little bug. I love you more than I ever thought was possible. I will do whatever it takes to keep you happy and healthy as you insist on doing this whole 'growing up' thing, whether I want you to or not.

But you're still not allowed to chew on public chairs. I do have my limits, after all.

Happy birthday, kiddo!

Let's try to take this next month a little slower than the last, shall we?

Baby's first flight...

So, I'm tired.  I am very, very, very tired.  I'm so tired, in fact, that I have nothing good to say about this weekend other than to say that we survived. 

Wait, that sounds wrong.  I have a ton of fantastic things to say about this weekend, I just can't really get them out right now because I'm too tired to form the pretty sentences that you would normally see on this here site. 

And do you know what I do when I can't form the pretty sentences?  I tell you that Brigid wasn't too bad on the plane, that we really enjoyed the game, and that we're happy to be home.

Then I tell you that I'll post the full details tomorrow, complete with my usual crappy cell phone picture accompaniments.  And you agree to come back later to read about all of our adventures.

See you then.

Breakdown? Me? No way...

Tomorrow is the big day. The big trip. The big flight. The first time on a plane with the baby.

And I am about to lose my mind.

Seriously, I have approximately 45 lists I'm working through right now...things I need to pack for me, things I need to pack for Brigid, things I need to buy to pack for Brigid, things I may or may not need to buy for the day of the game, things that Steve keeps asking me to make decisions on that I don't currently have the brain capacity to make decisions on. (Editors note: It absolutely kills me to end a sentence with a preposition. Because I am a huge, huge nerd. But I literally do not have the ability to reword that sentence into a grammatically correct one at the present moment. Boo.) My mom asked me if I was getting excited for the trip. Right now? I kind of feel like I'll be excited when it's over. Of course, I know this is just an overreaction on my part, and once we land in Indiana tomorrow night, I'll be super excited for the weekend to start. I just need to get through tomorrow afternoon, first.

But I don't think it's going to be an easy thing to do. Steve did a test run with Brigid last night, sitting on the couch, and forcing her to sit with him. Let's just say it did not go particularly well. Brigid has never really been a 'sit still' kind of kid. So that's something to look forward to. The one small hope that I'm still clinging to, the one small hope that is keeping any shred of sanity still intact, is that this will be an entirely new experience and a completely different environment for her, and I pray that this will be enough to buy us at least 30 minutes of quiet cooperation. Beyond that, I've got nothing. Except for A LOT of baby snacks.

Oh, the heart palpitations are starting. Good times.

To make matters worse (and to make myself more crazy, just for kicks), my mind has decided to distract me from the travel planning by forcing me to plan Brigid's first birthday. I am trying to put it off until after this weekend. I want to put it off until after this weekend. I had planned to put it off until after this weekend. And yet, because I can't entirely wrap my mind around the travel preparations for this weekend, I keep compulsively checking miscellaneous party supply websites and party planning blogs to get ideas for the big Elmo themed bash we will be throwing in a month. And speaking of lists, you should see that one. Hoo boy, good times.

And to top it off, I can't concentrate on work because I have all of these thoughts running through my head every moment of every day. And I need to concentrate on work because I am going on vacation in two weeks (MORE PACKING LISTS!!! FTW!!!). And I have deadlines that will be hitting while I'm out. And I have a three-day work week next week in which to complete all of said work that needs to be done by said deadlines.

So, basically, what I'm saying, in the absolutely whiniest way possible, is that I'm tired, people. I'm tired, and I don't like to fly. I'm tired, I don't like to fly, and vacation can't get here fast enough.

I'm tired, I don't like to fly, vacation can't get here fast enough, and I need a pensieve to drain off and organize some of these thoughts for my own sanity.

What? Harry Potter? No?

I told you I was a nerd.