Mouth-breathing without a thorough teeth-brushing. I’m assuming he hadn’t brushed his teeth, because I could SMELL his BREATH. Hork.

Food Network tv-watching.

……………..

So. It’s 2010. I think this is going to be a good year.

.: Ralph Lauren sunglasses

.: My mind

.: One hundred dollar bill

.: Single white gold earring

.: My son’s sleep rhythm

.: Car keys

.: Motivation for physical activity

All items are still at large. I have looked everywhere for everything, house-cleaning and laundry-sorting included. I would gladly sacrifice my earring to the shower-drain gods in exchange for the cash and car keys.

Is this the universe’s way of telling me that I have too much on my plate? I’m not a lose-things kind of person. God help me.

Asher has Hand, Foot and Mouth disease, which is not the same as Hoof and Mouth disease thankyouverymuch, but sucks the big one nonetheless. A week and a half ago he started a sleep-marathon, waking for maybe 6 hours in a 48 hour stretch. I thought, “Oh, how cute! A growth spurt! Now I can read magazines and eat popsicles catch up on work!” When he woke up, he was kickin’ it with a high fever for a few days, and then a rash on his back. We went to the doctor, where I paid a nice man $30 to wait in his office and exam room for an hour and a half to be told that it was what I thought it was: Roseola. Totally common, not painful, every baby gets it by the time they’re two yadda yadda. The end. Right? Wrong.

Tuesday night was a tiny piece of Hell, one where babies wake every hour to scream and be generally pissy. Wednesday morning when he woke up, his lips were swollen and wonky, and by noon there were blisters on his tongue. Instead of driving an hour to pediatrician A (see: above) I tied Asher on and walked out our back door to see pediatrician B. We didn’t have an appointment, but I figured they’d be way less likely to say they couldn’t squeeze us in if I was standing right in  front of them. It worked. 30 minutes later we had a diagnosis. And a, “Good luck!” since there’s no treatment for a viral infection. So now we wait it out.

Last night turned out to be a slightly larger piece of hell, featuring less sleep and more screams and tears. Mine and his. Today, the blisters are gone, but have been replaced with a refusal to sleep, or eat anything I put in front of his mouth, including my boob. He won’t take a sippy cup, so all day (ALL SLEEPLESS DAY) I’ve been pushing pedialyte and pediasure in a bottle. It’s kind of working, enough so that he’s at least peeing more now. He’ll eat lots of junk (sweet potato puffs, yogurt puffs and cheese puffs), but I can’t get him to take anything out of my hand or off of a spoon. I don’t know what gives. It seems like more of a political statement than anything, because I know his mouth is feeling better. He wants to be held, no, he wants to be put down, no, WHY AM I ON THE FLOOR PICKMEUP! Poor baby just wasn’t happy today. And I kind of wanted to lock him in a closet.

I’m physically and emotionally drained, and it’s only been a couple days like this. I feel like a total amateur, drama queen, bad mother, all-around jerk. Sometimes I just don’t think I have enough patience and empathy for this job. Because man, it’s hard. It’s not like anybody told me it was easy, but still. I don’t know.

He went to sleep at the regular time tonight, and has woken to nurse once, so I think, I hope, that we’re coming out of this. I’m cautiously optimistic. And if things are better in the morning, we might actually make it into Chicago.

And now, simply because it makes me snort every time I see it (or think about it, honestly) and I need some laughs tonight, I give you this:

It was kind of like this.

S: Hey Ben, it’s so exciting that you’re going to be a big brother, don’t you think?

B: Yeah. I guess.

S: You’re going to have this little baby sister, and she’s going to be like a princess that you’ll always be able to protect, like you’re her knight.

B: …

S: Well, I was a little girl with a big brother, and I can tell you that’s it’s pretty cool.

B: You have a big brother?

S: Mmm hmm!

B: Wait, I know who it is! It’s Uncle Mark! You guys are ALWAYS together!

S: …

Sarah: 0, Ben: 1

.:.:.:.:.:.

I love that kid, he has such a pure heart. When Asher was tiny, Ben would sing to him whenever he cried. And that vocabulary… He’s the only child I have ever seen speak French before his second birthday.

I think he likes me pretty well, too. Although it wasn’t always mutual. He loves his Uncle Mark, to whom I was clearly a distraction. Once when I came to visit, Ben said, “Uncle Mark, your FRIEND SARAH is here.” When Mark and I got engaged, Ben’s mom said to him, “Ben, when Uncle Mark and Sarah get married, do you know what we’ll call Sarah then? She’ll become Aunt Sarah.” And Ben said with disgust, “GROSS. I don’t even LIKE ants.”

.:.:.:.:.:.

Mark and I were married three years ago today. It’s been almost perfect, always worth it. We’re living and learning together, adulthood and parenthood, figuring it out as we go. I wouldn’t trade a second of it.

He is all my reasons.

Yes, I realize I just posted this picture a couple weeks ago. Shut up. Also, check out that viking beard. RRROW.

If I could open my arms
And span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I’d bring it to where you are
Making a lake of the East River and Hudson
If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out
They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

.: Death Cab for Cutie: Marching Bands of Manhattan

Watch this commercial.

Did you watch it? Don’t lie to me. Did you?

Ok.

You know that part where Mrs. Butterworth says, “Broken glass sends shivers down my bottle!”

I just heard it from the other room, and swear to god, I thought she said, “Broken glass sends shivers down my butthole!”

These are the kind of thoughts that fill my days now that I’m not working in my office. There’s also plenty of time left for online shenanigans like these:

Look at my neck! I’ve never had that much neck! I’m hot.

I’m pretty sure this is really what Mark’s hair would look like if he grew it out.

Do you think this is what Asher might look like in 20 years?

I have to go now. Can’t Buy Me Love is coming on. Dempsey!

So here. Happy Monday.

photo by Beth at Beth Fletcher Photography

I’m so excited about the direction in which our life is headed. Things are happening, good things that can’t be dulled by the not-so-good things. So many times lately I’ve had to stop myself from crying tears of happiness. I can be in the bathroom drying my hair, or driving to the grocery store, and I just get overwhelmed by this feeling of perfect, the overwhelming beauty of life. And it all started with this perfect boy.

I didn’t want to write at all, because what I was supposed to share was the birth story that I never got around to writing. I’m still trying to write it, but my problem now more motivational than emotional. I’m promising myself that I’ll finish it, but I really wish I could have done it weeks ago when it was fresh and raw.

So anyway, I didn’t write. I hardly ever even turned on my computer. I committed to things and people and never followed through. But I’m challenging myself now, because if I don’t I’m afraid I’ll never be able to write, to come back to this.

Here are the things you’ve missed. The things I meant to write about but never did for whatever reason, anyway. I want to share all of this. I will.

1. We sold our house.

2. We moved in with Mark’s parents

….a. For 4 months.

3. We bought a house.

4. I gave birth. (coughUNTOLDBIRTHSTORYcough)

….a. And became a mom.

……..i. Nobody talks about how hard this really is. HOLYCRAP WHY?

5. OMG THRUSH.

6. We moved into the house.

….a. Boxes. So many boxes. Still.

7. I turned 30. (I love 30).

8. Asher got a fever, which freaked me the hell out.

….a. Pediatrician, hospital, blood culture.

….b. On my birthday.

……..i. He’s fine now, almost back to himself.

Oh, there’s more, but that’s all I’m going to commit to tonight. Baby steps, people. GET OFF MY BACK. Also, I’m too busy staring at this picture to focus. But I’ll be back, I promise.

Asher, 7 weeks old. NOM.

With his special lady friend Ivy, also 7 weeks old. Won’t it be cute to show this photo at their wedding?

photos by Beth at Beth Fletcher Photography

Last night Asher and I snuck out for a few hours for some much-needed girl time with Steph, Arianne and Beth. Why did I need this? For the unbelievable love and support these women give to me; they make me strong, they tell me that I can do this, that everything I’m thinking and feeling and experiencing is normal. Motherhood is hard, new motherhood is so hard. Sometimes you just need to hear it from someone else.

The best part of the night was the introduction of Asher and Ivy, Steph’s daughter. Steph and I shared our pregnancies, and our due dates, and have been anxiously awaiting the moment when we could share our babies. One day they’ll be married, we’ve decided.

Steph got it on video: Asher and Ivy’s first meeting.

Until then, I’m so proud and excited to introduce Asher William, born September 17th at 11:49 p.m. weighing in at 9 pounds, 4 ounces and 20 inches long. He’s perfect in every way.

Asher is a Hebrew name meaning fortunate, blessed; happy.

I can’t believe he’s ours.

Photos by Beth. I love her.