Monthly Archives: January 2010

Dear Trucker (18 months)

Dear Sweet Boy,

You have become my tour guide.   In the olden days (last month) I used to have to carry you around with me wherever I went.  No more.  But I’m still not permitted to rest.  Now, when I want to sit down, you walk over and say something in baby language. You take my hand and smile.  Then you lead me around the house.  Sometimes to show me the kitchen with its wonderful unbaby-proofed pull-out spice shelf.  Sometimes you bring me to the bathroom and say “Brwaah tsee,”  and motion toward your toothbrush.  Sometimes you just walk me around.   Oh, and sometimes, if I’m really lucky, you’ll bring your little red coat over to me.  Then you’ll bring me your hat.  Then my shoes.  Then you’ll take me to the door.

I was a little worried about your speech.  But you are doing just fine.  By eighteen months, the doctor looks for ten words.  When we were on vacation over the holidays I became preoccupied with the ten words.  Did you really have ten and why can I only count eight now?  But since then, you’ve slowly built up your repetoire. Here are the ten you had then: Mama, more, no, ice, apple, appajooo (apple juice), Nana, Gamma… ugh.  I can’t remember all ten.  But now the word appajoo means three things:  apple juice, up and open.  Apple means, I want to eat something, fools. While spending a wee bit too much time in the living room with your Wii Golf-playing teen aged cousins, you actually said “Press A!” You’ve had other moments of saying pretty advanced-seeming words or phrases, but they haven’t stuck.  Before you said any single words, you said, “I did it!” to A while playing a game that involved putting balls into a hole.  You said that several times, actually.  But it didn’t stick.  You said, “Bulldozer” once.  Cake heard it, too.  Dowa is a new regular word.  It means Dora, or TV.  Oye.  Our parenting has become far more lax with our second child.  Cake drank water, not appajoo.  He didn’t say a TV character’s name until he was around two: Weetwah.  And he didn’t lay eyes on a video game until he was at least three.  But I’m ok.  I think you will survive, my little Truckster.

Have I mentioned your teeth?  For the longest time you had only four teeth.  Then, over the break you went on a tooth-sprouting frenzy.  Now you have eleven.  Three or them are molars.  I think you are already working on one more.  It is a little mind-boggling for the moms.

Oh, and you are quite the artiste.  You love to color.  It has been an exercise in restraint to allow you to color.  See, you like to eat crayons.  You know they taste bad, but it doesn’t stop you.  So we take the big roll of paper and spread it over the whole top of the little table.  Then we open the crayon box.  Then we watch you.  You color, broad sweeping strokes.  You like yellow a lot.  Then you look at us and slowly raise the crayon to your mouth.  Little by little you are choosing to color more and test our grab-it-out-of-your-crayon-eating-hands speed less.

One more thing (who knows if anyone has bothered to read this far into my self-indulgent note… besides you, Grandma) 18 months is the only time in a person’s life when “no” really does mean “yes.”  I am pleased to announce that you have figured out how to nod your head.  YES!  So now if I say, “Are you hungry?”  and you say, “No!”  You may actually nod your head while you say it.  Then I know what you want.  Whew.

Ok, I’m done.

Love you my smooshy lovey sweet thang,



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Out of the Supply Closet

Next year, if all goes as planned, Cakie will attend kindergarten at my school.

It recently dawned on me that I expect him to be out of the closet about having two moms. [Not that he’s aware of the need or urge to be in a closet in the first place.]  But I have never been out of the closet about being one of two moms to my students.  This is in great part because I tend to avoid conflict.  I don’t feel like I would be very professional about any parent backlash that may ensue. I’m also not sure how to talk about it with my kids without going into too much detail.  AND even if I came out, I’d have a whole new group of students and their families next year, and the next year, etc.

My administrators have always backed me up and have no problem with me doing it.

I just haven’t.

Third graders are nosier than second graders, so they’ve been asking.

Does anyone know anyone who has come out to their own class?



Filed under teaching

Pelvic Floor Bootcamp Part 3 – uh, 6?

This is a TMI post people, so if you aren’t interested in my nether regions, for god’s sake, click away.

I love PT.

I feel a hell of a lot better.

I was considering a subtitle to the already-too-long title: “I Should Have Waxed”

Since I’ve been extremely busy doing I’m not sure what, I will give you a run-down of what I’ve learned.

  • The right way to do Kegels is easier than the wrong way.  It really isn’t that much work.  One just needs to know which muscles to flex.
  • The way one learns which muscles to flex is by biofeedback, for which they need to stick very sticky wire sensor thingies on to your perineum.  And around your, well, the hole that’s not your vagina.  Yeah.  So I should have waxed.  Then I thought about it for a minute.  And it is January, people.  I’m not waxing until the flowers are up on my classroom wall.   So I didn’t wax. Biofeedback is cool because you can visualize when you are doing the right thing.  In my session today I called it my vagina’s Wii Fit.
  • I’m totally out of shape.
  • One needs to sit up straight, lest one put too much pressure on one’s pelvic floor.
  • I need to work my transluteal abdominal muscles.  Those are the ones going horizontally across the bottom of your belly.  When you pull your belly button up and in, as in yoga, you actually lift up the entire pelvic floor, as well.  This makes it stronger. So my PT told me to flex my transluteals every time I lift, push, pull and something else I forget.  Which is pretty much all day, since I’m always lifting Trucker.  It is funny to try belly button up and in while peeing.  Try it.  See what happens.
  • I’m out of shape.
  • If you pee “just in case” it makes your body misread cues for urges, so you train yourself to feel the need to go when your bladder is less-full.  So don’t do that.
  • I think I might actually want to join a gym when my PT is over.  I’ve never liked gyms.  But I like getting a work-out at PT.  And my vagina really likes the bootylicious sweat pants Nelly bought for her.

That’s the run-down.  It feels great to be more in touch with my body and I feel a lot better.  I’m grateful to you guys for telling me what was wrong.  Kiss, kiss, kiss.

In closing, I want to congratulate  ohchicken on her insightful realization into her current state of mind.


Filed under Post partum

The Year

My mom pointed out that I never told you which year I’d re-live.

I think it would be the year that I was pregnant. 2008.

I guess starting in January.  I loved being pregnant.  Then, later, I loved having my brand-new expanded family.  Though to do it again, I’d have taken another week off before school ended.  And I’d have seen a few movies while I was home before I gave birth.  I also probably would not re-do going on vacation with a six-week-old.  Other than that, it was a grand year.  I loved giving birth.  I loved being home with my baby.  I loved it all.  (I realize that I would not enjoy the anxiety and uncertainty part of being pregnant again, but I would do it.)

Those of you who commented thought I’d choose this past year.  And it has been a nice one.  But once your second child starts moving of his or her own accord, as Trucker did at 10 months, all bets are off.  It has literally been a blur of running around pulling dangerous things out of his mouth or taking him down from the dangerous place he has climbed to, all while trying to follow the plot line of a four-year-old’s stories, which in itself is a minor feat.  So though this year has been fun, it has been exhausting.  I don’t really need to do it again.

Which year would you live over?

BTW, my good friend, Nethermede has started her own blog.  She is an excellent person, as well as a good writer.  You may want to check it out.

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Filed under blogitty blog blog, Labor & Birth, Trucker


I want to post more about my physical therapy.

But it is 11:30 pm already.

Where goes the time?

Ok, I promise I’ll do it very very soon.

I resolve to, in fact.

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Filed under blogitty blog blog

If I Could Live One Year Over…

On New Year’s Day (Happy New Year, my peeps!) I was chowing down on some serious black-eyed peas with some seriously wonderful people.  My dear dear friend and cook of said BEPs, Nethermede, asked this question of her pork-imbibing and vegetarian guests: “If you had to choose between waking up tomorrow and completely skipping the year 2010, or going back and having to relive one of the past ten years, what would you do?  And if you chose to relive, which year would it be?”  Having two small and adorable children whose lives I would not like to miss even a day of, I chose to relive.  But which year?  Hmmm.

I need to do one of those decade run-downs just to be sure I made the right choice.  This is really more for me than for you, but read on, dear reader.  And see if you can guess which year I chose off the top of my head.

2000  All I remember is that this was my first year teaching.  I’d been with my honey for one year.  I was in grad school at night.  The day I spent pretty much in tears much of the time.  My weekends were spent lesson planning.  I’m hoping most of those former first graders figured out how to read.  I certainly didn’t do much to help them.  The poor dears.

2001 I moved up to teaching second grade.  I was feeling very confident that first week.  On the fourth day of school, the twin towers fell.  It was the day I became an adult.  I spent the afternoon sitting with other teachers hunched over a radio, as the children innocently danced to “Take Me Out the the Ball Game.”  We waited, smelling the cloud of heavy smoke that blew straight to Brooklyn, we waited to see whose parents would not show up to get their kids.

2002 Umm. Err.  Can I maybe remember one thing that happened in 2002? Ah!  I finished my masters degree in education.  And I think I may have foolishly resolved to try to get pregnant when I turned 33.  Hah.  So funny.  Hooo.  My belly hurts from the laughter.

2003 I think my honey started to try to get pregnant.  I won’t say much about this, since she does not like me to blog about her.  I will say only that we spent way too much time and money on our donor choice.  Waaay too much.

2004 My honey tries to get pregnant.  We give up on the known donor, shipping fresh sperm from wherever he was at the time in his crazy academic job search, to the much more reliable, yet far more expensive sperm bank.

We bought our apartment!  Our first home!  That was huge.

2005 New Year’s Day, we found out that my honey was pregnant.  On the last try we did at home.  The day that worked was either on the first or third night in our new home. I was beginning to think it was my fault, somehow, that she wasn’t getting pregnant.  But she did.  And she immediately got very very tired.  This was my year of adjusting to being a non-gestational parent.  I took close notes on what I would or would not want to do in my own pregnancy.  I did my best to support her. I tried to cook her healthy food and ended up bringing her Wendy’s hamburgers because it was all she could hold down.  I was extremely happy and a little jealous.  On August 16, I became a mother.  Three weeks earlier than we expected.  By c-section.  And he was so little and so good and so very very cute.  My little sack of sugar.  My Cakie boy.  The rest of that year was a blur.  Lots of diapers and strange attempts at helping the Boobah sleep.

2006 My little sack of sugar’s first year.  I had been dying to try to get pregnant.  Now all I was trying to do was keep my eyes open.  I decided to wait until a few months after he turned one to start TTC, so the baby would be born around the time he turned two. [Chuckle.]  I honestly don’t remember exactly when I started trying.  But mind you, I’d been charting my temperature since my honey first started TTC.  Yeah, for reals.

2007 This was the real TTC year.  I did TTC for a year and a half.  But this was the year of desperation. This was the year in which many of the weeks were spent waiting.  This was the year I began to blog (hi, y’all!)  This was the year I gave up on trying at home and gave up on limiting my attempts to only one year.  This was the year in which I almost gave up.  And it was the year I found out it had finally worked.  I guess you can read all about it on this here blog.  On Halloween, we saw a ghost on the pregnancy test.  Trucker decided to finally show up. I was pregnant!  And I was a little more happy to be done with trying than I was to be having a baby.  It is true.  I admit it.

2008 The year of my pregnancy.  I was all glowy and happy.  I looked fabulous.  I felt great.  (Though I couldn’t eat candy for much of the year, which is just not me, I tell you.) People were lifting things for me and opening doors for me.  I didn’t have to TTC anymore.  I had lots to blog about.  I only had one child.  Until, July 11, that is.  On that day, my due date, Trucker showed up.  My water broke right after my mom told him via the phone to my belly to be born.  And again, the rest of the year is a blur.

2009  I have two kids.  I don’t have much to blog about.  I went back to work.  Though I didn’t want to do it, I’m so glad I did.  I started teaching third grade in September and I love it.  That’s all, folks.

So which year did I choose?  Can you guess?


Filed under blogitty blog blog, IUI, Labor & Birth, my second son, Post partum, TTC