"At least we don't live in Darfur."

That's Wade's and my mantra when we're wigging out (i.e., the baby won't nap, we'll never afford a house in LA, we can't decide what to do in life, the cat box needs changing, I have to deal with health insurance for the umpteenth time, the polar bears will be extinct soon (actually that's kind of a major one -- keep those thermostats at 78 degrees, people!), traffic's a bitch, we need to go grocery shopping, I have spit-up in my hair, Wade stubbed his toe), and we need a little perspective.

It really was a day at the beach.

In honor of Nonnie and Big Jack's (do we have a grandparent name for you yet, Jackers?) visit to Ruby, the tribe took a field trip to the beach for a little picnicking, kite-flying, napping, goo-ing, and chillaxin'.

The setting for our afternoon. Another beautiful California day.

As Ruby's face shows, the car ride over was a dream (mostly -- the dog ramp flew off the top of the car, ripping one of the Subaru's roof racks off with it and both crashed into the car as we were driving; but other than that -- no problem!).


Nonnie snorgled the Ru. It was a bit windy that day, so the bean got swaddled in a wind-breaker.


Daddy with the swaddled babe. Daddy is one shifty looking dude, no?


Mommy and the Ruby.


Ruby hates Nikki.


Jack let his inner dog out and took on Lu for the Ultimate Fighting Championship of the park...


...until Lulu got bored and forfeited.


Bibi took care of the other baby. Just because we're outside does not mean that slobber can be allowed just to go flying willy nilly.


Ruby was, as always, the (literal) center of attention.


I even brought a kite to fly... but then it got away from me and this palm tree in front ended up flying it for me.


All in all, I think the expression on Lu's face pretty much sums up the day.

Wherein I am contrite but determined to change my ways.

Let it be known far and wide that I am a whiny, kvetching pessimist. Somewhat of a narcissist too. And kind of a bitch. Put all those together and give me a forum, and you get this: a place where all I do is complain about my thoughtful husband and my sweet, funny, gorgeous, healthy little girl. I am some piece of work. I went back and reread the (few) posts I've made since Ruby joined us, and -- wow -- are they ever dismal. You'd think I was handed a death sentence on June 28, not a baby.

So let me just state here, for the record, my new commitment to sharing all the deliciousness of motherhood. OK, no joke, it's hard (or maybe I'm a wus?). But I have not written much in the way of how yummy my Ruby cupcake is. How she's the smushiest, sunshiniest thing ever. How she tucks her head on my shoulder, under my chin and sighs softly when I pick her up. How, when she's on the changing table, we have long, intense conversations about the state of things. How she smiles really big everytime she sneezes. How she tries so very hard to get stronger when she is on her tummy, never putting her head down to rest. How amazingly alert and aware she is of her surroundings. How she has this crazy cowlick on the right side of her head that makes her look inquistive. How we snuggle at night before bed and what a good sleeping partner she is (doesn't hog the sheets at all!). And most of all what a good, good baby she is. She really only cries for two reasons: either she's hungry (easily fixed, especially now that she takes a bottle, if not perfectly, much better than she used to) or tired (OK, yes, we still have issues with this, but we're sorting them out). She fusses a bit if she's bored or uncomfortable, but even this last is much better; she'll ride in her car seat peacefully for short rides and will only start wailing if the trip is too long for her -- and her tolerance is getting longer and longer. And she's not colicky (no matter what the grandparents think).

So for the record, I am totally smitten with my baby. There are a hundred ways that she is amazing, and really, only a handful of frustrations -- and those are constantly diminishing as she hurdles through her "fourth trimester" and W and I become expert parents.

Happy two-month birthday, Ruby-joon. You are my heart.

Ruby goos and poos.

Ruby was making adorable noises the other night, so we took some video of it. And then she made some not-so-adorable noises. If you listen closely, you can even hear Kermit in the background. Enjoy.

My 15 minutes.

At the dog park last week, our local NBC station was filming dogs for a story on canine influenza, and the very nice reporter lady interviewed me. Then a few days later, for some reason this story on a mini-outbreak of dog flu that has only been reported in a tiny area of LA was picked up by NBC affiliates in areas as far and wide as Tuscaloosa, AL (holla to Julie for spotting me on the news!) and Atlanta. Weird.

At least they didn't use the part of the interview where I said that Lulu sneezing would be "cute."

http://www.11alive.com/video/player.aspx?aid=77899&bw=

Tummy time.

Ruby has accidentally almost rolled over three times now. She gets stuck on her arm, and then just lays there, whimpering. I think all of these are total accidents, but still -- progress! We tell her she has the strongest baby neck and back muscles in all the world, and she responds with "Ooh." You can tell she's very proud of herself.

"Ooh."

I use cards from her mobile to keep her interested in looking up and forward.

Can you see those curious paws in the upper left corner of the picture? Kermit tries to participate in tummy time too.

I call this one "Face Plant" or "Mommy Got Excited About the Zoom Feature."

Resting after such hard work.

I was on my way to another pity party, but then...

I was feeling very sorry for myself today.

I took Ruby to my office to introduce her and she was absolutely NOT cute and sweet for them. She was a wailing, tired, cranky terror, who did not show off her cuteness or mine (as her mother, by proxy) at all. And I've been feeling even more fatigued than usual lately but had just chalked it up to, you know, the general exhaustion of new motherhood. Then I noticed a big red splotch on my boob, which (welcome to my world of no boundaries) has been a bit sore lately, and I took my temp to see that I was running a low-grade fever. I put two and two together and got mastitis. Sigh.

Even my sister coming by today didn't get me revved up the way it normally does when I have an afternoon to myself. My favorite way to spend the days she comes over is to stay here in case Ruby needs some boobie but still get to clear off all those nasty little projects (like, I don't know, opening the mail) that accumulate around the house and make you generally miserable when you have to live among them, undone.

I decided to leave the house when Nikki came over just to try and recharge my batteries. First I went to the post office... and then didn't know what to do with myself. I just wanted to sit and zone out somewhere. I ended up at a strip mall near my house, first at Jamba Juice, then sitting at Koo Koo Roo (like Boston Market), eating creamed spinach and mashed squash, drinking my juice, alternately reading my book and staring off into space. For some reason, Koo Koo Roo plays really loud disco music set to a techno beat, and it was incredibly depressing and did nothing to make me feel better (though the creamed spinach helped a little).

But then, THEN, when I got home, I let Lu out in the front and there were, stopped at the light, two fire trucks. The guys on them started waving and one called out something. I figured they were asking about Lulu because manly men are always interested in big dogs, so I answered rotely, "Yeah, she's a mastiff. She weighs 150 pounds." But the guy smiled and yelled back, "No, we're waving at you." And sure enough, there they were -- three or four guys smiling and waving at me. Just some guys waving at a girl. Not a mom. Not a pregnant chick. Just a girl. Just me.

Well.

Well.

To the men of the LAFD, let me just say, I salute you.

I'm one mom and sister from being a homeless person.

Thank god the calvary came on Tuesday. I was beginning to look like a homeless person. I wish that I could take pictures of what I look like before my mom and sister come over and then after. Monday, I had hairy legs and pits and was wearing a baggy gray tank top, green peasant skirt, and black converse. My hair hung in greasy, dead hanks all around my head, my nails were broken, and in the middle of grocery shopping, I started leaking breastmilk all over the place.


And our house? Our house looked like the house-version of me. It looked like were were squatters who'd broken into someone's tidy home and laid a big blanket of squalor over it. (Note to readers: one of my deep, dark fears about motherhood is that I am simply not clean enough to do it properly. A drooly mastiff, a geriatric vomiting cat, and a newborn simply overwhelms any normal cleaning abilities, and I don't have the wherewithal to be a cleaning superhero very often.)


Then mom and Nik came over the next day and brought and made me food, changed the sheets, took care of the baby, and let me take a shower.

God bless 'em.



Growing up in LA and coming back to visit so frequently, I'm very familiar with Angelenos. One idiosyncratic thing about them (us?) is that, they don't give two craps what they look like. Oh, I'm sure they put effort into how they look, but by and large, extremely casual wear is the rule here.



Other places I've lived, this isn't the case. Texans get done up -- women wear make-up and men wear pressed Wranglers even in 95 degree weather. District of Columbians are prepped out and very east coast, Vera Bradley. New Orleanians are usually poor and hot, but they still have that Southern, done-up thing going on too. Maybe Southern Californians are just too busy running around in the sunshine to care? Who knows.



All I know is that I used to be well-dressed for an Angeleno. But not anymore. These days,

Topsy turvy.

Rubes usually is all about eating all day and not sleeping. Today was the reverse. She's only eaten a few times but has (fussed and) slept all day. Who knows, you know? I've given in on trying to figure out how she operates. I am noticing a few tiny, tiny bits and pieces of patterns emerging -- like she's been waking up around 8:30 or 9 and then likes to go back to sleep by 10 -- which gives me hope. It like I can see the other side -- regular and predictable feedings, sleeping on her own in her crib (though not at night, at night, she is a sweet, sweet angel who understands that darkness is for sleeping) -- I just can't figure out how to get there. Ah well, I'm not going to worry about that until at least midway through her third month. (Note to readers: mid-September postings may be absent, rambling, or borderline psychotic. Please forgive in advance.)

And now, the star of our show... (She's getting really cute, I only wish I knew how to record her "ah-goos" and "ah-gahs" to post on here as well.)

"They call me 'Mr. Cheeks.'"

I mean seriously? Seriously? Sometimes my heart just melts and oozes down into my toes.

Mesmerized...

...by the mobile(s). She's much better about hanging out on her back, and I can even leave her in her crib for 10 minutes at a time thanks to all the cool things to look at.

Know what I'm doing right now?

I'm sitting in an internet/waffle cafe, surfin' the interwebs, seeing what's what out there, catching up on news. What I'm not doing is pushing or rocking a stroller or car seat with my foot, praying to all the celestial beings that my daughter stays asleep, checking the time constantly to see how long I might have left before the beast needs feeding again.

People, I am -- for the moment -- free.

My kind, supportive, nurturing sister Nikki has agreed, for the rest of the month, to be our part-time nanny. It's perfect really. She's broke and can't start working til she gets back from her month-long trip to Africa (did I not mention that she got this bug up her but a few months ago that she needed to go volunteer with kids in Africa... and then made it happen? I'm so excited for her); I need a few hours here and there to make a few deposits in the Michelle bank because if you haven't noticed, my Michelle-ness has been running a bit low lately. As we're both dumb, it took us a while to put together that I need extra hands and can pay, and she has extra hands and needs cash. But now... now I can eat waffles in the middle of the day and it. is. bliss.

I'll admit that I feel a little guilty about being so excited to be out of the house, but I also understand that this gives me a chance to miss Ruby and be energized and excited to mommy (yes, I'm using "mommy" as a verb) again when I get home. As soon as she agrees to start sleeping without someone holding her, we can renegotiate the details. (And, if you're curious, yes I'm in favor of just putting her down and letting her cry it out and put herself to sleep -- just not at six weeks. Until at least two and a half months, I feel pretty strongly about not busting out the tough love. And hey! Look at me having a solid, "this is the definitive right way to do this" opinion about mothering! My sister makes fun of me because I'm always asking her what I should do. Frequently this is our exchange. Me: "Ruby's crying again. Should I push her in the stroller/feed her/pick her up?" Nik: "Aren't you the mother?")

Anyhoodle, I think I might be blogging more for the next few weeks. I think I might be doing a lot of things more for the next few weeks actually, but blogging will definitely be up there. And you know what that means? The answer to "Know what I'm doing right now?" will not always be "Figuring out what the hell I'm supposed to be doing." Or, you know, at least as it pertains to mothering.

Fotos del Rubio

For reasons that I'll go into later, I'm about to have a few hours a day freed up, which means I can write to my heart's content very soon. Until then, here are a few pictures of our ever growing (13 pounds as of today! -- based on me weighing myself with her and then without her) bundle of joy, both in her best moments and in moments when she's put her crankypants on. Happy six-week birthday, little one!



Wade just told this great joke about a baby, a nun, and a rabbi. It was hilarious!


Lulu finally gets some attention.


My new favorite toy: the baby pouch. Ru LOVES it.


We are experiencing moderate bottle success.


This picture showcases both a really cute, girlie outfit and what I like to call "sad face."



I'm sorry, I know I'm biased, but doesn't she just look remarkably intelligent? Like youngest-ever-winner-of-the-Nobel-Prize-in-physics intelligent?