Archive for June, 2006

I always check in on Autumn one last time before I go to bed.  I’ll go in and stand over her crib and watch her sleep.  I imagine at some point it will start to freak her out.  I know it would freak me out to have this huge shadow standing over me while I tried to sleep.  If she’s really still, I’ll stroke her cheek or lightly poke her in the belly to get her to move.  I don’t think I’ll ever get past being worried about SIDS, at least not until the girl can sit bolt upright and say, “Stop it Mom, you’re driving me nuts! Go to bed already!”

Last night she was on her back and looked very comfortable.  I thought how nice it must be to be able to sleep so soundly and not have to get up to go to the bathroom.  I looked at where her diaper bulged underneath her pajamas and envisioned the kind of peaceful bliss that must accompany letting it all flow out whenever it needs to.

Last year at this time I was getting up at least once during the night to pee.  Towards the end it was two times or more.  I understand that’s not bad compared to what other women go through (hourly!) but it still sucked.  I inherited my mother’s bladder and pregnant or not, when I need a bathroom I need one stat.  My mother and I know where all the bathrooms are in every store, restaurant or business in town.  Target seems to have the pee pee affect on both of us because every time we go there we have to bolt to the bathroom before getting in line at the checkout.  I wonder if there’s a clinical term for that.  How about Retail Induced Urination?  That sounds about right.

When I was in the hospital about to give birth, the nurses were prepping me for the c-section and told me they were going to insert a catheter.  They said they usually save this procedure until after the patient has been given an epidural or a spinal block but since they were all there anyway…Well that right there should have been a clue that getting a plastic tube shoved up my urethra was not going to be a walk in the park.

Let me tell you though, that catheter was like a gift from God.  After weeks, nay months, of being a slave to my bladder, that little plastic tube was worth every second of excruciating pain I went through to have it inserted.  For nearly thirty-six hours I didn’t have the urge to pee at all.  The nurses would come in and change my bag and I was very happy to let them.  When it was time for me to get up and start moving around I was told the catheter needed to come out.  It was like saying goodbye to a maid or a babysitter or some other laborer who does all the hard work for you while you go out and cavort in the Land of No Bathrooms.

So in my dream world I’d be in front of the TV on a comfortable couch.  “Law and Order” would be on every channel and they’d never show repeats.  I’d have an endless supply of Snackwell’s cookies and Costco cake and a catheter so that I wouldn’t have to miss a second of Jack McCoy’s riveting closing arguments.


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It must be the teething because she spent most of the time at her grandparents’ house doing her best Gene Simmons imitation.


This is my favorite though:

The middle finger

Her first obscene gesture. Mama’s so proud!

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While I was nursing Autumn exclusively, I enjoyed the metabolism of a supermodel.  I could eat all the crap I wanted and pretty much stayed the same weight.  God bless the suckling babe because I could visit the Chinese buffet on a regular basis and not have to worry about the fat content of the divine coconut shrimp.

The girl started eating solids though, and I now only nurse her in the morning when she gets up and in the evening just before we put her to bed.  Since then, my horrible eating habits have maintained but my weight has not.  I can feel myself swelling like a piece of road kill baking in the hot sun on the side of the interstate.  I use this disgusting simile because that is exactly how I feel and I’m pretty sure my weight has topped an all-time high.  Pretty soon I’ll reach Violet Beauregarde proportions and the Oompa Loompas will be rolling me away.

So I’m going back to Weight Watchers…again.  I’ve joined more times than I can count and was actually attending meetings earlier this year but dropped out.  That coconut shrimp is a siren whose call is hard to ignore and I totally succumbed.  I also succumbed to the call of the Chinese buffet near the university, the call of multiple slices of Costco cake and the call of the frozen Javalanche (much like a Starbucks Frappuccino) from the Lobby Shop on campus.

I decided I’m going back this Saturday.  I had decided to go back last Saturday but that would have meant controlling myself at the shower on Sunday and everyone knows there’s cake at a bridal shower.  Nathan’s Aunt Cheryl was the one who introduced me to Costco cake (damn her!) and I thought that since the shower was for her daughter she might have a Costco cake for me to dive into.  She did have a cake, not Costco, but one that was very pretty and quite tasty.  I’ll have to put a picture of it on my Flickr page.  I took three.  Pictures that is, not slices.  Yes, I do love me some cake.

Since my decision to re-join the WW ranks, I’ve kicked my bad eating up a notch.  This is how I know I’m serious about wanting to lose the weight because right before I join I eat as though I know I’ll never have another meal ever again and must eat everything on this planet worth eating because, God no, you can’t have that while you’re trying to lose weight.  Last night was Cold Stone Creamery.  We weren’t even planning on going there.  There’s a nice little mom and pop ice cream shop a half mile from our house that sells fat free frozen yogurt and our plan was to go there after dinner.  Molly needed food, however.  Unlike me, she’s on the healthy weight management plan and we had to trek over to the nearest Petsmart for her kibble, a trip that put us conveniently close to Cold Stone Creamery.

We very rarely go to Cold Stone.  For one, the parking lot is always full because it shares the lot with Carrabba’s which is always insanely busy.  Another reason is that no one should spend that much on ice cream unless they’re getting a good gallon of it they can bring home and eat over the course of a few days.  Every time I’ve gone there I’ve ordered the Sinless Sweet Cream because every time I’ve gone there I’ve been on Weight Watchers.  This time, however, I decided to try something different.

My first sample was of the Cake Batter ice cream.  I was pretty much gone from there and ordered a concoction that consisted of the ice cream, rainbow sprinkles and an entire brownie mixed in.  I think there may have been some fudge sauce in there as well.  I don’t know.  It was all I could do to keep myself from pressing my nose against the sneeze guard while the guy used his supreme mix-in wizardry to prepare my order.

I was asked if I wanted my order in a cup or a waffle bowl.  Shoot, why not put it in a waffle bowl?  Would that be a plain bowl or one dipped in chocolate?  Shoot, give me one with chocolate.  Would you like a chocolate dipped bowl with nuts or sprinkles?  Nah, just a plain chocolate dipped bowl for my ice cream mixed with an entire brownie will be fine, thanks.

Nathan and I took our orders back to our car and ate them while Autumn babbled in the back seat.  I’m glad she was sitting behind me and facing the back of the car because I really didn’t want her to see how big of a pig I’ve become.  At least I refrained from ordering the “Gotta Have It” size and opted for the smaller “Love It.”  One thing did occur to me as we licked melting waffle bowl chocolate from our hands.

“Did you notice that the guy didn’t even ask if we wanted the ‘Like It’ size?” I asked Nathan.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I guess we just don’t look like ‘Like It’ kind of people,” I said.

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Bird brain

Yesterday I took a different route to work. I’ve been staying up way too late and needed multiple doses of caffeine to get me through the day so I stopped at the gas station.  As I was passing the junior high, I saw a guy on the sidewalk with a bird on his shoulder.  It looked like a cockatiel and I had to do a double take just to make sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing.  I kept looking over my shoulder as I headed for the three-way stop and almost drifted into the oncoming lane as I made the turn because you just don’t see many people in my little town taking a stroll with their pet bird. 

Cockatiels are pretty tame birds.  We had a few of them as pets when I was growing up.  We even had a macaw for about 24 hours until its two-pack-a-day squawk became too much for my dad and he told my mom she had to get rid of it.  I wasn’t sorry to see him go, but the cockatiels I liked.  We’d let them fly around the house and even had a little wooden play area for them complete with tiny bells and brightly-colored plastic rings.  When the birds became a little too frisky and hard to catch, we would bring them to Casa la Parrot to have their wings clipped so they would stop roosting on the dish rail and poop on my mom’s plate collection. 

Eventually my parents got a dog and the birds were demoted to second class citizens, but during the few years they were living the good life not once did we take them outside.  My mom worried that one of the birds would come to his senses and try to flee, so she was very careful to keep the doors closed and locked while they were out of their cages.  Plus, we live in Michigan where the climate is not particularly friendly to non-native birds.

So as I passed that guy with the bird yesterday, I couldn’t help but think about what the relationship between the two of them must be like in order for them to take a walk outside together without some kind of flight-related drama ensuing.  The bird is either totally devoted to the guy or has his wings clipped.  Perhaps he has some sort of avian Stokholm syndrome in which he’s become so attached to his captor owner and can go out into the big world and remain content to sit and poop on a shoulder and nibble on an ear.  I imagine for the bird it’s like taking a ride in a big, lumbering taxi cab.  He gets to enjoy the trip but doesn’t have to do any of the work involved in moving. 

On the other hand, how hard is it for the bird to see what the world is like and know he can never be a part of it?  Does that even register?  Does he long to throw caution to the wind and abandon a lifestyle of leisurely walks and an endless supply of seed and millet? 

We may never know…  

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Yesterday was a long day.  I went to a bridal shower for one of Nathan’s cousins.  It was at his aunt and uncle’s house over two hours away, so five of the eight hours I was gone yesterday were spent in my in-laws’ van on I-96.  It was actually a nice trip and they ended up telling me a few stories about my husband I’d never heard before.  That was the first time just the three of us were alone together and it was nice.

I was pretty beat by the time I got home and was happy to see my girl again.  At least I was until she turned into a whiny crank monster.  Nathan said she had been the pefect child for him all day.  They’d spent some time at my parents’ house and had dinner, but she was fine the entire time.  Of course Grandma and Grandpa kept her occupied the whole time so she didn’t get much sleep in the afternoon.  I could tell she was tired so I decided to nurse her early.  I thought that was it and she was down for the count, but she seemed to revive herself and was ready to party, so we all kicked back and started watching Hoodwinked.

About 8:00 our doorbell rang.  Nathan and I looked at each other, both of us wondering who could be ringing our bell on a Sunday evening.  It was Marla, in desperate need of some female bonding time.  She’d had a rough day with Raymond and Conner and was ready to head for the hills and stopped by to see if I’d like to join her.  We ended up spending about an hour at Fazoli’s talking about how our husbands just don’t understand what it is we do as mothers.  We both conceded that we couldn’t do the job without them but agreed that it would be nice for them to learn how to multitask once in awhile.  I told Marla about asking Nathan if he’d put away Autumn’s clean laundry while I was gone.  He said he didn’t becuase he didn’t know how (which, in truth, he really doesn’t-you should see what he does with her two-piece outfits) so I asked him if he’d put away ours to which he replied he didn’t do that either because he was watching Autumn.

Marla shook her head and offered her own stories and the two of us comisserated while the Fazoli’s staff repeatedly tried to send us into a carbohydrate coma with their endless supply of breadsticks.  About 9:00 we decided to head back home.  Marla was feeling much better and I was happy to have been there for her when she really needed me.  When I arrived back home, I found Nathan hanging up our laundry while Autumn slept in her swing.  It was creepy, as though he’d put a bug in my purse and had listened to everything Marla and I had talked about while we were out.

I called my mom shortly after I got home to thank her for the beef stroganoff leftovers she sent home for me to take to work today.  “I’m sorry I forgot to include a pop for you,” she said.

“That’s okay,” I said, “we have pop here.”

“I know, but I wanted to pack the whole lunch for you,” she said.

“Aw, how very Mom of you.”

“Yes, that was very Mom of me.”

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Welcome Wagon

Welcome to my new home, heathernoah.com. If you’ve followed me over here from Blogspot, you’ll be happy to see that all my old posts are here. If you could care less about my old posts and want to see something new, please be patient. I have a little housecleaning to do here with my new set-up. For some reason, none of my videos transferred so I have to include that code again, plus I now have the luxury of categorizing my posts (cool!) Hopefully I’ll have everything up and running the way I want it within the next week, but in the meantime, please enjoy the pretty picture at the top.

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Dirty little secrets

As I plopped Autumn in her swing to watch “The Wiggles” this morning, I was reminded of a question I asked Nathan a few weeks ago while we prepared our lunches for the day and Autumn squealed in response to “The Wiggles” dancing and singing on TV.

“Do you think these guys get sick of their personas and go on weekend benders with booze and women?” I asked.

“Probably,” Nathan said.

Just think about it. These are grown men, all in their mid-to-late thirties, singing and dancing to the most annoying kid songs ever composed. Granted, there is an educational component to these songs some parents might find valuable the first ten times they hear them. After that, however, the charm of these fellows wear off and you groan every time you hear the opening riffs to “Rockabye Bear” or “Rosy Tea.”

The worst part about the Wiggles gig has to be the concert tours. Night after night with Captain Feathersword and Henry the Octopus hogging the spotlight while Greg tries to keep it all together with his guitar and lovely voice, talents obviously meant for bigger and better venues.

How often have these guys longed to shake a hand that’s not sticky and covered with boogers? How often have the moms of these tots looked mighty appealing and wouldn’t the Wiggle guys just love to invite them backstage as long as they could give their kids the boot for awhile?

Oh, I’m sure there are stories to tell.

Just watch the show sometime and tell me Anthony doesn’t look a little saucy with those sideburns of his.

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