Berlyn met some very nice horses the other day.

They all came over to greet her, and look at her with their giagantic eyeballs.


Berlyn was a bit unsure. She kept shaking her head “no” and clinging on to me.



But then she made a friend with this nice fellow, and pet him on his sweet little horsie cheek.


And mom realized that her sweat pants are very unflattering, and she will try to not leave the house when she wears them.

I’m a Total Nut-Job

Right after Berlyn was born I would wake up in the middle of the night (this was in addition to waking up 2-3 times to feed her), sit up in the bed, and wrestle in the covers, lifting them and shrieking that my baby is in the bed, and she’s suffocating! Pat would wake up, try to calm me down, and assure me that she was sleeping soundly in her crib, not in our bed. After a Xanex and a tall glass of red wine, I’d fall back asleep for about 48 minutes and wake up to feed Berlyn.

This is what Hell feels like. No one can prepare you for the rhythmic-head-pounding-into-the-wall that is parenting a newborn. But after a few months Berlyn was successfully sleeping through the night, unfortunately I was still waking up, smearing the covers around, trying to find my suffocating baby in the sheets. Once a week I had this nightmare, and every time it was the same: I would sit straight up, open my eyes, and panic while searching in the covers for my baby. Pat would have to calm me down each time, but each time it was harder for me to calm down, because I would convince myself that it was real, and when I found out it wasn’t, I would get mad at myself for letting my subconscious so violently take over. I kept this up weekly for about 6 months, then after that it was only happening about every month or so. It was so awful when I would wake up and thrash around looking for Berlyn in the bed, because my adrenaline would be running and my heart would pound, and falling back asleep would be nearly impossible.

But thankfully it’s been about 4 months since I’ve had that horrid nightmare. UNTIL–last night! Last night Zoey slept with us, which is something we let her do on special occasions, like after she gets a bath, or if we’ve been out of town and neglected her, or if she does a good potty outside, or if she goes longer than 30 minutes without barking, or if she looks extra cute and snugly–you know, special occasions. So it was a special occasion and she cuddled right in between myself and my husband and all was wonderful until 2:37 in the morning, when I woke up and thrashed around thinking she was suffocating in the covers, and called out “ZOEY! Zoey is in the bed!” I grabbed her expecting to find a limp and lifeless dog, and instead found a snoring and happily sleeping dog.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t understand why I think my dog and baby are going to die in my bed. I seem to be okay, and I sleep there every night. Maybe I ate some bad shell fish, or maybe I need a therapist to tell me that I’m a total nut-job.

Still Not Sleeping Through the Night


It pretty much goes like this, EVERY NIGHT:

I stop drinking all liquids at 9:00.
I get home from school at around 10:30
I visit the toilet one last time
and then I go to bed anywhere from 11:30 to 12

…then I wake up at 3:00 to pee. EVERY NIGHT.
It started when I was pregnant. and I had Berlyn, in tiny fetus form, pressing on my inside parts, forcing me to use the bathroom all the time! This was not fun, but I understood it. I expected it. 3 to 4 times a night in my last trimester, I was waking up to pee, and sometimes to fart.

Then she was born and the waking me up continued, but this time it was to scream as loud as she could until mommy’s ears bled.

But then Berlyn slept through the night at an impressive age, yet I still woke up to pump my breast milk at 4 in the morning, because if I didn’t I drastically lost my supply.

Now I don’t have anymore milk to pump, I don’t have a infant demanding to be fed, and I sure as hell don’t have a fetus pushing on my inside parts. So what gives?? When is it my turn to sleep through the night?

First Steps

It’s funny, I actually got used to the fact that Berlyn isn’t walking. Oddly enough, it’s weird for me to envision her walking. Like when I think her going off to her first day of pre-school, I consider making sparkly, bedazzled knee pads so she has something soft to crawl on. And for her wedding day, maybe some lacy gloves, so her hands don’t get dirty as she crawls down the isle.

But seriously people, it is bound to happen. Her first steps are imminent. And they just so happened LAST NIGHT!! Oh, and I wasn’t there. Yeah, I missed my FIRST child take her FIRST steps. This is why I don’t work, so I don’t miss things like this, and so I can slather myself with tanner any time of the day, while eating hummus straight out of the container.
My husband and my mom were watching her last night while I was at school, cutting lame peoples’ hair, and they decided that they were going to get Berlyn to practice her walking skills. Well, apparently she took three or four steps, and walked straight into dada’s arms! When I got home I had Pat recreate the whole thing, complete with Berlyn’s coos of delight and drool, he was good, but it wasn’t the same. I contemplated waking Berlyn out of a deep sleep just so I can see her walk. But instead I waited for morning. When she woke up, I peeled back the covers with a jolt and headed straight into her room. I plopped her down on the ground and tried to get her to walk to me, but she was more interested in her box of books next to her crib. I waited 15 minutes and tried again, but this time she was hungry. Then I tried again, but instead she wanted to play with her train. CRAP. Thus far I think my mom and husband are liars.
But mark my words: Today Berlyn will walk for me, and bonus points if I have the video camera and still camera set up on tripods to record this moment, even though it isn’t her first attempt…

Walking is soo Over Rated

How do you not compare? How do you look at other babies and not compare and judge? I could give my left dimpled butt-cheek that your baby sticks his pointer finger high in the air when asked how old he is. Or that your daughter can say 18 words (most of which aren’t words at all, but mere sounds like, Ah, daa, goo. And no, nothing about those words remotely resembled ball, dad, or Guggenheim). But yet, in the back of my mind, while I’m nodding politely at your baby who is using sign language to tell you that he wants his bottle (he’s still using a bottle??), I am judging you. It’s a peaceful and unmotivated judgment, but I am judging you none the less.

But in all fairness and honesty, I think you’re judging me too. You see, I read a statistic in What to Expect, the Toddler Years, that said 90% of all 15 month olds are walking. Which means that my baby is in the 10% group of babies that is not. I don’t know why she isn’t walking yet, and I’ve given her plenty of opportunities. But for some reason her inability to walk is giving me a complex. I feel like I have failed her as a mother, and that she’s missing out on fun activities. I am insecure when we go to play groups and people ask me how old my daughter is, and when I answer, I feel their eyes smugly judging as they watch her crawl around. I know I am crazy for worrying about this, and I’ve been told a handful of times that it’s a blessing by exasperated mothers that are chasing their overactive walkers, but they’re just being nice albeit, a little condescending.

I can’t force her to walk, and from the looks of it, she’s really not all that into it. She pushes things around, and holds my hand, but as soon as I let go she collapses to the floor, and it takes everything in me not to get frustrated. My mom tells me that I didn’t walk until 15 months, and now I’m a fabulous walker. I know nothing is ‘wrong’ with her, but in our twisted society, babies that pick up new things quickly are praised as geniuses and child prodigies, and is it so much to ask that my baby be the best baby in the whole wide world?

15 Months


Berlyn today you are 15 months old. You’re pretty awesome and every time you smile at me, my heart sings a little song. Kinda sounds like a violin, accordion, djembe, acoustic guitar, and a harmonica, and some birds chirping in the background.

You have been doing some funny things lately, like brushing your hair and stroking your face when you watch me get ready. You point emphatically at my eyeball, nose, mouth, and ear because you just learned what those are. And no matter what you’re doing, all I have to say is, “where’s your belly” and you’ll proudly pull your shirt up and show off your perfectly round belly. You’re a gentle and quiet explorer, and you always show me your newest find by sticking it in my face and saying, HERE, although it sounds more like hareer, or awweh, or bfrreo.



You know all kinds of words, some of your favorites are dog, woof, woof, up, zo-zo, daDA, maMA, hey, and hi. You have a great sense of humor and even though you don’t get the joke, you still laugh with zeal.

You love peas, going for walks, dancing to music, helping mama dress you, and pointing at everything until I tell you what it is.


I delight in getting to know you and shaping who you will become. You bring me infinite joy, and I love you so much that I might squeeze you too long, take too many pictures of you, and never want to say goodnight–you’re just going to have to deal with that, FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, sorry.


There’s this website that takes the photos of the mother, father, and baby, and then tells you who your baby more closely resembles.

Before I reveal the outcome of the results, I must tell you that I am naturally a very competitive person. I enjoy feeling triumphant and victorious, and the thought that I am more superior in all ways occasionally finds its way into my mind. Needless to say, there was a lot riding on the results.

So, I submitted this picture of Pat and me:


and this picture of Berlyn:


The website did this neat-o scanning thing, and I felt like I was uploading Top Secret documents for the FBI.

The results were: (Drum roll please.) Berlyn looks 13% more like HER FATHER!!

So, if you want to make my day, casually let me know that Berlyn has my tenacity, passion, or amazing fashion sense.

Beach Day

We went to the beach this weekend, for two reasons: 1, it was bloody-hot, and 2, I got a new bathing suit. But really, if we’re being honest…the main reason we went to the beach was because I got a new bathing suit.