Long time no…

I’m going to to try to get this thing back up to date and post at least one photo from each week in the past – even if it’s just for me and for Suzie to see when she’s old enough, which will be before I know it.

It’s a human after all.

About a six weeks ago, Suzianne and I were leaving for daycare and I said, “Now, let’s have a seat and we’ll put your shoes on.”

And then, she sat down, ya’ll.

On her own. Like a real person. 

I stood there wide-eyed and motionless, so she grabbed her feet and looked at me like, “why’d you ask me to sit down if you’re just going to stand there?”

It was one of the most rewarding moments of my life. For more than a year you say things over and over and over, but your child doesn’t respond. It’s not like you even expect them to; you’re just narrating like a good parent.

In fact, you’ll do it so often you will find yourself narrating stuff when no baby is there.

You: Okay! Momma’s gonna take off her make up, pour herself a glass of pinot grigio, and watch Season Two of Mad Men!

Your spouse: Who are you talking to?

You: I have no idea.

Then, one day, you’re “talking to your baby” about something “we are going to do” and before you can pick her up to make her do that thing, she’s already doing it.

It is going to blow your mind. 

Like a few weeks back, Dave and Suzianne were outside swinging. I was in the kitchen and Suzianne comes toddler stomping in. I turn around, she walks up to me with brows furrowed, looking like a tiny woman on mission who also has eaten a lemon:

Me: what’s wrong, baby?

Dave: did she do it?!

Me: do what? what’s wrong with her face?

Dave: I was trying to get to come inside, so I told her it was time to go inside and give her momma a kiss. I think she’s doing it!

Us: {hearts exploding; high fives; shoulder dusting} oh, yeah. We made that!

SO! When the day comes and you say, “Alright! Let’s go back to your room and change that diaper” for the 897th time, only to find your child IS WALKING BACK TO HER ROOM, your mouth will drop and your heart will burst and then it will hit you:

If she knows what you just said, then…SHE KNOWS WHAT YOU ARE SAYING.

This “I understand your words, I just can’t repeat them yet” is God’s way of easing us into the reality that our every word and action is about to be mimicked ad nauseum. Usually at inopportune moments in front of judgmental people.

As Dave says, we’re going to have to tone the sarcasm down a bit now that she is hyper-tuned into our words AND their meaning.

Easier said than done, my friends.

So, yeah. Stuff’s about to get real. And we can’t hardly wait.


Loathe of the Ring

I went in for my annual exam yesterday. (Let that sentence be a warning unto you, fellas.) An unexpected benefit to delivering a baby is that these annual visits are much less dreadful.

First of all, there’s only one person in the room who is expecting to look at your vagina. Though, I will tell you, a pelvic exam is much less festive without bright lights, beeping machines, a mirror, 15 nurses and your spouse in tow.

Also, the infamous “you may feel a little pressure” is a laughable warning to give a woman who, the last time she heard that, proceeded to push a nine-pound replica of her husband out of her lady parts. I’ve got your pressure right here.

Anywho, I love going to doctors offices because of how they decorate their exam rooms with 1984-looking, plastic replicas of human organs. For example:


The NuvaRing on display in the middle there gave me pause. For those of you not familiar with it, The Ring is a form of birth control that resembles and feels like those glitter/water bracelets you wore 20 at-a-time in the 80’s.


Except, you don’t put this bracelet on your arm. The Ring accessorizes you from the inside.


I gave it a go once. For about two hours in the summer of 2007.

I was little confused at how it should work, so I read the manual. Those are always so helpful. I did as instructed, but something didn’t feel right. I took it out and called my doctor’s after hours line.

Me: Hey, I don’t think I did this right.

Doc: I don’t make house calls for vaginal birth control. If you like, you can come back to the office tomorrow and I can put it in for you.

Me: Would you make fun of me if I did that?

Doc: Yes.

Me: (sigh) Nevermind.

Doc: Why don’t you get your partner to help you?

Me: {crickets}

For the next hour, I tried to make it work sitting, standing, crouching. I considered taking a running jump and landing on it. I even Googled potential solutions. Don’t do that, by the way.

Then, out of desperation I called out to Dave:

Me: Baby! I need your help!

Dave: No.

Me: Yes! The doctor said so.

Dave: There’s no way I’m doing that.

Maybe it was frustration, or how hard I was laughing by this point, but suddenly, it worked!

Continue reading

She’s mobile!

Ya’ll. The tiny human I made now is mobile! As of December 27, 2012, she can look at something, decide she wants it, then, go get it! I’m thrilled/terrified.

It went like this:

Dave: “I bet she’ll crawl if I put the book down over here.”

Me: {eye roll}.

Suzianne: {Laser-focused six foot crawl like she’s been crawling her whole life.}

Georgia: “Things just got real.”

Check it:

This moment was shocking for two reasons: 1) she’s never crawled more than six inches before (on Dec 23), and 2) she was crawling in order to get to the The World’s Most Annoying Toy that you all must go buy right now, because it makes your child–and your skin–crawl, obviously.

Here’s a close up of your soon to be most-loathed possession:



I know I’m prone to exaggeration, but you just wait until you’ve heard “Listen to the sheep sing! Beh, Beh, Beh, Beh, Behhhhh, Behhhhhhhhhh” 28,000 times. It’s awful. Clearly, Mary had a little genetically modified lamb. Suzianne can’t get enough.

For those of you playing developmental bingo, this means Suzianne crawled for the first time at 9.5 months. That’s a good month or so after “most” babies crawl. So, sister, don’t get all freaked out if your baby is a little behind; they all learn to get around eventually!

Guilt-free assessment: months 0 to 7

My momma’s hormones were whack, ya’ll.

I don’t feel guilty when I think about the first seven months of Suzianne’s life, just sad.

Seven whole months with her were wasted on my postpartum depression. It’s not my fault and there is nothing I did wrong, but it still breaks my heart.

It started March 6, the day after Suzianne was born. Before they send you home with the tiny version of your spouse you just made, they make you sit through this class about how to diaper, bathe and generally keep your baby alive. All the other new moms were sitting on pillows, looking attentive. I sat on my pillow and cried. Hard.

I remember the pit in my stomach each evening as “the night shift” approached. Many new moms refer to night feeding as “snuggle time” on their Facebook pages; it was not snuggly for me. It was simply sleep deprivation. Around 7 p.m., my mind would begin to process the “night dread” — I knew what time it was without even looking at the clock.

March 6, 2012

For three months worth of night feedings, I ate grapes, counted the windows in the office building next door (43) and wondered if I would ever sleep again. I did not enjoy this “special time together” as so many other moms seem to. I didn’t even enjoy weekends.

In those first few weeks, when it came to breastfeeding, I experienced overwhelming anxiety and anguish. Knowing that I was only able to produce enough milk for the moment, and not enough to store away for later, like so many of my friends could. Even when I was pumping 15 ounces a day, she needed more, and I had to supplement 10 ounces of her milk with formula. That felt like a failure to me. My friend Olivia (who breastfed her baby for 12 whole months) reassured me that I was awesome, then sighed, and said, “There’s nothing like pumping breastmilk to put a specific measurement of ounces on a woman’s worth.”


In April, from my perch on a sitz bath, I called my best friend and bawled as I told her I was a horrible mother. That I didn’t know what I was doing and felt like it was not fair to Suzianne. “I’m not good at this,” I kept repeating. She listened and told me I was a wonderful mother, that Suzianne loved me and all would be okay. Four more months would pass before I believed her.

In May, my back went out. I remember laying in the bed, not being able to lift Suzianne or play on the floor with her. For some reason, I was convinced that those few days of little interaction with me were scarring her for life. I laid on my pillow and cried.

In July, I went back to work; the hormones started to level out and I began to feel like myself again. Until I stopped breastfeeding. Just like my friend Beth warned me about, my hormones went through another insane shift ALL OVER AGAIN. It was like when you are trying to rewind “Smash” on your DVR, and you push the button a little too hard and you have to watch a scene with “Ellis” again… again. Just awful.

In September, when we were in Hawaii (hard life, yeah?), I finally figured out my hormones were still whack. Here I was, five months after Suzianne was born, and still getting emotional and exhausted by trivial things, like not having a white onesie and corresponding bunny for the six month photo. But it was being away from her for a week–and being really, really relieved about the break–that led me to the conclusion that I remained a little off. I felt a little better once I acknowledged it, but I couldn’t shake the fog. So, I sat at the pool overlooking the Pacific and cried.


In October, I went with mom to a GNC store and asked the guy, “Do you have anything for postpartum issues? He said, “Sure!” and escorted me to the menopause supplement section.

I said, “No, no. Not menopause hormones, ‘just had a baby hormones.'”

He said, “Your problem is that you stopped taking your prenatal vitamin after you had the baby, amiright?”

Me, “Yes, but this is hormonal, not vitamin related.”

Him, “It’s the vitamins. Take these for two weeks and bring them back if you don’t feel better. I swear.”

I do feel better. Thank you, GNC guy. 


From March 6 to mid-October, my head was cloudy and my heart was heavy nearly every day.

I don’t know if it is the vitamins, the perfect San Diego weather, or my hormones finally leveling out, but I’m feeling normal now.

Proof: Thanksgiving week we spent seven straight days with Suzianne in Nashville and I never lost my mind. I never one got flustered or upset about anything baby-related (I did get emotional the last night there, but that is only because I really miss my Nashville friends).

Holiday travel with an infant and no baby-sitter was just the test I needed and I passed like a boss.

I’m me again. I have always liked me, so I’m really excited about that.


Dave and I spend more time with our baby than most families are able to. It’s a luxury I do not take for granted (this time). It’s fun to finally feel and experience those new mom warm fuzzies that I’m always reading about on Facebook. I, too, could spend a full hour just starring at Suzianne! She’s remarkable! I didn’t feel this way until recently–there was too much hormonal clutter in the way.

Moving to California has brought with it a most awesome gift: a second chance at spending quality time with my infant. I don’t deserve this do-over, but I’m grateful and am soaking in every moment.

Me and my baby — November 23, 2012


There’s all sorts of things no one tells you about pregnancy. Same goes for life after a baby. But the one thing I SWEAR NO ONE TOLD ME was that a woman’s breasts may actually be SMALLER after breastfeeding than they were prior to breastfeeding.

I want those of you who know me to think about that.

… … …


Let’s reflect a bit: I have never been a curvy gal, but I had grown accustom to the little bit of curve The Good Lord gave me. Then, I got preggers! AND OMG, THE CURVES! I felt sexy, even while carrying what turned out to be an 8.5 pound replica of my spouse.

After Suzianne was born, I got curvier! The girls went up a full cup size! Um, that would be a B, but still. I got used to having my B’s and sported them proudly. When I stopped breastfeeding, the gals were sore for about two weeks…

Then, one morning, THEY WERE GONE.


Poof, ya’ll.

How can this happen when I had so little to begin with? I’m really struggling with this, as vein and trivial as it is. I can’t help it.

So, today I marched my tiny chest right over to Victoria’s Secret, where a delightful gal named Josie fitted me for bras.

Josie: “Well, it looks like you’re really a 30A. We don’t actually carry bras that small in the store. You have to special order them.”

Me: “Yeah, well, let’s find me a 32A that mostly fits. I cannot make myself purchase a bra so small that someone with tiny hands in a sweat shop somewhere had to custom sew to fit my freakish frame.”

Josie: “Okay, then!”

I ended up buying three of these. Great fit; fun colors. I feel a little more confident about the way I look now that I’m not wearing a bra that is 75 sizes too big. But I’m still sad that my beloved B’s are gone. {sniff, sniff.}

Anyway, when this happens to you, ladies, don’t mope about for two months like I did. Seek professional help; find your Josie. Retail therapy is the only way to rise above the body image issues that accompany overnight deflation.

Holy insane infant public breakdown, Batman.

Oh, Suzianne.

You were not feeling today’s “let’s meet daddy for lunch” adventure at Ted’s Montana Grille. This was not a fun Team Newman moment:

Only after 10 minutes of public wailing and daddy rocking, did you calm down enough for me to get you to the train, where you promptly passed out:

And you’re still asleep in that stroller, here in the living room, where I’m scarfing down my Ted’s burger and cold fries in front of a famished tea cup poodle:

But! Thanks to you, we’ve discovered a very effective way to make our server promptly deliver our check and to-go boxes: just make your baby scream bloody murder while business folks are trying to eat! Yay! …so we’ve got that going for us, which is nice.


Oh, well. We tried.

Suzianne to San Diego, Day 4: move along, nothing to see here

Oh, Day Four. You are but a fog. I laid in bed all day while Suzianne played with mom and her friend, Genetta.

And since I took a muscle relaxer (that made me quite sick, but did help my back), I had to pump and dump my liquid gold. It was so, so very sad:

I do remember the massage I got though. It was heavenly and helped quite a bit. Will be repeating that today…

Oh, BUT, BUT! There was a shining moment I shall not type here–because Suzianne reads my blog–but will show you:

{squeal, squeal!}

{virtual high five}


Oh, yes she did.

Thank you, Suzianne. Momma needed her beauty rest.

And thank you, friends for the back pain tips, stretching suggestions (those are awesome, Michelle) and words of encouragement! You’ll never know how much your support means!