The Smell of Failure Can Be Purchased at Bath & Body Works

You know what I've discovered? Mary Poppins doesn't exist. Really. I spent all this time searching for the perfect nanny/sitter for our little wonder girls and she doesn't exist. I'd go ahead and hire Julie Andrews because I think she's practically perfect in every way, but I think she charges a little more than $15 an hour. And she's booked. 'Til, like, 2020.

So we hired a sitter who said she was cool with our weird hours, agreed to no TV or video games, has lots of experience and doesn't smoke. Bug is OK with her and the sitter can tolerate Dos' loudest, most prolonged protestations. So far, so good.

But....

Two minor things:

First, she wears a TON of perfume or something equally stinky. For the record, I HATE scented lotions or perfumed body washes. Plus, heavy scents make me really Sneezy. The first couple of times Sitter came, I opened the windows to air the house out. It's too cold to do that now. Plus, she's holding Dos a lot and I can smell Sitter's perfume on the poor baby hours after she's gone. I have to change Dos' clothes and give her a bath when Sitter leaves. Blech. I can smell it now, just thinking about it.

It's more than just the strong aroma. It's the scent of failure to me. I smell that perfume and it says, "You CAN'T do it after all. Someone else has to take care of your baby. You left your baby with a stranger. A smelly stranger. YOU. FAILED." I know, right? I'm just being honest here.

Next, she's a real sitter. I mean, she just sits there. A lot. Bug needs to move. All kids do. Without some physical activity, they get crabby and whiny and become total pains in the ass. Dos is happy to crawl around a lot. Climbing on a parent, the sofa and pushing chairs around is a lot of physical exercise for her. But Bug needs to run! And JUMP! And RUN some more! She gets that a lot when Grinch and I are watching her, but Sitter just sits.

So.

Do I tell her she smells and sits around too much? I'd find a nicer way to say it of course. Maybe. Or should we just appreciate that she's not soused and locking the baby in the closet?

Have I mentioned that I hate confrontation? Mergh.

What would you do?

Please Welcome to the Cast....

Dos is snuggling happily on my lap right now. Blissed out on warm mama's milk and the comfort of a purloined hospital blanket. She arrived last Tuesday night, apparently in a rush to greet the world.

After I wrote my last post about taking care of the bug, I started having contractions. Nothing big, just some gut pains that I wrote off as gas. 'Cause the pregnant womens, we do have the gas. Oh, yes.

I let the Grinch know, woke up the bug from her nap and went about the afternoon thinking the pains would probably go away. When I squatted to get the Bug's milk out of the fridge, something told me it would probably be best if I didn't get into that position again unless I wanted to actually have a baby. Like, now.

I called work. "Looks like I'm not coming back from vacation! Suckers! Boo-yah!" Or something like that. Actually, it was more like, "I think I'm in labor. And no one's here and...and...(sniffle)....ok, well, bye."

Grinch called to suggest that my sister take me to the hospital while he stayed with the still-recovering-Bug. I resisted the urge to reach through the phone to strangle him. Sis got all excited about that possibility, and suggested I take a shower to slow down the contractions. I took a shower. The contractions got more intense. Definitely NOT gas pains. Cue the moaning and nausea.

Grinch, Sis and Neice-o-rama arrived. Grinch decided to drive me to the hospital after all. We left the house at 8:40. In the car, in between groaning and deep breathing, I was fretting over leaving the Bug, text messaging and telling the Grinch how much I was looking forward to that epidural. Yes, SIR. I was getting an epidural, no matter what. Mmm-hmm. Epidural City, here I come.

9:00pm. At the hospital: There are forms to sign and questions to answer, IVs to start before an epidural can be done. I don't care about forms and IVs. Please, I'd like an epidural now.

9:10 Doc checks me and says she'll be right back. Can I have that epidural, please?

9:15 I WANT an EPIDURAL NOW. Grinch, they're not listening to me. "They'll take care of you. You'll be fine. You'd doing great." I don't feel great. Contractions are kicking my butt big time.

9:17 To every person who walks in the room, I ask, "Are YOU the anesthesiologist?" No one is. I'm begging now. PLEASE. The epidural. I open my eyes to see a nurse with her hands between my legs and looking concerned. "What are you doing?" I ask. "I'm, uh....I'm holding the baby in." WHAT? I look at Grinch. He's nodding, looking surprised, but strong and confident. He's holding my hand, encouraging me, reassuring me. He's saving me from panicking. I'm so glad he's there and not my sister who would have been great, but not like this. I start to tingle all over. That's my body's signal that I'm in overload. I'm going to do this, I tell myself. I'm going to do this with Grinch and these nurses and no epidural and....

9:25 Groooooaaaaaaaannnnnnnn. Contraction from hell. I feel a thump between my legs. "Do you feel like you need to push?"
"I don't knoooooooooowwwwww. That hurt. That really, really hurt." I whine to Grinch.
"I know." He says. "I know. You're doing great."
"I'm gonna die." I say, using the Southern "dah", which means nearly as bad as death, but not actual demise.
"You are not. You ski black runs in Jackson Hole. You run 10Ks. How many have you run?"
"I don't knooooooowwww." "That's right! You've run so many, you lost count!"
He's encouraging more, but his voice fades a little in my ears. I barely hear him. I feel his hand in mine. Another contraction is coming. I don't care what happens, or who's here to catch, I'm going for it.

9:34 Push. Thump, thump. I open my eyes in time to see the doctor juggling a wet, squirmy baby, screaming at the top of her lungs. I hear the cheers, "It's a girl! With reddish, light brown hair! Oh, and she's cute!" Grinch is wide-eyed and smiling, "You did it!" My ears finally pick up the sound of her cry. She's crying. That's good. That's good. Ok. Whew.

There is meconium in the amniotic fluid, so it takes a little while to get her checked out and cleaned up. All the while, I keep asking Grinch, "Is she ok? Is she ok?" "Yes." He assures me, still holding my hand. Still wide-eyed. "You didn't need me!" the doctor says. "Great! Then we won't get a bill from you!" I reply. Always trying to get a bargain. The nurse says, "We can finally get you admitted now! Do you have a birth plan?" Everyone laughs. "Yes. My plan is to have an epidural."

They finally bring her to me and she IS cute. Round head. Big blue eyes. Perfect skin. A sneeze like an animated lady bug. Cute, I'm telling you.

Now we're home and all of that seems like so long ago. I can't wait to tell Dos the story when she's old enough.

Bug loves her little sister. Gives her copious hugs and is fascinated by the belly button situation. Thinks it's hilarious when she toots, which is often so there is a lot of giggling around here.

Now a new adventure begins. We're a family of four. Grinch says, "Now our family feels complete." It does. My heart feels complete, too.

Truth is Not Stranger Than Fiction

The Grinch and I met when I was 16 and he was 18. If I tell you the whole story, it would embarrass the pants off of him, but suffice to say that I saw him and had an immediate crush on him. It was two years before we dated and we've been together more or less ever since.

I used to love to tell the story, but over the summer when someone asked us on our 11th wedding anniversary, "So how'd you meet?" Grinch interrupted me, "NO! It's so boring! Make up something else. ANYTHING." So here are some scenarios that we're going to throw out from now on that are way more interesting than the truth and get way better responses than just, "Awwwww!"

1. He was a bush pilot in Africa and I was working on a wildlife reserve. One day, I stormed into his camp to complain about him flying too low over the giraffe mating grounds and it was love at first sight.

2. I was a flight deck officer on the aircraft carrier U.S.S. WhatevernameIcanthinkof and he was a hotshot pilot. I regularly criticized his landings, even though they were perfect. We argued a lot, but he eventually melted my cold, hard heart and swept me off my feet with a Bach guitar serenade.

3. We met one summer while backpacking through Europe. We first saw each other on the tube in London, then in line at the Louvre, again at the Brandenburg Gate before we finally got up the nerve to introduce ourselves on the Spanish Steps.

4. He was a front-runner for the Nobel Prize for Physics, I was a reporter for the New York Times. I was supposed to do a quick interview with him for a brief profile, but our interview turned into lunch, turned into dinner, turned into a glass of wine.... The profile had to be written by someone else because I ended up compromising my objectivity. Eh-hem.

5. He was my parole officer.

See? All of those are WAY more interesting than, "We worked at the same drugstore in high school."

Friends Indeed

Almost exactly 26 years ago, I met someone who would change my life. She loves to tell people how we met and it goes something like this:

"It was the first day of school. I was the new kid. I sat down in homeroom, scared as hell and the girl sitting in front of me whipped around and said, "HI! Who are you? You're new here aren't you? What's your name? I'm Heather!"...and proceeded to ask her a bunch of questions.

That would be me. The girl I ambushed is Laura, my best friend....whether she likes it or not.

The way I remember it, I was just being friendly. I was a pretty obnoxious kid, though. Loud, in-your-face and .....well, loud. Laura's version of the story is probably pretty accurate. She likes to punctuate it by imitating her reaction to my "greeting". Her eyes grow wide and she tries desperately to push her desk far, far away from mine.

Truth is, we weren't very good friends until we both joined the rifle corps a few years later. Not point-and-shoot rifle corps, but spin, toss and (hopefully) catch rifle corps. We bonded at practices and band camp. We both had foul mouths, short tempers and were attracted to aloof soccer players.

It turned that as many differences as we had (she was very smart and studious, I was a cut up and barely kept a C average), we had as many or more similarities: we were awkward, middle-class Catholic girls in a sea of pretty, wealthy Methodists. We lived on the edge of the school district. While the other kids lived near the rolling green hills of a fine private college, Laura lived across the street from the state mental hospital and I lived across the street from a home for wayward youths. It wasn't uncommon for us to see police helicopters hovering over our backyards looking for escapees from either institution.

We grumbled about school, the popular kids, politics and parents. We worked at the same drug store and had crushes over many of the same boys. We pestered, teased and swooned over a boy older than us, a boy we came to call the Grinch. We drank wine coolers and drove recklessly down winding, dark roads, headlights off, heads out the window, howling at the moon. She tolerated my big mouth and defended me to no end. I'm not sure exactly what I did to reciprocate her friendship, other than get her out of the house and let her howl at the moon.

Like a lot of high school "best friends forever" we lost touch for a while once our college lives kicked into high gear. But there was always a letter, always an effort to keep in touch. Because that's what real friends do.

Now we grumble over our children's schools, supervisors at work and husbands. We work similar crazy schedules. We celebrate each other's triumphs and mourn each others losses with tears, laughter and long hugs. And she still defends me, though she's more likely now to tell me I'm being an idiot, too. I'm learning (I hope) to be a better friend to her so she'll stick around for another 26 years.

This post has already gotten too long and it doesn't really have a point, except to say: Thanks, Laura, for being my friend....whether you like it or not.

The Cast

Perhaps I should give you a better idea of the cast of characters you'll be encountering if you continue reading this blog (and I hope you do. You will won't you? Good.).

First, there's me. I have yet to come up with an appropriate pseudonym. Yes, I need a pseudonym because if my family knew I was blogging (and likely blogging about them and how much they drive me crazy), I'd never hear the end of it ... and very likely would end up stricken from the will.

I'm 38-years-old. I still live in the town in which I was born and raised. That sounds quaint to some people and dreadfully dull to others. I'm somewhere in between on the matter. Right now, I'm 26.5 weeks pregnant with my second child. No, I don't know if it's a boy or a girl. I like the surprise. I work the overnight shift (I'll explain that later) in the media (which will likely be the last mention of work. I do not want to get Dooced.).

Then, there's my husband, The Grinch. He got that nickname many, many years ago when we worked retail together and he used to rattle on about how much he hated Christmas. Working retail will make anyone hate Christmas. The only time we saw him smile in December was when "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" came on tv. The name stuck. There are people who would be hard pressed to remember his real name, but are quick to ask me, "How's the Grinch?" He's fine, thank you very much.

The Bug joined our lives two years ago. When she first came along, we wondered what the hell we were thinking, bringing this screaming little creature into our lives. Now, we wonder how we lived without her for so long. She's the sweetest little kid I know, but she's no different from any other tempermental two-year-old. Some days, I can't wait to wake up and be with her. Other days, I wouldn't mind leaving her in suspended animation while I have a nice nap, a strong drink and a manicure. We make it through somehow. She forgives a lot of me: my distractablity, my exhaustion, my short temper, my bad singing and corny puns. I think she's ok with old Mom, though. At least, I hope she is because I plan to be around for a while.

Finally, there's Charlie the cat. He was a stray, picked up in the middle of an ice storm. You know, "Oh, we'll just take him in until the weather clears....until we find a good home for him...." That was five years ago. He used to be a real asshole of a cat, but he's mellowed out over time. He's very patient with the kid and spoons me while we nap. I guess he can stick around for a while longer.

There are supporting characters in this cast: my family, the in-laws, friends, neighbors and strangers...and you. Welcome to my world.