Observations from an Eliptical

Since I’m a stay-at-home mom, my schedule is pretty flexible. This means I can go the gym during the slow time- after the morning rush but before the lunch-time business crowd. I never understood how people could go to the gym during their lunch breaks- how do you get there in time to change, do any real workout and then shower and get back to work? I speculate that some don’t even take a shower- they just peel off their sweaty clothes and change back into their office attire, maybe pausing only to reapply deodorant and body spray. I could never do this- I sweat easily and that--- would be disgusting.

But I digress- my story today is about going to the gym and forgetting that it is a national holiday, therefore everyone and their mother is working out. I waltz in at the ripe hour of 10am and find myself facing a packed house. Ugh. Most of the machines are taken, so I have to take one smack dab in the middle of everything. I usually like something on the end of a row…. and near an oscillating fan if possible. But that’s what I get for not checking my calendar. Although I’m ticked off that I have to work out in a herd, I quickly realize that today is a great day for people watching- one of my favorite pastimes.

Lucky for me, subjects are all over the place! On the eliptical machine directly to my right is a jerk trying to pick up a girl on his other side. Here’s a sampling of their conversation:

Guy: “I usually do 30 minutes of cardio, then I lift for about another hour. Yea, I’m here at least 6 times a week.”

Girl: (Obviously not interested) “Wow, that’s a lot of working out.”

Guy: “Yea, well, gotta maintain, know what I mean? But what about you? You’re in great shape! You must come here all the time!”

Girl: “Not really.”

Guy: “Are you from around here?”

Girl: “Well, duh, this is my gym… so…. yea.”

Guy: “That’s cool. I live around here, too. Do you party anywhere around here?”

Girl: (now visibly annoyed) “Do I party around here? Yea. I guess.”

Guy: “Like, where? Cause me and my boys are always at Kenny’s. Are you ever at Kenny’s? That place is awesome.” (He says “awesome” with the kind of irritating emphasis on “AWWW” that all guys like this do)

Girl: “No. Not really.”

Guy: “Yea, that place has been going downhill for a while anyway. How about Calloways? I’m always there on Thursdays nights.”

Girl: “Not really.”

Guy: “Big Heads then? I usually hit that up on Saturdays.”

Girl: “No.” (she ups the level on her machine and keeps her gaze straight forward as she focuses on her workout. Any idiot can see that she’s not interested. Well….. I guess not just ANY idiot…)

Guy: (upping the level on his machine to keep the pace) “You’ve been on your machine for a long time. How much longer are you gonna be on it?”

Girl: “23 more minutes.”

Guy: “Really?” (visibly out of breath) “Well, yea, me too actually.”

I’m already bored of eavesdropping on their conversation, and besides, it’s clear it’s going nowhere. I’m thankful for the girl on my left. She’s quietly working out and reading a magazine. That’s another thing I will never be good at--- unless I’m sitting on a stationary bike, I cannot read while working out. Trust me, I’ve attempted, but with disastrous results. At any rate, since I’m nosey, I peek in her direction at the magazine in front of her. The left side page is an article about something I can’t make out, and the right side page is an advertisement for Hanes women’s underwear in which a beautiful model is sporting a pink lace bra and matching panties. I casually glance at the girl on the machine, and notice that she doesn’t appear to be reading the article- rather, she’s staring at the advertisement. Hmm…. Maybe she’s in the market for new underwear…. nothing wrong with that…. She’s really focused on that picture though…. That’s a little--- odd…..

Suddenly, I hear the refrain of Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” blasting through the gym. I look down the line of machines in time to see a very perky-looking girl answer the cell phone that is blaring the tune. Ahhh….. Hot Cell Phone Girl---- I should have known you’d be here. There’s always one at every gym- you know the type. She has a loud, full blown conversation on her phone while pounding away on a machine, which, by the way, is at maximum incline. Her gorgeous, silky hair is pulled back in a perfect ponytail. She wears a clean, white t-shirt that possibly may have been purchased from the children’s section. Her pink cell phone matches her pink ipod which matches the pink accenting on her clean white sneakers. Also, she looks like she may have applied make-up to come to the gym, and there isn’t a single bead of sweat on her pretty face. But what, you might ask, irritates me the most about Hot Cell Phone Girl?

She is never out of breath during her conversation. Ever.

Sigh…

I try to shift my focus back to my own work-out. However, Magazine Girl next to me has caught my attention once more because she is still staring at the same Hanes underwear ad. I try not to meet her eye as I turn my gaze to her face, but I now see that there is no way she would notice that I’m looking at her because she is intensely fixated at this model. That’s when I realize that, yes, she is totally siking herself up! Wow, how weird! Hmmm….. I can’t help but understand her logic, though…

Uh oh…. Here comes Mister Stand-Around-and-Stare-at-the-Times-on-Everyone’s-Machines- he’ll wait impatiently until someone gives up their spot out of guilt for being on past the allowed 20 minutes during the busy time. Whatever- it took me an hour to get out of the house today and my daughter is quietly enjoying her time in the gym daycare- I’m not getting off this machine until my workout is done. He begins to sigh loudly. There’s a general discomfort among the masses- we all know he’s there---- now, who among us will give in to his silent demands? Luckily, Dude-Picking-Up-Disinterested-Chick has just finished up, mainly because Disinterested-Chick has just finished up. I am happy when Mister Stares hops on the machine furthest from me (before the girl even has a chance to wipe it down, I might add). I can’t wait to see who will fill the empty spot directly to my right!

Ah…. could this be our candidate? Here comes a tall, white-haired older gentleman who looks tough enough to have survived combat in a war or two. Hmmm…. I wonder what branch he served in--- oh, now I see- his shirt reads “NAVY” in large yellow letters. I always admire these tough old guys at the gym- they look like they drink a raw egg every morning for breakfast. And I admire their gusto, still working out so hardcore. I can barely get my ass here 3 times a week, and I don’t have arthritis. At any rate, Navy Man struts right past the eliptical machines and walks onto a treadmill instead. I’m momentarily distracted by the ringing of Hot Cell Phone Girl’s phone yet again, and when I look back, Navy Man has begun his workout--- He is gripping the side handbars of the treadmill and Facing BACKWARDS! Yikes! He looks like he could trip over himself at any moment! Is this even allowed? And why is this workout even necessary?? Is walking forward not tough enough for you, old man? What exactly are you trying to prove? Ugh, I have to look away- he is making me nervous!

To my right, someone has vacated the empty machine. This guy can best be described as someone who looks like he fell directly from the cast of the Jersey Shore. He may or may not have come directly from the tanning booth. His hair is gelled, and he is resplendent in his white hoodie with a dragon motif scrawled across the chest. Before he begins his workout, he turns on his ipod full blast, and lucky for any of us within a 10-foot radius, he’s a fan of hardcore death metal. Awesome.

I begin my cool-down and reflect on the collection of people I have seen today. Although this hodge-podge of hilarious characters is an entertaining sight, they all have their own motivation and I have to respect that. Whether they’re striving for that model body, or they are catching up on their correspondence or they’re just here to pick up chicks, they still made it here, right?

So I think it’s only fair that I now give an honest description of what you might see if you chose a machine next to mine. I look like I’ve just rolled out of bed, although that couldn’t be further from the truth. I have actually been awake for quite some time, but in my rush to feed, change and pack up the baby I never bothered to look in the mirror. I may or may not have spit-up on my ratty tank top- which, by the way, could be an old maternity tank top, depending on whether I finished the laundry. I spill water on myself almost every time I clumsily take a sip from my bottle while working out. I also leave my towel draped over the data panel of my machine- this is so that I don’t have to watch how slowly time is passing. In short, I am a hot mess. But, like all these other people, I got my butt here today, and that’s all that matters. In fact, there was a time just last week when I was so proud to have made it to the gym at all that day that I didn’t realize until about 10 minutes into my workout that I completely forgot to brush my teeth.

Shameful.

And now for something completely different...

December 23 marked the 5 year anniversary of my father’s death. He battled alcoholism for years before his heart, weakened from almost 2 decades of binge drinking, finally quit early one morning right before Christmas. He was always very honest about his struggle with the disease and his inability to work within the limits of a 12 step program. To mark this anniversary, I’ve decided to recount the details of a dream I had about one year ago. As soon as I woke up from this dream, I wrote it down:


Last night I dreamt I was visiting my dad in his new apartment, a 2 level condo. I had several of my nieces and nephews with me- Joey, Baby Gregory, Christian and Isabella- all of them except for Andrew and Gabriella. These two happen to be the oldest of the bunch, and they are the only ones who were born before my dad died- he never even knew the others.

Dad was showing me around his apartment- it was very modern with hardwood floors and large floor-to-ceiling windows and he had this great view of a city and a mountain with buildings plugged into the side of it. He said he wanted to show me the second floor, but when we tried to go upstairs, I found that he didn’t have a regular staircase. Instead, he had this crazy ramp-like slide that we had to walk up to reach the second floor. Even weirder, when we climbed up the ramp it started to bend and twist and stretch all over the place. It was very difficult to climb. Dad went first and I followed. He was struggling, and I was just barely managing. We finally reached the top and he was showing me around, but I had to watch the kids- they were all downstairs hanging out and playing by the window. There was this ledge right before the window where the floor dropped and it created something like an empty moat. Gregory and Christian were both dangerously close, so I had to run back downstairs to prevent them from getting hurt. I would scoop up Gregory and corral the other kids to a safer spot. Once they were safe, I would climb up that crazy bending and twisting ramp thing. Dad continued to show me around some more, but I had to keep running downstairs to keep the kids safe. They were just being kids, playing around, and I would keep moving them away from the ledge and once they were safe again, I would climb back up the crazy ramp to my dad. Dad didn’t even seem to notice the kids were there- as though he never even saw them come in with me. I was becoming increasingly frustrated because that ramp was nuts! It was so difficult to climb! Finally, after several times climbing, descending and climbing again, I was so annoyed, and I said to my father “this is ridiculous! I don’t know how you do this all the time! Why don’t you just get some steps?!”

Dad turned around to face me and simply said, “Oooh, I gave up on steps a long time ago.”

Touché.

..... and a Happy New Year...

This was my first holiday season as a mom- I had some ups, I had some downs, and overall I can say I’m glad it’s over. There are some stories from the past weeks worth sharing.

Just a warning- This is a long post. But hey, all the more better to make you understand just how long and arduous my holiday season was. So suck it up and get to reading.

December 15

For years I told my husband that when we have kids, we have to get a real live Christmas tree. When it was just the two of us, we simply assembled a little 3 foot plastic tree every year- the thing was awful, definitely more of an eyesore than a festive centerpiece for the holidays. It even had fake snow painted on its rubbery little pine needles. This year, however, I declared that we needed a real tree for the new baby. I wasn’t very picky about the tree itself- my only criteria was that it be living and in good health, so I sent my husband off to the produce store down the street. He was back in under 20 minutes with a sturdy little 5 footer.

Later that day, we discussed our game plan- although we both grew up in houses that always had real Christmas trees, neither one of us is very well versed in the art of proper Christmas tree erection. I have to admit, I was a little nervous. Dave’s not exactly a handy guy! I was keeping my fingers crossed that we’d be able to figure this out. We assessed the situation on our front porch and cooked up a plan- I would hold the tree steady while Dave wrangled it into the stand. I set the baby up in her little chair with some toys to keep her occupied right in the living room where we could see her through the front bay window and we got to work.

“Okay,” Dave instructs, “When I say to, lift the tree.”

“Got it.” I ready myself into position, grabbing the trunk with both hands and bending my knees.

“Lift!”

I hoist the trunk up- this isn’t so bad! Not too heavy at all! It’s a good thing he didn’t come home with some crazy 10 foot tree. What was I so worried about?

“Okay, now bring it down.”

I lower it into the stand. This was a piece of cake! Dave screws the trunk into position and crawls out from under the branches. I let it go, and we stand back to admire our work.

“Hmmm…. That’s a little crooked.”

“It’s a lot crooked!” He replies. “You were supposed to be holding it straight.”

“I was holding it straight! Or I thought I was…. Okay, whatever, let’s just do it again.”

The baby begins to fuss as he kneels back under the tree and unscrews the holders. “Okay, I’m ready- lift again.”

Again, I lift the tree--- “Now bring it down.” I lower it again. I focus on holding the tree up straight while he screws the holders back into place. He crawls out again, I let go, and we step back once again to check it out.

“Damn, it’s crooked it again.” He eyes me up suspiciously. “Did you hold it straight?”

“Yes I held it straight! What do you think I’m doing up here? I think you’re wiggling it too much when you screw the holders in.”

“No, it’s not me, you’re not holding it straight.”

I’m annoyed now. “Well then YOU hold the tree while I screw it in.”

Through the window, I see Anna becoming more and more frustrated. I tap on the glass and give her a wave, which distracts her for all of 5 seconds. We better act fast- this baby is losing patience.

I crawl under the tree and instruct Dave to lift, then drop, the trunk into position. I screw the holders in and stand up to assess the job.

“Ha!” I exclaim. “STILL crooked! Not so easy keeping it straight now, is it??”

Dave gazes thoughtfully at the tree. Never one to be wrong in a situation, he retorts with “You must have wiggled it or something when you were screwing the holders in place.”

I’m about to launch into an argument when the baby inside begins to wail with anger.

“Ok, let’s just do this inside.”

We wrangle the tree through the front door, but I make Dave stop at the entrance to lay black plastic trash bags down on the floor where the tree will stand. We got new carpets not that long ago, and I don’t need this tree sapping everything up. I also take a moment to quiet the baby. Luckily, she is distracted by the large pine leaning by the front door. She looks genuinely confused, and for the first time I also begin to think just how silly this tradition is.

We begin the process of “Lift-Drop-Assess” in the living room. After a few more attempts to erect a straight tree, we declare that it simply cannot be done and this tree must be crooked. We spend the evening decorating it, and once finished, we bring the baby closer to show her. Much to our chagrin, she’s barely interested in the lights or the ornaments. Dave pulls out the vacuum- the tree is already starting to crap pine needles all over the place. I suppose that’s what we get for bringing a live tree into our home. Oh well, we’re proud of our little feat, and head to bed feeling accomplished.

December 20

Shopping is always a challenge with a baby. My baby is still too small to sit up in the shopping cart, so I have two options- shop with the stroller or find a way to put her entire car seat in a shopping cart. If I bring her in the stroller, I have to put the items I'm purchasing in the bottom basket of the stroller, which totally looks like I'm shoplifting. Plus, there's not much you can put in that little undercarriage.

For this particular trip, I decide to use a shopping cart. It’s less than a week before Christmas, and I have a lot of last minute items I need to pick up. I walk/run through the windy parking lot with the baby carseat in tow and make it into the front doors of Walmart just as my arm is about to give out. I pull out a shopping cart and heave (carefully) the seat into the back of the cart. I have seen moms with the car seat propped up on top of the small front seat portion of the cart, but my baby's seat doesn't seem to sit steady up there, so her only option is to ride with the goods in the back. She's passed out cold for the entire drive over and walk in, but as the weight of her and her car seat combined hit the inside bottom of the cart, her eyes pop open like a jack-in-the-box. Fantastic. I was hoping she would nap, but now I need to keep her happy and entertained for the entire shopping excursion. Have I mentioned how much my daughter despises her car seat? Ok, no problem... we got this. After all, I have a list! I just need to keep her cool and calm. For now, she’s simply looking up at me blinking in quiet confusion, but this won’t last for long, so I know I need to be quick.

I begin weaving up and the down the aisles checking items off my list. This is a SUPER Walmart, so I’m attempting to do my weekly food shopping, holiday cookie baking shopping, AND last minute-gift shopping all in one trip. Of course, I managed to have dog food, kitty litter, bottled water and diapers- all large items- on today’s list…. Of course! I’m about 3 quarters through the food section when Anna begins to fuss. This is the beginning stage of her fussy-to-meltdown process, so I am still able to distract her by talking and singing little songs.

“Hey, Little Anna- Jimgle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way! Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh, Hey! Where’s the margarine? Dashing through the snow…. All I see is butter… over the fields we go (cause I don’t say “o’er” when I sing this song, I say “over”), laughing all the way- now I see I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter, butter, and no margarine. Don’t get fussy, Pumpkin Pie! Oh, pumpkin pie filling- where is that? Did I miss that back there? Crap, now I have to turn around. Here’s your binky, please don’t cry, I’ll be quick, I promise (total lie). Here comes Santa Clause, here comes Santa Clause, right down Santa Clause Lane…. Why don’t they have the taco kit Dave wants? Great, now he’s gonna complain when he sees I had to get Old El Paso instead of the Taco Bell kit. Whatever, he’ll just have to deal---- YYOOOOUUUU Better watch out! You better not cry! You better not pout, I’m telling you why…. Cause Mommy can’t find vanilla extract! I don’t want IMITATION vanilla extract- I need the real deal. You’d think it would be right here NEXT to the imitation stuff, but no, it’s not any--- oh Anna, please don’t cry- You better not cry! Santa Clause is coming to town!”

To the common passerby, I wonder just how crazy I sound. But that’s another funny little thing that happens when you become a mom- you begin to not give a crap what you sound like. Or look like for that matter.

I get through the food section and move on to the rest of the store- at this point, my list gets complicated. This being a SUPER Walmart, I need to cover about a half-mile walking to find all the items I need. Plus, I inevitably realize that I forget something on one side of the store after I’ve already walked to the far opposite side. Twice. The baby is really starting to lose it, and I briefly contemplate taking her to the bathroom to change her, but I know once I take her out of her car seat she is going to be a bitch on wheels when I attempt to put her back into it. Plus, I now have items stacked all around her like a couple of topsy, turvy half-played Jenga towers, so I’m not even quite sure how I would go about safely removing her from her seat to begin with! It’s best just to move on and finish the job. One more item anyway- of course, it’s the damn kitty litter. I cram it into the underside tray and push my 2-ton shopping cart up to the check-out area.

The lines are all stretched back at least 8 people deep each. I notice there are lines for “10 Items or Less”, lines for “20 Items or Less”, and even the “Handicapped Customers” line. I look around for the “Crazy Mom Who Stupidly Thought She Could Do All Her Holiday Shopping At Once With Her Screaming Infant” Line- no such luck.

Once I choose a random line, I grab the baby’s binky and stand there holding it in her mouth. This technique works. She stares up at me, angry and red-faced, but content. She may even fall asleep if I didn’t need to stop every few minutes to inch my cart up closer in line.

Another funny thing happens when you become a mom- you learn that all those nutty stories moms tell about how strangers are openly rude to them and their fussy children are actually true! I always thought these were gross exaggerations- but let me tell you they are not. I’ve only been a mom for 3 months, and I’m shocked at how brazen people can be. I am standing in line holding the binky in Anna’s mouth while I flip through a magazine and I look up to see an old man in line behind me glaring at us. I smile back weakly, although I’m not even sure why I should be apologetic. I’m sorry I had to take my cranky baby shopping? Whatever dude.

It’s finally my turn in line anyway, and since I have to start loading my items on the conveyer belt, I need to take my hand off the binky. Of course, the baby is in no way interested in keeping it in her mouth herself, so the screaming begins. I load up as many items as will fit, then stop to plug her up. The cashier runs a couple of items through, freeing up space, so I release the binky to pile more onto the conveyor belt, screaming ensues, stop to plug the binky, and the process is repeated.

I’m reaching into my cart when the cashier says “Is that a girl?”

It’s always fun when people ask me about my baby because, well, she’s adorable (I’m not biased at all), and so when she gets a little compliment, that can make my day. I reply in a sing-song voice, “Yes, she is!” and turn to face the cashier, awaiting the praise that will inevitably be bestowed upon my little angel.

“Oh. Hm. I didn’t know little girls could scream like that.”

Really? This is happening? Seriously?

“Well, she’s a baby.” I can practically hear the steam coming out of my ears. “All babies scream sometimes.”

“Not girls usually,” this idiot cashier replies, matter-of-factly. “If you need to stop to get her quiet, I can wait.”

“No, it’s really best if I just get her out of here…. So, if you would just go ahead and finish ringing me up, that’d be great.”

“Are you sure?”

Again, seriously?

“Yes. Yes, I’m very sure.”

As she finishes ringing me up, I turn to see Mr. Glarey McGlarington giving me and my baby dirty looks again. I shoot one back at him, and smile in satisfaction when I see he only has a small basket of items and he had to wait in line behind me. Happy Holidays, Jerk.

The cashier begins running my coupons through and stops when she gets to the one for baby formula. It’s one of those coupons that looks like a check, the ones the company sends in the mail directly.

“Oh, um, I don’t really know how to ring this through….. it doesn’t have a barcode.”

“Yea, you put it in like a check,” I tell her. “I’ve used these before and that’s what the cashiers usually do.”

“Um, yea, I don’t know if I know how to do that. I’d have to call a manager to help me with this...” She stares at me expectantly for a good 5 seconds- gives me a testing sort of look, like she’s hoping I say “You know what? Don’t worry about it! I don’t want to trouble you!”

“Well,” I stare back, “I guess you need to call a manager.”

“SIGH,” she responds.

“GLARE,” glares McGlarington.

Once my “inconvenient coupon” is handled, once I’m all rung up, and once I re-tuck the blankets around my baby, I push the 2 ton cart back outside. I’m greeted with one of those holiday Salvation Army bell ringers. In honor of the Christmas Spirit, I remember the words my sister always says to her little boy when they see one of these bell ringers: “Here’s some money, sweetie. Put it in the bucket, because there’s always someone worse off than us.” I smile to myself as I begin to dig around for change in my purse.

Just then, the baby spits her binky out and begins to wail at top volume. Oh well. Maybe next time. I shove the cart in the direction of my car and think about how fun it’s going to be to unload all this crap once I get home. Plus, I have to vacuum- again. That damn tree lost another 3 inches of needles in the past day.

December 23

‘Twas the day before Christmas Eve, and all through the house, not a husband was stirring, because he was out doing all of his gift shopping at the very last minute as he traditionally does every December 23 even though I could probably use his help around here. Oh well.

I have picked up new hobby this holiday season---- baking cookies. 'Tis the season, right? I know this isn't good for my diet, but I'm doing the cookie gift thing, and I’ve purchased several containers that I plan to fill with cookies and tie with pretty ribbon a ‘la Martha Stewart.

Of course, that was the plan anyway. Now it’s the 11th hour and I’ve got a couple more batches to make, plus I have to finish the wrapping, give the baby a bath (she totally stinks), and prepare the dishes I am supposed to bring to Christmas Eve at my mom’s house and then Christmas day at my in-law’s house. I’m multi-tasking as best as I can, and thankfully the baby has just fallen asleep. Awesome. I wonder if I can make dinner while she’s dozing. The kitchen is a cookie batter nightmare, the sink is full of dirty dishes, there’s a load of unfolded laundry on the dining room table, and there are no bottles prepared. I gaze down at my angelic little girl, snoozing away in her bouncy chair…. Yea, she looks pretty zonked out. I pull out the ingredients for meatloaf- I dump most of them into a mixing bowl and give my daughter one last look as I reach for the ground meat--- still out cold! I rip open the package and plop the meat into the bowl and just when I dig my hands in for that first mix----- I hear such a clatter! I sprang from my meatloaf to see what was the matter- when what to my wondering eyes should appear, but an idiot cat, knocking ornaments from the tree with his fat ass as he laps piney water from the stand. With meat covered hands, I shoo him away, which peaks the interest of my crazy little dog, who decides now would be a perfect time to bark loudly at the cat. Can you see where this is going? I look over in horror in the direction of the baby just as she startles and wakes with a loud yell. I run to wash my hands with antibacterial soap, then scoop up the baby and take her in for a diaper change. That’s when I remember that I have no bottles prepared, and you can bet your jolly ass she’s gonna want one when we’re done in here! Awesome. I think tonight might have been a good night for pizza.

10 long, loud, screaming minutes later, as I’m feeding a now-calm but sniffling, red-faced baby on the couch, I take a good look around the living room. Friggin pine needles. I’ll need to vacuum after this.

December 28

I’ve gone through the hell that is carting 20 wrapped gifts, several containers of cookies, two trays of hot prepared dishes, a diaper bag, a car seat, a bottle of wine and a partridge in a pear tree- Two days in a row- back and forth from our house to our families’ houses. The gifts we brought back home with us have been sorted through and put away. I’m enjoying a nice afternoon with a visit from my sister. Or at least, I’m trying to enjoy myself…. Because there are pine needles everywhere- again. Anna isn’t even remotely interested in the tree, and although I feel that I should keep it up until the New Year, the sight of it alone irritates me to the core. Who in their right mind thought of this tradition anyway?

I decide all at once that I want the thing gone. My sister helps me remove all the ornaments and we pack them up in my brand-spanking new ornament storage bin that I bought for myself because containers are fun dammit and, after all, since it’s almost the new year I had to buy some sort of organization container, now didn’t I? We pull all the lights off and carefully wrap them up (although I know next year we will find them knotted in balls once again because there truly must be elves that torture us by sneaking into my basement and disorganizing everything). Dave comes home from work just as I’m pulling the tree out the door to kick it to the curb. I feel sort of like a Grinch for ending Christmas so abruptly, but that passes quickly when I see my freshly vacuumed carpets. Perhaps I will hit the post-Christmas sales for a nice artificial tree this year…

December 31

It’s New Year’s Eve, and since we have the baby, our plans are pretty limited in terms of partying. However, we have a handful of friends who just happen to be looking for just the kind of low-key celebration we can host, which is great because we wouldn’t be able to find a babysitter anyway.

I’m really wiped from the holiday festivities and I didn’t get much sleep the night before, but I put my game face on and I am doing my best to enjoy myself and be a good host. We still don’t have the baby on a schedule, so I’m a little nervous about how this is going to go, but so far so good. The baby has been dozing in her bouncy seat since the guests arrived around 8pm, but she just woke up around 9:45. She puts on a little show for the guests with her cooing and laughing, but then she starts to show signs that she’s sleepy. So I heat up her bottle, we say goodnight to the crowd and turn down the hallway- just as we’re about to head into her room, Dave comes out of the bathroom. He gives us a little smile, and I ask him if he wants to join us for a diaper change to say goodnight. He follows me into her room and shuts the door behind him to keep out the sounds from the party revelers. We’re both a little tipsy, probably more so from the fatigue of our first holiday season as parents, but we’re in good spirits. As I change Anna’s diaper, we chat with her and make her laugh. I tell her that when she wakes up, it will be a brand new year, and how she’s going to have such a fun time with Mommy and Daddy this year. We’ll go to the zoo, and maybe the seashore, and she’ll learn to crawl and talk and walk…

“… and someday you can stay awake to see the ball drop on TV, and it’s so pretty, and then everyone counts down together saying ‘Ten! Nine! Eight!“

“Seven! Six!,” Dave joins in, and we count down together “Five! Four!“

Then Dave says “Threeeeeee!” in this high-pitched voice that we always use for the number 3 when we’re counting with Anna because it always makes her laugh, as it does again tonight.

I smile as we finish the countdown together. “Two! One! Happy New Year, Anna!”

She laughs, then Dave gives us both a kiss as I prepare her for bed. I smile at our happy little family, thinking of the crazy, beautiful year we have ahead of us, and the many more to follow.