Poor First Born

People always say that the second child often gets neglected. That the first has baby books and mementos, while number 2 has one picture in the back of the older kid's baby book. Yea, not this family. In my concerted effort to not have Zoe's babyhood be a typical "2nd child" one, I seem to have forgot something.. the older kid.

I realize that my Flickr pages are all Zoe. In fact, I'm trying to find a recent pic of Lucas to even put on this post. How mean is that? What a horrible mother am I? My excuse du jour is that SHE holds still while he runs away..

And while I do go on and on about Miss Z, I will say Lucas is quite the comedian these days. I won't steal content from my hubbie - so I will just redirect you to Lucas' latest good one.

Why am I continually so surprised by his personality?

When one should really shut up

The other night, before seeing the estrogen explosion that is the SATC movie, my friend Maria (who is 8 mos pregnant) and I went into this little OVERPRICED boutique and encountered this woman who really needed to learn how to just keep her mouth SHUT.
We were talking about dresses - one for me for my dear friends Carin and Hilary's wedding (thank you CA State Supreme Court!), and one for Maria, for a wedding she has to go to 3 weeks postpartum. This shop girl over heard us talking dresses and looked at us and said "Oh, are you two sisters?"  While not an insult in anyway, the only thing we really have in common is our hair color.. we look at her and asked,  "Oh, no. Why? Do we look alike?" She then looks us up and down and asks "Oh, are you are both pregnant?" and I look at her and kinda half laugh, and reply "No, I'm just recovering from pregnancy.. haha" (muttering "bitch" under my breath and cursing her for making me regret my decision to eat movie popcorn for dinner).

Then she looks at Maria and goes "Wow, are you having twins? You are so big!" Which, if you have never been pregnant, let me tell you RIGHT NOW - this is something YOU NEVER SAY to a pregnant woman. EVER.

Maria's like, "HAHA, No, just one.."

At this point we are trying to walk away from the saleswomanofinsults, and she calls after Maria.. "Well, I bet its a boy - you are carrying so high!" Glaring now, Maria is like "Actually, its a girl..."

Of course, neither of us bought a thing. And we both decided, over movie popcorn WITH butter, that we would have really been insulted had she not obviously been such an idiot.

The "Zo-be" Curse

Today I dressed Zoë up in the little Kobe Bryant Baby Lakers jersey that we originally got for Lucas about 4 years ago, and has been worn by "Kobe Bear" for the past 3.5 years. She wore it once before, a few weeks back, and we thought it was cute, and then she spit up all over it and the Lakers lost, so she didn't wear it again.. and the Lakers made it to the finals.

Today being the first game in the finals, and since she has A.DOR.A.BLE new babylegs that actually match the jersey, I dressed her up in it again. Because really, what fun it is to have a baby girl if you can't play dress up with her, like everyday?!

Lucas came home from school all excited about "Zobe" and the game. Jason came home and cracked open a beer to sit and watch the game.. Zoë drooled all over her outfit... and the Lakers. Well. They lost.

And my father, the most non-BS man you will ever meet (at least in his opinion) made me promise to never put her in the jersey again.

Um, Go Lakers?

Zoë, 7 months

Oh little Miss Pickles, how is it that the first year of your life is more than half over already? I know I talk a good game about "practicing being in the NOW" bullshit, but its become apparently that I really have no clue what I'm talking about and another thing? Eckhart Tolle puts me to sleep.. quickly... Better than an Ambien/Chardonnay shooter. Sorry Oprah, I have failed you.

I say this because I worry that I haven't been able to enjoy so much of your existence thus far out of a basic need to survive it. And it kills me. I lay in bed with you in the morning (Daddy brings you in, you nurse while I doze on and off) and I stare at you, intently trying to remember your face that very moment forever. Your perfect skin, your OHSOLONG eyelashes, your little hands finally getting just the slightest bit of chub around the wrists. I've tried taking pictures of these precious moments, but either I'm not that good of a photographer or our camera isn't all that great (AAA-MOMMYNEEDSACANNONREBEL-CHOO!) but none of the pictures can really be as wonderful as you are at that moment.

But then you start shrieking from the boredom of just laying there and the moment is over. People have no clue what I mean when I say you are high maintenance. They laugh at me and say "Oh, honey.. you don't know high maintenance" while they shake their heads and bombard me with stories of who's baby is worst. I'm not comparing you, and never once have I ever considered you a "bad baby", you just have needs. Needs that you want met when you want them met or there is hell to pay. You are just "dedicated to your cause".

As a parent, I will know that I have succeeded in raising you right if I can help take this dedication that's so innate in you, and guide you through putting it to good use. I joke that you are going to be the first female president (and its a joke b/c I really hope to god that HRC didn't ruin it for our gender for the next 50 years), because I see this passion in you already. This passion mixed with dedication can be such a good thing if channeled in the right direction.

When coming up with names, I liked the name Lola (your father did not, to him, you were always Zoë, it was the first thing he said when we found out you were a girl. "Well, at least we have her name - Zoë" I wanted to wade through other options, just for shits and giggles). Ultimately, the fact that I would never be able to say your name without singing that you "were a showgirl" soured me, but recently I said to your dad that the name may have fit. Because "Whatever Zoë wants, Zoë gets.."

Oh, dear Jesus, please help Bebe and me from not spoiling her TOTALLY rotten! I so know that its only a matter of months before I renege on my promise to never buy you baby True Religion jeans!

No comment Jason. Or Heather.

This month you have also discovered something so amazing that it makes me want to cry. No, not the loud shriek that you seem to save only for dinners at small restaurants. But the love of, and for, your brother. Besides the sight of my boobs, there is nothing better in the world to you at this point. You also discovered that Daddy isn't all that bad - but no one holds a candle to Lucas when he's in the room. And Lucas will do anything it takes to make you smile - like repeatedly hitting his head on the back of his car seat. He bonks, you laugh hysterically.. so he does it again, and again.. yes, Lucas will apparently be the next Johnny Knoxville. When you are upset, nothing calms you quicker than Lucas serenading you with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. And when he comes and jumps in bed with us for a morning cuddle, you immediately reach out and grab his hair to pull him closer to you. It is really one of the neatest things to experience.

People are still in awe of you everywhere we go. They stop and stare and emit high pitch squeaky sounds in effort to get you to smile. In turn, you just stare. You actually tilt your head down, lift your eyes up, furrow your brow and bore into their souls with your big brown-eyed gaze. Smiles are not given at will. You size them up and check them out, as if to deem if they are even worthy of the effort it would take to smile.

But the best thing about this month, hands down, is that after 7 months together, we have finally achieved the breastfeeding relationship that I thought was just nursing propaganda - a 'LaLecheLie' if you will. Nursing has become wonderful. It's become a time for you and I to sit, or lay, and be at peace and just be together as mommy and baby.

Change is in the (h)air

I did it. The chippity, chop, chop. 7 inches. 7 inches of hair that needed to just get swept away into the trash since you can't donate hair that has been chemically processed with bleach.

Yes, I am a "natural blond" - or at least I was when I was 16.

I like it. I'm excited that I did it. It was a very needed change and I'm very happy to report that I did not cry after. Yay!

But something was in the air last week, as undiscussed together, 2 of my girlfriends also chopped their hair off. Maybe its the approaching summer months? Maybe we've all been a big stagnant for awhile. While it's drastic for me, I know it's not a huge difference in the grand scheme of life. But hey, baby steps..