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Or, in this case, brings a couple of people over to Blogger.

The Life with Sticky saga is moving. Actually, it's splitting - the archives, the tale of 2005's most stunning surprise, will stay here. But new posts are here:


This allows you to RSS feed my mommyblog...right, because people just can't get enough, they've been beating down the door for an RSS feed. Nonetheless, it's there if you want it.

By the way, the design and color scheme of The Mulligan Years COULD NOT POSSIBLY be one bit uglier. I swear I'll improve it. You won't have to shield your eyes forever.

Today, George the cat let Sticky pet her. It was really something.

Also, I have a non-Mommy blog, which is now at www.funkyfatgirl.blogspot.com.
This sleep deprivation stuff is BAD.

It makes me think about death - not obsessively, and not about suicide - just about the fact that one's body has limits and will undeniably stop working one day. Which leads inevitably to the question - 'one day soon?' And there are times - and I think this may be my point - there are times when that seems likely.

Here's the problem - when I get up in the morning, I am beat. Beaten. Pulped. And somehow I get vertical, and get my stuff together, and make it out of the house without fatally bashing my head on the doorframe, dropping the baby, etc etc. I get where I need to be without wrecking the car. The things I forget are incidental rather than serious, my hands don't shake noticably. I get a triple venti something and chug every drop. By the time Jimi arrives and asks how I am, I can joke about it. I'm sorta cloudy, but functional. Useful.

By the end of the workday, I feel rather decent, I must say. I drive home, windows down, music up, surprised to feel the I've felt all day.

And this is where the trouble starts.

Because I feel okay - a little loose-limbed, relaxed, pretty okay. I'm a little like a person on antipsychotic meds, one who feels so normal after a partial course that they decide they don't need the pills anymore.

The other night, a friend of mine had agreed to babysit so that I could get some sleep in the evening. Or, if I couldn't fall asleep, maybe go for a walk. Or something. Something which might help my body, instead of further damage it.

So what did I do? I came home, played with Ian; at some point, the friend arrived and we started talking. At some point during the talking, Ian started crying. Oh, I'll leave, I thought, just as soon as he cools down a little.

At 8pm, I thought, there's no hope. I'm clearly not napping this evening, and probably not walking. So I took Ian upstairs to breastfeed him, with the thought that I could hand off the zonked child and at least read the New Yorker in peace for an hour.

When I took said zonked child back downstairs, I engaged in more conversation. I finally shut up long enough to go back upstairs, sans child, thinking I could send a couple emails. Oh, and maybe take a look at some photos I wanted to crop. And maybe sneak in a little blog reading...

Another trip downstairs, more conversation. Get the baby upstair and to sleep. Upload some pictures. Just a couple emails - now it's time to pump again. Okay, let me wake up the baby and top off his tank, so he doesn't snap awake at 2am.

Oh, look, Conan O'Brien. I'll just tag these pics and then go right to sleep, honest....

The kid wakes up at 5:50.

I could have had HOURS of sleep. HOURS. (Technically, I guess 4 hours is 'hours', maybe even technically 'hours and hours of sleep'.) The conversations I had were good and encouraging and entertaining, and I'm glad to hang with my child through his most pitiful periods of crying.

But I am making bad decisions. And the tiredness is not helping with my smartness. At all.
13 May 2006 @ 09:49 am
I was thinking about what I wrote last night, and the conversation I recall having with Travis' mom -this was before my Silly Bunny could do much, and may indeed have been before he was born. Travis, it seems, was never ever happy intil he could sleep on his stomach, and life in that household improved significantly when he could flip himself over.

I had lunch with Travis just the other day, so I can personally verify that he is funny, verbal, quite bright and mostly undeniably STILL ALIVE.

Maybe I'm silly to worry so much. Anyone else with tales of a stomach-sleeper - Jordan's dad? Liam's mom? Kevin's mom? Elesa? Katie's Mom? - please chime in reassure me.
13 May 2006 @ 12:48 am
"So off she goes to the movies, the yoga studio, the book club to "feed herself intellectually and emotionally." If middle-class mothers are sleep-deprived, angry, exhausted, unhappy -- as they undoubtedly seem in the many books and surveys -- it is merely fitting punishment for their narcissism, a consequence of the foolish demand for self-fulfillment."

I haven't read this book, though it gives me title envy.)

But then, I have title envy pretty much constantly. Some titles I envy: this and of course this and even this which is incidentally a damn fine piece of writing. (Much too good to be 'available new and used for $.01'.)

In other news, we are all - wait, let me check - yes, we are all still alive. Sticky found his feet this week, which led, seconds later, to rolling over. He has decided that he is a stomach-dweller, and I spend much of my time with him flipping him back onto his back - 'back to sleep', dontcha know. This is troubling - if you're not a current parent, you may not know that the American Association of Pediatricians Who Don't Think You're Sufficiently Anxious have stated that kids who sleep on their backs have less chance of crib death. So the idea that my little muffin can flip himself over onto his stomach - that he seems to prefer it - is more than enough to keep me up, watching him breath. But I can't stay up all the time, can I? CAN I???? I mean, literally all the time - I seem to be up nearly all the time anyway.

He also, on Wednesday, extended his arms to me to ask to be picked up. Wow. Just wow.

So you can understand, between the flipping him over and the tearing up, I have like no time to post.
04 May 2006 @ 09:43 am
Everyone in our household is going to have to get a whole lot better at taking care of themselves.

Originally uploaded by funky fat girl.
Though I know that we meet ev'ry night,
and we couldn't heve changed since the last time-
to my joy and delight,
it's a new kind of love at first sight.

Though it's you and it's I all the time,
ev'ry meeting's marvelous pastime.
You're increasingly sweet,
so whenever we happened to meet
I greet you ...

With a song in my heart,
I behold your adorable face.
Just a song at the start,
but it soon is a hymn to your grace.
When the music swells,
I'm touching you hand
It tells that your're standing near, and ..
At the sound of your voice,
heaven opens his portals to me.
Can I help but rejoice
that a song such as ours came to be?
But I always knew
I would live life through
with a song in my heart for you.

With a Song in my Heart, lyrics by Lorenz Hart
04 April 2006 @ 05:52 pm

Baby's first patisserie!
Originally uploaded by funky fat girl.
Ah, Sunday. A very special occasion, actually - Ian's first trip to Fell's Point! The unseasonably warm and sunny weather (look! at his widdle toes! squee!) made it completely irresistable.

We also stopped in the yarn shop (http://www.agoodyarn.com/) where the sweater class came to an abrupt halt. While each woman took a turn holding him, the others told me funny/touching/alarming stories about when their children were babies.

A very short vacation, but lovely nonetheless.
03 April 2006 @ 06:32 pm
“Mainstream American adulthood is so narrowly defined, it’s only natural that people who have time and leisure to think about it are going to rebel against it.”

This article from New York Magazine made me smile.

(Side note: first, the NY Times writes about babies with websites; now New York Mag has a big feature about 40-year-olds wearing Converse fishheads and jeans and listening to Killers on their iPods. Is my life really that typical? So cliched? Or....is the city of New York spying on me? Discuss.)

Like Sweetney, I hasten to add that we don't have an $800 stroller or Rogan jeans or even a Nano to call our own. We have a rather cheaper lifestyle than our NYC counterparts - I mean, we'd have to, just from a real estate perspective.
25 March 2006 @ 10:47 pm

Baby's first Museum!
Originally uploaded by funky fat girl.
Here are my boys, at the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore. We spent a couple hours in the Chamber of Wonders and the surrounding galleries, and the baby was absolutely perfect.

Eric and I remembered our early museum experiences. At 12, my brain (and the course of my life) were permanently shaped by the modern art at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Eric remembers being a very small boy, standing in front of the elephant at the Natural History Museum in Washington.

The thought of spending the next several years introducing this little guy to the stuff we've loved, seeing the world through his eyes...it's so exciting, and so auspiscious, I almost can't bear it.
24 March 2006 @ 11:19 am

nice face
Originally uploaded by funky fat girl.
Good Lord, isn't it incredibly boring when someone can only take pictures of their kid? Especially when the kid is only a few months old, and doesn't really do anything except lie flat or get propped up. And then its neck disappears. Sigh.

On the other hand, who could resist a face like this?