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Another fucking Heather.

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(no subject) [Mar. 28th, 2009|03:18 pm]
My mother invaded my facebook space, so I escaped to Twitter, but only, like, 1 of my friends is twittering. Will you twitter with me? My name is haytha.

You know, in case anyone is still reading this unblog.
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Thoughts on life, courtesy of my 12-year-old niece: [Oct. 30th, 2008|10:41 pm]
"The only one from the olden days who is cool is Gwen Stefani."
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(no subject) [Oct. 19th, 2008|10:16 am]
Hey, Internet! It's been a while. You look a bit older and more haggard, I'm sorry to say.

So! I'm a suburbanite now. And we're not talking about some just-outside-the-city-limits wussy kind of suburb, we're talking all-out, sub division, retention pond, corn-field-surrounded, actually looking forward to the Chili's Coming Soon kind of suburb. There's a peach tree in our yard and and the association will fine us if our grass grows more than 6 inches high. I so want to test this limit, and see if they actually send someone (who gets this job? an intern?) out to kneel down in our lawn with a ruler. I would loan them my ruler, just to get the photo.

ANYWAY, our verdict on the 'burbs: Not so bad. In fact, after agonizing over our decision, worrying that we would be board stiff and Dylan would grow up without an ounce of culture in his soul, buyer's remorse buyer's remorse blah blah blah, we are surprised to find ourselves happy as little suburban clams. Turns out there is a reason people move to the 'burbs when they have kids: It makes your life easier. And I guess maybe after a year of the worst living situation under the sun--screaming, light-sleeping baby, neighbors' dogs incessant howling and barking, living above a construction site (did I never mention that? about my landlord turning the unfinished basement into an apartment? the basement below our apartment? where we lived with a baby? and how he didn't nap for four months? and how I almost lost my mind?)--peace and quiet is what we needed. And quiet is the one thing there is plenty of out here: The silence is deafening. Even the dogs don't bark. My dad says it's like something out of a science fiction movie. It's wonderful. The quiet is wonderful. I want to marry the quiet, or at least let it go up my shirt.

Dylan! Took his first steps yesterday! He will be 1 year old in three weeks! He says some words! He loves music! He likes to brush his teeth with no shirt on!:










And me? I miss blogging. I'm going to try to find some time for it. So you just sit right there, on the edge of your seat.
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The day the blog died [Aug. 8th, 2008|09:35 am]
In a nutshell:

We bought a house in the suburbs, we move August 26th.

Between packing, caring for Dylan, and proofing the 50lb manuscript that arrived on my door step yesterday, I will not have time to post for a long time. If ever again.

If you want to see pictures of my life (read: 5 million pics of Dylan) feel free to check out my FLickr site:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/22371181@N08/

It's been a slice.
Heather
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Dylan's guest post [Jul. 19th, 2008|09:26 pm]
I went over to my grandma's and she dumped me in a bucket.







But then she made it up to me by letting me play her piano.




In other news, I got some sound advice from a wise friend.




PS. I'll never tell where I dumped Elmo's body.


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Snap, crackle, pop. [Jul. 15th, 2008|09:41 pm]


Only one thing would make this pic more perfect: if he were wearing a T-shirt that said, "College."
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Got my hair did. [Jul. 13th, 2008|07:09 pm]



It's actually quite red.

P.S. Dylan and I saw a grown man taking a dump underneath a tree on the corner of Foster and Damen today. It was approximately 4pm. I am brimming with local pride.
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Big Boy [Jul. 1st, 2008|09:42 am]


Dylan is in training. He's up at the crack of dawn to drink his raw eggs. He's crawling up the steps of the Art Institute, jumping up and down in victory. If you listen carefully you can hear Eye of the Tiger playing in the distance, and if you close your eyes you will see a video montage of him getting stronger.

I'm talking about sleep trainin', yo. Ferberizin'. It's going well--so well, in fact, that I'm kind of embarrassed about the amount of melodrama I build up surrounding this event. We're not out of the woods yet, but he is sleeping so much better. It's almost like he's been waiting for me to just put him in his damn crib already and back off with my irritating nursing and rocking and soothing and love. Anyway, now I will have have more time to stalk Mariska Hargitay online get some work done. Another advantage? Not having to check myself into the psych ward.

Speaking of nursing, today was the last day. So for the first time since February 2007, my body is officially my own! Last night I was looking up weaning issues in one of my baby care books and they had all of these photos and illustrations of mothers nursing their babies, and the babies looked so sleepy and content and suddenly I was all sad and nostalgic and confused. As I nursed Dylan this morning, I was thinking about the first time I ever nursed him, how amazing it was that he knew exactly what to do. About how precious he looks when he falls asleep at the breast, about his sweet breastmilk baby breath. Suddenly, I was riddled with doubt. What were my reasons for wanting to wean again?

And then the little chump bit me. BAM! Snapped me right out of that little Le Leche brain freeze.

What else...oh, we're house hunting. In the suburbs. It's exciting, but it's far more stressful than they make it look on House Hunters. Suzanne Whang never does show up to pull it all together for you.

I'm kind of having writer's block right now, so here are some pics of my boy. No, you can't have him.

Showing off the mad crawlin' skills:





Uncle Eric came all the way from Houston to teach D how to be a middle-aged gansta:





These are a little old, but this was his most recent date with Mady. At first, things were a bit awkward:



But then they found something to talk about.



This led to hand-holding....



...and then back to her crib.

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(no subject) [Jun. 14th, 2008|09:39 am]
You know how when you don't have one of those chip clip things, you either fold or crinkle/roll the open end of the bag of chips to keep it shut? I can never make this work. No matter how tightly I think I'm rolling, the bag will slowly work its way back to the open position. It never stays closed. When Ian does it, it always stays closed.

I don't know what I'm doing wrong.
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(no subject) [Jun. 8th, 2008|10:43 am]


Dyan bit me while nursing yesterday. Ever since, our conversations have gone a little something like this:

Dylan: Bah bah bah la la la bah!
Me: Whatever! Biter!

Have you ever had something permanently attached to you day and night for seven months and thought, "Bwaaah! Just get it OFF ME!"? Except that something is a cute little creature that you love more than words can ever describe and you want the very best for him and you have all this guilt and you feel all confused?

Also, I learned something new about sleep deprivation: Sleep deprivation may cause you to look up while driving and think, "Hey! That's the guy from Soul Asylum!" and then realize that it is not the guy from Soul Asylum, it is a petite, middle-aged Mexican woman who could not look less like the guy from Soul Asylum if she tried.
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Two gross things [May. 25th, 2008|10:36 am]
1) In college, my sophomore-year roommate would not rinse out the little plastic cup after taking cough medicine; she would simply place it back on the bottle and allow the remaining syrup to run down the outside of the bottle and dry that way.

2) My friend Nancy brought her two children, aged 3 years and 17 months, over for a playdate the other day. At one point, the 17-month-old took off Dylan's sock, blew his nose with it, and then handed it back to Dylan. I managed to intervene a split second before Dylan put the sock in his mouth.
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Bonnie and Clyde [May. 2nd, 2008|08:07 pm]






Dylan and I inadvertently shoplifted at Petco the other day. That little storage space at the bottom of the stroller is very convenient, and easily forgotten.

I'm afraid I'm going to pull a Lenny on this kid someday, b/c he is so cute that I can't stand it. Literally. The situation is at its most crucial after I draw his nightly bath and go into our bedroom, where Ian has stripped him down to his diaper and is pretending to eat Dylan's neck, causing Dylan to explode with giggles. I have filmed this many times, and it's always disappointing, never capturing the absurd level of cute to my satisfaction. I can only hope I will be able to keep the image alive in my memory. Every day when I see this, I think, even if I never sleep again, this is so worth it.
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Ironically, he's sleeping right now. [May. 1st, 2008|03:25 pm]
 "You're depressed, Heather."

"No, Dad," I say with a sigh. "I am not."

"Maybe you should take something for it..."

"Dad. I am NOT depressed."

He just wasn't hearing me. As much as I respect his opinion, I certainly don't think a reitred mailman is qualified to make such a diagnosis. It is true that Dylan is still not sleeping well, has never slept well, not once in his 6-months. And I have a hard time getting back to sleep between his feedings. I get about 2-4 hours per night, if I'm lucky. Some nights I don't sleep at all. Am I frustrated? Yes. Sleep-deprived? OHMYGODYES. Exasperated? You betcha. But being upset about an upsetting situation and being depressed are two very, VERY different things. Just ask anyone who's been depressed.

Everyone has suggestions. They don't work. Everyone has a book to recommend. I've read them. Mostly, they repeat one mantra: Leave your child to cry so that he learns to soothe himself to sleep. I have tried leaving him for 5 mintutes or so on three different occasions; he simply screams until he throws up all over the place. Leaving a reflux baby to cry isn't fair. Could you sleep in a pool of your own vomit? Sober?

I don't know what to do. I feel cheated. Dylan is so adorable, so lovely, so clever...I want to be able to enjoy him. I want to be happy. I want to write blog posts about all of the cute little things he does, rather than whine online about sleep deprivation. I don't want to look back on this time in my life and remember only my own anger and frustration.

So my father suggested that I "take something" for my "depression." Shit like this is exactly why I never went to my postpartum OBGYN appointment; I knew they'd get all up in my business about my feelings, and I'd maybe break down and cry and they would be all prosac! and therapy! I don't need happy pills, nor do I need to talk about my feelings. I need for my son to sleep. Then I will be happy, Dad. I promise.

I'm sorry this entry is poorly written. It was much different in my head. You'd have laughed and cried by now. I'm so tired.
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Looking on th Bright Side, vol 1: Postpartum Hair Loss [Apr. 18th, 2008|12:01 pm]
At least the gray ones are falling out, too. 
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Meatloaf and Tiffany rule [Apr. 8th, 2008|09:09 pm]
 If I could create the perfect commercial, this would be it.
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Pics [Apr. 3rd, 2008|08:45 am]
Bachelorette #1: Mady


Thrilled to be going to Babies R Us to pick out some new toys:





This next series was so cute that I couldn't decide on just one, so bear with me:















Bachelorette #2: Charlotte:



But he preferred Charlotte's mom:

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Lots of Italics [Apr. 2nd, 2008|02:24 pm]
So, the baby weight. <Sigh.>

Now that Dylan isn't spending hours and hours screaming every day, and is in fact much happier when we're out and about, and I'm not too much of an anxious mess, it's occured to me that maybe it's time to do something about the baby weight. 

I gained 47 pounds while I was carrying Dylan. Yes, you read that right. Forty. Seven. Pounds. And it was kind of fun, if you want to know the truth. In the beginning, I tried very hard to be a sporty pregnant lady, but somewhere around summertime I said fuck it and joined Ian on the couch to watch every single Cubs game throughout that whole (heartbreaking) season. There was pizza, there was Dairy Queen, there were maple scones, there were Sun Chips. Oh, what a time we had.

Problem is, I just can't get that gumption going...that ooompf!, that point where you look in the mirror with disgust and decide ok, let's get serious. I could sit here and make excuses--the sleep deprivation, the childcare duties, the stress--but really, the only problem is that I can't find my motivation. Also, have you tried the chocolate mint Milanos?

I got out my old Weight Watchers literature and tried to start writing down everything I eat and applying the Points values, blah blah blah, but that's just not going to work for me anymore. I don't have the time to sit and obscess over every calorie, the way I did back in single life. Atkins? Eh. South Beach? Eh. I definitely need a plan--the "I'll just try to eat less and exercise during nap times" plan isn't working--but I just can't get into one. I wish I were Oprah so I could just hire some people to follow me around and make sure I don't cheat.

Ok, you should know that I just typed "cheese" instead of "cheat." The situation is that bad.

<Sigh.>
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If anyone needs me I'll be in the closet making out with a huge bottle of Prevacid [Mar. 25th, 2008|08:52 am]
He has had one full week of good days, and the definition of  "good day" has changed. It used to mean, "well, he only screamed for about an hour total today" or "I managed to buy half of the groceries we need before I had to leave because he started screaming." Now, "good day" means NOT ONE SCREAM. It means so many smiles, so many giggles, very little fussing (only to tell me he is tired or hungry--he is still a baby, afterall), just looking so comfortable and content that it brings tears to my eyes. 

I used to wish time would pass more quickly, that we could just fast forward through his infancy, past the screaming, and arrive at some later date--toddlerhood, maybe--where surely he wouldn't still be so colicky. Now I want to freeze time. I am now enjoying every minute of every day, basking in his adorableness.

And another very important, miraculous thing has happened. This is so significant, so life-changing that I am going to present it to you on its own line in all caps. Please forgive me.

HE IS TAKING A BINKY!!!!!!!!!!
<Hallelujah! Hallelujah!>

We never gave up on binky; we bought every brand on the market and tried them every day. My mother would call me and ask how he was doing, and if I mentioned the screaming or the constant desire to nurse, she would ask me if I'd tried him with a binky, and this would channel my inner surly 15-year-old, and I'd be all "Yes, Mother, I tried a binky, I try binky all the time, I an not stupid, nobody understands me, can I borrow the car tonight?" Then one day she was watching Dylan at her house and when I got there, he was sitting on her lap going to town on a binky, Maggie Simpson-style. "I found a pack of binkies I'd bought for Ryan a couple of years ago," she said. "I just popped it in his mouth and he loves it!" I thought OK, well she must have found the one, magical brand that he will take, but no, he is now taking any old binky. Just because his grandma told him to.

Thanks to binky, Dylan sits quietly in the carseat and sucks away. Target? Grocery store? No problem! What's that Dylan? Feeling fussy? Binky! What's that? Trying to nurse again one hour later? Binky! Plastic nipples are indeed little gifts from heaven.

It's time now for Ian and I to start enjoying being parents, not just trying to survive. Summer is looming and we can't wait to get our little guy out and about to see the world. It's been a terrible winter for all of us, but we got through it, and now we have a lot of living to make up for.
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A New Kind of Romance [Mar. 20th, 2008|09:41 pm]
"I know that I'm cleaning up cat puke, and you're changing a dirty diaper, and we're talking about Dick Cheney, but I was just thinking how much I love you." 
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2-year-olds can be a tad insensitive [Mar. 14th, 2008|11:04 am]
 My mother: I love you, Ryan.

My nephew: I love cake.
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In case you forgot that my kid is cute [Mar. 9th, 2008|10:31 am]



He enjoyed himself at El Tapitio...



...until he didn't.





Hey Mom, no girls allowed!!



This is a guy you an trust.



Papa!!



Grandma!!



My parents came up to help me take Dylan to his new pediatrician (my mother holds all of her grandkids down for their shots, it's a service she provides). Our former pediatrician, henceforth known as PIGFUCKER, kept telling us that Dylan's constant screaming was "just a phase" and "not to worry." Then about 3 weeks ago I read an article online about acid reflux in infants and recognized a lot of symptoms in Dylan: spitting up a lot, screaming, arching his back, little dry coughs, wanting to nurse constantly (for comfort, and b/c breastmilk is an antacid). I called PIGFUCKER and he prescribed Zantac over the phone.

The Zantac seemed to be working at first, but this past week has been bad, and last night was his worst night ever. I have never seen a baby scream that loudly or inconsolably. I was ready to take him to the ER when he finally stopped.

Our new pediatrician seems awesome. She spent an hour with us during our appointment on Friday (PIGFUCKER never spent more than 15 minutes with us, he had one foot out the door the whole time) and her husband happens to be a pediatric gastroenterologist. She prescribed Prevacid, which we will start Dylan on today. We will also start him on rice cereal, which may help settle his stomach.

It has been such a tough road. You can't imagine how hard it is to listen to your child wail in pain all the time. He's such a sweet, darling little boy. He doesn't deserve this. And I know this is awful, but sometimes when I see happy, content babies, I feel angry. Why do they get to be so happy, while Dylan writhes in pain? Why is he having such a rough start in life? It's not fair.

But we're hopeful about the Prevacid. My parents and my sister all take it (yes, it was my funky genes that got him into this mess) and they say it has worked wonders for them. 

I held him longer than necessary last night, rocking him, watching him sleep, grateful that he was resting comfortably. When he is screaming in pain, I feel crazy. Literally, crazy. Like I would do anything to make it stop. Beg, borrow, steal, kill, eat ketchup, ANYTHING. But there's nothing else I can do, so I place him gently in the crib and go to Ian and cry and cry until I'm exhausted enough to sleep.

Motherhood is no joke.

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Motherhood makes you pretty [Mar. 4th, 2008|12:26 pm]
Things I used to say to Bobby J:

"Hi Bobby! How's Mommy's little angel? Who's the handsomest cat in the whole wide world? Come snuggle with Mommy! Mommy loves you! Who's my sweet, soft, snuggly boy!?"

Things I now say to Bobby J:

"You stupid fucking retarded cat. If you wake that baby up again I will drive you to the nearest fucking shelter myself."
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Damsel in Distress [Feb. 28th, 2008|05:28 pm]

"Baby I am freaking out. You have to come and get us."

"I'm on my way."

I was taking Dylan out to see my parents in the southwest burbs when my car died on the Stevenson expressway, just past the Pulaski underpass. Died as in DEAD. Kaput. I barely made it to the shoulder.

I called my mother and contined to freak out. The car was shaking as other cars whizzed by. It was 20 degrees outside. Dylan woke up and started to complain.

"Dad is leaving now, too. He may be able to get there faster."

"Ok. I'm going to get in the backseat with Dylan."

The second I stepped out of the car, the bitter wind hit my face like a thousand knives. The noise of the expressway was deafening. Absurdly, I tried to unlock the backdoor using the keyless entry. When it didn't work, I tried to reopen the driver's side door, but it had locked behind me. For one moment--the moment that will now go down in history as the scariest in my life--I thought I was locked out of the car, Dylan locked in. Then my brain turned back on and I remembered that I was holding the keys in my hand, and that there is this old-fashioned way to open a lock called use the damn key.

So I climbed in next to Dylan and we waited for my menfolk to come rescue us, one speeding from the north, one from the south. Dylan's complaints turned into hysterical wails. Every bone in my body ached with the urge to pick him up, but I knew he was safer in his carseat so I left him there.

My father, who normally moves at tortise speed, was there in 10 minutes. I felt 8 years old again, resisting the urge to leap into his arms and cry, "Daddy!"

Ian, who ws traveling from much further away, arrived 2 minutes later. I don't even want to know how many laws he had to break to get there that fast.

By this time, 2 IDOT guys had stopped, so the four of them stood around the engine for a while, poured something into it, nothing worked. We transferred Dylan to Ian's car and I drove him to the safe haven of Grandma's house, leaving Ian and my dad behind to deal with this awful mess.

Apparently a gasket blew, among other things. The car is still in the shop. The estimate is painful.

And oddly, I went to sleep with a smile on my face last night. I've never felt so...lucky. Lucky that I made it to the shoulder on time. Lucky that Dylan and I escaped unharmed. Lucky that Ian and my dad came home safe. Lucky that I have people in my life who are willing to drop everything to rescue me. Lucky to have a mother who knitted the blankets that kept Dylan warm until help arrived. Lucky that although the repairs will take a huge chunk out of our savings, at least we have those savings. Lucky to be warm and safe in bed, Ian breathing softly next to be, Dylan's sweet baby face glowing on the video monitor.

And hey...at least we got out of the house for once.

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Jess and I are practically sisters [Feb. 25th, 2008|10:10 am]
You know Cash Warren, the guy who knocked up Jessica Alba? He is my husband's father's sister's ex-husband's brother's son.
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I know it's cheesy but I couldn't resist [Feb. 22nd, 2008|03:42 pm]









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Bumbo [Feb. 18th, 2008|07:52 am]
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We used to talk about politics [Feb. 12th, 2008|10:56 am]
"Is this burp cloth clean?"

"That's my underwear."

"Oh." 
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(no subject) [Feb. 6th, 2008|11:55 am]
Baby's first Superbowl!:*



Baby's first mug shot!:



*Please excuse my appearance. I do plan to brush my hair again some day before Dylan goes to preschool.
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Happy Super Tuesday [Feb. 5th, 2008|09:07 pm]

Dylan had his first voting experience today! Frankly, that boy has no respect for the democratic process. I had to stop the stroller in order to cast my vote, HOW DARE I, don't I understand that the D-Man is all action? He started to melt down and I had to book it out of there. Obama had better appreciate everything I went through for him.

Also noteworthy: Dylan laughed for the first time this evening! If any of you need a laugh, just come on over and watch me unload my dishwasher. Apparently, it's a riot.

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Diet Cherry Chocolate Dr. Pepper [Feb. 3rd, 2008|09:22 pm]
Skip it. 
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