A letter to my baby. I mean, my toddler.

I'm not going to apologize for not posting. It's the same old shiz really, busy with work, busy with baby, busy with life plus a dash of buying a new house and well, you get it. Add to that the fact that we just celebrated the bambina's first b-day and I hope you will pardon my negligence. I'd tell you I'd get better but well, I don't want to lie to you my pets. So what's on the docket today? Well, a letter to the baby (ok little girl) who has rocked my world in the best possible way for the last 365 (ok 370) days.

To my darling Sadie:

It's hard to try to encapsulate what's transpired over the last year. Not because your growth & personality & accomplishments have been so vast (though the have, my little superstar), but because it's hard for me to remember what life was like before you were here. It's hard for me to remember what life was like before your bright brown eyes followed me everywhere I went. It's hard to remember a time before your giggle sprinkled joy throughout this great family of ours. It's hard to remember a time where your cry didn't send aches through my heart that I didn't know could cut so deep.

It's hard to remember ever being as scared as I was the day you were born. It's hard to remember how guilty & distraught I was when you fell off the bed (insert obligatory mom of the year nominations right here). It's hard to remember when bone crushing exhaustion could be swept away in an instant by your crooked little smile. It's hard to remember a moment that I was away from you that I wished I wasn't. And it's impossible for me to remember what in the world we were thinking years ago when your daddy and I thought we might not want babies. Speaking of your daddy, it's hard to imagine that I could ever love him more than in the moments where I caught him rocking you, kissing you, stroking you or just gazing at you while you slept. He did and still does do all of those things, though you fight him a little more than at the beginning.

It's hard to imagine a time when trips to the store were for tequila & beer, not milk & applesauce. It's hard to remember a day that started after 6:00 AM. It's hard to remember a day where I didn't think of my own mom & dad and give a silent unheard thank you to them for all they did for me, since I never fully understood it until you arrived. It's hard to recall a time where you were not the center of my whole universe. Without you in it I'd just spin right off my axis.

But there in lies the innate conundrum of parenting. While you are no doubt the center of our world, we can't let you know. Why? Because then you might wind up a mindless, entitled brat, otherwise known as the species "Homo-Kardashian-Tus". So while daddy and I secretly giggle when you yell at us for taking away your balloon/bottle of hairspray/insert any other random not baby safe object here, it's for your own good. When we tell you "No" when you hit, it's not because we're mean, it's our job. When we make you walk when you want to run, it's because we want to keep you safe for the fleeting period of time that we get to watch over you every day.

We also want you to know what you can't possible yet comprehend, which is that you are an insanely lucky little girl. In a time when so many people suffer, you flourish. In a time when so many families struggle, we prosper. And in a time when so many little ones go hungry or cold, you have never known a day without enough milk or blankets. And one day we will expect you to go out into the world with that knowledge and to pay it forward. Through your own heart. Through your own actions & works and family. And I know you will, because I've seen your sweet spirit emerge this year and I'm truly blown away.

You've already started to pull away from me and that's ok. You want to climb stairs and pet doggies and pull yourself up and out of my arms, which is normal. But every now and then you still come to me, reach for me and nuzzle your sweet little head into my neck as if to say, "Thank you mama".

And my darling Sadie, you are so very welcome. Being your mama the most important thing I will ever do. Keep rockin' this world baby.

XOXO,

Your mama, aka

The gas crisis.

I used to think that a gas crisis was when I had to pay over $2 per gallon for fuel. Now I know better. The true gas crisis?

Baby flatulence.

Baby gas is no joke. At its best, baby gas gets you a disgusting, barfed on shirt and a stinky bedroom. At its worst it gets you an all nighter of banshee style wailing. The Sadester has been suffering from really bad gas lately and it's KILLING me. I've resigned myself to the fact that we are a long way from sleeping through the night, but the gas turns a typical 2 wake night into a 6 wake night.

I feel terrible for her, b/c I know she's in pain but I just want to help the damn kid fart so I can catch some shut eye. And since I'm breastfeeding, I always wind up wracked with guilt; was it the Brie I just housed? God I hope not. The only thing worse than a gassy baby is a life without cheese.

Who knew procuring farts from my child was going to become such an important part of my life? Aaaah, parenthood. Now pull my finger, or better yet, Sadie's.

XOXO,

Luck o' the Valentines.

I consider myself pretty lucky. Like, stupidly, ridiculously, blissfully lucky. My husband is fun, hardworking and easy on the eyes. My baby is insanely adorable and my family & friends are healthy, happy and always there when you need them. I have a good job, a great marraige and a kickass metabolism (Yay carbs!).

It's easy to forget our blessings from day to day, but in the midst of a week that is being heavy handed with loss, it's important to step back, squeeze my baby tight and remind myself that if my worst problem in life is needing an extra latte to make it through the day, then I am a pretty lucky gal.

As St. Patty's day approaches, I'm thinking less about green beer, pinches and leprachauns and more about appreciating the incredible luck that has graced my 30 years so far. Hope y'all do the same.

But do drink some green beer. It is St. Patty's after all.

XOXO,

A day in the life.

6:00 AM: Wake up. Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop or all three. Yell at mom for some boob. Get said boob. Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop again. Have mom change diaper & put me in the first outfit of the day.

6:00-7:00 AM: Yell & flail about happily while daddy makes funny faces. Contemplate pooping again. Look in that reflective thingy and wonder who that cool baby is and why there are 2 mommas. This world is blowin' my mind.

7:00 AM: Kiss mommy & daddy goodbye. Try to barf on them so they remember me all day. Flail about happily in grandma's arms. Look generally adorable.

8:00: AM: Get in swing. Stare at the lambs that keep moving in a circle above me. Wonder where they are trying to go and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

10:00 AM: What the hell happened? Why am I still swinging and WHY ISN'T THERE A NIPPLE IN MY MOUTH.

11:15 AM: Phew. Portable nipple put in my mouth. Crisis averted.

11:30 AM: Barf/Fart/Burp/Poop, preferably all over myself. Enter outfit #2.

12:00 PM: Lay down on floor with grandma and try to roll over. Almost got it...success! Wait, how did I get on my back? I think I'll fart and barf again until it all makes sense. Cue outfit number 3.

12:30 PM: Emergency: Grandma has pinned my arms down and put me in a straight jacket. I'm in a weird cage like contraption and a giant sheep is making whale sounds above my head and I totally don't get it and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

2:00 PM: How do they keep tricking me into sleeping? Time to yell. NEED MORE BOOB. Mom's not here so how does grandma keep giving me her milk? I'll ask the lambs.

4:00 PM: At grandma's house. She keeps bringing me over here and putting me in another cage like thing with a giraffe that makes chirping sounds and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

5:00 PM: NARDS! They tricked me again. I'll show them...blowout+spitup=Sadie's revenge. I was getting sick of that outfit anyway.

6:00 PM: Doorbell. I'll get it. Wait, I can't walk. In walks....MOMMY & DADDY! YAY! I'm so excited I can't decide whether to laugh or cry! How about a little of both? Wait, what the...they're strapping me down again? This time in a chair? Now we are in the giant bouncy seat that moves and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

6:30 PM: They're sneaky, I'll give them that.

7:00 PM: Why I am I naked? I'm naked and being put in this warm, soapy bowl that feels AWESOME. So awesome I think I'll pee in it. There is a whale that spits water at me and we talk a little bit. I tell him about my day and how weird it was. He totally gets me. Good listener.

7:20 PM: Wait...this feels good, why are they taking me out? I think I'll voice my displeasure. No, I don't want to put a diaper on! LET ME BE FREE WOMAN. Hear comes the jammies. I scream a bit for good measure but truthfully, I kind of like jammies. They keep my feet so warm.

7:30 PM: No no, not the baby straight jacket! I'll be good, I swear! I'm so mad, can't you tell by all the YELLING AND SCREAMING??? Why won't you help me dude? You just keep walking and shushing and rocking me and it's getting darker and maybe this isn't so bad and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Tricky bastards. Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

XOXO,

Sadie

Life in the fast lane.

To quote my favorite show, Always Sunny in Philadelphia, "WASSUP BITCHES???"

I'm back at work which, surprisingly, means I'll be able to Blog again! Unlike my tyrannical little imp Sadie, my employer is legally obligated to give me breaks and stuff. More often than not I have to use them to milk myself but every now and then I get to steal a moment to play on the interwebz. So let's start off with a checklist of what's going on in the Valentine household as of late:

1. Mama is back at work: This is going surprisingly well. Before I was back at work I was racked with guilt about leaving Sadie Bug. Would she remember me? Miss me? Wind up on a bell tower in 16 years because of some working mother abandonment complex? I'm pleased to report that yes, she does in fact remember me; my mother in law lies to me and tells me that Sadie misses me desperately all day long; She has yet to pick up an automatic weapon or write a manifesto, so we appear to be good on all fronts.

I miss her like crazy all day long, but seeing her little face at the end of the day is amazing, especially now that she smiles and giggles at me all the time. Our mornings are fun too, we nurse and get up and play for a little bit before I get ready for work. Let me tell you, my "Pat-a-cake" rendition KILLS with the infant set. KILLS.

2. Sadie smiles! And laughs!: The smiling happens on the regular, the laughing happens when you've done something TRULY AMAZING like kiss her neck, nibble her toes or make up some awesomely weird baby-centric lyrics set to the tune of "Whoomp, There It Is!". We call her Dubya because at this point her laugh is a weird chuckle reminiscent of our last fearless leader, which is super awkward since the mister and I are both die hard liberals. I just hope she doesn't invade any Middle Eastern countries unprovoked. ZING!

3. New Wheels: There comes a time, once you've had a baby, put your hubs in grad school, work full time and move to the burbs where you have to come to terms with a second vehicle. We've been a one vehicle house for years, but the logistics were becoming insane. Like trying to solve a rubix cube on an Absinthe bender. (Which I totally recommend trying at least once in your life.) We hemmed, we hawed, we pondered incredibly insensible cars (I totally need a Mercedes, right?) but in the end wound up with a cute little Ford Focus. We got a kick ass deal on a year old model that is loaded (as loaded as a Ford gets that is). It's super fun to drive and very safe and I feel super patriotic for buying my first American vehicle. Take THAT right wingers. You may have guns and Sarah Palin but I have a piece of Detroit engineering in my garage bitches. It almost offsets the Huyandai aka "Axles of Evil" Tucson that we also own.

4. I'm skinnier than before I was pregnant: This is a total attention whore moment. I am totally one of those chicks that other chicks hate. I was at my pre-pregnancy weight at my 6 week post partum appointment and now weigh about 5 pounds less. Before you start sending me hate mail, please remember that a.) I had a 10 pound baby b.)I have to breastfeed said 10 lb. baby and c.) I have to lug around that 10 (now 15 lb.) baby all the time. Call up US Weekly, that should be the new Hollywood fab diet, the "TEN POUND BABY DIET". I bet the Kardashian skanks will fully be onboard, until they realize that they have to parent the baby too. Babies totally interfere with the "let's wear way too much eye makeup while living off our late father's estate and trolling for professional athletes to sponge off" lifestyle. But I digress.

Anyhow, life in Valentine land is pretty awesome. My baby rocks, my husband is super cute and I fit into my skinny jeans again. Now if I could just fit into all my shoes...

XOXO,

The wonder of 4 AM.

I'm a working mom. I'm a working mom for many reasons: financial, emotional, professional and personal. I've never had an interest in being a stay at home mom; I enjoy my work and the satisfaction of helping provide for my family. That said, as the date of my return to work fast approaches, I'm incredibly sad. I am beside myself that I'll be missing out on the mid-morning snuggles of our first nap of the day. I'm sad that instead of staring into my sweet girl's eyes while we nurse, I'll be pumping in the empty office down the hall. I'm sad that it will (until Spring) be dark when I leave and come home. But this is our reality, our life and while I know it will be fine, I'm allowing myself to wallow a little bit right now.

I'm actually somewhat excited too. Part of me is looking forward to the mental stimulation, the chance to get out of the house and the reality of 8 spit-up free hours a day! And therein lies the weird dilemma of working motherhood: the somewhat schizophrenic reality of wanting to be the sole caretaker of your child but also wanting to have a life outside of the domestic realm.

In the interest of full disclosure, my darling husband has said (and would) support me if I wanted to stop working. But the reality is that our quality of life and our desire to create the world that I want for Sadie requires me to work for now. Mr. Val accelerated his graduate school plans so that he can afford us the opportunity to choose a different situation but that is still 2 years away. In the meantime, our priorities dictate that we both need to work outside the home to give our daughter all that she deserves in this world.

I feel guilty complaining because our situation is so much better than so many people right now. Mr. Val and I both have great jobs within understanding and flexible environments. On top of that, my daughter will be in the best hands possible as her wonderful Grandma will be watching her. I will never have the words to thank my wonderful Mother in law for that. If I can't watch my daughter all day, there is no better choice than family and we are so incredibly blessed to have family that want to provide that for our darling girl.

I also have to remind myself that it is temporary. My husband works his adorable butt off all day every day to bring us closer to the next phase of our life where I can have the option to work, work part time or not work at all. Every day that I wake up next to this amazing man I pinch myself. Since the day I met Mr. Val my life has gotten better and better; I know that the years to come will be no exception.

Today we started Sadie's college fund. Mr. Val and I take a lot of pride in our ability to provide not just the basics for our daughter but the extras as well. It is these things that wake us up early in the morning to ride our respective trains to work and keep us up studying into the wee hours of the morning. And it is her smiling face that has made 4:00 AM a wonderful hour to be awake. 4 AM is the hour of the day that is just hers and mine. It's the hour where we stare at each other while I nurse her and say that we love each other with our eyes. It's the hour where we pad quietly around the house until she drifts back to sleep. It's the hour where Mr. Val sleepily rolls over and tells us he loves us. It's the hour that would have never seen me awake a year ago...but now I love 4 AM because it is the hour that each new day begins for my family, full of love.

And that's what working motherhood will be for me. Stealing the moments that matter, since love isn't dictated by the quantity of time you spend together but the quality. It will be sad to leave her each day but so wonderful to see her smiling face at the end of each one. I will miss snuggling her at noon but will look forward to 4 AM...because that is our moment each day to make it count and no one can take it from us.



XOXO,

Your baby is an asshole.

Before you get mad at me, it's a line from Sex and the City. And no, I don't think my baby is an asshole.

Well, not all the time anyway.

But seriously? Having a baby is no joke y'all. They are like, SUPER needy, round the clock. I liken the new baby experience to a Wiley Coyote cartoon, where he gets an anvil dropped on his head by the roadrunner (which makes no logistical sense by the way, the roadrunner was way too skinny to carry an anvil, but that's a topic for another time). Anyway, he'd get the anvil to the head and be smooshed into the ground and then he'd peel himself off the pavement and little birds would be swirling around his head and there was an anvil shaped dent in his noggin.

That's pretty much how I feel everyday.

And I have an EASY baby. No, I don't have one of those babies that magically sleeps through the night or can already help me with laundry, but I do have a super sweet little girl who isn't colicky or fussy, who loves to snuggle all day and sleeps pretty well at night. Plus, I have a super awesome husband who helps do everything short of nurse her, which I wouldn't put past him if he thought he could.

However, the reality of child rearing is that even under such ideal circumstances, it's exhausting. I have no idea how single parents do it or parents of super fussy/colicky babies. Y'all are better women than I.

That said, it's the most amazing experience I've ever had and I love my little Sadie so much it actually takes my breath away. Since I've had her for 8 weeks now, I'm pretty much a baby expert, so here are some of my lessons learned to date:

1. Having a baby shines a whole new light on yourmom. I've been peed on, pooped on and barfed on daily since my little Sadie Bear came home. This kid is prolific in the bodily fluid category. And I did all this to my mom. Just know this: your baby will be a giant karmic kick in the ass for what you put your parents through.

2. You will make parenting choices you swore you never would. You know those proclamations you made pre-baby? "I won't be a short order cook" or "I'll never let my kid watch TV" or "I won't buy my kid anything with a Disney character on it".

Yeah you will. You'll do ALL of it and like it. You know that beautiful nursery I showed you a while back? It's essentially a very well appointed walk in closet for Sadie. Where does Sadie sleep you ask? Why right next to me in bed. Yep. We are thoseparents. Turns out that nursing a baby is kind of a round the clock job. And this mama didn't exactly love getting out of bed 4 times a night to lug my 10 pound bambina in and out of bed, so here we are, co-sleeping. I know, I know, you aren't supposed to sleep with your kid. But you know what? I LIKE IT. She likes it. And Mr. Val likes it too. So that's what we do.

3. Baby swings are little Christmas miracles, sent from Jesus. Our Fisher Price Papasan baby swing is the only reason my house doesn't look like a Hoarders episode. No joke, that shit is like baby crack. Or baby Valium, more precisely.

4. Being a mom makes you pensive. Since I've had Sadie, I've thought a lot about the many children who are not born into such loving families with parents that have the resources to care for them. I think it weighed heavy on my mind b/c of the holidays as I imagined all the little kids who don't wake up to food everyday, let alone presents. This has spurred Mr. Val and I to give back a little more, through charity and hopefully our own actions throughout the year.

5. LET PEOPLE HELP YOU. This is probably the best advice I got and the best advice I can give. If your wonderful Mother in Law asks if you want her to bring you breakfast/lunch/dinner, say YES. If your mom and stepdad buy you and your husband massages for Christmas and offer to babysit? Say YES. If your friends offer to come over and just hang out with your baby so you can bathe? Say YES. Your own psyche and your husband will thank you.

6. Get on birth control ASAP. I kid, but truly, this kid is adorable but we have ZERO interest in another for at LEAST 3 years. I told Mr. Val that I wouldn't even think about until then, but since he isn't sold on the idea of 3 sexless years of marraige, to the IUD I go.

Oh, and one last tip, try to have a kid as adorable as Sadie. It makes the 4 AM explosive poops much easier to laugh at.

XOXO,

10 pounds of heaven

I apologize for the accidental blogging hiatus, but I was unavoidably detained giving birth to my 10 lb. daughter.

Yep. 10. Whole. Pounds.

I want you to drink that in for a moment before I recount her birth story and note that I am not a big woman. My license says I'm 5 foot 4 whilst reality says that I'm 5 foot 3 when the wind blows straight up from the ground. My normal weight is between 120-130 lbs., depending on what time of year it is here in Chicago and how many bratwursts I'm currently shoving down my gullet. In short, I'm a small fry. This makes my 10 lb. baby story all the more surprising/terrifying/cautionary.

We blitzed past my October 27th due date with zero progress. No dilation, no effacement and no "dropping" on the part of the baby. I grumbled my way through the 40 week appointment, mad at my own body and my apparently lazy baby. The doctor agreed we'd go one week past and go from there. I got to the 41 week appointment and same story, in fact, I think my cervix was actually getting more closed at this point and I could hear Sadie laughing at me from inside my uterus. The doc agreed that it was time to induce so we set up an induction date of November 4th.

We got to the hospital around 10:30 PM on November 4th after my "last meal", which consisted of an Italian Beef, Cheese Fries & Chocolate Cake from Portillos. (Don't you dare judge me...I was about a thousand weeks pregnant.) They set me up in our L&D suite and began the medieval torture that is modern day obstetrics.

I was started on a low drip of Pitocin, which from her on out will be referred to as "The Devil's juice". I also was given a Foley catheter, which is a fancy way of saying they shoved a water balloon up my cervix and blew it up and yes, that is every bit as unpleasant as it sounds.

Let me tell you a little something about Pitocin. It sucks. Once the contractions kicked in, it was like a freight train was driving through my ladybits over, and over, and over. The contractions were massive from the get go and came one on top of another for what seemed like forever. I labored until about 4 AM until I just couldn't take it anymore and opted for the sweet release of drugs. The world's greatest anesthesiologist came to my rescue and gave me an epidural with such precision and quickness that had my husband not been holding my hand I would have kissed him. With tongue. I forgot his name due to the MIND NUMBING PAIN I was in, so in my mind he shall always be Dr. Kissyface. Because I literally wanted to kiss his face.

With the Epi in place I was finally able to sleep which we did as much as you can when you have an ever expanding water balloon in your nether regions. Early that morning they came in to check me and I'd dilated to 4 cm and effaced to about 60%. All of this was encouraging, however to make a long story short, it was the furthest I would get. They let me labor until about 4:00 PM until they lost Sadie's heartbeat. Let me just say, this had to have been the scariest moment of my life. It's never a good sign when 6 people in scrubs come racing into your hospital room and start prodding you, probing you and saying things like "STAT". Luckily they found her HB again but they switched off my Pitocin and Mr. Val and I looked at each other knowing exactly what was coming.

The doctor came in and yammered on about whatever for what seemed like forever but the only words I heard were "C-section". I wish I could tell you that I handled myself with some dignity here but the truth is that I was terrified and completely broke down. Like ugly, hiccuping, sobbing breakdown. I shooed everyone out of my room and just cried like a baby on Mr. Val. Not because I had some burning desire to shove an apparently hostile child out of my loins, more due to the lack of control. I was scared for me, scared for her and just really didn't want my body sawed in half.

A new anesthesiologist arrived and I could tell he recognized right away that I was beyond hysterical. Bless his heart, he upped my epi with enough drugs to tranquilize a rhino and into surgery I went.

I cannot tell you how incredibly bizarre it is to be awake while your body is being cut into. All those little tugs and pressures were so strange. I was shaking like a leaf the entire time, I thought just out of fear but it turns out I also lost a lot of blood which didn't help matters. They had to cut through the placenta to get to her AND use a vacuum to get her out, which made the grossest popping sound when she finally did come out. But she came out safe and sound which is all that matters and after a few frantic moments of me begging to see her, I finally heard her cry, the most wonderful sound I'd ever heard.

I'm not going to lie, recovering from a c-section is rough and caring for a newborn is essentially like hitting a brick wall at 80MPH. But it is a truly awesome thing to look at your child and see yourself, your partner and all your dreams and love in that little face. So without further ado, I give you:

Sadie Joan, born November 5th, 2010 at 10 lbs. 1 oz. This was my favorite picture from the hospital, I love that we are just checking each other out like, "Hey! I know you!"

















And now, almost three weeks later, here is my little Sadie Bug:




















I can say without hesitation I've birthed the cutest kid on the planet. She looks just like her daddy and I think my heart may explode with happiness every time I see them together. I will be posting more regularly again now that I am starting to get the hang of typing one-handed while my little munchkin spits up on me.

XOXO,

She's late, she's late for a very important date.

My baby is a squatter.

I am officially one week past my due date and I'll be honest, I'm not handling it well. I had a doctor's appointment on Monday where they confirmed that I've made ZERO progress at all. Luckily, my doctors office is very understanding of crazy pregnant women and said I could pick my induction date which is tomorrow! Tomorrow evening Mr. Val and I will check into the hospital to have a baby. That has to be one of the most surreal sentences I've ever typed.

I'm not going to lie, I'm a little freaked out. But I got my meltdown out of the way on Monday and now I'm just excited to meet my little princess. I'm hoping that all I need is the kick start and that I can deliver her but if not the most important thing is that I hold my healthy baby girl by week's end.

One cool thing about the induction date is that I will likely deliver her on Friday, which is my late Grandmother's birthday. When we were deciding on a name it was either going to be Sadie Elizabeth or Sadie Joan, after one of my grandmas. We decided on Joan who is my Mom's mom. Now it looks like my sweet Sadie will have one grandma's name and the other's birthday, which I think is pretty cool. A little nod from my Grandma Betty in heaven perhaps?

Anyway, we are just counting down the hours now and I'm in full on nesting crazy mode. Cooking, cleaning and getting ready to meet this wonderful little person that we are already so in love with.

XOXO,

The only love letter I've ever written to a girl.

Dear Sadie,

Hey Bruce Lee, it's your mom. I thought it was time we had a chat, since your relatively peaceful gestation is drawing to close. Since we'll be meeting each other soon, I wanted to give you a heads up about this wonderfully strange world you'll be stepping into shortly. So here it is, a Cliffs Notes if you will about us, you and life as I see it:

Your Mom & Dad:

The first thing you should know about us is that we love you more than anything in the world, except perhaps the Bears (your daddy), cheese (your mommy) and wine (both of us). We loved you from the second we knew you were coming, when all you were to me was a second pink line and nausea. We'd dreamt about you even longer, when you'd appear, what you'd look like & whose features would echo in your tiny face and personality.

We talked about what we wanted for you (college, faith, family) and what we didn't (video games, pressure, a stint on reality TV) and how to make it happen. We talked about who you'd laugh like, who you'd look like and what you'll think of us. We hope that you love us, at least until you're a teenager at which point we realize you'll probably think we're totally lame. Hopefully, by the time you are 22 and eating top ramen in a crappy apartment you'll realize that we were pretty kick ass and swing back to loving us. Just know we'll always be here, waiting for the moment you realize how cool we always were.

Your dad:

All you need to know about your dad is that he is the best man you will ever meet. When I told him you were coming, he set about doing all the things he'd always promised to do to take care of you. He went back to graduate school so he can give us the best life possible. He worked his ass off for a promotion at work. He kissed you through my belly everyday. When he found out you were a girl, I watched him fall in love with you before my eyes. He talked about all the things he wants to teach you, mostly things like the Chicago Bear song, how to kick a soccer ball & the entire Bruce Springsteen discography. I know you'll be a daddy's girl because he won't have it any other way.

The rest of your family:

Get ready kid, because you are getting a whole heap of crazy, loud, Italian/Mexican/Jewish/Catholic/Irish/British/American style family love. You know all those muted noises you've been hearing through the cozy safety of my uterus? That's your family. I will warn you, they are crazy. But as you'll find out, all the good ones are. You are being born into a world full of people who love and adore you already and who will never let you down. If there is one thing I want you to know baby, it's that in this life, family is everything and you are getting the best one ever.

This World:

I'm not going to lie to you, this world can be a scary place. It's loud and bright and full of danger. I want you to always keep your wits about you as you walk through it. That said, this world is a wondrous place. It's full of life and laughter and oceans and mountains and buildings and music. I hope you explore it with gusto and never stop trying to find the beauty that exists here. There is sadness here too, which makes the beautiful things stand out that much more. I hope you listen to Mozart. And the Rolling Stones. I hope you read Shakespeare & David Sedaris. I hope you go to Paris. And Wyoming. And the ocean. And anywhere else your heart desires. And I hope that no matter where you travel, a little piece of you always thinks of me & your daddy when you think of home.

So what else is there to say really? Not much, except that I can't wait to meet you and watch you find all this out for yourself. My only advice to you is to always say please and thank you, always try new foods before you decide you don't like them, try not to swear too much and always leave your heart open for the possibility of love. Oh, and try not to hurt mommy too much when you decide to come out, OK?

XOXO,

A Moveable Feast

I'm in cardboard box hell.

No, we're not homeless, but we are moving which at times seems like it might suck more than actually being a hobo.

At this point I'm an excellent mover, since I've been moving almost every year since I left home for college. I'm not really sure why...I just never found a place I wanted to spend more than 12-24 months and figured I didn't have that much stuff so why not? Up until this point we've lived in Chicago or just north of the city in the Northwestern University town of Evanston, enjoying our urban existence as childless newlyweds, fully capable of seeing the "charm" in the local crackhead or prostitute. However, once Mr. Val knocked me up we grudgingly decided it was time to plunge into suburbia (cue funeral dirge) so that we don't have to jump our sweet baby girl into one of our friendly neighborhood gangs.

Since we first started living in sin almost six years ago, Mr. Val and I have moved FOUR times. This move will be our fifth and FINAL time as we both agree that unless this particular rental burns to the ground or is picked up in a tornado and spirited away to the wonderful land of Oz, we are staying put until the Mister graduates from his Masters program and we finally buy a house. Since this is (knock on wood) the last lease we will ever sign, I'd like to take a moment to look back on some of the humble abodes we have called home:

1. The Studio - Mr. Val and I truly believe that we are capable of surviving anything and everything only because we lived together in a studio apartment for a year. At the time, Mr. Val was finishing his Bachelors degree and waiting tables and I was a bartender at 2 local bars. We were on a SUPREMELY tight budget which blinded us to the fact that we were living in a Frank McCourt novel. I mean this place was bad. Tiny, poorly laid out, old, you name it, it sucked. The only bright spot was that it was located on an awesome little street with cafes & coffee shops, which was good since we wanted to spend as little time as possible in the actual apartment. It was the kind of place where you met the slumlord landlord the day you signed your lease and then never again. If there wasn't a body stinking up the joint there was no point in calling because they simply didn't care. Knowing this, we decided to violate the pet policy and buy a puppy named Beans who lived/loved/peed there quite happily for 3 months. At the end of our lease we moved up and out to the...

2. One bedroom - at the time the one bedroom seemed downright luxurious. Walls separating my bed from my kitchen? I felt like Imelda Marcos. If I went back now I'd laugh...the "kitchen" was a stove & fridge apparently made by and for the wee people of Munchkinland, there was roughly 9 inches of total counter space and the elevator walls were covered in pink shag carpet. But it had nice windows and was in a killer neighborhood and we could walk to the train/bars/restaurants which made it perfect. It also allowed dogs so we didn't have to sneak Beans under cover of darkness to go to the bathroom. I have incredibly fond memories of this place, as it was the site of the following triumphs:

• Boyfriend Valentine became Fiance Valentine
  
• Mr. Val graduate college
  
• Mr. Val and I both finally got jobs that didn't involve the phrase, "Would you like to try some boneless Buffalo Wings?"
  
• I finally got couches that hadn't been handed down through four generations of frat houses
  

We were doing well, in fact we were SO super cool and bad ass that we decided we needed to move into what will always be known as...

3. Our Super Sweet City Loft - the super sweet city loft was just that: a killer loft in an old industrial building that had been converted into condos. We were lured there by the Craigslist add that billed it as the "West Loop". Technically, it wasn't a lie as I think we made the West Loop cut by a few centimeters. Realistically, it was also a few centimeters shy of Malcolm X College, blue light Cameras and a Salvation Army Rehab Center. At this point though, we understood the bargain of city living which is, to put it simply, nicer place in a sketchy hood vs. rat infested tenement in the nice part of town. We opted for the former, since we had garage parking, a scary doorman and at this point a second dog (Jake) that Mr. Val thought we should get for "protection".

A side note about Jake. We rescued Jake from the same shelter as Beans, who to this point had literally been the perfect dog, save for her penchant for licking the walls. We still aren't completely sure what Jake is, but from what we can tell he is part Rottweiler/Pit Bull/Shar Pei/Wildebeest. He actually does serve some protective purposes since he scares the shit out of most people with his little muscly legs and giant head, but in reality, his idea of protecting me is following me from room to room and sitting on my feet. Excellent.

We spent two awesome years here, living it up in the city, getting married and hanging out with our awesome neighbors on the balcony. Unfortunately, we quickly outgrew the place due to my overzealous use of the scanner thingy when registering for our wedding gifts so we moved to...

4. The Hood - no joke, we moved to the hood. Make no mistake, it's a nice place: 2 beds, 2 baths, newly remodeled, basement with laundry, the works. It seemed so lovely a place to put all my fabulous Pottery Barn dishes that I didn't even notice that the realtor would only show it to us in the middle of the day on a weekday or that he had the lease ready for us to sign in less time than it takes Usain Bolt to get to the mailbox. I still don't think the neighborhood is unsafe, it's just full of random happenings and people. Like the neighbor who I'm pretty sure is running a foster care scam out of her house. Or the old man who feeds the squirrels peanuts in his underwear. Or the guy who asked us one day if we had any interest in fighting Jake, you know, in a dogfight. Needless to say, it's probably not the best place to start a family, so this Saturday we move to...

5. The Burbs - It's finally happened. We sold out. We'll be moving to a 3 bedroom townhouse so that we can give our sweet baby a safe cozy place to call home for her first couple of years. It's totally boring, it's totally cookie cutter but it's totally the right choice. It may have some paint spots to clean up, and some ugly light fixtures to change, and one of those awful mailboxes that you have share with your neighbors, but it's the first place my baby girl will call home, which makes me love it already.

So I remain in carboard hell, packing up the last of our child free years and moving to Mom-land, which, to be perfectly honest, sounds a lot like heaven to me.

XOXO,

The 2 Year (non) Itch.

It may be Thursday, but for me that means it's the weekend since Mr. Val and I are taking some much needed time off to celebrate our 2 year anniversary! We decided to take a "staycation" and enjoy the many wonders of Chicago that we don't take advantage of enough. Here is the tentative agenda for our weekend:

-Sleep
-Beach
-White Sox Game
-Visit the Art Institute of Chicago's Modern Wing
-Four star dinner at Avec
-Sleep
-See Toy Story 3 and surely bawl my eyes out
-Architectural boat tour
-Sleep
-Kayak
-Scope out locations for maternity photos
-Catalan Tapas at Iron Chef Garces' restaurant
-Attend whatever street festival is taking place

I'm pretty excited, there is a lot of stuff on that list I've been dying to do for a while. One of the great ironies of living in or near a huge city like Chicago is that most residents rarely take advantage of all the amazing offerings, so we decided to do it up and live like tourists for a few days.

All of the plans are fun, but I'm most excited to be celebrating 2 years of what I have to admit has been pretty blissful married life. I try to always err on the side of humor and not sap, but I have spent the better part of the last 6 years (total time with Mr. Val) wondering how I got so lucky. You won't meet a more honest, loyal, funny, hard working, kind person than my husband. He is my very best friend in the world and every day I love him more than the last. This is why I put up with him leaving his socks everywhere. He's just that awesome.

We've come a long way in 2 years and an even longer way in the 6 we've been together. 2 years ago I thought I experienced the best day of my life:



But it's gotten better every day since:



I hope you all have an amazing weekend and feel the same love I do surrounding you everyday.

XOXO,

Half Baked.

And no I'm not talking about pot you druggies.

I'm talking about babyVal, who is officially halfway baked this week. To my knowledge this means he/she looks less fishy, although I won't have confirmation on that until Friday, which is our big ultrasound where we find out the sex! It's funny, because I always thought I wanted a little boy first but once I became pregnant I started secretly dreaming of a little girl in dresses and hair bows and ruffle butt bikinis. Don't judge - I'll be thrilled either way, but anyone who says they haven't thought of one gender of the other is full of it. Just like I know my husband is dreaming of t-ball games and teaching a little black-haired boy to play football, but would equally adore being wrapped around the little finger of a curly headed baby girl.

That said, we have taken numerous bets on the gender with a slight edge going to the girl camp. It's about a 55/45 split on guesses girl/boy. I love the logic of guessing to, it's normally something as conclusive as "Your skin looks bad. Girl." or "You don't look any different from the back. Boy." or "I've been dreaming of a mongoose eating a snake, which in Pagan folklore means boy." Obviously, Mr. Val and I couldn't care less, one healthy, happy giggling baby is all we need.

That said, here is the 20 week round of pregnancy stats. Feel free to interpret them as you will and lay a wager down on the state of babyVal's reproductive organs. There isn't any money in it for you, just the personal pride that comes from successfully guessing the genitalia of an Internet stranger's fetus.

Weight Gain/Loss: I said I'd never tell, but I'm up about 10 lbs. I wish this didn't freak me out so much but it does. I do adore the baby bump though...it makes me smile every time I catch my reflection.
Maternity clothes: I'm rocking half maternity clothes and half normal. I've pretty much only gained weight in the belly, so I'm getting away with regular tops that are either a size up or empire waisted. I do have some maternity tanks & shirts though that are heavenly. I'm still able to wear most of my normal pants with a belly band although I have a few pairs of maternity pants I'm about to bust into. Oh yeah...elasticized waistbands here I come!
Stretch Marks: Nope. Keep knocking on wood...I'm using the Medela stretch mark cream, so I'm pretty pleased with that for now.
Sleep: I am sleeping fine, exclusively on my side though which is an adjustment for a stomach sleeper like me.
Movement: It started a week ago with this weird little popping sensation, unlike anything I've ever felt. Now I feel baby all the time, and I'd describe it as a gentle rolling feeling. It's strong enough that Mr. Val can feel it too!
Food cravings/aversions: no more aversions. The last specific craving I had was for coffee ice cream. I've been eating it like crazy.
Gender: I am still leaning towards girl, but to be honest I have no idea.
What I miss: margaritas
Best moment this week: seeing Mr. Val's face light up when he felt the baby move.

So that's it! I should be a more regular blogger again now that I'm settled into my new job (more on that later). I've got to go...Top Gun is on which is clearly the Citizen Kane of the 80's, so I'm going to watch it with a giant bowl of ice cream on my lap.

XOXO,

The unbearable weirdness of being knocked up.

Here is the honest to god truth about being pregnant for the first time:

It's super weird.

It's weird that all the sudden I want pineapple, like, NONSTOP. It's weird that one day I look skinnier than before I peed on that fateful stick and that the next day I wake up with Lou Piniella's body. It's weird that I vacillate between sex sounding AWESOME and threatening to punch my husband should he so much as LOOK at me lasciviously in the SAME DAMN DAY. Basically, in the words of the immortal Dwight Schrute: "A three-ounce fetus is calling the shots. It's so bad ass."

And here's the other honest to god truth about being pregnant for the first time:

It's really scary.

All of the sudden I'm tasked with a waterfall of major decisions. Do I keep working or stay home? If I stay home do I REALLY want to eat top ramen and use single ply toilet paper until my husband is done with grad school? Do I cloth diaper or not? If I let my baby cry will he/she turn into a serial killer? If I don't let my baby cry will he/she turn into a serial killer?

There is no reason for me to be so panicked. Mr. Valentine and I are ready for this baby. We have good jobs, good educations, a stable loving marriage and a supportive family. But even when you find yourself in the incredibly blessed position that we Valentines are, it's hard to not be flummoxed by the sheer magnitude of what you are about to do. Truthfully, 15 short weeks ago Mr. Valentine and I had a trough of Margaritas and decided to throw caution to the wind and now it's (holy shit) baby time. You can see how I am a little suspicious of our judgment.

But then I see the little terry cloth robe I bought babyVal. It's the only thing I've bought so far, but I couldn't resist. I run my hands over it and imagine the little miracle whose arms will soon fill out those sleeves, whose tiny feet will poke out the bottom and whose bright little face, no doubt topped with curly dark hair will stare at this brave new world and all its wonders. And I know that without question I can do this and how much I want to. And I know that all the decisions will get made, in due time, hopefully more right than wrong. And every time my husband kisses my stomach and whispers goodnight to this baby, I am reminded that I've already made the most important choice of all, which was choosing him. The rest of the pieces will fall as they may, but the only thing we really need is each other.

Well, that and the occasional Margarita ;)

XOXO,

Up the Duff....

...is a delightfully tacky British turn of phrase for pregnant.

Which I am.

This is another mea culpa for my erratic blogging as of late, but it's hard to come up with pithy comments about cheese when all I can think about is the tiny succubus that's currently residing in my womb.

I have no intentions of turning this into a pregnancy blog as I think most of them are boring and I'm certainly going to stay my cheese eating, wine swilling self...just in mom form. And no, I'm not drinking wine while pregnant. My desire for a baby without gills trumps my lust for the Jesus juice.

That said, it's a pretty major life change so I'll obviously give you the highlights here, but none of the gross stuff, b/c some stuff should just be locked away and suppressed, never to be exposed save for the safe haven of a psychotherapist's office.

There is the standard list of knocked up questions with my not so standard responses:

Weight Gain/Loss: I'll never tell, but I can tell you it's not that bad. Despite the fact that I ate grilled cheese sandwiches exclusively for a week.
Maternity clothes: not yet, though I am scouring websites to find cute ones that don't cost a fortune.
Stretch Marks: no and I plan to do anything, including drink the blood of virgins to avoid them. I am hoping my mom's kick ass genetics come into play here.
Sleep: is the new sex.
Movement: at my last u/s babyVal was moving around like a maniac, which I clearly can't feel at this point. This worries me as it indicates a crazy baby is on the way. Karma really kicks you in the ass,no?
Food cravings/aversions: cravings have been all over the place. Some days fruit, some days cheeseburgers. The most obvious symptom is that I am utterly susceptible to suggestion. If I see someone eating a turkey sandwich, I want a turkey sandwich. The other day a colleague of mine was eating sushi, which I can no longer can eat. I almost cried. Bitch.
Gender: I suspect girl. Mr. Valentine suspects boy, though I assume this isn't so much a suspicion as a desire to reenact the "Wanna have a catch?" scene from Field of Dreams.
What I miss: staying up past 9:30.
Best moment this week: seeing babyVal moving around at the doctor.

So that's it for now. I promise to never veer into STFU Parents territory and to always maintain my rapier wit. You just have to promise to love me when I cry and give in when I demand pickles.

XOXO,

I'm pretty sure Jesus wasn't a procrastinator.

But here I am, on the eve of Ash Wednesday with no idea of what to give up for Lent. I took a totally unscientific poll this week (Mr. Valentine the scientist would be so displeased) and found that most people give up the usual suspects: smoking, drinking, swearing, chocolate, midget porn, etc. I don't smoke anymore, so that's out. I couldn't care less about chocolate so that would be cheating. I suppose if I really wanted to liken my Lenten experience to Jesus' 40 fast in the wilderness I could give up cheese but come on, we all know that ain't happenin'. (I have a segment called Fromage Fridays people. I am very serious about cheese.)

I think I'm going to take a two pronged approach to Lent this year. I've decided to give up a tangible thing - drinking of any kind. This will most certainly make St. Patty's Day suck but that seems a tad bit whiny when you are trying to channel the sacrifice of a man who wandered in the wilderness for 40 days before ultimately dying a supremely unpleasant death for all humanity.

I think that is a good start, however I'm not sure that me giving up lemon drops & prosecco really is the point of the Lent exercise, so the second "sin" I am giving up is a behavior. For the next 40 days, I am going to attempt to stop stop complaining/criticizing others. I don't think of myself as a mean person, but I am an OCD, type A, only child with a dash of Irish depression thrown in. I can be hypercritical, both of myself and others. So my real challenge for the next 40 days is to stop sweating the small stuff I guess. Stop complaining about my job and do something about it. Stop criticizing my husband for not cleaning enough and start thanking him for working so hard for us. Stop whining about the relationships in my life that hurt and try to find some peace in them.

It is easy to get bogged down by what tires us in life: bills, sickness, stress & pain. I'm hoping the next forty days reaffirm what I already know, that I am an intensely lucky woman with a lifetime of good still to come. St. Athanasius described Lent as "becoming by grace what God is by nature." That's a pretty tall order, but I think with forty Cosmo-free days and a renewed positivity I can find a little of that grace in my life.

The Bachelorette: Chicago Edition

If you watched Sex & the City as religiously as I did, you might remember the episode where the girls talked about their "Secret Single Behavior" i.e. the secret things we all do when our spouse or significant other is away. Since Mr. Valentine is off to the PacNorthwest for a few days, I will be indulging in the things that I only do when the hubs is away.

1. Watch as much girly entertainment as humanly possible. Here is some of the mindless crap I have watched while my husband is away: 27 Dresses, Bride Wars, My Sister's Keeper, Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (1 & 2), The Devil Wears Prada (like 1000 times), Sex & the City (naturally), About a Boy...the list goes on and on. I do draw the line at anything starring Jennifer Lopez, Sandra Bullock or Jessica Simpson though. I have standards people.

2. Clean. I love to clean. The dirtier the better. The mister helps as much as he can, but let's get real; the average dude just doesn't clean things well enough. Mr. Valentine would clean everything with 409 and the kitchen sponge if left to his own devices. When he's gone I get to be as obsessive compulsive as I want and it is AWESOME. Incidentally, this is how I clean out the old, worn out undershirts he refuses to toss. I just throw them out when he's gone, buy new ones and put them in his drawers. Best part? He never notices.

3. Shop. (Insert evil cackle) My husband is very good to me and virtually never says no when I want to buy something. (Smart guy) That said, shopping alone is SO much better than shopping with a dude. I can take my time, try on as much as I want, put stuff on hold, stop for coffee and then decide. And no matter what the price I can figure out a way to convince him I needed it. (see aforementioned statement about him never saying no. I have my ways.)

So that is what I'll be doing for the next 4 days, that plus seeing my family & some friends. It'll be fun, as usual, but truth is it's just how I fill my time until my best friend comes home.

"Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies." - Demetri Martin

I like to think of myself as a guy's kind of girl. I love beer, whiskey & basketball and have on more than one occasion made some dude my bitch when it comes to sports trivia. That said, I am a total chick too, and said "chickness" seems to flow a little more freely around the holidays.

My most recent expression of girlishness is surrounding Christmas decorations. Mr. Valentine & I braved the snow and got our tree on Monday. You may remember that my Christmas ornaments were STOLEN last year by someone who has a cold dark pit where their heart should be (my money's on Kanye West. I DO live in Chicago). But I finally accumulated a respectable new collection of trimmings for the tree and they are fabulous. Even the hubs thinks so, saying that we replaced our old ornaments with better ones. I concur that this fresh crop of ornaments is better and I can tell you why in one word:

GLITTER.

I am not talking about the ill-conceived Mariah Carey movie. I'm talking about Martha Stewart meets overzealous scrapbooking with a hint of 5 year old girl thrown in glitter. My tree looks like Glinda the Good Witch of the North decorated it. I mean there is glitter EVERYWHERE. And it is fantastic. Glitter snowflakes, glitter balls, glitter bows and the Pièce de résistance, glitter tree topper from Pottery Barn that cost as much as the damn tree. (Not joking, not even a little bit.)

But I, like a magpie, am attracted to the sparkle which in my mind makes it a logical investment. Because if you can't drown yourself in glitter at Christmastime, when can you?

My Super Duper Post Thanksgiving Workout

1. Get up at 11:36 AM (still technically morning)

2. Put on workout clothes/shoes (the cuter the better)

3. Grab husband and dogs

4. Walk for 100 yards, run for 30 (repeat for roughly an hour)

5. Stop by your most favorite coffee shop in the world and get a latte (skim of course) and a Spinach-Feta cheese quiche (um...sure, this is skim too)

6. Amble home at a snail's pace...

...and watch the pounds melt away!

Ten Things I am Thankful For:

1. My husband. He's cute, he's funny, he lets me buy shoes whenever I want, he's the hardest working person I know and he puts up with me. 'Nuff said.

2. My family. My parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, grandma are all dotted along a sliding scale of awesome. There is not a single one of you that I don't look up to and aspire to be like. For those of you that aren't near me, know that I love you and miss you everyday.

3. My friends. Some are near, most are far but all are amazing. I don't keep up with everyone as often as I should, but know that your friendship means the world to me.

4. My dogs. They are smelly, ill-behaved and require WAY too much attention. They also are the only little beings in the world that kiss away tears, snuggle when you are sick and always are happy to see you. That type of unfailing loyalty and love will do a soul good.

5. My mom. I know, I know, I already called out family but my mom is more than a mom. She's my very best friend in the world and truly the best mom ever. The unconditional love she gives me is without compare. She also has exceptional DNA that I cross my fingers every day filters down to me. She also has a bar. In her house.

6. My very beautiful, most special BFF ever Banana. (You know who you are) You are beautiful, smart, kind, generous of spirit, funny and the bravest girl I know. I have never been more scared than when I thought, however briefly, that you might be taken from me. Thomas Fuller wrote, "If you have one true friend you have more than your share." I certainly do.

7. My health. With the exception of my fallen appendix (RIP), I remain blessed with good health. I should run more and drink less wine but hell, life is short and my body has served me well till now. Keep truckin' little buddy.

8. My memories. I didn't really know what I was getting into when moved to the Midwest on a whim and certainly didn't know how much I'd miss you all back home. The memories of home serve me well in the middle of these cold cold winters.

9. My in-laws. Lots of people hate their in-laws. I adore mine. Since the day they met me, they've welcomed me with warm hearts, good food and even better cocktails. They are simply family to me now. (Just stop asking when we are going to have kids, ok? xoxoxo)

And finally, number 10 is a wish that all of you have as much to be thankful for as I do. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.