9 months! NINE!

how is this possible? what a shame that the first few months are a big blur.

yesterday's pedi appointment stats:
20 lbs 13 oz (83 %ile)
27.4" tall (43 %ile)

for some reason I thought she was pushing 24+ lbs and was much taller. her buddy isabel (12 months old) is a tiny peanut next to ginny. so why are we buying (and fitting into) 18 month clothes?

our birthday girl loves to wave, eat finger foods, giggle, play patty cakes, say mama and uh oh. but with all these new and exciting milestones comes some separation/stranger anxiety. not so fun. the best is when b comes home from work and ginny absolutely lights up when she sees him. it's amazing to watch. love it!

here she is on our favorite play mat. it's got a mirror, plush toys and squeaky things built right into it. very cute and so entertaining. the panda (also from ikea) is her new best friend (sorry lulu.)

click on the photo and you can really see her chubster legs. wow!

yet another crapola birthday

sucky.

I told b a few weeks ago that all I wanted for my birthday was the opportunity to sleep in and some long overdue, full-on foot pampering (aka professional $25 pedicure.) don't spend any money. we need to save the few funds that we have.

I woke up sunday morning and practically begged b to get up with ginny. it was 6:30 am. after a lot of sighing and exaggerated yawns he reluctantly changed the baby and took her downstairs for breakfast. man! what drama! how could I possibly go back to sleep and enjoy it? (happy friggin' birthday p.)

9 am, I go downstairs. b and ginny are on the couch watching tv. nobody takes notice of the birthday girl. the coffee pot is cold and empty.

"should we hit the basement first?" I ask while making the coffee. today is a HUGE packing day. we plan out our strategy. moving bites.

"um, aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?"

"oh yeah. you beat me to it." LAME! (happy friggin' birthday p.)

so I spent the entire day in the dark basement weeding through crap, shuffling around more crap and filling boxes with other crap. horrible. however... I knew that later on we'd have a sitter (the third time since august), we had reservations at a nice restaurant AND we were going to scalp tickets for david cook (I pathetically admit -- my silly cougar crush.) things were looking up. woo hoo! pack, shower, david cook! (did I really say that out loud?)

then b's blackberry rang. SHIT! this usually means it's (a) his charming mother or (b) the hospital. any way you look at it I lose. big time.

it was (b.) and it was a transplant. (happy friggin' birthday p.)

so he canceled the reservations and I sulked -- heavily! I opened up my card from b and checked out the gift certificate. hmmmmm. urban outfitters. since when did they start catering to the geriatric set? geez. I haven't shopped there since high school. I then poured myself a glass of wine, looked at my hideous toes and neglected feet and watched the local tornado warnings on tv. yikes! there was a good chance I'd be spending more time in the basement today.

b arrived home early monday morning. the long overnight transplant was a huge success. the 42 year old woman got a new heart and a brand new start on life. fantastic! happy birthday to her!

it really doesn't matter

that I'm sick with a bad cold right now. that b is home vomiting with a stomach bug. that I'm way behind with work deadlines. that my hair has never looked worse -- seriously! that my skinny waist and flat tummy have been replaced with excess skin and horrific flab. that my ass is still fat (nothing new.) that we don't have amazing plans (or ANY plans) for the holiday weekend (aside from packing.) that I'm stuck inside today when the weather is fantabulous. that I'm so friggin' tired that I could literally close my eyes and sleep at my desk. that we have nothing in the fridge for dinner (b isn't eating anyway.) that I have at least 4 loads of laundry to fold, a filthy house and a giant stack of bills to pay.

it really doesn't matter because ginny said "mama!"

weeeeeeee!

never in my life

"OK now you're really living my dream life."

this brought tears to my eyes when I read this after my last post (and I'm teary now.) never EVER in my wildest dreams would I think anyone could possibly think this let alone say it out loud. I realize it's just a casual expression but it still takes my breath away.

I've forever heard "you have the worst luck" and "it figures it would happen to you." things have never come easy for me as there always seems to be some degree of struggle involved. it's just that way -- my life. I consistently take the "long route" with whatever I do. yes, I think I have have accomplished a lot (up through my AMA years) but always with the extra effort. maybe this is a good thing. I certainly don't take things for granted. when my friends announce honeymoon and "oooops" babies, ginny truly stands out as extra special. yes, there was a lot of heartache, pain, unhappiness, stress and $40,000 involved but she was worth the entire experience. I wouldn't change a thing. if IVF #2 had worked out then I would never have met the little girl who's giggles and "uh, ohs! make my day and my life so rich.

so it catches me completely off guard to hear someone say I am living their "dream life." it makes me happy. it makes me sad. I've had a lot of loss (3 parents taken by cancer) but I've also had a lot of good. things with b are great (at the moment) and I have a miracle child that I absolutely, positively adore beyond words. even though I bitch and complain about many things - packing, moving, working. fuck! things are good! we have our health and a roof over our heads (((touch wood)))

davs, your time will come. I know it! hang in there and one day you will be living a dream life. next time you're in nyc, we are so hanging out! drinks are on me!

in a nutshell

packing, packing, packing.
working, working, working.
we found tenants for our condo. thank god!
packing, packing, packing.
working, working, working.
we found a kick-ass apartment in manhattan. what a HUGE relief!
packing, packing, packing.
working, working, working.

stressed out!

we move in less than 4 friggin' weeks! FOUR! how the hell is this going to happen? at this point -- completely and totally impossible.

shit.

mother's day (beginner's version.)

10 may 09. I never imagined I'd get to celebrate mother's day aside from being a "dog parent."

I woke up at 6:30 am. sleeping in was a nice idea but not going to happen. b was on call and ginny cried and coughed herself awake at the crack of dawn. poor love bug has a cold. you can hear it in her chest. you can see it in the runny, snotty nose. so sad.

out of bed at 6:40 am. it's sunday. ginny had her bottle and then proceeded to puke. full-on projectile vomit! 8 oz of expensive formula all over me, on the rug and in between the cushions of the leather couch. what a disaster.

then I opened up (the dreaded) greeting card from MIL. "celebrating your first mother's day." oh man. on the cover was an illustration of an african american baby boy. I kid you not. I know she wanted a grandson but virginia is very much a girl. AND I'm white! this is just another shining example of her blatantly not accepting who I am. she hated me even before she met me. inside the card was filled with all sorts of religious scribble to get me worked up and aggravated. "a woman who fears god is praised blah blah blah." talk about passive/aggressive. geez.

then I went down to the basement to start organizing for our move to nyc -- in 1 month! it was mother's day -- beautiful and sunny and I was stuck in a damp and dingy basement packing and going through yard sale/goodwill crap. I did this until the tears.

then b and I argued (gently disagreed) about the legal documents for our new tenants. it was mother's day and I was deep in a dispute over security deposits and official lease jargon (I have a long history of being screwed with rental apartments. must do this correctly.)

then I went upstairs to get ready for dinner. we were going out! woohoo! things were looking up... until I had to get dressed. nothing (seriously!) NOTHING fits this flabby 8 months pp body. it's hideous and gross. I know, I know... sit-ups. but when?

then we drove to the restaurant. closed.

then we drove to a favorite italian spot. the wait was forever and we had concert tickets. of course we got to the show late and... then... there he was. my ex's good friend and band mate. he is also the drummer in the opening band. how do I say hi when I'm giant and fat and smell like broccoli rabe with stinky garlic?

mother's day 2009. perfect? maybe not but I wouldn't change a thing. I have the greatest, most amazing gift of all. that makes this mother very happy.

chomp!

it's official. behind those chubster cheeks we finally have a tooth! wow! baby v is getting too big too fast.