Another Crazy Weekend

It's been a few days since I've written and SO much has happened (note sarcasm).  We started our weekend with a bang on Friday night when Ben pooped in his bouncy seat. I know what you're thinking: First your kid pees in his mouth and now this?  Are you sure you two are fit to be parents? And I must admit, I am beginning to wonder.

It all started innocently enough: Eric came home tipsy from his office party and offered me a deal I couldn't refuse:  If I let him sleep it off from 7:00-11:00, he would take the entire night shift.  I couldn't believe my good fortune.  Ben and I settled in for a lovely evening of reading, bouncing, and breast feeding. Sadly at around 8:05 I made the aforementioned discovery and had to rouse my very disgruntled husband, who begrudgingly threw the soiled pajamas in a plastic baggy-Is there some special cleaning method that involves Fairway bags I am unaware of?- ran Ben a bath, and promptly returned to bed. If it weren't for threats that tales of a drunken, deadbeat dad were going to surface on my blog, I predict I wouldn't have heard from him for another three hours. However, The World According to Ben apparently is the gift that keeps on giving because Eric was soon awake, using his foot to soothe Ben in the rocking seat, as the bouncer was temporarily out of commission.  

The weekend truly began to gain momentum when we went to an Islanders game and sat in the skybox.  Our friends even put a picture of Ben up on the big screen to welcome him to his first game. Naturally, he was thrilled and promptly pooped in his Islander colored onesie. Are you sensing a theme here?

The real fun happened Sunday when Eric watched Ben, and I ventured out into the Real World.  It quickly became clear that despite having given birth a mere eight and a half weeks ago, I still had It when a homeless man hit on me on the subway. Now let me tell you, Eric mocked me for being flattered by this but it was a REALLY crowded subway.  This gentleman could have chosen anyone.  

I would have been satisfied to call it quits right then and there since I didn't think I could feel any better about myself than I did at that moment but I decided to see what else the day had in store for me, so I pushed on and went to Babies R Us (after all, I had just pumped my breasts so I knew I had a good two and half hours before I had to get back to Ben. The world was my oyster).  And boy was I glad I made that decision because it turns out I had seven (count 'em!) coupons and two gift cards and I managed to spend -$.10.  I could actually feel my father beaming all the way from Vermont.    

I know all of you out there are reading this and feeling jealous...maybe you went to a club this weekend or a really long, fancy dinner and you are just now realizing all you've been missing.  And while I know you are hanging on my ever word, just waiting for the next titillating anecdote, I have to go.  Ben is getting antsy in his swing and I think I smell something...

My First Ever Blog

This entry will mark my official debut as a Blogger. I really should have started this sooner but until recently I haven't been coherent enough to write a grocery list, much less post for all the world to read-and of course by "all the world" I mean my mother and best friend.

Ben was born on October 13th, after 27 hours of labor-28 if you count the 50 minutes I spent wondering if this truly was "It" or just a result of the eggplant parm, stuffed artichoke, and four slices of pizza I'd consumed eight hours earlier.

Since his birth, it has been a whirlwind of diapers, breast milk and sleepless nights. And with the exception of a handful of silverware that I hurled at my husband's head (contact was avoided, as a few forks and spoons grazed his left ear and landed safely on the living room rug) these weeks have been filled with lots of love, exciting firsts, and most important, precious hours of getting to know Ben.

Ben. He is amazing. I am sure all mothers say that about their sons-and they should-but he truly is special. Sweet, funny, adorable. He was born full term and big-nearly nine pounds, a lot to carry on my (once very petite) frame, and the product of what I can only imagine was the approximate 4000 calories a day I consumed during my pregnancy. Nevertheless he has always been alert and aware. He is handsome like his father and by six weeks old, we began to see that mischevious twinkle in his eye-a look I predict will mean countless things in the near and distant future-I have a HUGE poop in my pants... I found the chocolate Daddy hides from you and I've eaten it all...I met a girl and we got married in Vegas...

And while I have stopped using antiperspirant in order to keep my breast milk pure, and I have removed every piece of jewelry so as to protect his delicate skin, I don't claim to be a perfect mother. Today for instance, Ben peed in his very own mouth. Now, a good mother probably would have known how to avoid this. There are Pee Pee Teepees after all, designed exclusively to prevent this exact event. It all just happened too fast-He was on the changing table, one thing led to another. My own mother relishes these stories as I am sure I will too one day when Ben, all grown up with children of his own, will recount his own mistakes. But what I lack in experience and general knowledge, I make up for with an abundance of love.

I have been home now for eight weeks. I worked until the day before I went into labor. That means I have had 1344 hours dedicated just to loving Ben, something for which I am truly grateful. While there is something so incredibly special about maternity leave--the opportunity to leave work and focus solely on your, well, maternity-there is also something very lonely and isolating about it. As a person who loves to communicate, socialize, and interact, I find myself at a loss for ways to remain stimulated amidst the burping, changing, and feeding. What to Expect in the First Year encourages new parents to speak to their babies-something that sounds easy but talking to a person who never responds eventually becomes tiresome-even my husband occasionally looks up from an Islanders game and grunts during our conversations. I find myself longing to think. Last week a monologue about the laundry- "This is Daddy's shirt..." "Oops Mommy got chocolate on her pants again..." morphed into a lesson on the history of integration and racism when I discovered two single socks-one black and one white at the bottom of the basket. A high school English teacher, I divide my time between longing to return to the classroom and crying about how much I will miss him in February, when I do.