Be Careful What You Wish For

It has been approximately eight months since my last blog entry. This might have something to do with the fact that my firstborn is now ten developmental months (forty weeks old). Juno was right when she speculated that babies were "quite the time suck." It has also been seven years since I have moved back to Trinidad and six years living in the same apartment. I think it is safe to say that we don't go more than a month without having some sort of issue related to our rental. BC (before child) my husband, chihuahua and I were a lot more tolerant of the constant issues. We also love our location so we would continue to put up with the *insert expletive*. Life goes on...

Aside from the reality that I do live on an island, I am particularly fair skinned and motherhood just took that to a whole new level. I think I'm usually somewhere between egg shell and alabaster. Now, I do believe in The Secret and the power of the Universe. Not to the extent of those idiotic girls who got a show on the E channel and were part of the Bling Ring who robbed Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and some other "talented" celebs. But, I do think there is some truth to what you put out "there" is what you attract. So in true "Secret" form I visualized sun. I had been out of practice for a while and forgot to visualize exactly what it was that I wanted.

My husband took a business trip and my mom filled in to help with baby. She brought some Starbucks coffee (instant). Yes, we finally got a Starbucks in Trinidad but they don't sell the Via Instant. My husband bought some ground Starbucks coffee for me before he left. I asked them over the phone why they didn't sell the instant. They replied that they didn't think it would sell, but would now think about it. So if we do get the instant packets, I will take full credit for that.

Low and behold, week one went well.

Week two: Mother drops wedding ring down bathroom sink. No problem. Thanks to endless plumbing issues, I got this! Retrieved in under a minute. Then, the kitchen sinks back up. Husband had thrown out plunger but not replaced it. *Insert another expletive* I purchase another, stand up on the kitchen counter and use my body weight to plunge the double sink. Nothing. It was a Friday, and mind you, in the fifth world I might get a plumber on Monday. So for the weekend, I toted draining boards full of dishes out to the hose down by the pool to wash my dishes in true ghetto form. But guess what I got? A semi tan! Thanks universe.

Then, after six years of shady electricians provided by angelic landlord and insanely high electricity bills, we find out that we have been paying for an outdated water heater that works overtime, not only for our apartment but also for the one below *more expletives.* We decide to confront the landlord about our electricity bill that is half the amount of our rent. He was away and unwilling to do anything about it until his return. Normal scene. I put it out "there" again that this situation would be over. Thanks to the universe, the water heater just stopped working. So I guess that took care of that. Cold showers morning, noon and night for me and baby. *Double expletive*. We will never ever ever ever ever see a dime of that money back. But his Rolls Royce, Bentley and several Mercedes are safely parked in his covered garage.

Just when I was about to grab our passports and set fire to the rain, my husband brought back enough Starbucks instant coffee to last me until I return to the U.S.A. one fine day.

So, I took a cold *triple expletive* shower ...

and had a latte (instantly).

#trinidad #landlord #starbucks #coffee #baby

The Beautiful Misery of Parenting

I once bought a puppy for Harley (my Chihuahua) as a means of company. That was over ten years ago and I have obviously changed my stance on buying dogs from pet stores and puppy mills. My Chihuahua is also from a pet store but I like to think that even so, I technically rescued him from a life without a king size bed, trips to the beach, shiatsu massages and other excessive means of spoiling. So I bring this “new” puppy home to meet Harley and it just wasn’t the right fit. I didn’t like what “he” did to our family of two. So I did the unthinkable and returned this sweet, innocent puppy to the pet store.

Three short weeks ago, I gave birth to a baby boy (human). There I am, in the clam position after forty-five minutes of pushing, with no drugs I might add (third world problems) and after hours of hot, steamy contractions, only to be rewarded with a bundle of baby, guts and goo on my chest. The doctor might as well have put that returned pet store puppy on my chest and said, “Okay, it’s all yours, enjoy.”

Of course, after he was cleaned up, dressed in human attire and in my husbands’ arms I loved him right away.

When you find out you are pregnant, it’s all daisies and pixie dust. Then you get a bit more pregnant and you start to think thoughts like:

Shit, this thing has to come out of my body, someway, somehow. Is it going to hurt? Nah, people do it all the time, it will be fine.

I am the apple of my husband’s eye, am I willing for some being to take a bite out of that apple?

I should have done this when I was younger. I can get used to little sleep, I was twenty-one once.

Will I really hate my husband like all my friends warned I would?

So far, this is what I have found.

Yes, it hurts! It hurts a lot. Especially when no one has accurately described the pain of a contraction. No, it is not like a bad period pain. It is more like the Devil himself blowing up a fire balloon in your abdomen and back at the same time for two straight minutes until you literally have no words, no breath, no understanding of reality. Then the Devil allows the balloon to deflate for thirty seconds and repeats for a number of hours. You pray for death to come first, totally ignoring the feelings of any loved ones you may leave behind.

The love. The love is a different kind of love. It’s worth sharing. It’s more of a sense of responsibility and as for the way your husband loves you, in my opinion, it only increases. He came, he saw, but I conquered. It is just like they say. After he sees what you go through, he really can’t ever be mad at you again in life, ever. He even let me name the baby, which we previously agreed would be his perk.

If I had done this when I was younger, I would likely have resented my husband and resented the baby. I applaud those who were and are able to birth a child before age thirty and then look after him/her. Of course it’s personal for everyone. For me, waiting until after thirty and accomplishing my life goals first only put me in a better place to care for another life. I am lucky to have what everyone is calling a “good” baby. Even so, a newborn baby needs to eat… all the time. When they wake up they need their diaper changed and need to be fed. After they are fed they need to burp. Until they burp, they cry. After the burp then need to sleep. Sometimes they cry again, and again. This process takes an hour (minimum), which means, you have about another one to two hours before this cycle repeats, and repeats and repeats. So as “good” as your baby may be, you will lose sleep. You will also cry to Adele’s “Hello” for no apparent reason, out of nowhere.

I have not hated my husband once since our baby was born. I need him. It takes a team to raise a baby. I have the best partner. Hopefully I didn’t just jinx it.

On a positive note, I no longer feel the guilt of over-caffeinating a tiny being. I stuck to my 150mg max of caffeine a day during pregnancy. I am thankful I had the time to write this blog only getting up three times to push my baby’s swing that I can’t be bothered to buy batteries for…

…And have a latte.

In Your Dreams! My Freudian Analysis

About three years ago I read half of Freud’s book on dream analysis on a flight from Trinidad to Orlando. Clearly that makes me an expert in the field. Now that I am almost six months pregnant I have had to cut back of caffeine and therefore my daily double dose of latte. I’ve picked up some new vices like having Frosted Mini Wheats and Cheerios for dinner. People always say that eating right before bed will give you weird dreams, not to mention pregnancy itself. Last nights dinner involved chicken noodle soup followed by a tiny bowl of cheerios. Honey nut, to be specific. My pairing of choice was an episode of Seinfeld. It just so happened to be the episode where George recommends the name “Soda” to an expecting couple and informs Susan that their future child would be named “Seven.” 

Choosing baby names can be a difficult task. I’ve had a girl name picked out for over five years but all boys names just seem so boring and uninventive to me. Since I don’t know the sex of my baby and won’t until D-day, I’m plagued with the reality that I might in fact have a boy! And then what?!  I read the baby name book of 100,000 names cover to cover and nothing. And then I had a dream….

I gave birth to a perfect, tiny baby boy with a full head of dark brown hair. No name. Segue into an immediate outdoor barbeque where everyone was dressed in cocktail party attire including my dear friends Kourtney Kardashian, Taraji P Henson and Gabrielle Union.  My new baby, who had not cried or woken up since birth (11 hours ago now according to my watch) sat at my feet in his car seat.  I asked my mother if I should wake him to feed him. She advised that I allow him to sleep until he was hungry and he would eventually awake. It began to rain and the car seat filled with water submerging my new baby. When I eventually remembered, shit, I now have a child, I looked down to see him all wrinkly totally under water. A voice from the side says, don’t worry they still have gills at birth. What a wonderful point. Maybe if I allow him to live partly under water and partly above water he would be an amphibian and always be safe in and out of the water. There I sat at my designated table at this cocktail party barbeque with the baby name book in front me. Kourtney is now glaring at me with her troops around her waiting to find out what this baby’s name is. It comes to me! 

I haven’t heard this name since my mother last mentioned her childhood golden retriever. So yes, it once belonged to a dog but it is actually a human name. I won’t reveal it just in case my husband is flexible enough to let me use it! I then became aware that I’d like to get out of this dress, so Taraji, the girls and I, went to change. I unzipped the front zipper of my dress to see that dreaded line down the center of my stomach only to realize it was an imprint of the zipper and my pre-pregnancy stomach was back! Happily the dream ended there. So, what does this all mean? Will I be a bad mother and forget my baby in his/her carseat? Will I name my baby after a deceased dog? Will Kourtney K finally realize that we are kindred spirits? Will my pre baby body resurface 11 hours after delivery?

Freud’s explanation is something to the effect that your thoughts and various happenings of the day are all bouncing around in your subconscious. Sometimes in REM sleep they become crossed and you end up kissing your dad (how very Freudian) or falling for that neighbor you hate. So, not to worry. Here’s how I think my signals got crossed.

My best friend is planning a wedding and stressing over table numbers. This would explain the fancy attire and assigned seats for the barbecue.

Kourtney K has managed to choose cute and unique names for her kids, unlike her younger sister Kim K. This would explain her glaring at me demanding I name this child and it better be good!

My mom came up with the one and only boy name that I approved of but it has since been reconsidered. This would explain the need to pay homage to her childhood dog. The uniqueness of said name can be chalked up to George Costanza.

The zipper line on my stomach would account for my fear of that horrid “linea negra” that pregnant women get.

I’m not sure why my baby was part fish part human and submerged in his car seat. Maybe the liquid from the soup and milk from my cheerios was sloshing around him/her in my belly all night. Maybe I need to finish Freud’s book.

So tomorrow, I’ll forgo my daily dose of cereal…

….and have a latte.

Just One of Them Days

A day that started out like any other day turned into one of "them" days. I opened the fridge to pour some milk for my morning latte and then opened the freezer for ice. Before my eyes was nothing short of Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Memory" with everything dripping and drooping, melting and morphing. I was suddenly thankful that I had little to no groceries and had procrastinated stocking up for Christmas.

In true OCD fashion, my morning routine consists of counting all of the things I have to do before I leave the house. I don't always remember what those things are but I remember the number of things I have to do and cross them off my mental checklist as I go. It seems to work.

Off to work.

Seven things, I had seven things to do. I only remember getting up to number six. What was seven? Deodorant!!! Noooooooo. Thankfully, I had a short day ahead and would be safe in the air-conditioning all day. Except, I had to stop and put air in my tire. Remaining relatively cool and managing to keep my missed number seven anxiety at bay, I got back in the car and cranked the AC. Where is my antibacterial pocket pack?! After vigorously searching my purse and causing the missed number seven anxiety to rise, I remembered where I left it. It was in the purse I took to the movies so that when I paid for my popcorn I'd feel less uncomfortable licking my butter fingers.

Finally at my destination, body temperature intact, an inopportune run-in with a psychiatric patient ensued. I remembered what we were taught about positioning yourself near a door if you felt threatened by a patient. My only door was an emergency exit and probably locked knowing the functionality of the hospital. So I excused myself to take a "phone call."  Crisis averted but definitely creeped out.

Home.

If my food can't be cool at least my body can. I turn on the second AC unit in the living room which is now apparently blowing warm air. I'm reminded that I'm now home and can finally correct the missed number seven. Feeling way more tired than usual, I am looking forward to that afternoon latte. By now the milk in the fridge is just safe enough to give me one warm latte. I drank it with no ice out of  pure desperation. As the day turned into night I found the apartment strangely quiet. At long last! The seemingly invisible pantry cricket has made his escape! He only knew one vowel (e) which he sung all  through the night from his alternate universe, unseen and unscathed. Just as I decided to turn in for the night, I turned off the lights, walked toward the bedroom.....


"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee".

No. Way.

With my mini-muffin baking pan as my proxy ice tray (who owns ice trays anymore?), I better be able to wake tomorrow...

....and have a latte.

Tongue Thai'd

As a shorty biscuit, there are a few novelties in life I am not privy to. High on the list of shortcomings is the massage chair at the nail salon. I’ve had to give up on the dream of the lower back massage. When all hope of that dream disappears, I remember the actual reason I’m there, the pedicure. But before long, my mind wanders again. I often imagine the sheer terror and pain of childbirth but I am reassured when I remember that gazillions of women have done it and most more than once. I’ve sat through a few hours of tattooing and survived, so I could probably handle it.  Just then I’m brought back to reality by the equivalent of a cheese grater tormenting the arch of my foot. But it’s not pain it’s worse, it’s ticklish! I can’t take it and I start to hold my breath. I breathe through the seconds. It will be over soon. I can’t take it anymore and I jump inches off my chair. My Thai friend at the receiving end of the flinch laughs, I laugh and we get to talking. We talked relationships, family, friends food and fun. I shamefully divulge that I saw the Kardashian’s family trip to Thailand via the E channel. I immediately back it up by bashing the level of squeamishness that said Kardashian women displayed when stepping onto a boat, swimming, touching sand, seeing a bug, feeling a breeze, getting a hang nail blah blah blah. Ever since I continued on my path to becoming a psychotherapist, people just seem to wanna tell me their life stories. In true practice, I’ll keep our conversation confidential but lets just say that in 60 minutes of talking to “Sally” (why can’t they ever use their real names?) I learned more about her culture, her people, her reality than three hours of part one, part two and the conclusion of the Kardashians in Thailand. No, I’m not surprised. The only time the Kardashians left their fancy shmancy suite was to take a gratuitous trip to an orphanage where Kim pretends she’s going to adopt an orphan because she was “cute.” Coincidentally, it doesn’t work that way in Thailand. Unfortunately for me I’ll never get back those 3 hours of Kardashian watching even though I willfully subject myself to it. I was however, lucky enough to become that much more culturally aware, a competence crucial to my future profession. Having gained by shedding some skin, I left the salon in my new color “Mrs. Robinson.” In an effort to be more aware of the coffee culture I drove myself to the nearest Starbucks…

…to have a latte.

Church laughs: A Series of Inappropriate Events

Trying to stifle a church laugh is a task no less difficult than trying hold in a sneeze when your mouth is full of fried rice. The silence your fear to break is unbearable and time moves like sand through an hourglass. Prayers of intention become prayers of petition and you pray that the choir erupts in an impromptu Hallelujah.

Our wedding day was no different:

My dad reminded Andrew of the deal they made after 18 holes and the answer to his request to marry me. You can have her but YOU are my new retirement plan :)

I can only speculate that the best man found this time appropriate to show the groom one version of his speech, the one  that they would read only once and then burn. I imagine we were all still a bit drunk from going down the islands the day before.

Yup, that's my boy..

One of us is about to burst into flames....it's probably you.

He had one job......

I went all in...what are you waiting for?!

There may not be enough room for you in this union :)

Help! I'm tripping over my dress. We tied the tulle in a knot! My fairy godmother and those mice pulled a fast one last night. My dress is 6 inches longer!

What they should have written underneath the  grooms shoes.....

Ants? In there?

No it's not ripped at all, it's fine (The Best Man)

Doing what he does best, sacrificing someones dignity for the benefit of a joke :)

Where is this story going.....

Cheers!

Shots worked!

Caught!

Final thoughts for the bride and groom..... I had to burn those.


The best thing about a church laugh is that the intensity accrues and sometimes you get to express it in this type of forum.

So, where's the latte in this story?

The restaurant manager may have slipped while carrying all of the glass bottles filled with iced coffee and may have hurt his back and may have been out of commission for a while.

This was the one day I was on such a high I didn't need............. to have a latte.

10 Truths After 30

I recently celebrated my 31st birthday. This new accomplishment has brought some self- reflection on my life before 30. Those of you who are not quite here yet may want to peek into the future of life after 30 and avoid makings some of these truths your own. Please note the disclaimer for #9 :)

Here we go!

1. You spend your birthdays telling your friends you haven’t quite decided exactly where you’re thinking of celebrating when you know full well you plan to be in bed by 9:30p.m. and you really cannot afford to be eating cake at this age.

2. You realize that there’s no such thing as overfilling the Brita pitcher. The filtered water actually comes out first allowing the rest to filter through before drinking. (Glad I didn’t call my husband at work after all to complain about that).

3. You spend countless hours researching trendy calorie burning workouts and 25-minute full body circuits only becoming too tired to actually do any of them.

4. You consider setting your alarm for 7:00 a.m. a treat but lets face it, you will already be up when it sounds.

5. On Tuesday, you foresee your Saturday night as a glamorous, club-hopping, champagne popping extravaganza. Instead, it ends up as a night of Facebook and Instagram where you live vicariously through the twenty-somethings you once were.

6. Making dinner is like doing your homework. If you don’t do it, you may not be punished but someone will be ‘disappointed.’  If you try to hurry it, it’s just a big ol’ mess. If you avoid it all together, you will have twice as much to do the following day.

7. One drink with a heavy pour is not the start of the ‘best night ever’ it’s an early end because you have to make it through the drive-thru before it closes.

8. You wonder what other breakfast items exist besides toast.

*9. People constantly remind you that you have no children yet no one congratulates you on not getting pregnant in your teens.

* Some of the most amazing people I know have had children in their teens, whose kids are also pretty amazing. I just think I should receive an award because I like awards.

 10. You reward yourself for eating a healthy dinner by eating all the cookies in the house.

The best thing about life after 30 is that you have an excuse ...

....... to need a daily latte (or two).

HAPPY FRIDAY!