first baby #2 purchases

This poor babe. If it's a girl, she'll have endless hand-me-downs from Alexandra. If it's a boy, endless hand-me-downs from all my girlfriends here in NYC who ALL have boys. I guess I'll have to buy him/her something new, right? I found it:




Can't decide which one I like more, so I might have to go with both. Beware all friends pregnant with #2--you'll probably get one, too!

Aren't you glad you're not teaching? NO.

Now that y'all know I'm pregnant, I can post about all those pregnancy things.

I have had so many folks say to me, "Aren't you glad you're not teaching while you're pregnant?" (FYI, I'm on sabbatical to write my dissertation this semester) and, surprisingly, my answer is a resounding NO. I LOVED teaching while pregnant. I was treated like a goddess in my school. Kids rubbed my belly, never tired of asking me questions about my pregnancy, and were so unbelievably kind to me it was pure heaven. My co-workers were awesome, too, but it was the complete compassionate treatment from even the craziest and most thugged-out of students that really made it an amazing experience.

Once, as I was walking down a crowded hall (our school was built in 1890 as an elementary school so when passing occurs the halls are way too crowded due to the size of our huge high school kids), a notorious gang-banger (whom I barely knew) saw me struggling to squeeze through the students and hollered, "Yo! Move out! The pregnant teacher is tryin' to get through!" and he parted the students like Moses parting the Red Sea. No lie.

One of the many reasons I was so bummed to be pregnant now is that I'd never experience that kindness and curiosity from the students again. Granted, I'll go back to work the last week in August and teach until my due date on September 21 (no maternity leave in the Department of Education--those bastards), so I'll get a few weeks of preferential treatment, but I'll miss the many teachable moments that came from being in the classroom while growing (like clarifying that babies don't have gills like fish).

Photo: My AP class in February 2007, me five months pregnant.

Clear eyes. Full hearts. Can't lose.

I have another confession: I am completely, utterly, embarrassingly addicted to the television show "Friday Night Lights" (FNL).

It all started with our friends Amy and James, who became parents/couch potatoes right as we did. We swap stories of what we are watching, and at our latest dinner playdate they told us that we HAD to start watching FNL. Let me tell you that Amy and James are super-intellectual. They're Ivy-leaguers. They read voraciously and have incredible vocabularies. Their other friends are so smart, they're intimidating.

Then we saw a commercial for FNL and we almost died laughing. THAT'S what they were into? Some dumb Southern high school football show? Sheesh. We figured it was because James grew up in Manhattan and that whole experience was foreign to him. We thoroughly enjoyed teasing them about it for a bit. Shame on us.

A few weeks later, our other friends Diane and Rio told us, "You guys have to start watching FNL." Adam and I were thrown. Them, too? We politely declined their suggestion. They challenged us: If we could watch the first few episodes and NOT fall in love, they'd buy us dinner. It was on. Adam and I were sure we wouldn't like it, rented a dvds, and a mutiny occurred in this apartment. We watched TEN episodes total this weekend alone. We had to institute a television rule that we could only watch FNL on Fridays and Saturdays because we couldn't control ourselves, but then we watch nine hours of it in one weekend. We have problems.

Our Russian guy at the video store understands our addiction. When Adam ran up to get a second dvd in one night, Adam said to him, "What is it about this show?!" and Dimitri replied, "It's good. It's so good, I watch FOOTBALL now. I follow the Giants..." (imagine this said with a thick Russian accent).

A powerful show, indeed. Maybe, as my friend Jason said, it can help unite the Blue and Red states...or a least of few of us in them.

Take Two

I think I didn't post as much in January because I was harbouring a secret from the world. If you know me, you know secrets are not my forte. If you have a REAL secret, I can keep it. But other than that, I just can't. I love sharing information; I think a lot of us benefit from each others' stories, experiences, sorrows, joys...I don't share with the world at large (blog, facebook), but I'll tell a few friends who I feel will really connect with whatever you said. And they do (connect, that is). At least I have good judgment in that respect.

So, when I peed on the stick on day 34 of my cycle and it unexpectedly produced a positive, after I ran to Adam in the shower sobbing (for various reasons), I just wanted to tell my close girlfriends b/c I knew they could talk me off the ledge--and they did. By the end of the day, I was feeling much more grounded, after a day of space-y teaching in which many times my students had to ask, "Miss, are you okay?"and I mumbled that I was fine, that the baby was just up half the night (which she was) and I was tired (which I was). Not lies, but not the real truth, either.

With my circle of friends in the know, I then somewhat guarded the information. After our miscarriage in May 06, I have been more reserved about to whom I reveal pregnancy information. You can't even believe the stupid shit people said to me after we miscarried--things like, "Well, now you won't have a baby with two heads!" or "It probably would have been retarded" and the list goes on. They had good intentions, I believe, but I wanted to punch them...or hand them a card that said: THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU SHOULD SAY TO A WOMAN WHO JUST MISCARRIED.

And I kinda thought that after having had a successful pregnancy, and after getting pregnant on total accident, that I'd be able to float through this pregnancy worry-free. Nope. There is something about miscarrying that continues to haunt me. And even though I didn't want to be pregnant now, the last thing I want now is not to be pregnant. I have had nightmares--the whole works.

But we had our ultrasound yesterday where we saw our tiny dancer doing a jig on the screen, little limbs flailing around, alien head bopping, placenta, cord, heartbeat = check. I am 9 weeks along, and now the chance of miscarriage is down to less than 5%, so I figured I could take a gamble and post.

We have NO plans for more than two kids (and are currently investigating better birth control options!), so I'm really trying to embrace/enjoy this as much as possible.

Feels good to get that information out into the world. Now I can start blogging about what I'm really thinking about...

(ps: Sorry for the pee-stained pregnancy test photo. I kept that test on my desk for WEEKS trying to convince myself I was really pregnant, and by the time I took a photo of it, it was, well, aged!)

What mama's say...

My friend Susannah forwarded this to me today from her friend in Philly and I had to share:

This morning I had an early meeting at work. After racing around like a madwoman, running back in the house twice for various forgotten items, and finally getting L in the car on the way to daycare, she announced:

"When I turn into a mama, I will say fuck."

Union Square Vegetable Peeler Passes Away

I was just blog-surfing when I came across a post that the Union Square Vegetable Peeler guy, whose name was Joe, passed away at the age of 75 this week.

When I moved to New York almost ten years ago, I loved the vastness of this city. I remember riding the subway and thinking, "NOBODY here knows me...they don't know that I don't wear bright red lipstick...I could wear bright red lipstick!" It sounds ridiculous, but that idea of re-inventing myself after coming from the teeny, tiny college town of Chapel Hill where everyone knew your business before you did was truly liberating.

Regardless of the 8 million people who live here, you do find a familiar set of faces, especially because we tread a repetitive path most days. I remember Joe from my years of practicing yoga religiously. I'd travel into Manhattan from my high school in Brooklyn, get off at the F stop on 14th street, and walk over towards Union Square where I'd go to a class either at OM or The Shala. I must have passed Joe a million times, and I was always tempted to buy his vegetable peeler--it looked so convincing as he sat surrounded by the skins of many veggies--but I was always rushing to get my om on.

As big as this town is, it's the familiar faces like Joe's that give it consistency and provide a common thread of conversation for all of us. These individuals seem trivial, but I think they ground a lot of us in a subtle way.

Whatever Joe believed in, I hope he's at peace wherever he is now.

kittens (inspired by kittens)

you gotta love the creative genius of kids sometimes.
this post is for lisa, who reigns supreme in cat craziness.
her son will be doing this someday!

Student Loan Debt Stimulus

Many of you have heard me bitch and moan about rich and/or ignorant folks getting bailed out by the government with the proposed stimulus package. Upon chatting with my midwife the other day over the woes of money, daycare, etc, she said that she wished they would consider student loan forgiveness as part of the stimulus package. I exclaimed and enthusiastic, "That's brilliant!"and the idea has lingered with me.

Currently, between my undergrad, Adam's master's degree, and my doctorate degree we pay close to $1000 per month in college loans. That combined with rent, food, bills (life insurance, cell phone, electricity) and daycare leave us barely scraping by each month. It's a sad state to live in, especially when you feel you have done what society tells you to do (go to college, get multiple degrees, establish yourself firmly and successfully in a profession, don't do anything stupid like get a mortgage you can't afford) and you're still financially struggling.

If the government were to grant student loan forgiveness as a part of a stimulus, even if they just gave any/everyone with outstanding student debt 20K that could ONLY be used to repay loans, all that money would go back into banks and/or the government (our loans are currently from the government and a private loaning company in NC). And then, those of us who are financially paralyzed by college debt would have that much extra money per month to put back into our flailing economy. I really see it as win/win situation.

But, of course, I'm not holding my breath on this one. Instead, we'll bail out a bunch of douchebag bankers and financially irresponsible home-buyers so that they can simply go out and repeat their same mistakes. You know they will. Because they'll just wait for a second hand-out, I mean bailout, to fix their problems.

So, again, no bailout for us folks here on 8th Street, Brooklyn, New York, USA.


More info on college loans forgiveness bailout idea.

great description of the forgive student loan movement here

Maple Syrup Mystery Solved

The last few years there has been chatter regarding a maple syrup smell that blows into the west side of Manhattan occasionally. Suddenly the streets will be filled with the sickeningly sweet smell of pancakes and waffles, calls flood the city's 311 information line, all my friends who live on the West Side update their Facebook statuses to inform us that the smell is back, and a few end-of-the-worlders have predicted that this is chemical warfare and/or concentrated air pollution intended to kill us all (Man, if we're going out that way, I really hope it smells like maple syrup and not the numerous other smells I associate with mass annihilation).

Fret no more my friends, for the conundrum has been solved!

It's Fenugreek!

It seems across the Hudson River (where Pilot Sully so agilely landed the airplane--I just can't get enough of this story--anyone else?), in that state my dad lovingly referred to as "the armpit of the East," there is a fenugreek processing plant. Every so often, when the timing is right, the wind will blow a gust of fenugreek over into Manhattan which smells strangely like maple syrup.

When I heard this on NPR last night, I was not at all surprised. I nursed Alexandra for over a year, but I was never one to make an over-abundance of milk. I took fenugreek every day as recommended by my friend Julia, and, as a side effect, my armpits smelled like maple syrup for a year. I got used to it, but my sweaters still have a bit of that sweet smell to them that even the harsh chemicals of the dry cleaners can't get out. I can't believe that with all the nursing mothers out there and a store called "The Upper Breast Side" that we didn't figure this out earlier.

Our Nancy Drew skills are very lame, ladies.

For more info

Random longing...

This is my first week on sabbatical. Yesterday I went to the dentist, ran errands, got a mani-pedi, and worked out. Today I cleaned/organized my desk and files. I have yet to do anything truly academic. Oh--forgot to mention--the purpose of this sabbatical is to write my dissertation and to get this beastly doctorate off my back.

Yesterday, when walking down Fifth Avenue in Park Slope I had the star sighting I have been waiting for: Maggie Gyllenhaal. Well, actually, it would be the star sighting my husband has been waiting for since he adores her, but since rumor had it that her and family had moved into the Slope I have been itching for evidence.

The sighting was so non-descript; she was talking down the snowy street with her dad who was pushing toddler Ramona in a Maclaren stroller like everyone else. She was wearing a black puffy coat like everyone else. They looked so nice and normal, and she is really quite pretty in person, much moreso than in photos. She seems like that friend that you kinda hate because she looks better without make-up...

But what lingered with me throughout the day wasn't the Maggie-factor, but the act of her walking down the snowy street with her dad. Whenever I see people my age with their fathers I get jealous. And sad. I can't help it. Even if my dad were around, he wouldn't be up here walking Alexandra, but maybe if he'd had a whole different life, with different health, that maybe could have been a reality. I really wish it had.

(no photos of Maggie and dad on the www, had to settle for mom)

Baby Sagging & other Fashion Issues

Alexandra was given a pair of super-cute jeans from her auntie and uncle for Christmas (we just did Christmas Deux this past weekend, hence the timeliness of this post). We have never bought her a pair of jeans b/c from the few hand-me-down pairs we got from our niece it seemed that baby girl jeans are just too skinny for our chunky monkey, but I was willing to give these jeans a chance. Babies in jeans are just too cute.

But instead of being cute, Alexandra resembled the male population of my high school--she was bustin' a sag all day long with her diaper, at times in it's entirity, popping out of her jeans. We went to the playground today after I picked her up from daycare and the poor child couldn't move! She'd trip, or try to climb a steep step, and she literally could not lift her leg b/c her jeans were sagging down so low and they are so narrow/skinny. What is up with that?!

I am constantly amazed at how different little girl clothes are compared to little boy clothes. Boy clothes are so baggy, girl clothes are much tighter. At this phase of life, there really isn't too much of a physical difference, so why are the clothes for littel girls already so suggestive? My friend Amy lamented last spring on how her 7 year old daughter was embarassed b/c her jeans came down so low (= low enough to create a piggy bank slot, ie: a bit of butt-crack showage) and her little girl panties rode up over her jeans. She wanted her mom to buy her bikini panties instead! SEVEN YEARS OLD!? WTF?!

Why do clothing manufacturers make clothes for children so their butt-cracks peek out? I mean, shoot, it's one thing if J-Lo wants a whale tail (thong visible from jeans) or if Brittney Spears chooses to let her crack (and other areas) become familiar territory to half the world, but for a little girl? Sick. What sort of perverts are designing children's clothes?

I get scared of what sorts of fashion debacles I'll have to navigate with Alexandra as the years go by. I have heard urban legend that when the boys wear those skinny jeans sagging (belted at their upper thigh so that their entire bum hangs out and their boxers advertise their personality to the world at large), that they can't run from the cops as fast, and I witnessed that with Alexandra today! The poor baby could barely move! Our friend Dave did his medical internship at Coney Island Hospital and an array of teen girls came in complaining of tingling in their legs and lack of circulation to their feet; it was determined that their too tight jeans (and, hence, muffin tops) were cutting off blood circulation to their legs! Insanity!

So, I hate to say it, but I think baby jeans are out for us. Someday Alexandra will certainly squeeze herself into some ungodly pair of jeans, but until then I'll maintain her ability to move in leggings.