Lawyerish

Fifteen (and a Half) Months

My mom reminded me that I had neglected to do a fifteen-month post about Felicity, and since there is nothing so riveting to the world as my child's development, I figured I'd better get it out there ASAP. 

Toddlerhood continues to be a time of wild highs and deep lows, of explosions in language and motor skills and of utter, bone-crushing exhaustion on the part of the caregiver by the end of the day.  When I go into Felicity's room in the morning, she says, "Hi! Hi! Hi!" (or sometimes "hello" if she's in a more formal mood), and waves at me from her crib.  Then she says, "Up! Up!" and when I pick her up, she takes care to remind me that I have a nose, ears, eyes, a mouth and hair. 

She is highly fixated on facial features and body parts, and this is also how she introduces herself to people as we go about our day: after an initial "hi! hi!" and frantic waving, she says, "Nose.  Ear.  Eye!  EYE!" and points at the subject's face.  Children around her age seem to understand this meet-and-greet shorthand (I guess it's their version of cocktail party banter), and she and a fellow shorty will jab each other in the cheeks and eye sockets until an adult intervenes and reminds them about Gentle Touches. 

After the morning greeting, I take her to the couch and she has her bottle -- sometimes she gulps the whole thing down; others, she has a few sips and wants down so her daily exploration can begin.  Yes, we have tried to get rid of the morning and evening bottles, but no, she is not having it yet.  I think part of her reticence (expressed in the form of ceiling-crumbling screams) is that she has FOUR MOLARS coming in at once, and the bottle gives her a chance to gnaw on some silicone for a while to get a bit of relief.  Anyway, I am not concerned and I know she's going to eventually make the transition; she always does.

While Joe and I take turns getting ready, we switch off reading to her and playing with her.  You guys, I don't want to be one of those parents who is all, "My two year old LOVES 'War and Peace'!" but Felicity has gotten really into longer books lately.  She wants us to read "The Red Balloon" and "Little Bear's Friend" and "Sammy the Seal" and all these LONG ASS BOOKS that take a VERY LONG TIME to get through (and then she wants to hear it AGAIN and sometimes a THIRD TIME).  It's not that I mind, especially since when she hands you a book, she says, "nap! nap!" and climbs into your lap, but sometimes you long for a simple board book that doesn't suck up half an hour, you know?  (Except that the one board book she loves most right now is this one about Thanksgiving that we have now gone through about 50,000 times.)

After some reading, she usually gets distracted by wanting to climb on something.  She recently started climbing into and out of the rocking chair in her room, and she will do that for, oh, 45 minutes (saying, "Shit! Shit" for "sit" -- HEE) before moving on to the next activity.  This requires adult supervision, of course, as you have to hold the rocker steady and assist her in the dismount since she hasn't entirely mastered the concept of landing on her feet.  It's somewhat hair-raising, but a pretty decent workout for both caregiver and child. 

From there, she might move on to play with her dolls.  "Baby!" she says, ambling over to the dolls in her toy bin.  Then, "Shit!  Shit!" as she forces them into a sitting position (still makes me laugh EVERY TIME), sometimes in a manner that comes perilously close to baby doll abuse.  She likes to pick up a doll by the neck and then use the chokehold to violently bounce the doll up and down, saying, "Jump! Jump!"  (Yes, she says everything at least twice.  She is apparently concerned that people so old as her parents must have difficulty hearing.)  I think we may need to work on her nurturing instinct at some point, at least before she is old enough to babysit.  Perhaps a viewing of the hospital's Shaken Baby Syndrome video is in order.

Long ago, I learned a few basic Baby Signs and occasionally used them with Felicity (mostly the mealtime ones), and a few months ago she started doing "more" and "all done."  This month, though, she has become very interested in the little board books that come with the Baby Signs materials, and she has learned all the words and signs from the books. 

I'm not sure if the signing really has much purpose at this point, since she is saying the word AND doing the sign, but hey, whatever helps her feel like she's able to communicate.  And sure enough, last week I had a Miracle Worker moment when I had gotten Felicity up from her nap and she went into an instant, epic tantrum.  I calmly asked her to help me figure out what she needed by using her words.  Finally, she stopped flailing around and put her hand to her mouth and said, "Et.  Et!"  She was visibly relieved when I said, "Ok!  You're hungry!  Let's go eat, you need a snack," and carried her into the kitchen to stuff her full of cheese.

By the way, I will confess that so far we are failing at the NurtureShock (and Montessori) approach of doling out only specific types of praise that focus on effort rather than reward or whatever.  We pretty much praise her when she succeeds at doing anything, saying "Great job!" or "Good girl!"  So now when she stacks a block or sorts a shape, she tells herself, "Good girl.  Good girl." 

Her days are usually filled with outdoor exploration in Central Park (where she wants to push our umbrella stroller around the. entire. park. and wander into other people's soccer games, picnics or drum circles at will in the hope of making new friends ("Hi!  Hi!  NOSE.") or stealing someone's toys) and in nearby playgrounds (where she will hurl herself down a slide without so much as PAUSING so we can get positioned to catch her), or indoor fun at playspaces, in music class, or at a museum. 

No matter how chaotic the place (the Children's Museum is not for the socially anxious, let me tell you), she blithely goes about whatever she sets out to do (if there are stairs in the vicinity, that is where she wants to be, and you'd better be RIGHT THERE, too, because she wants to go down on her FEET, instead of butt first like a reasonable toddler).  After an initial moment of clinging to us to get a sense of her surroundings, she will leave us in the dust and run fifty yards away, then glance backwards and give a little grin before tearing off in a new direction.

She's becoming more independent by the day and, as always, she knows what she wants and DOES NOT want to be impeded in any way.  But she still checks in with us and wants little reassurances that we're there.  And sometimes, she'll reach up and take my hand, and there's just no sensation like that in the world. 

Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands. 

Neuroses on Tap

Thank you, thank you all for the book recs; I now have a wish list on my Kindle that will take me no less than a year to get through.  And that is a good thing! 

We've reached that crucial pre-vacation moment at which I not only obsess over what I'm going to pack and how I'm going to cram my stuff and the baby's stuff into a suitcase (and whether said suitcase will be so heavy that it will drag the plane down -- it's a regional jet, after all), but I also devote significant time to imagining every nightmare scenario that could befall us.  To wit: 

What if we get there and the house we're renting turns out to be a busted-up old shack? 

What if the whole thing has been a scam and the house DOESN'T EXIST AT ALL? 

What if there IS a house, but it looks nothing like the pictures on VRBO and in fact is awash in harvest gold appliances and rust shag carpeting?  And has TOXIC MOLD!  What about THAT?   

What if the rooms aren't configured as promised and we have to -- gulp -- sleep in a QUEEN SIZE BED instead of a king (people, once you go king you NEVER GO BACK)? 

What if the room where Felicity sleeps isn't dark enough?  What if she won't nap for the whole week and gets us all up at five in the morning? 

What if the pool isn't adequately heated?  What if the pool heating system malfunctions and we die of carbon monoxide poisoning (I'm not making that one up!)? 

What if there isn't a grill (this is VACATION, after all)?  What if the yard is filled with ticks/burrs/mosquitoes/landmines?  Where will Felicity roam around?

What if the next-door neighbors are stoners who blast reggae music all day and all night long? 

What if Felicity spends all day every day trying to injure herself in various ways (with a two-story house -- and stairs are her favorite thing IN THE WORLD right now -- and a POOL on the premises, this is a real possibility) (we have rented some baby safety stuff, like gates, but STILL) and throwing epic tantrums when we thwart her from doing so? 

What if the interruption to her routine and the introduction of different people (she knows my parents, but I'm not sure her recall will be perfect in the first moments of reintroduction, as it has been a few months) and a new place throws her so off-kilter that she screams the entire time and NEVER SLEEPS AGAIN? 

Look, I know we're going to end up having a great time, and within a matter of hours after our arrival, I will be able to laugh at myself and my ridiculous fretfulness.  I don't know WHY I insist on living this way, but it seems to be my way of girding myself against any hassle or trouble that may arise.  Because when upsetting things DO happen during a trip, I usually handle it, I must say, with a substantial amount of level-headedness and, one might even argue, aplomb. 

I think part of the source of my anxiety this time around is that *I* was the one who pressed for this destination and *I* was the one who picked the house and *I* was the one who negotiated the lease.  So, if everything goes into the shitter, it will be MY fault.  And I will have ruined five people's much-needed, quite expensive vacations.  And I don't want anyone to be mad at me! 

(Note: We're talking about my husband, parents and daughter.  NO ONE would be mad at me.  But I would be AFRAID they would be.  Does that make...even a little sense?)

I have this terrible fear of something bad being my fault.  It's the source of most of the anxiety I've dealt with in my lifetime -- this grave concern that I will be the domino that sets off a chain reaction that leads to WOE AND SUFFERING in some way, whether my own or (worse) someone else's.  I often call it The Spiral, and it's something I am mostly able to manage with self-talk and logic and, to some degree, experience -- I mean, I've been on this planet for almost 36 years, and of the things I have worried about (and OH, there have been SO MANY THINGS), a tiny, tiny percentage have come to pass.  Really, almost NONE of those things have come to pass, because most of them are beyond ludicrous (all the nights I laid awake in my bedroom as a child, CONVINCED that someone was going to put a ladder up against the house, climb through my window and murder me?  Time WELL SPENT). 

Naturally, because this is LIFE, I have been blind-sided by terrible things that I wouldn't ever have thought to worry about, which must give my subconscious some feeling that my worrying has had a protective power -- I worried about 1000 things that didn't happen, and the one thing I DIDN'T worry about DID happen, so there you go!  I CAUSED IT by not worrying about it.

You know, I write a lot about these sorts of things, and I imagine that, if you haven't met me, you must think I am this quaking wraith who is hardly able to function in society.  I assure you, I am otherwise normal, and most people who know me wouldn't have the first clue that I'm a Worrier.  I am generally light-hearted and (I hope) engaging and not a complete ball of nervous energy.  THAT is who I am; this worrying is another part of me, but it doesn't DEFINE me.  In short we all have our Issues, and coming up with wildly unlikely scenarios to lose sleep over is mine.  (What's yours?  I LOVE talking about people's Issues.)

Good thing I've got a happy-go-lucky kid!

Riiight.  Oh, you guys -- I don't want her to get a bad rap, either.  She really IS a happy kid, I swear. 

And, nutty as I may be, so am I. 

 

Books of 2011: The First Six Months

I am always looking for new things to read, and I love getting people's quick summaries of what they've been reading -- yet I always forget to go on Goodreads, even though it's a terrific resource.  So I'm going to put this out there, in the hopes that it helps you find something to pull off the library shelf/upload to your e-reader this summer AND encourages you to comment and let me know what you've read lately that you've loved! 

Here's what I have read this year so far:

The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins:  I loved these books SO SO SO SO much.  I am actually STILL sad that I'm finished reading them, months later.  During the first book, at times I had to put it down or just look up for a moment or two because I was getting SO STRESSED by the intensity and suspense.  And the character development is great, much more so than something like the Twilight series -- I actually believed that these people could exist and that they would act they way they did in the book.  On the whole, a gripping read. 

Bitter in the Mouth by Monique Truong:  I liked this book, although it was pervaded by a sense of isolation and melancholy that was a little off-putting from time to time.  It's written as a modern Southern Gothic novel and the protagonist is a woman with synesthesia:  when she hears a word, she experiences a particular taste in her mouth.  I enjoyed it well enough, and there were some good surprises in the plot, but for some reason that I can't fully articulate, I didn't connect with the book completely.

At Home:  A Brief History of Private Life by Bill Bryson:  This was an interesting enough read and was written in Bryson's signature charming style.  It covered a lot of ground and revealed some curiosities about history that I hadn't previously known.  On the downside, at times it was a little disjointed, as he meandered from topic to topic -- I could imagine him researching one subject to the hilt and then happening upon a little-known fact and saying, "Oooh!  I'll delve into that next!" and so on, until he had a whole book. 

An Object of Beauty by Steve Martin:  I really, really liked this.  It's a take on the New York art world and to some degree a story about a young woman coming into her own after moving to the City (it was a happy coincidence that the main character moved to New York around the same time I did, so her experienced paralleled mine, at least time-wise).  The writing is deft and evocative, and the characters well-drawn and three-dimensional.  I was so surprised to sit there thinking, "Dude, Steve Martin wrote this."

Shopgirl by Steve Martin:  I adored the movie of this when it came out years ago, and the book was just as poignant, if not more so.  Again, Steve Martin somehow paints an astonishingly insightful and sympathetic portrait of a young girl in a big city.  If you've ever been in a relationship that you shouldn't have been, one in which you know you deserve better but don't have the fortitude to say so, this is a book that captures that point in a woman's life so well that it hurts to read it.

The Pleasure of My Company by Steve Martin.  Do you sense a streak here?  This one is about an isolated young man, who lives in Santa Monica and suffers from several forms of rather paralyzing anxiety.  As with the others, I thought it effectively created a unique character, without being heavy-handed.  It made me, at times, uncomfortable, because the experience of the main character was so realistically and sensitively portrayed. 

Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua:  I wrote a whole post about this book -- in short, I liked it and didn't think Chua was as cray-cray as she came off in the press; but I thought it should have gone further in a lot of ways to explore the family relationships more.

Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson:  A very light, quick read with characters I enjoyed getting to know.  There was a subplot that ended up being sort of the climax of the book that I wasn't sure was entirely necessary, but even that didn't detract from my overall enjoyment.

The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls:  WHOA.  That is what I kept thinking to myself as I read this.  What a life Jeannette Walls has led, and to see where she ended up after the childhood that she had is truly astonishing.  She writes with an openness and frank tone that are almost raw.  You know how bloggers often write about themselves and their personal lives without really revealing much?  Well, she reveals everything, and the result is a rare and wonderful book.

Room by Emma Donoghue:  I have mixed feelings about this one.  As I was reading it, I could not put it down.  First, I wanted to hurry up and get to the part where the circumstances of the plot were explained, and then the action got so heated that I was almost shaking with the suspense.  But there were things about it I didn't love.  One particular thing in the plot seemed like a total cop-out, and aside from that I just felt like after the climax (I hate that word), the tightness of the book and the characters unraveled.  Maybe that was intentional, but it bugged me.  It seemed like a great concept that was executed pretty well to a point, and then...not as well.  On the other hand, it was a vivid reading experience, so worthwhile overall.   

The Weird Sisters by Eleanor Brown:  This one gets a big meh from me.  It was filled with character and plot cliches, particularly surrounding birth order stereotypes.  Also, the book appears to take place in the present time, but there was almost nothing at all to put it in a temporal context.  It also lacks sufficient detail overall.  For example, the main characters are always reading -- it's like their family's Thing, that they are hyper-literate -- but the author never bothers to identify WHAT they're reading at any given time.  It seemed lazy to me.  Definitely a skippable book.

Started Early, Took My Dog by Kate Atkinson:  This is the latest in the Jackson Brodie series, and it was as gripping and excellent as the prior three.  It's a mystery/suspense novel without being pulp-y, and the characters are really fascinating and complex.  The only downside is that there are some plot points that are left -- quite maddeningly -- unresolved. 

Bossypants by Tina Fey:  Loved this.  It's like finding a great, hilarious, insightful blog and reading straight through the archives.  It's very light reading and not strictly a memoir, but I love Tina Fey's chatty style and I enjoyed some of the points she made about being a woman in a male-dominated workplace and about being a working parent.  Those parts I highlighted and will return to again and again.

The Wilder Life by Wendy McClure:  Reviewed here.  Had fun reading it; wished I had written it.

For Better:  How the Surprising Science of Happy Couples Can Help Your Marriage Succeed by Tara Parker-Pope:  I thought this was ok, but it was a bit repetitive and the really new/newsworthy insights were few and far between.  That said, I did think it offered some good practical tips and had some interesting bits about different types of marital relationships.  I also found the divorce statistics very enlightening (i.e., that the divorce rate isn't REALLY 50% when you break it down).  I have a great marriage already, but this offered some worthwhile reminders on how to keep it that way.

Skipping a Beat by Sarah Pekkanen:  Silly and hugely obvious.  I wouldn't even recommend it as light beach reading. 

SuperFreakonomics by Steven Leavitt and Stephen Dubner:  I love books like this that deal with smart, complicated subjects in an engaging, accessible way, especially when they take on the conventional wisdom about things (NurtureShock! was similar).  Thumbs up.

What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell:  Pretty much my same comment -- I've read all of Gladwell's books, and each of them has made me look at things in a new way.  This one is a collection of New Yorker pieces, so it covers a lot of ground but doesn't feel overly weighty.  I'd love to have a beer with Malcolm Gladwell (or the SuperFreakonomics guys). 

Your turn!  I need some good recs before we go away in a couple of weeks!

The Age of Rage

What a serene mother-daughter moment, quietly enjoying the charming illustrations of Gyo Fujikawa on a warm summer Saturday.  Not pictured: the roughly 452 meltdowns that took up the remaining 11 hours and 25 minutes of Felicity's waking hours that day.

I think it's safe to say that Felicity is hitting a pivotal moment in toddlerhood, in which she believes that she possesses the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma, and the wisdom of a man, and as such she does not wish to be deterred from anything at all that she has it in her mind to accomplish.  These are, I am sure, admirable qualities that will one day take her far in life; but for now, her singularity of purpose is a bit at odds with her somewhat questionable judgment -- and, between you and me, her communication skills at times leave something to be desired. 

(While her vocabulary is very good and expands daily, it seems that the ability to identify a mirror, shoes, cheese ("ch!"), a giraffe and mama's chin do not necessarily translate into sharing with us her immediate wants and needs.  Though I do extract great amusement from the fact that sit, shirt, and Chicago all come out of her mouth as "shit."  Yes, I am twelve.)

Saturday seemed to bring out every flashpoint in the inevitable conflict between the child's desire to seek out every possible mode of self-destruction and the parent's wish to avoid emergency room visits.  There was also a substantial disconnect between whatever random, unexpressed desire Felicity had at any given time and the clearly articulated goals that her father and I had for the day, such as keeping her entertained, fed, napped and uninjured. 

We took her to a playground and set her loose to explore the water features and other small-person-friendly offerings.  Aside from her inexplicable dissolution into sobs and wailing in the stroller on the way there, she started out fine.  She got closer to the sprinklers than she has before and she seemed to like checking out some of the slides and smaller climbing structures.  Things deteriorated rapidly, however, when she tried to climb up a big-kid jungle gym that was awash in rambunctious, behemoth school-age children.  I thought the better of her plan and thwarted her climbing efforts.  Felicity disagreed with my decision and did her best to let every denizen of Riverside Park know that I had inflicted a grave injustice upon her. 

From there, things did not improve.  Joe pushed her on the swings for a while, then took her to a smaller jungle gym, where she clambered contentedly, then fell to pieces over some minor slight.  When we soon decided that it was time to flee the premises, she and I had a bit of a disagreement over her going in the stroller (I won, but these are always Pyrrhic victories).  The rest of the day proceeded along these lines, even in the confines of home -- she didn't want that book, she wanted THE OTHER ONE, THE OTHER ONE, OMFG, and she didn't want her diaper changed (LIFE IS ALL PAIN AND UNFAIRNESS), but then again she refused to be put down (THE FLOOR IS MADE OF FIRE, ARE YOU CRAZY?) and basically nothing was right, not ever in the world. 

We had to treat her like an explosive device, gingerly offering her a toy or book and hoping to God it would be the right one.  It was one of those days when, at five o'clock, you and your spouse are looking at each other with wild eyes and thinking, we still have TWO AND A HALF HOURS until bedtime.  I took a brief break from the fun to open a Crappy Day Present from Allison (idea via Swistle) -- a very cute, brightly-colored tumbler and bowl set, both of which I wanted to fill with vodka that very instant. 

We finally made it to bedtime (she was asleep before I even closed her door), and collapsed onto the couch and just kind of stared into space going, "Damn."

Granted, some parts of the day were really not so bad.

On Sunday, she must have sensed that we were contemplating how to price her for the tag sale down the block, so she became a whole new person.  She ambled agreeably around the park, she finally discovered the joy of running through the big playground sprinklers, she babbled charmingly at strangers, she played hide-and-seek, she admired herself in the mirror in a hat.  And when I said, "It's time to go night-night" she turned and ran toward her bedroom, calling, "Nigh' nigh'!" 

(Moments later, she had just fallen asleep when a car alarm started blaring on our street, which of course woke her up, and then she didn't go down again for another hour, but at least she just talked and sang to herself until she finally drifted off.) (RAGE.) 

Escape with the Mom Posse

This past weekend, I left Joe and Felicity to their own devices and headed upstate with a gaggle of Mamas for an overnight spa retreat. 

As it turns out, my husband and child do not require my presence for the world to continue its rotation, which is somehow almost as deflating as it is comforting (you mean you DON'T need me to direct your every move?  Then what could possibly be my purpose on this Earth??).  Not only that, but I think Felicity was a tiny bit disappointed to see me upon my return.  Even at fifteen months, she has caught onto the fact that Daddy is the Purveyor of Fun, while Mommy is the Hammer of Enforcement. 

The amusing thing is that six other toddlers within a ten-block radius were having the same weekend o' fun with their permissive, doting fathers, while my Mom Posse and I (we've known each other since our wee ones were around two months old, when we all randomly joined a neighborhood first-time moms' group and became fast friends) jaunted about the Catskills sans cell service.  So much for criticizing diapering skills and food choices fulfilling our co-parenting duties via text message; we actually had to pick up the room phones and DIAL HOME to get in touch.  Which was fine, since anything more would have interfered with all the spa-going, bathrobe-lounging, wine drinking and mom-bonding, not to mention the sleeping past NINE AM on Sunday.  In short: ahhhhhhh.

For my spa treatment, I got a facial that also included a head, foot and arm massage.  It's been two years since I had a facial, and since I have been feeling extra-craggy lately I thought it was time to excavate my pores and wrinkles a bit.  While facials are not really the most relaxing item on the spa menu (what with the lighted magnifying glass and all the squeezing), I could still become quasi-comatose in one, given the right conditions.  OR, I could end up in a 75-minute chat-fest with the facialist. 

I am, to no one's surprise, highly conflicted about how to approach Spa Conversation.  Usually, I find that the facialist or masseuse opens with some discussion of the treatment and perhaps some chitchat about where I'm from/what I do and then things taper off as they get down to business.  With facials, though, often they offer commentary about my skin and talk about what products they're using (which are generally available for purchase afterward, and because I suffer from some kind of Spa-Goer's Guilt, I always end up hauling all of them away for some astronomical sum, lest the spa people consider me cheap or fail to garner a commission or WHATEVER), and sometimes this includes personal conversation as well. 

Now, some people I know will actually say, flat-out, "I'm just going to zone out, if you don't mind," or something to that effect, but I CANNOT DO THAT.  I don't want to offend anyone, and if I said that I would NEVER be able to relax, because I would lay there sweating over whether the spa person thought I was a giant asshole.  Even though that's a COMPLETELY acceptable and polite thing to say, and I bet the facialist just as often as not would prefer not to have to make small talk, EITHER.  But still.  I HAVE ANXIETY about this.  So I don't make any requests -- the treatment table could be ON FIRE, and I would be like, "No, this is super comfy!" -- and I follow the other person's lead on the conversation front.  And honestly, I really DON'T have a preference; I am game for talking or game for lying there, I just don't want to be the one expected to make a decision about which one to do.

So anyway, long story short, despite my initial paralyzing fear of Whether to Talk, I ended up having a lot of fun chatting with my facialist, and I found it energizing to delve into her life a bit and give a bunch of unsolicited advice while getting my head rubbed and my pores scrubbed, instead of lying there like a corpse as I might otherwise have done (in which case undoubtedly I would have obsessed over whether I should start some conversation -- you can see by now that it's a wonder I ever manage to leave the house).  I also did not mind that she told me I looked like I was in my 20s (ha ha HA!  the lighting was VERY dim) and said I had gorgeous skin (thank you, Noxema, Aveeno and benign neglect!).  AND, she didn't say one word about products, so I left without a suitcase full of creams and masks. 

I think I may need to call in a few days to see how she's doing. 

It bears mentioning that my mommies (as Joe calls them) are awesome.  I have known for over a year -- through our playdates and moms' nights out and occasional spouses-included events -- that they were My People, but it became all the more clear how perfectly matched we all are when I realized on Saturday that, in the zillion emails we exchanged to coordinate this retreat, not one of us asked what anyone else would be wearing.  Not that there is anything wrong with consulting on what to wear (I almost sent that very email myself as I was packing, about five minutes before I walked out the door), but somehow it didn't occur to any of us to discuss wardrobe.  And, at every meal, we ate like lumberjacks, ordering extra manhole-sized pancakes and sides of bacon and cheese grits for the table.  We are a No Judgment kind of crowd. 

After the brief time away, I came home feeling refreshed and happy and oh-so-lucky to have such friends and such support, and of course even luckier to have my two favorite smiling faces waiting for me.

Lived to Tell

To kill the suspense, I will go ahead and tell you that Joe and I managed to survive our first trip without the baby.  As with most things, the anticipation was much worse than the reality.  A few days before we left, I was awash in anxiety, certain that the building would burn down in our absence or a babynapper would steal Felicity as a cosmic retribution for our weekend of childless jollies.  Fortunately, the universe is less concerned with our travel plans than I thought, and we emerged (mostly) unscathed from our weekend in Chicago. 

I teared up a little as we walked out the door (it didn't help that Felicity was crying in her crib, resisting her morning nap -- she knew something was up), but by the time we got to the airport and I purchased a nice, fat magazine and a cinnamon roll for the flight, I was fine.  Turns out it's pretty fun to hang out with your husband and his college friends, and visit some of your favorite law school friends, all by your adult self.  And then to sleep in til almost 9 (Central time!  ALMOST TEN EASTERN TIME!). 

We didn't have time for much sight-seeing since we had events to attend, but that was fine by me.  We kicked things off the first evening with delicious cocktails at our hotel bar (have you HAD a French 75?  Heather B. is right on the money -- that is some awesomeness in a glass right there), and from there our socializing proceeded apace.  It was quite the whirlwind of activity, considering we were there for less than 48 hours. 

Since Joe and I started out as coworkers, then friends, and then started dating all on-the-sly-like, I didn't have many opportunities to meet his friends until after the deal was pretty much already sealed.  But over the years as I've gotten to know his people, I have been -- without exception -- thrilled to find that they are MY people, too.  I don't mean that they like me just by association; I've never once felt like his friends were pleasant to me simply because they want to spend time with my husband.  Rather, every one of them, from every part of his life, has embraced me as if I were somehow a part of their shared history, too.  And we all just FIT together -- I would be as comfortable going by myself to hang out with any of his friends as I would with my own. 

Maybe this is how most relationships are, but I had not experienced that before -- certainly not to this degree.  I definitely have met people through friends or boyfriends with whom I formed independent friendships, but I've also been in relationships in which I felt merely tolerated as The Girlfriend, included only in name and treated as a hanger-on or, worse, an interloper.  I've also had the experience of being baffled by someone's friends -- of meeting people my significant other cared about and finding zero common ground with them (and then wondering, if you like this person, how in the world can you like me??).  So it is a relief and a distinct pleasure to find so many new, wonderful people who aren't just his-or-hers friends, but OUR friends, even if they've just met me five minutes ago, and he's known them since freshman year. 

It's incredibly sweet to see your husband through the lens of friends who've known him since he had a flat-top and wore knock-off Sebagos.  So many people came up to me and said, "You married the BEST guy!" or "I had such a crush on him!" or "He was the greatest friend to all of the girls in our dorm!"  And of course, I know that he's the best guy and totally crush-worthy and the greatest friend a girl could ever want, but it's fun to hear it from others, too -- to hear that even at 18 he was fundamentally the same sweet, smart, funny guy that I adore to the ends of the earth today. 

Plus, it was nice to spend time with him, just us two.  I mean, HELLO CAPTAIN OBVIOUS, but it's so easy to forget when you enjoy your kid and feel like you don't spend enough time with her as it is and think you should use every weekend moment to be together as a family.  That's good stuff, too, of course.  But so is staying in a sweet hotel, eating a ninety dollar breakfast (I swear, all we had was EGGS AND SMOOTHIES) and being asked by a waiter if you'd "tied one on" the night before.   

Chicago, you are good people.  We will most definitely be back soon.