RAMBLINGS ON A TUESDAY

back in their heyday :(

It's been a while since I rambled.

The weather has been beautiful here.  Sunny and high 70's-80's.  I lehrv it.  So on my lunch breaks, I break out the ol' FiveFingers and hit the trails behind our plant.  There's a lush arboretum filled with ponds, wooded paths, and nature at its very best.  So I take full advantage.  But as I noticed the other day, my FiveFingers are running a little ragged.  To be honest, I'm surprised they've even lasted this long.  So I'm scouting around for new running shoes.  I'm all about minimalist footwear... I'd go barefoot everywhere, if I could.  FiveFingers are the next best thing.  So I'm trying to decide between Vibram FiveFingers and RunAmocs.  I'm sure I'll go with the FiveFingers, purely for shock value :)  There's nothing more exhilarating to me than watching someone do a double- (or triple, or quadruple) take on my uber-weird toe shoes.  Score.

Shopping for shoes... it's like opening Pandora's Shoebox.  Not even for me, necessarily.  My heart just does a flip when I see itty-bitty shoes.  For itty-bitty people like Solchop.  And I swear, she started it.  This chick loves shoes.  LOVES them.  She's always picking up shoes (hers, mine, anyone's) and sitting down to try and put them on.  It's pretty freaking adorable.  I assume it's my maternal instincts, then, that compel me to shop for shoes for her.  But seriously, take a gander at these moccasins and tell me Sol doesn't need these...



She also loves hats.  She's constantly picking up loose hats (I know, it sounds like there's rubbish strewn about our entire residence) and dipping her head down so that I can put them on her head.  My grandma got her this little Hello Kitty hat, and that's one of her faves.  I myself am not really one for licensed apparel, but if Sol likes it.. hey, more power to her.  She loves accessorizing.  And if you're wondering if she ever toddles around the front yard on a warm summer afternoon, wearing nothing but her birthday suit and a hat... yes, yes she does.

So one of my favorite places to go for lunch is (are you ready?) the local hospital.  They have the most delicious pita chips I've ever tasted.  And in my opinion, their per-pound salad bar pricing is pretty stellar, so I'm all about truckin on over to the hospital and grabbing a few ounces of Mediterranean fabulosity.  The other day, on my way back from the hospital, I was behind this really cool car that was reverberating with the frequencies of something slightly resembling music.  I could feel it in my car, I'm sure the other cars nearby could feel it, and frankly I was angry that I was stuck driving behind this moron in a Hot Lips Olds, skatin' on Dayton rims, thumping himself right into the "oh-you're-irritating" section of the minds of everyone within a quarter-mile.  We pulled up to a stoplight, and
just when I was mumbling some choice words under my breath, dreading the next 30 seconds of sitting there behind his subwoofer-on-wheels, the vibrations stopped.   This guy turned his music off at the stoplight!  I love when people surprise me.  Thank you, Mr. Hot Lips, for allowing me to sit at the stoplight in peace.

But not everyone turns their music off when the car is stopped.  My sister called me yesterday after work.  First thing she said: "Hey, can you hear this?"  I listened closely... and heard someone belting out some unknown tune at the very tip-top of his lungs.  She was stopped at a stoplight next to with a man who was so happy with life in general that he was singing.  Delightfully loud and lovely.  Says me to sister, "What is he singing?"  Says she to me, "I don't know what song it is; it's very monotone with zero melody, but it's something about a perfect life."  Cheers to you and your perfect life, sir.  You are the epitome of Guts and Glory in an S10. 

Sisters are great.  Sisters make your day by calling you with random things like that.  Sisters are certainly something to celebrate, and today especially I'm celebrating my sister Amanda.  28 years ago today, the world became a little brighter because of a bubbly little redhead named Amanda Jane :)  A loving daughter, a loyal sister, a wonderful aunt, a very dear friend, and arguably the world's greatest movie-quote-knower EVER, my sister Amanda is one of the most amazing people I will ever know.  After putting up with years of sharing a room with her bratty little sister, or being attacked with a constant, "You gonna eat that?" she still loves me.  I tip my dark brown bowler hat to you, Amanda.  (and in case you're wondering, we're putting on a magic show in the following photo. yes, we are very talented, and we wear many hats. pun intended.)

Happy birthday, AJ!

I WORRY

1. I worry about my car. Affectionately dubbed “The Starship,” my car is a rather new purchase, a dependable and compact Honda Civic that somewhat resembles something from the Ringling Brothers. In case a Civic weren’t small enough, consider the fact that it’s a coupe. I took it to the local baby superstore to try out various infant car seats in the back seat. Only one worked. Now, I’m not saying that the majority of car seats were snug, or that there wasn’t much room when I tried them; I’m saying that both front seats were impossible to lock in place when the car seat was installed properly. So even if Baby B. is buckled in safely, I’ll be sliding forward and backward as I man the Starship. Needless to say, my car seat options are mighty slim pickin’s.

2. I worry about my finances. Babies are expensive. And even though I hold a special place in my heart for Microsoft Excel and I adore creating spreadsheets, I detest my semi-weekly review of my current budget vs. après-baby budget.

3. I worry about the first night. I don’t think I know anyone else who’s raised a baby totally on her own, right from the very beginning. I’ve heard from people who have “had someone there, but he wasn’t much help,” etc. But even if their support persons weren’t much support, they still had someone else there. I’m absolutely terrified of the first night I’ll spend alone with this new little person.

4. I worry that I end too many phrases with “That’s what she said.”

5. I worry about baby-proofing my home. Example: At this very moment, I have a Nicaraguan machete leaning against the wall on the floor near my dining room table. What am I supposed to do with that?

6. I worry about how I’m going to get a tan. Skin cancer awareness groups, avert your eyes… I like the tanner. A) I may not be able to afford it anymore, and B) I can’t bring the baby to the tanning salon with me. Now what?

7. I worry about my wardrobe. Now that I’ll be spending all my time and money shopping for the little person in my life, how am I supposed to maintain my own fashion? Call me a materialistic bum if you want, but I won’t deny that I’m worried about it.

8. I worry about not having time to myself. I worry about no longer knowing peace and quiet.

9. I worry about being single. Like any other young woman, I want to find love. I want to find Mr. Right. I thought it was hard before. I think it just got a gazillion times harder.

10. I worry about being selfish. (see numbers 5-9)

11. I worry about fighting the urge to down the whole jar of baby food myself while feeding Baby B. My name is Melanie and I’m a huge sucker for baby food pears and plums.  I was born this way.

12. I worry about blaming Baby B. for the changes he/she will bring to my life. I worry that I’ll forget to remind myself that Baby B. is a human to be loved, not an inconvenience to be managed.

13. I worry about setting a good example for Baby B. How am I supposed to teach Baby B. all the right things when I’m far from perfect? Isn’t that hypocritical?

14. Above all, I worry about the day when my child asks me where Daddy is. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why every other kid in daycare sees his/her father, even if only part-time, and Baby B. has never met this “dad” person. I worry that Baby B. will wonder why he/she wasn’t good enough for Daddy to want to be a part of our life. I worry that Baby B. will resent me for making poor decisions, or for not choosing adoption so that Baby B. could have a mom AND a dad. I worry that Baby B. will grow up missing out on a huge part of childhood because we’ll be absent a parent. I worry that I won’t be enough. I can hide the machete and do without tanning sessions. I can fight the urge to eat the baby food pears, and I can go without a new pair of jeans. But I can’t be a dad. I guess I’ll just have to be the best mom I can be.