You Are The Sunshine Of My Life

YOU ARE THE SUNSHINE OF MY LIFE - Stevie Wonder

You are the sunshine of my life
That's why I'll always be around,
You are the apple of my eye,
Forever you'll stay in my heart

I feel like this is the beginning,
Though I've loved you for a million years,
And if I thought our love was ending,
I'd find myself drowning in my own tears.

You are the sunshine of my life,
That's why I'll always stay around,
You are the apple of my eye,
Forever you'll stay in my heart,

You must have known that I was lonely,
Because you came to my rescue,
And I know that this must be heaven,
How could so much love be inside of you?

You are the sunshine of my life, yeah,
That's why I'll always stay around,
You are the apple of my eye,
Forever you'll stay in my heart.

(Background) Love has joined us,
Love has joined us,
Let's think sweet love.

Oodles and Oodles

I just read dooce http://www.dooce.com and as I read what may be one of the most beautiful accounts of loving a child ever written I suddenly found myself gushing oodles and oodles of love for my own little bit, Miss Gabby. Just thinking of her makes me melt with utter, pure joy. How the hell did I ever get so lucky?

Busted

That's right. I got busted. At work. Not in the way you are thinking either.

You see, a bunch of us are connected on the network to each other's iTunes librarys. Some of my co-workers have been foolish enough to list their shared library's under their actual names. The reason I call this foolish is because we now know which of our co-worker's have soft spots for Liza Minelli singing show tunes and those who miss the big-hair-mullet-loving songs from lifetimes past.

However, I was not going to be identified and in my brightness decided to name my own shared library with a name that wasn't assigned to me by my mother. No, my iTunes shared library was titled Mamacita's Musica. No way anybody was going to label me by my music choices.

Then I was out nearly two weeks with sick Gabby. Apparently in my absence the department was abuzz with who Mamacita was. My first day back, I heard somebody shouting in the hallway for "Mamacita" and naively figured something was amiss with one of the foreign students taking English classes down the hall. Then, a nosy co-worker with too much time on their hands burst into my office (luckily I wasn't pumping as they wandered in and out of each office demanding an answer) and boldly asked if I was in fact, Mamacita.

I wish I had a good poker face. Now the office knows that I am the mismatched music whore Mamacita with Bob Marley, Jane's Addiction, Ben Harper, Norah Jones, U2, James Brown, Ozomatli, Santana, Grateful Dead, Prince, and assorted Latin Jazz songs in my library. GRRRRRRRRRRR.

So Cute I Could Just Gobble Her Up!

"She is so cute I could just gobble her up!"

I have never really understood this phrase. It just so happens that my Grandmother is either a very hungry woman or a big fan of tongue-in-cheek phrases with twisted meanings because she can often be heard repeating those words to Gabby. In my mind, I can't help but wonder how Gabby would feel if she only understood the exact meaning of the words her Great-Grandmother frequently says to her. Surely it would cause lifelong scarring and endless nightmares about being gobbled up whole. The whole image is downright frightening in my personal opinion, but I digress.....Where was I?

Ah yes, sitting here at work on a pump break, connected to my best friend the breastpump reminded of my little bit's latest display of cuteness this morning. Before I continue, I must clarify that this breastpump really isn't my bestfriend, far from it actually. In fact, I hate it. Luckily, I have my own office in which to enjoy this working/breastfeeding mother's right of passage. Others aren't so lucky and must trek off to the restroom to enjoy this mundanly-bovinelike act. I am not so sure we would have made it to 11 months of breastfeeding if that were the case in my situation. But, again I digress....

Back to Gabby being cute enough to just gobble up.

This morning, I experienced my first of many daily My-Child-Is-Simply-Amazing moments at the un-gahdly hour of 4:35 am. My "little bit" as I have been calling her lately had re-positioned herself into a most complex looking position next to me in the bed. She was laying on her tummy, head twisted to the right, knees pulled underneath her, legs flaring out like a frog, with both arms flailing out by her sides. I recall thinking in my Oh-My-God-It-Is-WAYYYY-TOOO-EARLY-To-Be-Awake mind that this must be a mark of genius, either that or a mark of a natural born yogi. Regardless, I sat in amazement at the fact that my child could get herself into such an unnatural looking position, let alone sleep in it. Then my thoughts were rather rudely interrupted by a ruffled chorus of snoring.

Her's. Not Mine.

This was a sound that caused Bella the dog to not only wake and sit up, but also tilt her head and look from the baby and back to me with face of puzzling concern. Mind you, my little bit truly is a little one. At 18 pounds, she is still hovering around the 10th percentile. But my goodness does she have some lungs, and apparently she also has some pretty powerful snoring abilities as well. Abilities that I fear she has inherited from my side of the family. Lucky, Lucky Girl.

Utah Drivers

There is a rumor that has been circulating in these parts (and in other parts for that matter) that Utah drivers are the worst drivers in the U.S., perhaps the worst in the world. While I pride myself in not investing too much in your typical rumor, I am sad to say that this rumor has been proven to be true to me time and time again - the latest example occuring last night as I drove to Uncle Pete's house to deliver dinner to his family. As it turns out, yesterday was a rough day of chemo for Uncle Pete but he was kind enough to at least pretend that lasagna, ceasar salad and cookies sounded good for dinner. He even got out the camera to snap a few shots of Miss Gabs. Of course, Miss Gabs, the lasagna dinner and myself almost didn't make it to his house thanks to yet another stupid Utah driver.

After being stuck behind said bad Utah driver for nearly 3 blocks of traffic near campus, I had finally noticed a clearing coming up that would let me escape to another lane. However, my friend in the Toyota before me had realized that she needed to cut over 2 lanes of traffic and make a last minute left hand turn. I try to be a laid-back driver so I kindly let her have my opening as I figured as long as she was out of my lane all was well. HOWEVER, Miss-stupid-Utah-driver-in-the-silver-Toyota suddenly decided to slam on her brakes in the middle of the intersection!!! !#$%^&*(!)(*&*(&#(said reverently in my head since I would never say such things in front of my daughter's tender ears - at least I would never admit to doing so). You just don't do that! Of course, I honk to let her know such behavior just ain't right. Doesn't she know that I am transporting my precious child AND a lasagna for cryin' out loud???!!!

Then, she started out into the left lane going about 2 MPH, nearly hitting a black BMW already in said lane and going the 35 MPH speed limit. The BMW honks, curses and throws a yuppie-style hissy fit. At this point, the Clueless-Silver-Toyota-Driving-Bimbo is now blocking two lanes of traffic at an angle that must have been hurting that poor Toyota's tires something fierce.

In the meantime, a GIGANTIC Mormon Transporter (SUV outside of Utah) comes barrelling up behind the BMW, slams on their brakes and lays into their horn as well. Ahhh...a chorus of horns. All within seconds of an accident in the same intersection. All traffic at a standstill because Miss-Growing-EVEN-Stupider-By-The-Second-Driving-A-Lucky-To-Not-Be-Smooshed-Silver-Toyota is still blocking 2 lanes of traffic and appears to be frozen like a deer in the headlights. And now our traffic light turns red. Still honking, the GIGANTIC Mormon Transporter drives up on the island and passes us all with a lovely middle-finger salute. Thank you. And don't forget to share that gesture with your friends at Sacrament Meeting next Sunday morning love. Oh wait, you wouldn't do that with the Bishop looking!

I try to go to the right, but can't really go anywhere until you know who moves it. And the poor posh BMW sticks out the most into the intersection. Being in Utah, bet you can't guess what happens next...the cars who have been waiting for a green light now make the only logical move they can muster into their bad-driver heads....they begin to move into the intersection too! NEVERMIND the fact that half of the intersection is blocked by near miss accidents! And yes, they begin honking - and Gabby begins to cry. Can't say that I blame her either. Honking horns really aren't my favorite thing either and although I did send a friendly little warning honk to the perpetrator myself, I did not lay into it like most road-ragers tend to do.

Finally, Miss-Better-Snap-Out-Of-It-And-Move-Her-Shouldn't-Be-On-The-Road-Fine-Self-In-The-Silver-Toyota moves into the lane she wanted all along, then proceeds to cut-off another driver to butt into the left-hand turning lane. The BMW and I move on to the stampeding sound of honking horns, share an exasperated look with one another and bid each other adieu.

As I pass the still clueless driver in the left-hand turn lane driving the silver Toyota, I notice her on her cellphone. I shake my head as she turns left in front of a speeding Volkswagen and count my blessings that we all escaped without a mark on our bodies (or our cars bodies for that matter). The lasagna wasn't so lucky. It slid off of the seat and landed upside down on the floor in the passenger seat next to me. At the next light, I lean over to flip it rightside up, thankful that none of it spilled on the upholstery. I am sure it looked like something the cat spit-up when Uncle Pete removed the foil. Sorry Uncle Pete.

What have I become?

A certain co-worker of mine, who will remain nameless, often posts large pictures of abstract art created by his post-toddler on the door to his office. Both the inside and the outside of the door so that those of us lucky enough to reside near his office space can enjoy these masterpieces both when he is here and when he is not. Oh joy.

Don't get me wrong. I am all for cheering on your child and am positive that I too will post my own Gabby's artwork proudly once she realizes that crayons are not actually a food group but rather vessels to display one's creativity. But, please shoot me if you ever see me posting such works on my office door or even worse outside my office door, just below my name placard. My co-workers already think I am crazy and there is just no reason to add to their suspicions.

I guess that we each have moments where we ask ourselves "What have I become?" Perhaps that moment springs to mind as you spit-shine your child's face just the way you swore you never would do. Or maybe it comes when you find yourself repeating something your mother always said to you. In Gabby's short nearly 11 months of life, I have already found myself instinctivly employing parenting traits I swore I would avoid. Great. Failing already. It's just that I can't stand picking my baby girl up from "school" only to find reminants of her breakfast, lunch and snacks stuck inside of her ear, along her eyebrow and in her hair. And although I fight the urge as long as I can, I seldom make it home without giving her a quick spit-shine because let's face it, having rice cereal and sweet potatoes in one's ears is not just gross but also just plain wrong and very itchy!

So, although I am not quite ready to say that I have become my mother, I do admit to have inherited some of her parenting traits - the spit-shine being one of them (most unfortunatly).

Return of the Black Eyed Pea

Well sort of. Turns out Gabs took another face plant under her aunt Rosie's care (not my fault this time!) and has a lovely red bump just above her left eye. Oh the joys of learning to navigate the living room.

You give me fever....

So, we go from saying "Hi" on the phone and babbling non-stop to Bella and Allie one night to tired, listless and burning up the next. How does this happen? I could tell from the moment I saw Gabby Wednesday evening that she did not feel well. Her eyes said it all.

Daddy had picked her up from "school" and taken her shopping - something they both love. Then Daddy happily took the Trooper to the Jazz game (hey they finally won) and left baby and I home alone to fend for ourselves. All was well until I noticed in her nurse napping that she felt really warm to me. Up we got to take her underarm temp and it said 101. That can't be right! Under her arm even?!?

So I did what the Pediatrician told me I must do the very first time I met her when Gabby was being treated for jaundice and needed her temp taken every 2 hours or so since she was spending her days and nights in the bili-lights - I took her rectal temperature.

Never a pleasant experience. NEVER.

It read 103.4. OH MY GOD. I took it again to make sure. Now it said 103.2

OH MY GOD.

So what do I do next? What every new mother would do in this circumstance - I called my own mother. Then I called the doctor's answering service and waited by the phone for one of the doctors to call me back. Great. Poor Gabs gets her worst fever ever on a night when Hubby took the car WITH THE CARSEAT to the Jazz game! The doctor returned my call and said if the fever didn't go down Gabby should go to either an all-night pediatric clinic or as a last resort, the children's hospital e.r.

Great. No car. No carseat. What should I do? Call a cab? No, they won't let me take a baby in the backseat without a carseat because it is against the law. Find the infant carrier and hope she still fits in it? I could do that, but that would require me putting Gabby down, running to the basement, locating the carseat and then trying to figure out how to buckle it in said cab without the base...so I call the sister-in-law and ask just how to do that. She pauses and says she isn't sure but she will come down with her car and I can put Gabby in Evan's carseat it will just be loose. Then my brother Nick pipes in with an astounding NO - that just isn't safe. Level-headed Nick then speaks some reason to us all - call Hubby at the Jazz game and let him know that we may be making an emergency trip to either an all night pediatric clinic or Primary Children's Hospital.

Luckily, it never came to that. The fever went down after a few swigs of Ibuprofen and Tylenol. The next day it was determined that Gabby's ear infections had not fully healed and she would need to have antibiotic shots for the next three days. These are the shots that are mixed with lidocaine because they supposedly hurt so much. Poor little kiddo. But, if it makes her feel better then so be it.

Only it didn't make her feel better. In fact, her temp Friday evening was 103.8! So now they think the infection could be viral and therefore must run its course. Lovely.

In the meantime, Gabby is a slightly more pale, slightly more tired, slightly more feverish, slightly more fussy version of her former self. But, she was just tickled pink to be eating breakfast at Dee's Sunday morning in their way old-fashioned and likely years past recall highchairs. Regardless, she nibbled on hashbrowns, ham and pancakes and threw her goldfish on the floor so I think she is getting back into the swing of things, slowly but surely. Bless Her Heart!