STEP OFF

Last night was The Return to Aerobic Dance Class.

I was told that the class started at 6:00, so in order to make sure to get my spot (yes, I have a spot), I arrived a half hour early. My cousin arrived at the same time. She also takes her Aerobic Dance very seriously.

Once we got inside, we took a look at the schedule and realized that the class was at 7:00! Not 6:00! My cousin was all “Well, we could workout while we’re waiting, lift some weights and stuff.”

I offered a completely different suggestion.

“True, true, we could do that, and we probably SHOULD do that, but, and hear me out on this, we could go get a smoothie!”

At first she looked at me like I was crazy. But then she was all “Sure, why not!”

Well, a “Smoothie” turned into a “Chicken sandwich from ChickFilA.” Because of course it did!

(I hadn’t eaten dinner was my excuse.)

When we got back, Anna was waiting by the door. I wanted to run up to her and throw myself upon her to thank her for returning from Russia because OH.MY.GOD, how I’ve missed her and her sweet buttocks moves. Instead, I just told her how happy I was to see her and how much I missed her over the summer. She told me that had been back for a month and that every time she’d come to class, she was hoping I’d be there because She missed me.

The step class FINALLY ended and my cousin and I practically knocked bitches down trying to be the first ones in so that we could get our places at the front of the room. We were greeted (but actually more like “attacked!”) by the Bitchy Women of Step Class. They were all “So, um, like we were thinking that we could do the sculpting class before the dance class because we want to do sculpting now and if you have dance first, then we’ll have to wait until AFTER the dance class to do sculpting. We don’t want to wait and we don’t want to take the dance class, so it just makes sense for us to move your class time.

Inside I was all like “OH HELL NAW.” Those women just pissed me off and I was ready to fight with them when suddenly one of the girls from step class lost her shit.

“I DON’T FUCKING THINK SO.” She shouted from the back of the room. “You can’t be changing the schedule because it’s convenient for you.”

The Bitchy Women of Step Class were NOT expecting that response. No one knew what to say. But then someone from step class “stepped up” to the plate (ha ha ha) and It. Was. On.

Representative of the Step Class Bitches: “Well, hey we don’t want to wait and it just makes sense. Don’t be getting an attitude with me, lady.”

Crazy Aerobic Dancer: “You’re not in charge here! You guys don’t have the power to change the schedule whenever it suits you. Screw that!”

Representative of the Step Class Bitches: “We didn’t think it’d be a big deal, calm down!”

Crazy Aerobic Dancer: “Why don’t you get a job?”

Representative of the Step Class Bitches: “Excuse me? GET A JOB?”

Crazy Aerobic Dancer: “Yeah, you heard me right. GET A JOB IF YOU WANT TO BE THE BOSS, BECAUSE YOU SURE AS HELL AREN’T THE BOSS OF ME.”\

OH SNAPS

Representative of the Step Class Bitches didn’t have a comeback, so she was all “Um… yeah, well… um, I bet YOU make a sucky boss!!”

At which point I lost it and started laughing hysterically because HAHHAHAHAHA WIMMINS BE FIGHTING ON THE AEROBIC DANCE FLOOR HAHAHHAHAHA.

Part of me wanted to interrupt and be like “Hey, why don’t we channel all of this anger and hatred into something more positive, something like An Aerobic Dance Off! but then, part of me was hoping it would escalate and there’d be a full on brawl because HAHAHHAHAH OLD WIMMINS IN SPANDEX FIGHTING AT THE GYM!

Sadly, there was no dance off nor were any punches thrown as Representative of the Step Class Bitches had her ass handed to her in the war of words and slowly backed out of the class.

Once the screaming match was over and everyone had composed themselves, Anna announced that we would not be doing “The Dirty Dance” until another night. What? The Dirty Dance?!
Apparently, the week before, she did The Dirty Dance! And I missed it! She said that it was like “You know, how you say, Stripper moves?” She made me a promise to teach The Dirty Dance again very soon. Oh, I can not wait!

The dance class itself was great. We did The Latin and this time? I nailed it. However, at one point during the class, I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror. I could see the fat jiggling on my arms and OH MY GOD, I’ve gained so much weight! My once semi toned arms and now lumpy chunks of fat. I became disgusted with what I saw and I wanted to run out of there and hide.

But! I didn’t! I kept going! As much as I wanted to quit and give into the ugly voices in my head, I didn’t. I mambo’ed and cha cha cha’ed my way through the class and at the end, I felt so proud of myself for getting back in the game, even though I’d much rather be curled up in a ball on the couch eating chocolate covered pretzels.

You can go ahead and call me “Raffi.”

pretty brown eyes
That right there is my daughter.
She’s a beautiful little girl. And my GOD, she’s funny. Hilarious, even.
She’s also polite. She says “thank you” and “please” and if you sneeze or burp? She says “bless you.” She’ll also bring you a tissue if you cry, and she’ll wipe your nose for you whilst saying “Ohhhh, don’t cwry.”
All together now. Awwwwwww
As sweet and beautiful and funny and amazing as she is, I have to say that THAT little girl right there, is by far the most difficult child to have ever come out of my glorious vagina.
(Yeah. I just called It “Glorious.” At least I didn’t call it “Notorious” OMG! THE NOTORIOUS V-A-G.”)
Keeping anything on her is a challenge. Clothes. Diapers. Hair clips. Earrings. They all come off eventually. No matter how much duct tape is used, no matter how many times I say in a very calm voice (HONEST!) “We don’t take our shirts off, we leave our shirts on!”
The diaper staying on during nap/sleep time had become a horrific struggle. We would tape that shit on, but it only took her a couple of days to figure out how to take the tape off. No matter how many times we wrapped it around. Luckily, I found a pair of shorts with a string around the waist and if I quadruple knot it, she can’t get it off. So, guess what she sleeps in every time she goes to sleep? No lie, my daughter sleeps in the same shorts every nap time, every night time. I take them off in the morning, put them back on at nap time, take them off after nap time, and put them on again at night time.
She’s always been a great sleeper, from the time she was 4 weeks old. She sleeps 10-12 hours a night and still takes 2 one hour + naps a day. You’ll never hear me complain about sleep.
HOWEVER. Getting her to fall asleep the past few days/nights have been hell. You see, little Miss Thang has to have quite a few stuffed animals/plastic figurines/blankets in order to go to sleep. The last count went as follows.
2 duckies
3 bears
1 Ernie figurine
1 cookie monster figurine
1 Elmo figurine
1 fish
2 dolls
1 pillow
1 “favorite” blankie
and 1 spray of mommy’s perfume on her arm to sniff herself to sleep.
If she does not have each and everyone of those things in her crib before bed time, she will NOT go to sleep. Well, guess what little Miss Thang just figured out?
If she throws all of the things out of her crib AND strips the sheet off of the crib, mommy, daddy or the brother’s will have to come into her room to replace all of the items and if mommy, daddy or the brothers do NOT come into to replace all of the items that SHE THREW OUT, she will scream at the top of her lungs. For as long as it takes for one of the four of us to cave.
Lather, rinse, repeat, so to speak. Twenty times over.
Ah, power struggles!
(Funny TRUE story! I was writing this while my daughter was supposedly taking a nap. All of a sudden, there was a call for help coming from her room. “MOM! Pee!” I ran to the room to find her diaper tossed to the side of the crib, but her shorts were still on. She was sitting in a puddle of pee. OMG! She just now figured out how to remove her diaper without taking her shorts off. It’s like she has ESP and knew I was writing about the shorts and was all “Ha! HAA! Even the shorts can not stop me from taking my diaper off, silly mommy!” AWESOME!)
(Another funny and TRUE story. After I cleaned up the mess in her crib, washed her and changed her, I put her in her high chair to eat lunch. I made her a sandwich, and asked her brother to watch her so I could finish writing this. Just now, I heard my son scream “NO, GABBY! YOU DON’T DO THAT! THAT’S BAD!” I ran over to see what she had done. She had taken her sandwich apart and thrown it all over the kitchen! OMG. SOMEONE HELP US.)
Getting things done around here isn’t easy because not only does she love to strip, but she loves to climb on things! And take things out of drawers! And color! And did I mention CLIMB ON THINGS? Things like “the kitchen table” “her changing table” “my computer desk” and “the inside of the entertainment center.”
I can honestly say that my boys were never this difficult. Andrew was the perfect child. Never threw tantrums, always obeyed me, never screamed or yelled. He was pure joy and sunshine. Ethan was a bit more of a handful. He would throw tantrums and was extremely active, but his “activeness” doesn’t even compare to that of his little sister.
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed. Sometimes I get angry. (Like the time I was on the phone with a friend and I was trying to load the dishwasher for the 25th time and Gabby refused to stop taking the dirty dishes that I had just put in out and I YELLED AT HER and then felt like an asshole because I had just yelled at a 2 year old and um, someone heard me do it.) Other times, I use humor to get through the day. And then there are days, like today, where I have thoughts of opening the back door, gently pushing her through the door, locking it behind me and letting her have a few quality hours out there alone with dog.
But instead of doing something stupid like that, I give the housework The Fingah, take a deep breath, sit down with my darling daughter and teach her songs about how special she really is.
Because I’m a good mommy.

Gas.

Anytime I write a dramatic post in which I talk about such dramatic things as “running out of gas” and “brakes not working”, DO NOT PANIC. Chances are, I am fine and that nothing really bad happened. (Because, if it had, I wouldn’t be sitting at the computer writing about it. And also, remember, I am the woman who called the cops because she thought The Bees were trying to kill her!.)
I had a million (but really only 3) things to do on Saturday. It was Ethan’s last basketball game of the season before playoffs and it was the day we were finally going to celebrate Gabby’s 2nd birthday, Chuck E Cheese style, y’all.
Because I wait until the last minute to do everything, (because I work best under pressure. Seriously, just ask my 12th grade history teacher who once told me “you’re pretty good when you’ve got a gun held to your head.”) I decided to run to Target before the basketball game to put all of my pictures on a CD so that I could clear the memory card out for G’s birthday party.
When I got in the car, the gas gauge told me that I had a 78 mile range. Taraget is less than 5 miles away, so I decided I was good to go as far as gas was concerned.
It took FOREVER(40 minutes) at Target and so I knew I had to rush home if I didn’t want to be late to Ethan’s game. When I started the car, I noticed that the “78 mile” range had suddenly turned into “Low Fuel” and the warning light was on.
The Hell?
I didn’t panic because a) the gas station was just a couple of miles away b)Tony ALWAYS tells me not to panic because even when it says “low fuel” there is (and these are his exact words) “PLENTY OF GAS! So quit nagging me to fill up, woman!”
Halfway home, I felt the car (and when I say “the car” I mean “the big ass van that I love so shutup with your stupid judgements about moms in minivans!) start to shake and lose power and so I started to veer to the side of the road, but then, I lost all power and all engine functions and I could no longer steer! Or USE THE BRAKES! I was pumping and pumping and turning the wheel as hard as I could, but I had no control. There was a red light up ahead, so I really started to freak out. Then, the greatest thing in the world and also the thing that would PISS MY HUSBAND OFF SO DEEPLY happened. The step/runner thingy (man, I’m impressive with my knowledge of the actual names of parts on my van!) hit the curb and as the metal/plastic whatever the hell it is scraped along side the curb, my car finally came to a stop.
DEATH AND COLLISION AVERTED!
I realised that there were only 40 minutes left until Ethan’s game, so I frantically searched for my cell phone, the cell phone that had ALMOST NO BATTERY LEFT, so that I could call Tony and tell him of the horrifying ordeal that I had just been through.
Call #1- Not answered
Message #1 left on our answering machine- “OH MY GOD! Why aren’t you answering the phone! I ran out of gas! On Foothill! And I had no brakes! I’m shaking! I need gas! PICK UP THE PHONE! OMG!”
Call #2- Not answered
Message #2 left on our answering machine- “MY BATTERY IS DYING, I can’t believe you’re not answering the phone! I need gas! Answer the phone!”
Call #3- Not answered
Message #3 left on answering machine- Well, I’ll just let you go ahead and listen to the actual message. (And yes, I told my family that they SUCKED.)
The battery was quickly running out and even though I was within walking distance to my parents house. (Seriously, I was literally around the corner from their house.) I called my dad and was all “Dad! Tony’s not answering my phone calls and I ran out of gas! I need help! I’m going to miss Ethan’s game and Gabby’s party and MY HUSBAND IS A BIG FAT JERK FOR NOT ANSWERING THE PHONE.”
The thing about my dad is this. He doesn’t like when I talk bad about my husband, you know, the whole “the man is the head of the household and woman! Obey your husband” thing? Yeah. So his first reaction was “Hey! Don’t get mad at your husband, he’s a good father, a good man and you should be more loving…”
“Dad! I’m stranded on the side of the road! I had no brakes! I need help and my husband won’t pick up the phone!”
“Well, Mija, maybe he’s busy.”
“Dad! Please! Ok, can you just please bring me gas?”
And he did, because he’s a good dad. A good dad who followed me to the nearest gas station to make sure I didn’t run out of gas. A good dad who is also a preacher. And do you know what dad’s who are preachers do? They preach! At every given opportunity and apparently, me running out of gas and freaking out about it was “a given opportunity.”
“Mija, if you freak out about running out of gas, what are you going to do if you’re left behind when Jesus returns? They’ll be no gas, no food, no water… WHAT WILL YOU DO THEN?”
(At this point, he’s talking in “preacher voice” which means, he was kinda yelling and so people were stopping to watch.)
“Ok, dad, I would probably freak out, but what you’re not understanding is that I did not freak out because I ran out of gas, I was freaking out BECAUSE MY HUSBAND WOULD NOT ANSWER THE PHONE AND THAT IS SO ANNOYING AND RUDE.”
“But MIJA! YOU NEED TO BE READY FOR THE RAPTURE! GET READY, MIJA!”
Oh. Pastors.
The last thing he said to me as I drove off was “HAHA! I’d HATE to be your husband right now!”
Because he knew that my husband was going to get it when I got home.
I did go off on him for not having answered the phone, to which he played dumb and was like “I didn’t hear the phone! Weird!?” But, we’ve had this conversation 2039509 times. About how when I’m gone, he needs to keep the phone nearby, in case I need to get a hold of him. And yet, every.single.time that I’ve been “on the road” and needed to get a hold of him, he has not answered the phone and I’ve had to call a friend or family member for help.
The best part was how when I told him about how I had accidentally hit the bottom of the car against the curb (because, you know, I had no brakes, or control of the steering wheel) he actually GOT MAD AT ME and was like “You need to be more careful” and “Did it leave a mark?”
OH MAN.
I swear, sometimes? He’s so cute, that he makes me want to punch him in the neck! Repeatedly.
(And yes, it did leave a mark on the bottom side of the van, but, it could have been worse. I could have ran the red light, and killed someone, or ran into a pole and died, but I didn’t, so can we move past the giant scratch on the side of my van and thank God THAT I AM ALIVE TO BLOG ABOUT THIS? PLEASE?)

What “I’m FINE!” looks like

Pighunter made me cry last night. TWICE! Once because he was an ass, and once because he made me laugh so hard.

I was telling him about the depressing post that I wrote and how I used to write like that all of the time, but how I’m scared to publish posts like that now because people get annoyed and send me emails telling me to quit bitching and whining and appreciate the family that I have and so I write about farts and aerobic dancing instead because haha farts are funny and depression isn’t and how “I really need to to start writing light hearted posts about farts again.”
To which Pighunter responded with AND I QUOTE “Yeah, and you need to start going to the gym again too.”
To which I responded with “When was the last time you worked out… oh, um, let’s see, NEVER ONCE SINCE WE’VE BEEN MARRIED, so seriously, shut up! Don’t ever tell me that I need to go to the gym ever again! And you know what? I changed my mind, I hope you die first!”
To which he responded with “Sweetie! oh my God, you totally took it the wrong way. I was just trying to be helpful because you said you wrote about your weight and feeling bad and I know you feel so much better when you work out. I didn’t say that I think you’re fat, I was just trying to help you.”
Oh! I get it! Tough love! Kinda like the time Jay Mohr told me to “Lose the weight” and not to “make any excuses, not fucking one, just lose the weight.” And when I went off on him and was all “I AM NOT MAKING EXCUSES, I REALLY AM SICK AND SUCK IT.” He was all “I wasn’t trying to be a dick, I just know how happy you were when you lost the weight and I want you to be happy.”
(I do believe that was a drive by Name Dropping.)
I know that Pighunter was honestly just trying to help, but his choice of words came across as, I don’t know, asshole-ish? Like, “Get that fat ass to the gym, WOMAN.” You know?
He redeemed himself later by making me laugh so hard that I cried, even though he was totally making fun of me.
G-Unit was coloring on her little art easle and I was all “hey, can mommy color you a pretty picture?”
Now, you have to know that I truly SUCK at drawing. Honestly. I’m horrible. So, anytime I do color with the kids, I stick with the things that I am good at. And by “things” I mean “the dog” and “the flower” and um, even those aren’t very good. Especially “The Dog.”
So, after I had asked G-Unit if I could color her a picture, Tony shouted out “Let me guess! You’re going to draw the flower! OR THE DOG! HAHHAHAHAHHAHA”
Shit. He was right, I was totally going to draw the dog, but I couldn’t let him win, so I was all “NUHUH! I WAS GOING TO DRAW… THE MOUNTAINS! AND BIRDS! AND CLOUDS!”
He wouldn’t give it up. “Just admit it, you were going to draw the flower! Or the dog! hahahha!!”
I lost it. I seriously lost it. I layed on the ground and laughed until my stomach hurt because up until that point, I was completely unaware that he was onto my “Two Trick” art gig. OMG! He knew! And he had finally got the nerve up to call me out on it and mock me for it!
We laughed for what felt like an hour.
I know! It’s not really that funny to anyone but us because we are nerds!
AND YET!

The Dog!

The Flower!
And BONUS! The time I tried to paint my son a clown face!
Is that a clown face or did your baby try to eat your lipstick?
I swear, I kinda hated him until he made fun of my non existent artistic skills. Then, it was just like that scene from Dumb and Dumber where Llyod rolls up on the scooter after he had that big fight with Harry and Harry was all “Just when I thought you couldn’t get any dumber, you go and do something like this… and totally redeem yourself!”
Laughter, even when directed at myself and my lameness, really is the best medicine.
P.S. I love you guys. Honestly and truly. Thank you for “being there” for me and for understanding.

*~*~LOLZ*~*~

What is the funniest blog that you read? A blog that literally makes you laugh out loud?
That blog for me is FourFour. Rich is brilliant and hilarious and I am sort of in love with him.
Now. Your turn. Leave the link to the funniest blog that you read in my comments so that I can go there and laugh, because I’m tired of crying today.
Please?

Ancient.

The first time I met Pighunter, I was 14 years old and he was 20.
His ex-girlfriends mother had invited him to church, the same church that my dad was co-pastor of, and so, he came, “got saved” and started attending regularly.
Ex-girlfriend followed him there and so, she started attending church regularly as well and Pighunter became known as “Diane’s Boyfriend.”
I thought Pighunter was the biggest, most giant nerd I had ever met. He was skinny, had puffy hair, wore glasses that BIGGER THAN GOD and OMIGAWD! He talked like a valley girl.
Me and my best friend used to make fun of him all of the time. We’d make fun of the way he talked, of the clothes he’d wear, and of the fact that “haha! He looks like a rat!”
Honestly, we had no right to be making fun of A-N-Y-O-N-E because.
Um.

Yeah.
Eventually, I got to know him, fell in love with him and WANTED TO HAVE TEH SEX WITH HIM EVERY MINUTE OF EVERYDAY.
(One day, I am going to write our “how we met and fell in love” story. And you will laugh because Oh.My.God.Nerds.At.Church.In.Love.)
I’ll never forget the day we announced our engagement in front of the church. I was all “OMG. I LOVE HIM. lala.ponies.rainbows.love.Jesus.love.butterflies.love.LOVE.KISSIES.HUGGIES and I can’t wait to grow old with him.”
Everyone laughed (Except for my mom, who was disgusted by my lovey dovey shit) but I meant it. I loved him so much in that moment that I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and have kids with him and grow old together and sit on the porch in our rocking chairs and watch our grandkids play together.
I was 18 years old when I said those words, he was only 24.
Today, that beautiful man whom I loved with every fiber of my being and whom I dreamed of growing with turns fourty one years old
My babies daddy A few nights ago, we were laying on the sofa watching television late at night. I scooted close to him and began running my fingers through his hair. His thin, gray hair.
“This is the man that I fell in love with when I was only 17 years old.” I thought to myself.
His hair, once thick and jet black is now thin and gray. The age is starting to show in his face, in his hands, in the way he moves. The energetic young man who would stay up late with me to watch Arsenio Hall, now passes out on the couch before 8pm.
He’s growing old right before my eyes. We’re growing old together.
The other night, we talked about the fact that one day, one of us will have to bury the other. (Because THE LORD KNOWS NEITHER ONE OF US IS EVER LEAVING.) I started to cry and told him that he better let me die first because I realized in that moment that I could not life my life without him in it. I can’t even begin to imagine how I could get out of bed if he wasn’t there to kiss me goodmorning. I started to panic! And then! I PUNCHED HIM (seriously! I did!) and told him that he had better start working out and TAKING THE DAMN VITAMINS I BOUGHT HIM LAST YEAR because I NEED HIM TO OUTLIVE ME.
(See how fun and awesome we are! We talk about beautiful things, like burying each other and who’s going to die first!)
41. Which means in a month, I will be 35. My God. How the time is flying by. I still remember when we were young and pretty, with big hair and VERY LARGE GLASSES and all we wanted to do was be alone so we could Do The Nasty.

Now, we want nothing more than to take a nap and watch “To Catch a Predator” while we discuss what WE would do to those perverts if we could get our hands on them. (Hint: Cut.Off.Balls.)
Happy Birthday, Pighunter. I LOVE YOU AND I SWEAR TO GOD, YOU BETTER LET ME DIE FIRST.
xoxo

Giant Milky Boobs

Due to the “controversy” over the cover of Baby Talk magazine, I’ve been inspired to repost something that I wrote on August 27, 2004. Apparently, women (WOMEN!) are “shocked”, “embarrassed”, and “offended” over the image of a “GIANT BREAST” on the cover.
The quote I found most shocking came from the mother of a 4 month old.
“Gross, I am sick of seeing a baby attached to a boob.”
Gross? Really? A baby drinking from it’s mothers breast is GROSS?
Right, because the true purpose of The Boobs is for men to drool over and suck on during sex. So, a baby using the breast for that HORRIFYING ACT of drinking the milk that sustains their life is DISGUSTING AND HOW IN THE HELL COULD THEY PUT THAT FILTH ON THE COVER OF A MAGAZINE THAT MA’MAN MIGHT SEE?
I have no tolerance for women with this kind of attitude towards breastfeeding. I suppose I can deep within myself and try to understand people feeling uncomfortable with breastfeeding. But to use words like “gross” and “horrified” when speaking of breastfeeding is shocking to me, ESPECIALLY coming from a woman. The fact that there are people out there who can’t get past the sexualization of the breasts and view them purely as a sexual object is more “disgusting” to me than a picture of a baby sucking the milk from the GIANT BREAST of it’s mother.
Speaking of GIANT BREASTS. I now give you the archived breastfeeding post (WITH PICTURES! OF A GIANT BREAST!)

A few minutes after Gabriella was born, the nurse handed her to me. I kissed her and decided to try to feed her. I unbuttoned my hospital gown and brought her to my breast. She latched on immediately. I’ll never forget that moment. There in my arms was my daughter and she looked right at me while she began to eat for the first time in her life from my breast, the milk that would sustain her for the first few months of her life. I couldn’t believe how easily she took to the breast. Both of my boys had trouble in the beginning, learning how to latch on and it was very frustrating. But not with my daughter, she figured it out right away and feeding her has never been frustrating.
Infact, words can not describe what an amazing and fufilling experience it is everytime I sit down to nurse her.

I love how her beautiful little eyes will focus on me while she’s eating and drifting off to sleep. I love the sounds she makes, the coos, the grunts, the gulping, hell, I even love the way she farts while she’s sucking away. It’s the funniest thing in the world.

The love, the sense of importance, the bond I feel when I’m nursing my daughter is one of the most precious gifts in my life.
And let’s be honest here, the fact that I can get out of the shower, run out of the bathroom and start squirting Tony with MILK is pretty damn cool too.

Two.

I couldn’t wait for Gabriella to wake up this morning. I wanted to take her picture first thing in the morning to capture exactly what she looked like on the morning of her second birthday.
Finally, at 8:30, I heard her sweet little voice. “Hi, mom.”
I jumped up, grabbed my camera and ran to her room.
“Goodmorning, Birthday Girl!”
She woke up and she was two.
That’s what she looked like the morning of the day that she turned two years old.
Two years.
The Birthday Girl.
And that is what she looked like as she tried so very hard to sing “Happy Birthday” along with me. You see, I started singing Happy Birthday to her a couple of weeks ago, because I wanted her to be able to sing it with everyone at her birthday party. I had high hopes that she’d learn by the time her party rolls around, but after hearing her sing it this morning, I’d say there’s still work to do. However, I have to say, not bad, G-Unit. Not bad at all.
Has it really been a year since I wrote her Happy First Birthday post? I find that hard to believe.
There are moments with her where it feels as though time freezes and the earth stops spinning as I watch her do something incredibly sweet. Like the other day, when I was leaving to go to Starbucks and as I was walking to the car, I heard her scream “MOMMY! MOMMY!” I turned around and saw her standing there wearing nothing but a diaper and a purse hanging from the same arm I carry my purse on.
“You want to go with mommy?” I asked.
She nodded her head. “Yes!”
“Ok, you can come with mommy.”
She squeeled as I lifted her into the air and as I held her close to me, I started to cry.
There in my arms, I held this beautiful little girl who looks up to me, who wants nothing more than to be just like me, and to be with me. Time stood still as I held my daughter close to me and revelled in the beauty of that moment.
But then, there are moments where it feels as though it’s all happening to fast. I wish I could stop time or at least make it slow down just a little bit.

When I found out that the unexpected third baby that was growing inside of me was a little girl, I felt overcome with fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of raising a daughter that wouldn’t hate me. I honestly believed that I could not mother a girl. I believved that with every fiber of my being.
I never would have imagined that I’d be the first one she’d call for in the morning, that I’d be the one she’d choose to be close to all day long, that I’d be the last one she’d want to kiss at night.
I never could have imagined that when I’d pick her up, she’d stroke my hair and say “Oh, mommy, I yuv you.” I never thought that she’d want to be like me, that she’d look up to me and mimic the little things I do.
You know, the girl is such a drama queen, with her tantrums and her screaming and her CLIMBING ON THE KITCHEN TABLE FIVE SECONDS AFTER I TELL HER NOT TO, but I can say in all honesty that my daughter is a beautiful, affectionate, loving, hilarious, polite little human being and whom I am extremely proud of.
Especially when she farts on command, because you’ve not lived until you’ve seen a precious little girl with pigtails grunt and turn purple from trying to push one out.
THAT’S MA’ GIRL.
I’ll never, for as long as I live, forget the very first moment I saw her. She had a head full of thick black hair, her face was scrunched up and she had the biggest mouth I had ever seen on a baby.
“She’s beautiful. When can I hold her? I want to hold her.”
It seemed like an eternity while the nurses checked her and got her ready for me. I couldn’t take it. I kept asking for my girl. “I want to hold her, please, give her to me.”
Finally, the moment they placed her in my arms, everything was right with the world. I instantly felt connected to her, I instantly loved her and didn’t understand how I had lived a day without her.

I still carry those feelings for her in my heart and soul two years later, only they are magnified a thousand times.
I love her. My God, I love her. And the greatest part about loving her? Is the way that she loves me right back.
She loves me. She really loves me.
Happy Birthday, Gabriella Mercedes.

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Part Two: The Interview

A few weeks before BlogHer, Leah had asked me if I’d be willing to do a video interview for Alpha Mom. I was excited, because no one EVER asks me for interviews (I mean, why would they? Seriously? What am I going to talk about? Aerobic Dancing?)
We tried to make plans to meet somewhere for the interview, but it never worked out, so I was all “Let’s do it at BlogHer!”
Next thing I know, I’m scheduled for a 3:30 interview in Leah’s hotel room.
I was nervous. Very nervous. For one, there’s the whole weight issue. (OMG! THE CAMERA ADDS 10 POUNDS!) Then, the fact that I spit when I talk whilst excited (Don’t believe me? Ask Amy! Also? I fart when overstimulated (Don’t believe me? Lassa or Jen how many times I excused myself to go “rip one” on the balcony.) But mostly, I was nervous about not having anything intelligent or insightful to say.
When I arrived at the hotel, I was met by Alpha Mom Herself, Isabel Kallman (Love.Her. FO FUH-KEENG!), a camera man whose name I forgot, Leah and Jesus!
Jesus, the makeup arteest.
I was shocked to find out that there would be a “professional makeup artist” taking care of my face painting needs. Knowing that my makeup would be done by a professional put me somewhat at ease because at least I’d look SMASHING if I accidently let one rip.
Jesus invited me to sit on the toilet (WHAT?! No chair with my name on it?!) so that he could make me pretty. As I sat there, talking with him, asking him for makeup tips (because LORD KNOWS I NEED THEM.) I have to admit that I felt so special.
And I wanted to cry.
Here’s an excerpt from an email I sent to Isabel yesterday.
(OMG! CHEESE ALERT! CHEESE ALERT! FOR IT IS CHEESY)
I’ve never felt very smart, I’ve always struggled with feelings of “not being good enough.” I often feel as though good things happen to everyone else and that good things don’t happen to me because I simply don’t deserve them.
Being apart of the interviews made me feel like I was part of something really special and my God, it felt good. I wanted to cry as I was sitting there having my makeup done because I felt so damn special.
I know it’s cheesy and that you may have just thrown up in your mouth a little when you read that, but that’s how I felt.
I BLAME JESUS. With his pretty eyelashes and soft hands. JESUS MADE ME CRY!
After the makeup was done, the camera man showed me how to put on my mic (OMG! I got to wear a mic! Just like the kids from The Real World do!)and I took my seat next to Leah. I was more terrified then ever because OH MY GOD I WAS WEARING A MIC! And there were lights! And a camera! And *pfffffffffrattata* YOU WANT ME TO GIVE YOU A HOT PARENTING TIP?
I’m not going to give away the questions, or the answers. You’ll have to wait to see them, BUT! I will tell you that at one point in the interview, Leah asked me about my Aerobic Dancing and I was overcome with so much excitement that my mouth started to water, I jumped up out of my seat, kicked the chairs out of the way and was all “WANT ME TO SHOW YOU THE MONKEY?”
I can’t blame “the liquor” because it was only 4 in the afternoon and I hadn’t even had a drink yet. That was ALL ME, people. I can’t help it, I’m obsessed (and perhaps, also posessed) with The Aerobic Dance.
The most akward part of the interview was when we had to stare at each other for the “fade out.” The first time, I looked away and they were all “We have to stare for the fade out.” And I was like “ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
They were totally serious.
Oh! Oh! And then? GET THIS! We had to do these “fake nod” shots. People! FAKE.NOD.SHOTS.
I’m pretty sure it went a little something (or quite possibly EXACTLY) like this.
Camera man: Give me a “Funny” nod
Me:
Camera man: Um, ok, now give me a “surprised nod”
Me:
Camera man: Now, give me a “serious” nod.
Me:
HA! HA! HA! HA! And also “OMG! This is going to be on Alpha mom!”
Had someone told me that I’d have to be doing a little bit of “acting”, I would have brushed up on my TOTALLY NON EXISTENT acting skills.
As soon as the interview is up, I’ll pass the link along to you, because you KNOW you can’t wait to see it.
(But, um, there’s always the chance that I’ll “forget” to tell you about it.)
Stay tuned for Part Three: The Accidental Drunk.