Twenty Nine and Feelin' Fine

That's right, kind reader. Today, June 27th, is my birthday. It's also my brother's birthday (we're twins and NO we are NOT identical). I'm 29 years old - yes, actually 29. I've always thought 29 was a "fake age." You know, people who are turning 30 always claim they are turning 29 again. Well, not me. At least, not this year.

A year ago, on June 26th, a Perinatologist told me that my baby (you may have heard of her? Madeline?) was perfectly developed. This came on the heels of my OB telling me that I was going to miscarry. I took this picture on that day:

This was the first time I was told there was a chance I might actually get a baby out of the pregnancy. That was all I needed to hear. I latched onto the doctor's words. I was determined to believe I would have a child, and it would be from THAT pregnancy. I realize now what a complete Pollyanna I was. I remember being in the waiting room, clutching the locket that held a picture of my grandmother. I made a deal with The Powers That Be that day: Give me my baby, and I won't ask for anything else. Of course, I renegotiated that deal this week. Still, I know Mike looked at me in the waiting room, talking to The Powers That Be, and was so scared. This is going to sound so stupid, but I just knew that nothing bad would happen to me on my birthday.

I'm typing this with my little Maddie on my lap. I know I said my 'fro was the best present ever, but I lied. The hope that my daughter could possibly survive is the gift I will cherish more than anything.

So, while I am blatantly stealing this idea from Casey (who, by the way, is having an awesome contest you should enter), the sentiment is the same. What is the best thing that's happened to you lately? Jackie! and I want to hear really awesome things. Maybe you got a pedicure. Maybe you won the lottery! Or, maybe you're my friend Rage and you ate two sausages at Target Birthday. Let us hear it! I accept anonymous comments, you know (but don't be a stranger - at least sign your name!). At the very least, wish Kyle a happy birthday!!!

My birthday wish, besides Jackie!'s health, is that everyone has something happy they can latch onto, just like I had last year.

Target Birthday

I am a lot of things: wife, mother, short, daughter, gorgeous, sister, etc, but one thing I try very hard not to be is boring. Yeah, sometimes my blog posts about trying to lose weight are duller than a dirty penny, but in real life I think I'm pretty fun. At least, I try to be.

I'm not sure if any of you heard, but my birthday is tomorrow, June 27th. I'm taking the day off of work, so my coworkers asked me when I wanted to have my celebratory birthday lunch. When it's someone's birthday around here, we let that person pick wherever they want to go to celebrate. We couldn't go to lunch today because there is an event going on, so it was yesterday.

I wanted to do something completely different for my lunch. I thought about it for a while, and made my decision. I think the email I sent out to my coworkers this past Monday explains it the best:

Wednesday is the day to celebrate. In our troubling economic times, I didn’t want to do anything expensive that would break the bank. Since we have to use gas, I thought it might be helpful to have my birthday celebration somewhere we could all multi-task. That place, dear friendworkers (because we’re more than just coworkers), is Target. Why Target? Because it has a Starbucks and Pizza Hut. Because is has electronics, groceries, shoes, and dog bones. Because it has EVERYTHING. Did you know Target has wine? Because this Target sells wine and I can’t get over it. Wine! In a Target! So, Wednesday, bring your grocery list and an appetite for shitty Pizza Hut pizza, and carpool on over to the Target in the Galleria. We’ll roll at 12 noon. Everyone is invited.

(I feel it is important at this point to tell you that my husband is probably mortified that I'm sharing this story. He doesn't understand Target. Oh, how I have tried. He loves everything I have bought him from there. He just doesn't GET the sheer AWESOMENESS that is Target. I think it has something to do with his mother.)

My friendworkers, either because they are totally used to me and my weirdness OR because they are on the Target Train, thought this was a fun idea. So yesterday we piled into some cars and hit the Target hard. I was pretty excited about getting some Pizza Hut, but when it was my turn at the counter, I was swayed by the promise of broccoli cheddar soup (my favorite), so I ordered that, some bread sticks, and an orange icee. Man, seeing that in writing makes it sound pretty disgusting. It wasn't. It was awesome.

My friendworkers all got varying meals, but none were as stoked as Rage:

He was so happy about his wieners. And yes, I made everyone pose with their food for a picture.

After we ate, we wandered the store. This Target really does have it all. I just wish we'd had more time! Someday, I will set aside an entire afternoon to wander all three stories of this glorious abode. Everyone got their errands done. I bought baby clothes and formula, N bought bathing suits, C bought cards, A bought shaving cream, etc. A very successful birthday lunch, if I do say so myself.

So if you read this whole thing, you probably think I am weird or fun. Either one is cool with me, as long as you don't think I'm boring! And just wait until you see the circus I have in store for my birthday celebration on Saturday.

Turk Talk

All of your comments and well wishes for Jackie! made me cry. Thank you so much for caring about my friend! I don't know if any of you saw, but not only did Jackie! read every comment but she left one of her own thanking everyone. I remember how overwhelmed and uplifted I felt when I'd hear that people I didn't know were praying for me and Maddie. The kindness of strangers is a fabulous thing. I am deeply grateful to you all.

I spoke with Jackie! today. She is consulting with a neurosurgeon (heretofore known as McDreamy, because I am unoriginal) and getting lots of opinions on what the next step should be. She's in great hands (don't say "that's what she said!"). Mike, Maddie, and I have previously-planned trips to the SF Bay area scheduled for next weekend and July 16th - 20th. I don't know how she'll manage to squeeze us in, because it sounded like she was in the middle of a party when I spoke with her. Everyone loves Jackie! I am really looking forward to getting some face time with her.

It was so great to hear Jackie's! voice. I asked her how she was doing, and she said, "Well, I have a lot on my mind." This is why Jackie! is awesome!!! I told her I am totally stealing that joke if I ever have a brain tumor. We decided that she should start a blog, and threw out possible names like, "Got Tumor?" or "Tumor Talk" or "Notes From Turk." Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that her tumor has a name? It's Turk. We hate Turk. She also told me that having a seizure at work is a sure-fire way to make sure HR doesn't give you crap about going on disability. That Jackie! Always planning ahead.

If it's okay with her, I will post Jackie! updates on here from time to time. Like she said, the more prayers the better. I'm still trying to convince her to start her own blog, "Brain Warts." Man, I need to work on my titles. "Turk on my Mind," maybe? Jackie?! Have I convinced you yet?

MILF? *

I know you all are waiting with baited breath to find out what I did with my hair. Let's review my before picture:



My hair is all stringy and full of split ends. The color is a mess. There is no shape. It needed a change and it needed one bad.



The cut is very similar - I wanted to keep length for the all-important pony tail. There are some long bangs cut in that blend with the rest of my hair when I want them to. But the color is what I am most excited about. I've wanted to go darker for a while, but my stylist has always talked me out of it for varying reasons. Not this time! She did convince me to put some summery highlights in, and a bit of red.

I know what you're thinking and yes, I have a license for that gun. Also, has my face always had that shape? Where did that chin come from?! Wow.

I am really happy with how it turned out. All you ladies out there (and probably some of you guys, too) know how great it is to go to a salon and get pampered. I love getting my hair washed and brushed, it's so relaxing. I didn't let myself think about my mommy-do list or feel guilty for one second about spending money on myself. My "me time" has fallen by the wayside now that Maddie is around. While it's true I want to spend my free time with her, it's important that I charge my batteries with frivolous things, too. Although, really, there is nothing frivolous about getting one's hair did.

*Mike titled this post.

I Told You I Wasn't Crafty

Today I went to a birthday party for my old college roommate, Alyssa. The invitation was for a craft party. I was like, yay, party, but um, crafts? I was scared because, contrary to popular belief, I am crap at crafts. My friend Brianne and I drove up together and we tried to figure out what we'd be crafting. Considering the closest Brianne and I ever get to crafting is picking out our nail polish at the salon, we were stumped.

We shouldn't have worried, though, because Alyssa and her husband Rian are two of the most creative people I know. They went to estate sales and thrift shops, and bought old hardcover novels, picture books, and children's books. They took everything apart, cut the picture & children's books pages down to the same size as the novel covers, and bought lined, plain, and decorated paper. The purpose of all of this? To make our own journals. Who thinks of this stuff? I see a bunch of books and paper and I think, "Ugh, homework," but they see the opportunity to create. I just don't think outside the box.

I knew I wanted to make a journal for Maddie, so I set about very carefully picking out my sheets of paper, the colors I wanted to use, and my graphics. I was somewhat inspired by the colors in her nursery.


Once the paper goods were selected, we had to go about folding them and putting them in order, as demonstrated by Brianne and Danielle.



Once you had all your pages in order, you had to hold the pages and hardcover firmly to glue the binding.


Once everything was secure, it was glue time:



While we waited for the glue to dry, we ate. YUM. I like food.

Once the glue was dry, Alyssa's husband Rian came around and used tape to bind the books. As usual, I forgot to get a picture of this step. But it was, you know, bind-y. Then I forgot to get a picture of me agonizing over what to put on the front. I did remember to get a picture of the finished product:


I was so happy with how it turned out. I was like, oh, this is the bookmark, so I can make sure to remember where I left off writing down all my hopes and dreams for Maddie. It's going to be so great. And then I carefully opened the book to paste my little note to Maddie on the inside, and I saw it.

I'd decorated the book backwards. And upside down. The picture of Joan Collins I'd carefully picked out? On its head. The dancing penguins? Falling off the stage. The passage about traveling to exotic islands? Sliding down the page.

I'm still going to use the book, of course! I do love how it turned out. Maddie is just going to get some real insight into her mom's mind. It's like when I wanted to tell my brother I was pregnant, so I went out and bought him all the stuff to make him a t-shirt that said, "Uncle Kyle." I literally spent an hour in the store picking out the iron-on letters (I wanted the perfect font!) and then spent another 90 minutes carefully placing the letters so they looked perfect. I ironed them on with care, and then when I held the shirt up, I realized I'd spelled out, "UNLCE KYLE."

Nope, definitely not crafty.

Speaking of my brother, he is guest blogging for Defamer on Monday and Tuesday. Make sure you go by there and click on his posts and give him some page-view love. It could turn into a full-time gig!

Frequently Questioned

Our meeting with Dr. Looove went well yesterday. Maddie's oxygen saturation was back in the 90's, right where we like it. The blood tests showed that the diuretic hadn't adversely effected her electrolytes, so we're keeping her on the steroids and diuretic for the remainder of the prescribed seven days. Dr. Looove also said that she could tell Maddie's lungs were drier. That is a weird thing to type. Dry lungs? Sounds uncomfortable. We don't have to put her on oxygen during the day unless she's fussy. Dr. Looove was, as usual, awesome, and stayed late to talk to us on a day she was planning on leaving early.

You had questions and I have answers.

Q. Why did Dr. Lung think Maddie had cystic fibrosis?
A. To be fair, she wasn't the only doctor that thought Maddie might have it. She was tested in the NICU for it as well. She had/has a lot of similar symptoms: inability to pass meconium, lung collapse, distended abdomen, slow weight gain, coughing and wheezing. And while I'm glad the doctors were thorough and checked her to rule it out, I'm pretty sure that both parents have to carry the CF gene for a child to get the disease. Neither of us have the gene. Pointless testing? You be the judge.

Q. Are these these difficulties primarily due to her prematurity?
A. Yes. I would say 100%. Her lungs were very underdeveloped because my amniotic fluid was so low the last ten weeks of my pregnancy. One of the NICU doctors said that while Maddie was born at 28 weeks, her lungs were more like those of a 24-weeker - and a very sick one at that. Because she was born so early, she was on a ventilator for four weeks. It was a life-saver, but the pressure and mechanics involved with a respirator did a bit of damage to her lungs.

Q. Has anyone been able to tell you when Maddie's breathing issues will be over?
A. When she was in the NICU, one of the doctors told us that 50% of kids with Maddie's issues outgrow them by age two. Fifty percent of the kids that don't outgrow the issues by age two outgrow them by age seven. And the rest of the kids are screwed. Just kidding! They basically have asthma. I don't have a crystal ball, but I'm assuming that Maddie probably will have some sort of lung issues her whole life, but hopefully it's no more serious than asthma.

Q. When will Maddie outgrow her need for oxygen and breathing treatments?
A. Good question. We don't know. Hopefully she will outgrow her need for oxygen soon, like in the next few months. I have a feeling the breathing treatments will be around for a while - maybe the frequency or dosage will change, though.

Q. What was Maddie fed in the NICU?
A. Maddie wasn't permitted to take food by mouth until December 15, over a month after she was born. Up until that point, she was fed total parenteral nutrition (TPN) through her IV PICC line. When she was finally cleared to start eating, she was fed breast milk I'd pumped and frozen. That was back during the brief period when my boobs did more than just look pretty.

Q. What are Maddie's favorite solid foods?
A. Maddie has yet to fully embrace the wonder of solid foods. However, she seems to tolerate apples and carrots the most. We haven't tried the green foods, yet. Those are coming up this week. Whooo, I can hardly wait. Life is crazy-exciting around here.

Q. What do I do for a job?
A. I work in sales for a professional sports team in Los Angeles. The sport involves sticks and balls, and they actually play in LOS ANGELES and not ANAHEIM. I don't want to say the team name here for Google protection, but if you can't figure it out from these hints you can email me. Professionally, I am known by a different last name. Sometimes I get deliveries to Heather Spohr at work and people seriously have no idea who that is.

Q. How old am I?
A. I ask myself that all the time, especially when I'm laughing at the word, "duty." DOOOODY! HA! But on Friday, I will start the last year of my twenties.

Q. What song did you sing at the Karaoke bar the night you met Mike?
A. "Criminal" by Fiona Apple. I also totally stripped down to my underwear and writhed on the floor. If you haven't seen that music video, that last sentence probably didn't make sense. Just like the video.

Q. How do you get so many photos of Maddie smiling?
A. A more appropriate question would be, "Does Maddie ever stop smiling?" Because she smiles all...the...time. She is so happy that sometimes Mike and I are like, "kid, we need to tell you about this really bad earthquake in China." She needs some perspective.

Q. How did you get such a cute baby, and isn't it illegal to have a baby that cute?
A. Maddie looks soo much like me when I was her age, except I was way fatter and I had lighter hair. These pictures are the best examples I can find at the moment, but fo' rillz, she's my mini me (with some Portuguese flavor from Mike).

Maddie at six months old.
Me at six months old.

I would show a picture of Mike at six months old, but he's the youngest so his parents were totally over taking baby pictures by the time he came around. Or maybe they didn't have cameras back then. In fact, I'm not entirely sure that he ever WAS a baby. He might have just been created as a five year old. We'll never know for sure.

As for the legalities of having a baby this cute, well, if she's breaking the law, we're going on the lam.

Hair Raising

When I was a little kid, I looked like this:

Look at that hair! Those were the glory days. All natural and golden blond. I don't think I could pull off bangs like that now. Mostly because, who has bangs that take up half their scalp these days? I don't know what the heck I'm doing in that picture. Probably praying I don't get dragged off by rabid dogs.





As I grew older, I made every effort to keep it that original blond color. For a while.

(sidebar - that is a New York City voting booth circa 2004. Someone please tell me they are a little more up-to-date now, and filled with far less-dorky voters.)


In my mind, even today, when I think of myself I think of that hair
color. I still check off "blond" on my driver's license. I turn my
nose up at blond jokes. But. I am not a blond anymore. My hair has slowly been getting darker. Time marched on and so did my desire to highlight my hair every eight weeks. Still, I just can't get it through my head. So when I look at pictures like these:



I think, HOLY CRAP my hair got DARK.

I need to accept my hair for what it is now, and not what it was. Which leads me to my next issue. I have an appointment to get my hair did this weekend. It's my semi-annual snip session (because who has time for quarterly cuts) and I need to do something about the mess that my hair color has become.

I don't even know what color that is up there. Is it brown? Red? Blond on the end? D, all of the above?

I've been living the last month hoping that Sarah from Hair Thursday will accost me on the street with fabulous hair tips, but alas, we have yet to run into each other. So, internet friends and real life friends (because I know you're out there), help my head get pretty. Should I go back to being blond? Accept my inner brunette? Or bring out the natural red low light thing I have going on? And furthermore, should I bring back the bangs?


Or, should I just bring this little thing in to the stylist and say, "copy?"

Paging Dr. Google

The last nine months have been steeped in enough medical drama to fuel an entire season of Grey's Anatomy story lines. And while I'm not as brooding or whiny as Meredith Grey, I AM as smart as she is. I've spent a LOT of time looking up medical info on the internet. I can spout off medical phrases with authority, and you believe that I know what I'm talking about. Just watch!

Madeline's doctors worried that she might have hyaline membrane disease, bronchopulmonary dysplasia, or children's interstitial lung disease. When she was in the NICU, her hyperbilirubinemia was treated with phototherapy. Her cardiologist feared that her patent ductus arteriosus might need surgery, but it closed with a course of indomethacin. Suspected necrotizing enterocolitis made it hard for her to gain weight.

See? You totally read that nodding your head, believing it all. And you should. Because I have an Honorary Doctorate from Google Medical University. I spent so much time looking up stuff on Google that they were like, "Hey Heather, you sure have learned a lot of stuff. Come talk at Google Medical University's commencement and we'll give you an honorary degree!" And I went up to the Googleplex and I spoke, and oh, those young doctors will never be the same.

Of course, having an honorary degree is no good unless you use it. Today, my coworker complained of a sore and tingling left arm. I didn't bother to take his medical history because Google doesn't care how old you are or how many games you just bowled. My experience practicing Google Medicine taught me that the first answer is the right answer. In this case, a sore left arm is an indicator of a heart attack. I told him as much, and ho, did we laugh and laugh when the little hypochondriac freaked out about his potential angina. Sure, he is only 29 and in great health, but Google is never wrong. I'm totally stealing his chair tomorrow when he doesn't come in.

That's just an example of one of the many people I've helped with my new honorary degree, and you can be next! Have a medical ailment? The doctor is in!

Sometimes I Have Trouble Sleeping

Me: Mike. Are you awake? MIKE!

Mike: Yes, I'm awake. How can I sleep when you keep waking me up for Tito's Tacos commercials and Jesus Cat?

Me: You said the Tito's Tacos theme was our song! Don't be hating on it now.

Mike: I'm not hating on Tito's. I'm hating on being woken up every five minutes by someone that isn't Maddie.

Me: Are you hating on Jesus Cat? Because that's sacrilegious.

Mike: Do you really want to get into what is and is not sacrilegious?

Me: No, just accept the awesomeness of Jesus Cat so we can move on.

Mike: Whatever. Is that all?

Me: No...I can't remember what I was going to ask you.

Mike: OK. Good night!

Me: Wait! Do you want to be cremated?

Mike: Right now?

Me: No! When you die! Do you want to be buried or cremated?

Mike: Are you really asking me this at 2:42 in the morning?

Me: YES! So, which is it?!

Mike: Well, I think my mom would freak out if I was cremated. But that would be your problem, not mine.

Me: Where do you want to be buried?

Mike: Are you asking me this because you're planning to kill me so you don't have to make me breakfast for Father's Day?

Me: No! I think now that we have Maddie, we should, you know, put our affairs in order. And also because I'm making you breakfast and it may very well kill you.

Mike: You don't have to worry about me dying yet.

Me: Who said I was worried?

Mike: (ignoring me) I haven't heard of any guy having a heart attack and dying before the age of 50 that wasn't on coke. So you have, like, 17 more years of me at the least.

Me: Unless you take up coke.

Mike: True. And that's entirely possible if you continue to talk to me at 2:42 am.

Me: What if something else happens to you? What if you get caught in the middle of a cat fight?

Mike: A...what?

Me: You know, a cat fight. Kitties. Rawr. Meow. They can get really mean.

Mike: Oh, I thought you meant like a lady fight or something.

Me: Ladies don't fight, but bitches can get vicious. Anyway, I'm talking about animals. You could get scratched and bleed a lot. Or get the Cat Scratch Flu!

Mike: It's Cat Scratch Fever, and you can't die from it.

Me: You can die from correcting your wife all the time.

Mike: Whatever happened to asking Dr. Loooove to prescribe you sleeping pills?

Heather: ....Sooooo...cremated then?

Maddie Melodies

Mike and I are really trying to make sure Maddie is into music. I'm sure that surprises no one who reads my blog regularly, since I showed you her music-themed nursery. Mike and I are both musical. I grew up playing the piano and singing, and Mike taught himself piano and guitar (his singing voice is great, too). When Mike and Maddie are spending the day at home, Mike plays music for her - everything from the Beatles to Wilco to Mississippi Delta Blues.

We also sing to her a lot. Not your typical nursery rhymes though, but songs we make up. Which also reminds me, can you people please give me the names of some nursery rhymes? I seriously can't think of any except "Rock a Bye Baby." I must have a mental block. Anyway, some of our songs are sweet. Like the one that Mike wrote for Maddie right after she was born:

Madeline, sweet baby Madeline,
Oh what a perfect mess you've got us in,
Madeline, our little Madeline,
You've got the cutest little toes I've ever seen!
And just like I need my heart, I can't be apart from Madeline!
Like a horse needs its cart, I can't be apart from Madeline!
Just like Milhouse needs Bart, I won't be apart from Madeline!

Mike plays the guitar to her while he sings*. Yeah, I know, freaking adorable. I wrote her a little lullaby that I originally sang to her when she was in the NICU:

Baby you and I will fly up in the sky,
fly up in the sky where the world looks little.
Baby you and me, together can't you see,
we'll fly up in the sky where the world looks little.
We're gonna be close to heaven above,
we're gonna be warmed by the sunshine's love.
Baby you and I will fly up in the sky,
fly up in the sky where the world looks little.

They aren't all sweet songs, though. Sometimes she'll be on the changing table and I'll start chanting,

Maddie Moo-zer!
She went poo-zer!
Formula just went right through her!

Yeah, it's a song about poo. They can't all be gems.

We repeat this one to her whenever she goes on a hunger strike.

My Madeline, you are so sweet!
But damn it girl, why won't you eat?
Chow down your food or I will threat
embarrassment here on the 'net.
Munch on these peas, carrots, or pears
to help avoid quizzical stares.
So come on baby, get some chunk
and yummy junk into your trunk.

I'm sure you've read our little songs and chants thinking, "these Spohrs are even stranger than I thought!" And we totally are. But, Maddie loves the loves the songs. She laughs and squeals whenever we sing them. I guess we'll find out soon enough if she's laughing at them or with them.

*if enough of you ask, perhaps I can persuade Mike to let me put a video of him singing to Maddie on You Tube...

All My Beeyotches

You all are so nice to compliment Mike and me. But really, I am putting the best possible pictures up here. Believe me. It's my blog, so I get final cut. Although, when I was looking through my 5 billion flickr photos, I found a few that almost made the cut, but were just edged out. Like this one:

Sexy.

It never occurred to me that you would want to see a picture of the drag queens. Here are my gorgeous queen friends posing with my old roomies Jackie and Bella. This picture is from Halloween 2002, which is why Bella has on a snake skin hat and Jackie has a bone in her hair. I'm taking the picture (I was dressed as a sexy nurse, let your imaginations run wild), but I would be doing all of you a disservice if I didn't point out that the wigs, earrings, and other embellishments are all made of feminine products. Click on the picture for a closer look.


Ginger wasn't my maid of honor because I didn't have a maid of honor - I had a Matron. Splitting hairs, I know. My Matron of honor was my bestest friend in the whole world, Tara. We've known each other since we were two years old, and we were lucky enough to grow up three houses away from each other. As hot as Ginger and Ginger's friend are, Tara is way hotter - and 100% woman. Tara is the bomb, and I'm not just saying that because I indirectly implied that a drag queen would have been a better honor attendant than her. No, I'm just saying it because it needs to be said. And also, Tara knows way too much about me for me to ever let her be mad. She has more dirt on me than the Scientologists have on Katie Holmes. I love Tara!

Maddie had a busy day today. My parents picked her up at the crack of dawn to take her to the Catholic Girls High School by their house. One of their best friends is the religion teacher there, and she had her students pray for me and Maddie every day we were in the hospital or I was on bed rest - we're talking 140 days of praying here. Today was their last day of school, so my mom brought Maddie in so the girls could meet her. I forgot how baby-obsessed teenage girls are. My mom said the squealing was insane, and several of the teenage girls said, "I want a baby NOW!"

In related news, 27 nuns simultaneously fainted dead away in a Los Angeles Suburb.

A Man Named Ginger

Now that you all know about one of Mike's more embarrassing tidbits, I thought I might share the story of how we met. I actually get asked all the time. Consider this me answering some reader mail.

I met Mike at a now-defunct Karaoke Bar called the Queen Mary. My brother, Kyle, organized a group outing to the bar, and he convinced me to come along and meet some of his friends. He'd just gone to a party a few weeks earlier where he'd met a bunch of former screenwriting majors (a very hard major that only 24 students get admitted to per year) and they were going to be at the karaoke extravaganza. I didn't think much of it because, being freshly out of college, almost all of Kyle's friends were from film school.

Kyle and I carpooled to the bar, and since I like to be fashionably late cough never on time cough, we arrived after everyone else. I immediately went up to the bar, and when I looked over to my left I saw Mike. I thought, "Hey, that guy looks like Carson Daly, but not bloated or tool-ish." I told him as much, to which he replied, "Well, you look like Melissa Joan Hart, you know, the Teenage Witch." After those stellar compliments, we didn't talk for a while, although I had my eye on him.

I went to the bathroom to put on some lipstick, and that's when I learned the Queen Mary wasn't just a Karaoke Bar - it was a DRAG QUEEN Karaoke Bar. I also learned that drag queens use the Ladies' Room.

Drag Queens are my people. They flock to me. I had no sooner walked into this restroom when two gorgeous queens descended on me, complimenting my hair and my lipstick shade. They asked me if I was there with anyone, and then one said, "honey, there are some fine male specimens here to-NIGHT!" The other remarked, "baby, Ginger and I saw you eying that one tall dark drink of water. You GO for him!"

"Okay, Ginger and Ginger's friend," I said, "I will."

I got back out to the main area of the bar just as Mike was getting on stage. I took Ginger's advice and went for him, and the next thing I knew I was on stage with Mike for a rousing rendition of Elvis Costello's "Allison."

Later in the night, I found out that Mike was rooting for the Giants in the World Series! I couldn't believe it. I snorted my derision and might have uttered some expletives at the Giants' expense. Mike was quick to point out that the Dodgers hadn't even made the playoffs. Touche. We traded a few more insults, and then the night was over. I went home and told my roomies Jackie and Bella about the cute guy I'd met. They suggested I invite him to a birthday party our friends were hosting at the end of the next month.

A few weeks went by (and the Giants lost the series) until we finally met up again, at the same karaoke bar. This time, instead of being insulting, we were actually nice to each other. I suddenly found myself feeling somewhat shy, but the words of Ginger and Ginger's friend rang in my ear. I went for it, and asked him to the party. He accepted, and then invited me to dinner. We've been together ever since.

Ginger was the Maid of Honor.*

*Just kidding!!! But that would have been rad.

Presenting...The Father of My Child

Mike and I both went to the same university. We didn't meet there, and in fact only had one year of overlapping attendance. I'm full of school pride and spirit and all that, while Mike...isn't. He was in Film School. That should explain it all.

I am into college football in a major way, and so are all of our friends and family. We are those really insane people that tailgate all day long, bringing TVs and satellite dishes and the whole nine yards to football games. We go big. Mike, being an agreeable guy, gets dragged along with us. He likes to go to the tailgates for the food and booze, the drinking games (OH, the games we have), and the people. The football? Not so much. He's more of a baseball guy.

In 2005, I was looking forward to the fall football season even more than usual. I'd just moved back to California from NYC and I was very excited to tailgate again. Our college stadium was one of the last to ban the sale of alcohol inside the stadium, and 2005 was the first year booze wasn't going to be available. The school president said this was to prevent drunken fights and disorderly conduct. Anyone with half a brain knew that people would just drink WAY more before the game started, getting more smashed than anyone ever needs to be.

The first football Saturday was met with much excitement from me, and much remorse from Mike. He was in the middle of an intense Masters program, and he had class from 8am to 5pm the day of the game. Luckily, kick off was at 7pm, so he would still be able to make the game, although he'd miss all of the tailgating. I promised to save him food, and I secretly packed him some of his favorite Belgian beer - beer with twice as much alcohol as domestic lager.

Luckily for Mike, his class let out a bit early, and he was at our tailgate by 5:30. We all had saved him TONS of food. I gave him the chicken teriyaki I'd made, Derek gave him a spicy bratwurst, Woodsy gave him some carne asada. As he scarfed down the food, he kept saying, "how much longer until we go in?" He knew there wasn't a lot of time until we had to join the masses of people making their way into the coliseum.

I showed him where our cooler was, and then I got distracted by something shiny. The next thing I knew, an hour had gone by and Mike...well, let's go over everything he'd consumed.

Four Belgian Beers
"A few" tequila shots - I assume that means three or more
At least one Bud Light (that I saw) during a shotgun contest
Two margaritas
Chicken teriyaki, a spicy brat, and carne asada

For some reason, I wasn't alarmed. Mike seemed improbably sober, but I chalked it up to his iron stomach. We joined the masses waiting to be searched (no rogue flasks allowed!) before entering the coliseum.

I was scanning the crowd for the shortest line, while Mike and our friend Matt were walking behind me. Suddenly, Matt grabbed the back of my shirt. "Mike doesn't look so hot," he said, pointing. I looked at Mike, who had frozen in his tracks. He looked grayer than the Seattle sky. I knew at that point he was going to barf, it was just a question of when. I said to him, "can you hold it in until we're inside the gates?" Probably not my most caring moment, but if he barfed outside, we were never going to get let in. Luckily, his color came back and he said he'd be fine.

After we went through the inspection point, we had to wait in the line of people getting their tickets scanned. Suddenly, I felt a shove from behind, and I turned to see Mike sprinting from the queue. He pushed all the skinny freshmen out of his way, then proceeded to projectile vomit all over the ivy-covered fence. People started screaming in terror and disgust. I may have been one of them.

At that point, I was struck with a dilemma - be the caring, supportive girlfriend, or stand back so the puke couldn't splash my feet. I chose the former, and walked over to pat him on the back while he retched. I looked down, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. In between heaves, Mike would yell out things like, "They don't sell alcohol inside anymore!" or "I've only been here an HOUR!" He did a great job defending his honor.

When he was done puking, he turned to me, wiped his mouth, and exclaimed, "Let's go watch some football!!" The look of pride on his face...I'd never been so in love. Maddie gave me the same look this morning right after she threw up all over my work clothes. Somehow, Mike not only managed to convince me to marry him, but he even convinced me to have his delightful, vomiting child! They both love a good puke and rally.

Mike's other day job (you know, besides being a Maddie Daddy) is writing. Some of you may have clicked the link for his baseball blog, but he has another blog, too. It's called The Newborn Identity, and he writes about life with Maddie. It's pretty new, so he could use some feedback. Go over there and give him some love - and tell him to lay off the spicy bratwursts.

Mother of the Year

Madeline has started giggling outrageously whenever she thinks something is funny. The best part is that she laughs at the appropriate times. Like, just a minute ago, Mike farted, and she thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Me, I just don't get the humor in farts. She also laughs when I tell her jokes. If I'd known she'd be such an easy audience I would have had her a lot sooner.

Her laugh is like chocolate chex, I just can't get enough. This morning, I was making her dance. You know, making her clap, wave her hands, etc. She was in the middle of the best giggle of all time when I moved her hand across her face (Come on, Vogue...VOGUE!), and she gouged a chunk of skin out of the bridge of her nose with an errant thumb nail. Oh, the wailing and the crocodile tears. I felt like crap. Not only did I neglect her fingernail upkeep, but then I forced her to stab herself.

I scooped her up and carried her toward her nursery so I could calm her down and clean up THE BLOOD. When I walked through the door to her room, she threw her little arm out and grabbed the door jam. I didn't see this, of course, so her arm got wrenched back and OH the wailing and the crocodile tears.

I had to get some wipes for THE BLOOD and the nail clippers for her talons, so I laid her in the crib while I gathered my supplies. After I grabbed the wipes bag, I realized she wasn't crying. I peered over the edge of her crib and saw her sucking her thumb. It's so cute I could die. I softly said, "aaaawwwww," but apparently she has bionic hearing, because she jumped out of her skin, and in the process managed to cut the inside of her lip with her devil thumb nail. Babies' mouths bleed a lot. Just sayin'.

After I managed to clean up and calm down Maddie, I sat down in her rocking chair. I lifted my right foot to cross my legs...and kicked the dog square in the head. Rigby is a little dog and is somewhat used to getting beat up, but I guess I have Beckham-like strength in my leg because poor little Rigby let out a yelp of pain that pierced my already shredded self-confidence. I reached down and picked Rigby up with the intention of comforting her...and as I lifted her, I slammed her already-injured head into the changing table, eliciting another yelp. I tried to put her in my lap, but it should surprise no one that she immediately ran away and hid under Maddie's crib.

If you're looking for me, I'll be hiding from Child Protective Services and the ASPCA.

I Swear This Is A True Story

Even though my birthday is a MERE three weeks away, I have been busy helping the girls think of what to get Mike for Father's Day. I am so selfless, always thinking of others. I seriously deserve an SLR Camera or something.

So anyway, I was helping the girls think of a present. The girls are Madeline and Rigby, of course. The dog always gives a present. I threw around a bunch of ideas, but Maddie and Rigby came up with a brilliant idea on their own. They had to pool their allowance and use my credit card, but I think Mike will be very happy with what they chose.

Maddie ordered it while I was at work. No, Rigby couldn't order it - she doesn't have opposable thumbs. Makes it hard to type. Here's Maddie, clicking away on the typewriter, getting her daddy the best present ever!


I know. It's Friday. I'm tired.

The Beauty, The Splendor, The Wonder Of My...

With my birthday a mere 23 shopping days away, I've been reflecting on some of my favorite June 27s past. Even though I apparently look like crap to everyone but gas station attendants, I am still very much looking forward to my birthday. I've had some great celebrations in the past - well, except that one where I almost got arrested - and I feel pretty lucky.

I had another blog before this one, and I did a good job of documenting my birthdays. I've had lots of fun parties, but you guys don't really give a crap about those. You should care more about the presents. I have great friends who have given me presents that are so ME it's amazing. Like the cotton candy machine Matt, Leslie, and Christi gave me. Or the water balloons and sidewalk chalk Dana gave me (we had so much fun throwing balloons off my balcony, and the cops only came a couple times). But really, one of the best presents I ever received was from my old roommate, Bella.

Some back story - I am obsessed with curly hair. I don't have it, but my brother Kyle is blessed with gorgeous curls that I have coveted for as long as I can remember. In 2003, my obsession reached a fever pitch, and I wrote about it on my blog.

My birthday is just days away
A day that's all for me.
I plan to eat and drink and skip
And maybe climb a tree.

What do I want? My friends all ask
(They're sweet to want to know).
Well, nothing too unusual:
A giant blonde afro.

I think the 'fros are glorious
All curly, thick, and high.
If I were to posses one it
Would make me supa fly.

My 'fro and I could do it all
Stop crime, kick ass, take names,
Yet still find time to grab a drink
And go dance with the dames.

So as I blow my candles out
I wish this for my mane
Please work into a 'fro for me!
The world we then will reign.

On my birthday, I came home to a large box on my bed with a card from Bella. Inside it was this:

Best. Present. Ever.

Alright, I want to hear 'em - what is the best gift you ever received*? And if you say your child or your health or something mushy like that, prepare to be mocked. I want to know the creative gift, or the really thoughtful gift, or the gift you always wanted. Do it for Mike - he needs ideas.

*Bonus points if you say something with diamonds, SLR cameras, or trips to Fiji.

I Was Possessed By Martha Stewart

Do you ever get a gift or see something in a store and think, I could do that? That happens to me a lot. But see, I'm pretty lazy and I rarely act on my urge to do things...unless that urge is to sit on my couch and read blogs. I always do that. Anyway, a few weeks ago Madeline received this diaper cake and I knew it was something I could make. I said as much to Mike, and while he nodded his head and said, "Sure you could, honey," the pat he gave me on the head said otherwise. I'm not crafty, I'm not creative, and I certainly don't make things.

I forgot about the diaper cake until this last week, when I realized the baby shower for my friend Kim was on the 31st. One night I said to Mike that I needed to go shopping to get her a gift, and Mike said, "Why don't you give her that diaper cake you were so certain you could make?" Oooh, he was calling me out! Then he said, "You could always give her the diapers in a bag if it doesn't work." Bastard! He was baiting me...and it worked. I decided to make the cake.

I bought all the stuff required, and I got my camera out because I knew if I was successful, no one would believe I made it. I planned on taking step by step pictures. I started with this picture:

And then I pretty much sat there for an hour, having no freaking clue what to do. I would occasionally glance over at Mike, and he'd give me a look. Then I'd look at Maddie playing in her little gym thing, and I'd think, "Damn it! I am going to make this freaking diaper cake so she'll be proud of me!" Even though I'm pretty sure that ignoring her while I made a diaper cake isn't high on Maddie's list of things she's excited about.

At one point, something sort of clicked, and I managed to get the bottom layer.

Note that Maddie is still in her play gym.

After I made the bottom layer, I took a break, ate some cookies, and admired my handiwork. It was hard, ok?! I think I probably would have given the cake to Kim like that if Mike hadn't made me finish it. I fashioned the top two layers, but I forgot to take pictures as I went. I was too excited about my cake-making skillz.

Anyway, so I finished it, and it looked like this:

And you bet your ass I did a freaking victory dance all around our house. I was all, "In your FACE, Mike!" And I might have forced Maddie to look at the cake while I said, "Your mom freaking RULES!"

Then I had an identity crisis. I am not someone who makes things! I am someone who BUYS things. What have I become?

I brought the cake to the shower on Saturday, and as expected, my friends were like, "where did you get that?" When I said I made it, my friend Catherine said, "Wow. The way I think about you has changed." Me too, Catherine. Me too. The other shower guests were asking me how I made it, and a few of them asked me for tips on how to make one themselves. Here's my tip - it feels good to make something, but it's easier to buy something. I'm not making another one of these bad boys. Unless someone wants to pay me to make one. I am totally willing to change who I am for cash.

Oh...Second Base Means Boobies

Just a few things to wrap up the week. The first thing is that, in my last post, I wasn't clear that my birthday countdown is a month long. It started May 27...so that means my birthday is at the end of June. Don't you all worry, I will give weekly reminders of how many shopping days are left until my birthday.

Maddie is holding steady. She has a good cough that really moves all that mucus junk around. She occasionally coughs some of it up, and the look of disgust on her face when this happens is priceless. We're hoping that the steroids are working, but we'll know more in a few days when the course is done. Last night she had another oxygenation study, but this time it was at home. I think it went just fine. She stayed in the high 90's or at 100 for the whole night. Dr. Lung should review the results and get back to us ASAP. Most likely she will lower the amount of oxygen Maddie gets overnight, with the intention of weaning her off of it soon. Hopefully very soon. Fingers crossed.

One of my coworkers has breast cancer, and she's having a partial mastectomy on Monday. Today we all surprised her by wearing pink to show how much we love and support her. Coincidentally, she wore her shirt that says, "Save 2nd Base," and a pink wig. I'd dared her to wear the wig for weeks now, so it was a dream come true for me. Anyway, we all decided it was necessary to take a picture of all of us in our pink glory, so in honor of second base, we went down to the local field for a photo.

Good luck, D! You're amazing.

One Day Closer to Menopause

I love birthdays. My birthday countdown started on Tuesday, and I'm sure it surprised everyone who knows me in real life that I didn't mention it that day. I am the type of person that has birthday months. But I love everyone's birthdays, not just my own. Birthdays are a great reason to get together and have fun and open shiny presents. Not that I'm in it for the presents...okay, I totally am. I love giving presents, too. I like watching someone open a gift I picked out. It's nice to make someone else happy.

I've never really understood why some people hate birthdays. Mike hates birthdays because he hates getting older. He says I'll understand when I'm old like him. I'm a regular whipper snapper next to him. I usually can coax him into celebrating his birthday with the talk of presents and booze, but if it was up to him he'd still be 29 and living the life of...um, a 29 year old.

So, my point is, yeah, birthdays mean you're a year older, but doesn't that also mean you're alive another year and all that happy crap? Blah blah blah. I've never had a problem with getting older (especially since, like I said, I'll always be a youngster next to Mike). That is, until lately.

My hair is rebelling. I've made passing reference to finding some gray hairs recently. Suddenly the gray is getting kind of out of control. My hair is naturally sort of dark blonde/golden brown (that's what the box says), but I've been dying it darker because everyone knows brunettes get more respect. It's true, look it up on Wikipedia. Yet, after discovering the latest cluster of gray hairs, I'm thinking it might be time to go back to blonde. All the better to conceal the gray.

My eyes are failing. I had an eye exam yesterday, and my optometrist was appalled by how much my eyesight has deteriorated over the last year. Like, to the point where he called in his associate and said, "look at this!!!" Yay, I love that my eyes are as freaky as my uterus! Wait, that sounds weird. Anyway, I now have to get to wear special contacts and special glasses. I asked if I could get a handicapped placard but the optometrist didn't get the joke.

My youthful good looks are fading. Yesterday I was at the check stand in Whole Foods buying the following items: Hylands Teething tabs, organic baby apple sauce, Belgian beer, and US Weekly. The checker was in training, and probably about 17 years old. She looked at my items, turned to the guy training her and said, "Do I I.D. her for this stuff?" The trainer said, "When someone is buying alcohol, you look at them and if they look younger than 35, ask to see their I.D." The girl looked at me, scanned my items, and then said, "paper or plastic?" OUCH. She thought I looked older than 35! Granted, I'm much closer to thirty five than seventeen, but do I really look that much older than a teenager? The woman in line behind me sensed my mood and tried to comfort me by saying, "Don't worry, she saw you were buying baby stuff! That's why she didn't card you!" Doubtful.

Tomorrow I'm going to procure a prescription for Boniva and get fitted for dentures. Maybe Mike will give me a blinged-out walker for my birthday. Hint hint!

The Push Up of Shame

I like to think of myself as a sporty girl. I grew up playing softball and participating in track and field, and I can play most sports decently enough to not make a fool of myself. I haven't gone to the gym regularly since before I was put on bed rest, but I've been attending physical therapy twice a week and my endurance and strength have sloooowly been returning.

We have a gym at work with a lot of random stuff in it. You know, lots of "as seen on tv" crap that, for the most part, goes ignored. For some reason, one doohickey caught the eye of my coworkers: the Perfect Pushup. They are basically these rotating handles that help you use all the muscles in your chest when you do push ups, blah blah blah. This coworker tried them and discovered that doing the Perfect Pushup is really, really hard.

Word of how hard the Perfect Pushup is spread amongst us. The handles were brought from the gym up to our offices and the Perfect Pushup Competition was started. The first two rules of Perfect Pushup is that you don't talk about Perfect Pushup. The third rule of Perfect Pushup is that you go to exhaustion, and if you stop for more than two seconds, you're done. Scoring is as such: lowering yourself is 1/2, pushing yourself back up is the other half. Your score is written on a big white board for all to see.

A few new employees started this week, so they had to take their turns in the competition. It's always a big deal when someone is taking their turn; we all gather around and either heckle or cheer. A new VP, a woman in her forties, went first and did twenty nine push ups. This SHATTERED the previous female record of 14! I started looking at the scores and I was surprised to see that she'd done more push ups than most of the men in our office. Some of these guys had only done three or four! Most of the women did about three to six push ups. I started to think that maybe this was the day I took my turn in the competition.

Now, I am good at push ups. I have always been pretty focused on upper body strength so I could throw hard, hit the ball far, etc. I figured that, even in my weakened state, I could get at least four or five push ups and do better than some of the guys. And while I had the foresight to say to the gathered crowd, "don't forget I just had a baby," I failed to say to MYSELF "don't forget that you haven't done a push up in a year, or done more than resistance band training or light pilates or ANYTHING really strenuous and you are going to look like a fool."

I kicked off my heels and assumed the position. I held myself in the upright position so well that one of the guys said, "nice push up form." I started to think I had it in the bag. I lowered myself...and collapsed, elbows in the air. Holy Crap! The Perfect Pushup really IS hard. I started laughing while the new VP (she of 29 Perfect Pushups) cried, "Someone help her up!" I managed to get myself up, and I immediately went into damage control. "Well, I might suck at Perfect Pushup, but I can do regular pushups on the ground!" I tried to demonstrate...and collapsed, elbows in the air. One of my friends shouted, "she was on bed rest!" and another yelled, "she just had a baby!" but the damage was done. I don't think that excuse flies six months postpartum.

Since I couldn't even lower myself in a controlled manner, I scored a zero. Officially the lowest score - some of the other women managed to score at least a 1/2. I begged the guys not to write HEATHER - 0 on the board. I swore that I would be able to get at least a 1/2 if given the chance to strength train. I finally have a reason to work out! Just as soon as my arms stop hurting from the two push ups I attempted yesterday.